#and not care if it's The Best I Could Possibly Write

[the-modern-typewriter]

hello, i'm in love with your writing! if you could do one of your classic lovers to enemies up-close angsty scenes, where the hero is a stoic, closed-off person who doesn't quite have the words to express their emotions, while the villain wants the hero to just like, talk to them, dammit, even if it's to say something that would break their heart all over again.

love your work and have a great rest of the day!

"Really?" the villain asked. "You're just going to sit there in silence staring at me?"

The battle had not gone how the villain had hoped; primarily due to the interference of their former lover. Instead of the grand fruition of all of their plans, the villain was stuck with cuffs that dug into their wrists, a looming future of incarceration and, of course, their damned ex.

"What do you want me to say?" There was no emotion in the hero's voice. There never bloody was. "I told you so?"

The villain snarled, under their breath. They gave the chains a vicious yank. It did no good. It just made their skin chafe.

"You're going to hurt yourself," the hero said.

"Oh, like you care."

The hero's jaw worked. That was, at least, something. The villain glared at them. The hero looked down.

"Fine, yeah," the villain said, as the silence threatened to stretch unbearably again. "I told you so! Sure. Whatever. If that's the last thing you ever want to say to me, who am I to stop you?"

"It's not the last thing I'm ever going to say to you."

"It's not the last thing I'm ever going to say to you," the villain mimicked, distorted and pretty and cruel. "Jesus."

The hero glanced up at them again. "Again," they said. "What do you want me to say?"

The villain stared at them, incredulously.

They felt like there were a thousand things that the two of them could possibly start a conversation with. Some choice examples might include:

I'm sorry for locking you up forever.

I'm sorry it turned out this way. I wish things could have been different between us. I love you. I still love you.

I'm sorry I ever bloody loved you, you stupid bloody indifferent git. How can you just sit there? How can you have nothing to say to me?!

Just as an off the top of the head example!

"It's not about what I want you to say," the villain said finally. "Just say something. Anything. Oh my god."

The hero opened their mouth, then closed it. They shifted on their chair, opposite, and checked their watch instead.

The temporary security holding cell was unbearably quiet once more. Would their permanent prison be unbearably quiet too? Or would it be a case of so crowded that they never got a moment of peace?

"I can't believe you thought you could beat me," the villain said, in their best hero voice. "Muhaha. Don't you know I have the righteous power of being sanctimonious and insufferable on my side? Fool."

The hero's eye twitched. "Is that the last thing you ever want to say to me, then?"

"What do you want me to say?" The villain jutted their chin. "Please, please, pretty please forgive me? I am the worst. I never deserved you. It's totally okay that you're leaving me to rot forever."

"I'm not leaving you to rot."

"Oh, you could have fooled me. I mean, I suppose it wouldn't-"

The hero's hand clamped down on their mouth.

The villain had barely even seen them move. A split second blur, standing and crossing the minimal space between them. The villain's breath caught as they looked up at that familiar face, overwhelmed with familiar presence.

The hero used to press them up against walls and kiss them, like they could translate all of the languages of the world with kisses alone.

The hero's eyes...

They were wet with tears, though whether that was out of sorrow or fury, the villain wasn't sure.

"I'm not leaving you to rot," the hero said, slow, through gritted teeth. "And I do care. How can you think I don't care? Or are you just saying it to hurt me because you lost? I don't get it. I don't get you. I thought I did, once, but I just - I don't get you anymore. I don't get how you could do any of this. I don't get how you can be so - so cruel! You talk all the time and it's just nonsense. It's nothing. So just - just shut up. For once in your life, shut up."

The villain stared up at them, wide-eyed.

They wanted to open their mouth and tell the hero that was maybe the most words they'd heard them say in years, since the two of them started fighting. The hero's hand didn't allow that. The hero's hand trembled against them, like sign language, but the villain didn't know how to read that.

They never knew how to read the hero anymore.

"Even if I'd tried to talk to you," the hero said, quietly, "you wouldn't have listened. You haven't listened to anyone since we were five, once you made up your mind about something. So don't - this isn't my fault, okay? I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this."

So let me go.

There were a thousand arguments they could try. Atonement and you don't really want this and you'll never see me again and do you really think they can hold me anyway? Ha!

The hero closed their eyes. They dashed at the tears that threatened to roll down their cheeks with their free hand.

"And now," the hero said, "now there's nothing I could say to you that would make this better. That would make what you did better. So don't - don't you dare - just stop talking." Then again, softer, "just stop talking. Please."

The villain's chest chest ached. They'd hoped it had stopped doing that. It was supposed to have stopped doing that, especially for them.

Yet, they felt raw, in a way that had nothing to do with battle.

When the hero's hand fell away from their mouth, they said nothing. They couldn't quite manage to.

The hero looked at them, in silence, an unreadable storm on their face. The villain wanted to invent a weather vane, a thermometer, a scale just for the measuring and decrypting of them. They wanted to bring ancient history to the scholars and have them piece together all the bits that had got lost and forgotten in translation somewhere.

They wanted...

The hero leaned down to kiss them, soft and terribly sweet. A broken sound caught in the villain's throat.

Then the hero was on their knees, face pressed against the villain's knees, sobbing.

With the villain's hands cuffed behind their back, they couldn't even reach out and hold them.

They could do nothing.

They could say, it felt, nothing.

They were back to staring at each other in silence when the holding cell doors finally opened and the villain was taken away.

[22ayla21]

👀 I have been Reading all of your amphoreus x reader with their child

I want to request a headcanon when fem reader is still pregnant with their child (separate for all amphoreus male character)

Pregnancy

How would they behave during their wife's pregnancy.

From the Author: while writing this, I came up with two more ideas. How would they react to the baby's first kick in the womb and how would they talk to the baby at night while the wife was sleeping 😋.

• He's not the type to run around her with a duck face, but his care is evident in his actions: checking that she's eating enough, making sure she's not overtired, subtly adjusting her conditions, even if he pretends it's an accident. If she says she's fine, he looks at her as if scanning her. He doesn't argue, but he does things his own way.

• He never shows it, but inside he's torn apart by anxiety. This world is cruel, and pregnancy makes her vulnerable. He's not used to her being like this, and he hates the thought that he can't protect her from everything at once. Sometimes at night, he just sits next to her, watching her breathe, listening to her every move.

• Where he could get irritated by little things before, his patience has increased exponentially. If she gets angry over trifles, let her get angry. If she wants something strange, he will keep quiet and bring it. He understands that it is not easy, even if he does not say it out loud.

• Doctors, servants, even random guests - he controls everyone. No one should bother her without a reason. If someone causes him even a shadow of doubt, this person simply "will not be around". If someone dares to say something disrespectful, even as a joke, this person will quickly regret it.

• When they are alone, his roughness disappears. He touches her carefully, as if he is afraid to hurt her. He does not say too much, but his gestures speak for him: he straightens the pillows, wraps her in a blanket, runs his fingers along her wrist when he thinks she does not notice. Sometimes he puts his hand on her stomach, silently feeling the movements of the child. At such moments, his gaze becomes softer than ever.

• He does not say loud words about the future, but every day he makes a silent promise to himself: to protect her. To protect their child. To protect their family. And if someone ever dares to threaten their happiness, that person will disappear faster than he has time to realize his mistake.

• As soon as he finds out about the pregnancy, he immediately takes control of the situation. He collects all the information he can, consults with the best doctors (and checks their qualifications himself), develops a plan for nutrition, rest and physical activity for his wife. Everything is clear, logical and thought out.

• He is not the type to fuss over her as if she were a fragile artifact, but if she gets up too abruptly, her face changes or she winces from slight discomfort - he immediately notices it. And although he does not panic, his keen gaze shows that he is recording every detail.

• He tries to create the perfect balanced diet for her. But if in the middle of the night she wants something absurd, for example, "spicy with honey and salted nuts", he will first raise an eyebrow and then silently go cook.

• Although he behaves coldly, sometimes at night he sits next to her, watching her sleep and thinking about all the possible scenarios. If something suddenly goes wrong, he acts immediately, not allowing panic to take over. Although he is not very emotional, his hand instinctively falls on her stomach, especially when he thinks about the child. Sometimes he does it unconsciously, and if his wife notices, he simply chuckles and pretends that nothing happened.

• If someone dares to say or do something that could harm his wife or unborn child, he instantly turns into a person not to be trifled with. His voice becomes colder, his gaze more dangerous.

• He may look confident and calm, but in reality his mind is constantly analyzing risks, making plans for any complications. Only his cat, curled up on his lap, sometimes senses his tension.

• When he first learns that he is going to be a father, he falls silent. It is not out of fear or doubt, but simply that his life is about to change. Then he slowly takes her hand, squeezes her fingers lightly, and looks at her with such depth in his eyes, as if vowing to protect both her and their child.

• Phainon has always been caring, but now it goes to extremes. He does not allow her to lift even light things, makes her rest more, and carefully monitors what she eats. If she says she is tired, he immediately offers her a seat, and he does everything for her.

• He reads books, studies medical texts, consults the best healers, so that he knows how to make his wife's pregnancy as comfortable as possible. If someone laughs at his serious approach, he only frowns: "I do not intend to take this lightly."

• When his tastes begin to change, he accepts his fate with dignity. If she wants something exotic or completely ridiculous, he will find it. If in the middle of the night she asks for something unusual, he just silently puts on a coat and leaves, and an hour later returns with the catch.

• If she has sudden mood swings, he tries to stay calm. He knows that these are hormones, but sometimes he just looks at her with slight bewilderment, especially if five minutes ago she was happy, and now she is ready to burst into tears. At such moments, he just hugs her and waits for the storm to subside.

• Although he seems calm, anxiety rages inside him. He is afraid for her health, for the future of the child, for their new life. But he does not show it, because he believes that his duty is to be her support.

[lyrakanefanaticwriting]

i got this request on my other account and figured i’d do it since it seems like it’d be a funny fic!!

i want to give credits to @alwaysthefangirl as i based a lot of my ideas of “lyra being stubborn and not wanting help when shes sick” around her fic, and seriously ive reread that one countless amounts of times omg. anyway thank you for being the amazing writer that you are and inspiring me to write this with your own fic. i dont think i would have been able to write this so quickly if it werent for your fic that seriously helped me write this one so thank you!!! <33

A Sick and Stubborn Lyra

(could you tell that i couldn’t think of a title? 😜)

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

Lyra knew she was sick. She knew it the other day when her entire body was feverishly burning up and she couldn’t evade the constant dizzy spells, and she knew it now as she felt the same way—no, worse.

She thought that sleep might heal her, and she’d done a good enough job at hiding it from Grayson, but it was no use. She had classes, classes she couldn’t risk missing as she’d just added an extra one to her schedule, and despite her feverish state, had to be present for them. No matter how dry and aching her throat felt, or how her head was heating up astronomically.

Crawling out of her sheets as quietly as possible, Lyra cast her gaze to the blonde sleeping peacefully beside her. Grayson. He looked so beautiful while he slept, so at peace and calm.

Lyra reminded herself that she had a mission that Grayson couldn’t distract her from: get ready and out of the house while Grayson’s asleep/getting ready so he doesn’t see the state she’s in.

Fully getting out of bed, Lyra softly walked over to her walk in closet, where she clicked the door behind her quietly and put on her clothes as softly as possible. Then she tip-toed past a, thankfully, still asleep Grayson towards her bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and did her skin care for the day. Every movement sent her head spinning and made her body ache, and once Lyra spat out her toothpaste, she collapsed onto the mat in her bathroom and tried her best to breathe. She gave herself only a minute of sitting on the floor and trying not to pass out, before getting up, not bothering with make up, and walking out the bathroom.

She knew she was being sloppy. She no longer cared about being quiet; all that mattered to her was getting out of the house without fainting or throwing up first.

With her teeth clattering in her mouth and sweat beginning to bead on her forehead, Lyra grabbed her car keys with slow, aching movements, and was just about to stumble out the door when she heard a low rumble behind her.

“Lyra?” Came Grayson’s sleep riddled voice. Shit.

Lyra didn’t dare turn around, as if she did, he would see how sick she is and make her stay home. Not today, Grayson. Thought Lyra through clenched teeth as she tried not to shiver.

“I’m about to leave, Gray, but I’ll call you at lunch.” Lyra said, before freezing once she realized how terrible her voice was.

It visibly sounded scratched and nasally, and she didn’t sound well in the slightest. She froze as she heard Grayson’s steps behind her.

“Wait, Lyra.” Grayson ordered. Lyra would have spit back a retort if she wasn’t in her current state. Pulling her forward by the waist, Grayson turned her around, and she immediately saw surprise cross his features. Lyra furrowed her brows.

“I’m fine. Let me go.” Lyra ordered, hoping her (regretfully) sharp tone would ward him off.

But nothing really warded off Grayson Hawthorne.

Grayson placed his hands on her shoulders, his bare chest breathing in and out slowly, and he seemed to be looking over her, seeing how bad of a state she was in.

“You’re not going to your classes like this.” Grayson told her. Lyra rolled her eyes.

“I’m fine.” Lyra stubbornly told him, before sneezing, trying to take a step back, and stumbling to the ground. The sudden movement left her head reeling, and her body would be aching along with that if it weren’t for Grayson, who caught her in his arms.

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’m right here.” he told her softly, lips pressing onto her neck. Lyra went limp at the sudden affection, growing dizzier. She shuddered in his arms, and he suddenly picked her up, carrying her bridal style to their room.

“Breathe.”

Lyra awoke from her sleep a couple hours later, tangled in sheets with her hair splayed out on the pillow. Lyra lifted her head up—and then immediately regretted it. Her head was hit with a terribly dizzying feeling, and it was burning up wildly. Lyra slouched back down.

Searching the room, she tried to look for Grayson, but all she could see was his laptop and notes splayed on the ground beside her bed. Their room didn’t have a desk, aside from Lyra’s vanity, and Grayson’s office was in the other room. Lyra’s heart warmed once she realized he’d worked on the floor to keep an eye on her.

Looking towards the bathroom and seeing that the light was on, she realized that Grayson was inside. Lyra pulled herself up slowly, her body screaming at her all the while to lay back down, and sat up. She didn’t want to do anything, but she knew she had to.

“Tea,” she could remember her mother telling her as a child whenever she get sick, “is a remedy for all ills. Now drink!”

Granted, tea was never Lyra’s favourite, but tough times called for tough measures.

Peeling off her sheets with aching movements, Lyra ignored the thumping sound in her head and got up, shaking terribly. Pressing her freezing hands to her burning forehead, Lyra began to walk to the kitchen, pushing down the dizzying feeling the best she could.

Once she got to the kitchen, she bent down shakily towards the cabinet, opened it up, took out the kettle—and that’s about as far as she got.

Well, as far as she got before she heard her name.

The tone of which Grayson said Lyra was clearly not happy. Lyra winced as she stood back up, and saw Grayson come into the kitchen with accusing eyes. He was all dressed, clad in a suit with his hair fixed, and Lyra couldn’t deny that he looked good. So good that she forgot that he was currently staring at her as if she had just learned to walk.

“What are you doing up?” He accused, striding up to her and reaching to take the kettle from her hands. Lyra moved her hands away, hiding the kettle behind her and away from his reach.

“Making tea.” she said stubbornly, coughing all the while. Grayson’s eyes were concerned as he studied her, moving hair from her face to really look at her.

“Sweetheart, you aren’t well. Please go back to bed.” he told her softly. Lyra only rolled her eyes.

“I’m fiiiiiine.” she said, breathing hard and sniffing. Words became harder to say when she was sick. Grayson’s eyebrows furrowed, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I’ll carry you.” he warned. Lyra rolled her eyes again, waved him away with his hand.

“No. Go work.” she told him. Grayson sighed before lifting her into his arms the same way he had earlier with ease. Lyra squirmed, which only tightened the grip he had on her.

“Hey.” Lyra said, trying to make her tone as threatening as possible, even though her voice was nasally and scratched. Grayson looked at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead before placing her in bed.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Apparently, I’ll be right back meant I’ll get every pill and remedy there is and force it down your throat. So far, she’d taken 4 pills, drank 2 cups of tea, had a popsicle for her throat, and was now getting her temperature checked by Grayson all while she laid in bed with a cold rag on her head like a sick peasant.

“102°F. Not good.” Grayson tutted, putting the thermometer down and fixing her with a concerned look. That’s all he was doing today: finishing up some documents, fretting over her, and fixing her with concerned puppy-dog stares.

Well, she liked the stares, but the fretting could be taken down a notch.

“Can’t I get up?” Lyra asked. Grayson gave her an unimpressed look.

“You’ve asked me that 4 times in the past hour and each time I told you no. What makes you think now you’ll get a different answer?” he replied. Lyra sighed.

“At least let me walk around the walk in closet. It has a stool if I get tired.” Lyra reasoned. She didn’t have much of a desire to walk around her closet, but laying down and doing nothing was much worse. Grayson gave her a look.

“What do you need that’s in that closet?” he asked her. An innuendo popped into her mind at the same time as an actual answer. Her choice on which of the two to say was obvious.

“If I can’t convince you to let me get up, I think my red thong that I keep in there can.” Lyra retorted simply, giving a half shrug and grinning despite her state. Grayson tried to look unimpressed, but she saw how his cheeks reddened slightly. Win for me, Lyra thought giddily.

Lyra realized then that her only entertainment in this jail cell that was her bed was riling up Grayson. And so she took every opportunity to.

“Grayson, my blankets are bothering me.” Lyra complained.

“Then take them off.” he replied simply from where he was sitting on the floor, talking his gaze away from his papers to look at her. Lyra peeled her blankets off her body, before slyly smiling.

“Grayson, my pants are bothering me.”

Every time she told him sly innuendos, he would act unaffected and continue doing what he was doing, aside from a few telltale signs that he was actually affected, like him clearing his throat, or his cheeks reddening, or, her personal favourite, his pupils dilating. After a few of those, her entertainment (Grayson) was no longer being entertaining. Every suggestive remark was becoming ignored, or he would just switch the topic. Now Lyra was irrevocably bored again.

Picking at her nails as she laid in bed, Lyra sighed. Then she sighed again. Sighing once more, she glanced down at Grayson who was still sitting next to her bed while working on his laptop, and wasn’t saying a word. Lyra huffed. She might as well sleep, if she had nothing else to do.

Turning to her side and closing her eyes, Lyra started to feel herself finally drifting to sleep.

She awoke a few hours later, drowsy, but overall feeling much better compared to earlier. It was now 6 PM, and Lyra doubted that she would be able to sleep tonight with all the napping she’d been doing.

Sitting up, she noticed that although her head was still hot, the aching feeling like somebody had just ran over her brain was gone. She felt less dizzy, too. The symptoms that had stopped her from getting up and generally being mobile earlier were gone. And, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, it was because of Grayson.

Lyra felt a little bit guilty then. She had spent the whole day trying to avoid his help, when without him she would probably be feeling even worse by now.

She looked to her side and realized that Grayson wasn’t there. Neither was his laptop or his papers. He must have switched to his office, Lyra thought. Then she pulled off her covers and got up. She still had small chills, and so she threw on one of Grayson’s Harvard sweaters, before stalking to his office. She used to knock when they first moved in, but Lyra never does it now.

Opening the door, Lyra quietly walked in, and saw Grayson working at his desk. Once he heard the door open, he turned to her, smiling that faint, beautiful smile of his that she’s so familiar with.

“I’m sorry I left the room. I had an online meeting to attend and I didn’t want to wake you up.” he explained. Lyra paused. He was apologizing to her? She was the one who owed him an apology.

Without a word, Lyra walked over to him and sat on his lap. He was surprised, but only slightly. Lyra usually liked to sit on his lap while he did work.

Turning around to make herself comfortable, Lyra rested her head on his shoulder while her legs were halfway tucked on his lap. Grayson smiled softly again, placing a hand on her thigh while the other was on his laptop. Still, his eyes were on her.

“Are you feeling better sweetheart?” he asked her, his voice gentle. Lyra nodded, and the guilt she felt then from his concern was tremendous.

“I’m sorry.” she said. Grayson raised a brow as his expressions grew curious and concerned.

“What for?” he asked her. Lyra bit her lip.

“For trying to avoid your help all day. I was acting stubbornly but I was too sick and stupid to realize.” Lyra admitted, looking away. Grayson froze, before taking her head in his hands.

“Don’t say that. Don’t say anything like that. You weren’t at all stupid, Lyra.” he told her, his eyes deep with emotion and oh so beautiful as he gazed into hers. “I know you can be stubborn. And every stubborn act of yours makes me love you more and more.” Lyra snorted, pulling her gaze away.

“Okay, I know you love me, but you don’t have to lie.” she said, humour tinging her expressions. Grayson’s, on the other hand, were dead serious.

“I’m not lying, Lyra. I love how stubborn you are because I love the fact that you are so set on your goals, and on your choices. You’re strong and determined, Lyra, and that comes with your stubbornness today.” he told her, resting his forehead on yours. “I wish I had even half as much of your perseverance. I always will.” Lyra couldn’t stop her smile from coming. He always saw her better than she saw himself.

“Grayson…” Was all Lyra said and all she could say before pressing a soft, gentle kiss onto his lips. Then she sprung back, groaning.

“Shit, sorry Grayson, I forgot I was sick-“ Lyra said, before she was cut off by Grayson pressing his lips to hers and giving her a deep and passionate kiss. Lyra returned it, and the two continued the kiss, pressing and pulling before finally separating. Grayson smiled at her.

“I would get sick a million times over if it meant being able to kiss you.” He told her softly. Lyra smiled sheepishly.

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you. This sickness was terrible enough as it is. Having it a million times more would be hell.” Lyra said, sighing. Grayson’s smile widened slightly, and he moved her off his lap to one of his thighs, both his hands firmly gripping her waist. Lyra’s cheeks reddened slightly.

“Ah, so now you admit you were sick?” Grayson teased, cockiness clear in his voice. Lyra rolled her eyes, and was about to respond when a notification suddenly went off on Grayson’s laptop. Lyra turned her head and saw an email pop up. He made an irritated noise in the base of his throat, but Lyra only laughed.

“Okay, I guess I should be letting you work now after you took care of me the whole day.” Lyra said. She was just getting up when Grayson pulled her back down on his thigh, his grip on her waist still firm.

“I thought you said there was another way of convincing me to let you get up?” Grayson reminded her. “A way that involved… something from our closet?”

His voice was deep, and, at the moment, a bit hoarse. Grayson also had a teasing look on his face with eyes that were currently thunder cloud dark. Lyra didn’t even know why, as her mind drew a blank.

Then, shock and a burning feeling spread across her features.

And Grayson’s eyes, that were staring much more now, darkened further.

————————————————————————

GRAYSON YA LITTLE FREAK

hope u guys enjoyed this!! it was fun to write ESP lyras innuendos hehe those were funny

[dailyrothko]

How do you talk to people who say they dont like Rothko or modern art?

Heh. I feel like I could write a book on this, simply through, as you might imagine, first hand experience. There are many ways to dismantle arguments about art and defuse them, but probably best to keep it simple.

Very basically, if someone is asking because they don't understand art or feel intimidated by it, by all means do you best to allay their fears and try to remind them that it's the same self-expression that everyone engages in. Not everyone likes the same things but the reasons they might like Rothko are the same reasons people like Matisse or Picnic at Hanging Rock or Godspeed You! Black Emperor.

It's just someone expressing themselves, people painted on cave walls for just these reasons.

On the other hand...

If they are pressing you to argue so they can say it's money laundering or emperor's new clothes or whatever unbelievably narcissistic and petty task their ego has driven them to partake in, I would just ask them why you should possibly care what they like. If they persist, ask them what good art is and why. They never ever know.

Sometimes I am meaner to these people but I don't recommend it, I'm just easily annoyed.

[writingviv04]

Hey! If you’re taking requests do you think you could write something of Spencer or Aaron comforting reader after they self harm (walk in on it may, whatever you’re comfortable with) love your work, it brings me so much comfort 💗 KEEP IT UP 😽

Oh my gosh this request is from FOREVER ago! But I am such a grandma I just learned where the inbox is located on Tumblr-

I am so sorry my lovely and I hope you enjoy this ‘better late than never’ fic!

angel kisses 🤍

⚠️this fic contains TRIGGERING CONTENT. It mentions self harm, self harm scars, and recent cutting. I obviously handled it as delicately as possible but please take care of yourself! If this could be triggering, I have lots of other fics you can try!⚠️

Spencer Reid x reader

“Hey baby.” Spencer says, wrapping you in a tight hug. The kind of hug that plucks the worries out of your mind and causes you to melt into him. That’s what these hugs are supposed to do, at least. However, the stinging pain on your arms kept the hug from being as comforting as usual. Spencer pulled back and you saw the crease between his brow.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes looking over you, assessing.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be!” You say in the most cheery voice you can muster. The blessing and a curse of having a genius profiler as a boyfriend- they can always read you, even when you wish they couldn’t. You soldier on as though I haven’t been caught in a lie. “What sounds good for dinner?” you ask, as you turn on your heel to head towards the kitchen, “I can make tortellini bake, um and I have the ingredients for buffalo chicken!” you say, as chopper as possible while you search your cabinets.

“Tortellini sounds great.” Spencer says, watching you in that assessing way of his. He plops himself on your barstool, resting his elbows on the island. Conversation ebbs and flows as you pull out your ingredients and for a moment, you believe you’re safe.

- - - - - -

“Hey Spence, can you turn the thermostat down?” You ask, face pink from the heat. You always got warm when cooking, especially when you had to stand over multiple hot pans.

“Of course, love” Spencer replies, unfurling his long limbs from the stool and walking into the hallway with the thermostat. You know the temperature will eventually be more comfortable but for immediate remediation you slip off the large sweater that had been cloaking you. As soon as you pull it off, you realize your error and feel your body seize up. You quickly try to scramble back into your sweater but, it’s too late. You’ve been caught.

“Love?” Spencer says, and for a moment you think you can play it off, act like it’s nothing. You turn and see his face, the concern etched there, and know that lying would be futile. You drop your sweater to the floor and shame wells within you and begins pouring out in the form of tears. You try to hold it in, try to keep it together and act like it’s nothing but once you feel the first, hot tear roll your face and onto your neck, the dam breaks.

“Oh, baby.” Spencer says, rushing to you and catching you just as a vicious sob wracks your body, causing you to lose balance. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He gently coaxes you as he ushers you to sit in his lap on the floor. You cry ugly tears and only manage a strangled “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Every few ragged breathes.

“No, none of that. You don’t apologize for this. I’m sorry that you felt like this was your only way out. 17% of people self harm. Don’t make yourself a monster in your head my love.” Spencer talks in a low, smooth tone, as he runs slow circles on my back, trying to be mindful of not bumping any cuts on my arms.

Eventually the sobs subside and it’s reduced to just watery eyes and sniffling. Spencer slowly pulls you out of his shoulder and looks you in the eyes. “I’m going to keep you accountable now. After seeing it I am

taking it upon myself to help you as best as I can. Is it, just these, or are there more?” Spencer says as his fingers graze down my arms, avoiding any newer cuts and slowly taking in the mosaic of old and new scars.

“There- there are a few more” You choke out, your voice breaking in shame.

“Can I see?” Spencer asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t speak, instead you wordlessly lead him to the living room and gesture for him to sit on the couch. You take a breath to steady yourself before you tug down your shorts. This isn’t the first time someone has seen you naked, but this vulnerability feels like being laid bare, with every nerve exposed. You stand, in a bra and underwear, not knowing what to say. You watch Spencer’s eyes rake over you, assessing, learning.

That’s when he shocks me. He doesn’t turn away in horror or look at me with pity. Instead, he gets off the couch and down onto his knees before me. Before you can ask what he is doing or interject he places a kiss, feather light, a barely there kiss, to the top of your thigh on one of your oldest scars. You are shocked by the gesture and even more so when he wraps his hands around the back of my thighs, holding me still, before placing another kiss on another scar.

You feel more tears well up in my eyes as he continues his ministrations. Gently, reverently kissing every scar on your thighs before slowly moving up, inspecting any inch of skin. When he is satisfied, he tugs a wrist to his mouth and begins again. We stay like that. Not a scar went untouched by his lips and when he places his final kiss he lays his head against my stomach and whispers, “Beautiful.”

Tears are freely rolling down my face but these aren’t tears of fear or anger. These are tears of joy. He sees me, truly sees me. He isn’t revolted by the sight of me, even though it isn’t the pretty mask I show off. This is me, fractured and broken but he saw the fissures and called it art. He sees me.

You fall to your knees and hug him, clutching him as tight as ever. Words exceed you, you have nothing to say to express the love that is pouring out of you in droves so you settle for actions. You hold him as close as you can and sit in reverent silence. You don’t think you could ever leave this place, this peace. That is until you hear the loud wail of the smoke alarm and gasp “Spencer, the dinner!” You yell as you run into the kitchen, realizing tonight, may need to be a take out night.

But instead of crying, you quickly throw out the charred food and find yourself…laughing. It would be okay, and before you can even say a word to Spencer you hear him on the phone in the other room, phoning in an order for takeout. You grin wildly to yourself despite the circumstances. You see the discarded sweatshirt on the floor and you leave it there. You won’t cover up anymore, especially not if it means receiving angel kisses.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Heyyy, this is my first time ever requesting or even sending this, so please bear with me, I'm trying my hardest to make it understandable and not seem rude T^T. I wanted to know if you were up to writing a continuation of the one-shot/ask "Stangers, T'a'yta (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader". You could possibly write about their growing relationship or maybe a scenario where the differences in their culture collide and or something....honestly it's up to you T^T. Reading it made me so flustered yet also happy, iykwm. I've also been trying my best not to spam you with likes, since I've been reading almost all of your Yautja stories, and now took the courage to send you a request about, yk. Sincerely, K.

Strangers Part 3

Pairings: T'a'yta (male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 4640

Summary: T'a'yta invites you to hunt with him. Not to disappoint him, you go with him to hopefully impress him. But you aren't anywhere close to being fit enough for this. You try... and fail. T'a'yta tries to push you without realizing it. It doesn't go far.

Author Note: I totally forgot I had these stored away! Whoops!

Part 1 | Part 2

Masterlist

Ao3

Dating a Yautja is something you never expected to ever be an option in your life. Let alone finding one so kind and caring such as himself. T’a’yta is the kindest, sweetest male Yautja you’ve ever come across. Most of the ones you’ve met are either stoic or just don’t want to talk or look at you. Which you’re fine with. Honestly, any Yautja scares you, besides Ze’se and T’a’yta. That’s because you know them and they could protect you. But being around a random one alone, you keep your distance. Rules or not, they can kill you easily.

Not to say this isn’t a slow process. The two of you were from different species, different cultures. It’s all a learning process. Thankfully T’a’yta was more than adapting to the situation, learning the ways of how humans dated and how to ‘woo’ one per se. Bless his sweet heart. He does try. You do as well. Learning about how Yautjas court each other. It included lost of bones and skulls. You weren’t expecting all of his… trophies he had in his ship. He had offered to you to pick one. Nervously, you had chosen a simple looking one. Even it held a story of harrowing dangers.

That did interest you on their hunts. The dangers they willingly face just for a skull to be added to their collection. As a human, that was incredibly impressive. The stories he’s told you are nothing short of impressive. All of his near death experiences, to the scars he’s adorned with. There was a reason he was an elder. He’s clearly earned that title outright.

A message pinged on your phone. The spatula was set down on the counter. You flipped your phone over and smiled at the text message. T’a’yta greets you with a ‘good morning’ text. Then… asked if you had plans for the next week. The entire week. Confused, you told him you were. That got your brain immediately start to roll of ideas that could possibly explain what he wanting. You picked up the spatula and continued to stir your pasta.

The next message froze you in your spot. T’a’yta wanted to go on a hunt with you. He wanted to take you off planet to hunt with him. That both scared and excited you at the same time. Fear was a natural reaction in the face of the unknown. The fact that T’a’yta wanted to take you off planet in the first place. You stared down at the screen, spatula hovering over the pot of softly boiling water.

It was an opportunity. An amazing one. You’ve never been off planet before, never really having the want to. It was scary to go somewhere you haven’t been before. But this… with T’a’yta. He’d keep you safe while out there. You trusted him that much. You sent a message back and told you would love to go with him. Then, you finished up with your dinner.

Next week came. At a space port in your city, you met T’a’yta at his ship. The second time you’ve been on it, it was still amazing to look at and exploring. T’a’yta met you at the ramp wearing a simple loin clothe and some pieces of bones decorating his tresses. You smiled up at him with a small nod.

“Hey, Tay!” Said Yautja fluttered his mandibles with a short purr. You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his mid section. For a moment, T’a’yta froze in his spot before returning the gesture with a warm hug. You wanted to sink against him and enjoy his warmth. Instead, you grudgingly peeled away. “Thank you for giving me an opportunity to hunt with you. This is such a cool idea for a date.”

He dipped his head with a grunt. “I too. I am glad you’ve accepted this. I have had this planned for sometime. It lined up perfectly to have you join me.” The brown Yautja turned and guided you up the ramp. You followed after him with a bag of necessary supplies.

Your eyes scanned over the interior of his space ship. You were more than excited to be able to go out into space in this thing. With T’a’yta at your side to teach you, you were going to learn so much under his guidance and care. “So, where is it you’re taking me?” Hopefully, it wasn’t either a freezing cold or sweltering hot planet. None of which you could easily survive on.

“It’s called Ket,” he answers and shows you to his room. Where you are able to store all of your staff. “It’s similar to earth for atmosphere. A biomask will still be needed though. There is oxygen but not lots of it.” You store your bag next to the nightstand. “The part of Ket we will go has a jungle-like biome, but the trees are large. Think of the redwood trees.” Your eyes sparkled at the notion of getting to see such massive trees.

“Really? That sounds amazing!” you cheered and spun around to free him. “Is there something we are specifically hunting?” Of course, it had to be something dangerous if he wants it. T’a’yta planned this before even dating you. Knowing this could be something that could kill you, did frighten you some. You brushed off the fear the best you could before beaming up at T’a’yta.

“Lighets. Small but agile creatures. A venomous bite that can brin down on Yautja in under a minute.” You couldn’t help the gasp that left you. “Yes, dangerous but I will not let you get hurt. Wait until you taste their flesh. It’s a hot thing on the market right now. Not many willingly go hunt them.” As a human, it doesn’t seem reasonable to go hunt such a dangerous creatures if they could easily harm or kill you. It would be safer to just stay away. Yet, here you are with T’a’yta, about to join in on the fun.

“Do you have a picture of one?” you asked. T’a’yta nodded his head, tresses sway with the movement.

“I have something better.” The brown Yautja jerked his head towards the door. You bounded after him with a pep in your step. He led you out of the bedroom, down a ladder, and into his trophy room. You marveled at the amount of skulls once more. He’s alive for six human lives at least, this probably isn’t all of it either. Or has he gotten rid of some?

T’a’yta picks a skull off of the wall then turns towards you. It was smaller than you were expecting. It rivaled between a coyote and house cat-size. Something this small can bring down a five hundred pound beast with one bite? You shuddered at the thought of it getting to you or T’a’yta. It scared you.

“That could bring you down?” you questioned with a small voice. His bright blue eyes narrowed a fraction, almost missed.  You timidly stepped up to him and ran a finger over the pearly white skull, feeling the smooth texture.

A grunt left him with a simple nod of his head. “Yes, but I know how they attack. Once you learn that, it makes hunting them easy.” That made sense.

“Okay but… I’ll let you know that I don’t have any gear. No armor or weapons,” you told him and titled your head back to look at him. “I didn’t know what to get.” T’a’yta se the skull back and shook his head.

“No need.” Your brows furrowed, eyes following him walking up to a wall. T’a’yta pressed a hidden button. A secret door opened up on the wall. It revealed a compartment with a set of armor that would fit armor. “Once you accepted, I contacted a close hunt brother and had this designed for you. It is yours to keep.”

Your eyes widened. A gasp escaped you. “What? No. You can’t be serious! I-I can’t. It’s too much,” you sputtered and took a couple of steps back in shock. Armor?! He got you armor for this hunt. That was too much for you to accept without paying him back. “Tay, how-“ he cuts you off by taking one large step forward and grabbing your chin.

“No, it’s not too much. I gift it to you.” He tugs you close to him as he bends his back to crowd into your space. “I told you I would keep you safe. This armor will do that.” The skull is set off to the side. T’a’yta uses that newly freed hand to curl around the back of your neck and tugs you even closer. His forehead presses to yours.

If you are to go on this hunt with him, it would be stupid not to take the armor. Not that you think he would let you go out there without anything to protect yourself with. “Fine, but I will find a w-“ The hand pinching your jaw slid up just enough to pinch your lips together. You huffed and glared at him.

“No.” The nearing elder made his statement clear. A pout took over your features. He finally lets go of you to take your hand and led you over to the armor.

A metal mask meant to cover your lower part of your face sat on the top of everything. The armor had beautiful designs etched into it. A mix of white and sky blue danced across the metal. You were astonished by the gift, still not believing he was giving this to you.

Finally, you turned towards T’a’yta with tears starting to well in your eyes. “Thank you.” Then, you wrapped your arms around him and held him close. “Thank you so much. I can’t wait to go hunting with you.” A planet with large trees that would tower over you like the redwoods in California. Jungle might be a downfall though. The humidity and heat. Your face scrunched up at the thought.

From there, T’a’yta guided his ship off the planet and heading towards Ket. You were perched in his lap, only one seat in the cockpit. One of his muscular arms is wrapped around your torso to keep you locked in place. You watched as the planet grew smaller and smaller until he turned the ship and shot off through space.

Nearly a day later, the ship rocked slightly and touched down on Ket. You were immediately rushing towards the cockpit and skidded to stop behind T’a’yta’s pilot’s chair. There through the window was the untamed jungle that held creatures that could easily kill you. It wasn’t terribly too off from the jungles back on earth besides the massive trees and large foliage. It made you feel like this place was meant for giants. And you had just stepped into their territory.

“Holy shit. You weren’t kidding about the trees!” you gasped, eyes wide with excitement. T’a’yta chuckled then swiveled in his seat and stood up. He walked out of the cockpit. You followed after him with a pep in my step, nearly skipping. “How long do you think it’ll be for us to find the lightets?”

T’a’yta goes into the trophy room where the armor and weapons are stored. “That’s the fun part about hunting. We will have to find tracks then follow those. Hopefully they’ll be fresh as well.” Expertly, he grabbed his own gear first and adorns himself quickly with it. His hands moving from muscle memory. Then, the large male turned towards you.

“The armor may feel weird at first but it should be comfortable.” T’a’yta went through the same motions with you, a bit more slow this time. He took his time to ensure each piece was comfortable and secured on your body. He ensures you are safe before stepping back to admire the work.

The one thing that may take time to get used to is the mask. Nothing was wrong with it. But you’ve never had to wear something like this for some time. It’s a little heavier than you expected but it had something to filter out everything besides oxygen. You shook your head side to side and found it not restricting as much as you thought. Then, you gazed up at T’a’yta.

“Well? How do I look?”

Those bright blue eyes scanned over every inch of your exposed skin. His hands cupped your jaw. “Stunning.” Your cheeks flushed with heat. You were thankful to have the mask on to hide most of the blush. A small giggle sounded from the back of your throat. From nervousness and embarrassment.

“Oh, you don’t have to flatter me. You already do plenty for me.” Once more, T’a’yta leans down and presses his forehead to yours. The touch soft and gentle. Fuck, he’s so sweet to me.

A low purr erupts from his throat. He lets his hands wander down the sides of your body to grab your hips and pulled you close. “I need you to stick close though. Do not stray.” He made a note of that since you do like to wander off. And that’s just in the streets of your city where it’s not terribly dangerous as here.

You nodded your head. “I understand, Tay. I won’t let you leave my sight, okay?” Neither of you wanted you to get hurt so the best thing to do was stick close to each other. Even if that means he has to carry you at times.

Soon enough, the two of you were embarking out into the wilderness of Ket. Though the air was filtered via the mask, you were able to catch the sweat scents of the jungle. Or others that made you want to turn your nose up. Apparently, it was all because of the plants nearby.

From fallen down trees to creeks, T’a’yta helped you along. Either by carrying you or encouraging you to make your way across. At times, you had gotten scared from a giant insect that appeared out of nowhere. It’s wings and body helped it camouflage into the surrounding foliage. An undignified squeak left your lips as the moth-like creature fluttered into the air.

Immediately, T’a’yta spun around, hands at the ready. His body relaxed as he chuckled, seeing what scared you. “Little one, it’s just a zebeler. They are harmless.” You placed a hand on your racing heart and watched the insect flutter away.

“Sorry, it just scared me. It came out of nowhere!” you walked up to him and took a deep breath to help calm yourself.

He grunted and patted the top of your head before continuing. What else do these lands hold? Besides zebeler and lightets. One was just a simple insect while the other could take down a full grown Yautja. There was such a difference between the creatures.

Further along, the two of you stopped along a creek. The water cool and refreshing in the sweltering heat and humidity that made you sweat uncomfortably. Your hands dipped into the water. Water was scooped up and poured over your head. The cool temperature helped sooth the heat that nearly boiled you alive.

Next to you, T’a’yta scooped up some of his own and poured it into his mouth. Luckily for him, his immune system could fight off any bacteria in the water. While, your own couldn’t. A waterskin and handheld filter was necessary for you to travel with him.

Then, he paused, head slowly turning to his right. Your eyes immediately followed his towards a set of small paw tracks in the mushy mud. They, at least, looked fresh. You think? T’a’yta looks back at you to make sure you were following his gaze. You nodded.

“Those had been made in the last three hours,” he whispers and stand back up. You followed suit and stalked over to the tracks. T’a’yta stops at your side and knelt back down to show you something. “See how far the toes are spread with the slight indents of claws. That’s what a lightet’s track looks like.” The size was no bigger than a Pitbull paw size. You made sure to imprint that memory forever.

The tracks go back up the bank and into the foliage. You followed after them until the thick plants blocked your route. T’a’yta came up behind you and offered you a hand. Confused, you place your hand in the palm of his only to bite off a yelp. He hoists you onto his back with just a fraction of his weight.

Once he makes sure you are situated securely, he plants his feet, lowers his weight, then launches high into the air. A scream desperately crawled at your throat. Somehow, you are able to fight it back. Instead, you buried your face into his neck and held onto him as tight as possible, maybe even choking him out in the process.

His sharp talons dig into the bark. Deep grooves carved a few inches down in the tree until he found his perch. With a grunt, T’a’yta began to climb even higher, to the lowest branch on the tree to perch for a moment. His head turns towards you. You can’t see his eyes due to the biomask that covers his entire face, but you know he’s looking at you.

“Ready?” he asked with a teasing tone in his voice. Your brows furrowed together.

“Ready for w-ah!” T’a’yta sprints down the branch until the very last second and launches himself off of it with incredible speed. The only thing you could do in the moment was hold on for dear life. A pathetic cry leaves your lips. Your nails dug into his scaly flesh, not even doing enough to mark him.

This went on for some time. For the exact time, you don’t know. All you felt was the wind rushing through your hair and the sudden rise and falls of gravity. A feeling that made you want to puke all over T’a’yta. Your stomach twisting inside of you as you held back the vomit that wanted so badly to come out.

After what felt like ten tortuous years, T’a’yta came to halt and helped you slide off of his back. Your legs were unsteady and weak, forcing him to keep you in his arms. You trembled against him, trying your best not to puke all over his feet. T’a’yta’s hands go to your chin and tilted your face up.

“What is wrong?” he asked, concerned.

It took a few moments to finally push down the lump in your throat. “Please… don’t do that again. Tha-“ you gagged and turned away from him, holding it back. “That was horrible.” His shoulders dropped.

“Did I do something wrong? Had I gone too fast? I apologize, I thought you would like being up high. You can see better up here.” In a sense, he was right. The height gave you an added bonus on the prettiest of the jungle. Yet, his movements had been way too hard on you.

“The speed.” You took a pause to catch your breath. You were bent over, hands on your knees. “You… next time, we’re walking. Okay?” It was a bit harsher than you meant but you hated puking. Plus, you were still up here with only him to catch you. That thought popping in your head made you freeze to the spot. Your gaze slid over to the edge and saw you were so far above the ground that the death would nearly be instant.

A yelp left you as you scuttle backwards into T’a’yta’s hold and spun around to face him. You clutched to him like a life line. His arms instinctively encircled you and brought you flush with his chest. “P-please get me down from here,” you begged him, eyes clenched shut.

His arms tensed for a moment before he hoisted you up into his arms. With one arm wrapped around your torso and your legs snagging his waist, T’a’yta begin the climb down. Not for a second do you dare look down or even around. The height and lack of anything besides T’a’yta to catch frightened you down to the bone.

Once the two of you were back on solid ground, you let go him hesitatingly and took a deep breath. It helped settle your quaking nerves. At your side, T’a’yta timidly reached out.

“Are you okay to continue? If you wish to return to the ship, I won’t blame you,” he tells you and peels his biomask off of his face. Concern swirled in his baby blue eyes. His mandibles twitched. You sighed again and walked over to him. Your hands cupped his jaw. One of your thumbs rubbing along the wrinkly skin.

“I’m fine. I want to keep going. I just… don’t want to do that again please. Unless it’s necessary, okay?” you explained to him in a soft voice. The rapid beat of your heart was beginning to slow down. His presence helped with that.

T’a’yta watched you close. His eyes darting between your two until he found what he was looking for. The tension in his shoulders was released. He nodded his large head. “Alright.” He turned and nuzzled into your touch, eyes hooding over for a moment before he pulled away. The biomask was reconnected and slipped back over his features.

With that settled, the two of you set off again after the tracks on foot this time around. The foliage around was unforgiving as it snagged on your fragile, exposed flesh. You continued to push onward until T’a’yta stopped in his tracks and lowered himself down. You did the same thing, trying to quiet and slow your breathing.

Moments passed until you saw movement through the leaves. There popped out a lightet. Your eyes widened at the sight. It was an orange with stripes of cobalt blue. Though beautiful, you knew it was deadly. Even a lone one.

Another pops out. Soon enough, a group of five gathered in that area. It was a group of all males. Meaning T’a’yta had fair game on which one to kill. You on the other hand would stay back watch from a safe distance. The last thing T’a’yta wanted was you to get hurt or even killed by one of them. It was for your safety and well being in his mind.

Not that you were extremely disappointed. Watching the hunt and just being with T’a’yta was what this was really all about.

For a moment, T’a’yta glanced back at you to make sure you knew to stay. You gave him the slightest of nods. He refocuses on the lightets on hand. His body coils up tightly, preparing for the hunt ahead.

Then, he darted forward at the right moment. His hands snatched up one of the creature’s by the neck. The other free limb forces the creature’s head to twist until a small snap was heard. You could help the small hiss and flinch at the sound. The lightet goes limp in his hold. Dead.

Oh.

The other animals began to go after him with angry yipes and howls. You watched with bated breath, scared out of your mind for T’a’yta. These things could take him down in one bite. And you would be useless to help him. Even the small knife at your waist couldn’t do much against the four of them.

T’a’yta easily dodged each attack with either defensive move or an offensive swing. The sharp talons that ended on each other his fingers raked across expertly on one lightet that had grown too close. Blue blood sprayed across the green foliage and stained the animal’s fur. It gave a painful cry and slunk away, hissing at T’a’yta with rage.

But, he didn’t stop.

Even as the numbers dwindled to three, they continued to fight on.

A gasp left your masked lips. Your hands flew to the metal mask covering your mouth. One had gotten so close to biting T’a’yta. Long claw marks decorated his back now, leaving a scar he would later flaunt about. He growled and whipped around. His massive hand gripped the lithe creature’s neck and snapped it with ease. Though it had almost gotten to him, you felt sorrow for the lightet’s death. Only slightly.

Two left. Both lightets glanced at each other before bounding off into the foliage. T’a’yta stood there, hands flexed at his sides for at least another minute or so before relaxing. His posture straights up as he glances over to you in the bushes. He motions for you to come out then goes over to the closest lightet he killed.

Expertly, a knife is pulled out of his belt and wields it. You are rooted in the spot.

“Little one, come here. I want to show you how to clean a kill,” he calls over to you without looking towards you. He seems to be proud of his kills as he admires the lightet motionless on the ground.

Yet, when you don’t move towards him, he finally turns his head towards you. A lump grows in your throat. Your name is called by T’a’yta. “Don’t fret, it can’t harm you. It’s dead.” He makes a motion of picking up its head and showing its lifeless eyes towards you.

This was a mistake.

That set you off. You stumbled backwards. The heel of your foot catching on a root. A yelp passed your lips as you fell backwards. T’a’yta says your name in haste and rushes after you. His large body kneels down at your side and helps you sit up. He crowds into your face until you pushed him away.

You scrambled back a little bit to put some space between the two of you. T’a’yta waits there while watching you carefully.

When you finally take a moment to calm down and realize your terrible reaction, you lowered your head and pushed up your shoulders. “Oh god, I-I’m sorry. I thought… I thought I could handle all of this. But, I don’t know.” A few seconds past until you realize what you said sounded like you wanted to break up. You popped up on your knees.

“Wait! Not like that.” The sorrowful posture he once held changed. “I mean, the hunting. I’m fine with the skulls but seeing it happen.” Your whole body shuttered. The thought was cool but seeing it in real life was different. “I’m sorry.”

A chuff came from T’a’yta. The giant brown Yautja knelt closer to you. “No need to apologize. You have done nothing wrong. This is a learn experience for all of us.” That was true. No road was smooth. There will always be a bump or two. He raised a hand slowly, waiting for you to make the choice to either stay or pull away. He cups your cheek.

“Now I feel bad. You got me this amazing armor and I probably won’t use because I can’t handle hunting.” Tears pooled in your eyes. T’a’yta scooted closer and gripped bother of your cheeks. He careful wipes away the tears falling down.

His head shakes side to side, making his tresses sway with the movement. “Do not. If you would like, I can help train you with fighting skills. Or you can just wear it for fun. You don’t have to wear just for hunting.” You brightened up at his offers.

“That’s true!” A small smile cracked across your features behind the mask. But he saw the way your eyes crinkled.

“Alright, are you okay to go back?” he asked you once you’ve calmed down enough. You nodded your head. T’a’yta helps you off of the ground then goes to gather the lightets. He does his best to shield them from you before guiding you back through the jungle. All the way back home.

[elissastillstands]

Mods (my sense of dignity) are asleep, time to post "Minthara/Tav as vintage romance covers" edits.

I spent my teenage years pilfering books from my older cousin's huge collection of romance paperbacks, so this is a hit of nostalgic, self-indulgent silliness (nothing but the best for MY romance hero, the centuries-old paladin of vengeance). Thank you to @aristenfromwarsaw for the beautiful screenshots I used in these!

To match the edit, there are some fun and fluffy headcanons about Minthara and my Tav below the cut.

Tav's name is Hasdrubal. She and Minthara do not have a portmanteau, but these are their relationship monikers in my head:

H&M: for when I think I'm being funny

Vengeance and Devotion: because Hasdrubal is a paladin of devotion

Nemesis ad portas ("Vengeance at the gates"): Nemesis is the embodiment of vengeance in Graeco-Roman mythology, and Hannibal ad portas ("Hannibal at the gates") is a phrase used in Roman writing to signify imminent danger. For context, Hasdrubal is, historically speaking, the brother of that same Hannibal, the Carthaginian general who fought against Rome in the Second Punic War (a.k.a. the guy who crossed the Alps with elephants).

They are both exactly 5'2". If there's any height difference between them, they had to go to the effort of putting it there. Someone has to be standing on a crate.

They aren't overly affectionate in public, but they do things like helping each other buckle on their armor, using each other's weaponry, and sharing food at taverns. Hasdrubal in particular eats anything that Minthara puts in front of her, and Minthara lets her order her drinks. Everyone else soon realizes this is sappier than any display of PDA.

They love a sparring match. They love a brawl. They love to recreationally duke it out and pull in the other melee fighters in the party, either to referee or to make it a full bracket. They are single-handedly keeping the potions stores in Baldur's Gate afloat.

Hasdrubal is as much of an idealist as it is physically possible for her to be, and Minthara is deeply pragmatic and focused on outcomes rather than means. There are some things about which they will argue until the heat death of the universe. And alongside this, they share fundamental beliefs in duty, responsibility, and the importance of community—which lets them build a foundation of mutual respect, even when they deeply disagree.

For the timeline that is my tactician run, they both multiclassed into other charisma casting classes. Minthara tapped into sorcerous arcana that she could only access after leaving Lolth’s direct control and being freed of the Absolute, and Hasdrubal pacted to a general of Asmodeus as a way of interfacing with her own Infernal heritage. However, they are still first and foremost paladins, and their relationship is deeply and paradigmatically paladin4paladin. In all things, there is reciprocity.

Hasdrubal is in her 30s, a third of the way into her lifespan. I like to headcanon that Minthara is about halfway through her lifespan, which for drow is about 350, equivalent to ~50 for a human or tiefling. A fantasy lifespan difference is always bittersweet, but the bright point for the two of them is gleefully speculating on what it’ll be like in a few decades, when Hasdrubal starts to go gray and look older than Minthara. Once again, in all things, there is reciprocity.

Hasdrubal is trying to learn Undercommon in the most careful and universally respectful way possible, which Minthara has a hard time reconciling with the customs of Menzoberranzan. Minthara is learning Infernal, but she gravitates towards high religious and philosophical texts which Hasdrubal is unfamiliar with (she and her family are second and third generation Baldurians; she has spoken fluency in Infernal but not reading fluency). They spend a lot of time talking about the features of language and what language means to them.

Minthara plays the spider lyre, but most of the songs she knows are hymns to Lolth. She’s too proud of her past life in Menzoberranzan to let them go, but she hates the thought of singing praises to the Spider Queen. Through talking about the hymns and what they mean to her with Hasdrubal, she finds a way to sing them on her own terms.

Hasdrubal gets Minthara to do the fantasy equivalent of a stand-up open mic. Minthara is, against her own better judgement, very, very good at it.

[bleedingichorhearts]

Hello, as far as I understood I can write write a request here. Is it possible for you to write the next part of "Fitful dance" (Emperor of mankind x reader) or something else with yandere! Emps? (Add hot kiss pls)

"Hello! I heed your call, do not worry. I remember. All keep in mind that I have other requests too. Patience is quality and key." - Ichor

Tagged - "@kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.”

“+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @marcela2000.”

TW: Yandere, Bulling Emps' For The Fun of It, Hot Kiss Acquired.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°| {Chapter II}

The Emperor has not yet decided for you to be in his universe. At least, not just yet. He was more interested on... avoiding his duties for a while, and well. He can see the… undesirable consequences he could get from just snatching you up. Even if he really wants to. He's going to be... strategic about how he wants to take you in more ways than one. He didn't become a being of power for being unwise.

If he were to take you back now it would not doubt... frazzle you. You would be out of your element, not that he would be complaining. You would be more "satiable" to his advances, and you wouldn't know of his world that he plans to plant you in. So, that's another plus, but the only reason he hasn't taken you back yet is because of his own creations. His sons: Some would hate you, not that he would really care either, but others would... grow on you. He knows it, and it's not a thought he can particularly think through.

"So, uhh, how did you find my address?" Your question brings him back to this reality. His eyes not even blinking as he turns to look at you. A small, charming smile appearing on his face.

"Who would I be if I told you?" He answers you, and you're not amused by it. That sounded incredibly cryptic, potentially dangerous in all ways. For one: He could be some mafia boss. Two? A hitman playing as a charming prince. Three? A playboy trying to get on your nerves and your pants.

"Alright then..." You say, gathering your thoughts the best you can without freaking out of how in the hells he even found you. Your brain trying to make sense that he would be that of option 1 or 2 in a more likely way. "Let me rephrase: Who are you?"

"Hmm, smart one, are you?" He smiles a bit too brightly again, and you have an itch to tell him to stop smiling. "Many called me Anathema."

"Anathema?" You repeat his words, rising your brow. Disbelief written on your face. "That sound like a girls' name. At most, a sort of medical condition."

"Amusing, isn't it?" He laughs; it sounds forced. His long ass legs shifting their weight while he stands in the middle of your living room and you on your couch. "For your inquiry, it means monstrosity or a curse."

"Why would your parent name you that?" You let your mind speak for you, not at all regretful of them. This dude did just walk up to your house and won't tell you how he got your address. You deserve some recompense for that.

"Bold too." He more like comments, his tone going neutral, almost boring-like. His eyes looking you over as if he was debating something. Not answering your question.

"Well, you are not sunshine and rainbows yourself, clearly." You muse at the man, shifting yourself on your couch to sit up straighter. "You won't tell me how you got my address. Thats a red flag you know."

"Red flag?" He tilts his head a centimeter to his right, giving you a risen brow. "What do you speak off?"

"Seriously?" You match his expression, looking him over yourself as if he asked you a dumb ass question, and he practically did. "You all dressed up like you own thousands of corporates, dancing at parties, pulling random people towards you, and stalking me to my address is not alarming to you? Have you lost your logic? Your Common sense?"

He pauses to think on your words that would have gotten you killed for even questioning him and insulting him in all one go. His eyes seemingly going through you as he thinks upon your words. This "red flag" explanation you give is something that is... unsafe; dangerous, and well if he is thinking logical... he was one such in a way.

"You speak ill of me." He states, narrowing his amber eyes at you that seem to shift to a golden color for a split second. The smallness of such a reveal causing the hairs on your neck to rise.

"Yeah, no shit sherlock." Yet, you continue to use the foul words against him. Your world able to speak more freely than his world... Something that he misses but also hates at the same time. That freedom of speech, but also the restriction of it.

"You always talk to new bas- people like this?" He questions you, tilting his head to his left this time. His hands stuffed in the front pockets of his suit pants. "I do not recall you dismissing my dance so easily."

"To people that somehow have my address, yes." You nod, standing up from the couch and brushing yourself off. "And for your inquiry, that was not a dance nor an invitation."

"Really?" He challenges you, looking down at you even when you stand up. His hair waving as if a small draft was inside of your own home. "You were rather quite gentle in your... teachings."

"So, you did notice that I was silently teaching you something." You step forward into his space, looking up at him. His hands in his pockets itching to come out and grasp at you but holds himself still, for a moment. "Yet you cannot notice how coming to my home without an explanation is something you can't learn? Man, what did your parents teach you? Nothing?"

"My, you certainly have a tongue on you..." He comments, the area around you shifting to something darker, intimidating. A random breeze of chill going down your spine.

"I believe I have the right to be so." You huff, folding your arms over your chest, never faulting with the man. "You won't tell me jack shit-!"

One of his gloved hands fly out from his pocket and swipe forward, grasping a bit tightly at your neck and pulling you in close. The simple, hidden touch sending a shiver down his own spine while he kisses you with sudden roughness that it surprises you. Your hands only able to come up and settle on his chest to stabilize yourself. His form taller than yours as he makes himself to be that way.

You can feel how his lips press against yours. His tongue coming to pry them apart and slide through your teeth to taste your own tongue that doesn't recuperate back. A pleased hum escaping his as he tilts his head a bit more to shove his tongue anywhere inside of your mouth as he pleases, taking advantage of your surprise. His eyes a bit more of a glowing, golden color while he keeps you still within his grasp, making you stay in place just in case before he pulls away with that bright ass grin again, his tongue licking up the combined saliva as if it was a noodle. His hand on your neck moving to cradle your cheek with his thumb under your earlobe.

"Have anything else foul to say?" He purrs slightly, thumbing at you. His tongue licking his teeth inside of his mouth before his lips. His amber eyes watching you with amusement at how dumbfounded you look.

"Next time, I'm shoving a pencil down your throat." You threaten him with a growl, shoving him away, or more like pushing yourself off him as he stays in his place. His hands moving to behind his back.

"Oh? So, there is a next time?" He rumbles sweetly, keeping up that annoying ass grin. A few of your nerves breaking at his cockiness.

[zeel-zzz]

No thoughts just evan and barty making out in the back of a classroom

i like how you think.

Nothing But Trouble

[anon request: Rosekiller makeout]

[POV BARTY | ROSEKILLER | WC: 968 ]

we always characterize Barty as the troublemaker and Evan as his tamer. and it's all fun and games until Evan wants to cause some trouble.

"You don't wanna lose, do you?"

See, Barty has a bad habit of not being able to follow directions. It doesn’t matter who they're being given by, Barty doesn’t listen. 

It's what he's best known for.

“Barty Crouch, oh, you mean his no good troublemaker of a son. Yeah, what about him? He got suspended again? I'm not surprised, that makes it, what, his fifth time this year?”

So he's not sure what the professor was thinking when he placed him in the back of the class sitting next to Evan Rosier of all people.

See, people don't think Evan Rosier is capable of breaking the rules. He is the definition of the proper pureblood. Barty's sure that the only person who can compete for that title was Regulus Black, but that's not the problem. The problem here was that Evan Rosier was worse than Barty in every sense of the word.

Barty at least has the courtesy to not distract others from their studies, Evan Rosier, on the other hand, couldn't care less.

“Do you think the professor can even see us back here?"

Barty ignored him.

“I have the feeling that he barely hears us.”

“Shut it Rosier.”

Evan turned around and smiled at him. Barty hated when he smiled at him.

“Say Crouch, are you interested in playing a game with me?”

“I'm interested in writing down these notes.”

Evan waved him off, “I've got someone who can give us the notes. Come on, play with me. It'll likely get us detention if we get caught.”

To any normal person the possibility of getting detention would have been immediate cause to refuse the suggestion, but unfortunately for Barty he was in a competition with Sirius to see who could be awarded the most detentions before the end of the school year, and right now Sirius was winning. 

“It's called no reaction.”

“What?”

“Just keep looking forward. You'll get it in a second.”

Barty understands the stupid game the moment Rosier takes his finger and ran it across the back of his hand with a barely there touch.

One finger turns into a hand crawling up his robes until he's caressing his arm in its entirety. Barty takes in a staggered breath.

Evan leans close to his ear, “Keep going like that and you'll lose the game.” Barty resisted the shiver that crawled down his body when Evan's lips brushed against his ear.

And maybe it was that bad habit of not being able to listen that caused Barty to make an audible gasp when Evan's tongue made contact with the side of his throat.

Only a couple students turned around at the sound, but Evan had already moved back to his seat, his expression completely unbothered.

It was a quick glance, and they were back to facing the front so that meant Evan came right back to his side with a wicked smile on his face.

“You lost Crouch, that means I chose the next game.”

“I didn’t agree to your stupid terms.” 

Evan shrugged uncaringly before he turned Barty’s chair just enough so that they were facing each other.

“This game’s called no distraction, so whatever you do don’t call attention to us,  we’ll really get in trouble.”

Barty couldn’t even ask a question before Evan had pulled him into a kiss.

His eyes were open so he saw the amusement in Evan’s eyes as he licked his lips and added more pressure, and as if by instinct, Barty opened up for him.

He could practically feel Evan smile as he deepened the kiss.

It was hard to kiss at this angle. Their faces close, but bodies too far. Barty couldn’t move without risking falling out of his seat, that could make noise, bring attention to what they were doing.

He let out a soft whine at the lack of contact. He hadn’t intended to, tried to cut it off before Evan noticed, but it was just enough to cause Evan to pull away from him.

His eyes half lidded as he smiled up at Barty, “Need to be quiet baby. You don’t wanna lose, do you?”

And Barty was incapable of listening to instructions. It’s something everyone knew, but worse yet, Barty refused to lose at anything. Arguments, fights, debates, he didn’t care, he wouldn’t lose. It was the reason why he was in the stupid competition with Sirius in the first place. But far from simply refusing to lose, Barty refused to lose to Evan Rosier of all people.

“Shut up then.” And then it was Barty pulling Evan into the kiss. Barty pulled him so hard that Evan nearly fell out of his seat. Barty, who kept pulling on his uniform until Evan was sitting on his lap, holding his face with both his hands.

It was messy and full of teeth, but it didn’t stop Barty from going back for more because Evan kept his hand in his hair and pulled whenever Barty did something he liked. Didn’t stop because even if Evan wanted to pull away, Barty could always bring him down by his neck.

It was careless and hard because Evan was right, the professor was as blind as a bat and his age didn’t help him,  but his voice also lulled students to sleep, so no one really heard when Barty pressed Evan against the table, nor did they hear his gasp of surprise when Barty moved from his mouth down to his neck.

“Wait, wait, fuck.” Evan tried to slow him down. Barty didn’t.

“Fuck Crouch, at least let me put up a silencing spell or something?”

Barty paused with his attacks and smiled up at Evan who was flushed red from excursion.

“What would be the fun in that? Now, keep quiet unless you wanna lose your stupid little game.”

feel kinda sad that i didn't make this longer, but at the same time, i'm happy with what i ended up with (i fucking love those pictures i choose. imma use them again for soft rosekiller)

[fafodill]

A few thoughts on writing about Snape's relation with intimacy

I've been discussing Snape's psyche with @marvel-snape-writes lately, and I feel like sharing my little thoughts with ya'll. Maybe nothing new under the sun, only my personal analysis of the way his mind would works with potential partners and why he's such a tricky (and fascinating) character to explore.

Of course there's a lot of room for exploration depending on which 'type' of Snape you like (some enjoy the cold and composed dark daddy version of Alan Rickman)(and I enjoy it as well from time to time), but here I'm mostly focusing on my interpretation of book!Snape, the messed up one.

First, he's a very private person who thrives on independence. He's been by himself most of his life, part necessity, part deliberate. Truth is, he's been fine by himself, mostly. He's safe this way. Yes he's lonely, but he self-soothe or tells himself he doesn't care/doesn't need it. Besides, when you stay by yourself for a very long time, the loneliness and frustration are always there but as it is part of your normal state, you don't name them or notice them anymore. He almost never thinks about it and if he does, he quickly busies himself with work to drown it out.

If he was to start having an affair... Engaging with someone is already dangerous for him because it makes him aware of his inner aches. And he knows it's dangerous because you indulge once, then twice, then you get drunk on it and you don't want to stop. So just with the sex part he's already torn between hunger and restraint. But he needs control. He's obsessed with it, it's his way of taking back his power after having been abused for years, and in his mind, a bit of sexual release isn't worth giving up his 'peace of mind'.

So if he indulges (considering it's book!Snape, who must not have had a lot of occasions to engage in sexual relationships since being 21, working at Hogwarts as the youngest overworked depressed Professor ever), it might be very fleeting. He's wary of it and maybe quite uncomfortable anyway because despite his pride, he's definitely a bit clumsy about it.

There's also the possibility that he's actively depriving himself and isn't in touch with his libido at all (I like this theory a lot, I could say so much about it).

Then you have the emotional aspect, which is the worst. Because accepting that he might want someone is horrifying. It means there's a part of him that still wants to desire and love and it goes against everything he's been telling himself for literal decades. And he's a master Occlument so he can shove down his feelings - that's one of his big coping mechanism. If it's clawing its way to the surface, rippling through the calm waters despite his best effort, of course he'll see those feelings as a threat, so he'll want to retreat or sabotage the budding relationship right away.

Then what if the other person wants him ? Horrifying too. How do you know they're sincere ? (quick answer : he can use Legilimency)(even better if they tell him to and give consent). How can he be sure he won't have his heart ripped out of his chest again ? Then there's his self-esteem : doing limbo in hell. How can he believe that he can be what they want when he's been told all of his formative years that he was ugly and then that he was the most unpleasant ? (he knows he's both of these things, but his perception is also skewed by the limboing self-esteem, making it worse).

How can he know he'll be able to give them what they might want/deserve when he knows he's fucked up as shit ? Answer : he absolutely doesn't believe he can. He believes he's a bad person and a fuck-up, so his first reflex would be again to deflect and sabotage. Partly to "spare" the other person (how generous), but also spare himself for confirming his own beliefs because it would sting too much. If he doesn't right away, he'll unconsciously try to sabotage it in the beginning of the relationship as well (and the partner should be ready for that). Because for him, it's obvious he can't be a normal person and give a normal relationship to someone, so that person will at the very least be disappointed and leave when they realize he's not what they want. And honestly, he'd prefer to stay alone and spare himself the inevitable than being alone again after maybe experiencing something nice that would be ripped from him again.

His friendship/love with Lily was exactly that : he cared for her so deeply but she distanced herself (before the insult), and I don't think he ever fully understood she did that because they were fundamentally not meant to remain together and just grew apart and that it wasn't all his fault.

The problem with Severus is, he's hurting all the time. And he can't afford to put himself in emotionally dangerous situations on top of it, Intimacy (sex+relationship) is incredibly challenging for him. He doesn't trust anyone. He can't afford it.

Here you go, that was my rambling about this. I just exploring his mind and study the character. I'd be delighted to hear your thoughts !

[mangionebabymama]

I try not to think about his relationship with his parents because we don’t really know what’s going on there but oh my god I just remembered his sisters i’m going to throw up crying I hope they talk to him and support him if my sibling was in that position I would be face of the free them campaign

Oh, I know. When I think about what possibly his family is going through right now, and has gone through so much all these last few months, it really fucking guts me—because we really don't know what they're feeling and dealing with, and it's a feeling nobody should ever know in their lives, not even themselves. Like, I can't even imagine what's been like for them, just even trying to actualize it into possible thoughts in my mind. They don't deserve this at all, regardless of whatever happened between Luigi and his parents and the rest of his family that led him to distance himself from everyone in those few months last year.

I know that we feel deeply for Luigi in many ways because we empathize with what he's faced with, as we have identified similarities with him and his personality and character as a person, as well as the struggles and difficulties he's dealt with in his life, and most importantly, we feel for him. After all, he's human, and we are human, and it's a familiar feeling to understand one another when someone is going through something unimaginable. However, we don't know him; they know him, and that's his family, that's their son and brother that's going through all of that and they're witnessing all of that in front of their eyes, as we are also watching all of this unfold as they do the same, and then some more that we'll never truly know of as they're faced up against with all of this going on.

Even if they haven't ever been able to go up all the way to New York to visit with him at MDC, whether the thought of seeing him up close and personal, in the flesh, in prison would be all too much for them or maybe for all of the best interest of their privacy and safety, it's not the right time to visit him—I do hope that he's been able to stay in contact with them through phone, rather than general correspondence in writing. Inmates are allowed telephone calls and, if I am not mistaken, video chats, too. I hope that, at the very least, they are aware of how he's doing and that he can convey that over to him for their sake in some way, to keep them somewhat at ease, despite all of the upheaval and disruption in their lives.

I am sure that they support him and hope he is safe and taken care of while in custody and that he deserves his right to a fair trial and his presumption of innocence, and most importantly, it's him, and they're his family. However, for the sake of this time being before the official trial, and on behalf of their privacy and safety from everything, especially the press, it is best that they stay quiet publicly, refraining from putting themselves out there in the open, to protect themselves and prevent anything from happening that could potentially harm them or Luigi even far more worse.

[raven-master]

i really want to write like i'm 13 again and not care if it's Good. unfortunately, that too is a skill you must hone

[snakes-of-the-undercity]

Vi is gifted kid burnout but in the english major way

[lolhex12]

we don't talk enough abt akutagawa's cough / lung disease (chronic&terminal) yet it has so much angst potential?? anywayy

after the current arc, atsushi knows akutagawa is actively dying and he's the only one who does bc akutagawa didn't tell anyone else abt it. (altho, in all honesty, the amount this man coughs should at least hint at it. i'm honestly amazed not more ppl in the story are concerned abt it)

so, the next mission they have together, akutagawa coughs and atsushi is now aware what it really means, so he wonders out loud with nonchalance masking his concern: "hey, so like, do you think yosano's ability would help with your cough and all? would it go away then?"

akutagawa, wiping his mouth, slightly annoyed: "how would i now? i'm not well-acquainted with your coworkers, weretiger, therefore it's none of my concern. and even then, i wouldn't trust any ada members with my issues, nor my life."

atsushi finds his words a bit sus bc 'u do trust me tho', but doesn't say it out loud and they leave it at that.

somehow, it becomes a regular thing. every time they have a mission together and atsushi hears his partner cough, he presents more ideas of how they could cure a terminal lung disease, and they vary in absurdity as he runs out of inspiration.

his ideas range from mere "have you tried going to a doctor?" (<- at which akutagawa stares in disbelief: "you either think i'm an idiot, or you are the idiot. which one is it?" and atsushi pouts bc 'ok yeah, fair... but also, rude') to insanities like "maybe witchcraft would help! i could look up witches in the area and see if black magic or something has any luck." (<- at which akutagawa is so done he doesn't even entertain the idea and just keeps walking)

they never follow through with any idea tho, bc akutagawa stubbornly refuses to waste time on trying to find a cure when his time on earth already is very limited.

it should also be noted that each time the cough gets worse; louder, rougher, more persistent and even bloody, which only makes atsushi more and more worried.

so one time, akutagawa's particularly annoyed by atsushi's insane and stupid ideas. he turns to him and point-blank asks: "why do even care so much whether i succumb to my illness or not? surely, my death should only leave you overjoyed to see the world be rid of one more evil."

that makes atsushi think bc 'why? why does he care whether akutagawa lives or dies? he's right, a bad person like a mafioso dying should be a good thing.'

after lengthy contemplation he comes to the conclusion that he simply cannot have his sworn enemy/rival/partner die from something as pathetic as a disease. someone as strong as akutagawa has to die in a more memorable way - not alone, in a bed, coughing, with nothing more to be remembered by. if anything he'd have to die fighting atsushi or something. yeah that's it. that's why. (<- it's not, but they're not quite there yet)

so atsushi tells him as much. akutagawa accepts it bc 'yeah, makes sense. what else could the reason be?'

the whole routine of coughing and brainstorming a solution in vain continues as the ideas get even more insane, the cough even worse and atsushi more concerned than ever.

the next time akutagawa is annoyed enough to pose the question again, atsushi is close to tears from anxiety as he holds up akutagawa who collapsed and can't seem to subdue his cough properly.

atsushi struggles to get out the water bottle and cough drops he'd started carrying around on their missions together. he's so scared bc he's never seen akutagawa look so sick and frail before (but not weak. never weak. akutagawa could never be weak in atsushi's eyes. it's impossible, bc akutagawa being strong is a simple, unchangeable fact, constant in any possible universe).

what would he do if akutagawa actually died there? in his arms? on a mission? which would probably get cancelled. would the pm think atsushi killed him? does he bring back the body or just bury it somewhere? pretend he got killed on the mission and not by his own body that had turned on him years ago and was in reality a long time coming? he couldn't even bear to think abt it.

"why tf do u care so much??" akutagawa yells with a scratchy voice before his cough continue despite his best efforts to stop.

atsushi can barely breathe anymore. "because i don't want you to die, you idiot! we're a team! you're my partner. who will i be left with if you go?" tears stream down his face, mainly from how overwhelming his anxiety feels. or maybe bc he really doesn't want his partner to die? nah, it's the anxiety. definitely the anxiety. (<- #denial)

akutagawa, at first embarrassed how his collapse derailed their mission bc goddammit he's supposed to be a professional and not let his issues interfere with his job, pauses when he sees atsushi crying... for him? because of him? ???

he's very confused bc he's pretty sure his rival/enemy/partner should not be so concerned abt his health and impending death, but something abt atsushi's expression and that whole situation makes him rethink his outlook on life.

that's when akutagawa starts taking his health more seriously and actively looks for possible, feasible ways to cure his disease, even if there's only a small chance it'll actually work. bc seeing atsushi like that made him realize there are a handful of people who care abt him and would mourn him if he died; more than just his sister and higuchi.

it made him realize his life had a bigger impact on others than he'd previously thought, not all of it bad.

[thepromisedbride]

i don’t talk about bridgerton on here but just to clarify. i will not be having ANY eloise hate on this account. i will bite.

[fuckmeyer]

(Jacobsbadwig) with all due respect, when the fuck did you get back! I missed you!

never left, only reincarnated :)