#seriously i am so glad to get a Tolstoy ask. thanks so much for sending this ❤️

[queenlucythevaliant]

5, 9 and 20 for War and Peace?

I am so glad to get one of these for W&P! Thanks!

5: do you have a favorite character? Who?

I was always going to love Natasha. I tend to gravitatie toward those characters who appreciate beauty more deeply than those around them, and that's Natasha to a T. It was the moon in the window scene with her and Sonya that really made me go, "Oh ok, she's one of My Girls now." Love her to death. I think Natasha and Lucy Pevensie would be really good friends.

Would also like to give a shoutout to my man Platon Karataev though! He's probably my favorite of the supporting cast. I love his faith, his optimism, his whole relationship with Pierre, and although his ending just broke my heart, I love that his impact is felt all the way to the end of the story. Would totally love to be his friend. I adore the prayer he says every night (I think I've posted about it on this blog before: "Lord, lay me down like a stone and raise me up like new bread.") I also really love the little detail that he loves to sing but kinda sucks at it.

9: give the most UNHELPFUL and/or SILLY summary possible

W&P defies summary to the extent that any attempts are kind of inherently funny. So:

The Napoleonic Wars happen. Various Russians go to war, contemplate existence, fall in love, find God, cheat on each other, romanticize the past, die, get married, and gaze at the sky. There are two epilogues, and you can skip the second one.

20: What's the WORST thing about this story, in your opinion?

It drives me nuts that Natasha gives up music after marrying Pierre. Really and truly it does. Also, someone besides Natasha please appreciate Sonya challenge!

[heart-strong]

For the Love of Cookies

Summary: Spencer is having a bad day so of course Luke makes cookies (and snuggles) set post show

A/N: I wrote this for Maya because she was asking for sweet headcannons for sweet a fuzzy feelings. I saw a couple and I was going to send somthing in but thought I should just write a short fic. Also I am a white girl and if the spanish phrase is wrong message me and I’ll fix it. this is fluff and should be fine but if theres anything triggering just message me.

Some questions I can feel coming, yes Leo for Leo Tolstoy and he is a darker purple when frowning. I am also not thinking of a spacific Doctor Who Podcast because I do not watch the show but your welcome to recommed any podcasts in the comments.

hi i cant spell.

the flippy octopus mentioned headcannons

luke alvez cookie master headcannon

I hope this helps you feel a bit better Maya

WC: 567 (thats so satifying)

pure fluff

Emily Prentiss: Hey Luke, just saw the date. I’m so glad it’s a black-out week take care of Spence for us.

Luke Alvez: At the store getting cookie ingredients, don’t worry I got extra to make the Sunday before we come back.

The text came in while he was at the store but only replied that he was back at their shared apartment parking lot. The cookies would help. Luke knew they wouldn’t disintegrate the nightmares or the hospital visit or the new set of headaches that would pop up again. But they did help. Spencer said that this morning in bed. 

After he brought some apple sauces, orange juice, and the entire pot of coffee to Spencer, he took grocery requests. Well more requests than just cookies. Spencer didn’t want anything, so Luke was in charge of nutrition. He decided to make Mac and Cheese with grilled vegetables. Something healthy and one of Spencer’s comfort foods. 

“Mi Corazón, I’m home Spence!” Luke entered the apartment. No Roxy greeting and the lights were still off. The kitchen seemed untouched. Luke put the cheese, milk, and butter in the fridge and then went to the bedroom. 

“Spencie, you in here?” Luke knocked on the ajar door and found him hugging Luke’s pillow to his face and Roxy’s nose poking out under the weighted blanket. “Hey baby, do you want snuggles.”

“Yes, please,” he mumbled into the pillow. 

“Feeling a bit better?” Luke toed his shoes off and was really grateful he stayed in sweatpants when he went out.

“No,” his little grabby hands when Luke moved the pillow and before he was able to sit melted his heart. Once he was adjusted, Spencer grabbed the fabric of his t-shirt and nuzzled it into his side. “But this helps.”

“My body?” Luke huffed.

“You smell so nice.”

“Okay, so when do you want the cookies, sweetie.”

“Snuggles first.”

Luke snuggled in and noticed the little emotional octopus he had gifted Spencer a few months back when he went nonverbal on top of Spencer’s pillow pile. It was still smiling and light purple.

“Hey darling, I know you don’t have to flip the octopus, especially because I did get it for when you go nonverbal, but why is Leo still smiling?”

“Well, he makes me sadder when he’s sad. When he’s smiling, it’s like you’re smiling at me or supporting me. Makes me feel better.”

“Oh well, that is just adorable.” Luke grabs Leo off the top, “Hes very supportive. So how long for snuggles because cookies and lunch do need to be made.”

“Can we listen to that Doctor Who Podcast?”

“You don’t want to watch?”

“I can’t open my eyes, just the podcast, please.”

After three hour-long episodes, at two times speed, because even though his head hurt, he’s still Spencer, Luke was in the kitchen cooking, and Spencer sat on the couch with another episode playing. Roxy sat on his feet like always. And after they ate, there were even more snuggles in bed. 

“Hey Luke, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby.”

“Seriously though, thank you for today. I like not needing to take care of myself.”

“And I like babying you, darling. Goodnight, love of life.”

“Luke Alvez, you are a fucking sap.”

“I love you, Spencer Reid, but if you don’t want me to keep telling you, I can stop.”

“No, never stop.”

[hello-there]

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[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

‘Choosing Sides’ Part Seventeen - Conflict of Interest

Meeting with Mr. Kenzaki, Miho discovered that she was being reassigned to events under the supervision of his own daughter Selina.

The woman was significantly shorter than Miho, with warm dark eyes and a considerate smile. She held herself professionally, explaining the next big function to be held at the hotel, pointing at various things on her tablet as she did.

“There’s a lot of money and prestige in the IVC,” Miho noted, following Selina into the grand ballroom.

“And ego,” Selina chuckled, “but don’t tell Mr. Ichinomiya I said that.”

“So, what is it the VIPs do during this event, other than enjoy the hotels facilities?” Miho probed.

“Networking mostly,” Selina answered easily, glancing around and counting tables, until a tall figure entered from another door. “Though some…”

Her sentence faltered, and Miho followed her gaze to the man dressed in hotel uniform.

“Miss Kenzaki?” Miho urged, and Selina cleared her throat as the man approached, his face set in a gentle expression.

“It’s unusual to see you here, Mr. Tolstoy,” Selina greeted with a reserved smile, and in response, he gave her a shallow bow.

“I apologise, Miss Kenzaki,” he replied, and though his Japanese was perfect, his accent along with his appearance, spoke volumes of his foreign heritage. “I shall not inconvenience you long, however, Mr. Ichinomiya wished me to ensure you had updated the IVC guest list with those last minute omissions.”

“Of course,” Selina nodded, tapping her tablet and turning it around for him to confirm. “I’ll email it to him.”

Miho observed them in silence. The demeanour of both was professional, and yet, there was definitely something in the verdant green of his eyes, a light, a sparkle perhaps, when he looked at Selina.

“And this is the new employee who so spectacularly apprehended that bag thief this morning,” he smiled, turning that bright gaze upon Miho. “Miss Ohira, is it?”

“Yes,” Miho responded, bowing as he had. “Ohira Miho.”

“Welcome to the Tres Spades, Miss Ohira,” he greeted. “I am Tolstoy Zain, penthouse steward.”

“Thank you Mr. Tolstoy,” Miho replied politely. “Though I am a little embarrassed word of my little stunt has spread so quickly.”

“Mr. Ichinomiya mentioned it in passing,” he explained. “Which is quite unlike him; you have made an impression.”

A somewhat frightening thought, while at the same time gratifying.

“Have a good afternoon,” he then bid, bowing to the two of them again, but he did not turn away until Miho saw him make meaningful eye contact with Selina.

Definitely something going on there.

But it wasn’t something Miho could ask while working – the slightest hint of pink in Selina’s cheeks did, however, confirm Miho’s suspicions.

The rest of the afternoon, and into the evening, was spent familiarising herself with IVC preparations, and what her duties would be during the main function. While Miho took mental notes, she couldn’t help but worry about her upcoming date with Baba.

Could he really be involved in this?

The idea twisted her insides – could she seriously have been having relations with someone involved in terrorism?

But Baba? Really?

Unable to help but sigh.

What do you even really know about him?

“Ugh,” she grunted in frustration, for these questions were not the only dread growing within.

When she returned to employee housing, she would have to report to Kaga, and inform him of her evening activities; and that was sure to go down a real treat.

Grumbling to herself, she checked the time and headed to her apartment, only to stop in the hallway to stare at a long object hanging on her door. On closer inspection it turned out to be a dress bag, the logo denoting its origin from one of Tres Spades boutique designer brands, and upon it was pinned a note.

Indulge me? XX Baba.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Miho muttered, taking it down and going inside.

It hung on the door of her wardrobe as she showered and prepared to go out again. Her phone, meanwhile, sat on her bed, glaring loudly about the fact she had not yet reported in.

“Fine,” she growled, but she couldn’t bring herself to call.

Instead she tapped out her report and sent it as a text message, promising she would call after her ‘meeting’ with Baba, before deleting it from her history.

The dress was another matter entirely. Given Baba’s tastes in the bedroom, she thought he might have picked something a little more showy, something a bit more revealing, but the evening gown was not only a perfect fit, it was simple, elegant, and suitably modest; the only thing not so modest about it was the price tag.

Peering at herself in the mirror, she had to wonder if she should wear it at all – what kind of message was she sending him by accepting such a ridiculous gift? At the same time, their existing relationship was going to allow her to dig for information she couldn’t get elsewhere.

That’s why I’m here.

Steeling herself, she grabbed her clutch and headed to the foyer.

The doors opened and Miho’s heels clicked quietly against the floor that not earlier that day she’d been racing across in the name of justice.

“Didn’t think you’d wear it,” Baba beamed widely, meeting her midway across the space with a deep bow from which he straightened with a long stemmed rose in hand extended. “I’m glad you did, Princess.”

“This gown is worth more than I make in a year, no two years,” she smiled as she accepted the rose and took the other hand he offered. “No promises I won’t spill anything on it.”

“That’ll just give me a reason to take it off you,” he pointed out cheekily, folding her arm over his and guiding her to the elevator. “And I know what you said about dinner, but you can’t drink on an empty stomach, so I made us a reservation. Don’t hate me.”

Miho held her stern and disapproving expression for as long as she could, but there was no staying mad at him when the pleading expression he wore crinkled his brow like that.

“I don’t like surprises,” she told him firmly, stepping into the elevator with him behind her.

When his hand touched the small of her back, she inhaled deeply and swallowed, not turning around as the doors closed – but the mirrored interior made it impossible not to see him standing behind her, looking at her reflection from over her shoulder.

“If I’m honest,” he said quietly, his breath shifting the loose strands at the base of her neck, “I’d much rather skip dinner and go straight to dessert.”

You’d jump his bones – you’d tear off his shirt and hitch up your gown and let him press you against the cold glass.

“I bet you would,” she said quietly, in answer to both her internal voice, and to him, and closed her eyes for a second as one of his hands crept to her waist. “But… it is inappropriate for a member of staff to be involved with a guest.”

Her fingers curled around his, and then lifted it from her hip.

“I’m pretty good at inappropriate if you remember,” he smirked, rebuffed and yet still smiling.

“I need this job, Baba,” she said as she faced him. “I don’t want Mr. Kenzaki, or worse, Mr. Ichinomiya, to think I am thumbing my nose at hotel rules.”

“Those rules don’t apply to me,” Baba shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “And call me Mitsunari; it’s only fair since I’ve always called you by your first name.”

A chuckle had slipped out before Miho could quash it, an exasperated, but not harsh sound.

“You’re making this very hard for me,” she told him with no small amount of sulk, but her choice of words made him grin like a lunatic.

“I’m pretty sure that’s my line,” he laughed, then offered his arm again when the elevator doors opened.

Even during her work with various influential people, Miho had never had a dining experience quite as opulent.

“Your business must be pretty lucrative,” she noted over her beef carpaccio. “Employee housing and the staff cafeteria is the closest I’ll ever get to staying and eating in a place like this. Do the others I saw earlier today in the upper lounge also live at the hotel?”

“Ota and Soryu?” Baba questioned. “They have suites, but we all come and go as we please, doing out own thing.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised Mr. Kisaki is the touchy kind,” she chuckled before taking a sip from her wine. “He has far too angelic a face to be truly that innocent.”

“And what does my face say about me?” Baba asked, challenge in his eyes.

Miho nibbled on her lower lip thoughtfully, treading carefully with her reply but also looking for the truth. She didn’t want to have to lie to him about anything, though knew it was inevitable.

“Your eyes are hungry,” she began slowly, weaving her fingers together thoughtfully, “but not just for… me… or sex… the last time I saw you was different…”

And she drifted, couldn’t quite control it.

“… you’d always been happy to just walk away, but that time you just didn’t want to let go.”

She blinked.

“Why?” she frowned.

“We hooked up,” he answered, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “We work so well because we are both lonely and need something to fill the void, and because what we do only requires trust in that one place, can’t hurt us outside of that suite.”

Inhaling sharply, Miho felt his statement in a well-guarded place, an she fought to refortify and draw herself back from the fringe of painful truths to the reason she was there.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised thickly, taking a big swallow from her wineglass. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“Still afraid,” he noted, tilting his head a little to one side, a few strands of hair falling across his left eye.

“Afraid of losing my job,” she chortled, desperately trying to redirect the conversation. “You know I’m working under Miss Kenzaki now? I’ll be rubbing shoulders with all the VIPs attending the IVC.”

“Is that right?” he sniffed, his body slumped a little.

She could see he was allowing her to change the subject: could see he could see she could see.

Yes, the narrator just wrote that sentence, and as an English teacher that is her prerogative. (;p)

“So other than Mr. Kisaki and… Soryu…?” she prompted, and diligently, Baba filled in the blank.

“Oh.”

“Other than Mr. Kisaki and Mr. Oh, who else is haunting the upper reaches of the Tres Spades?”

“How about I just introduce you to them at the IVC?” he offered. “But if you fall in love with any of them, I will be heartbroken.”

“Come on Baba,” she laughed. “That isn’t my aim in life. It’s just exciting to think all these rich and powerful people will be in one place like that, and insignificant me will be… well… offering them champagne and catering to their whims.”

“Just not mine, huh, Miss Ohira?” he quipped, lightly tapping the tip of her shoe under the table with his own.

You’d slide off your pump and stroke your toes against him, hidden by the table cloth, revelling in the strain of his expression.

“You could always get your buddy Mr. Ichinomiya to grant me an exemption,” she pointed out, feet firmly planted on the floor, “promote me to penthouse steward alongside Mr. Tolstoy.”

“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea,” he mused, appearing to consider it seriously. “Though I don’t much like the idea of having to share you with the others.”

“I’m not even going to ask if you, or they, have private maids or butlers,” she chortled.

“That’s Zain pretty much,” Baba replied. “Not an easy job, but easier I suppose, than for…”

There he hesitated.

“Than for…?” she nudged. “Someone else was steward before him?”

“Yeah, she was a sweet thing,” he nodded, his answer a sad exhaled. “Innocent, not like you,” he snickered, perking back up. “But she got sick, and ah…”

“I’m sorry, that’s really none of my business,” Miho backtracked quickly.

“It’s fine,” he told her. “It was just a bit of a tricky place for a pretty, naïve girl to be, surrounded by a bunch of guys chasing her skirt. I don’t know whether I could cope with them looking you up and down.”

At this Miho just snorted a very unladylike snort.

“You may not know all that much about me Baba, but I think you know enough now to believe, VIP or not, any man or woman who thinks they can touch me, is going to lose a limb.”

“Lucky me,” he grinned, tapping her toe again, obviously pushing her limits. “I still have all my limbs – but I do wonder where you got your ninja skills from; it’s not exactly a standard for house-keeping work.”

Finally, an expected question arose. Kaga had been very careful in the crafting of her cover story, keeping it as close to her real life as possible so as to make it not only easy to remember, but believable.

The best lies are those closest to the truth.

“My husband was a cop,” she admitted openly. “He was very big on me being able to protect myself, you know, in case something happened to him.”

“Was?” Baba noted in her use of the past tense.

“Right,” she affirmed. “He died years ago, before I came to Japan. That’s, sort of why I moved – didn’t want to deal with it.”

Baba’s foot retracted, but his hand fell lightly over hers.

“It’s fine,” she insisted with a smile. “Like I said, years ago.”

He turned her hand over, searching her fingers for any signs of a ring.

“Nope, never remarried,” she said in answer to his unspoken question. “Just working and living life.”

“So you don’t want to settle down? Have kids?” he queried.

“I don’t think that should be the only thing a person lives for,” she stated. “My job can make people happy, keep them safe maybe if I’m let loose on security detail,” she added with an audacious grin.

“Forget maid, you can be my bodyguard,” Baba declared.

“Importing is that dangerous is it?” he poked.

“Can be,” he nodded. “There are some pretty hostile environments in this world you know, filled with all sorts of treasures waiting to be discovered.”

“You make it sound like you’re Indiana Jones,” she snickered. “I suppose you’ve got the hat.”

“Note to self, you have a leather jacket and whip fetish.”

“I do not!” she objected, a little too loudly.

When they were finished with dinner, Miho and Baba moved to the bar and relaxed in the dim. Outwardly Miho had to maintain her façade, while inside she repeated the names and the details Baba had revealed about those dwelling without record in the hotel.

“Uh, how did it get that late?” she groaned, blinking at her watch that told her it was past 2am.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, right?” Baba philosophised. “But you’re right, I should take you home… unless I can take you home.”

“You’re persistent I’ll give you that, but I have to work in just under five hours,” she pointed out, and Baba slid out of the booth they’d been sitting in.

If he walks you back to employee housing, surveillance will photograph him for sure.

Why did that cause her to hesitate?

“What’s wrong?” he frowned. “I’ll be the perfect gentleman, I promise.”

“I know,” she smiled thinly, and took the hand he offered.

A face to go with a name – that will help us find out who Baba really is and if he could be involved.

It made sense, but at the same time, she had to admit a part of her didn’t want to expose him.

So stupid.

And then there was the nature of surveillance’s photograph. Baba holding her closely as they exited the hotel into the cool morning air, the way he smiled and the way she smiled back. Everyone would see these photographs, and they would question her – not least of all Kaga.

Guilty.

She hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet she did feel guilty – why was that?

“Here is fine,” she said, stopping him outside the entrance of her building. “I don’t want to, tempt fate.”

“I have some self-control, you know,” he sniffed, looking wounded for a second, then leaned in to whisper. “Some.”

But the soft of his lips met with the fingers she lifted to obstruct the intended kiss.

“Exercise just a little more… please?” she breathed, a breath etched with her own restraint, there for him to see. “Dinner was lovely, thank you. Good night, Baba.”

“Good night Baba?” he repeated, imploring with gentle eyes that wrapped softly around her.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Good night, Mitsunari.”

Unable to inhale until she had shut herself in her apartment, Miho gasped as she put her back to the door, but she was not allowed much in the way of a reprieve, when her cell phone rang displaying the caller id for Uncle Ohira – Kaga.

“I was just about to call,” she said without greeting, bracing herself, but it was not Kaga’s voice on the other end of the time.

“Are you all right?” Goto questioned. “You sound a little breathless.”

“I’m… I’m fine, just exhausted,” she told him, awkwardly holding the phone to her ear as she shimmied out of her gown.

“And your date?” he asked. “He looked as if he might try to take you right there on the street.”

“I… had to get him outside so you could get pictures,” she explained, but even saying that caused her to scowl.

“And inside?” Goto pressed. “He wasn’t inappropriate in any way?”

For a moment Miho stared at the blank white of the ceiling, battling inside her head – what did she want more? What did she stand for? Whose side was she on?

“I… have to tell you something,” she began, and though it was difficult, as least it was Goto and not Kaga. “And you’re probably not going to like it.”

“Fujiwara?” Goto urged, concern twisting the sound of her name from his lips.

“His name is Baba Mitsunari,” she declared, her jaw working painfully around each word, “and… I know him.”

There was a short silence.

“Know him in what capacity?” Goto enquired, and Miho’s cheeks burned.

The truth.

“We ahh… jeez… we’ve been sleeping together on and off for a couple of years,” she admitted in a blur of words, a verbal bandaid ripped off as quickly as possible. “Friends with benefits.”

“Jesus,” Goto dropped, and Miho could imagine him running a hand over his face in consternation. “You realise what a conflict of interest this poses don’t you?”

“I know,” she confirmed. “But… I’ve talked to him, I’ve confirmed Kisaki Ota and Oh Soryu are also living off the books in the VIP suites of the hotel, and I’m now in a good place to investigate other VIPs – Goto, this IVC would make a really good place to sell off information that could make a powerful person untouchable.”

“Hyogo is going to pull you out,” Goto asserted.

“You have to convince him to let me stay,” Miho said fiercely, sitting up on her bed and glaring at the wall like Goto might be able to somehow feel the vehemence of it. “Please. Baba is a good source of information, and a way to keep me circulating through the kinds of people we’re really looking for.”

Another silence ensued before Goto spoke again.

“Are you… still sleeping with him?” he questioned, blush in his tone, despite how serious he was.

“No,” she told him, her chest rising and falling quickly.

“When did you… last?”

“Really? You’re asking me that?” she coughed out.

“Fujiwara, answer the question,” he insisted.

“I don’t know… maybe, three weeks ago?”

Yet more silence.

“Please, Goto,” she appealed. “It’s too late to start over, you have to let me stay.”

“Send through your report,” he instructed, not responding to her plea. “We’ll run Baba’s name and image and see what turns up, but Fujiwara, if this guy is involved in this, you cannot rely on your personal relationship with him to protect you if your cover is blown.”

“I know that,” she grunted in frustration, the fingers of her free hand tightly gripping the doona. “But I can use it to my advantage.”

“We’ll see,” Goto replied noncommittally. “Keep your phone on you tomorrow, and follow instructions immediately whether you like them or not.”

“Of… course,” she submitted. “Is that all, Sir?”

“Yeah, get some rest.”

“Right. Good night.”

“I know this must be difficult for you,” he said with last minute gentleness that reminded her how different Goto was from Kaga. “But you are doing a good job. Keep it up.”

“Thanks,” she exhaled, bid him goodnight, and flopped back onto the bed.

Her report was a laborious, torturous task. What would happen when Kaga found out about Baba dominated her thoughts completely, and when sleep finally claimed her, Kaga and Baba were standing at her bedside glaring at one another ferociously.

Continue to Part Eighteen - Rip His Arm Off