#post vi uncertainty.

[maxfieldparrishes]

One of the things that the creators of Arcane do so insanely well is their attention to small details. It's incredible.

Take the scene where Vi catches Caitlyn as she collapses and cries - this was stunning to me, because look:

(Credit for the gif is this post by @kensatou)

Even though Vi has been so extraordinarily tender with Caitlyn throughout their shared nightmare, she's still a product of what's happened to her. As Caitlyn falls towards her, Vi catches her, because of course she does, but look at her hands. An Enforcer moves at her and her heart says catch her but her gut says fists up. It doesn't matter that it's Caitlyn. It's instinctive. It's ingrained. She continues to do it in other scenes during vulnerable moments.

She is so, so gentle with Caitlyn and she is trying so, so hard but she cannot undo the habits and behaviors that a lifetime of trauma and uncertainty and violence have forced her to develop, not by her own choice or from sheer love for someone else. She's tried that before, it didn't work, and she knows it.

[deathbxnny]

Hi I would like to request a part 2 of my previous request for the jinx x fem reader with abandonment issues

"I'm sorry you lost your way home." | Jinx x Reader

(Previous part)

I decided to combine these two, so thank you to the anons and their requests!! I hope you'll like this!<33

(I'm sorry in advance-)

Content: Heavy angst, abandonment issues, heavy spoilers for season 2 act 3, hurt/no comfort, established romantic relationships, death, sfw

Reader was asked to be afab in one of the requests. However, no pronouns are mentioned in the post!

((Not proofread))

The first person to visit you after her disappearance was Vi. The sister you had heard so much about, yet never anything good. But it all melted away at her words.

Your ears were ringing, and for a moment, you wondered if you had perhaps heard her wrong. "... Jinx said that she was going to help someone out before she left with Isha. And... And she swore they'd be back. So don't you lie to me-" You took a deep breath when you stumbled back against the doorway, nearly sliding down the rough wood in terror. Oh, how you wished the ground would open up to swallow you whole.

Vi gave you an unreadable look, her hand hesitantly reaching out to grab you, but she refrained at the last second. You meant the world to Jinx. She had asked her to find you just before... "I'm sorry. But what I'm saying is the truth, I-... They are both dead. There is no doubt about it. I saw it with my own eyes both times and... I can't get the images out of my head." Sweat dripped down your forehead as you only barely heard Vi speak to you.

Life was just becoming good for you... so why did this have to happen?

You both had just recently taken in Isha a while ago and were basically treating her as your child. You saw the way she healed Jinx and made her feel more alive. It meant the world to you to see her that way. And for a while, you perhaps even foolishly believed that things would go well now.

You thought about running away together before, in the darkness of your room, as Isha napped in your arms. You remembered turning to her and whispering, "Let's run away. Let's leave on one of the skyship and go somewhere far away... just the three of us." And you saw it in her gentle gaze, the way she considered it... but it meant nothing in the face of a war she had to fight in.

Looking back on it, you should've maybe seen the signs and listened to the uneasy feeling in your gut when the both of them left for a special mission she refused to tell you about. It was for your own safety she'd say and who were you to intervene or deny her orders? She was always so much more intelligent and stronger than you. You just blindly trusted her. You believed she'd return soon just as she's promised... but she never did.

Neither of them did.

It was radio silence for the longest time. And you hadn't moved an inch from the small apartment Jinx considered to be her second hideout with you and your kid. Not when the war broke out, not when there was a call for arms, not when you peeked out for the barricaded windows at the creepy, white machines that slinked right past your hiding space.

And now you wonder, in the haze of uncertainty and panic, if the balloon you had momentarily seen soar through the sky was her after all. Had the denial misled you into a false sense of foolish security? Did you really, fully believe she'd be back for you? That she'd bring Isha home safely and run away at last? Yes. Yes, you did. You believed it... but received a charred part of one of her bombs in return. A confirmation that it was truly over for the family and future you had built together for the shortest amount of time.

"... leave. Please leave. I can't bare looking at you." You gasped out in-between heaving breaths, unable to stand Vi's presence any longer. Everyone was making you feel sick. What's the point of being a savior if you die? What's the point of seeing a hero if you leave behind what you love the most to suffer in agony?

You had waited so long at this wooden door to your once warm home for their return. For her return. Yet all you were greeted with was the one thing that was left of her. A sister she did still love deep down more than life itself. You, however, could only feel rage.

"Wait. She told me to loom out for you. I can't-" "-I said leave! If it wasn't for you, then we could have left and been happy!" You yelled out, suddenly not caring about hurting anyone's feelings anymore. And god did it hurt. It hurt so much. Because Vi still had a piece of her in her. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would be enough in her and Isha's absence.

Slamming the door into Vi's face and locking it for good measure, you finally fall to your knees and clutch the last, charred thing you had of her to your chest, sobbing. You drowned out Vi's yells and bangs against the door whilst you did so, deciding that if you were in agony, then she didn't deserve any consolation either.

Your worst nightmare had come to fruition, just as the last skyship of the day flew into the sky and left its past behind.

[hellodropbear]

like she used to (bonus)

alexia putellas x sister

part I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII

it's been well over a month since I finished the last part of like she used to and started this chapter, i'm so sorry for the delay!

a week after i posted the last part i was on a run in the national park near my house and it is between two beaches (literally my favourite run ever) so very sandy and uneven and i was running alone and tore my acl/mcl lol so I have been preoccupied with that stuff.

i'm super fucking pissed as well because i was supposed to have state cross country in a couple weeks (first season in the open group) AND my reconstruction is scheduled for like two weeks before peak surf life saving season so i'll probably miss the whole summer and into autumn AS WELL as the competitions we do throughout the summer.

anyway i had to quit football and dance because of a back injury so if this means i have to quit xc and/or sls i'll be super sad.

rant over and here is a new part of like she used to, a popular request of when elena meets olga

:)

~~~~~~

I was a lot littler when I met Jenni. She was tall and had heaps of tattoos littered around her body. Her arm's weren't dissimilar to Mapi's, but they were better at picking me up - either to restrain me or comfort me.  

The first time I met her was on the pitch, on Mapi's shoulders at the end of a game for Spain. I think I was about 6, too big to be carried around like that, but my resistance was ignored and Mapi had pulled me up anyway. 

She was shouting and chanting as she walked around the pitch, making me squeal in laughter as she tugged on my leg and made joke after joke. She only quietened as we approached a bunch of chatting footballers. I had met most of them before, but Jenni was there, the only one I didn't recognise. 

I distinctly remember Mapi tugging me down and holding me up on her hip, pointing at Jenni. She knew I didn't know her, she knew how anxious I became when I was introduced to new people so she made sure I was secure in her arms, my head pressed against her neck.

"Ah! The baby Putellas!" She smiled at me - that friendly, toothy grin that quickly became so familiar. 

I leant back into the familiarity of Mapi, mumbling my response quietly. 

"Not a baby." 

Mapi had laughed, ruffling my hair and planting a kiss on my head. 

"She is six now. You're so big, mi pequena!"

My gaze never left Jenni, still curious about the unfamiliar woman standing in front of me. Mapi must have noticed, because she continued to speak when nobody else did. 

"Elena, this is Jenni Hermoso. She plays here with Spain and also Barcelona with Ale!"

I nodded, smiling shyly at Jenni. 

"I have seen you at home, Elena, but your sister likes to keep you safe and away from all of us players."

I looked up at Mapi, uncertainty written all over my face. She leaned down to me, whispering in my ear. 

"Jenni is a striker for Barcelona, she plays very well."

"Not as well as you, Mapi!" 

She had chuckled softly, kissing my head again. 

"Tell Jenni that."

I looked back up at the dark haired woman, a shy smile on my face. 

"Mapi plays too! She is a defender. I want to be a defender when I grow up and become just like Mapi."

Jenni chuckled as Mapi adjusted her hold on me, allowing her to pull me closer as she wrapped her arms around me. 

"Who knows. Maybe if you get to know me better you'll grow up to become one of the greatest strikers of all time."

I don't remember what happened next, but both Mapi and Jenni laugh when they retell the story of me scrunching up my nose and shaking my head, confident that defence was the only area I would consider going into. 

From then on, Jenni became a familiar face. One that I would recognise at Alexia's games and approach shyly, blushing as she pulled me up onto her hip and walked me around the pitch. 

It was a welcome surprise when Alexia arrived home from training one night, Jenni right behind her with a bashful smile on her rosy face. She sat beside me at the dinner table, sneaking the food I didn't want to eat and making me laugh by kicking Alexia's leg. 

She quickly established her role in our family, and I quickly realised how much I liked having her around. 

She started to pick me up from school, driving me to my own trainings, kicking the ball with me in the back yard when she got home from her training. She was like another sister and as I grew older I began to confide in her like she was related by blood. 

So when Mami told me they had broken up, I was distraught. It was bad enough that she had moved to Mexico, but when she came back to Spain and didn't visit our house, it felt like I had lost a sister. 

Because that's what she was; a sister. 

Mami or Alba must have told her how upset I was though, because she sent me a text not long after, apologising. 

I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye, pequena. I love you so much and I will miss seeing you all the time. I can't wait to watch you grow into a brilliant defender and I have no doubt you will be just like Mapi like you said you wanted to be all those years ago. I am so proud of you and I am always rooting for you and always here for you if you ever need me. 

I had cried over that message, I hate to admit. But it was when everything started to fall apart; when I was beginning to question everything I knew about myself and my family. My emotions were high and I think Jenni disappearing from my life tipped me over the edge, sending me into a raging ocean, swallowing me and spitting me right back out again. 

It's ok. Spain will miss you. I'll miss you a lot as well. Sorry you couldn't convince me to become a striker like you.

~~~~~~

Meeting Olga is different. 

There's no Mapi holding me, right there to carry me away if I want to leave, to comfort me if something goes wrong or to kiss the top of my head to remind me of her presence. 

There's not much comfort left in Alexia either, she is still trying so hard to build back our relationship but for some reason I am struggling to let her. 

I can't confide in Alba, because she met Olga months ago, when they first got together. Mami thinks she is brilliant. 

Of course I have stalked her instagram, my heart racing as I struggled to understand how my sister went from Jenni Hermoso to this girl. Mapi told me it was bad to compare the two, and bad to judge Olga before meeting her. 

They are friends, Mapi and Olga. She became defensive when I said that I don't care who Alexia is dating anymore, that it won't make any difference to my life anymore. 

She told me that I should give it a try.

I told her I'd do it. I told her I'd do it for her. 

~~~~~~

Ingrid dropped me off at my home, sensing my reluctance to head in and reassuring me it would all be ok, that Olga is great. She told me that if I need, I can just send her a text and she will get me to take me back home. 

They didn't want me to leave their apartment, Mapi and Ingrid. Mapi worries a lot, I have found, and had many lengthy discussions with Mami about my wellbeing, how it had declined so quickly and the crash had slipped right through Mami's eyes. 

"She needs to stay somewhere that she can receive the love and care that she hasn't had, Eli! It's not your fault you are busy, but I am not. I can take care of her while she is still vulnerable and then in a couple months, we can rethink."

I wasn't supposed to be listening to their conversation, but Mapi's temper had been rising and her voice became louder as a result. I closed my door again when she finished, not wanting to hear what Mami had to say. 

I held bagheera hostage and wept into her fur, and she stayed with me all night, still asleep by my side when I woke up the next morning, Mapi knocking on my door with breakfast, ready to confirm that I would be living with her indefinitely. 

She said that she was going to help me and look after me. She said she was always there if I wanted to talk, if I wanted to cry, yell, laugh. She said I was going to be ok with such confidence, like there wasn't a doubt in the world. 

"This will just be a blip, pequena. Everything will be ok soon, and I will be right here making sure that time comes."

But, despite my reluctance, she wouldn't take no for an answer when she found out about this dinner tonight, about meeting Olga. 

They are all already sat around the table when I enter the kitchen, slipping my shoes off and walking over to where Mami is sitting, dutifully planting a kiss on her cheek before moving back to my spot beside Alba. 

"Hola."

Alexia looks at me. Alba looks at me. Mami looks at me. But I am focussed on the new brunette sitting across from Alba, waiting for her to make eye contact. 

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Elena."

She looks up at me hesitantly. 

"I know. I'm Olga. It's nice to meet you too, Elena."

I can almost hear the collective sigh of relief around my dinner table as I sit down, still focussed on Olga. I have nothing left to say though, so I am grateful when Alba picks up a new conversation. 

I provide input when necessary, but I am more focussed on Olga than I would like to admit, my eyes straying over to her a bit too frequently. 

She seems, nervous? Maybe. It could be that she doesn't like the food, the way she is picking away at it. But Mami cooks the greatest paella I've ever eaten, and I've heard from Alba that Olga loves any types of food. 

The other and more likely option is that she's nervous because of my presence, which is an idea I am entirely uncomfortable with. But it is almost confirmed in the way she avoids eye contact through the whole dinner, and I feel deflated as I traipse up the stairs and into my room, sitting on my piano stall for the first time in months. 

It's been almost two months since that day. Two months since I left this house, running as far as I possibly could from the darkness it trapped me in. 

I don't like to think about that day, about how I felt in the days leading up to it and the days after it because how am I supposed think about how I felt when I didn't feel anything?

Things have changed so much since then. I made my debut for Barcelona. My sister apologised. I have started living with Mapi and Ingrid, closer to training. I have stopped going to school after my therapist told me it was too much. Everybody knew that quitting football wasn't an option. 

I haven't touched a piano since that day, so the keys feel cold and unfamiliar underneath my fingers. My chords are dissonant and my rhythms are erratic and unsteady. 

It feels like I have lost my touch, and I can feel that connection I had with my father drift further and further away from me as my fingers continue to improvise. I resort back to the first song he ever taught me, a little nursery rhyme but the familiar notes destroy me in an entirely different way, memories flooding through my head, Papi sat beside me on the stall helping me, my sisters and Mami squished on the tiny office couch behind us, cheering me on and singing along. 

My hands retreat from the piano before I get too frustrated and instead, I let my eyes drift up to the picture that has hung above it since it was moved into my room. 

Shaking hands reach forward to pluck it from my wall, and it sits in my lap, my head dipped as I stare at it, memorising every tiny detail. 

I was so small, wrapped up in my sisters' arms. She looked so excited to have a new baby sister, the smile on her face is unfamiliar to me now. 

Alba is beside her, staring down at my tiny body, as if she was printing the image of me into my memory. Mami is gazing at the camera, smiling with her hand wrapped up in Papi's, her head resting on his shoulder as he stares lovingly at his three daughters, his eyes full of tears. 

I quickly wipe away the tear that drops onto the glass, inhaling softly and letting the air leave me once more. My eyes close and I try not to picture how different my life would be if he hadn't of died, if we were still a happy family of five. 

I wonder sometimes, if he would have let the family divide, form a big crack that could be glued together so many times but never completely fixed. Never back to how it once was, always more sensitive than it should be. 

I don't think he would have. 

At least that's what I tell myself. 

I am still staring down at the picture when there is a soft knock on my door, it creaking quietly as Mami pushes it open. 

"She is very happy to have met you, Elena."

I frown, my eyebrows crinkling. It didn't feel like that. Mami speaks again before I have time to come up with a response. 

"But she doesn't know how to bond with you, because she thinks it is her fault that you and Alexia fell out. She thinks she is the reason that you are so sad."

I shake my head. 

"It was long before she came along."

"I know. I know it was."

She sounds guilty, and I know her well enough to know it is because she wishes she did something early on. She wishes she did something at all, that much she has told me. She regrets leaving Mapi to pick up the pieces and try and glue me back together. 

She knows that Mapi has struggled though, because she does not have enough hands to hold the million pieces that I was shattered into together. She can not do it alone, but is reluctant to let me go somewhere else. 

"This is the best place for you at the moment, pequena. Your Mami and sisters are a phone call away, but I have so much time to make sure you are ok."

I heard her talking to Ingrid that night, telling her how worried she was that if I did go back home, if I went to stay with Alexia or Alba, everything would go back to how it was. 

They had agreed that night that they could provide me with the love and care they think I need, that wasn't given to me at home. 

"Can you tell her that she doesn't need to think that? I don't want her to treat me different to Alba or you."

I turn around to face her and notice the single tear that threatens to fall from her eye. 

She has been emotional recently, ever since she came to Mapi's to see me. She cried a lot then, apologising, telling me she was a terrible mother. Telling me that Papi would be ashamed of her. 

Something tells me she cries a lot when I'm not here, the silence that echoed through the house where loud laughs or cries once sang out swallowing her as she eats, sleeps and sits alone. 

"I think you should talk to her, Elena. It would mean a lot to her and to Alexia. It would make things better for the both of you."

~~~~~~

Mami's words follow me for the next few days. 

When Ingrid picks me up, I force a smile and tell her everything went well. Mapi is harder to convince, but I tell her I am tired and head straight up to bed. 

I think about Olga, what I could say to her. How I would even meet up with her. 

She seems nice, and I do want to get to know her, to get along with her. And I think this is the only way to get past the initial awkwardness. It's not like she would come to me. 

It takes me two weeks to build up the courage to go see her, and the only person who knows is Mami because I had to ask for her address. She was happy, I could tell over the phone, encouraging me that it was the right decision, that I was good for doing this. 

I tell Mapi that I'm going to hang out with an old friend from school, but catch the bus out to Olga's apartment instead. 

She lives in a small Barcelona house, a few steps leading up to the large front door. 

I ignore the nerves that flare up inside me as I walk up the stairs, my hand barely hesitating over the doorbell. 

I resist the urge to run and the door creaking opening is the final confirmation that this conversation is happening now. 

She seems surprised to see me, but her initial shock is quickly masked by an awkward smile as she invites me inside, offering me snacks, drinks, a meal. I decline, perching myself on the edge of her sofa after she sits down. 

She looks at me intently, waiting for me to initiate some sort of conversation, but the words aren't coming out. The words I have been brainstorming for the past two weeks seem to have flown out the window as soon as I entered the apartment, leaving me with nothing to say. 

The length of the silence is verging on the edge of being awkward, and Olga clears her throat and speaks instead. 

"It was nice to meet you the other night, Elena. I had heard so much about you and I have been looking forward to meeting you for so long." 

She beamed at me, and I smiled back sheepishly, still unsure what to say. 

I hesitate for an embarrassingly long time, before words finally come to me. 

"Sorry."

Confusion flashes over her face and her mouth opens to speak, but I beat her to it, elaborating. 

"You were probably looking forward to meeting me and I left as soon as dinner finished."

"It's ok." 

She answered too quickly, and I flickered my eyes towards her. A small smile sat on her face, and she had relaxed into the cushions of the sofa. 

"I have thought about what I wanted to say so many times, but I have forgotten how I wanted to start."

I chuckle sheepishly and she shakes her head. 

"You don't need to worry, Elena. I don't want you to be scared of me, or what I think. I just want to know you, and I want you to know me."

"I- It's just- I don't know. You know about everything that's happened... with me and Alexia?"

She nods hesitantly and opens her mouth to speak but again, I beat her to it. 

"It's not your fault. Like, not at all. Mami said you think that and it's not true. It is a lot older than that, all the way back to when Ale and Jenni first broke up."

I didn't really know what reaction I expected from her, but I did not think she would relax so visibly. Her entire body loses any remaining tension, and she releases a loud, long breath. 

"Thank you, Elena. For saying that. She's told me how much you mean to her and how badly she screwed up. I didn't want to be the reason for that. Mapi has mentioned vaguely how it hurt you, and I didn't want to be the reason for that either."

I shake my head.

"You don't need to worry about it. It's not because of you, and it's getting better now. Slowly. I'll be ok."

"I know you'll be ok." 

Her words come out in a whisper and she continues when I look at her in confusion. 

"I have heard a lot about you, Elena, but most of the time, it is about your strength. Everyone says how strong you are, how resilient. Everyone is so proud of you, of who you've become and it is so hard for them because you are the only one who can't see it. You are the only person who doubts yourself. Alexia blames herself and I blame her too."

Her words hit a chord that hasn't been hit in a long time. People have said that to me so many times, in so many different ways. They tell me I am strong, resilient. That I am a hard worker and that I persevere. Usually, it means nothing to me, just more words that are said out of obligation, to try and please me. 

But Olga's words are full of emotion that I can practically feel radiating off her. She means it, I realise. She isn't saying this to make me feel good, or because Alexia told her to. 

She is telling me this because she wants to, because she wants me to hear it, to understand it. 

"I don't blame Alexia for anything any more."

She shakes her head. 

"You should. Because everyone else knows it is true, that her neglect impacted you in ways that cannot be reversed. Things she did that left marks that will never go away and it will haunt her. It already does. She loves you so much. So much. But sometimes she will start crying and I just know it's because she is thinking about you."

There are tears in her eyes, and there are tears in mine. 

And then the tears slip down my face and she is quick to pull me into a hug. 

"You didn't deserve any of this and I am sorry that I didn't do more to stop this. You tell me it is not my fault, but I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. And for that, I will blame myself."

I shake my head again.

"It was not your responsibility."

But I know she knows that, I know what she is trying to say. 

And maybe if she had done something, said something, things would be different. 

But the cracks were already there and they would have remained no matter when Alexia came to apologise. 

I am in a good place. 

Alexia and I will be in a good place soon.

There is nothing anyone can do to change what happened. 

"Thank you for being there for Ale. I know she's had a hard time too."

~~~~~~

lol hope you enjoyed (this has barely been edited so will probably go through it in the morning again)

i'm not kidding this chapter has taken me so so long and I really don't like it but i have written, edited, deleted and rewritten for so long so this is the best we're getting for now

if anyone has any other requests for this fic or an entirely new one let me know!

i have ideas for a new fic coming though so we'll see when I get round to finishing one of those chapters :)

[waitingandwishing]

(Cross posted on Wattpad)

Prev - Next Chapter

Y/N sat motionlessly on the edge of her bed, her fingers absently tracing the rough, scratchy texture of the worn sheets.

Her gaze was fixed on the ground, her eyes distant and unseeing, the once brilliant color now dulled into a pale, lifeless gray.

She looked as if she were suspended in time, caught between the weight of the past and the crushing uncertainty of the future.

Her thoughts circled relentlessly, clawing at the fragile edges of her composure. ‘Mylo, dead. Claggor, dead. Vi, dead. Vander, dead.’ The names echoed like the toll of a bell, each one a dagger carving deeper into her chest.

And then there was Ekko. Ekko, whose fate she didn’t know. Was he alive, wandering aimlessly through the wreckage of their shared past? Or was he lost too, swallowed by the chaos?

The uncertainty gnawed at her insides. She clenched her fists, a cold determination solidifying within her. ‘If he’s alive, I’ll find him. I have to. He’s all alone now— no one to care for him. I’ll find him.’

The weight of the small gemstones in her hand pulled her attention. She turned them over slowly, their surfaces catching the dim light.

The soft blue glow flickered eerily, somehow both beautiful and deeply unsettling. They seemed to hold whispers of the lives they’d lost, their brilliance mocking her.

Her thoughts were abruptly shattered by a sharp knock at the door. She flinched, startled out of her daze as she quickly shoved the blue stone in her bag. The familiar voice on the other side made her tense.

“Silco,” she muttered under her breath, even before he spoke.

“The girl won’t eat,” His gravelly voice called through the door.

Y/N hesitated before responding, her tone sharp. “Her name is Powder,” She corrected, pushing the words through clenched teeth. “Have you made her something?”

“Yes, but she won’t touch it.” Silco’s frown was evident even through the door.

For a moment, Y/N stayed silent, staring at the door as if it were some insurmountable wall. Was this another of Silco’s manipulations? A way to force her out of her room? She could still feel the ghostly heat licking at her skin, hearing the crackle of flames consuming everything she held dear.

But then, against her better judgment, she stood. The quiet sound of the mattress creaking as she moved surprised even Silco. He watched her warily as she brushed past him without a word.

Y/N knew he knew her weakness. She knew he could use her against her, but right now all that mattered was Powder.

“Where’s her room?” she asked, her voice flat.

He gestured silently down the hallway, and Y/N followed his direction without looking back.

Standing in front of Powder’s door, she hesitated for a beat before raising her hand and knocking gently. “Bluejay?” Her voice softened into something almost unrecognizable, a sliver of warmth peaking through.

The silence on the other side was suffocating, stretching out long enough for Y/N to feel the weight of Silco’s eyes boring into her back. But just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the door creaked open.

“Hey—”

The word barely escaped her lips before she was knocked backward. Powder flung herself into Y/N’s arms, gripping her tightly as if afraid she might vanish at any moment. Powder buried her face into Y/N’s chest, her small frame trembling with gut-wrenching sobs.

“Wh-Where—” She choked out, her voice cracking between gasps. “Are you going to leave me too?”

The question hit Y/N like a blow to the stomach. Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She looked down at Powder’s tear-streaked face, the raw desperation in her wide eyes. Y/N’s own tears began to pool, stinging the corners of her vision.

“Oh, Powder…” Her voice trembled as she wrapped her arms around the sobbing girl, holding her as tightly as she could. “Never… I promise I’ll never leave you. Never.”

Powder’s sniffles softened into quieter whimpers as she nodded, clinging to Y/N with all the strength she had left. Y/N reached up, gently wiping the tears from the girl’s flushed cheeks.

“What do you think about soup?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Powder nodded hesitantly, her gaze still wet and puffy. “The chicken one?”

“Your favorite one,” Y/N assured her with a faint smile, standing and lifting Powder effortlessly into her arms.

As she turned back toward Silco, her expression hardened again. “You have a kitchen, right?” She asked, her tone sharp with an edge of authority.

Silco nodded, his usual composure momentarily shaken. “Yes. Right down the hall.”

Without another word, Y/N walked past him, her grip on Powder secure and protective. Silco lingered in the doorway, watching the two retreating figures.

Powder’s red, tear-streaked face peeked over Y/N’s shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, Silco’s features softened.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he turned away, retreating into the shadows of the hallway.

_____________________________________________________

Blood trailed out of her stomach, thick rivulets soaking into the ground beneath her. It was warm at first, uncomfortably warm, but soon the cold of the earth seeped through her clothes, biting at her skin.

Y/N coughed violently, her breath hitching as her chest heaved, her vision swimming behind a veil of tears. She tried to move, but her body felt like lead. Every gasp sent fresh waves of pain slicing through her ribs, each one sharper than the last.

Her blood coated everything. Her hands were slick with it, trembling as they pressed against the dirt, but it only made the ground smear with more crimson. Her clothes clung to her skin, drenched in the cloying liquid. The smell of iron was suffocating, sharp and metallic, twisting her stomach in revulsion.

She hated blood. The sight, the texture, the smell, but now it was everywhere. It was hers, and it was under her nails, wedged deep. She’d never be able to scrub it out.

Was someone coming? Was anyone even looking for her? Y/N didn’t know. The thought sent a pang of despair through her, but it was quickly overshadowed by a sharp, searing pain that exploded across her abdomen.

She gasped, choking as her mouth filled with blood. The taste was bitter and metallic, flooding her senses as she doubled over and collapsed against the cold, unyielding ground.

Her cheek pressed against the dirt, rough and cool against her fevered skin. She lay there, motionless except for the shallow, uneven rise and fall of her chest.

Blood dripped from the corner of her lips, pooling in a slow, dark stain beneath her. Her gaze turned upward, past the carnage of her body, to the endless expanse of sky.

She thought of Jinx. Where was she? Was she safe? Her heart clenched at the thought of the girl finding her like this. Y/N didn’t know what was worse: Jinx witnessing her death or never knowing what had happened to her.

Y/N swallowed the pain, though it burned like fire in her throat, and gritted her teeth. For some reason, something or someone pushed her to get through this moment.

With a shaky breath, she forced herself to move. Her body protested with every inch. Her muscles screamed, her ribs ached, and her vision darkened at the edges, but she turned onto her stomach.

The dirt smeared across her face and clothes as she dragged herself forward, inch by agonizing inch. Every movement sent pain ricocheting through her body, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Jinx needed her, and she would crawl through hell itself to protect her.

“Mom?”

A small voice broke through the haze. Panic surged in Y/N’s chest, momentarily cutting through the pain. No. No, no, no! She wasn’t supposed to be here. She couldn’t see this.

“Jinx…” Y/N rasped, but her voice was little more than a whisper, drowned out by the sound of her own labored breathing.

“Y/N!” Another voice, deeper and gravelly, snapped her attention. Through her blurring vision, she could make out figures approaching. Silco, Jinx, and… Sevika?

Y/N coughed, her body convulsing as more blood spilled from her lips. She forced her head to lift, barely able to make out their faces before the weight of exhaustion pulled her back down. Her eyes fluttered shut as her body grew colder, the edges of her mind slipping further into darkness.

“Y/N!” Jinx’s scream tore through the air, raw and heartbroken. She dropped to her knees beside her, her hands hovering over the blood-soaked body. Tears streaked her cheeks, her face twisting into something desperate and anguished.

“Please, Y/N, please!” Jinx’s voice cracked as she shook her sister’s shoulders gently. “Wake up! You can’t leave me!”

Silco stood a few feet away, his expression frozen in a rare moment of shock. Y/N was meticulous, a fighter to the bone. For her to end up like this was unthinkable. His mind raced, running through the possible culprits. Someone had orchestrated this, and they would pay.

“She hates blood. Why is she covered in so much blood?” Jinx whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at Y/N’s form. Her hands trembled as she turned to Silco, her wide, tear-filled eyes pleading. “Save her! You have to save her!”

Sevika knelt beside Y/N, pressing two fingers to her neck. After a tense moment, she nodded. “She’s got a pulse,” Her voice was steady despite the tension in her jaw.

Without hesitation, Sevika scooped Y/N’s limp body into her arms. Blood seeped into her clothes as she stood, but she didn’t flinch.

“Get her home. Now,” Silco ordered, his voice low and deadly. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as his gaze swept over the scene. “Find who did this. And bring them to me.”

Silco watched them go, his jaw tight as he turned his attention back to the bloodied ground. Whoever had done this had made a grave mistake. And they would learn the cost of crossing him.

Y/N’s head lulled aimlessly, her expression peaceful as she seemed to drift off somewhere. It was a beautiful place, though she wouldn’t remember it when she’d wake up. But she knew it was beautiful.

‘You still have a promise to keep, Y/N.’

_____________________________________________________

“I must thank you, Y/N,” Silco spoke, his gravelly voice cutting through the stillness of the room.

Y/N sat across from him, her posture tense as one of Silco’s medics worked deftly to wrap the bandages around her wounds.

The faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the smoke curling from Silco’s cigar. “For taking care of Jinx.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tight. There was something about the way he said her Powder’s new name, Jinx, that sent a prickle of unease down her spine. It rolled off his tongue too naturally, too comfortably, as though it belonged to her entirely.

“She’s my sister,” Y/N replied firmly, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

Silco tilted his head, the glowing ember of his cigar illuminating the sharp planes of his face. “And yet, I would think of her more as a daughter to you.” He exhaled a stream of smoke with deliberate calm, his visible eye gleaming with something unreadable. “She called you her mother, did she not?”

“She did,” Y/N admitted reluctantly, shifting under his piercing gaze. Her fingers clenched in her lap, knuckles whitening. “Whatever Jinx wants to call me, I don’t have a preference.”

“Oh, but I think you do.” Silco’s tone was laced with quiet certainty, the kind that cut deeper than any blade. He took another long drag from his cigar before letting the smoke escape in slow, curling wisps. The pungent smell burned in her lungs, making her feel as though the air itself were conspiring against her. “Jinx needs someone to train her.”

“Sevika can train her,” Y/N said curtly, her words more of a defense than a suggestion.

Silco merely hummed, his calm demeanor unshaken. “And you would trust Sevika with that responsibility?” he asked, his tone faintly amused.

Y/N feigned an eye roll, “No,” She admitted, pushing herself to her feet with a wince as the motion tugged at her bandages. “I’ll train her. If that’s all you wanted to say, you could’ve just come out with it. Whatever game you’re playing, whether it’s using Powder against me or something else, I don’t care.”

“Emotions are a volatile thing,” Silco murmured, ignoring her defiance. He turned his gaze fully on her, his infected eye glowing with eerie intensity. “Especially anger. You were reckless during your last mission, and that recklessness is why you suffered the consequences. Be grateful I decided to look out for you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, the sting of his words fueling the fire in her chest. “What? So now I’m in debt to you?”

“You are my daughter just as much as Jinx is,” Silco said evenly, his calm almost infuriating. He took another slow pull from his cigar before continuing. “I care for you just as much as I care for her.”

“We’re assets,” Y/N shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. Silco turned his head to face her fully, the soft orange glow of his infected eye swirling like a slow-burning ember.

“And is that what you truly believe?” he asked, his tone devoid of malice but laced with curiosity.

“I speak my mind, Silco,” Y/N replied, her voice cold.

“Indeed, you do,” Silco said, his lips curling into the faintest semblance of a smile. “I merely wish to express my gratitude. I’m glad you’re alive, Y/N. You fought with determination and skill.”

Y/N froze at his words, her body rigid. Gratitude? Praise? From Silco? It didn’t add up. What exactly was he playing at?

Silco leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Despite our differences,” He said softly, his orange eye gleaming as it fixed on hers, “I care for both of you. Never doubt that.”

Y/N swallowed hard, suppressing the knot of frustration forming in her throat. Without saying another word, she nodded curtly and turned on her heel, stepping briskly out of the office. The heavy door closed behind her with a soft click, and she let out a sigh she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Dragging a hand through her hair, she muttered to herself, trying to gather her thoughts. (For those who cover their hair or don’t have any, my apologies for not being more inclusive!)

Her steps echoed down the quiet hallway until she suddenly stopped. A faint, familiar energy pricked at her senses.

“Jinx,” She said, her voice steady, “I know you’re there.”

Out of nowhere, the blue-haired girl landed on the floor with an exaggerated huff, as if she’d been caught mid-sneak. Her electric blue locks, now long and swept back into a messy ponytail, swayed with the movement. She looked up with a playful, slightly sheepish expression, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“What?” Jinx asked, feigning innocence as if she hadn’t been caught red-handed.

Y/N crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘What’?” Her tone was sharp but not unkind, one hand shifted to her hip as she added pointedly, “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Jinx groaned dramatically, throwing her hands in the air as she plopped onto the floor in an exaggerated sprawl. “I know, I know! I tried! But I was bored, and I couldn’t find you!”

Y/N shook her head, her stern expression softening into a smile. “You really don’t make things easy, do you?”

Jinx perked up instantly. “So? What were you guys talking about in there? Sounded important.”

“Nothing important,” Y/N replied with a soft chuckle, her smile widening slightly as she crouched down to meet Jinx’s gaze. “But starting tomorrow, you and I have work to do.”

Jinx tilted her head, curious but intrigued. “Work? Like… fun work or boring work?”

“Training,” Y/N clarified, her tone firm but encouraging. “No excuses this time. You’re going to need it.”

taglist: @night-fall-moon @cyberwears @g0ul666 (If you'd like to be added tell me in the comments!!!)

[katerina-marie]

The Uncertainty of Domesticity

Toji Fushiguro x Female Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 of 3

Toji Fushiguro wasn’t afraid of much, though he definitely felt so when he became a widower in the same moment he became a father. Years later, he felt it again when you came along with the same hopes and dreams for a future he never thought he would experience again.

Content: JJK universe but no canon events / strangers & neighbors to lovers / medium burn idk / female reader and referred to as such but left descriptively vague / no y/n / out of character and soft Toji / single-father Toji / A little NSFW - brief mention/implication of vaginal sex so please avoid accordingly - but I can't write smut to save my life so it's not very explicit / Megumi-Mama/Mamaguro dies in childbirth and its mentioned once or twice / cutie pie child Megumi / fluff / slice of life / light angst from Toji's inner turmoil / discussions about having children / pregnancy and childbirth for reader / more notes below

WC: 9.2k (*nervous laughter*)

Notes:

Y'all....this thing is 9.2k words. It probably should've been split into another part, but I didn't and I'm just leaving it be. I'm sorry if it feels a bit "choppy?" I could've happily kept writing about all the little moments in between the parts shown, but I'm not sure if it ever would've ended at that point.

Also, I'm posting this at nearly 2:00 am my time because my end of week/upcoming weekend just got very busy and it's now or never, so please forgive any typos. I reread this chapter until I went crosseyed.

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

Toji Fushiguro liked to consider himself capable of many things. 

He, as a single father, had raised his son from infancy into a fine six and a half year old.

He was a teacher, no matter how unwilling, and had successfully kept all his students alive thus far.

He was your partner, doting and caring of your every whim and utterly wrapped around your finger. 

So, when he and Megumi woke up from a late afternoon nap in the middle of the summer only to step into a puddle of water in front of their kitchen sink, Toji was adamant he was capable of repairing the situation, regardless of his lack of experience in such an area. He mopped up the water, gathered tools, and squeezed himself under the sink the best he could considering his size. At some point, Megumi must have run across the street to fetch you because your legs appeared in his limited field of vision followed by your smug grin as you bent down to check on him. 

Your eyes glittered in a way that was betelling of your mischievousness, and Toji grimaced. “Having fun?”

“Just hand me a wrench from the counter, please.” 

You did as Toji asked without comment, and began to fill the silence (and test Toji’s concentration) with chatter about plans for the weekend in between his intermittent string of curses when something went amiss. As an hour went by with little progress to show for it, you made yourself comfortable on the floor next to Toji’s feet while Megumi had since found something outside to occupy himself with. When you felt water begin to tickle your toes, you reached out your foot to nudge it against Toji’s calf. 

“I mean this in the kindest, least offensive way,” you told him, “but don’t you think it’s about time we call a plumber?” Somewhere under the sink, metal clanged and Toji barked out an expletive followed by a groan of pain. 

“No,” he insisted grouchily, and you watched as he used his legs to wedge himself further under the sink. “I think I almost got it.” 

Your answering hum was full of disbelief, but Toji paid it no mind, even if he could start to feel the coolness of water seeping into the cuff of his pants. If only he could reach one more inch…

His concentration was interrupted when Megumi’s scream of pain filtered in through the open windows. Toji lurched upwards out of sheer instinct and hit his head hard enough against the metal piping that he saw stars. Through the haze of pain and spots across his vision, he saw you dash out the door, and primal parental instinct forced Toji out of the cramped space so he could tend to his child’s cries. When he finally managed to stagger out the front door, you were on your knees on the concrete cradling a sobbing Megumi to your chest. His bike lay on its side just a step away, and from how his son’s left arm was sitting limply over his lap and already changing colors, Toji suspected a hospital trip was in order for what was clearly a broken bone. He approached and you looked up at him with eyes that were glassy with your own tears, your heart breaking for how badly the little boy was in pain. Toji brushed a quick hand over your cheek before crouching down to meet Megumi’s eyes. 

“Alright, Megs,” he coaxed, and the sight of his son’s face clenched in distress and wet with tears was a sight Toji would never get over, “we’ll get you up and to the doctor to start feeling better, okay?” Megumi didn’t react to his words, but when Toji reached out to scoop him into his arms, he wailed harder and tightened the good arm he had wrapped around your neck, burying his face deeper into your chest. Surprise fluttered over your face and then it turned apologetic towards Toji, but he shook his head, the shock of his son’s preference for you in this moment not nearly as important. Instead, Toji carefully helped you up while you held onto Megumi and led the two of you to the car with a protective arm wrapped around your shoulders. 

The evening at the hospital passed in a similar manner. You reclined in a bed with Megumi against your chest while a doctor looked at his arm and Toji filled out paperwork. You murmured in the boy’s ear and brushed his hair back in soothing movements to try and distract him from the pain. When a nurse came in with an IV kit in hand, you let Megumi cry into your neck while Toji helped hold his right arm still. Eventually, after he drifted off to sleep, you took a seat next to Toji on the right side of Megumi’s bed while the doctor set his arm and fixed a cast onto it. The entire time, the worried father remained ramrod straight with eyes fixed on every move the doctor made, and he had your hand clenched between the two of his on his lap. You leaned to the side to rest your head against his shoulder, and adoration tightened your chest when Toji let out an anxious huff before turning his head to press his lips to your forehead.

When the whole thing was said and done and the three of you were discharged once Megumi was awake enough, you rubbed a comforting hand over Toji’s back as he carried his son to the car. Once home, the two of you worked to get Megumi changed and ready for bed, a delicate task when having to take caution with the state of his arm. Thankfully, the edge was taken off by painkillers, and he dazedly chatted about the cool blue cast on his arm and how he couldn’t wait to show it off to Yuji. Toji promised to get him markers for him to draw on it with while you persuaded him to get under the blankets after assuring him you’d bake a giant batch of cookies tomorrow in reward for his bravery. 

Toji took the time to place Megumi’s favorite stuffed animals around him and tucked him further into the blankets. You read him a bedtime story while Toji lay stretched out next to the two of you, and by the end of it, Megumi’s eyes were drooping heavily and his mouth had fallen open just the slightest. You gently lifted Megumi’s broken arm up so that Toji could settle a pillow under it, and after bidding the boy goodnight, he got up so you could slide in next to him. He watched with a thudding heart as you scanned his son up and down with fretful eyes and let your hands flutter nervously about him. You pushed some of the hair away from Megumi’s forehead and leaned down carefully to place a gentle kiss between his brows. When you looked back at Toji with a sad, wobbly smile on your lips but a determined gleam in your eyes in order to be brave for the little boy in front of you, Toji realized in that moment that he had fallen in love with you, and in the same breath decided that he was going to marry you, nearly a year to the day he met you in the middle of a grocery store. 

And later, when the two of you lay exhausted under the blankets of his bed, Toji rolled over onto his side to mold every inch of himself against your back and nestled his chin into the crook of your shoulder so his lips could brush against your ear. 

“Marry me,” he whispered, not so much asking as he was pleading. You were already half asleep, but he felt the shake of your shoulders as quiet laughter blew out from your nose, and you threaded your fingers up through his from where they were draped over your hip. 

“Of course,” you breathed, and Toji tightened his arms around you. He left a kiss on the back of your neck and let his eyes slide shut as he basked in the warmth of your body and smell of your lotion and the incandescent joy in realizing that he’d never have to go another night without it—without you. 

“But ask me again later so I can see you properly down on one knee.” 

A week later, because Toji Fushiguro was powerless to anything you demanded of him, he did as you asked in the middle of his kitchen while you, him, and Megumi still lounged in your pajamas and were only halfway done making breakfast. His son clapped excitedly when you squealed out a ‘yes’ and Toji grinned with pride as you admired the simple gold band that adorned your finger. Satisfaction made his heart full and your smile soothed his soul, but eagerness had him marrying you in a government building just a couple days later.

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

It wasn’t until Megumi’s seventh birthday that Toji realized stalling wasn’t going to work much longer. 

The months following your marriage had been busy with moving him and Megumi into your house across the street since it was bigger and didn’t hold the memories of a tragic past Toji was ready to move on from. The end of the summer had brought school for him and Megumi back into full swing, and two weeks into it Toji was ready to quit when all his students could focus on was the new ring on his left hand. Most of them were congratulatory in their teasing, but a few made jests about their disbelief that someone could bother marrying their grouch of a teacher, and while Toji had half a mind to bring you by just to shut them up, he decided it was kinder to not subject you to a particular white-haired menace. 

By the time the three of you got settled into the normalcy of being a new family, the year was already coming to a close and Megumi was turning seven. As requested, you had baked his son a double chocolate cake and covered the top in rainbow sprinkles. Toji had taken the time to pipe little swirls of frosting around the edges, though some were lopsided and varied in size (such small, precise tasks were simply too big of an ask for the size of his hands), but Megumi didn’t seem to care when the two of you placed it in front of him on the table, candles lit orange and reflecting off the wideness of his eyes. 

After singing and clapping, right as Megumi filled his cheeks with as much air as he could manage to blow his candles out in a single breath, you threw your hands out over them in an attempt to keep them aflame for just a moment longer.

“Wait, Megumi,” you gasped, yanking your hands back when the heat of the candles scorched a bit too close to your skin. Toji immediately gathered them into his to inspect your palms, but you shook them away, not minding his grumble as the brief sting faded. “You have to make a wish!” 

Megumi’s mouth dropped open into a perfect ‘o’ as he nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah,” he chirped. “I forgot.” 

He immediately squeezed his eyes closed, and you and Toji watched in amusement as he scrunched up his nose and squirmed in his seat. You took the opportunity to snap a couple of pictures, and when he was done, Megumi’s eyes popped back open and he took in a great inhale before blowing out his candles all at once. You cheered while Toji ruffled his son’s hair, and Megumi looked quite proud of himself as you slid the cake towards you to cut him a piece worthy of being eaten on his birthday. Both of you chastised Toji when he kept insisting you make his piece bigger and bigger, almost so that he nearly had half the cake on his plate alone by the time it was all said and done. 

“Hey, Kid,” Toji said around a mouthful of cake while you pointedly took a polite bite of your own, “what did you wish for?” Megumi begrudgingly tore his attention from his cake, and you swatted at Toji’s arm from across the table. 

“You’re not supposed to ask!” you exclaimed, but he simply rolled his eyes and shook his head good naturedly before returning his focus back onto his plate. At the head of the table, Megumi stared at you with an all too knowing look for a fresh six year old and then set his sights on his father with an unimpressed quirk to his brow. 

“I wished for a baby brother or sister.” 

Toji promptly choked on the large bite of cake he had shoved into his mouth moments prior to Megumi’s unexpected declaration, and your lips parted in shock. Meanwhile, Megumi eyed the two of you expectedly as Toji hacked and coughed. You jumped from your chair to grab him a glass of water, then set it down next to him while rubbing a soothing hand between his shoulder blades. 

“Now, Megumi,” you began, not so much stern but intentionally practical, and he looked up at you with wide, attentive eyes, “babies, uhm, take their time getting here…” you trailed off and turned your head to your husband with an alarmed look on your face, but Toji was still working on regaining his breath and chugging his water and could only offer a shrug of his shoulders while he pursed his lips in defeat. 

You sighed and faced Megumi again with a weary smile. “Babies take their time getting here and that’s after their parents decide to have one. Any baby brother or sister will have to spend nine whole months growing in my belly before they arrive, so you’ll have to try and be real patient for us, okay?”

Megumi’s face fell dejectedly, and if Toji looked hard enough, there was a hint of disappointment on your features too. He watched as you playfully pinched at the boy’s cheeks and tempted him back into a happy mood with the hint of birthday gifts waiting for him in the living room. The whole exchange had guilt weighing heavy on Toji’s shoulders, and he had the bitter realization that it was his own fear—the one that lied solely in the scant possibility that you could meet the same fate as the only other woman he had ever loved—that caused the frown on yours and Megumi’s faces. 

In spite of that fear, Toji had promised you something, and in the six months since the two of you had been married, you hadn’t chastised him or given him grief when he pulled out at the last moment to spend himself across your stomach or back. You didn’t question him when he had a hard time meeting your eyes as he tore open a foil packet to remove the condom from inside. He knew your trust in him far surpassed whatever insecurities he wrestled with, but it didn’t make him feel less like a failure every time. 

So later that night, when Toji found himself above you and nestled in the warmth between your legs, he leaned into the security of your arms and sought reassurance in the taste of your lips as he came to his own end after ensuring yours. You ran your fingers down his back and whispered sweet nothings into his ear when the racing of his heart and trembling of his muscles could no longer be blamed on the energy he expended while pleasuring his wife.

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

You suspected something was amiss a couple months later. Toji had brought home your favorite take-out for dinner, and while the first bite was as pleasant as usual, every one after tasted more and more like cardboard and settled uncomfortably in your stomach until your appetite was thoroughly gone. You questioned whether it was something more and that maybe your period wouldn’t appear in just a couple of days, but when Megumi began to complain of an upset stomach toward the end of the meal, you banished the thought out of your head. 

However, two days after while you were cooking that evening’s dinner, one whiff of the package of raw chicken you had just cut open had you violently gagging and running for the nearest bathroom while ignoring Megumi’s call of alarm when you passed him in the living room. Your knees hit tile as you retched into the bowl of the toilet, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed when you were finally able to lift your head. You trembled on your spot on the floor and felt more tired than you had been in weeks. Nausea made your head spin, and you wondered if you’d ever be able to look at chicken again the same way. Just the sheer thought of it had your mouth souring, and your repulsiveness for it went deep into your bones. 

When you finally caught your breath and were mostly confident you had emptied everything in your stomach, you pushed yourself off the floor and rinsed your mouth before exiting the bathroom. Megumi stood on the other side of the door with his lips turned down in concern and your phone in his hand. When he raised it up to you, Toji’s name was displayed at the top of an ongoing call. 

“Hey,” is all you said when you brought the phone to your ear. 

“Megumi called and said something was wrong with you. Are you okay?” Toji’s voice wasn’t panicked, but you sensed the worry in it, and you could imagine his face looked much like his son’s had moments ago. 

“I was making dinner a few minutes ago, and the smell of the raw chicken…” you had to trail off when just telling him what happened made you gag a little. You hadn’t yet stepped away from the doorway of the bathroom, but you weren’t in a hurry to have to go back in, so you took a few deep breaths until the feeling passed. Megumi hugged your leg as he gazed up at you in concern and you patted the top of his head in reassurance. 

“Ah,” Toji remarked.

“Yup.” 

Toji cleared his throat after a moment of quiet and then asked a question that sent nerves skittering down your spine. “Want me to pick up a test on the way home?” 

“Please.” 

Later that night, after Megumi was tucked in bed, the two of you waited anxiously as the timer on your phone counted down from three minutes. Two pregnancy tests lay face down on the counter. You nibbled on the skin of your cuticle while Toji bounced his knee from where he sat on the closed toilet lid. 

“I mean, it’s not as if we weren’t expecting this to happen,” you pointed out, shaking your hands in front of you in an attempt to dislodge the nervousness from your body, and Toji snorted. 

“Yeah, certainly not.” He wiggled his eyebrows flirtatiously, and the smirk that tugged at the scar on his lip made your cheeks flush hot, and you rolled your eyes at him. As the two of you continued to wait as the seconds on your phone seemed to crawl by, a thought popped into your head. 

“Is it as nerve-wracking the second time around? Or is it easier?” you asked him gently, and you saw Toji’s features soften as his eyes went nostalgic. He worked his mouth in contemplation—perhaps in recollection—and then shook his head. 

“No, it’s uh, just as shocking I’d say—at least for me.” He pushed off his knees and came to stand next to you. “I think it’ll be this way no matter how many times we do it.” The thought of one day doing this a second time had the breath rushing out of you, but you filed the image away for a future discussion. It wasn’t something you had the capacity to consider now, not while you were currently waiting to see if you were about to become a mother. 

The shrill noise from your phone that indicated the timer had run down made the two of you jump a foot in the air, and you looked to Toji with wide eyes. 

“Take that one?” you offered, pointing with a trembling finger to the test that would answer with words versus a combination of lines, and Toji was suddenly very grateful he grabbed two different kinds at the store. While he knew he could squint at a test and convince himself that an extra line may or may not be visible, he was almost a hundred percent positive he wouldn’t suddenly become illiterate and unable to distinguish between “pregnant” and “not pregnant.” 

He nodded, and at the same time, the two of you reached for each test on the counter and flipped them over close to your faces only for your jaws to drop simultaneously. You turned to each other, wide eyed and bewildered (as if you didn’t know what the two of you had been doing these last couple months) because “pregnant” and two dark lines could not be misunderstood. 

You brought your free hand up to your mouth to cover it as unabashed laughter poured from your lips, and Toji wrapped his arms around your shoulders to yank you into his chest. Joy spurred him into kissing you deeply, and the pure love and elation in your eyes when you pulled back was enough for Toji to feel the first stirrings of excitement at the prospect of having a child with you. 

It wasn’t until later in the night, in the dark of your shared bedroom with nothing but the evenness of your breathing to interrupt the noise in his head that Toji could admit to himself that the entirety of it terrified him.  

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

“That’s a baby?” Megumi’s voice was full of skepticism, and he eyed the ultrasound photo with disgruntled disbelief as you pointed at the grey and white blob in a sea of black. 

“Yes, Megumi,” you giggled, smiling at Toji over the little boy’s shoulder as the three of you sat cuddled in your bed, “that’s your sibling. They are very small right now, but next time they’ll look bigger and more like a baby.” 

He wasn’t appeased by your answer, and he crossed his arms with a little huff of disappointment that had Toji struggling to muffle his laughter. The two of you had just returned from your first doctor’s appointment and had decided to break the news to Megumi now that you had a picture to confirm it, and while he had taken it well, he clearly was expecting more. 

“How long till it gets here?” he asked, glancing up at you, but Toji replied first.

“Doctor said January. You’re gonna have to be patient, Megs.” Toji grinned at his son, but Megumi looked even more unenthused than before and glowered at his father. 

“Why’d you have to take so long to have a baby?” he muttered, and the words wiped the smile clean off Toji’s face as you shook with laughter. With a pained look on his face, Toji simply shoved a pillow playfully over Megumi’s head and tickled him in the ribs to distract him from the question at hand. 

You used the opportunity to burrow under the blankets as your eyes began to grow heavy. Nausea, fatigue, and a general feeling of being unwell had plagued you from the moment the pregnancy test had turned positive, and you hoped an afternoon in bed and watching movies would offer a reprieve. You had just begun to drift off when you heard Megumi ask for Toji’s attention. 

“Dad, where do babies come from?” 

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

“I don’t think there’s much in that book you have to worry about,” Toji told you on a night that found the two of you lounging in your room after Megumi went to sleep. He was lazily folding laundry from his perch at the foot of the bed. You were reclined back against the headboard with said book in your lap. One hand rested against the curve of your belly that had just started to protrude against the fabric of your clothes in the last week, and the other dog-eared every other page laden with information about pregnancy, childbirth, and newborns.

“Perhaps,” you said, setting the book down on your thighs, and the pointed look you gave him made it clear you didn’t feel the same, “but that’s easy for you to say—you’ve done this before.” 

A harsh laugh fell from Toji’s mouth before he had a chance to stop it, and he tossed a bundle of socks in his hand at the tower he had made of his folded boxers. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t doing a very good job of it. We were barely surviving.” 

He watched as the pile of fabric warbled upon impact, and just as it began to tilt, you shot your foot out to brace it in place. When Toji looked up at you, frustration didn’t furrow your brow or pinch your nose. Instead, your smile was gentle and understanding.

“I know,” you said, voice soft, and it carried an undercurrent of reassurance. 

Toji released a deep breath and tilted up the scarred corner of his mouth in a way that he hoped looked contrite. He reached for the stack of his boxers and righted them so you could lower your leg back down. “I’m probably not the best person to get advice from anyway.” 

You tilted your head to the right, perplexed by his unusual self-deprecation. “I wouldn’t say so.” 

Toji just shrugged and continued fiddling with the last bits of laundry. 

“Sure, you’re a little rough around the edges.” 

“Can’t deny that,” he grumbled. 

“You can be a bit grumpy sometimes, and you have a history of giving in to questionable decisions and habits.” 

Toji shot you a withering look. “You really know how to kick a guy while he’s down.” 

“And,” you emphasized, holding up your hand to indicate that you weren’t finished, “you have a really tragic backstory that just makes the whole thing sad.” 

For once, Toji seemed to be struck speechless, stupefied by the bluntness of your words, and the bundle of socks he had been playing with rolled from his hand. 

“But,” you said, “there’s no one else I’d rather be doing this with than you, Toji.” Your husband, who had clearly been a bit rankled by the conversation, melted. The tension released from his shoulders and the puckered set of his lips smoothed out into a dopey grin as his countenance perked up.

“I love you too,” he teased, his tone light and easy, “even if you are something else.” 

You beamed at him as he got up to gather the laundry in his arms and set it in on the dresser in front of your bed, intending to deal with it tomorrow. He then flopped onto his stomach on the bed next to you, shaking the whole thing under his weight, and if the two of you hadn’t already thoroughly tested its limits, you’d worry about its ability to handle the size of him. The thought had your blood suddenly running hot and you rolled onto your side to nip at his ear when a different sensation in your lower half made you pause. 

For the last two weeks you had been feeling the tiny bubbles in your stomach and knew that your baby had gotten big enough for you to begin to take notice of its movement. However, this was the first time it felt significant enough to be noticed from the outside. You returned to your position on your back and pressed your hand lightly into the skin under your belly button. Nothing happened for a minute, and just as you were ready to give up, you felt the faintest hiccup against your palm. 

“Toji!” you blurted, and you urged yourself to stay still despite your excitement lest your little one move again and hide away. 

“You going to insult me again?” Toji’s voice was muffled from where his face was mushed into his pillow. 

“No,” you scoffed, wiggling your fingers at him even though he couldn’t see, “come here.” He groaned in protest but propped himself up on his elbows to shift onto his side nonetheless, and you snapped your hand out to grab his.

“What are you—,” 

“Shh!” You didn’t bother explaining as you covered his hand with yours and settled it onto your belly where yours had just been. His jaw shut with an audible click. You watched Toji’s expression carefully as you waited for another burst of movement, and even though you knew this wasn’t a foreign experience to him like it was to you, overwhelming joy filled you to your depths when his eyes glossed over with wonder as his child wiggled against his palm. He was quick to gather you to his chest with the arm that wasn’t draped over your hip and you tucked your head under his chin in an attempt to snuggle as close to him as you could manage. 

“Megumi’s going to get a kick out of that tomorrow—literally.” Toji’s voice was thick with emotion, as well as amusement at his own cleverness, and you swatted at his chest. But your laughter deceived you and Toji placed kisses all along the top of your head. 

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

Toji wondered if all the blood on the floor was retribution for the amount of it he had spilled in the years before. It pooled slowly, eating up the white of the tile and creeping closer until it stained the tip of his shoes. He was empty, void of anything really, and maybe this was the curse doomed to follow him. Loneliness, robbed of anyone precious to him, and instead of incandescent joy that should have taken over him at the sight of his newly born child, nothing except for seething rage and despair filled his mind. There was hatred for a family name that he had already tried to escape, a desire to soothe himself in all the previous vices that had once kept him occupied, and bewilderment that he was somehow in the same situation again.

It was all eerily similar, from the sudden rush of panicked movement in the room to the way he fell back into a cushioned chair, just barely conscious of the baby in his arms. The face of his late wife and yours flashed back and forth, superimposed onto each other as the two of you laid still with eyes closed and arms slackened at your sides. A shrill whine, a solid ringing filled his ears and silenced all other noise. 

Not again. Not again, not again, not ag—,

Years of discipline kept Toji from jolting into wakefulness, but he did suck in a mouthful of air when his eyes opened and took in the darkness of your bedroom. He wasn’t trapped in the sterile four walls of a hospital room, nor was he struck numb by the darkness of your blood. Instead, sweat stuck the sheets to the skin of his back, and above him the fan you always insisted be on spun quickly. The thought of you had his hand clambering across to your side of the bed, but when all that met his fingers was the unusual coolness of your pillow, he lurched upwards, flipped on his bedside lamp, and searched the room.

Rationality told Toji that you were probably fine, that you were in the bathroom or the living room and would be back any second. Rationality would tell him that there wasn’t any need for him to seek you out and confirm you were alive with his own eyes. But adrenaline, a tragic memory, and the nausea simmering in his gut drove him from bed and onto his feet, clad only in his boxers.

Toji was still a bit disoriented from his nightmare, and he tried to be extra mindful of his heavy footfalls as he passed the door of Megumi’s room. As he neared the end of the hallway, he heard the faintest plink of metal against glass and the racing of his heart slowed at the sound before ultimately returning to normal when saw you in the kitchen. 

Despite it being well into the middle of the night, you leaned back onto the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in your hands and a happy hum in the back of your throat. Your belly sat low between your hips, pulling taut the fabric of his shirt that served as your outfit of choice as of late, and the sight of it was a reminder that you were nearing the end of nine months now. Nervousness was a constant state Toji was in as your due date rapidly approached, and if he thought too hard about it, panic would shorten his breath and tunnel his vision, such as it was beginning to do in that moment. Thus, Toji wasn’t sure if he made a noise or if you just happened to notice him out of your peripheral vision when you turned your head to him, curiosity taking over your face. 

“Did I wake you?” you whispered, spooning one last bite of cereal into your mouth before setting it into the sink behind you. Toji shook his head and padded over to your side. He dropped his head to rest his cheek on your hair and trailed a hand down your stomach to spread his palm over the front of it. Satisfaction coursed through his veins when you let out a happy, weary sigh and leaned into his chest to rest your weight against him. 

Toji knew you were struggling. He knew your hips ached and it made walking a chore. He knew that your back only stopped hurting after he rubbed the muscles loose for half an hour and that everything including breathing had become difficult for you. The baby kicked you awake during the night, and if you weren’t tossing and turning in an attempt to get comfortable, you were up and going to the bathroom for the nth time. Toji did his best to dote on you in between his job, taking care of Megumi, and doing all the chores around the house. He certainly did want this to be all over for you so you could bask in the enjoyment of motherhood, but each day closer to your child’s birth spiked his anxiety exponentially higher, and he ashamedly wished he could ignore what was to come. 

“Would you like to go back to bed?” he asked, taking a step backwards. 

You nodded your head unwillingly. “I’m too uncomfortable to sleep right now. If I stay up and watch TV in bed will that bother you?” 

“No,” he replied immediately, and Toji was secretly glad he wouldn’t have to stare up at a dark ceiling, too afraid to close his eyes when all he wanted to do was bask in the warmth of your body and the steady rise and fall of your chest. 

The two of you made a slow walk back to your room, and Toji helped you into bed and shifted the pillows behind your back until you were as comfortable as can be in your given state. He scrubbed his hands over his face to rid his eyes of the tiredness that lingered behind them and then slid in next to you as you focused on flipping through channels on the TV. Toji snaked his right arm under the small of your back and wound his left across your lap so his hand could cup the side of your belly and then set the side of his face on the top of it. Your fingers came to scratch through his hair absentmindedly, and the relief that Toji felt from your touch and the quiet thump of your heart was nearly instantaneous. 

As minutes ticked by and most of the lingering tension from his nightmare had subsided, Toji still found himself tapping against the side of your stomach and pushing his fingers against it in an effort to get his child to respond to him. 

You reached an arm over his head to prod at the center of your belly yourself. “He’s been wiggling around a bunch throughout the day, but he might be right about here…” you trailed off just in time for Toji to feel a quick bump under his cheek. 

“I think you meant ‘she,’ isn’t that right?” he said with a smile. Only one of you was to be right about who your child was destined to be, but neither would know until they came out to meet you. 

“No, ‘he’ was correct, thank you very much.” Affection warmed his body and Toji pressed his fingers back into your skin so he could feel the movement again. The baby reciprocated his touch each time until Toji finally relented and figured you’d appreciate the break from being repeatedly poked and prodded. Your palm drifted down to cup his jaw and the swiping of your thumb over it was enough to lull him into the beginnings of sleep. He snuggled a bit closer into your side and let out a great exhale, recalling how you had once made a comment likening him to a large, lounging dog. Toji supposed he could understand what you meant. Really, at the end of the day, all he wanted to do was cling close to you and bask in the pleasure of your touch. 

While Toji knew that no amount of time he spent listening to your heartbeat or prompting his child into movement would prevent a cruel fate from bestowing you both should it be decided, he would let himself pretend if it meant keeping himself together enough to see it through. 

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

As a surprise to no one at all, childbirth was just as nerve wracking for Toji the second time around as it was the first. 

It didn’t help that he had been on pins and needles since your due date had come and gone, so when you stumbled out of bed and into the living room on the morning of the third day passed, your hand clutching your stomach and a harrowed expression on your face, Toji was coiled tight enough that he sprung into movement. He flung Megumi over his shoulder and was across the room at the same moment to grab the bags you kept at the ready by the front door. By the time you walked out, teetering between amusement at how your husband scurried about and uneasiness at the thought of what was about to happen to your body, Toji already had the car loaded and turned on. A few minutes later, you almost felt bad for Megumi when Toji stopped outside the Itadori’s house to practically throw him at Yuji’s dad—followed by his overnight bag—had the boy not already been hollering to his best friend about how he was about to get a new baby sibling. 

At the hospital, the terrible familiarity of the beige walls and speckled tile had Toji desperate to pace the room at how trapped he felt, but the desire to stay put next to your bedside and keep your hand in his won out. Labor could take hours, that he knew, and Toji spent every moment of it cycling his eyes between the baby’s heart monitor, your face, and the clock on the wall. Each time your expression would twist into a pained grimace, your hand would crush his and a potent cocktail of adrenaline, fear, and anticipation would send his heart racing. 

When the day turned into evening, just an hour before midnight, a doctor placed Toji Fushiguro’s second son onto your bare chest, much to his shock and delight. The noise in the room threatened to overwhelm him—the excited exclamations of the nurses, your panted gasps, the shrill crying of a newborn baby--but Toji wouldn’t let anything tear his focus from you. He stared at how wisps of your hair stuck to your temples in sweat, the red of your cheeks, how your eyes were full of tears and wonder and flicked back and forth between him and your child. Toji knew (how he wished he didn’t) that you could be fine in one instant and dead in the next, but for every minute that passed where you still breathed and your heart kept beating, he could feel the fear slowly trickle from his body. 

Once he was an hour old, Toji held his son for the first time as he sat next to you on your hospital bed. The baby had your nose and tufts of hair the same color as yours, and Toji realized with a sudden pain in his chest that he didn’t remember Megumi in his first couple hours. He couldn’t recall what it felt like to hold him for the first time, nor did he know how much he weighed just after birth. All the tiny details he assumed every parent would remember until the end of their days was overshadowed by a curtain of devastation, the death of his wife wiping it clean from his memory. 

So this time, when the room was quiet and he had you leaning against him, he studied every part of his newborn with rapt attention, determined to commit every detail to perfect recollection. And unlike before, in a moment he’ll always mourn, Toji felt peace and quiet and something indescribably blissful. 

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

It wasn’t so much that Toji forgot what it was like to have a newborn so much as he had completely blocked what could be considered some of the worst days of his life from his memory. He had been too sleep deprived to even properly grieve his wife and utterly shell shocked at the prospect of now being a widower and single dad. There had been no one to help, no one to encourage him when Megumi cried for two hours straight in the dead of night for a reason Toji couldn’t begin to figure out, no one to help him plan for a couple months down the line when his savings inevitably ran out and he’d have to figure out a safe, legal plan for employment or consider the risk of something illegal since it paid better. 

Yet two weeks into it, when Toji was just starting to discern the difference between Megumi’s wails of hunger and those of exhaustion, someone knocked on his door. He grumbled the whole way down the hall in fear that the sound would wake the baby he had just spent the last hour putting down, and also because he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten or let alone brushed his teeth. So, Toji figured he looked worse for wear when he swung the door open and glared at the man on the other side of it. He was middle aged and wore dark clothing and an even darker pair of sunglasses. He claimed he was an instructor at a school in the city and came to find him out when he heard that rumors began to swirl of Toji Zenin having a son. Toji had spat at him, snarling and enraged and cursing his old last name with vehemence, and he was all too ready to come to physical blows had his son not been sleeping just a few yards away. In the end, the man had just smiled and extended his hand with the promise of a job and to call him the next day. Toji had been wary, but he knew that pickiness wasn’t a luxury he could afford, and appeared at the gates of the school a week later with Megumi strapped to his chest. 

Things were a bit different now, that at least Toji could acknowledge, and the heavy exhaustion that threatened to wrench his eyes shut and made his hands clumsy as he refilled your water bottle didn’t feel so catastrophic this time around. He squinted at the clock on the wall and sighed wearily when he realized the night wasn’t yet halfway over and the two of you were already up for the sixth time. Five day old newborns apparently would wake up and eat more frequently than he could remember, and each and every time he insisted on getting up with you to tend to any needs you had while ensuring his son got the meal he demanded. With an extra snack in hand and a full bottle of water, Toji shuffled back to your shared bedroom and quietly closed the door behind him. 

“You fall asleep standing up at the counter again?” Your voice broke the silence and got a chuckle out of him as he fell onto the bed in a heap by your side. 

“Something like that,” he muttered, but thankfully you didn’t pry and instead gave him a grateful smile when he unwrapped your granola bar and held it up to your mouth since your hands were preoccupied with holding the infant to your chest. You munched on it slowly, and in between bites you would settle  your head back against the pillows and let your eyes flutter shut, trusting your husband to keep a dutiful watch on the two of you. Toji moved closer to you so he could gently rest his head against your shoulder and peered down at his son as he got his fill of milk. He rubbed a tiny foot in between his thumb and forefinger and grinned at the soft suckling noises he made, amazed at how differently things felt this time. Toji was stunned at how having a new child felt so much like the first time since he could actually slow down to process it all now. Maybe this time, when history didn’t repeat himself and he was at home with the people he loved, contentment would allow the memories to stay. 

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

It happened for the first time three weeks after your son was born. 

That particular Saturday was dreary and wet, but it made for a cozy atmosphere as the four of you lounged about after a late morning breakfast. Toji was putting away the last remaining dishes. The TV played a vintage cartoon on low volume and Megumi sat on the floor in front of your feet as he colored quietly in his notebook. You sat curled up in the corner of the sofa with your newborn nestled in the crook of your arm, and you watched him, utterly transfixed. As he slept, his nose would twitch and his bottom lip would jut forward. Every once and a while, a dainty grunt would escape his mouth and he would squirm and stretch and whimper just a little before going still again as he drifted back into deeper sleep. He let out a yawn that seemed to take over his entire little body, and in the next moment he was blinking up at you with unfocused eyes as his lips smacked together once or twice. The sight of it made your heart feel as though it could burst, and you wiggled your finger into his clenched hand just to feel him hold onto it. 

“Oh, hey, his eyes are open.” Toji’s voice caught you unaware, and you jolted a little at the suddenness of it. You glanced up at your husband from where he leaned against the arm of the couch to your right, and there was a soft smile on his face as he traced a finger gently down the apple of the baby’s cheek. The newborn’s eyes couldn’t hardly focus on his father’s face from how far it was, but it certainly seemed like he looked for Toji in the moment before his lashes fluttered and his eyes slid shut. 

Toji drank in the sight of you two. There was a blissful glow to your features that couldn’t be missed, even through the signs of exhaustion that still lingered from another night of caring for a new baby. You barely paid him any mind as you smoothed your palm over the wispy hairs on your son’s head, and Toji decided that he would give you another couple minutes before gently urging you to take some time away to shower and do your morning routine should you feel like it. He pushed himself off the arm of the couch and made a move to step around it and sit down when Megumi spoke up from the floor. 

“Mama?” 

Megumi’s voice was barely above a whisper, and it was heartbreakingly timid. The single word punched all the air from Toji’s lungs and he stumbled mid-stride, just barely steading himself lest he land in a heap on top of his eldest son. Megumi didn’t move from where he was hunched over his notebook, still coloring carefully onto the paper, but Toji could see the burning red of his ears and how his eyes flicked back to take stock of your reactions before they went back to what was in front of him.

When Toji whipped his head towards you, you were already looking up at him with a wide, helpless expression. You had never once pushed passed a boundary Toji had yet to lift when it came to how you handled your roll as Megumi’s stepmother, and he could see from the way your eyes searched his that you were waiting for his guidance, his acquiescence before you dared to respond back to the little boy who had just referred to you as his mother despite you technically not being such. 

To Toji’s endless gratitude, you had always treated his late wife with the utmost respect. While you almost always fielded Megumi’s questions about her to Toji, you didn’t hesitate to pull out photos of her when he asked, nor had you ever tried to erase her significance as Megumi’s mother over the time in which you had become a part of their family. 

However, as Toji had come to acknowledge, there was no denying that Megumi had come to see you in that way. Not so much as the woman who had birthed him (Toji had explained that to him in child-friendly terms) but in every other way a mother would be seen. Megumi had no tangible connection to his late wife, no emotional attachment to the idea of her that Toji hoped one day would blossom as understanding matured in his mind, but to hold that expectation to him now wasn’t fair. Toji knew, as you looked at his son with tears of adoration and love in your eyes, that you had been making space for Megumi in your heart for a very long time in preparation for this possible moment, and he figured that having the love of a mother in the land of the living didn’t take away from the one now gone. 

If nothing else, he supposed that Megumi would catch onto your shared habit eventually. Frequently did you and Toji refer to yourself as such when tending to the new little one. 

“Shhh, Mama’s here,” you’d murmur when he wailed out his discomfort while the four of you watched TV in the early afternoon. 

“Mama’s comin’, kid, I promise,” Toji would say when the baby would nuzzle into his chest in a search for milk when he and Megumi sat together on your bed while you showered at the end of the day.

So Toji swept a hand along your shoulder, capturing your attention, and his quivering smile paired well with the tear that trickled down your cheek when he nodded at you. Your hand swiped away the moisture from your skin and you cleared your throat.

“Yes, Megumi?” Your voice sounded a little thick and wet, but the boy spun around in astonished elation nonetheless, and his smile was so wide that Toji wondered if it stung the skin at all. Megumi jumped up to his feet but very cautiously approached you until he could rest his hands on your knees and stand on his tiptoes to try and look up at his baby brother. 

“Mama, can I hold him?” You giggled and nodded as you reached out your hand to caress Megumi’s chin, and he squirmed where he stood as excitement made him antsy. 

“Of course,” you told him. “Come sit next to me and your dad will sit on the other side to help you.” Toji felt his heart expand further than he thought possible when the two of you turned towards him with loving, expectant looks that spurred him into movement.

“Up you go, Megs,” he said, lifting his son up from under his arms so he could plop him down on the cushion next to you before taking a seat himself. He threw an arm along the back of the sofa so he could scootch in closer to you three. Once Megumi situated himself, you slowly transferred the sleeping infant to lay him in his brother’s lap, and Toji was there waiting with an open hand to help cup his head and neck. 

“He’s still so small,” Megumi said quietly—wondrously—but you and Toji laughed at how the baby was still too big for Megumi to fully cradle in his arms. 

“Don’t worry,” you said, “he’ll grow big before you know it, and then he’ll be ready to play all day with you.” Megumi offered you a small smile in response before he settled back to watching his little brother snooze in his arms. You propped your elbow on the back of the sofa so you could lean your head into your hand, and Toji stretched his fingers to swirl them against your arm. Your eyes met, still glimmering with the last remnants of joyful tears, and Toji was nearly overwhelmed by a surge of emotion as he took in the little family that the four of you made.

Fear had once hung like a heavy shadow over his hope for an idyllic future and his ability to experience it. Your smile and the small hands of his children were there to whisk it away. 

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

A little bonus:

Three years after the birth of your son, a daughter made her appearance nearly two weeks early, thrilling her eagerly awaiting older brothers. For all the work you did, she came out a near exact copy of her father, and Toji had no problem letting you know how proud he was about it as you laid propped up next to him in your hospital bed. 

“I’m telling you, there was a hint of green in them!” 

You rolled your eyes playfully as you watched Toji recline your daughter against his knees with her head cradled in his palms so you could both gaze at her, and she looked positively tiny in the breadth of his hands. 

“You know a baby’s eye color might shift from what it was at birth once they get a bit older. We can’t know for certain yet.” 

The words seemed to have no effect on your husband, and he simply dropped a kiss to your temple and murmured a soft “we’ll see,” into your ear. 

(To your surprise—and secret delight—Toji was right.)

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

Again, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who took the time to read this<3 I really just love giving tortured characters soft, happy endings, so I hope you enjoyed this endless rambling of fluffy fluff.

[suprememuffin06]

should i post my caitvi canon-compliant character study fanfic on ao3???

i've written about 4k words so far, so far from any semblance of completion. this is my first fic and i'm soooo nervous to post it on ao3 because i'm scared it's just horrible lol. i'm trying to cover all the missing caitvi scenes for all the acts in s2, and im on act 1 so far. i'll post the draft here, and if anyone has any feedback, it would be extremely appreciated!

------

Vi couldn't look Cait in the eye, not properly. Not after all that happened. She was just comfortable enough staring at the girl’s royal blue hair and uniform, closely examining each subtle shake of a shoulder and each nearly imperceptible frown. Vi watched as the cracks in Caitlyn’s facade started to widen, the composed face she put up for the citizens of Piltover starting to slowly weaken.

Even from all the way below the balcony, in the waves of people gathered to memorialize Cassandra Kiraminn, Vi saw Caitlyn. Everyone else was looking at the daintily crafted blue and gold casket, to their councilwoman.

Vi heard the shifty murmurs of panic and uncertainty. A terrorist attack from the undercity. Half the counsel dead. Vi could feel the bile rising in her throat, tasting something like guilt mixed with the name Powder. And though her attention to Caitlyn never faltered, she couldn’t stop seeing flashes of Jinx’s gag in Cait’s mouth; she flinched as a cold crept up her spine.

Vi was surely going to throw up, and this time it didn’t feel like it would be as freeing as heaving after a gut punch from an inmate at Stillwater or wiping her mouth after one too many drinks from prison-made alcohol. Yet, there she stood. Her arms hung at her sides, the old wraps crusted with blood. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets, trying to hide the mess of her knuckles. The tattoo on her face gleamed in the sunlight like a proclamation saying “I don’t belong here” to the sophisticated individuals around her. She noticed the mothers pulling their children to their sides when seeing Vi, and the men that towered over her shot her murderous glares with fists clenched at their sides. I don’t belong here.

She didn’t care, not as long as she could look at her Caitlyn. Her Caitlyn. Her Powder. Her throat tightened, memories of blue flashing across her mind like lightning splitting the dark. It zipped around, knocking over and crashing into every crevice of her brain, leaving a trail of destruction in its path. Powder laughed with joy, and Vi could only watch as the short, choppy hair of her sisters grew into long, vine-like braids. In spite of herself, she winced at the thought.

The glitter bombs Powder held stopped exploding, in exchange for the sound of gunfire reverberating in her skull. Jinx aimed her machine gun through Vi’s eyes, directly at the indigo of the Kirraman girl standing above her. The worst gift Vi could give Caitlyn, delivering all the anger that her sister represented directly to her. And although she hated it now, Jinx would forever be a name buzzing right beneath her bones. No matter how much of herself she could give to Caitlyn, there was always an underlying paranoia that her mere presence was a vessel, bringing Jinx right at Caitlyn’s doorstep.

Vi wanted to feel it. You did this. No one else noticed the small tear that slipped down Caitlyn’s highest cheekbone except for her. YOU did this. Vi furrowed her eyebrows and locked onto that tear, watching it slide down the column of Cait’s neck. She saw the betrayal on her sister’s face when she saw her for the first time in seven years, with an enforcer. An enforcer, for fuck’s sake. And she saw the way Caitlyn listened to her when she told her not to shoot Jinx. And now her mother is in a box.

Somehow, Vi managed to gain and lose two of the most valuable relationships she ever held in the matter of a few weeks. You are a fire. Keeping people just warm enough if they stay at arm’s length. Once they draw near, they get burned. They get hurt, and yet you ask them to come closer still.

-

When Caitlyn’s eyes started to gain some focus again, her pupils pinpointed in the sunlight while scanning the masses, Vi vanished. She waded through the crowd and could feel Cait’s gaze find her back, watching her leave. She could only allow herself to indulge in the pain of looking at Caitlyn indirectly, but she would never allow her to know the pain of looking VI in the eyes again.

Vi would kill herself twenty times over before allowing Caitlyn to trust her, her judgement. Look what happened the last time she allowed that. Vi only brought ruin. A false security. She would not allow herself to be the cause of such anguish again. She needed to leave.

-

Caitlyn’s fingernails left crescent-moon shaped indents in her palm, and her enforcer uniform felt heavy on her shoulders as she watched everyone who came to her mother’s funeral. Really, she was looking at just one. The last thread of color in her life was slipping away, without so much as a goodbye.

Vi would have to be a fool to presume that Caitlyn wouldn’t find her in the sea of people, drawn to the side-swept mess of pink hair and bright red jacket. It took her every ounce of control that she had remaining to not clear the landing and sprint to the girl.

Caitlyn imagined herself crashing into Vi’s arms, and feeling the strength of the Zaunite’s biceps pressing against her cheek. Don’t go. You’re all I have left anymore. She could practically feel Vi’s breath rustle the strands of her navy hair, accompanied by the soft whisper of “I’ve got you, Cupcake” into her ear.

Tears started to well in her eyes and Caitlyn willed them to remain in place. She forced her back straighter as she watched the girl that she spent every day with for the last few weeks, walk away from her. Far enough away that Vi was just a pink dot in the distance, against the muted hue of the Piltover cityline. Caitlyn exhaled hard in favor of allowing herself to feel anything more, and steeled herself for the ending of the funeral.

The casket was closed, shrouded with a metric ton of violets, plucked delicately petal-for-petal. The hard contours of the box reminded Caitlyn of the sharp line of her mother’s jaw and the strong nose that she herself inherited.

The pall-bearers slowly lifted her mother’s coffin, and began their descent towards the cemetery just outside of Piltover city limits, where all of the most influential people were buried. Involuntarily, her feet began to shuffle forward, trying to catch one last glimpse of her mom, before one of the enforcers standing beside her shifted closer and in front of her. She didn’t know him well, but knew he was higher-ranking. Under any other circumstance she would have obeyed hierarchy and stopped herself. But today was not the day to test her, not when she was one more inconvenience from breaking down and raining hellfire on anyone who tried to tell her to “stay strong.” The officer shriveled under Caitlyn’s glare, one that could only be embodied by a councilwoman’s daughter.

She marched right beside the casket, her eyes level to the head of it, where her mother’s face would be if the box were open. This form of emotional expression, Caitlyn knew, was frowned upon by her people, but she couldn’t give two shits. Nothing was ever going to stop her from reaching those she loved again.

Caitlyn walked dutifully before reaching the stairs, catching the glimpse of her own shade of blue; her father. His broken gaze withered her soul and her body felt as weak as the day it did when Jinx killed her peace. She stopped in place. The only thing keeping her upright anymore being the red-hot swirl of something bitter brewing in her stomach. She was already imaging target-practice later today, with two sky-blue plaits covering the bullseye.

-

After Jinx had destroyed the council-building, Caitlyn’s ears were ringing so loudly she could barely register her screaming as her own. Vi’s strong hands were no longer steadfast when holding Cait up, and despite her injury, Caitlyn started trying to run. Out of Zaun, out of that hellhole that she thought was worth risking her family and her legacy for. In the back of her mind, she noticed that Vi was following her, calling her name, asking her to wait. You’re hurt Cait, please. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t think she would do it. I’m sorry. Violet’s voice cracked on the last apology.

Caitlyn didn’t spare a glance back, adrenaline flowing through her veins just enough that her long legs could carry her through the slums and across the bridge without collapsing. In hindsight, she realized that Jinx just disappeared after the incident, and neither she nor Vi went after her. The thought left an unbearably bitter taste in the back of her mouth, the thought that she was so close to Jinx, after all that she had been through at the hands of the girl, and she didn’t take the chance to shoot her in her fuck ass grin.

Caitlyn sprinted, harder than she ever had before, and felt Vi trying to keep up behind her. Vi even held her rifle that Jinx had taken from her during the abduction. She wished that the pink-haired inmate would just fucking trip on an overgrown root or leave her for her sister instead.

Vi was the one who told her not to shoot.

Vi.

How could she do that?

She kept running, outpacing Vi with every further step.

By the time Caitlyn arrived at the scene, her precariously put-together enforcer uniform was ripped in places she knew was unrepairable and new cuts littered her body. She was nearly knocked down by Jayce’s hulking body, running out of the building, carrying who she vaguely understood to be Viktor’s limp body.

Without sparing a glance back at her friend, she ran into the collapsing structure. She caught a glimpse of soft-white hair and turquoise earrings. Her mother was being carried out by four enforcers in gas-masks, her body slack and unmoving. Caitlyn watched her mother’s eyes, just barely clinging to any semblance of life, met hers, and blinked out one final time. She could do nothing but stand in shock as the enforcers pushed past her to the stretcher laid outside, Cassandra Kirramin’s blank gaze never breaking.

-

Vi was a fucking pussy. She told herself she fucking wouldn’t, that she would stay. away. Yet, she found herself at the foot of a towering mega mansion. From her vantage point on the ground, she could even see the window of Caitlyn’s room, the same one she had snuck into just a few days prior.

The feeling of manicured fingernails brushing her cheek came flooding into her body without permission, and a familiar warmth seemed to tighten its hold around her heart. “Fuck.” She cursed to herself, and took the first step up the massive stairs. She was weak, and always had been, but she tried to console herself by telling herself that she just wanted to make sure that Cait was okay, that’s all.

Once more, just to see her, that’s all.

The guards stationed at the large mahogany doors let her in without so much a second glance, and Vi, against her best wishes, felt her heart swell. Cait had to have told them to let her through, otherwise what competent guard would allow a Zaunite into one of the most influential Piltie families' homes, especially after recent events?

It took Vi embarrassingly long to locate Caitlyn, at some points just aimlessly wandering around the carpeted halls, fingertips brushing each piece of exquisite artwork adorning the walls. A few times, she nearly walked into rooms where Caitlyn’s father was in, before catching herself and speeding away. She didn’t need a reminder of how unwanted she was there and didn’t have the strength in her to apologise without crying.

Vi was the catalyst that led Cait to lose her mother. She wasn’t stupid, she could see the level of crazy that Jinx had come to. She had noticed in her youth that Powder wasn’t the most stable of children, especially after Mylo’s unrelenting taunting, but she never would have guessed how big of an impact her disappearance would have on her younger sister.

Sidling up with Silco, for fuck’s sake. Vi never meant to leave her, and every second after getting thrown into jail by some enforcer to her release, her only thought was of Powder. She knew Powder, her greatest insecurities and biggest goals and still she allowed the girl to think that her big sister, her protector, was leaving her. Powder was just a kid, and look at how badly Vi fucked her up.

Vi swallowed painfully at the realization that she did this. Powder became Jinx because of her actions, and now her hand hovered over the door to Caitlyn’s mother’s closet, where Kirraman was seated cross-legged, unsure if she should knock or leave again before she messes everything up again. She started to shuffle backwards, away from the room, walking away from the only reliable thing in her life.

Caitlyn must have heard the soft breaths of Vi’s shoes on the hardwood and looked over her shoulder sharply.

“Vi!” Cait’s desperate voice ended in a needy whisper.

The taller girl got onto her feet unsteadily and almost sprinted to Vi, falling into her arms. Her face was streaked and hair mussed. Vi could feel fresh tears soaking into the side of her neck, where Caitlyn’s face was currently buried. “I thought you left.”

Vi only held her tighter, but didn’t allow her grimy hands to come anywhere near the pristine uniform that Caitlyn wore, in fear of getting it dirty with her heavy hands. “I’m right here cupc- Cait.” It felt wrong to use such a light-hearted nickname, especially after all the pain she had caused the woman in her arms.

Caitlyn, seeming to catch herself, pulled away quickly from Vi’s hold and tried to inconspicuously wipe away any remaining water from her eyes. Half of the dark-blue shoulder length hair was falling out of the hastily done ponytail, and Vi’s hands itched at her side to try to stop it from brushing it out of the other girl’s face.

“How’ve you been holding up?” Vi asked, her voice soft.

“What do you think?” Caitlyn responded with a feigned chuckle and turned around. Vi noticed the clothing that littered the floor of the closet for the first time, and the ruffled tuxedo dress that Caitlyn clenched in her white-knuckled fist.

They stood like that a while, Caitlyn once again facing the days-untouched clothes neatly folded on racks, and Vi observing Cait from behind. The closet itself was bigger than Vi’s cell for seven years, but somehow felt even more desolate and hopeless.

Vi let her eyes drag from the top of Caitlyn’s head to the bottom of her heeled boots. The roots of her hair were getting slightly greasy, as if she hadn’t showered in quite a bit, but her uniform was as pristine and gleaming as ever, as if it had been polished and laundered many times over.

The skirt that Caitlyn wore left just enough of a gap above her thigh highs to show a sliver of white skin. Usually, Vi’s lust-addled mind would stare there more than she liked to admit, but now she could only think about the small bruise that was blooming under carefully applied makeup, mostly hidden by the hem of the skirt. Vi did her best, but could not control her sharp inhale at the view. How could someone be so pure in a world so cruel? And Vi had helped lead Caitlyn down a path where her blemishless, innocent skin would most likely be further marred by her past.

Caitlyn turned on her heel to face Vi once again, and Vi had to take a slight step back, forgetting how much taller the other girl was, especially in her shoes.

“I’m going to go check on my father, he’s not been eating.”

Vi, once again, couldn’t meet her eyes, and let her gaze drop to the floor.

A heartbeat later, a slim, manicured hand tentatively reached for Vi’s, and her heart melted.

“Are you.. Going to stay?” Caitlyn grew more confident as she slowly wrapped both her hands around Vi’s. She didn’t look up at her, instead opting to brush her fingers over Vi’s wrapped knuckles. “I could clean this for you.”

Vi felt the familiar tug in her gut, drawing her closer to the idea of staying with Caitlyn, but she felt disgusted with herself for feeling as such. “Cait..”

Caitlyn’s striking blue eyes met hers under long lashes and the words caught in her throat. Gently, she pried her hand away from Caitlyn’s pleading grip and brought it to her face. Her thumb brushed over one of the tear streaks on Cait’s soft cheek and she could feel her eyebrows tighten with something akin to affection.

“Of course I will.”

If it weren’t for Vi’s hand allowing her to feel the loosening of Caitlyn’s clenched jaw, she wouldn’t be able to perceive much at all about the girl’s reaction. Instead Caitlyn nodded into her palm.

“I’ll be quick, I swear. I just need to make sure he’s okay to sleep.” Cait covered Vi’s hand on the side of her face with her own. “My room is down the hall and the second door on the left.”

Slowly, she extracted herself, and Vi heard the clack of boots down the hallway, stunned at what she’s allowed herself to do. Caitlyn was a sweet girl with a heart that needed to be defended by someone who wouldn’t accidently hurt it in the process. Caitlyn Kirramin was the exact person she grew up believing didn’t exist, and Vi was allowing herself to become key to her destruction.

In her room?? The house was fucking massive, and there was more silk in the closet itself than Vi had ever been exposed to (exactly none), her entire life prior. They must have at least one spare room. She mentally kicked herself and clenched her fists into her jacket. All she could do was hope that she wasn’t making the wrong decision again.

-

Vi had no idea how anyone got around in this palace; it took her almost ten minutes of walking up and down the hallways until she finally found the familiar high-ceilinged bedroom, her face a mask of amused disbelief the whole time.

She entered as softly as she could. The room was as she remembered it, all organized and minimal, a picture perfect representation of one of Piltover’s most wealthy families. It seemed that this aesthetic left Vi unsure of where to keep her hands so she opted to cross her arms.

All was the same except one tiny change to Caitlyn’s crime board at the foot of her bed. At the center of the interweaving lines of yarn, there was one image plastered haphazardly. All the paths led to that one picture, like rivers flowing to the ocean. Vi felt her mouth go dry as the worst photo she had ever seen of her sister started back at her, with a deranged sort of stare.

She didn’t even have enough time to react to it before hearing the click of the door behind her. Caitlyn’s eyes immediately drew to what Vi was looking at and she quickly pulled a throw blanket off of the loveseat in the corner and threw it on top of the board, making sure nothing was peeking through.

“It’s getting late, Vi, I don’t want to think about anything substantial right now.”

Cait was indeed right, it was well past dark, as could be seen through the infamous window on the far end of her room. Vi attempted a small smile and her usually natural laidback tone.

“So, where do you want me?” She face-palmed internally as Caitlyn let out a small, endearing giggle. Vi’s smile turned genuine at the sound, despite the fact that she just accidentally let innuendo slip to the girl she would be spending the night with.

Caitlyn’s eyes were bright, despite the circles underneath them. “Hopefully in here?”

Vi’s hesitation was palpable, especially now. “Do you have a spare mattress? Or I could take the chair. Or the floor, I’m used to that one, feels like home now.”

Caitlyn just started at Vi like she was stupid. “I would never make you sleep on the floor.” She whispered, almost offended.

Vi couldn’t take any more of this. This.. guilt. But she endured, for Caitlyn’s sake.

“Thanks, Cupcake.”

-

Vi was easier to read than any books in Caitlyn’s family library. Zaunite's pupils were always blown looking at her and the scar on her lip twitched whenever she had something to ask. Not unusually, Cait was looking at Vi’s lips again. She found it ironic that such a hardened individual was so obviously transparent. The girl was concerned about her, and if anyone else were to be so, attentive, Caitlyn would send them out immediately. But, as she had suspected (and feared): she needed Vi.

Caitlyn had been raised to focus only on the task at hand; getting the job done. With all the memories pushing and pulling like tides in her head made the etiquette lessons with her mother feel like they happened hours ago. She could still feel the warm sting of a ruler rapping against her lower back whenever she slouched. The perfect daughter. Even in her dying breath, Caitlyn didn’t believe Cassandra thought that of her.

House Kirraman was a matriarchy, and she was the sole inheritor of the title. She understood it now more than ever, that her days of trying to find her “place” in the world were over. Recklessly selfish actions for the sake of a possibly hollow idea of self no longer had any place in her. Caitlyn knew who she was: capable and resourceful, and an excellent fucking shot. Although the future was still a perpetually uncertain mystery, she tried to take it one step at a time.

Vi was looking at her, she could feel her worried gaze. Caitlyn inhaled deeply, clearing her mind the best she could. One mission: get through the night.

Maybe then she wouldn’t feel Cassandra’s hard, but loving stare drilling into the back of her neck.

- Vi’s brain hurt trying to overanalyze every step of Cait’s movements, attempting to decipher what her next best move should be. Currently, the bluenette was rummaging through a dresser at the corner of her room. Vi slowly slipped off the bed, unsure of what to do.

Caitlyn walked over with two fresh pairs of clothes. She handed Vi a pair of soft linen pants and a cotton white tank top, while she held a similar tank and a short pair of her shorts.

“Do you need anything? You can change in the bathroom if you’d like.”

Vi smiled, but it probably came out looking more like a grimace. “This is more than I’m used to, don’t worry.” Her teasing tone was doing nothing to remedy Cait’s stoic expression. The only window Vi had for any indication of what she was thinking, were the girl’s striking eyes, clearly focused on something else.

Caitlyn walked directly past Vi and sat on her bed, legs crossed and knees to her chest with her face in her palms. Vi followed a few long seconds later, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the bed as she put her hand on Cait’s knee. Caitlyn finally met her eyes.

“Do you need anything else?” She asked gently.

Caitlyn’s voice was hoarse. “I’d like to shower.”

Vi looked at her slightly quizzically, unable to answer.

“She took me while I was bathing.” The words left her lips without ceremony, her tone flat, practiced. She knew it would hit Vi like a hammer, but what else was there to say? Her hand clenched the fabric of her shorts, knuckles pale against the dark cloth.

Vi felt the room tilt, her pulse thrumming so loudly in her ears that Caitlyn’s voice sounded like it was underwater.

She felt horrible for wanting to chuckle at Vi’s horrified look.

“Wha.. What do you mean?”

Vi’s breath hitched, her thoughts stumbling over themselves. Her chest felt tight, her fists curling unconsciously. Naked. Helpless. The image struck her like a fist to the ribs, and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep her voice steady. Jinx’s laughter echoed in her head. What have I done?

“After the bridge. She kept me for a day, and..” Her voice trailed off, lost in thought.

-

Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. Oh my god what the fuck. Vi felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. It was so much worse than she thought. Her heartbeat started to match the speed of her thoughts, as she put together the pieces.

When she had seen Caitlyn gagged and tied, the girl looked more terrified than she had ever seen her. Even still, Jinx’s presence cast a shadow over her worry.

Every step she thinks that she takes in the right direction, just ends up hurting the people around her. Maybe her and her sister weren’t that different after all.

-

Even softly, Caitlyn caught onto the slight increase in Vi’s breathing pattern and used her pointer finger to lift Vi’s chin gently, so their eyes could meet. She slipped her ungloved hand into Vi’s buzzed hair, the short strands soft against her fingertips, her thumb brushing the warmth of Vi’s cheek.

“Vi, I want to shower.”

Vi looked as conflicted as she probably felt. All she did was nod.

Caitlyn leaned forward, resting her forehead against her knees, her hand still lightly brushing Vi’s. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as Vi shifted closer. She didn’t know what to say—hell, she didn’t know what Cait wanted her to say.

When Caitlyn finally looked up, her eyes held a quiet, raw intensity that made Vi’s throat tighten. “Could you…” Her voice was thick, and she cleared her throat, her fingers tightened around Vi’s for just a moment. “Come with me?” Caitlyn’s eyes were sharp but heavy, like an ocean that hadn’t decided whether to swallow you whole or let you float.

-

[wonder-worker]

the two skeletons may reveal the death of the Princes? 👀

I'm not super familiar with this topic, tbh. From what I can understand, it's possible, but it's equally possible that DNA testing may not actually prove or reveal anything regarding the Princes.

Context: In 1674, workmen found two skeletons in a wooden box in the Tower of London, where they had been buried 10 feet under the staircase leading to the chapel of the White Tower. Charles II ordered the bones to be reinterred in Westminster Abbey in 1678, and a Latin inscription written at that time translates to: "Here lie the relics of Edward V, King of England, and Richard, Duke of York". 

In 1933, the bones were examined by Lawrence Tanner, William Wright and George Northcroft, who concluded that they belonged to two children around the correct ages for the Princes, and that one skull showed evidence of death by suffocation. No further scientific examination was conducted, although many believe that re-examination with improved techniques and DNA sampling could provide a more accurate analysis. However, to disinter a body from the Abbey, permission has to be granted from the reigning monarch (ew), which has not been granted as of yet.

Many members of the R3 Society hope that the bones will be proved not to be the Princes, because they feel like it will vindicate Richard due to the absence of explicit, tangible evidence of their deaths. Those who believe Richard III was guilty (he was) believe that if the bodies were the Princes, it would prove they were murdered. If examinations reveal that were the Princes, and reveal manner of death was violent, then yes, the latter seems reasonable. But we don’t know what will will show up in the results - if they are ever allowed - and it's entirely possible it won't matter to the current case.

To quote @seethemflying from this post:

“Most scholars agree it will not actually prove anything at all. If the bones are the princes, it just proves that they died in the Tower, not who murdered them. If the bones are not the princes, it just means these bones belong to someone else. The Tower of London is old, and was built on part of Londinium's Roman wall. Pre-medieval and even Roman human remains have been found on the site before, it wouldn't be a surprise if these bones dated to any point before the 17th century […] Whether the bones are or are not the princes can therefore do little to answer the central questions about who killed these little boys.”

For example, there are a few sources - both contemporary and post-contemporary - that suggest water may be involved in the Princes' "disappearance" (murder). We don't know the exact circumstances, but if the Princes were disposed off in such a manner, we cannot expect to ever find their bodies.

Ultimately, regardless of the identity of the two skeletons, the Princes were almost definitely were murdered, and Richard III was almost definitely the one who murdered them. We do not know it "for sure", the same way we do not know "for sure" if Arthur of Brittany, Edward II, Richard II and Henry VI were murdered (and how), but all of them almost definitely were and it’s simply disingenuous to pretend otherwise. It’s equally disingenuous to act as though all the above-mentioned cases were clear-cut examples of murder while the case of the Princes is somehow a more Complex and Confusing one which you have to choose your words more carefully over when it's....really, really not (see: the matter-of-fact way they talk about John and Arthur VS Richard and the Princes). Either you should analyze all these cases with the same level of assertion/uncertainty, or don't analyze them at all.

Also, contrary to the claims of Ricardians, who believe that nobody accused Richard III until the Tudors, there are a range of independent contemporary sources who firmly believed he killed his nephews. It also makes zero sense for Elizabeth Woodville, Elizabeth of York and Edward IV's supporters, who were the ones to raise Henry Tudor as an active claimant to challenge Richard III in the first place, to endorse Henry in any way if they thought that Edward V or Richwrd of Shrewsbury might still be alive. The fact that they did can only mean that they knew/believed that the Princes were dead (though I think there was considerable ambiguity on the exact circumstances behind those deaths). It's simply illogical to pretend otherwise.

[shadowmaat]

username FIC game

Heya, @bluemaskedkarma I see your "choose a song for each letter of your name" and raise you "choose a FIC for each letter of your name." It's still a "get to know me" thing, but with the bonus of boosting other fic writers. SO!

S- Stonebrook by @sl-walker (Bail saves a young Maul from prison and takes him home to Alderaan. Lots of depth to this one. Doesn't shy away from things, though later fics in the series can be funny too.)

H- The House Built on Fresh Snow by @tiend (Jango/Shmi, AU where Shmi is an engineering slave on a ship where Jango is added to the ranks. Neither could predict what happened next. It's interesting to see these two thrown together and how they complement each other.)

A- After the Storm by SpaceWall (post-war AU, everyone is struggling to move on after the war. Cody joins an agricorp mission to Mandalore and tries to cope with putting his General in a coma. Heavy stuff at times, lots of angst, but there's a hopeful ending.)

D- Dawnbreak Accord by AugustArchon (Din/Leia, Leia defends one of the Mandalorian delegates and amid paperwork and political headaches, an unexpected kinship develops. These two really click, and it's wonderful to watch it develop.)

O- Out with Lanterns by Skyebean (AU where Mace is Ahsoka's Master, how that changes things... and what it doesn't. Some fun things, some serious things, and of course O66 still happens. This time Ahsoka is in the middle of it.)

W- Why Not's and How To's by @trixree (unadulterated crack AU where Obi-Wan is a lawyer who sets his sights on emancipating the GAR. Not yet complete. SO much silliness. But also, y'know, someone fighting for Clone Rights, which is always good to see.)

M- Mand'alor Cabur by @nautilicious (slow-burn Bobadin featuring lots of foundlings, growing a family, growing a community, and growing a brain to recognize the clues. Not yet complete. Din is an absolute idiot, but luckily Boba is incredibly, incredibly patient and forgiving.)

A- All Is as the Force Wills It by felurian (Rogue One escapes Scarif by the skin of their teeth and begin the long road to recovery. Distrust and uncertainty lengthen the road, but hope remains. Some good Chirrut/Baze stuff and Bodhi angst. "Everybody lives" doesn't mean things are magically all better.)

A- and your people shall never be destroyed by @bitebackbaby (Palpatine dies. The entire Corrie Guard has disappeared. Cody and some of the other Commanders investigate. One-shot. Cliffhanger. Heavy on the Corrie whump and Commanders guilt. I'm intrigued by the possibilities left out in the open.)

T- The 212th Attack Battalion's Guide to Staging Rescues by antigrav_vector and @quarra (de-aged clones and Obi-Wan get flung into the past to Korda VI and Jaster Mereel's camp. Chaos and mass adoptions ensue. Lots of humor, lots of competence. Gosh dang did I love watching the mini-clones (and Obi-Wan) running around and being amazing.)

This shit's trickier than you think, but anyone who wants to give it a go, consider yourselves tagged!

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

let my prize be your teasure

by idkwhatimdoingbutslay

Vi can’t help but watch Caitlyn think, her eyebrows furrowing and her (plush) lip caught between her teeth and her jittering eyes. Her features stay sharp despite her obvious uncertainty, but Vi remembers touching- No. No, she doesn’t. Caitlyn looks up, shifting her attention to meet Vi’s gaze. They stare for a few seconds, their faces close enough to be able to feel each other’s cold breath. Vi watches Caitlyn analyze her in a different way she’s been analyzing these papers, her eyes jumping from one of Vi’s features to another. Vi’s breaths become heavy without her even realizing it, Caitlyn’s attention suffocating and full of bliss. A familiar loud, vibrating buzz wracks through Vi’s body. Lips part and Vi’s hands are itching to touch places she can now, officially say she’s familiar with. Vi hates remembering each curve, each bite, each graze, each time and time again Caitlyn went in for more. Vi hates thinking about each ‘what if’ even more.

> Post breaching their rivalry and finding themselves way too close for comfort, Caitlyn and Vi adjust to sharing Heimerdinger's internship they were originally competing for. One office, two lesbians, and a nice dash of radicalization to go with it.

Words: 5551, Chapters: 1/4, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of uni/pride/pining/sexual tension/veryyyyy lesbian AU | the prize

Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F

Characters: Caitlyn (League of Legends), Vi (League of Legends), Heimerdinger (League of Legends)

Relationships: Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)

Additional Tags: mmmmmm the girls are at it again!, Forced Proximity, Co-workers, they share an office 😲, Getting to Know Each Other, annoyances to lovers, Co-workers to lovers, Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, taking edibles together 😲, Partners in Crime, Basically, Falling In Love, they're both reluctant but especially vi..., Parties, potentially costume..., Seven Minutes In Heaven Game, teehee 🤭, Useless Lesbians, Girls Kissing, Idiots in Love, forced to do things together !!! like, Yoga, and others lol - Freeform, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, kind of......., Alternate Universe - Office, OKAY THAT MIGHT BE IT LOL, they figure things out and totally fall for each other its so gross, There Was Only One Bed, Dress Up, get both of their povs :), Heimerdinger is the regular ignorant and privileged subtle ahole boss, IM SUPER LATE AS PER USUAL BUT HAPPY PRIDE LMAOOO, No beta 🏃🏾‍♀️ so rip, Pining, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, AHHH OK I ACTUALLY THINK THATS IT NOW, slay, :), had to mess with the formatting of the summary, cuz ao3 says its too long 😭, i swear i have paragraph breaks in this guys I SWEAR, and i know when to make new paragraphs!!!, i hate this place 😭

Read on A03. from AO3 works tagged ‘Caitlyn/Vi (League of Legends)’

[agentrouka-blog]

I always thought Melisandre would be at least partially wrong about her vision beyond it being Sansa rather than Arya. The marriage part in particular; while Sansa is (set to be) betrothed to Harry Hardyng, she has no reason to flee the wedding, and assuming he dies, Littlefinger making his move so soon?

I think it may be correlation instead of causation (Littlefinger is preparing a wedding to either Harry, Robin or himself, while Sansa is leaving independently after learning about 'Arya' to the one person she knows for sure would help her rescue her sister, that being Jon - and Melisandre assumed it was the reason for her departure), the error compounded by Melisandre's knowledge of 'Arya' and her own interpretation.

Certainly she will not be even half right. A conflict is being set up and Melisandre will most likely end up near Dany (making her a one-off POV just to kill her in half a book seems odd) but GRRM has been careful to make a point about her fanaticism and free, mistake-riddled interpretation while leaving a true-enough core to serve as foreshadowing device.

Your post about Melisandre's use to manipulate Jon into trusting her was incredibly on point, but we also shouldn't forget her "daggers in the dark" vision. She is invested in Jon's survival for the reasons you laid out, but she can see what's about to happen, and it runs counter to her goals. So she needs to persuade him to trust her ASAP, to make him listen to her warnings, except it fails. The mutiny takes place, like she warned.

Which means Jon post-resurrection would take Melisandre's visions more seriously - and that can't be in this story, so she'll immediately be wrong about something that drove Jon for the second half of the book. Sansa, not Arya. Not a marriage, maybe not even fleeing (though I do think the Mountain Clan attack theory has merit). Either Melisandre's messed with him and maliciously lied to gain his trust (as far as Jon'll be concerned) or she is much too unreliable to make decisions on basis of her visions.

All of that will probably be revealed before Shireen burns and totally ruins any goodwill Jon would have for her, which in turn means he cannot possibly be Azor Ahai in Melisandre's eyes [I don't think Jon is AA, but Melisandre's clearly considering him subconsciously due to Jon obviously having SOME role to play while she's also clinging to her Stannis interpretation] - and in the meantime, dragon rumors reach Melisandre's ears...

Hi there!

Given all the uncertainties about the exact timing of the Northern plotlines coming up, I find it difficult to make concrete predictions about what will happen when.

But I do suspect that Melisandre will not go on as she has been up until now, especially not the same way as she did in the show.

For one, her plotline has been intensely intertwined with Stannis and how own choices relating to the prophecy and the power Melisandre was willing to invest on his behalf, as well as the things he was willing to let her do for his own gain. It's basically led to a destructive religious fanaticism that is bound to take on a life of its own very soon.

I don't necessarily think that GRRM intends to keep around Melisandre as an essentially unchanged character and simply aim her at a different target this time. The horror that is Shireen's murder - something GRRM has been building up to all this time since their introduction - is bound to have consequences for everyone involved, not just Stannis.

And she isn't needed to connect Dany to the story and prophecy of Azor Ahai. There's a basis for that in Essos already:

Haldon nodded. "Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …" (ADWD, Tyrion VI)

Where Mel hailed from, others already wait in the wings.

Plus, the other angle on the prophecy:

 "No one ever looked for a girl," he said. It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. "I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger." (AFFC, Samwell IV)

...and...

He was not a man to be refused. Sam hesitated a moment, then told his tale again as Marywn, Alleras, and the other novice listened. "Maester Aemon believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the fulfillment of a prophecy . . . her, not Stannis, nor Prince Rhaegar, nor the princeling whose head was dashed against the wall." "Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy." Marwyn turned his head and spat a gob of red phlegm onto the floor.  (AFFC, Samwell V)

Melisandre's role in Westeros was, I think, intended to introduce the prophecy and see its destructive potential and the subversion through to the bitter end with Stannis. This provides important context for when this prophecy is brought up with other people, specifically Dany but potentially also Jon. But that doesn't have to and likely won't be happening through Melisandre.

If she walks away from the murder of Shireen essentially unchanged, GRRM would severely undercut his own message about the prophecy.

"An ant who hears the words of a king may not comprehend what he is saying," Melisandre said, "and all men are ants before the fiery face of god. If sometimes I have mistaken a warning for a prophecy or a prophecy for a warning, the fault lies in the reader, not the book.  (ASOS, Davos V)

GRRM chose to focus much of his energy in Melisandre's single POV chapter on showing how a) wrong she is about a lot of things, and b) how much she is trying to compensate for a deeply traumatic past. Melony, lot seven. Much like Daenerys, she is avoiding a confrontation with the past, with her own choices and her immense pain, and focusing on what she believes she has achieved and will achieve. She ignores her own mistakes to a fault. If I look back I am lost. But look back she must in order for her character to have a cohesive arc.

Melisandre is likely to finish her story before ever encountering Dany, and it is likely to involve a harsh reckoning with her own path and failings and false certainties.

If GRRM has all of Team Stannis collapse in the wake of the prophecy, instead of sending Mel on as a straight continuation, he challenges the reader much more openly into questioning the worth and purpose of the prophecy entirely. The issue isn't Mel, its agent, it is the prophecy and how people react to it.

If Dany encounters the prophecy with Melisandre, the blame could be placed on Mel for leading her astray like she did Stannis.

If Dany encounters the prophecy independently, we will be watching a mirror to Stannis unfold, and it will open up a clearer invitation to compare the patterns of how this exact prophecy has influenced different people throughout the centuries of Targaryen rule all in the same destructive way.

It's a warning that is mistaken for a promise, and in this way, it became self-fulfilling.

[storyofmychoices]

Shadows and Deception: Parts VII & VIII

[Series Masterlist] [My Choices Masterlists]

Books: The Royal Romance (post-TRF), Crimes of Passion I, Desire & Decorum, Blades of Light and Shadow I

Characters: Trystan Thorne (M, no race mentioned), Marguerite Thorne, Olivia Nevrakis, Queen Amalas, Maxwell Beaumont, Daniel, King Liam (no race mentioned), Tyril Starfury, Nia Ellarious, Prince Hamid

Pairings: Olivia Nevrakis x Queen Amalas ; M!Trystan Thorne x (no gender given) MC (mentioned) ; King Liam x Riley (mentioned)

Rating/Warnings: Teen, mentions of blood, stab wound, knives/daggers (no graphic descriptions)

Word Count: Part VII: ~400; Part VI: ~1,500 : total ~1,900

Summary: Olivia makes it her mission to figure out who is trying to frame her and why, but what she finds isn't what she ever expected.

Catch Up: [Parts I and II] [Parts III and IV] [Parts V and VI]

These are the last two sections of the story. You should only read the "reveal" if you're caught up! I hope you enjoy the ending of this little mystery.

VII. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. (Sherlock Holmes)

Despite the evidence against Olivia, the King released her from custody, trusting his friend would not be so careless as to leave her own knife lying around as evidence of her wrongdoing.

Adrenaline filled Olivia as she returned to the ballroom, her mind racing with theories and suspicions. Stares fell upon her, filled with curiosity and uncertainty, yet she wouldn’t let them deter her from finding answers for herself. 

Ever the stealthy observer, she listened discreetly to hushed conversations, her keen ears capturing every piece of information that floated in the air. Some clues she already knew, like the red hair and her dagger, but others were new and intriguing, like whispers of coded letters and sightings of a cloaked female figure. 

Amalas slipped through the crowd with ease, making no waves as she passed, her focus entirely on her Duchess. "I see you've managed to evade their grasp," she teased, her voice filled with amusement.

Olivia's lips curled into a mischievous grin. "You know me, always one step ahead." 

Amalas leaned in, her voice low and intimate. "It's good to see you enjoying yourself," she whispered, her fingers lightly caressing Olivia's cheek.

A flicker of amusement danced in Olivia's eyes. "I must confess this party has become far more interesting than I expected. The year has been too quiet. I've missed the exhilaration of murder, treason, and deception that have come to be a staple of these gatherings."

"Why am I not surprised?" Amalas chuckled softly in admiration. She leaned in closer, brushing a kiss on Olivia's jaw as she whispered, "Perhaps we can make this night even more memorable." Her hand slid down Olivia's form, settling on her thigh as her teeth grazed the tender skin beneath her ear. "What do you say?"

As Amalas's words hung in the air, Olivia's thoughts were momentarily distracted by the events of the evening. Her calculating gaze shifted between Nia and Marguerite, contemplating their possible involvement. While pointing the finger at both was easy, she couldn't reconcile how either could have lifted her dagger without her notice. Nia wouldn't stand a chance even with magic, and while clever and cunning, Marguerite couldn't best Olivia. There was only one who stood a chance at that—

Olivia's gaze fell to her thigh, where Amalas's hand had been resting naturally above her collection of ornate daggers, Olivia not even giving it consideration until now.

VIII. It is not the past that matters, but the future. (Poirot)

As realization flashed across Olivia's face, Amalas knew it was time. The ruse was over. She swiftly withdrew her hand, but not quick enough to evade Olivia's hawk-like precision as another dagger found its place against Amalas's neck. 

The Spy Queen smiled in amusement at Olivia's discovery. "I knew you'd figure it out. Only you could."

"Why?" Olivia questioned, her voice filled with both curiosity and vengeance.

Amalas's fingers reached into her purse, her movements deliberate. "To keep you distracted so you wouldn’t figure out what comes next," she explained, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "And, I know you appreciate a good murder."

The tension in the room grew palpable as Olivia processed Amalas's words. Her dagger trained against the Queen's neck never wavered. "You killed Daniel? Why?"

"Oh, no." Amalas shook her head lightly. Her gaze drifted to the back of the ballroom, where she discreetly signaled someone. "You can call it a charade."

Confusion washed over Olivia as Maxwell called out to her, his expression filled with pride and excitement. 

He waved and smiled, his double thumbs-up a triumphant gesture. Standing beside him, far more alive than the last time she had seen him was Daniel. "I told Amalas I could trick you," Maxwell announced, pumping his fist in the air and dancing to celebrate his win.

"I had my reservations about his involvement, but he was very excited… and quite persistent, so I let him assist in my plot," she insisted.

Olivia's mind raced as she pieced together the puzzle before her. How could they make a fool of her? And who else was in on this ruse? Not the guard; they were too inept to even handle a fake murder. 

Clues and revelations swirled in her thoughts, forming a coherent picture of the events that had unfolded. The tense exchange between Maxwell and Daniel in an area sure to be overheard was the opening act, setting the stage for deception. Her mind flashed back to a particularly heated moment between her and Amala in the hall outside the ballroom just before the start of the event, their passionate embrace enough of a distraction for Amalas to lift her dagger without her questioning the placement of her hand. 

Her eyes widened as she continued to connect the dots: an evident stab wound and a pool of blood, but neither could explain his apparent lifeless form. And then it hit her—the syringe. It must have contained a substance to slow Daniel's heart and breathing, making him appear dead at first glance. But the blood—it still didn't make sense. She knew real blood when she saw it! 

Her jaw dropped slightly, her gaze settling on a certain Lord still celebrating his victory—Maxwell! She remembered an earlier quip she had directed his way, ‘I didn't know you were auditioning for the next Twilight movie. You've nailed the pale aesthetic. I'm sure you'd enjoy the glitter, but I don't think vampires dance.’ She shook her head remembering the interaction; there was a bandage on his arm. If it wasn't for her absolute fury at his participation in this deception, she would almost be impressed at his dedication to the game. Giving his own blood showed real commitment. Olivia's mind spun with the intricacies of the scheme, leaving her reeling as she processed the depths of deception that had taken place right under her nose.

Olivia took a step toward Maxwell, vengeance filling her gaze. "That was your blood?" she questioned, her voice dripping with accusation.

"Yup," he announced proudly, relishing in his deceit. 

She tightened her grip on her dagger, a scowl filling her face. "Since you're in such a giving mood, perhaps you'd like to donate more?" 

"If looks could kill—" he jested, a hint of hesitation creeping into his body as he took a step backward. 

"Oh, I promise it's more than looks," she sneered in amusement. 

"Time to go, Max," Daniel intervened, pulling his friend's arm. 

"She wouldn't…" Max offered, analyzing her face with a mix of uncertainty and concern. "...would she?"

"Let's find out," Olivia teased, her eyes fixed on him as she stalked forward. Much of the ballroom that had been listening in turned away themselves, hoping to avoid the Duchess's wrath.

"Yup, okay, time to go!" Maxwell conceded.

She would deal with him later, but for now, there was a much worse betrayal to confront. 

Her gaze flickered back to Amalas's hand, still concealed in her purse. "What else are you hiding?"

"The reason for all of this." She took a step closer to Olivia, despite her raised weapon. "You have captured my heart in ways I never considered possible. I can't imagine a path without you by my side. No secret or knowledge is as important and valuable to me as you." Amalas's usual confident voice faltered with a hint of nervousness. "Olivia Nevrakis, will you marry me?"

A storm of conflicting emotions washed over Olivia as she locked eyes with Amalas, her mind still reeling from the revelations of the night. The chaos and deception had led them to this pivotal moment.

Sensing her hesitance, Amalas continued, "I couldn't have you figure out my intentions, so I needed you distracted. You're too clever for your own good, my love."

"You never cease to amaze me," Olivia marveled at how Amalas was able to orchestrate the night's events, leading here with her none the wiser. Olivia's gaze narrowed on hers. "I could have killed you."

"I would have loved to see you try." Amalas nodded to the knife still in her hand. "You're welcome to make the first move... unless you prefer to wait until we're behind closed doors."

"This is the weirdest proposal I've ever seen," Trystan whispered to Marguerite, unable to turn away. 

"Don't get any ideas," his sister replied. "Rose won't find you as amusing."

"Are you sure?" His charming grin filled his face. 

"Yes," she nodded firmly. 

"But—"

"No." 

"It could be fun."

"It could lead to another international incident!" Marguerite reminded him. 

"What would life be without a headline or two?"

"You're lucky I like you!" 

"You love me!" Trystan wrapped his arm around his baby sister, his attention turning back to the happy couple, who were now settled in a passionate embrace, the ring happily settled on Olivia's finger. 

"You'll come up with something entirely your own," Marguerite decided, her head tipping to the side in consideration. "Unless of course… Rose proposes first." 

The proposal. His mouth opened as realization set in. His face contorted in dismay. “Wait, so the key, the locker, the notes, my whole investigation was for nothing?"

"Perhaps they deemed you a worthy adversary, one who might've detected the deception too soon, and so they gave you your own little distraction."

Trystan let out a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe I’ve been played,” his chagrin evident in his tone. "I was a pawn? I'm at least a knight," he sulked.

Marguerite smiled at his disappointment. “It seems your detective skills failed to notice the biggest mystery of all—love.”

After a moment of feeling sorry for himself, he straightened his jacket. “Well, at least, I wasn’t alone. No one else figured it out either.”

“That’s not quite true,” Marguerite teased, a satisfied smirk filling her face. 

“You did not see this coming!” He vehemently protested.

“I had my suspicions that more was at play than met the eye,” she reported. “Amalas seemed distracted, her focus on Olivia, even though there was no way Olivia would be so sloppy or that Amalas would suspect her. Then, there was her clutch; she kept it close like it held all her most precious secrets.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, there was that look too—”

“What look?”

“The one you wear so well—” she began, her voice filled with awe. “The pure admiration and adoration for the one you love and couldn’t spend a day without.” She pressed a kiss on his cheek, her words quieting. “It’s how I know your appreciation of this proposal isn't just in good fun and how I know you already have a ring of your own waiting for the perfect moment.” 

Before Trystan could respond, Marguerite slipped off into the once more lively crowd. She checked the time on her phone and headed to meet her contact with whom she'd exchange the flash drive she'd been concealing for secrets in an entirely different matter with everyone none the wiser.

The ballroom buzzed with a combination of awe, amusement, and adoration as the guests realized they had been unwitting participants in a grand charade leading into a moment they would never forget, the engagement of The Duchess of Lythikos and The Queen of Monterisso—a union that promised to be an adventure that surpassed even the captivating events of this extraordinary evening.

The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death. (Oscar Wilde)

Hi! If you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this mystery and the twist ending. I know not everyone likes twists, but I hope I did this one justice. This was not the ending I had intended but as I happened to write it, I couldn't see it ending any other way. Olivia deserves someone who would go to the ends of the earth for her and isn't afraid to push her. I hope I did her and Amalas justice... especially since I've never actually met Amalas in canon... This fic was never supposed to be this TRR series heavy but here we are.... I hope I did everyone justice.

I do feel for Maxwell, while Olivia can forgive Amalas, she might take some pent up frustration out on him in the near future. He better watch out!

Thank you again for reading and supporting this story. ❤️❤️❤️

Giveaway Information: complete details here

3 winners will be chose for minimalist portraits with @bayleedrawsx

Any one who comments on or reblogs with a comment with their theories, thoughts, ideas, ect. on any and all sections of the story will be entered in the giveaway. (1 entry per section)

Prompts: For @choicesbookclub COP ; @choicesmonthlychallenge Private Investigator Event

Special thanks: to JenBeaumontJones (IG) for beta reading

[trrenchertrash]

Hi I just found out your meta/analysis and I loved it!! Can I ask you opinion about last scene of Caitlyn expression after Vi said "nothings gonna clean me out", why it's does look like a sad face or uncertainty about their future etc not a determination face..

Anw thankyou so much for your post analysis can't wait to see more!

Hi! I think she’s definitely reckoning with the consequences of her actions here. Vi did just remind her of it all, even if she was teasing. So it’s more of a ruminative expression, and I think you could make the argument that there might be some quiet guilt or fear layered into it. Like you said, there’s uncertainty there too, like she’s wondering how she’s going to make all of this right. It’s a deep hole she’s dug herself into. And for all her arrogance and confidence I think even Caitlyn Kiramman would feel a little intimidated by that. Like her anger has finally been tempered with a little humility, maybe. That’s why she doesn’t have a confident, determined expression, I’d say.

[barebevil]

This post is about vi arcane, sexual dynamics, and vindication

"I see a version of her that prefers to be the one in control, given, everything about her life" said I to a friend in the week prior to s2 act3 airing, "and as we've seen, vi WANTS, she wants badly, but she holds back holds back holds back until she is given permission to Go For It." I say this because bottom vi had a lot of traction on my timeline. And maybe I made my own algo bed but it just never sat right with me. On account of how its a piss poor reading of the character. To me:) And now, I have been vindicated.

Apropos "...Vi now being more dominant and assertive, finally giving herself permission to feel pleasure and attraction..." quoth Amanda Overton; I have been taking it so personally when people insisted that Vi would take a passive or submissive role during sex. Vi? of arcane? Did you watch the show? It would simply have been at odds with everything previously established about her character! Vi tops, i have been saying to anyone who would listen, so you can imagine how smug and annoying i was when vi went and topped her girl in the show. ("Fork found in kitchen" said my beloved on this matter. "The reverse equivalent of 'what do you think he's gonna do? top you?'")

I feel like it's an aspect that a lot of people just Completely forget about; they equate vulnerability with submissiveness or bottoming or both, when in an emotional sense, this is only really true in the cases where that is the desire. Being assertive, dominant, the Giver, the Doer, the Taker, etc etc, depending, can be Just as vulnerable, if That is the desire. Especially if it is in a context where that is discouraged or stigmatized. Which it especially for women very often is. A lot of people talk as if the only way to be truly vulnerable during sex is to be penetrated, or manhandled, or slapped in the face, in some way opened, softened, humiliated. The flip side is the person who wants to penetrate, to manhandle, to open, to soften, to make humble - who necessarily needs to exist for this dynamic to even make sense! What requires vulnerability to this person is to let themselves have it, take it, claim it, etc. This might be the point at which you want to say "But Maia, it's not that deep" to which my response is simply: It is to me.

"The strong is only truly vulnerable when she relinquishes her strength" is such a half-assed, undercooked analysis. What I want to talk about is "the strong is truly vulnerable when she allows herself to stop holding back." It's so much more true to the text, and so much more exciting to watch, Knowing that this character is finally acting on her desires! That is where the release of tension lies: she is finally getting what she wants. Caitlyn is a character who when she closes herself off becomes controlling and assertive so it would make a lot of sense to her character that her brand of vulnerability would involve shedding that and letting herself Receive. Vi is a character who in moments of uncertainty, or when she is under pressure, Holds Back and Pushes away, so to her it would take trust and vulnerability to Pull Close and Take What She Wants. And that makes Two, as in how many it takes to Tango.

Maybe subs and bottoms are over-represented in online fandom spaces, and be that as it may, it takes a certain open-mindedness and effort towards understanding to trust that the top, the dom, the touch-me-not, the sadist, so forth, Means it when they say what they like and want. It's not unsual to assume that other people want the same thing that you want, and if you want to be topped or touched or dommed or fucked into oblivion, then it might be confusing to you that somebody wants, essentially, the opposite of that. But if consider your own impulses and desires for one second, you will realize that in order for those desires to be met in a way that is satisfying to all parties, you Need this person. You need the top! You need to trust that the top wants to top you, or rather, in this case; that they want to top your favorite character. It takes trust and vulnerability to act on those desires, there needs to be made room for that vulnerability. The bottom or the sub is not the only person giving something of themselves. See above, with regards to tango, and how many people it takes.

And Yes! It is True that not all butches are tops! But you are not doing revolutionary sexual activism by saying that this character would betray the essence of who they are in a sexual context. At best it's lazy and at worst it's straight up misogyny. Please stop assuming that the powerful woman secretly fantasizes about being dominated. It's a tired trope. Vi at her most open, most vulnerable, most honest, is assertive and dominant, and only when she feels safe to do so will she act on those desires. We saw it with every close call and almost-kiss in seasons 1 and 2 both, and then the actual first kiss; Vi clearly wanting to close the gap but holding herself back to let Caitlyn decide how far to take it, and when they finally do kiss, it's Caitlyn who leans in all the way and only Then does Vi allow herself to take what she wants: to kiss her, kiss her more, wrap her arms around her and pull her close. Extrapolate and you got yourself a recipe for a beautiful hot satisfying sexual dynamic. As we then see in the famous ep8 of s2. Reader, I punched the air in victory.

[rayspookyhistory]

ᡣ𐭩 Queen Elizabeth I: Triumph, Talent, and the Legacy of England's Golden Age ᡣ𐭩

for one of my favourite queens, also ill do all the word highlighting later i just wanna get this posted :3

Queen Elizabeth I, the last Tudor monarch, presided over a period of unprecedented change and development in England. Her reign, from 1558 to 1603, is often considered a golden age—a time when the arts flourished, exploration expanded England’s horizons, and the nation emerged as a significant European power. Despite numerous obstacles, Elizabeth I established herself as one of England’s most successful and admired rulers. Her exceptional intelligence, political savvy, and charismatic leadership enabled her to overcome immense challenges, secure her kingdom, and leave a lasting legacy.

Early Life and Preparation for Power

Elizabeth’s early years were marked by instability and danger. Born on September 7, 1533, to King Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, she was initially welcomed as the potential heir to the throne. However, her birth was a disappointment to Henry, who had desperately sought a male heir. When Elizabeth was just two and a half years old, her mother was executed on charges of treason, and Elizabeth was declared illegitimate, stripping her of her status as a potential successor. These early adversities shaped her cautious and resilient nature, traits that would prove crucial in her later life.

Despite the political uncertainties surrounding her, Elizabeth received a first-rate education, which was rare for women of her time. Her tutors, including the eminent scholar Roger Ascham, trained her in languages, history, rhetoric, and philosophy. Elizabeth became fluent in Latin, Greek, French, and Italian, and she developed a profound understanding of both classical and contemporary works. This education not only prepared her intellectually for the complexities of rule but also imbued her with a love for the arts and learning that would later characterize her reign.

Elizabeth’s path to the throne was fraught with danger. After her father’s death, her half-brother, Edward VI, ascended to the throne, but his reign was short-lived. Upon Edward’s death in 1553, her older half-sister, Mary I, took the throne. A fervent Catholic, Mary viewed Elizabeth, a Protestant, as a threat. Elizabeth was imprisoned in the Tower of London on suspicion of being involved in a Protestant rebellion, a situation that could have led to her execution. However, through a combination of diplomacy, intelligence, and good fortune, Elizabeth survived. Her experiences during this period instilled in her a deep understanding of the precariousness of power and the importance of caution and discretion.

Ascending the Throne: The Religious Settlement

When Mary I died in 1558, Elizabeth became queen at the age of 25, inheriting a nation deeply divided by religious strife. England had been torn apart by the conflicting demands of Catholicism and Protestantism under previous monarchs, leading to persecution, rebellion, and instability. Elizabeth’s first major challenge as queen was to bring peace and stability to her fractured kingdom.

Elizabeth’s solution was the Elizabethan Religious Settlement, introduced in 1559. This series of laws established Protestantism as the official religion of England but allowed for a degree of religious tolerance. The Act of Supremacy reasserted the independence of the Church of England from Rome, with Elizabeth as its Supreme Governor. The Act of Uniformity mandated the use of a common prayer book but allowed for some latitude in practice, which helped to appease more moderate Catholics. This settlement was a masterful compromise that reduced religious tensions and avoided the extreme measures that had led to bloodshed in the past. Elizabeth’s ability to navigate this religious divide was a testament to her political skill and her deep understanding of the need for national unity.

Maintaining Power: The Virgin Queen and Domestic Policy

In a male-dominated society, Elizabeth’s rule was an extraordinary achievement. She faced constant pressure to marry and produce an heir, as it was widely believed that a woman could not govern effectively on her own. However, Elizabeth deftly managed to use her unmarried status to her advantage. By remaining single, she retained full control over her own destiny and kept potential suitors, both domestic and foreign, at bay. Her status as the “Virgin Queen” became central to her public image, symbolizing her devotion to England above all personal concerns.

Elizabeth’s domestic policies were marked by careful management and a focus on stability. She surrounded herself with loyal and capable advisors, such as Sir William Cecil, Lord Burghley, who helped her implement effective governance. Elizabeth’s reign saw improvements in England’s economy, the consolidation of royal authority, and the development of a more centralized state. Her government was characterized by a cautious approach to expenditure and a reluctance to engage in unnecessary wars, which helped to secure the nation’s finances and avoid the pitfalls that had plagued previous reigns.

Facing External Threats: The Defeat of the Spanish Armada

Elizabeth’s reign was also defined by her handling of external threats, particularly from Catholic powers like Spain. The most significant challenge came in 1588 when King Philip II of Spain launched the Spanish Armada, a massive fleet intended to invade England and overthrow Elizabeth. The defeat of the Armada is one of the most celebrated events of Elizabeth’s reign and a turning point in English history.

Despite being outnumbered and facing a formidable foe, the English navy, under commanders like Sir Francis Drake, used superior tactics and the advantage of home waters to defeat the Spanish fleet. The victory was aided by the weather, with storms—referred to as the “Protestant wind”—dispersing the Spanish ships. Elizabeth’s leadership during this crisis was crucial; her speech to the troops at Tilbury, in which she famously declared, “I have the heart and stomach of a king,” rallied her forces and inspired confidence in her leadership. The defeat of the Armada not only secured England’s independence but also established the nation as a rising naval power and laid the groundwork for its future dominance on the seas.

Cultural Flourishing: The Elizabethan Renaissance

Elizabeth’s reign is often synonymous with the flowering of English culture, known as the Elizabethan Renaissance. The queen herself was a great patron of the arts, and her court became a center of cultural and intellectual life. Elizabeth’s love for literature, music, and the visual arts fostered an environment where creativity could thrive.

This period saw the emergence of some of the greatest figures in English literature, including William Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe, Edmund Spenser, and Ben Jonson. These writers produced works that explored complex themes of power, identity, and the human condition—many of which reflected the challenges and triumphs of Elizabeth’s own reign. Shakespeare’s plays, in particular, are often seen as a mirror of the Elizabethan world, with their deep explorations of political intrigue, ambition, and the nature of kingship.

Beyond literature, Elizabeth’s reign also witnessed advancements in music, architecture, and the visual arts. The Elizabethan style, characterized by elaborate decoration and classical motifs, became prominent in English architecture and design. The queen’s own image, carefully crafted through portraits and public appearances, reinforced her authority and the perception of her as a powerful and almost mythical figure. The cultural achievements of the Elizabethan era left a lasting impact on English identity and continued to influence the arts for centuries.

Cultural Achievements: Fashion, Architecture, and Social Customs

The Elizabethan Era was a time of cultural renaissance in England, driven by Elizabeth’s patronage and the growing prosperity of the nation. Under her reign, fashion, architecture, and social customs flourished, reflecting the confidence and creativity of the period.

Fashion and Social Norms

Elizabeth I’s influence on fashion was profound. Her personal style, characterized by elaborate gowns, ruffs, and intricate jewelry, became the standard for the English court and beyond. The queen’s attire was not just a matter of personal preference but a tool of statecraft, designed to project power, wealth, and authority. This fashion trend quickly spread among the nobility and the rising middle class, who adopted these styles as symbols of their own status and aspirations. The emphasis on fashion during Elizabeth’s reign also mirrored the era’s social stratification, where clothing was a key indicator of one’s place in the social hierarchy.

Social customs in Elizabethan England also evolved, particularly among the upper classes. The court became a center of sophisticated manners, where etiquette and ceremony were meticulously observed. These practices extended into the broader society, influencing the behavior of the gentry and merchants. The growth of a more refined social culture reflected the increasing importance of social status and decorum during Elizabeth’s reign, as well as the queen’s own efforts to cultivate a court that embodied the ideals of order, loyalty, and honor.

Architecture and the Arts

Architecture during the Elizabethan period saw the emergence of a distinctive style that blended Gothic and Renaissance influences. This era produced some of England’s most iconic buildings, such as Hardwick Hall and Longleat House, which symbolized the power and wealth of their owners. These grand estates were designed not only as residences but as statements of status and influence, with their symmetrical facades, large windows, and richly decorated interiors showcasing the fusion of traditional English and new European styles.

The arts also flourished under Elizabeth’s reign, particularly literature and theater. The queen’s support of the arts, combined with the relative peace and prosperity of the period, created a fertile environment for creative expression. The Elizabethan theater became a central cultural institution, with playwrights like William Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe, and Ben Jonson producing works that explored complex themes of power, identity, and human nature. These works have endured as some of the most significant contributions to English literature, reflecting the intellectual and cultural vibrancy of Elizabeth’s reign.

Shaping the Future: Elizabeth’s Influence on Monarchs and Society

Elizabeth I’s reign had a lasting impact on the English monarchy and society, setting precedents that would influence her successors and the development of the nation.

The Elizabethan Religious Settlement

One of Elizabeth’s most significant contributions was the Elizabethan Religious Settlement, which established a moderate form of Protestantism as the state religion while allowing for a degree of religious tolerance. This pragmatic approach helped to stabilize a nation that had been torn apart by religious conflict under previous monarchs. Elizabeth’s settlement laid the foundation for a distinctly English form of Protestantism, which would become central to the national identity. Her ability to balance religious factions and maintain peace in a deeply divided country influenced the policies of future monarchs, who would continue to navigate the complexities of religious governance.

Monarchical Authority and Image

Elizabeth’s reign also had a profound impact on the concept of monarchical authority in England. She skillfully crafted an image of herself as both a powerful ruler and a devoted guardian of her people. This blend of authority and benevolence became a model for future monarchs, particularly in the way they engaged with their subjects and justified their rule. Elizabeth’s use of symbolism, pageantry, and the arts to reinforce her authority demonstrated the importance of public perception in maintaining power, a lesson that would resonate with later rulers, especially during the Stuart era.

Economic Growth and Colonial Ambitions

Elizabeth’s reign also laid the groundwork for England’s later economic and colonial expansion. Her support for explorers like Sir Francis Drake and Sir Walter Raleigh helped to establish England’s presence in the New World and other overseas territories, setting the stage for the British Empire’s rise in the following centuries. The queen’s economic policies, including the encouragement of trade and industry, contributed to the growth of a more modern capitalist economy. The establishment of the East India Company in 1600 marked a significant milestone in England’s commercial history, reflecting Elizabeth’s vision of expanding English influence beyond Europe.

The Significance of Elizabeth’s Foreign Policy

Elizabeth I’s foreign policy was characterized by a delicate balance between maintaining England’s independence and navigating the complex politics of Europe. Her relationships with other European powers, particularly Spain and France, were marked by a combination of diplomacy, caution, and, when necessary, military action.

Relations with Spain and the Defeat of the Spanish Armada

The most significant foreign threat to Elizabeth’s reign came from Spain, under King Philip II. The religious and political rivalry between Protestant England and Catholic Spain culminated in the Spanish Armada of 1588, when Philip attempted to invade England. Elizabeth’s leadership during this crisis was crucial. The defeat of the Armada was not only a military victory but also a powerful symbol of English resilience and Elizabeth’s ability to protect her realm. This event solidified her reputation as a strong and capable leader, capable of defending her kingdom against even the most formidable foes.

Diplomatic Relations with France

Elizabeth’s relationship with France was more complex and required careful diplomacy. As another Catholic power, France posed a potential threat, but Elizabeth recognized the value of using France as a counterbalance to Spain. Throughout her reign, she maintained diplomatic relations with France, skillfully navigating the shifting alliances and rivalries of European politics. Elizabeth’s cautious approach to foreign policy, marked by a reluctance to engage in costly wars, preserved England’s resources and allowed the nation to emerge stronger and more unified.

Legacy of Caution and Diplomacy

Elizabeth’s foreign policy legacy is one of caution and pragmatism. She avoided unnecessary military conflicts, relying instead on diplomacy, espionage, and strategic alliances to secure England’s position in Europe. Her approach influenced the foreign policies of her successors, particularly in the early Stuart period, where a similar preference for diplomacy over war can be seen. Elizabeth’s ability to maintain England’s independence while navigating the complex web of European politics set a standard for future monarchs and helped to establish England as a significant power on the international stage.

Historical Interpretations and Ongoing Debates

Historians have long been fascinated by Elizabeth I’s reign, and interpretations of her legacy have evolved over time. Early historical accounts often portrayed her as an ideal monarch, celebrated for her wisdom, virtue, and strong leadership. During the Victorian era, Elizabeth was revered as a national icon, embodying the ideals of female authority and English pride.

In more recent years, scholars have adopted a more nuanced view of Elizabeth’s reign, examining the complexities and contradictions of her rule. Some historians have highlighted the challenges she faced, such as the precariousness of her power, her use of political manipulation, and the difficulties in managing a deeply divided kingdom. Others have debated the extent to which her achievements were due to her personal qualities versus the circumstances of her time, considering factors such as her skilled advisors and the relative stability of the period.

Debates also continue about Elizabeth’s legacy, particularly regarding her failure to provide a clear succession plan, which led to uncertainty and conflict after her death. However, despite these discussions, Elizabeth I remains a towering figure in English history, admired for her resilience, intelligence, and the lasting impact of her reign.

The Final Years and Enduring Legacy

The later years of Elizabeth’s reign were marked by increasing challenges. The deaths of key advisors, ongoing threats from Spain, and economic difficulties strained the aging queen and her government. Additionally, the issue of succession loomed large, as Elizabeth had refused to marry or name an heir, leading to uncertainty and anxiety within the court. Nevertheless, Elizabeth remained a formidable ruler until her death on March 24, 1603, at the age of 69.

Elizabeth I’s legacy is one of resilience, intelligence, and successful leadership in the face of daunting challenges. She managed to maintain her authority in a male-dominated society, navigate complex international politics, and foster a cultural renaissance that defined an era. The Elizabethan Age is remembered as a time of national pride and achievement, and Elizabeth herself as a monarch who embodied the spirit of her people. Her reign laid the foundations for England’s future as a global power and left an indelible mark on the nation’s history.

In summary, Queen Elizabeth I was an extraordinary leader whose reign transformed England. Despite facing immense opposition—from religious conflict and foreign threats to the pressures of ruling as a woman in a patriarchal society—she emerged as one of the most successful and revered monarchs in history. Her legacy continues to inspire and influence, making her one of the most iconic figures in the annals of English history.

photo belongs to Historic Royal Palaces

[autistic-sidestep]

11 and G for Sura if you’re up for it!

11. How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)? depends? sura prefers to be self sufficient + pretend they understand. farm training drilled in that you don't ask for clarification because you should understand immediately. step era helped soften that a bit + let them be more comfortable seeking clarification. if it's something important where uncertainty means screwing something up, they'll ask.

G. What trait of theirs bothers you the most? THAT I CAN'T GET A PIN ON THEM ok that's a lie sura's a chameleon (vis-à-vis the cuckoo thing) which is Fun to play. but also incredibly frustrating for figuring out its characterisation/motives etc. i've been GRADUALLY feeling it out over the last year + doing a lot of retconning and changing my mind abt things on them as things develop but the "do not Perceive Me" front + telepathic aura is real and it extends past the fourth wall

sura's sense of self + to a lesser extent its personality is also Very fractured post-hb. so you see my problem

[docpiplup]

Now that Hallowen is near, I have decided to share an interesting book I have been reading in these weeks, its title is Toledo: La Ciudad de los Muertos (Toledo: The City of the Dead), writen by Ventura Leblic García. The topic is to divulge about the stories and death rites of people of the several cultures and religions which have inhabitated the city throughout history. I'll be sharing scans of the pages of the book through posts here on Tumblr if anyone it's curious about the topic. Here's the first set:

PART 1

Cover

Toledo: The City of the Dead

Ventura Leblic García

Covarrubias Editions

Backcover

Toledo is a city that the living and the dead share. It is a great historical necropolis. But do we really know our "neighbors"? Do we know where they "live"? Do we know the cultural and social environment in which their lives were spent? Do we know the culture of death in the different civilizations that inhabited the crag of Toledo? Carpetans, Romans, Visigoths, Muslims, Jews, Christians... their rites around death, beliefs, customs, the evolution of cemetery spaces... It is time to know what history has left us, trying to unravel the truth in the uncertainty of a tomb.

Toledo: The City of the Dead

Ventura Leblic García

Covarrubias Editions 2013

INDEX

Introduction. Page 9

Chapter I. Funerary practices in ancient times. Page 12

The indigenous people. Page 14

Chapter II. The cemetery spaces outside the walls of Toledo. Page 19

Roman cemeteries. Page 19

The early Christian cemetery. Page 24

Visigoth times. Page 31

Toledo's maqbara. The Muslim cemetery. Page 38

Toledo's Mozarabic cemeteries. Page 47

The Jewish cemetery. Page 50

Chapter III. The interior of churches as cementary spaces. Page 63

Chapter IV. Parish cemeteries. Page 70

Chapter V. The cemetery and the municipal cemetery. Page 103

Chapter VI. Royal burials in Toledo. Page 112

The New Kings Chapel. Page 136

New chapel. Page 139

Royal funerals in Toledo. Page 144

Chapter VII. Tombs of royal lineage in Toledo. Page 149

Chapter VIII. Other tombs in Toledo of people who made history. Page 170

The tomb of Doménikos Theotokópoulos "El Greco". Page 178

A frustrated pantheon of illustrious men. Page 182

Don Álvaro de Luna and Doña Juana de Pimentel. Page 188

An empty tomb for four hundred years. Page 191

The tomb of Cardinal Mendoza. Page 194

Francisco de Pisa. Page 196

The flying priest. Bartolomeu Lourenço de Gusmão. Page 197

Chapter IX. The Cistercian monastery of Monte Sión. A case of pantheon foundation. Page 201

The graves. Page 204

Chapter X. Bodies of saints and blesseds venerated in Toledo. Page 215

Chapter XI. Those who did not return. Page 232

Saint Ildefonso of Toledo. Page 232

Grave of Alfonso VI, king of Castile. Page 237

Alfonso X the Wise. Page 239

Francisco Jiménez de Cisneros. Page 240

Queen Joanna I of Castile. Page 242

Alfonso III de Fonseca, archbishop of Toledo. Page 243

Juan de Padilla. Page 244

Francisco de Rojas. Page 248

Cardinal Lorenzana. Page 249

Bibliography. Page 251