#which makes me think that the point of the cup assets has already been noticed. but it was a cool detail to discover so i left it in here

[grouper]

thinking about the implications of THIS THING

long post, just exploring the question of what changes turbo made to his own code to become king candy.

in this scene, king candy moves the "medal" asset from the trophy pot to his own node. when he does so, it materializes and appears around his neck.

if that implies that every asset within his node acts upon his code in some way, we can quantify the changes he's made. each asset represents a change. over 15 years, he's accumulated this many modifications, integrated this many assets into his own code. since the "medal" asset's symbol associates directly with the physical medal object, it can be assumed that each symbol also accounts for a physical object*.

in this close up, we're offered a glimpse into what assets he's integrated into his node. we see:

assorted candy symbols. visible in the image are jawbreakers, wafer cookies, pastries, candy canes, cookies, ice cream cones, lollipops, chocolate chip cookies, and slices of cake. not going to attempt to count these, as i believe they function as space filler on the part of the animators. attention to detail can only go so far, even in a wonderfully detailed movie like WIR. conversely, we could interpret the assorted candy symbols as Turbo filling his node with random junk. you decide!

NINE cups. they are of course stylized and simplified, but their distinctive shape belongs to glasses used for brandy, sherry, or liqueur. out of all the symbols in the image, they occur most often. their placement close to the action front and center in the frame further highlights their importance. Alcoholic!Turbo is canon!

four symbols (demarcated with a question mark),which look like.... puppies. four visible here. the animators decided he needed 4 puppies.

and 2 race cart symbols (circled). pretty self explanatory, but still a cool and thoughtful addition. it would make sense that he'd want multiple race carts!

*it isn't depicted here, but i'd assume some of the assets would also have to do with his physical appearance, since each node is supposed to be a representation of the raw data of the game. not to mention, the "medal" node was not originally from Sugar Rush, it was from Hero's Duty. that means external assets can be integrated into his node. it's also explained in the movie that things like programmed memories can be affected by modifying nodes. altogether, we are given the sense that pretty much anything can be changed or added via the game's code.

what else did turbo add to his program? what did he change? what did he lose?

[legoshi-plz]

Pretenses Part Five (Louis x Reader)

Summary: Louis is a spoiled prince and you are a clumsy maid. Prince! Louis x Canine!Dog! Reader.

Warning: NSFW (+18)

Despite Louis’ outwardly composed nature, inside he was in full blown panic mode.

He had just finished up yet another uneventful dinner with his father and his future bride; now it was time to return to his chambers. His chambers he hadn’t been in since this morning. His chambers where he was currently holding you hostage.

Louis stood in front of his door for who knows how long before finally opening it with great hesitation, preparing himself for your angry, perhaps even violent response. Instead he was greeted with.... silence. You were on the bed where he’d left you, sound asleep.

Louis couldn’t help the relieved flutter of his tail at the sight of your sleeping form.

You had curled under the covers, probably to keep warm in the cold air of his chambers, your form rising and falling peacefully as you snoozed. Louis approached you slowly, checking to make sure you were actually asleep before his hands flew to throw off his royal regalia.

Once free from the confines of his complex uniform, he was under the covers immediately. Bringing your snoozing figure into his arms. You didn’t move a muscle; it was evident you were a heavy sleeper. Louis already knew this from his time watching you as you took your midday naps in his chambers but he didn’t know it was to such a great extent. He shifted so that he could lay his head on your chest, arms encircling your waist. He listened to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, his breathing slowing down to match your own.

He was asleep in minutes.

////////

You awoke to a weight on your chest and the smell of Louis’ cologne surrounding you. When you opened your eyes, the brightness assaulted your vision, making you attempt to turn away but that attempt was futile.

The Prince, who definitely wasn’t there when you fell asleep yesterday, was laying directly on top of you with his head on your chest, arms in a deadlock around your waist. You were caged beneath him, his weight pinning you down. You contemplated screaming bloody murder, hoping you could shock him into letting you go and make a run for it but decided against it. You doubted he’d remember to lock the door behind him, that could possibly be an opportunity for you to escape. You slowly began trying to pull his long arms from you when you felt his grip tighten.

“Don’t even think about it,” Louis mumbled, nuzzling further into your neck.

“My liege, please stop this indecency. As rightful heir to the thrown, a lowly maid such as myself would only sully-

“How long did you practice that one? Is that what you were doing yesterday while I was gone? Rehearsing pleas so I’d let you go?” Louis chuckled, finally opening his eyes. Sleepy amber orbs met your own irises and you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his brown eyes looked in the morning sun. They didn’t reflect the light but instead nearly consumed it, a complete contrast to the brown of his fur.

“You must be hungry? You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, if that. I’ll call the kitchen and have them bring us something up. Breakfast in bed doesn’t sound too bad,” Louis bit his lip as his eyes drank in your form beneath him. He definitely looked hungry, yet for something other than food; his eyes were burning with barely contained lust.

“I-I have to go, my Prince. I have to perform my duties in the kitch-AH,” you were cut off when Louis sat up and brought you with him as he pulled you onto his lap to straddle him. You felt your fur prickle with embarrassment as you realized not only was he shirtless, but he also seemed to be only in his underwear, the dark blue embroided material providing a very thin barrier to the Prince’s most precious asset.

“What about your duties to me?” Louis hummed, rubbing his hands up and down the fur of your outter thighs. The top of your uniform was still very much ripped open, so you brought your arms up to cover yourself, the blankets you’d been curled under no longer providing you coverage.

“Ah ah ah, you should know better than to hide yourself from me,” Louis hummed, prying your arms from your chest. He leaned forward, his mouth capturing once of your hardened nipples. The feeling of his hot tongue on your sensitive peak sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Pr-pr-princeee, pleaaaase,” you moaned lightly, your voice nothing more than a breathy whisper.

Louis ignored you, instead moving to the other peak while his hands found themselves back at your plush hips. He rocked upwards into you, his hard member making its presence know.

“Take these off,” Louis mumbled against your areola, tugging at your panties. When you hesitated, he simply sighed before ripping them off himself.

“My Pri-

“Shut up,” Louis groaned against your chest, the vibrations further stimulating your raised peak. Louis plunged his fingers into your arching cavern just as he had the day before. You felt your head swirl in embarrassment and arousal, the two emotions battling for dominance.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you? How long I’ve desired you?” Louis asked, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw. His eyes burned with such passion for you, it was hard to not look away.

“That’s it, ride my hand. Just like that,” Louis grunted and you hadn’t even noticed your pelvis had begun grinding into his hand to meet the thrusts of his fingers. Your body was moving completely on its own, anything to help relieve the pressure growing in your lower belly.

Suddenly, Louis ceased his movements, lifting you up slightly with one hand while he pulled his underwear down with the other. His member sprang to life, resting against his abdomen as it stood glistening with precum. Being a stag and royalty, it was natural to assume he’d be well-endowed but nothing could have prepared you for the vision that was his impressive length.

He took your hands in his own larger ones and wrapped them around his weeping shaft. He let out a soft “fuck...” as he guided your hands up and down. He let go once you found your own rhythm, no longer needing his assistance for such a simple act.

“You’re so good at this- too good, actually. Did you touch Azuki’s mutt like this? Huh?” Louis asked breathlessly, his death grip returning to your thighs.

“I already told you yesterday, we aren’t like... that...” you grumbled, swiping your fingers over his sensitive cockhead, causing a needy groan to tear from his throat.

“Then what were you two like? You were already letting that filthy mongrel close enough to scent you, it’d be nothing for you to get on your knees for him.” Louis said angrily and you suddenly remembered exactly where you were and, more importantly, who you were with.

No amount of pretty words and declarations of desire were going to keep Louis’ true nature at bay for long. He was vile and malicious at heart. You knew this. He’d proven it to you time and time again. So when was it finally going to register in your dumb little brain?

You released his cock immediately, and climbed off his lap and out of his bed. You headed straight for the door but Louis was faster, grabbing and pinning you against the very door you’d been trying to exit from.

“Why do you keep running away from me? Can’t you see what I’m trying to do here?” Louis groaned into the nape of your neck. It sent shivers down your spine and you resisted the urge to arch into him.

“You’re trying to control me, to manipulate me”

“I’m trying to love you.” Louis craned his head back to look into your eyes. He saw no warmth in them.

“You have a peculiar way of expressing your ‘love’, my lord,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Annnnd we’re back to the incorrect formalities. Every time I feel we’ve taken one step forward, you move three spaces back. Why do you insist on fighting me so? I know you feel it, I can’t be imagining this attraction between us,” Louis finished, the grip on you wrists that previously had you pinned against the door now residing so that he could caress your forearms with the pads of his thumbs.

“I fight it because I know my place. I’m a dog, your highness. Lower than any other Herbivore commoner, and amongst the unfavorable even within Carnivore spaces. Most of the animals around here think I should be banished for even working within the castle during the day, let alone catering to you.”

“Their opinions don’t matter, they have no authority here-”

“It does matter, your highness. Because once your infatuation with me ceases, which is inevitable, you will return to your fiancé, marry her, be crowned King, and produce heirs. And all I’ll have is my life as a lowly commoner. That’s the natural order of things.” You lamented, your voice feeling thick with emotion.

“So what, you believe your future is with Azuki’s guard dog? Popping out litter after litter for him until you die? That’s no way to live, he can’t commit to you. His life already belongs to another woman and that’s Azuki.”

“You don’t think I know that? I’m fully aware of the hold our future Queen has over him. I’m just grateful for every moment he chooses to share with me. Makes my life a little less lonely...,”

“I could make your life less lonely! I could do that for you, better than he ever could!” Louis was slightly begging now, he could hear it in his own voice but he was beyond the point of caring.

“Don’t you see I feel my loneliest when I’m with you? All you’ve ever made me feel was small, and stupid, and unworthy. Legoshi doesn’t point out how I misuse words just to remind me of how uneducated I am. He doesn’t point out how unrefined my taste pallet is or force me to eat food outside of the carnivore diet. He doesn’t drag me out of bed at night to look at some stupid star a million miles away on some balcony when I’m afraid of heights. He doesn’t tell me where I can and can’t go, who I can and can’t see, just because he felt like it. He doesn’t humiliate me every chance he gets! He doesn’t boss me around just because he can!” There were hot tears streaming down your face. You had been holding this in for a long time.

“I see...,” Louis said finally breaking the silence. He released you from his grasp and took a step back. He adjusted himself, tucking his forgotten member fully back into his underwear. Though he had a beautiful body envious to those of Gods, he seemed almost shy about his lack of clothing now.

He glanced at your tattered uniform before muttering a “wait here... please...”, and walking towards one of the humongous wardrobes in his room. He pulled out a pristine, new uniform and walked back over to hand it to you.

“I kept a lot of these on hand, in case you ever wanted.... a more comfortable bed to lay your head at night...” Louis’s voice had never seemed so clouded. You silently accepted the uniform.

“You have my deepest apologies for my behavior. Such veracity was never my intention. I hereby relieve you of all obligation to me. You may return to the kitchen or to the gardens or to somewhere new if you like. Whereever you choose to go is fine, I’ll notify Stallworth of my approval. I...” Louis hesitated, finally bringing his eyes up yours.

“You’re free to go.”

/////////

A/N: I finally know how I want this story to end so hopefully they’ll only be two more parts for this series and it’ll reach it’s completion! Also thank you all again for 1K!

[highdramas]

bandit like me | criminal!bucky

warnings: language, violence, references to criminal behavior, allusions to sexy shit, bucky being a cocky asshole

word count: 2197

summary: if you and bucky are doomed, you want to see the glorious fallout.

note: this is the start of a bucky au series which will eventually be based on the heist from oceans 8! this is just an intro to bucky’s history with the reader, and their dynamic, but i’m so excited to continue!

enjoy! <3

god, you love vegas.

there’s a certain sort of dirty glamour that you can’t find anywhere else, you think-- and while you spend the majority of your time in new york these days, you find that your heart always has a certain tug to las vegas. after all, it is where you got your start as one of the finest pickpockets and swindlers on either side of the mississippi.

among other things.

it’s where you met james buchanan barnes for the first time.

you’d heard his name like a whisper in the wind for years before you met him in person. james “bucky” barnes, criminal extraordinaire. of course, you were young, and you had stars in your eyes and you had not yet been hardened by the world. you had not yet had to kill your way out of a shady job, had not yet conned a man of everything he was worth.

that was your favorite part, you think.

taking from men what they had earned unfairly.

if justice wasn’t coming for them, you would bring it upon them yourself. you would take it all and you would feel no remorse. their wealth, their assets, their connections.

sometimes, even their wives.

but those were petty games that you had played when you were young. you like to believe that you are more mature now; both in your swindling and in your personality.

sometimes, you miss those days. you miss running with natasha and chewing up men and spitting them back out. you miss the high of pulling off a real good job. you miss watching a man crumble beneath you, begging for mercy. of course, you would never give it. but you would make a show of thinking about it, and natasha would laugh, and she would say, “stop playing with your food, honey.”

that’s another thing.

you rarely reveal your real name.

not even to your closest confidants. not even to natasha.

no, you find that there are two ways that you introduce yourself. you either stare straight with a narrow gaze, murmuring something along the lines of, “your worst nightmare.” or, you smile sweetly with an outstretched hand and your head gracefully tilted. “call me honey.”

there’s only one person that you’ve worked with who knows your real name.

and he’s sitting at the hotel bar.

already, you can feel your annoyance begin to bubble. you can do one of two things-- you can saunter over there and properly ignore him, knowing that he will notice you instantly. or, you can go up to your room.

you decide you need a drink more than you need your sanity.

somehow, you’re sure that he already knows you’re here. you approach the bar and tap on it, smiling at the bartender. “cosmopolitan.” you turn your head to the right and he’s already looking at you.

“i thought you’d never show, doll.”

a smirk begins to play on your lips, and you thank the bartender as you slide your drink to yourself. “i should get a restraining order,” you muse as you lift your glass to your lips, taking a lengthy sip. “you creep.”

bucky laughs and he takes a sip of his own drink, and you don’t even have to look to know what it is-- whiskey coke. god, you always gave him shit for it. told him he should at least drink his whiskey neat. he would always give you that same stupid smirk and he would say, “what, i can’t have a little sweet, honey?”

“that’d be no fun,” he says and god you know that he’s right, but you hate to admit it. “who you here for?”

all the attempts of not looking at him are futile, and you throw a glance in his direction. he looks as glorious and handsome as ever. the man drips with luxury. from his suit to his hair to his beard which has grown out slightly since the last time that you saw him-- everything about him tells you that he is expensive. “you think i’d tell you?”

“i’m here for pleasure, darling. i’m not going to infiltrate on your job.”

you scoff. “i have a hard time believing that. when are you ever not thinking about work?”

bucky’s desire to work is the cause of all of his success, as well as all of his problems, you think.

part of you feels sorry for him, knowing how much stress he places upon himself. another part of you can’t help but resent it, knowing it is the reason that you two would never, ever, ever possibly work as something more than easy flirtation and a good night between the sheets.

“i’m a changed man, honey.” bucky gestures to the barstool beside him. “you gonna stand and drink that all night?”

a pointed look is thrown in his direction and you finally take a seat. “you knew i would be here, didn’t you?”

“heard from nat,” bucky takes a sip from his drink. “i’ve got some intel on your hit.”

your hit isn’t your normal vegas regular. no, your hit is alexander pierce, one of the highest ranking government officials you could sink your claws into. you’d met him networking at an event in dc and he had been quite interested in you, which you always liked to use to your advantage. luring him out to las vegas took little effort and much amusement, buying you time to do your research.

you’d clear his room of all his belongings and sell off the paperwork to your government contacts who would purchase them for a steep price, and you would be on your way.

without a trace.

you were good at that part. going off the grid. no social media footprint, nothing to track you by-- you were living in the world partially invisible. you like to keep it that way.

though, sometimes it gets lonely.

no one knows that better than the man who sits beside you now.

“spit it out, then.”

bucky smiles and for a moment, you think he might say something else, but he begins to divulge quickly. information about his security detail, shift rotations. information you could’ve found out easily, but don’t mind having handed to you. but you’re less interested in that. your brows furrow as you look at him. “how far out of your way did you go to get this intel?”

he gives a nonchalant shrug. “far enough.” he smiles. “gotta help out my girl.”

“i’m not your girl,” you say with a smirk. “if anything, you’re my bitch. getting me intel, following me around to tell me.”

this gets a laugh out of him and you look forward again, finishing off your drink. “now that’s my girl.” he throws a hundred dollar bill onto the bartop and follows suit, tipping his head back to empty his cup of its contents. “walk with me?”

you stare and watch as he outstretches his hand to you. despite your better judgement, you take it. the pair of you walk side by side until you’re stepping out into the still warm air, but the breeze offers enough of a chill that the hairs on your arms stand up. bucky looks over at you and begins to shuck off his jacket, making you immediately protest. “bucky, no--”

but he’s already draping it over your shoulders, and you are tugging it just a bit closer to you, and you note that it smells like him. like that stupid ysl cologne you bought him all those years ago.

well, you didn’t buy it. you’d stolen it.

no words are exchanged as you move along on the sidewalk, watching on at people busking and performing on the street, ignoring the elsa’s and spiderman’s who try to pull you in for photo ops. one of them gets particularly aggressive and bucky pulls you into him, as if you’re not a woman who has driven a dagger into the gut of a man for far less, saying, “move along, pal.”

“so touchy tonight,” you purr, leaning into him slightly when he doesn’t remove his arm from your waist. “like the good ‘ole days.”

“oh, you remember?” bucky jokes, and it already has you laughing. “you were acting so coy back there in the bar, i thought that you might’ve forgotten me altogether.”

you shake your head and you stop in the street. you wear his jacket and he straightens his tie and he smiles down at you. “of course i didn’t.” you jut your chin up. “doesn’t change anything, though.”

what doesn’t it change, exactly?

it doesn’t change that the last time you saw james buchanan barnes, you had told him that you loved him. and he had told you that he loved you in return. and you had both agreed that it needed to end now before either of you caused irreversible damage to the other.

criminals being with criminals never ends well.

“not a thing,” he agrees with you. he pushes a piece of hair back and it’s getting harder to remember why you were so stubborn when it came to him. why, exactly, you felt the need to push your feelings away so desperately. “wish it would, though.”

“yeah.” a small, almost shy, smile works its way onto your lips. “me too.”

bucky’s jaw slacks and his fingers trail your cheek, and you can feel the cool metal of his rings against your flesh. “it’s not like this with other people, is it, honey?”

“of course not,” you nearly hiss. “is it like this with other people for you?”

bucky has a knowing sort of smirk. “no.” he wets his lips, his eyes settling on your lips for just a beat too long. “it never will be.”

the tension surrounds the both of you, and you’re the one to break it. you press your hand to bucky’s chest and push on it slightly, pushing him away, pushing away all of the feelings and confusion that comes with him. “we’re not doing this tonight. i’ve got a job to do in the morning.”

you begin to walk, and bucky is on your heels. “so our pillowtalk can be about work,” he says, and you can practically hear the cocky and sly charm in his words. “i made sure to get a king bed. and a bottle of moet.”

again, you stop, and you turn to him. you’ve nearly walked a circle around the block, and you can see the hotel not far off. “you really got info from nat about my job, got me intel to butter me up, and then want to take me to bed?” you huff and even you can’t help but laugh. “nothing’s changed, barnes.”

you set off again and he groans, following after you. “you know it’s not like that.” he catches your wrist and he spins you, getting you to face him. “it’s never that that… simple with you.”

you rip your wrist from his hand and make your way into the hotel lobby, making sure your hips swing just a bit more than usual. you remember bucky laughing and gripping those hips on a late winter night in new york city, nearly three years ago now-- “such a tease,” he had said into your ear.

“bucky,” you say as you both approach the elevators. “it’s not happening.”

he sighs and he hangs his head. “yeah.” he looks up at you. “i do miss you, doll.”

“yeah, i know.” the elevator doors open and you step into them. bucky tries to follow after you, but you hold your hand up. “i’ll be seeing you, james.”

“see you, honey.”

the doors click shut and you practically collapse. the effort of pretending to not love bucky is exhausting.

in a blur, you go to your room and unpack your things. you take off your makeup and your expensive jewelry that you plucked off the wrists and necks and fingers of random passing civilians during all of your worldly travels. when you pick your phone up, you notice that you have a text from an unknown number.

floor 45, room 7.

you roll your eyes and toss your phone back onto the bed. you’re a strong woman-- certainly strong enough to resist the temptation of knowing exactly where to find the one person that you want.

one hour passes. you scroll through instagram.

another. you finally crawl into bed.

three hours. it’s nearly three in the morning and you cannot sleep.

by four, your feet are in slippers and you wrap a silky robe around your body.

you don’t move. 4:30am blinks at you on the clock.

at five, bucky is opening the door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and staring at you.

“don’t say a word,” you hiss before you’re grabbing for him, pulling him to you, and pressing your lips to his.

but bucky is a smug asshole. as you move through his suite, his hands are everywhere, and he pushes you back onto the bed. once he’s hovering over you, his lips just a ghost above the shell of your ear, he can’t help but whisper…

“looks like nothing’s changed.”

[crimsonrae]

Reckless Intent: Part Two

Summary: When the dance between Sherlock and Delia first began, learning the steps did not come smoothly. But then that would happen when affections haven’t been made clear and a murderer is on the loose.

SherlockXOFC

Rating: M

Warning: Some manhandling, allusions to nudity.

A/N: Set about ten years before the events in Enola. Sherlock has only been away from home for about three years. So this is more from Sherlock’s point of view and I had fun with this, because despite how intelligent he is, I think that he would still be lost to a woman’s way of thinking or reacting. Also there will be a part three. A culmination if you will of all my teasing : )

Reckless Intent: Part Two

It had taken more time than he would have liked to get the bestial efflux that had swarmed his blood to calm.  

Sherlock pulled a long-drawn breath through his nose as he silently counted the seconds until a certain menace in the shape of woman appeared by his side. Never had he met someone who could stir his anger so easily. She made him want to rage, to shake her until sense fell into that cob she called a mind. How she could incite him with just a few well-placed words was boggling.  

Yet, images of Delia on that stage danced before his eyes as he waited outside the club. The hint of cleavage through the feathers of her fan, the shapely curve of her thigh... Lust had seared his veins at the unexpected display of her womanly assets. His palms had itched with the need to cup her silky flesh, to leave his mark on her unblemished hide, and pull the most melodic notes of pleasure from her dainty throat. His manhood had hardened with a demand that only her tempting hole could satisfy.

And had they been alone?  

Had the ravenous stares and drunken jeering of the swine inside not been present... he would have taken her there on that staged. He would have answered her teasing seduction, shown her what happened when such a flag was waved before a bull.  

But they hadn’t been alone. He wasn’t the only one to gaze upon her bare flesh and that was unforgivable. Fury still spurned his veins, only the remembrance of their kiss tempered his lingering ire.

Sherlock bit back a groan as he tried to ignore the memory of the delightful contrast of her wired nest against her smooth skin and her heat... his fingers had been brushed by her desirous warmth, had felt the hint of her promising dewy depths. He marveled that he hadn’t sunk into her depths there and then. Her protest to his advances had been meek at best. There was no doubt in his mind that his Delia was a wanton... but she was his wanton. It was high time that he made his claim known.

He would not tolerate another incident such as this.

His fingers flexed and tightened over the head of his cane, releasing the frustrated bur that Delia so expertly pricked in him. It wouldn’t do to walk the streets with an erection like an adolescent boy. As if she knew his struggle, Delia appeared at his elbow only to add oil to his smoldering flame. Her frock covered little more of her chest than her stage attire.  

His nostrils flared with annoyance. Even her hair was still unrestrained, her curls falling loose about her shoulders, “That was longer than ten minutes.”

Delia arched a brow at him, unimpressed by his dour reproach, “Yet, you didn’t come back for me. You should be pleased.”

His glare was glacial, but she refused to simper –stubborn mule of a woman.  

Sherlock snatched her elbow before she had a chance to send another volley. The firm grip teetered on the edge of impropriety, but it was hardly the most improper act that either one of them had committed so far. He nudged her forward, refusing to speak further until they were away from this infernal club.

Luckily, Delia took the hint as she adjusted her arm in his grip and fell into step. It wasn’t lost on him that she had quickly masked the aggressive undertones of their current meeting. It no longer looked as if he were dragging an unruly woman through the street but had taken to escorting a potential paramour. Strangely, they fell somewhere in between the two paradigms.

They swept down the dimly lit streets with marked silence. He, still simmering, unwilling to vent his anger where it could be heard by the restless populace of London and she – he darted a glance to his companion – she was remarkably stoic. Her features serene as if nothing was amiss, but the darkened hue to her cheeks and the tense set to her jaw belied her discomfort... or perhaps her anticipation.  

Sherlock wasn’t sure which beset her and ignored the little voice in his ear that whispered it was the later. He had decided long before he had exited the club that his baser urges would be denied that night. Far more pressing concerns needed to be addressed before he conducted any further intimate explorations of her body.

As if she knew where his thoughts had led, Delia smirked dimly as he prodded her up the steps to his apartments. He wanted nothing more than to steal that smile from her face and it wasn’t until the door clicked firmly shut that he began his attack, “Have you lost your damn mind? Did you even for one minute think about what would happen to you in that place?”

“Sherlock -”

“No.” He continued as if he hadn't heard her, “You didn’t. You’re lucky I was there – that I even had an inkling to show up. Else wise you would’ve ended up like your friend or worse on your back -”

SMACK.

Fire laced up the side of his face as he felt the imprint of her palm reverberate through the bone of his cheek. Glowering he turned back to her and found Delia torn between shock at her actions and indignant.

Her breath came fast as she spat, “You are not my keeper, Sherlock Holmes. If you’re not going to discuss this case, say so now and I will take my leave.”

Sherlock smiled grimly, “Oh, I am taking the case, Delia. I’ve said as much already. And you’re right, I’m not your keeper. I’m far more than that and you will acknowledge it before the night is over.”

“How dare you!” Indignation seemed to have won out in his little menace as she hissed, “To make such assumptions based on one measly kiss... I would think such acts beneath you. Impervious king that you are.”

Volatile.  

Rash.  

Words that could be used to describe both of them in that moment, Sherlock noted distantly. He fought to keep a hold of his temper. He had pushed her tonight and she had already been walking a tightrope by going undercover in that club. He shouldn’t be surprised that the bewilderment and anger she had carefully kept under lock and key had been released now.  

However, he was sure that he had made his intentions clear long before his stolen kiss, in fact he was sure of it. A resounding crack echoed through the foyer, stunning both occupants as the head of Sherlock’s cane fell from its body. He hadn’t realized how tightly he had been gripping the implement or even that he was still holding it.  

He cast the ruin staff aside with a barely contained growl, “One measly kiss?”

He prowled forward like a stalking jaguar, “Is that what you think I based my assumptions on?”

Delia, to her credit, did not cower from him as she lifted her chin defiantly, “I think you saw naked flesh and responded as all men do.”

Again, Sherlock wondered if she could read minds. Hadn’t his thoughts dwelled upon her wicked display before she had arrived at his side? But she was very mistaken if she thought that his reaction was merely a result of her dance... No, his interest in Delia Woodson had started long before this night.

“Blue myosotis.”  

Delia blinked, her confusion apparent by his pointed delineation, “Pardon?”

“Blue myosotis.” Sherlock repeated definitively, “Or more commonly – forget-me-nots. You pinned them to my lapel three months, one week, and two days ago. After that murdered child was found by the docks. I was upset, but you...you were the only one to notice. You saw through the impassivity that I had carefully cultivated to keep myself detached.”  

He refused to use the word impervious.

His voice grew soft, “You pinned the flower to my lapel and said, ‘It’s a small token, Mr. Holmes, but colorful – bright. You need a little of that I think.’ I knew I loved you then.... and the flower you chose? More than appropriate for that realization. I doubt you knew but forgot-me-not's represent true love.”  

Stricken with shock, Delia could only gape at the unexpected confession, “I - Sherlock.”

“So, yes, Delia. I am far more than your keeper.” He continued stoutly, daring her to interrupt, to protest his words, “And not yet your lover, but that state will be rectified soon enough I’d wager. And no, our kiss had little to do with your irreverent show, though I do wish it had been under different circumstances, I don’t regret it.”

He could see her floundering. By not hiding from the truth, nor ignoring his earlier actions he had stripped bare any defensive armor she had managed to cobble together in their brief time apart. And he had finally acknowledge the elephant that he had been alluding to all night. He didn’t need to hear the words reciprocated – he knew she felt the same, though she hadn’t realized it until he had accosted her in that club. He had seen the moment she comprehended where her affections laid.

His hand came up to grasp her chin as he made sure that he fully held her attention, “And such antics will not occur ever again. I won’t stand for it and your bottom won’t sit for it, should you attempt such an act.”

Her eyes widened at his pointed threat, knowing he was serious her defiance flickered at him. Sherlock nearly grumbled. Why did he have to fall in love with the most obtuse woman on the bloody planet?

“This...” She drew a calming breath and laced her delicate fingers over the top his that still grasped her chin, “This is not talk of the case.”

Dull amusement laced through him at her poor deflection, but he took his cue and drew back a step, “I garnered several leads while you were performing. I’ll be able to more thoroughly investigate tomorrow. I haven’t forgotten about your Margaret.”  

“What leads?”

Sherlock shook his head in the face of her hungry interest. She had taken far too many risks as it were for this case, “No. You want me to take this case and investigate? Then my price is that you stay out of it.”

“But -”

“You were reckless tonight.” Sherlock vented, his anger rising back to the top. She hadn’t seen the men that had watched her – followed her, but he had. Not all of her audience had been lustful brigands. His little menace had made no secret of her inquiry into her friend’s death, “Purposefully, I’m certain.”

Her lip jutted out temptingly and he nearly cracked a smile in the face of her pout, “She’s my friend, Sherlock. Surely, I deserve to know – to help.”    

“You will stay out of it. That’s my price – take it or leave it, Delia.” He stated resoundingly, unwilling to budge on this point. He would fill her in once he had solved the crime and the murderer was being carted off by Scotland Yard, but not a second before that occurred.

Delia huffed as she dared ask, “And if I refuse and continue to investigate on my own?”

Sherlock stiffened at her challenge as he raised an unimpressed brow and smiled thinly, “Oh, I dare you to try. You won’t make it out that door, I can promise you that.”

“I have to leave some time; I don’t live here.” She muttered lowly, after all he only had just started his investigation.

“Yet.” Sherlock returned arrogantly as he stepped towards the stairs, “Mrs. Hudson!”

The shadow of his housekeeper appeared at the top of the stairs within seconds. He had no doubt that she had heard every word passed between himself and Delia, but ever discreet the matronly woman had waited until he beckoned. Draped in her robe and bonnet, he felt a stirring of guilt for having disturbed her slumber with his return, but even still as she blandly met his stare – he couldn’t help the mischievous spark that entered his mien.

“Please ready the guestroom. Miss. Woodson will be staying here tonight.” Loathe as he was to have her out of his sight, Sherlock knew they needed space. Too much had occurred in a sort time span and to be perfectly frank he needed a moment away from the weight of her presence. He needed to recoup.  

“That’s not necessary.” Delia started softly.

Sherlock barely contained a weary sigh, “It’s late and I’m not in the mood to escort you back to Hoxton.”

She blinked, bemusement once again piercing her features, “How did you know - ?”

Sherlock didn’t deign to answer. To say he wasn’t thrilled that she lived in such a horrid area was a vast understatement, but he had to admit that it was a step above White Chapel and far better than Old Nichol. Another situation he would soon need to rectify.

“I’ll have warm water brought to your room.” He said instead, “Rest. We’ll speak more in the morning when calmer heads prevail.”

Delia stared at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher but found that the calm he had just manage to reclaim was rapidly deteriorating. His heart lurched and the familiar itch to his palms returned as she stepped back into his sphere.

“Delia...”

“You followed me. You accosted me. Kissed me. Protected me. Took a case that is boring just to make me happy -”

“Keep you out of trouble -”

“Told me that you love me.” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken and soundly shut him up. 

Delia smiled then. A small smile, but so bright before she leant up on her toes and claimed a kiss so gentle that it stole his breath.

Unconsciously, his fingers latched into the folds of her gown as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. The supple swell of her lips felt like silk under the brush of his tongue. She tasted sweet, like honey and tea. She moaned lowly and a pleased growl rumbled through his chest at the sound.

They must have stood like that for only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.  

Delia, as tenderly as she had approached him, broke away again and started up the stairs. Sherlock could only watch after her dazed. 

She paused halfway up and glanced at him over her shoulder, “And you send me to the guestroom? You’re an odd man, Sherlock Holmes.”

She disappeared over the landing and Sherlock was left in stunned amusement. He had half a mind to go after her. Her teasing knew no bounds it seemed... but despite her words, he knew she was virginal, and he planned to take his time divesting her of that chaste state.

However, he should have known that Delia had no such patience...

Damn her.

Previous Chapter

[bleulone]

i love your analysis so much! i have a question as well, like, how do you envision polin's sex scenes ? thanks for your answer (:

    Hey! Thank you very much :)) I have no idea if they are that even good but I’m happy you like them. It’s just my brain tending to produce some iNsIGhiTfUL analyses though they usually end up drowned under a huge wave of stupidity and horrid spelling/grammatical mistakes XD. So, about Penelope and Colin’ sex scenes, I guess we’re getting spicy in this house 🌶. I mean, I don’t blame you. Who’s not hot for Polin ?! The steamy Polin hours have already begun and they’re legit challenging my patience. (Be still my Polin heart, be still).

   Okay, without further ado, let’s talk about sex baby, shall we ? It’s a pretty long answer/meta so bear with me.

    I don’t know if you’ve read Romancing Mister Bridgerton, but a quick reminder (for those who haven’t... yet), there are a bunch of iconic steamy scenes that I’m dying to watch on screen. First we have the famous “thank you” scene where Penelope, now a 28 year-old spinster, asks Colin to kiss her because she doesn’t want to die without having been kissed... then ends up thanking him— which happens to be humiliating for our 33 year-old boy because he thinks that she thinks he did it out of pity while he absolutely did not. The man definitely felt butterflies in his stomach... and in other places as well lol. We also have the ICONIC carriage scene where Colin gives Pen’s generous bosoms™ the attention they deserve. This is followed by his proposal. Later on, after the announcement of their engagement, there’s a pretty hot make-out scene on Lady Violet’s sofa. Finally, we have their first time in Colin’s bedroom, after sneaking out of their own engagement party... which leads Colin to push the wedding date forward. At this point, I just love their horniness, especially Colin’s who’s just so freaking amazed by Penelope for more than 300 pages straight (duh! who isn’t ???).

    When you say envision, I suppose you mainly refer to the way those scenes will be filmed right ? I’m afraid I don’t have an advanced knowledge in film-making but let me start by telling you what elements need to be depicted. I would love Shonda and Chris to capture the real essence of our boos’ feelings : the yearning, the love, the respect and the guilt (specifically on Colin’s side) in their eyes. The more we move forward throughout the seasons, the more we see different layers of the perceptions of they have of each other, going from a childish idealization/immature ignorance to a sudden realization. A mature one. Penelope goes beyond the facade of the charming devil-may-care guy to meet the seriousness and temper of her significant other. Meanwhile Colin discovers how confident, powerful and attractive this woman is and always has been. It echoes what I’ve written about the importance of the gaze in Polin’s love story in this meta. By the time season 4 hits, man... their heart eyes and eye-fucking will jump OUT XD, all fibers of their beings, burning with need. The fact that this evolution took literally years is very emotionally painful, which is why I find it important to keep the slowness aspect of their relationship before and during their love making. I’m really looking forward a slow build-up toward their intimacy. It would differ from Daphne and Simon who merely shared one hell of a kiss in Lady Trowbridge’s garden then shared their sexy times after they married or Anthony and Siena’s rough sex... In fact, there’s a certain (sweet) ardent tenderness in Polin I like due to the fact that they’re slowly (re)discovering each other, as adults. Since they were both introduced in season 1, the audience will have all the time in the world to notice numerous evidences of the many natures of love they have for one another : from an affectionate and friendly love to a more carnal and enduring one.

    Okay so, in terms of filming, with Netflix’s Bridgerton being a show which promotes the female gaze, it wouldn’t be that much of a surprise watching those sex scenes being shot from Penelope’s perspective, like it was the case with Daphne in the first installment of the series. Most of the time, sex scenes in Historical Romance are not gratuitous. Their presence serve an important purpose in a hero/heroine’s journey. In Penelope’s case, they’re here to help her learn to embrace and love herself. In other words, sexuality is synonym of freedom. I don’t know if they’ll show a lot of skin, but I won’t be complaining considering the fact that we’ll have the chance to get a chief kiss treat on screen : a plus size woman in a major successful Netflix period drama getting a love story as romantic and steamy as other more “fit” female characters. No, your weight doesn’t prevent you from being desirable at all. As far as I’m concerned, I haven’t watched a plus-size female character portrayed as an attractive protagonist in a period drama (please if you have, let me know, I can be wrong). Having a beautiful half bare curvy body like Nicola’s being equally filmed like numerous slim actresses will be so inspiring and powerful to watch, especially for (young) women who struggle, like Penelope, to love their body shape which, to them, doesn’t “fit” the “beauty standards”. By showing her female gaze and portraying her as seductive, Pen’s “supposed” imperfections transform themselves into mighty assets, loved and worshipped by our dashing Mister Bridgerton. That’s body positivity at its finest darling ;).

    It will be deliciously erotic watching the undressing process being exquisitely slow, garment by garment, while their gaze are all heated and hungry. Their sex/make-out scenes should be tender and passionate, sweet and raw. The lightning, colored by a dark blood orange yellow or a blue depending the locations^^. Moreover, the depiction of the exploration of Penelope’s desire can translate itself thanks to multiple close ups. For instance, I can imagine a few ones on Pen’s fingers gently roaming over the smooth skin of Colin’s firm chest and back/touching his hair right after he removed his shirt. And a disheveled Colin letting his hands and lips making a journey of their own, mapping, conquering the alluring unknown territory that is her gorgeous voluptuous body... kissing her on the places he knows oh too well will give her pleasure (is this me wanting him to go down on her?— um yeah I sure hope it IS! If he doesn’t, trust me imma riot... AGAIN). Even a close up on her face while Colin is performing his addictively pleasing torment will be a marvelous proof of the female gaze. By the way, why not even adding a post-coital scene after their first time ? I can picture Penelope waking up first and contemplate her handsome soon-to-be husband. She’d bring her hand to his face and let it travel all around his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, his neck and let it rest on his heart— making sure that what she’s just experience was real... obviously, Colin will wake up in the process and he’ll take this as his cue to go for another round of sexy times under the sheets.

   Showing Pen reaction is essential according to me because she was stuck with the idea that she would never experience the luxury of being loved, giving pleasure nor receiving it... she ended up being happily wrong. Throughout her multiple intimate encounters with Colin, I want her to progressively realizes that she can be an active partner. In the carriage, she knew she had an effect on him, but it’s not until their first time that she actually realizes it. Hence the reason why I WANT the mirror’s introduction in one of their sex scenes. Here’s as a little reminder an excerpt from chapter 18 :

“I want to see you sitting up," he groaned, "so I can see them full and lovely and large [about Pen’s breasts]. And then I want to crawl behind you and cup you." His lips found her ear and his voice dropped to a whisper. "And I want to do it in front of a mirror."

“Now?” she squeaked.

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then shook his head. "Later," he said, and then repeated it in a rather resolute tone. "Later.”

   It would be such a shame if the show doesn’t use the incredible potential of this object (/kink). I mean, the symbolism is pretty clear. Penelope has always fled her “ugly” reflection but it seems like Colin wants to show the real her, the beauty that holds every single inch her alabaster skin and the effects they have on him. Thus, I would love to watch a scene where Colin just praises the alluring goddess and siren that is Penelope Featherington. Just imagine! Just IMAGINE the power of this scene : a shirtless Colin sitting behind her on a bed, meeting her gaze in the mirror, his lips touching her right ear, biting and licking the lobe sometimes, whispering all kinda of dirty yet poetic words to her while letting his hands caress her thighs, her hips, her arms, her lovely bosoms™... oof. At the same time, a wonderful and harmonic instrumental music will play in the background and match the melodic partition of shudders, breathes and moans let out by our lovers. I can imagine Luke inspiring himself from his performance in the 2019 short film, Youth In Bed. The way he conveyed the awe and the yearning on his face, in his eyes with his mouth slightly open when he knelt before his partner Shun Yin was just captivating and— and so Colin! I cannot help but bring myself to picture Ethan, the character he played in YIB, in a Polin steamy scene. I cannot unsee this anymore jsksk. I mean, all this gifset radiates this book4chapter18!Colin, you cannot tell me otherwise!

    Also, I would love Shonda and Chris to keep Pen and Colin’s cute/emotional pillow talk. One thing I really love in JQ’s books is the concern she gives to her male protagonists about potentially hurting their partner during the act of penetration. Colin is a rake, and what his experience with women taught him is that he needs to be very gentle with the love of his life. It was so adorable seeing him not wanting to harm her and asking her to tell him if he does anything she doesn’t like 🥺. Plus, before actually doing it, Colin and Penelope shared a few kisses and just laid down side by side, confessing their love. Though our boy kept feeling guilty about not returning her love after all these years. He desires nothing but to make up for the lost time and show his love and desire during this special intimate moment. I hope they’ll keep all of chapter 18’s dialogue. It’s just so telling of our boos’ feelings, you see.

    All in all, I can’t wait to watch those Polin steamy scenes. As much as I may sound crazy, I want them after two other seasons of pure pining and yearning in order to have a very good payoff. I’m not an expert on depicting intimacy on screen, but I loved so far what Lizzy Talbot, the intimacy coordinator who worked on the show, have done in season 1. Sex scenes in Bridgerton seem very real and dive you in the intimacy of the moment, leaving you all flustered and hot. So probs to her! I have faith in her work and have no doubts about what her and the directors will serve us in future seasons. Though, in the end, I think it’s mostly up to the actors, Nicola and Luke, to see if they’re comfortable filming sex scenes.

    If you guys have any suggestions or wishes for those steamy polin scenes, please do share them :) by commenting on this post or by sending me asks! I’d love reading your thoughts/take on this very important matter ;)) 

[giftofwonder]

The Tomb (Dabi x f!Reader) - Part 8 (Final Part)

A/N: I just want to say thank you so much to all of you for reading my story and for all of your love and support. I’m sorry this last update took so long, a lot has been going on and the story got pushed to the back burner. I hope you enjoy it❤️

WARNINGS: Death, Angst, Description of gore/violence.

Taglist: @mikasackrmann @missalicebaskerville @liitlesushi @bonemarroww @jamaisvusbitch @winchescumberholland @mira-mirach @babayaga67 @iiashleysykes @orenjineki @badbitchfor2dmen @tsukki-uwwu @piii-chan

__________________________________________

“I don’t like this.” Dabi grunted, walking down the busy street beside you.

“I know, but we talked about this. We have a plan and I’ll be fine!” You shot back, your hand reaching down to lace your fingers with his.

“It’s too risky. What if something goes wrong?” He asked, his brow creasing in frustration.

“What other choice do we have? There’s no way you could even get close to them without me. We’re not in ancient times, they can’t just attack me.” You shrugged. Dabi’s hand gripped yours tightly and he pulled you into the alley off to the side of the street. Your back was pressed firmly against the cold brick wall while his head lowered, a glare prominent on his features.

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I am! I promise. I want to help you, and I know that there are risks. I am fully aware of that. I just think it is highly unlikely that two people working in a large corporation are going to attack me out in the open. Especially with you close by. Once you come in, I’ll stay out of the line of fire and let you handle things. If things go sour, I leave as fast as possible and wait for you back at the hotel.” You said, holding his gaze.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. This is going to be a disaster.” Dabi sighed, his forehead dipping beside you as he pressed it against the wall over your shoulder.

“We’ll be okay. Look at me.” You whispered, your voice soft and comforting. Dabi pulled his head back as he met your gaze.

“I love you. I’ll be safe. You can take care of your business, and then we’ll go home.” Your smile was gentle as your warm hand reached up to cup his cheek.

“Promise me you’ll leave if something goes wrong.” His voice cracked as his eyes shifted between yours.

“I promise.”

______________________________________

You were nervous. You’d be lying to yourself if you denied the sinking feeling that you had in your stomach. This was big. It was bigger than you. Lives were hanging in the balance, including yours. There was no room for error here. You had one chance, you had to do everything right or everything would be ruined.

You didn’t like what Dabi wanted to do, his revenge, but you were in this together and he needed this. Not just for his own desires, but also so that when he passes, he can return to his afterlife.

______________________________________

The next day, it was show time. You made your way to the building to make an appointment at the firm, requesting an audience with both Shouto and Enji. Your name got you a time slot, surprisingly. Your recent discovery at the tomb giving you a boost of popularity, and surely peaking the interest of the pair you had requested.

You thanked the receptionist and turned to leave. As you headed to the entrance, a familiar face caught your eye.

“Keigo?” You asked, more than a little confused.

“Well, well. Missed me so much you flew all the way to Japan to see me? I gotta say kid, I’m touched.” He laughed, walking up to you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, taking in his dress shirt and slacks.

“Huh? I work here. Isn’t that why you’re here?” He asked furrowing his brow.

“No, I had no idea you were in Japan. When did you move here?” You asked surprised.

“About a year ago, I just flew back for Christmas since I hadn’t seen your family in a while. You’d have known that if you’d paid more attention to me.” Keigo huffed, crossing his arms with a pout.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t in a great mood. It wasn’t a very good day.” You rubbed your neck sheepishly.

“Thats the understatement of the century. You put on a great show though, let me tell ya. If only I’d had some popcorn for that Oscar winning performance you gave.” He laughed, and you did too.

“What’d they say after I left?” You asked, your voice quiet.

“Eh, not much. They were silent for a while. Your mom said she thinks she over reacted a little. Your dad said he was firm about the disowning thing, but I don’t really buy it. I think he was just trying to keep up the act.” Keigo shrugged and you nodded.

“I figured. It doesn’t matter though, what’s done is done.” You sighed.

“Yeah, just give it time. They’ll come around. Unless you guys split up, in which case, I would just like to point out that I am available.” He winked.

“I feel like you’ve been waiting the entire conversation to say that.” You deadpanned.

“Yep! Thought about starting with it, but decided to keep it classy.” He grinned.

“Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t want to lay it on too strong.” You shook your head.

“You got that right. But anyways, what are you doing here? You in legal trouble or something?” He asked in teasing tone.

“No, nothing like that. Just wanted to talk over assets and things. Was thinking about moving up here, buying a second home maybe. The Todoroki Agency was highly recommended, so I figured I’d just sit and talk and see what they say.” You smiled.

“Huh, well if you move up here you’ll have to let me give you a tour. I know some pretty great places around here, hidden treasures really.”

“Sounds good! Nothing is set in stone yet, but if we move here, I’ll definitely take you up on that offer. I’ve got to get going, but it was really good seeing you.” You said, giving a squeeze to his arm.

“Alright, I’ll see you around. Don’t get in too much trouble.” He laughed, waving you off as you made your exit.

______________________________________

It was finally time for your appointment, so you and Dabi made you way to the firm and checked in. You were led to a hall upstairs outside of the conference room. The receptionist told you to take a seat and that they’d call you in shortly. A few moments later, the woman came back and said you were free to enter, before departing back to the main lobby.

Dabi waited out in the hall, disguised in a high collared jacket, scarf and sunglasses. You had laughed when he had come out wearing it, but you knew he had too. He looked too distinct. Too easy to spot. And for everything to go smoothly, it started with him fading into the background.

You opened the large door to the conference room and stepped inside. The air was chilly, and you clutched your sweater tighter around you.

The two men greeted you, already seated at the table.

“Miss Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Enji Todoroki, and this is my son, Shouto Todoroki.” Enji said. His presence was intimidating, that was for sure. He was very large, standing both tall and broad. His face held a deep scar and though his eyes were the same color as Dabi’s, they lacked all of the warmth that his carried.

“The pleasure is mine! Thank you for meeting with me.” You beamed, extending your hand. Enji took it and his grip was firm, as you had imagined it would be. Then you turned to Shouto, but as he reached out you noticed his missing digit.

He paused his movement at your stare, before slowly continuing to give you a gentle handshake, polar opposite to his fathers.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s a bit unsightly to look at.” He said with a sad smile, curling his hand into a fist as it made its way back to his side.

“Don’t apologize, I’m not bothered. My step father is missing one of his legs, so I’m familiar with the sight. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” You gave him a soft smile.

“No, you’re fine. Shouto just has a lack of confidence when talking with women. My boy is always assuming the worst!” Enji laughed, though it sounded more like a bark, as he slapped Shouto’s back. It was obvious Shouto was less than thrilled about his fathers contact and remark, and you almost laughed at the bizarre tension between the two, though you didn’t know if the impulse was from amusement or the sheer awkwardness hanging in the air.

Shouto cleared his throat, “I must say, I was surprised you had requested an appointment with us. We recently read about your tomb discovery and thought it was fascinating. If I may ask, what brings you to Japan?”

“Thank you, I’m glad my work interested you. I just wanted to talk a few things over, well, both of us did.” You smiled.

“Both of us?” Enji asked skeptically.

“Oh! Yes, I brought my husband with me, he’s outside waiting in the hall. I only listed my name on the appointment reservation, so I wasn’t sure if he could come in with me.” You laughed.

“Ah, yes, of course. That’s fine. Please, go grab him if you’d like.” Shouto smiled. You thanked him and walked to the door, peeking out to wave Dabi inside.

He strolled in, and you could feel the air shift to something sinister as he threw off his disguise.

Enji was the first to react, shooting up from his chair.

“How is it that you’re here?” Enji demanded, making Dabi laugh.

“I could say the same to you, old man.” Dabi sneered.

You backed away from the three to the far side of the room beside the door, making sure you could escape easily if it was needed. Though you didn’t want to, you’d keep your promise if things got out of hand.

“So, you’re finally here, big brother.” Shouto said, his tone bored.

“All thanks to you.” Dabi spat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Enji said.

“Our dear Shouto has been pulling a lot of strings since his death, it seems. What I want to know, is why?” Dabi finished, directing his attention back to his brother.

“You ruined it all. You and your group of scum. So I talked to the gods, Set, Shu and Tefnut, and asked them for guidance on rebuilding our once great society. They were kind enough to help.” Shouto told him.

“Funny, Osiris and Neith were more than willing to bring me back as a favor to them just to stop you.” Dabi laughed.

“I’m aware. They warned me of your possible resurrection long ago. It’s why I had your tomb designed the way I did. Why I sacrificed a finger to keep you from returning to the afterlife if you actually did manage it, but I’ve got to say, I’m surprised you found a way back and tracked us down. I’m almost impressed.” Shoto smirked.

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that.” Dabi growled.

“I didn’t want it to be like this. You were the one who came after us. I’m just trying to fix what you broke.” Shouto said, a glare prominent on his face.

“You keep telling yourself that. You’re just a pawn to him,” Dabi laughed, pointing to his father, “this was never what you wanted. This was what HE wanted. You’re still just following in his shadow. I gotta say, I didn’t think you’d be the one behind it. The old man, I get. But you, that was unexpected.”

“I just want a peaceful world where everything is in order. I’m not like you, making chaos, ruining lives, and in your spare time off playing house. What is that woman to you? A tool? Leverage? Will you just throw her away when your satisfied?” Shouto said, motioning to you.

“Don’t even fucking look at her. She’s not some petty tool. She’s my wife. She will be here long after you, both her and our child!” Dabi roared at him. You could feel the heat filling the room and swallowed thickly. There was silence. Something changed.

Shouto’s eyes wandered to you, he held your gaze for a moment, and then his eyes shifted to your stomach. Your hands wrapped around it instinctively as your heart skipped a beat.

“You’re unfit to be a father. After you pass, well make sure to help raise the child properly. Your “wife” will be well taken care of.” Enji said, breaking his silence as he stepped toward you. Dabi was quick to react.

“Stay the fuck away from her!” He yelled, blue flames igniting from his skin. Your eyes widened as you took in the beautiful fire before you. He truly looked like a god, an untouchable being, and you were in awe. You understood finally the gift he was given by the gods. The power he was handed.

The fire washed over Enji, as Dabi tackled him to the floor. He beat him, and you could do nothing but stand there and watch as Dabi’s fists connected with his face repeatedly.

It was violent and you wanted to look away, but you were rooted to the spot, frozen in shock. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched the puddle of blood form around Enji’s head. Smelled the burning of his skin.

You were snapped out of your trance by a harsh tug to your arm.

“Hey, we gotta go!” Keigo whispered beside you, his other hand gripping the gun on his belt as he watched the scene before him unfold. You ripped your arm back.

“I can’t leave him. Not now. I have to stay.” You said, your voice cracking with every word. You knew Keigo was right, you promised you would leave if things got bad. Your mind was screaming for you to follow him out that door to safety, but your body wouldn’t move.

“Look, I’m sorry. I warned Shouto. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this would happen, but we have to leave! Now!” Keigo said, his eyes watering as he pulled on you desperately.

“You...you did what!? How could you!?” You yelled shoving him. But his focus wasn’t on you anymore. You tried to turn, but Keigo grabbed your face and held it to look at him.

“Stop it, what are you-“

BANG. BANG.

Everything stopped. Tears fell from your eyes at the sound. You threw his hands from your face and whipped around, finding Dabi bleeding on the floor, his body stilled and unmoving.

“NO!” You screamed, running to him. You dropped beside him and pressed your hands to the wounds on his chest. The blood seeped between your fingers as you sobbed, begging him to stay.

Shouto stood back, putting his gun away, and watched you with a sad look on his face. He knew it would destroy you, that it would break your heart, but he knew it had to be done. He was regretful that you had gotten involved. That another innocent person was pulled into this war. You were just collateral damage.

Keigo approached your weeping form slowly, and rested his hand on your shoulder, trying to offer some form of comfort.

“I’m sorry, kid. He’s gone.” He whispered.

“But he can’t go back! He can’t die, he doesn’t have anywhere to go! And I need him! The baby..” You choked on your words and cried harder.

“The baby!? Oh...oh my god..” Keigo paled as his eyes shifted to Shouto.

“What the fuck did you do? You never said-“

“I didn’t know. It wouldn’t have changed anything...but for what it’s worth, I really didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Shouto said, cutting Keigo off, his voice solemn.

“You’re sorry.” Your cold stare landed on the man before you. “You’re sorry?” You repeated, a hoarse laugh falling from your lips as you pushed yourself up from the ground.

It happened in a split second, before you could even process what you were doing. Something snapped. Your hand grabbed the gun from Keigo’s holster and you aimed it at Shouto.

“You will be.” You said, and then pulled the trigger.

Shouto’s body toppled to the floor, lifelessly. A fatal shot. The door burst open behind you, and you heard the chaos immediately, the yells. They screamed to drop your weapon. The police, you recognized through the fog that clouded your mind.

You heard Keigo plead behind you, telling you to listen. Telling them to stop. To wait. But they didn’t.

You turned toward them, gun lowered but still in hand, and that was enough. You heard the shots, but you didn’t feel them. You were somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

You watched yourself fall to the ground, felt your body hit the floor. Within and outside of yourself simultaneously. And you smiled.

“Can you hear me!?” Keigo screamed beside you, “Stay with me!” He cried. Your eyes opened to take in his tear stained face.

“And never have I felt so deeply at one and the same time so detached from myself and so present in the world.” (Albert Camus). Your mind repeated the quote that you knew by heart, and it had never resonated more than it did now, in this moment.

And then, you closed your eyes.

______________________________________

You awoke on the floor of Dabi’s tomb with a splitting headache. You groaned, pushing yourself up as you spit the sand and dirt from your mouth and wiped off your clothes. Your brows furrowed in confusion. Had you just fallen and hit your head? Was it all some crazy dream? Your clothes were the same as when you had first found the tomb.

Tears fell from your eyes as you realized it had all been some fabricated story your mind made up. Your heart broke all over again. It had felt so real.

Saddened, you made your way up to the main chamber, your eyes taking in every inch of the tomb, fingertips tracing each wall you passed. As you neared the exit, your name carved into the wall caught your attention. Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as you took off to the doorway. You rushed outside to confirm your thoughts, you needed to make sure it was real. You needed it to be real.

It had worked. It had brought you to him. This was the afterlife, his afterlife.

Your face widened into a smile as you looked around at the ancient buildings, newly built.

“You about ready to go home, princess?” A voice called behind you.

He sat atop a camel, his white kilt, his golden jewelry and elaborate belt. The same as when you had first met him. The only difference was the bundle in his arms, the small hands that reached out from behind the cloth.

You ran to him, to your husband, the love of your life. He reached down to pull you up onto the camel and into his lap.

“Is this...?” You asked, your eyes taking in the baby cradled against his chest. He smiled and nodded.

“Our daughter.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Will she always be a baby? Can she grow up here?” You asked, taking your child from Dabi to plant kisses on her smiling face.

“No, she’ll grow. The afterlife is a continuation. It picks up where your world ends. Though she will never die, she will age. She will be healthy and happy, and with us.” He answered, his arms encircling you and your daughter, placing a kiss on your forehead and then on hers.

You smiled, as tears of joy welled in your eyes. You kissed Dabi, whispering I love you as he started off toward home.

Home. You were home.

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 1: The Reaping

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader 

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 4.6K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

What little shred of hope for survival you may have had, after hearing your name announced from the reaping, was immediately squashed minutes later by two simple words. “I volunteer”.

Volunteers from District 4 were not uncommon. There was a not-so-secret training complex the capitol turned a blind eye to, in a warehouse near the docks. During your time in school you knew of several kids who trained before and after classes. At the age of twelve some of them dropped out all together, with the sole purpose of training every waking second of the day so they could volunteer at eighteen. There was no need for an education if your only purpose in life was to compete in a death match that offered a lifetime of rewards to the winner.

After the misfortune of having your name drawn you looked around, silently begging for one of the girls to come up and replace you, only for no takers. But when Kim Namjoon eagerly announced his intentions of volunteering (the reaped twelve-year-old boy on stage immediately bursting into grateful tears and rushing back to his mother in the square) it was easy to understand why no one had stepped up this year. Back when you had attended school, before dropping out to assist your father on his fishing boat after your mother died, Namjoon had been in some of your classes –although he very rarely showed up. He was immensely popular with everyone; in part because of his handsome physique and model like dimples, partially because of his superior intelligence, but mostly because it was well known he was by far the leader from all the kids in training.

You had never attended a training session (more fool you for thinking you would never be unlucky enough to have your name drawn, and banking on one of the girls who did train to take your place if you did) but the center near the wharf was close to where your family’s boat — that functioned as both a fishing ship and your house — was docked. During the many occasions you had walked past, you sometimes stopped to peer through a crack in the doorway and watch. A majority of the times you had seen Namjoon inside amongst the group of around twenty regulars; working out with weights, sparring with an array of weapons, or climbing the rope attached to the ceiling that was surely 30 feet high with nothing but cement to drop back down to. The years of work had turned the dimpled twelve-year-old you once shared a math class with into a lethal killing machine. And now you were going to be stuck in an arena with you as one of his targets.

You stood frozen as Namjoon strode up on stage, a grin on his face, waving to the camera before shaking the hand of the capitol’s representative — a pastel blue haired woman by the name of Periwinkle Eveweather. You could tell Periwinkle much preferred Namjoon to you from the twinkle in her eye at how well he was playing up to the camera. There would be no need for her to have to force him to act like being slaughtered like an animal was an honor, like she would for you. The next moments passed far too quickly in a blur, being lead off stage to bid farewell to your families. As you sobbed in your father’s arms, an only child saying your last goodbye, Namjoon was getting a pat on the back from his older sister, a previous volunteer and victor. Shortly after you were ushered on board to the train where you now sat, Namjoon at your side and your mentor sitting across the table.

A small part of your brain found it difficult to take Finnick Odair as a mentor seriously given he was younger than you. But your rational side was quick to silence that judgment with a reminder that exact dismissal of his age was a major contributing factor to his win three years ago. The feeling of despair ate away at your insides as Finnick took an immediate liking to Namjoon. You couldn’t blame him for it, Namjoon was by far the more likely of the two of you to survive, so it only made sense for him to put more attention on the candidate with the best chance, but it still made you feel awful none the less.

“And what about you YN?”

You jumped feeling Namjoon’s hand tapping your leg softly under the table, his head wordlessly nodding in Finnick’s direction without making any eye contact to you. You had become so distracted by the mug of tea in a decorative porcelain cup in your hands, you failed to recognize your mentor’s piercing sea green eyes were now focused on you.

“Sorry, what about my what?” you mumbled dumbly, feeling incredibly insecure at Finnick’s sigh.

“Your skills, what do you bring to the games?”

Well that explained why you had tuned out, there was no need for you to listen to Namjoon describing all the potential ways he was going to kill you within a week or so. And there were a hell of a lot of ways.

“I don’t know really, I’m not someone who’s trained like Namjoon,” you paused to think, pretending not to notice Namjoon’s smug smirk in the corner of your peripheral vision as Finnick frowned slightly.

“Neither was I, and that caused a lot of the careers to underestimate me,” Finnick replied, shooting Namjoon a pointed look which caused his smirk to disappear. You tried not to smile at that, settling instead for relaxing slightly into your seat.

“I can fish, so depending on the arena I can potentially find food, but more importantly I know my way around with a knife,” you declared, feeling a little more confident. The hopeless despair was still overwhelming but the least you could do for yourself, and your father, was to go out with honor.

“Very good,” Finnick nodded “don’t underestimate your face either.”

“My face?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “How am I supposed to kill anyone with that?”

Finnick sighed, leaning further back into the lounge he was occupying on his own, pinching the bridge of his nose on his handsome face in exasperation.

“Both of you listen, this is potentially more important than all of those little training sessions or fishing catches the both of you have ever made combined. You’re clearly genetically blessed to continue District 4’s reputation of having the most beautiful tributes, you in particular” He paused to lazily point in your direction. “If you actually want to win the games, you want the people of the capitol to adore you. And they’re a city of shallow cunts,” another pause to shoot a charming smile in Periwinkle’s direction “no offense”.

“Offense taken!” Periwinkle gasped indignantly but Finnick was already speaking over her without a care.

“And as shallow cunts what these people love, more than anything in their pathetic little vapid lives, is beauty. You,” a point to Namjoon, “have been training your whole life for this and will have a body to represent that. Show it off. They love flair, they love confidence, they love a show. Flex those biceps for them, they’ll go mad. Flash your abs and they’ll fall in love. And work those dimples, cause these suckers sure worked for me, got me a trident,” Finnick grinned to show off his smile and twin indents on each corner of his mouth, Namjoon mirrored the gesture and you felt your heart clench at how easily he seemed to turn on his charm. Tall, well built and handsome, he was just as gorgeous as Finnick. Too bad he was very likely about to be the literal death of you.

“And you,” Finnick turned his attention to your direction and you felt Namjoon’s eyes burning into you from the side “you’ll be the prettiest thing they’ve seen in years, possibly in the history of the games”

Your face flushed at the comment, even though you knew it wasn’t intended as a compliment. There was no point in sweet little lies to butter you up and the fact of the matter was you knew you had an aesthetically pleasing face. Your facial features were in perfect balance, skin clear, thick hair that fell to the middle of your back and eyes that you had been told sparkled like stars in the night.

“They’ll love that shit,” his finger lazily circled around pointing to your cheeks that were flushed in embarrassment at his candid assessment of your appearance.

“These people are so used to artificial, that something so beautiful and pure will be coveted like the fattest diamond they could possibly hang from their necks. You ever fucked a guy, sweetheart?”

“Excuse me?” you balked at the invasive question, earning a sharp laugh out of Namjoon, a scandalized shriek from Periwinkle, and an eye roll from Finnick.

“I’ll take that for a yes and don’t worry I’m not interested. The capitol thrives on corruption, greed, and a need to claim rare treasures for their own. Put an innocent little dove like you, with a face like yours, in front of them and they’ll go insane. Act right at the parade and in your interviews and you’ll have sponsors gifting you everything you could ever need in that arena”.

You sat wide eyed not even knowing how to respond. You didn’t bother with arguing over the status of your supposed virginity because whether it was true or not didn’t actually matter, it was all about the perception. If getting dolled up and fluttering your eyelashes could potentially result in a knife being dropped from the sky in the arena, you could suck it up and give these disgusting people what they wanted.

X

The train ride to the capitol took just under three days in total. During that time Finnick and Namjoon spent a lot of time together, which you weren’t surprised with in the least. It was only natural to favor the tribute with the better odds, as much as Finnick’s little speech on the first day tried to make you think you could have a chance. Finnick still made some time for you though, which was mostly spent on guiding you how to attract sponsors. You spent a majority of the time in your room, a lot of it crying, most of it sleeping, and some of it playing around with technologies you had never had access to before in your life. The only time you really saw Namjoon was during breakfast and dinner where you ate together with Finnick to discuss district strategy. You weren’t surprised at all by Namjoon’s plan to join the career pack, but you were slightly surprised when he spoke of you as a part of that plan. You were a little annoyed he didn’t even think to ask your opinion, but logically speaking it’s not like you had any option. It was either join them or make yourself an easy target. Plus, any alliance with Namjoon reduced your need to have kill any other tributes personally. The only thing now was to hope districts 1 and 2 were as receptive to the idea as you were.

When you arrived at the capitol you were immediately ushered into a clinic that was like a fusion between a spa and a hospital. You were stripped, examined, and assessed by a doctor before being dressed in a paper thin hospital gown. After a painful injection (“that’s your tracker dear, so the capitol can monitor you in the arena”) you were passed over to the beauty department who scrubbed, exfoliated, waxed, showered, moisturized, treated, conditioned and polished your entire body from head to toe. But at the end when you were standing before a mirror, you could see the results were worth it.

As Finnick had stated, you were already beautiful to start with, but it was like taking an uncut gem and polishing the stone to make it shine. Your hair was a couple of inches shorter with all the damage from years of saltwater being trimmed off. A treatment of conditioners you couldn’t care to remember had tamed your thick locks into smooth waves that had been layered to frame your face and flow prettily down your back. Whatever impurities that existed on your skin before had been entirely lasered away, and your whole complexion was now soft and glowing. Your eyebrows had been plucked into identical manicured arches and some sort of needled gun had permanently filled them in. A gel had been applied to your lips to boost their plumpness, without overly inflating them or drastically changing their shape, giving your mouth a cherubic quality. Staring at your reflection you raised a perfectly manicured finger to poke at your cheek, feeling the new silky smoothness beneath your fingertip, watching as your mirror image copied the action. It was surreal. You recognized the person in front of you as yourself, all of your features were still the same, but just somehow perfected?

You mostly ignored the gushing of your newly assigned stylist team — a set of triplets named Ruby, Garnet and Quartz — as they picked out garments, stretched measuring tape across and around your body and argued over what colors would bring out your eyes the best. They were sweet and well meaning with their compliments, but the growing nerves over being prepped for the chariot parade in a few hours made you unreceptive.

The concept they eventually decided on for your fishing district was ‘Rulers of the Sea’ and you were dressed in a Grecian inspired gown. The iridescent blue and green material, that sparkled like the sun reflecting off the ocean, was clasped at the top of your left shoulder with a silver broach in the shape of a starfish. Intricate embroidery was patterned around around the waist where the fabric was cinched tightly to create an overly enhanced hourglass silhouette. The bottom half flowed to your sandal clad feet and seemed to sway with the slightest of moments, a split on the right ran to the middle part of your thigh. Your eyes were a smoky combination of the colors from your dress, lashes coated in extensions and a layer of mascara to give you a seductive yet doe eyed appearance. There was a strange dichotomy in your styling where they were attempting to preserve your ‘natural’ and ‘innocent’ traits whilst simultaneously taking full advantage of the fact you were eighteen in order to market sex appeal.

Your favorite part (that you hated to admit even liking given the circumstance you were even in) was your hair. A section from each side had been pulled away and pinned at the back in a princess style, with numerous tiny clips of glowing sea shells and starfish holding it in place. Glittery extensions had been clipped in tastefully creating an appearance as if your hair was literally shining. This was then finished off by an ornate tiara placed on the top of your head.

By the time you were finished your stylists were practically in tears, fawning over you and calling you’re their greatest masterpiece. They mistook your eyes watering as pride in their work and not disgust at their pride in dressing a cow off before sending it to the slaughterhouse.

“No dear, you can’t cry and ruin all that make up we just spent so much time perfecting” Ruby chided, dabbing at your eyes with a tissue as Quartz and Garnet guided you out the door and into the small vehicle which was about to take you from the clinic to the parade. You didn’t dignify her with a response, merely grabbing the tissue from her hand as you were forced into the car. As soon as you were inside the car sped off, arriving at the destination very shortly after. From behind your tinted windows you could see horses being lead to empty chariots and your first sight of the other tributes, the people you were either going to have to kill or be killed by.

When the car stopped, Finnick was the one to open your door and offer you a hand to get out, which you accepted. As you stood up he appraisingly ran his eyes over all the details of your make-over, before nodding his approval.

“They did well,” he stated and you nodded your head in passive agreement as he dropped your hand to press his to the small of your back and guide you towards your chariot. Namjoon was already there, dressed in his own Grecian toga of the same fabric with a crown on the top of his newly styled hair. Sensing your arrival, he turned to look at you. Namjoon’s eyes widened comically before quickly composing his features almost as instantly as he had reacted. “Very well,” Finnick whispered, and you allowed an amused puff of air out.

“Your chariot awaits my dear,” Finnick said with a mock bow as he nudged you towards Namjoon, who extended his arm for you to hold on to. Not sure what else to do, you placed your hand delicately on his forearm, his other hand then coming to rest over the top. For a brief moment as Namjoon guided you both into the chariot, you could almost imagine you were a princess being taken to a ball by a handsome prince, but any such delusions were ruined by what Namjoon whispered next.

“It’s such a shame there can only be one winner, you really look good by my side.”

Your jaw clenched and you moved to rip your hand off his arm but his grip over yours instantly tightened with a laugh, as if expecting that exact reaction.

“Calm down princess, I don’t plan on killing your pretty little face for a while yet.”

You looked up at him like he was insane as the chariot began to move forward. He thought your reaction was from fear he was going to kill you now? And not that he perceived your life as only having value from being pretty enough for him? You were furious and about to rip into him before you heard the approaching roar of the crowd ahead at the end of the tunnel. Namjoon was oblivious to your rage, a perfectly poised smile, flexing his dimples that Finnick would be proud of, already painted on his face. You paused, for all you knew that could be an attempt to psych you out before facing the crowds, potentially losing you sponsor opportunities. Turning away from Namjoon, you took a deep breath to try and compose yourself. You plastered the docile soft-smiled wide eyed expression on your face that you had practiced with Finnick on the train, as your carriage emerged form the tunnel and onto the road lined with screaming spectators.

The entire parade was a blur of flashing lights, fireworks, thunderous cheering and echoes from the microphone that distorted whatever message the president greeted you with. By the time your chariot returned to the tunnel your mind was entirely blank but with the satisfied nod from Finnick as he waited to welcome you both back, you knew you had done well.

“If District 2 is anything to go by then you’ve won yourself a lot of admirers tonight” Finnick practically sang as he helped you down. Confused by his words you turned around looking for the other district to see the duo from two, the carriage over from yours. Dressed in gladiator styled garments, that was common from them every year, the girl was fiddling with a ruby dagger (you hoped was just a prop) whilst the boy was staring straight at you. ‘Boy’ was the wrong word to describe him, as he definitely had to have been the same age as you, if anything he looked slightly more mature than the legal age to even be here. He was tall, though not as tall as Namjoon, and lithe. Beneath a decorative breastplate you could see his sun kissed golden skin adorned with the toned definition of his pectoral and abdominal muscles. His face was incredibly handsome, by far the most handsome of any of the male tributes. Rich copper hair had been styled to frame his aristocratic features; a high bridged pointed nose, high cheekbones, sharp jawline and rich dark chocolate brown eyes that were intently focused on you.

“Speaking to other tributes before training is technically not allowed, but it’s enforced the same way as your training centers are, so not at all. You’ve got five minutes until those cars arrive to take you to the living quarters, go talk to the careers and work out an alliance,” You broke the eye contact to look at Finnick as he spoke, clearly having witnessed your little interaction.

Namjoon took the lead, confidently stepping off the carriage with a winning smile and striding towards the pair from two. With a sigh you hitched up the long material of your dress and followed behind him. You could still feel the male’s eyes burning into your skull as you looked across to notice the pair from District 1 also making their way over — their own mentor likely having given them the same advice as your own.

“I’m Namjoon and this is YN,” you weren’t particularly pleased by Namjoon deciding to speak on your behalf, but chose to roll your eyes behind him rather than interrupting. “We’re interested in continuing a long standing tradition of successful career pack alliances. I assume from you joining us over here, that you are as well.”

“I would typically say that to assume only makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’, but in this instance you are correct,” the other male from District 1 spoke. You tried to stifle a laugh, but the warning glare Namjoon shot you from the corner of his eye told you that it wasn’t successful. You merely smiled back and blinked innocently with a shrug.

“My name’s Yoongi, and an alliance would be in all of our best interests.” He was shorter than Namjoon and District 2, only an inch or two taller than yourself, but somehow still just as intimidating. His pale skin was contrasted by pitch black hair and sharp coal like eyes that were openly assessing the group of you.

“Krystal,” his district mate offered by means of introduction, and you wondered if the two were siblings. She shared his light complexion, dark eyes and her sleek midnight hair was dead straight down past her waist. Both were dressed in black, their outfits embodying the luxury their district was known for; Yoongi in a tailored suit with subtle embroidery detail, Krystal in an elegant fitted gown made of the same fabric, both topped off with luxurious fur capes draped over their shoulders.

“I’m Athena and he’s Hoseok,” the girl from two spoke. She appeared to be the same height as Yoongi but you noticed a heel on her sandals giving her an extra few inches. You couldn’t bring yourself to look across to Hoseok, knowing his gaze still hadn’t broken since staring at you from the carriage.

“Is that real?” you asked, gesturing towards the dagger Athena had been playing with before that was now held limply in her right hand.

“Why don’t we find out,” she replied with a smirk, instantly flipping the dagger in her hands to point the tip between your eyes.

“Athena!” Hoseok hissed dangerously, slapping the dagger from her hands and cause it to fall onto the ground below. The lack of metallic ‘clang’ revealing it as fake.

“Calm down, it was a joke!” Athena snapped back, reaching down to pick it back up, whilst shaking her head in annoyance. Before you could assure her it was fine, Hoseok stepped forward to present you with his own version of the prop. Reaching out he grabbed your wrist to place the ‘dagger’ in your hand.

“See, the material is just a type of fiber that gives the illusion of metal, but is really not hard at all.” Gently he ran the blade along your palm, and true to his word there was no edge at all. But the image still looked real and seeing a blade dancing across your skin, knowing someone was going to try to kill you with a real one very soon, made you feel ill. Sensing your discomfort from the trembling hand, Hoseok immediately pocketed the knife, but still maintained his hold on your wrist.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, angel,” he spoke softly and you frantically looked to the others to see if they could hear him. Namjoon who was the closest merely looked amused, Athena was showing Yoongi the fake dagger, whilst Krystal had her eyebrow raised in your direction.

“I hope not,” you awkwardly tried to joke, pulling your wrist slightly to subtly try and break the hold, but he only tightened his grip forcing you to look up and back into his eyes again. His gaze from a distance had already been intense but up close it was heart stopping. There was a passion in his eyes you had never seen before in your life and it was solely focused entirely on you. It was frightening, you couldn’t imagine what you had possibly done to warrant being on the receiving end of something so intense. You tilted your head down and away from the others, humiliated over being so easily intimidated. If an attractive man holding your wrist and making eye contact with you was all it took to fluster you, you may as well just sign your own death certificate now.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, dropping your wrist to place his finger on your chin and raise your head back upwards, though you kept your eyes lowered, staring at his jawline to avoid direct eye contact again.

“I’m promise I won’t hurt you, love. Not now, not ever.”

You were about to ask him how he could possibly say something like that given you were about to become direct competitors in a battle to the death, when a sharp whistle stole your attention. Snapping your head to the side you saw Finnick jerk his head, indicating for you and Namjoon to return. You exhaled in relief, grateful for the reprieve.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Namjoon said to the group, moving next to you and causing Hoseok to pull his hand away. You nodded to show your agreement with Namjoon whilst making eye contact with the other three you barely had a chance to speak to. You hoped they didn’t think that you were somehow forming something just with Hoseok based on his actions. You were going to need all the help you possibly could get if you wanted a chance to survive.

“Tomorrow,” Krystal agreed, making proper eye contact with you for the first time. She was smaller in height than you, thinner too, but somehow carried a cold and intimidating aura. You offered her a polite smile in return and a nod, relieved when she nodded back, before you returned to Finnick with Namjoon.

“How did it go? Looked pretty good” Finnick asked just as the capitol vehicle pulled up to take you to the tribute quarters.

“It seems our little dove here won’t just have the capitol for an admirer,” Namjoon smirked, getting into the car.

“So I saw,” Finnick muttered as a reply to Namjoon’s back, then turned to face you.

“Don’t let him psych you out,” he said, stepping aside so you could follow Namjoon into the vehicle.

You glanced at Namjoon before turning back to see Hoseok standing by his car but staring directly at you again. His eyes were still radiating the same intense passion from moments ago, you had no idea what to make of it.

“Who?” you whispered back to Finnick, ducking your head as you stepped inside. Finnick moved to shut the door.

“Both of them”

This is basically an introductory chapter to gauge reception. Future updates should be longer. I have the whole fic plotted and the outline itself is 5.9K words and this chapter was only based on the first paragraph. The next update will focus on the training sessions/interview with Caesar and the update after should be the one where they actually enter the arena.

Feedback is much loved, but please avoid asking for updates. I don’t have a schedule but I do have crippling depression so I write when the motivation hits lol

[writingandmore]

Hi!!! May I get a HP, Star Wars, Voltron, and Disney matchup?

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

19, Libra, Neutral Good, enneagram is 4w5, muggleborn Ravenclaw (with Gryffindor tendencies), and my patronus spirit is Hummingbird. Biromantic Pansexual Genderfluid woman using pronouns of She/Her or He/Him. Cherubic-like face, with short height (5'1") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has chic messy/wavy brunette medium hair that reaches to my shoulder, oriental skin, slightly upturned eyes, small lashes, chocolate brown irises, cute flat nose, heart shaped face, full cheeks, cupid's bow lips, a small beauty mark on the forehead, and naturally straight teeth with tiny gap in front (just imagine that it's a mixture of Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲---cause' my friend told me that I kinda look like them). My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam, I sometimes let my hair down or styled like Lara Croft reboot.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

Distant, quiet, and timid at first making people thought I'm a demure, modest, and self-effacing that looks "immaculate" or "one of a kind" (due to my protective mom, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, dunno how to initiate a conversation, but a total opposite if I open up---friendly, ambivert, witty, laughing loudly on a daily basis---like my happiness is too shallow, super talkative, eats a lot (yeah I can finish a huge slice of cake or a meal in one sitting), awkward, daydreamer (I got embarrassed from knocking at the door even I'm inside the classroom 😂), EXTREMELY CLUMSY (mostly gets bruises from hitting, bumping my head somewhere, walking into something on my way, and being careless to my belongings), secretly likes affection, easily overwhelmed, prone to melt over wholesomeness, flusters on compliments, lightly blushes on cheesy banters, eager to share what I know (especially about Catholic Church---my past teacher joked that I'll become a saint because of it 🤣), oftenly speaks full of sarcasm with a lowkey crackhead energy citing meme references, and talented girl who can be your no.1 supporter and unashamed to be true to myself but can be awkward to strangers. In terms of leadership, I only educate and guide than being a prefect (I might take the role seriously), will lift my group when there's lacking/incompleteness. About doing projects in school, I become too extra and prepared for efforts, but I'll forget the process in the end.

The extent, I'm expressive, warm-hearted, willig to help, kind, intelligent, supportive, nice, creative, enthusiastic, laid-back, determined, tough, competitive, and feisty outside, but a real softie that can be childish and dramatic that cries so easily (but will enlightened real quick by smallest things that makes me smile) filled with doubts, frustrations, and insecurities with fear of failure that pushes off the limits to to please everyone because they might get dissappointed from expectations---I simply can't stop proving myself too much because I'm a survivor of bullying. But I still managed to be stronger than ever after I stumbled, even it's a slow burn process. I can be blunt, intimidating, harsh, and a douchebag if I receive ends or I got interrupted while doing something. Immature, headstrong, perfectionist, demanding, hesitant, jumpy, forgetful, overthinker, quick-tempered, sensitive, and anxious (no joke, my nervousness makes me think worse scenario will arrive). Though can be procrastinator and arrogant, I raised as a religious 𝖺𝗇𝖽 diplomatic youth, willing to fight what I believe (including my dreams and what's important to me) and what is right. In addition, I have a habit of staying up late and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness.

Rowdy and feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will call out on people that we loathe, will make fun of your stupidity (in a good way) before helping, and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic and cheeky (makes banter with sarcasms or pick up lines as an endearment, but gets annoyed if I received sappy or offensive one), Still generous and concerned person in a subtle and different way.

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦

My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. I'll include making corniest jokes/puns, sleeping, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD). I also used to learn Italian language a bit.

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Loves kittens, milk tea, singing at the karaoke, cartoons, iced coffee, memes, cute things, watching YouTube videos (mostly pageants, ASMR, edit audios, and mukbangs), also enjoys playing games on my sister's PSP. Sucker for arts, choir, poetry, night sky, makeup, fun/deep/dumb conversations, Christianity, documentaries (about saints, real crime stories, and inspirational people), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and creative writing, chilling both indoors and outdoors. Beside that, my music taste are like late 90s-2000s songs (mostly rock, pop, and country) sometimes Catholic songs, kpop and ppop, chocoholic, and a sweetooth as well.

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Things that I hate are stereotyping, HUGE creepy crawlies (spiders, toads, snakes, and cockroaches), firecracker sounds, thunder and lightning, being left out, loneliness, heart break, blackout, and judgemental people. If I found out that someone hates or backstabbing or being rude to me, I won't hesitate to throw offensive criticisms, leaving them with a "I don't give a f" attitude. One random fact about me is, I 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 vent out EVERYTHING I despise in my entire existence---from bad soap operas to toxicity, worse scenarios in real life, and how terrible is my love life from unrequited feelings that I got, because it's a big deal for me, and I consider forcing me to do what I'm not into and manipulating me as my major pet peeves.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗥𝗦

In terms of triggers...I only have two which are ta𝖨king about divorce/annullment/separation because I came from a generational broken family (it sucks that some people I knew assumed that the reason why I'm overly unaware that someone is interested in me in secret, is I have "high standards" looking for a partner, but the truth is I'm strict and I have a personal preferences...I know my worth and I don't want settle for less!) and religion/beliefs discrimination, cause' there are reasonings that doesn't makes sense because some, sounds too hypocritical, like as if you're a morally good person.

𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘 + 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗨𝗔𝗚𝗘𝗦

My love languages are quality time and gift giving, but I actually swoon over physical touch (especially cuddles and cute kisses) and words of affirmation when it comes to having a partner, though I get attracted so easily, matured but can be a goofy person who's nice, friendly, kind-hearted, loving, faithful, and excels in academics is my cup of tea. Whenever I have a real life crush (which is rare), I act the same but deep inside, my heart is about to explode and will eventually share to my trustful friends how I highly admire that person, however if they spilled the beans out, I'll obviously deny it and will cry if they like someone else, it will take some time for me to move on, now I don't care for them anymore.

Best Friends to Lovers is my ideal trope because I find it very cute since you already knew each other before dating (which happened to my 2nd cousin, she married her best friend!)---perfect balance for romance, laughters, comfort, and tears when it comes to sharing your vibes, being there through thick and thin, safe with embraces, and helping each other to grow.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗔𝗦

My best assets are smile, eyes, personality, singing voice, artistic skills, writings, intelligence, oratorical skills and I have potential in hosting...so I can consider myself as a singer, artist, orator, speaker, and a top student who's a former active campus ministry member with three roles (choir leader, psalm singer, and reader).

May sounds different but I'm passionate for helping people through my talents and sharing my story to inspire everyone. I may look selfish, but I have a different way on how I show that I actually care also I have a biased sentimental value

Currently a college freshman, learning how to cook. I have so many interests, to the point I don't know what I'm into because of my dreams to become a popular Filipino YouTuber, a novelist, and being part of a successful chorale competing internationally...I also consider joining pageants at school too once the pandemic ends, but maybe.

HP: Remus!

- Remus is also quiet and a bit reserved when he's not in a familiar situation, so your own first impression on him would be a good one, as you'd seem similar to his own personality. He's sweet and is able to start up a conversation if he notices the other person is having a hard time doing so, so hopefully he'd be able to bring out your more extroverted and friendly self after a while so he can be around the more open you. He wouldn't mind you being a bit awkward-he's very much the same way-honestly, the comradery that would come from that would be more positive than anything else. He loves sharing knowledge and learning about new things, so your eagerness to talk about what you know would work really well also! He does a lot better when he knows someone has his back too, so your extra supportive nature would endear him to you as well.

SW: Han!

- Your nicer and more helpful personality would balance out Han's more standoffish vibes when first meeting. You might get on his nerves a bit first, but you'd quickly grown on him and, in turn, make him a bit of a better person. Your ability to be blunt and a bit harsh would serve you well if you ever needed to stand your ground on an issue that two of you have, as he can be quite stubborn.

VLD: Lance!

- Lance can be a bit immature from time to time as well, especially when it comes to trying to be funny or cheering up those around him-he's also headstrong and typically firm in what he wants to do, so your own determined personality would attract him to you a lot as well. He often puts off things he needs to do if they make him anxious too, but if you both recognize that you share that problem, helping each other might be a good solution!

Disney: Flynn!

- Flynn is quite a sarcastic and teasing person, so your own humor would match well with his. He's also quite a hopeless romantic as well, even though he's certainly not one to admit that right off the bat. He enjoys singing, and as he gets closer to someone he feels more comfortable doing so in front of them, so a partner he's been with for a long time would get to see him be more and more open with it. That also applies to activities like dancing.

[space-------kid]

Ack! It’s perfectly okay! But in short, Akaza, not hakuji, is human, still apart of the 12 moons, meets a flower shop owner, who after becoming friends with, ends up showing him a flower that they found, the blue spider lily, the flower of which he needs, and he contemplates over turning it in and potentially risking the owner’s safety (cause like, hey, where’d ya get the flower) and keeping here and potentially getting in trouble for not finding it. Maybe smol angst with a fluff ending?

Thank you for your patience, understanding, and clarification - I appreciate them very much! 😭💕💕💕

I hope you like what I come up with, anon! 😊💕

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓫𝔂𝓮, 𝓶𝓻. 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓮𝓯 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃!𝒜𝓀𝒶𝓏𝒶 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

              The strum of Nakime’s biwa is the last thing he hears before he is transported away from the Dimensional Infinity Fortress. Akaza gets up from his kneeling position, sleep-deprived and mentally exhausted from his meeting with the demon he calls his master. Behind him, the sun is starting to rise from the horizon, signifying a new day he has to face with only one thing in mind.

                Despite his abhorrence for humans, Kibutsuji Muzan finds it in himself to tolerate the presence of the only man occupying a spot among his Twelve Demon Moons, more so giving said man the title of Upper Moon Three  – the rank branded on his back. Human though he may be, Akaza knows that Muzan favours him along with the top two Upper Moons because of his many uses. For one, no one will suspect that a human like him is willingly working for a demon. And two, he proves to be more useful in the progenitor of the demon’s search for the mysterious blue spider lily - having the capacity to look for the flowers in broad daylight rather than being limited by night. Perhaps these are simply the reason why Akaza hasn’t been turned into a demon yet, and he’d rather not if he’s being completely honest.

                The danger of being eaten or mercilessly killed by his fellow Moons remain, however, and it pervades within the ranks of the Lower Moons. While the Upper Moons may have been lenient because they also recognize the uses of a human belonging in the ranks and being of service to Muzan, the Lower ones hate Akaza with a burning passion. How could one measly human gain Muzan’s favour, something they can’t even obtain (maybe with the exception of Lower Five, Rui, who sees Muzan as a father-figure and Akaza some sort of an older brother)?

                But Akaza is used to the threats by now. He’s learned to live with every single one of them -- that, after all, is what it means to be a human who chooses to be subservient to the creator of demonkind.

                Prepared for another long day ahead of him, Akaza squares his shoulders and sets off on his journey.

--

                Akaza’s trail leads him to a post town called Magome located in the Kiso Valley.

                While the town doesn’t look promising enough with regards to his journey, the third Upper Moon still sees the charm of the place itself. He initially plans to stay only for a day and move along with his search, but he hears talk of Demon Slayers converging on the next town he is headed so he decides to lay low for a few days. While he is confident that he can take them on with the use of his Destructive Kill Style - a self-taught Breath Style he has formulated to oppose the Demon Slayers’ - he finds it prudent that secrecy will better help him with his quest for the time being.

                Akaza, however, doesn’t count on finding all three inns in the town fully booked. His displeasure must have shown on his face because most of the townspeople have been veering off his general direction. He would have ignored them, but a soft tap on his shoulder sends him turning around to look at whoever it is with a glare.

                Looking back, Akaza doesn’t expect that his short stay in Magome will earn him a friend in the form of [Name], an unassuming yet kind owner of the sole flower shop in the town. She has heard of his plight and - as her usual routine - offers to let him stay in her home above the shop. Akaza wants to turn down her request for he barely knows her save for some of the townsfolk encouraging him to do so. After all, they say, [Name] is known to take in those who have been unfortunate enough to be unable to find a place to stay in during their time in the town.

               He continues to harbour doubt. What if he’s a thief who wants to take advantage of her offer? What if he’s a murderer? His questions and doubt are short-lived, for [Name] is completely safe under the protection of three older brothers who live close. While not being a part of the Imperial Army nor his enemy the Demon Slayers, [Name]’s siblings are capable fighters who dabble in kyūdō, jiu-jitsu, and kenjutsu each. Despite being capable of defeating all three of them easily should a combat ensue, Akaza is more than satisfied with the knowledge that the unexpected and only friend he’s ever made is safe from the scum of humanity.

                And despite his better judgement, Akaza has actually enjoyed his short stay with [Name]. Aside from her kindness, he sees that she’s also understanding and considerate with other people’s plight. She seems to also possess the patience of a saint, and only gets angry for the right reasons. She knows not to pry with other people’s business if they choose to be secretive, but she’s also perceptive enough to know if someone is bearing any malicious intent or ill will towards her. But what Akaza finds endearing about her the most is that she is a genuine person - every action and decision she makes doesn’t contain even an ounce of a hidden agenda of some sort.

                After his stay, Akaza surprises himself with visiting [Name] at Magome whenever he can. He thinks at first that she will make a great asset with his search for the blue spider lily, what with her owning a flower shop and all. Slowly, however, he finds that the reason for his visit becomes less and less about the rare and mysterious his master has long coveted.

               The Upper Moon incognito gratefully accepts the tea [Name] serves him, fighting the urge to blush under her kind gaze. A bright smile is painted on her face as she begins chattering about the goings on in the town during his absence. Akaza shares the mundane events he encounters as well, mindful not to expose who he is, what his reasons for traveling are, and who he is allied with.

               “…then my brothers chased him away and threatened to throw him to prison if he ever sets foot in town because I found out that he’s a liar and has already promised the tailor Hanako-san marriage!” [Name] recounts of a time, during Akaza’s absence, where a shameless man attempted to court her despite being already engaged to one of her friends. “You would’ve disliked him instantly if you’ve been here and saw what he did, Akaza-san. That man has no respect for women!”

               Akaza quietly agrees, and it doesn’t escape his notice why the offender would offer [Name] courtship. She’s single and at the perfect age to get married. Aside from her behaviour, she is also an undeniably beautiful woman, with lively [colour] eyes, [length and colour] hair that flows like silk, and [tone] unblemished skin. She is very attractive, both in appearance and personality, and Akaza would be a hypocrite if he denies ever wondering what she’d look like in a shiromuku.

               Heat spreads on Akaza’s cheeks at the thought. Maybe… maybe when he’s done with his quest and Lord Muzan has finally achieved his goal, maybe Akaza can…

               He shakes his head at the thought. As much as he wants to court [Name] and later ask for her hand in marriage, he has a feeling that his master may not approve.

               But maybe Lord Muzan can make an exception? Maybe if Akaza can finally present the demon lord his long coveted blue spider lilies, maybe he’ll grant the third Upper Moon any desire he’d request?

               Akaza falters, almost dropping the cup and hearing [Name]’s worried gasp. He’s her friend, why is he thinking and desiring of marriage, of all things? And since when has he started to fantasize about making [Name] his woman? Does a male friend think of his female friend the way he does these past few months of knowing her?

               “I’m sorry,” he tells her with a reassuring smile. The lie – he’s the only one who manages to deceive her, why? – comes out smoothly from his lips as he greedily drinks in her reciprocating smile, “I’m just tired from the long journey. I apologize for making you worry.”

               Red paints [Name]’s cheeks as she holds the tray close to her chest. Akaza likes to think that it is because she is affected by his smile, just as hers affects him in more ways than one.

               “O-Oh!” She blinks in surprise and ducks her head in embarrassment at his claim. “I’m sorry for dragging you off to chat as soon as you came, Akaza-san! Please stay here and let me tidy up your room!”

               She is up to her feet before he can stop her, and he tilts his head in curiosity when she rushes back to him with an excited smile on her pretty face.

               “Before I forget–! You should come to the forest with me, tomorrow, Akaza-san!” [Name] tells him, looking positively thrilled that it bleeds into Akaza’s chest. “I found something that I want to show only you!”

               Something that has excited her– something that she wants to show only to him?

               Akaza smiles softly at her retreating form, anticipation building in his entire being. He can’t wait for tomorrow to come.

--

               The trek to the forest has showered Akaza with opportunity to spend more time alone with [Name]. While her older brothers have been kind and open to him, they still exude that protective air around her whenever Akaza’s gaze stays at her longer than they’re comfortable with.

               Kiso Valley is beautiful during the summer season. He admires the way [Name]’s face lights up as she points at the flowers they pass by on the trail, explaining to Akaza that the area is where she mostly gets and cultivates the flowers she sells in her shop. He’s seen and heard her talk about her beloved shop and flowers for what seems to be a hundred times already but Akaza doesn’t tire about the topic – not one bit, not when [Name] glows with passion for the things she loves.

               The trail soon becomes steep, and Akaza is quick grab [Name] by the waist when she almost stumbles in the uneven ground. He can feel her softness through the fabric of her kimono, marvelling at how perfect she fits against his battle-hardened frame. They stare at each other in surprise, the close proximity between the two of them painting their faces a bright shade of red. Akaza reluctantly lets her go, immediately missing her soft and sweet frame against his, and he wonders if it has just been his imagination working in overdrive when he notices that [Name] sort of looks like she is feeling the same. He offers her his hand instead, and his heart leaps with joy when she shyly accepts his offer.

               [Name] looks around fifteen minutes later, seemingly checking for anyone in the trail with them.

               “Do you see anyone else here, Akaza-san?” she then asks him, her free hand clutching the sleeve of his dark blue gi like a child looking for an adult’s guidance. Akaza bites his lip to keep himself from smiling at the adorable sight, and focuses in their surroundings.

               Utilizing his heightened perceptions, Akaza shakes his head at [Name] when the only battle spirit he senses in the area is hers. “We’re the only ones here, [Name]-san,” he tells her, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

               [Name] smiles eagerly up at him and, to his surprise, leads him off the trail. They walk in silence deeper into the forest, to Akaza’s mounting confusion. [Name] seems to be growing more excited while they walk, and a gasp of delight slips past her lips when they reached a small clearing.

               “They’re here again!” she exclaims giddily and excitedly tugs Akaza along with her. Akaza looks around, unable to find the source of her excitement until his blues eyes shifts their focus on the small patch of flowers in the middle of the clearing.

               “Look, Akaza-san! Aren’t they pretty?”

               Heart beating wildly in his throat, Akaza gazes wide-eyed at the blue spider lilies before him. He cannot believe what he is seeing, cannot believe that the one thing his master has been looking for for centuries now lay in front of him.

               Akaza’s done it, he has succeeded more than the rest of his fellow Upper Moons! His long search for the mysterious blue spider lily has finally come to an end!

               [Name]’s delighted laughter reaches Akaza’s ears, snapping him out of his stupor. He watches as she plucks one of the blue spider lilies and shyly offers it to him.

               “I knew the sight of them would render you speechless,” she tells him softly, [colour] eyes glowing with pride and happiness, “just like they did to me when I first saw them two years ago.”

               Akaza lets [Name] guide him down until they are both seated on the grassy earth. He takes the proffered flower and studies it with open curiosity, prompting her to tell him what she knows of the strange flowers.

               “I found them by accident, you know,” [Name] says. “My first thought upon seeing them was how much money I could be earning should I sell them, but I realized that they’re better off staying here and flourishing by themselves. They’re strange, see, and I found out why the hard way. From what I’ve observed, they only bloom for three days every year! They only bloom during daylight and wilt when the sun sets. How very strange!”

               Ah. So that was why Lord Muzan’s search has been ruthless for the past centuries. The only thing he needs to fully unlock the immortality he so craves is perfectly guarded by the Sun he cannot conquer. And with such a short lifespan, it’s no wonder his fellow Upper Moons’ contacts cannot find even the shadow of the blue spider lilies.

               The success belongs to Akaza now, doesn’t it? He’s finally found the blue spider lilies. Plans to contact Lord Muzan and tell the latter of his find runs rampant in Upper Moon Three’s mind, but [Name]’s smiling face instantly derails his thought process.

               He knows Lord Muzan is a man who believed that his word is absolute. If Akaza tells him that he’s found the flowers through [Name], he is sure that the progenitor of demons would hold her accountable for his centuries’ worth of fruitless searching. Lord Muzan will accuse her of keeping the blue spider lilies’ existence and location a secret, thus endangering her and her brothers’ life should Akaza report his find.

               Akaza reminds himself that his loyalty is with Muzan alone. But what stands in his way of proving that loyalty comes in the form of the only friend he’s ever made his whole life – a friend whom he is quickly falling in love with. Would he be willing to trade the happiness [Name]’s presence offers him for the undying loyalty and servitude he’s first offered Muzan? Would he willingly go far as to endangering her life for the fulfillment of his mission?

               “I’ve been keeping their existence a secret from the townsfolk and the outsiders,” he hears [Name] speak to fill in the silence between them. Akaza looks at her, and he is reduced to admiring the way her cheeks flushed under his gaze, how her eyes brightened the longer she stares at him.

               Akaza’s heart is flooded with a surge of warmth and deep affection at the words she say next.

               “I want them to be just mine and Akaza-san’s secret, because… because Akaza-san is special to me!”

               The way [Name] speaks with such conviction has Akaza come to a decision himself.

               He would rather get himself into trouble for keeping his discovery a secret than to have the only light in his life be snuffed out because of him. He would lie to his fellow Demon Moons, would lie to Muzan himself, if it would keep [Name] safe. Akaza has never been this sure his entire life – in exchange for making him experience what it feels and means to be happy again, he would willingly die in his master’s hands in exchange of [Name]’s safety.

--

               At the end of the day and their trip to the forest, Akaza promises [Name] that the blue spider lilies’ existence will be their secret.

               The third Upper Moon – should he still call himself that? – gazes up at the moon through his room’s window. He can hear [Name] moving in her room next to his and soon enough, her soft footsteps approach. Akaza turns just in time to see her silhouette through the shoji door.

               “Akaza-san? I’m sorry for the intrusion, but are you still awake?”

               He gets up from his seat and moves to open the door. [Name] blushes under his gaze. She is carrying a tea set on a tray with her, and she seems to be fidgeting where she stands.

               “W-Would you like a cup of tea before you sleep?”

               She is acting like a caring wife, and Akaza is now convinced that he won’t trade her for anything in the world.

               He lifts a hand and softly pats her twice on the head, smiling affectionately at the meek smile she gives him.

               “Only if you join me,” he softly tells her. He quickly backpedals, however, when he realizes that he hasn’t been clear with his words when [Name] gapes up at him with wide eyes and a deep blush on her face. “W-With the tea– d-drinking t-tea, I mean! Please, h-have a cup of t-tea with me, b-b-before I sleep!”

               Face still flushed a lovely shade of red, [Name]’s tinkling laughter echoes in her humble home as she enters Akaza’s room.

.

.

.

.

[spine-buster]

the storm before the calm (f. andersen) | 2

A/N: The first chapter was my first ever chapter of anything to break 200 notes.  I cannot believe how much you guys are already loving this story!  I LOVE YOU ALL!

“You found her?” Bee’s eyes went wide at Fred’s confession.  He’d asked her out for coffee while he knew Morgan would be at the gym (he should be at the gym too, really, but he needed to talk to Bee about this), and naturally she agreed to go.  And naturally, she picked a cute and quaint but private coffee shop, somewhere along Queen Street West, as the meeting destination.  He didn’t care where they ended up – they could have gone to a Starbucks for all her cared – he just needed to speak to her.  She was the one woman he wanted to talk to about this.  

“I found her,” Fred nodded his head.  “The night of your birthday, she ended up getting into my Uber.”

“What?!”

“And then Auston and I went out to Louix Louis, and she was there too.  So we left together and we went over to her place to talk.”

Bee had a physical reaction to the news, holding her arms up like she was asking him to stop, shaking her head and body as she pretended to fall off her chair.  “Hold the phone,” she said.  “Okay, start from the beginning.  And tell me everything.  Don’t leave out any details.”

So he did.  He told her everything – every action, every word said, everything he knew about her: who her parents were and who she was; how she embarrassed the girls at the bar and how he followed her home; her big speech (it was engrained in his memory, practically word for word, and every time he thought about it he remembered something different about it).  And Bee listened to every word.  Her eyebrows got higher and higher with every revelation Fred told her, every new bit of information she learned.  She even whipped out her phone to look her up, and saw the same pictures as Fred did when he did the same.  She agreed that she was stunning, beautiful, that it was unfair how good she looked.

“Have you spoken to her since then?” she asked.

Fred shrugged his shoulders.  “We’ve been texting.  She gave me her number.  But it’s always been pretty elusive.  She thinks…well, I think she thinks she needs to put up a front, or like, a persona of who people thinks she is.  Like she has this image in her mind of what people think her to be and then she acts on that.  But I don’t…that’s not the real her.  At least not to me.  I can see right through it, even though she doesn’t want me to.”

Bee nodded her head.  “What she said to you about people looking at her but not really seeing her – that’s really profound, Fred.  She’s clearly going through a lot – has been going through a lot.”

“But I don’t get it,” Fred continued.

“Looking and seeing are two completely different things.  And people can not be seen in different ways, Fred,” Bee explained.  “Have you ever seen the movie The Breakfast Club?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember Andrew and Allison?  The jock and the basket case?”

“Yeah…”

“Do you remember that scene they had together, where Allison confesses that her problems at home are really bad, and when Andrew asks ‘What’d they do to you?’ she responds, ‘They ignore me’?  And Andrew understands, he completely understands one hundred percent, and he’s visibly emotional and nodding his head and it looks like he’s about to cry?”  Fred waited for Bee to continue.  “Both of their parents didn’t see them – that’s why they were able to sympathize with each other.  That’s why Andrew was on the verge of tears.  Because they saw themselves in the other.  Allison’s parents didn’t see her because they ignored her.  But Andrew – Andrew’s parents were so involved in his life that they completely saw over him.  And that’s ignoring him too.  They were too focused and too invested in his life and didn’t see him for who he was as an individual – they just saw him as an extension of them.  They didn’t allow him to make decisions on his own.  That’s just as bad.”

This was the reason he needed to talk to Bee, because she’d make his head explode with the profoundness yet simplicity of her logic.  He loved her because of it.  He absolutely fucking loved her.  Her life experience gave her the best insight into every situation – at least for him.  Morgan was lucky to have her, but Morgan knew that; he kissed the ground she walked on.  “Yeah…yeah, I get it.”

“Even Morgan,” she continued.  “He didn’t tell me at first he was a player for the Leafs – you know that.  That night I found out, he told me he liked how I didn’t talk to him like he was Toronto Maple Leaf Morgan Rielly.  He liked that I saw him as just some guy. He had never been seen like that up until that point.  I’m sure you’re in a similar boat.”

“I am,” Fred nodded his head.  

“It’s hard when people only see you one way, and don’t see you as this complex person capable of like, different identities.  I bet she feels the same way,” Bee lamented.  “I bet she’s the furthest thing from a cannibal – or if she ever is, she has good reason.”

Fred nodded his head again.  He leaned forward, clutching the coffee cup in his giant hands.  “Listen.  Will you meet her?”

He could see the slight shock in Bee’s eyes at the request, but it soon turned.  “Yeah.  Yeah, of course.  I mean, if she wants to.  Don’t force her or anything.  When?”

“I don’t know.  She’s so hot and cold, I don’t think she’d be cool with showing up at a Leafs event or a game.  But you’ll meet her?  You and Mo?”

“Absolutely.”

***

Aleida didn’t know why she was speaking to Fred.  She didn’t know why she kept speaking to Fred.  She didn’t know why she answered his texts again and again.  And again.  And again.

But just as he was drawn to her so much that he practically scoured every soul in the city for a semblance of just her name after one chance encounter in the middle of the night, she was draw to him, too.  His silence, which juxtaposed her noise.  His introspectiveness, which juxtaposed her emptiness.  His gentility, which juxtaposed her rigidity.  

She didn’t know why he wanted anything to do with her.  She didn’t know what was wrong with him.

She wasn’t the best at making new friends, and that was an understatement.  Perhaps it was because she was a bit brash, definitely arrogant, certainly had an attitude.  She knew what she was like.  She didn’t need anybody telling her.  Maybe she rubbed people the wrong way (she definitely rubbed people the wrong way) – at least some people.  She had friends.  She had people who genuinely liked her, who were loyal to her, who stuck with her through thick and thin.

Fred seemed to be sticking.

Again, she didn’t know why.  She wasn’t the nicest person to Serena and the other girls – whatever their names were – when she saw them with Auston.  She rejected him when he asked to see her perform live.  She was abrasive – lightly abrasive – during their encounters.  But he kept texting.  And texting.  And texting.  It was like he didn’t care.  Maybe he didn’t.  Maybe he was somehow so mesmerized by her he completely looked over it.  

When he knocked on her townhouse door that night, she let him in with ease.  She poured two glasses of wine and sat down on the couch with him and took in how truly big his frame was.  And Fred, for what it was worth, took in her frame too; her tight black turtleneck tucked into her fitted jeans showing off her ample breasts and just about every other asset she had – her entire body, really.  Her asset was her entire body.  She was made known of that.

“Do you wear clothes like that all the time?  Aren’t you uncomfortable?” he asked as he gave her an up-down.

It was only then she noticed his clothes – a comfy looking hoodie and trackpants.  God, they looked like tailored dress pants.  What in the world was he doing?  She knew he was big but surely he could shop in one of those big and tall stores instead of getting custom tailored trackpants to fit him.  “I’m fine.”

“Do you dress like that all the time?”

“Pretty much.  Why does it matter?”

Fred shrugged his shoulders.  “Just seems uncomfortable.”

“Well, that is generally how I make people feel, right?” she tried to joke as she took her first sip of her wine.

“You don’t make me feel uncomfortable,” Fred said.  “Far from it, actually.”

She arched her brow.  “Really?”

Fred nodded his head.  “I don’t know why you think you would.  I have to deal with greasy eBay men wanting my autograph every time I walk out a door.”

Aleida couldn’t help but snort.  A real genuine laugh escaped her.  She couldn’t believe she did that.  “Not to mention girls who are barely eighteen trying to hook up with you.”

“Don’t even get me started,” he shook his head, a wry smile on his face.  “Come on.  Tell me more about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“You’re Cuban?”

Aleida nodded her head.  He was going right for it, and there was nowhere for her to hide.  “Yeah.  Wasn’t born there though – but I kinda grew up between here and Havana before I went to school.  Both of my parents are from there.  It’s their home, so I get why they wanted to raise my sister and I between here and there.”

“Are you fluent?”

“Yeah.  Fluent in Spanish and French, actually.”

Fred wiggled his brows.  “Cultured.  Seems like your family still has a lot of connections there still.”

“I was named after Che Guevara’s wife, so you tell me.”

“Is that true or do you just say that to scare people?”

Aleida was taken aback.  He caught her.  “I…”

“Stop trying to play your act around me.  I’m not buying it.”  His tone wasn’t playful or flirty; it wasn’t trying to joke as a means to get her to open up more.  It was curt and direct.  A cut the bullshit that she didn’t know if she could do.  She had been doing it for so long that sometimes, when she thought about it – when she really thought about it when she was at low points – she sometimes forgot where the act stopped and the real her began.  When she was with people she knew, people she trusted, she was more confident about the real her.  But sitting on the couch with Fred didn’t make her…confident in that anymore.  Even though it was clear he could see right through her guise.  

“I’m not trying to put up an act,” she tried to defend herself meekly.  

“Then what is it?”

A defence mechanism she wanted to say, but couldn’t.  She shook her head slightly and wondered how she could turn the conversation back around.  He beat her to it, knowing she wouldn’t be able to answer.  Knowing she’d just make some excuse or another deflection.  “You know when you were crying in the Shopper’s Drug Mart?”

“Yes…”

“What would you have done if I didn’t bother you?”

Aleida thought about it.  She supposed it really was an interesting sight to see a girl like herself crying in a drug store.  “I don’t know.  Probably would have come back here and cried some more.”

“What were you doing there, anyway?”

Aleida hesitated.  “I don’t even know.  I think I was just blindly walking through the city trying to feel and find something besides grief and loss.  But I didn’t.”

“What about now?”

She shook her head.  

“What are you trying to find?” he asked again.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you were walking through the city trying to feel and find something.  Like, what are you trying to find in this world?  From acting the way that you do.  From being how you are.”

Aleida paused.  “Myself.”

***

Aleida was taken aback by the offer.  “I want you to meet one of my really good friends, Bee McTavish.”  She was apparently the girlfriend of one of his teammates Morgan; a girl he trusted completely, who he respected and who he thought she would like as a person.  “She isn’t like any of the other wives or girlfriends, especially of the younger guys,” Fred said, and Aleida didn’t know if that was misogynistic or the truth.  “She’s just been through so much shit but she doesn’t let it get to her and I admire her for it.”

Aleida was even more taken aback that she agreed to it.  Or that Bee agreed to do it.  She figured Bee and Fred must be incredibly close for him to want Aleida to meet her so…soon.  Fred promised it would be quiet.  That they’d go out for dinner or drinks or something low-key – maybe even something at his place – and that it wouldn’t be this big thing.  

So when she finally met Bee, at Buca Yorkville near the back of the restaurant where nobody would bother them, she realized why Fred wanted this.  

In a city full of wannabes, of girls desperate to get into bars and desperate to get into clubs and desperate to look good and desperate to pose and desperate to take photos and desperate to get likes and desperate to get attention and desperate to make a name for themselves and desperate to be gossiped about and desperate to be seen and desperate about everything, Bee was a breath of fresh air.  There wasn’t a hint of desperation anywhere on her, following her, preceding her – nothing.  And Aleida could tell.  She had a nose for it.  

And when she spoke, Aleida listened.  She hardly did that with anybody that spoke to her, but she did with Bee.  And as she listened, she saw Morgan.  She saw how Morgan looked at Bee like she was the only girl at the table, the only girl at the restaurant, the only girl in the city of Toronto, the province of Ontario, the country of Canada, the continent of North America, the world, the solar system, the Milky Way Galaxy, the universe.  He saw his girlfriend.  He saw her.

She so desperately wanted that.

“You should come to a game one of these days,” Bee smiled at her as the boys drifted off into their own conversation momentarily.  Her offer was so sincere and so warm.  “We can grab a drink one night after I get off work and then head over.”

How could Aleida say no?

***

@aleidacasillas (known Toronto socialite) is dating Freddie Andersen.  Saw them together with Morgan Rielly and Bee McTavish at Buca Yorkville when I was on a date with my boyfriend.  They were sitting near the back.

Yup.  Ally Casillas and Freddie Andersen are def a thing.  I served them.  Seemed like just fuckbuddies tho.  They didn’t give off the couple vibe.  Wouldn’t be surprised, tbh, since Ally is known to be a MASSIVE bitch.  I have no clue what Fred sees in her.

If the rumours are true that Freddie A and Aleida Casillas are seeing each other, Fred’s gonna get his heart ripped out of his chest.  Girl is a fucking cannibal.  She ruins careers.

Aleida Casillas is the most vapid, most self-obsessed, most bitchy woman I’ve ever met.  She’s a known Toronto socialite who rules the social scene.  If it’s true, I have no hope for him anymore.  Can’t believe he’s hanging out with someone so downright mean.

***

Aleida showed up to Scotiabank Arena in head to toe Yves Saint Laurent.  She knew she’d be overdressed, but she didn’t really care.  And the looks she got from the wives and girlfriends just fueled her; she wished she had dressed in something with even more flair to shove the message down their throats.  What was the message?  She wasn’t even sure.  She just knew she was making one. 

She uploaded a story to Instagram.

She watched the game; watched as the wives and girlfriends shuffled through and flashed their designer bags; listened as Bee spoke and struck up good conversation with her.  There was wine and there were snacks and during intermission, Bee told her how she probably wasn’t supposed to say this, but Fred had looked for her, looked for her for a long time, and she was glad that the universe conspired to bring them together the night of her birthday in that Uber.  

When Bee went to the washroom, Aleida met Stephanie Lachance and Madisyn Dunne and Keltie Auerbach and Julia Fitzsimmons – girls.  From Western.  Aleida wanted to spit over her shoulder every time she said that school’s name.  She could tell Steph knew who she was by the way she acted – how her eyes went wide as Bee introduced them before escaping to the washroom and by the way Steph straightened out her back and pushed her Chanel purse forward with her free hand that wasn’t holding a glass of wine.  Aleida couldn’t get over how seriously these girls took a hockey game as a social event.  They would be laughed out of Soho House.

“You’re here with Fred tonight?” Steph asked, taking a sip of her wine.

“I’m here with Bee, actually,” Aleida corrected her.  “She’s the one who invited me.”  She knew Steph only wanted the gossip.

“So Bee’s the one dating Morgan, right?” Keltie whispered, continuing what Aleida assumed to be the conversation the girls were having from before Aleida was introduced.  She loved how Keltie was so overt with her reason to be at the game.  Aleida wondered if Steph would be as open as to admit the reason she brought her friend was to hook her up with a Leaf.  

Steph nodded her head.  “They’ve been going steady for a year now.”

“Bee’s the one with the thank you note, remember?” Julia chuckled.

“Thank you note?” Aleida butt in.

“She wrote a thank you note to Masai Ujiri for getting the Leafs tickets to one of the Raptors playoff games against Golden State,” Julia explained.

Aleida furrowed her eyebrows and visibly grimaced at Julia’s tone and the way the words escaped her mouth.  “What’s wrong with a thank you note?  It’s the polite thing to do.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little – I don’t know, try hard?” Steph asked.  “Like, we’re the Maple Leafs.  We’re all under the same MLSE umbrella.  Did she really have to write him a thank you note?”

“You’re not the Maple Leafs, your boyfriend is,” Aleida clarified for her, probably too harshly.  “Even then – he’s one Maple Leaf.  Don’t people in hockey get traded all the time?”

Steph looked at Aleida like there was a demon emerging from her skull.  “He just signed a seven-year contract.  His AAV is 10.8 million but he’s earning fifteen this year,” Steph clarified for her, as if that explained everything and put Aleida in her place.  

Aleida tried not to visibly scoff at the numbers Steph proclaimed, but she found it hard.  She added an eye roll for dramatic effect.  “Okay, so is ten million or fifteen million the threshold for you thinking you’re too good to write a thank you note?  Or you thinking you’re better than everybody else?” she shot back.  “Manners go a long way.  Don’t be mad that Bee has them and you don’t – develop some of your own instead of talking behind her back and maybe you’ll get the attention you so desperately want.”

Steph’s jaw dropped to the floor.  “I’m fine, thank you very much.  There’s no reason for you to be so blatantly rude to me.”

“There is, actually,” Aleida rolled her eyes again, a small smirk playing on her face, “and if you don’t see why then you need to grow up.  I know Western girls aren’t the classiest but you should work to repair that reputation before your friends here leech you dry for all the clout you’re worth to them.”

And with that, Aleida walked away.

When Bee returned from the washroom – taking a little longer than usual, no doubt because Steph stopped her to explain what happened – she sat beside Aleida, the smallest smirk playing on her face.  “So what happened there?” Bee asked.

“You wrote a thank you note to Masai Ujiri?  For a playoff game or something?” Aleida asked, not looking at her, instead choosing to focus on the team spilling out onto the ice again.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Bee smile.  “I feel like that thank you note is going to follow me for the rest of my life,” she commented.

Aleida finally looked at Bee.  She didn’t even care if Steph told her the truth or not.  Aleida knew Steph probably didn’t, because that meant that Steph would have had to admit she and her friends were talking behind Bee’s back.  “Fred’s been asking to see me perform live, so if you and Morgan ever want to tag along with him, you’re more than welcome – and no-one else,” she offered, choosing not to address it.  Bee, for her part, got the hint.  Thinking that Aleida was going to leave it at that, she settled into her seat comfortably.  It was then that Aleida added her caveat.  “I want you to know you’re the classiest girl in this whole damn arena, and don’t you ever fucking forget it.”  

***

“We have an issue,” Mitch approached Fred a few days later, in the middle of some hallway in Scotiabank Arena.  

Fred wasn’t really doing anything, truthfully, but he still wasn’t too keen on the intrusion.  He was well aware of the reputation goalies were known for, and he fit into that pretty well.  He liked to think he was less weird than others, but his teammates probably didn’t think that was the case.  “What?”

“Are you going out with that girl?  Al-ay-da?” Mitch over pronounced her name.

“Aleida?” Fred corrected him.

“Whatever.  Sure.”

“No.  Why?”  He had been wondering when Mitch was going to approach him about this.

“It’s just that…well…when she came to the game the other night, she said some stuff to Steph – some really rude stuff,” Mitch began.  “And Steph told me about it.”

“What did she say?”

Mitch got awkward.  “Apparently Aleida told Steph she was a classless Western girl with no manners who was desperate for attention and thought she was better than everybody.”

“Oh right, that,” Fred said, signifying for the first time his knowledge of the situation.  The way he was so calm about it surprised Mitch.  “Did Steph tell you why Aleida made the comment?”

“N…No…”

“Steph insinuated Bee a try-hard for writing that thank you note to Masai Ujiri,” Fred informed Mitch, who cowered at the bit of information Steph so obviously didn’t tell him.  Mitch even broke eye contact, probably ashamed now that he had even approached Fred about it.  “Aleida probably thought it was a bit warranted.”

“Right…alright,” Mitch said awkwardly, his hands going to his hips as he looked down at the floor and turned on the balls of his feet to walk away.

“See you later.”

***

Fred was mesmerized.  

Aleida stood on stage at the Jazz Bistro, her band supporting her on the piano as her sultry voice filling the room, and Fred couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  He was transfixed.  The sight of her all done up, her long hair in loose Hollywood waves tousled over one shoulder, the shine of her dress, her bold red lip and flawless complexion shining underneath the stage lights…Fred was transfixed.  He didn’t think he took his eyes off her once the second she stepped on stage.  

And her voice.

It went from ethereal to velvet, from rockstar to classical, from jazz to showgirl, and he couldn’t keep up.  She could sing ballads.  She could belt out Elton John.  She could croon in sultry jazz.  She could hold a high note like Adele.  The talent encapsulated within her amazed him.  She could do it all.  She could sound like anything she wanted.  She could play the piano and transform herself into something else – something she wasn’t…or something that she was, that Fred just didn’t know about yet.

But fuck, did he want to find out.  

This is what he missed the night of the event – when he first met her – when he didn’t listen to her.  When he didn’t even realize she was in the room.  It was awful to think that he hadn’t noticed her, her voice and her look and the way she played the piano.  That he had ignored her in a room full of people.  It made him sick to his stomach.  And then he thought about the grief that she was going through that night, and the fact that she had still decided to perform, to go through with the event – and how much pain she had been in that night – and he felt even more sick that he hadn’t noticed.  That nobody had noticed.  What did she sound like that night?  Was her voice full of pain?  Unhappiness?  Sorrow?  Misery?  He’d never know, yet he was so desperate to know.  

Morgan and Bee were there too, but Fred practically forgot about them.  They were quiet as they all listened, smiles on their faces as they watched Aleida perform with her band, but Fred was too busy to focus on them and the fun they were having listening to her.  He was busy thinking about Aleida on stage, what they’d do after, what he’d say to her and she to him.  A million things were running through his mind.  

When the band finished their first set and took their break after a raucous round of applause from the audience, Fred practically leaped out of his seat.  It took him a while to manoeuvre through all the tables and chairs and selfish people not moving for him, but eventually, he reached the back hallway and door where he figured the band was taking their break – where Aleida would be.  He knocked impatiently.  

The drummer answered the door, taking in Fred’s giant frame one foot at a time through the small crack.  “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice confident.  

“Can I see Aleida please?”

“No.”

“No – I’m – I’m her friend,” Fred said, trying to peer into the room and get a glimpse of her.  It wasn’t hard, considering how tall he was and how short the guy was, but he didn’t want to impede or intimidate him.  

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” the guy rolled his eyes.

“No no – I’m her friend, an actual friend,” Fred stressed.

“Listen.  Aleida’s not coming out, alright?  We’re back on stage in fifteen minutes – go sit back down at your table.  If we let Aleida see everyone who claimed to know her she’d never get a break.”

He shut the door in Fred’s face.

It was at that moment that Fred realized Aleida didn’t tell anybody about him.  That he was disconnected with her, that he was nothing more than just some guy wanting to see her.  And there were, apparently, a lot of people wanting to see her.  

His chest tightened.  

He walked back to the table and downed the rest of his whisky sour.  

After the second set, and when the show was over, Fred returned back to the back corridor, this time with Morgan and Bee in tow.  They had been ready to go – Bee explicitly told him “We’re going to leave you alone with her now” – but wanted to be polite and say goodbye first.  It was Bee who decided to knock on the door this time, and it swung open instead of just being cracked open like it had been for him.  Bee charmed the drummer, and within five minutes, Aleida was out.  She gave Bee and Morgan hugs after they gushed about her performance, and they went on their merry way.

Aleida turned towards Fred.  “Did you like it?” she asked.

“You were phenomenal,” he said earnestly, meaning every word.  “But…”

“But what?”

“I tried to come during your break but your drummer wouldn’t let me see you,” he said.  He knew he sounded like a spoiled brat mixed with a wounded puppy but at this point he didn’t care.  “You haven’t…you haven’t told anybody about me,” he said.  He wasn’t here to sulk about it.  He just wanted her to know he knew.

“I don’t want anybody to ruin you,” she said, wrapping her coat around her body.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

Aleida gave him a look.  “Nevermind.  Now are we gonna go or what?”

***

This time, they went back to Fred’s condo.

It was a typical bachelor pad, furniture that looked comfortable enough but that Aleida knew came with the apartment.  Professional athletes weren’t exactly known for their interior decorating skills.  She knew Fred had a couple of drinks at Jazz Bistro, but he opened up his wine fridge and pulled out a white.  He poured them glasses.  They sat on his couch.  Close.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.  

“What are you talking about?”

“You asked me what I was looking for – what I was trying to find by being the way that I am and acting the way I do.  But you never said your answer to that,” she explained.

Their conversations always happened in the dark, and they always had to continue them, apparently.  It was in the darkness where they shed light on themselves.  Fred sighed, knowing he couldn’t hide either.  “Balance.”

“Balance?”

“Balance,” he repeated.  “An eternal search for balance.”

“Why balance?”

Fred shrugged his shoulders, trying to find the right words so that he made sense and didn’t misconstrue himself.  “If there’s no balance, everything else falls too.”

Aleida couldn’t help but smile.  His sentence was so simple but so loaded at the same time.  He was so honest right off the bat.  She had no choice but to respect him for that.  There was no persona like there was with her – no ‘other side’ he put up when he was with her.  She couldn’t say the same for herself, unfortunately.  “That’s profound, Fred.”

He thought back to the profoundness of Bee’s statements on seeing when he told her about Aleida.  Perhaps everybody was profound in their own way, and Fred had yet to realize that.  It had taken him thirty years of his life, but he finally came to the realization.  “It’s not, really – it’s what I need.”

“You need it?”

Fred nodded his head again.  “It’s not a metaphor or anything like that.  When I was a kid, even when I was a teenager, I’d get really competitive and I’d get really angry.  Like, really angry.  I’d erupt like a volcano.  It was bad.  I’ve learned how to compartmentalize it now, through a balance.  And the more balance I find – in my emotions and in my workload and in all things, really – the more things turn out okay.  The more I don’t erupt.”

It was perhaps the most he’d ever spoken in one sitting.  He wasn’t exactly known as a man of many words, but Aleida apparently brought them out of him.  And when she smiled again, he couldn’t help but blush.  He hadn’t opened up like that in a while.  

“What about what you want?” Aleida asked again.  “You’re looking for balance but there must be something you want with that balance.”

Fred shook his head.  It was tough to answer that honestly.  He couldn’t do it without opening up what felt like his entire soul to her.  But all he had to do was take one look at her to make the decision that he would.  “It going to sound…whatever…but I want what Morgan and Bee have,” Fred whispered.

“You’re going to have to explain a bit more.  They were lovely but I’m not sure what you mean,” Aleida said.

“They’re just…it’s hard to explain,” Fred sighed, feeling foolish that he was even saying this out loud.  “They made me believe in the concept of soulmates.  Like, Morgan’s only ever got his eyes on Bee.  She could be talking, or cooking, or doing whatever, and he’s just…always looking at her.  It’s the simplest thing.  But he doesn’t have eyes for anybody else.  His eyes don’t even see anybody else.  The room could be burning and he’d be looking at Bee.”

Aleida thought back to when she met Morgan and Bee, and how much love and respect there was between them; how much Morgan doted on her and how much Bee cared about him.  And she thought about Bee at the game; her distinct persona and the air and grace around her.  “What do you mean ‘the room could be burning’?”

“You know,” Fred began, his tone denoting like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “Things could be shit around them, but they’ve got each other.  Morgan could be injured, or playing bad, or Bee could be super-stressed at work or – like, earlier this year, in January, her mother passed away, and she went through a really hard time.  And then a while ago these awful girls began spreading the news that her mom was an alcoholic around town as gossip, and she was really affected by it.  But through all that, they still had each other.  They knew the other would always be there.  So like, the world could be burning, but they know they have each other.”

As Aleida listened to Fred’s words, he could visibly see her face and demeanour change.  She visibly…relaxed.  She realized, right then and there, that she didn’t need to put up any type of front anymore whatsoever.  There was no need for a façade.  Fred was willing to show her a vulnerable side of him; she realized he deserved the same from her.  

“Fred?” her voice was small as she shifted uncomfortably.  

“Hmm?”

She looked at him.  Her mouth draped open slightly in hesitation.  His eyes were so…“I don’t know who I am,” she whispered.  “All my life I’ve been defined by my parents and their jobs.  Nobody ever saw me for me.”

“But your piano teacher did.”

Aleida nodded her head, a single tear falling down her cheek.  “I’m still…grieving about that, you know.  I don’t think anybody will ever truly know how much she meant to me.  How much she helped me.”

“So why aren’t you finding yourself?” Fred asked.  “Why are you letting others define you?”

Aleida shook her head.  “I don’t know.  I don’t…I don’t know.”

Fred looked concerned.  “You know Aleida, you lost somebody who saw you, but the second you did, you gained another.”

She nodded her head.  She knew.  And she could have cried right then and there, but she didn’t.  Instead, she stared into Fred’s eyes, and he stared into hers, and they bonded.  They knew.  No more prefaces.  No more facades.  No more airs and graces.  Just honesty.  

He moved closer to her on the couch, and all she did was watch.  For the first time since he had known her, he acted on his intrinsic need to touch her.  

So he did.  He reached out to touch her.  To lay his hand down on her thigh.

Except when he did, she almost violently flinched back.  

“What –”

“I’m sorry—”

“Are you—”

“I’m f—”

“Is everyth—”

“I’m fine, I’m sorry—”

Fred looked horrified.  His mind was running a mile a minute thinking about the possibilities of why she had flinched at his touch.  His eyes were wide and his body was stiff and he looked like he had just inadvertently broken an entire cabinet of fine china.  “I—”

“Don’t,” she said sternly.  “Nothing’s happened.”

“I don’t know if I believe y—”

“Well, believe me,” she said.  “Others have just been less…soft.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it fucking means,” she said.  “Not everybody who has touched my body has been a nice guy like you, Fred.”  The horrified look didn’t exactly go away at her awful explanation.  “I don’t mean it like th – no, no,” she stressed.  “Nothing has happened.  But people have felt entitled to my body since the second I turned eighteen.  I’m not comfortable with my body.”

It was at that point that Fred’s eyebrows furrowed.  For somebody so visually stunning, who had the perfect body, the perfect hair, the perfect clothes, the perfect everything, he couldn’t believe those words escaped her mouth.  “But y…you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Like I haven’t heard that before.”

“But I actually mean it.”

“I know you do.  So has everyone else.  I own a mirror.”

Fred’s jaw moved in confusion.  “What do you mean when you say people have felt entitled to your body since you turned eighteen?”

“It means my mother and sister are plastic surgeons and they’ve never seen a face or body they didn’t think they could perfect, and I’ve been reminded of that since my mom told me I could get lip injections if I wanted to.”

Fred realized what she was telling him.  It punched him right in the gut.  It took away the breath in his lungs and left his stomach in knots.  He knew that girls always saw flaws in their bodies – he wasn’t stupid – but Aleida?  This was a girl who so blatantly called out plastic surgery and lip fillers in others because she knew her mother did the procedures.  Why would she do such a thing if she herself was self-conscious about it all?  She was more complex than he thought, apparently.  A Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde.  

“Aleida…” Fred said softly, after a long silence so they could both digest the words in their own way.  “I want to touch you.”

“Okay,” she nodded her head.  

He extended his arm again.  This time, when he touched her, she didn’t flinch.  She moved closer towards him until her entire body was touching his.  Their wine glasses forgotten on the coffee table, Fred and Aleida moved until he could wrap his arms around her fully, pulling her down with him to lie down on the couch.  His arms were so big, and his chest was so big, and everything about him, physically, was just so big and warm and Aleida felt completely and utterly repulsed with how she carried herself in comparison to him and how he carried himself.  In every way she could think of, they were nothing alike.  Yet here they were, wrapped into each other on a couch.

“You can’t tell anybody how vulnerable I am,” she whispered, cradling his face in her hand.  Everything about him was so soft and everything about her was so rough, and she didn’t know how they came together.

He nodded his head.  

[bytheangell]

Hey! Can I request something where Raphael is human again, attends the Shadowhunter Academy and then heads to the NY Institute and Izzy just adores seeing him around all the time and they grow even closer. And maybe Raphael asks Maryse for her blessing because that was just how he was raised. Love your works, they're always amazing!

The Life We Choose (Read on AO3)

It only takes a year after turning human for Raphael to admit how much he misses the Shadow World. He knows that the option to become a vampire again is there - both Simon and Lily offered to turn him previously, but he turned them both down with the promise that they’d be the first he comes to if he changes his mind. Even though he misses the Shadow World, he doesn’t want to be immortal again. That isn’t a fate he’ll be spared twice if he goes back to it, and he doesn’t want that for himself.

He has another idea, one that he thinks about long and hard before deciding he’s serious about it, which is when he finds himself in Isabelle’s office at the New York Institute.

“I’d like to apply for ascension,” Raphael says.

“What?” Isabelle asks, blinking rapidly in surprise.

“I’d like to apply for ascension,” Raphael repeats, clear and calm. He’s thought this through and is entirely confident in the request, even if Izzy doesn’t seem to share that certainty.

“You want to be a Shadowhunter?” Izzy questions.

“Yes,” Raphael says. “I’ve thought about this a lot, Isabelle. I want to be part of the Shadow World again, and this is the only way while keeping my mortality intact. I want this.”

Izzy bites down on her lower lip in thought. “It isn’t just like I can sign off on it. You need to study, and get approved, and drink from the-”

“The Mortal Cup, yes. And then take my first runes. I know the risks, I know it’s more dangerous the older you are, and I know I’m well beyond the usual age for this sort of thing. I also know,” he adds confidently. “That adults ascending isn’t unheard of, and that the Clave can, and has, approved them.”

“They’ll look at your history with Camille,” Isabelle points out. “But I’ll vouch for you. And I’m sure Alec and Magnus will, too. We should have enough pull to get it approved… are you sure this is what you want, though?”

Raphael nods. “Positive. And if you’d rather not get involved, I can take it to another Head in another city and work from there,” he adds. This is the first sign of hesitation he’s shown because he doesn’t want to go through strangers in other cities. He’d much rather do this with Isabelle by his side, though he understands if she doesn’t feel the same.

Izzy shakes her head. “Absolutely not! I wouldn’t trust this with anyone else. I’ll help however I can.”

---

Izzy is true to her word. She shows up to the Academy about once a week, claiming she’s only there to offer her assistance since they’re short on staff, but always managing to spend most of her time with Raphael. She checks in on what they’re studying, helps him with whatever he doesn’t already know about Shadowhunter-specific laws, and practices runes with him every chance she gets. When she’s too busy with her own responsibilities Jace manages to suddenly appear in her place, though Raphael can tell it’s mostly because his sister asks him to and less because he actually wants to be doing it.

Raphael’s always been a quick study and knows that as far as the book work is concerned he’s good to go. It helps that he’s older than everyone there, and more familiar with the Shadow World than many of those from Shadowhunter families, though they do have the upper hand on more Shadowhunter-specific knowledge. Fighting while re-adjusting his instincts to more refined tactics than he was used to as a vampire is, honestly, his biggest struggle.

It helps (as far as he’s concerned) that his abrasive personality and history as a vampire leaves him with plenty of time to study and train, as he isn’t exactly winning many of the young Shadowhunters over as friends.

Izzy seems concerned to find him alone all of the time, but Raphael only shrugs.

“I’m not here to make friends,” he points out. “I’m here to learn.”

“And when you all have to work together?” Izzy prompts.

“They don’t have to like me, they just have to trust me,” Raphael points out.

Izzy smiles at that answer. “You’re going to fit right in with the Nephilim,” she says.

He hopes she’s right.

---

The next time he sees Isabelle is the day before his Ascension ceremony. He almost doesn’t agree to meet with her, not sure he can deal with a teary ‘in case you don’t make it’ speech, and only relenting when she swears that isn’t why she’s there.

“I’m glad you came here,” Izzy says “You’re going to be a great Shadowhunter, I can already tell. You’ll be an asset to whatever Institute you end up at. And… and I wanted to make you an offer. You don’t have to take it, and I’ll totally understand if you’d rather take your new life in another direction, but…”

“What is it?” Raphael prompts.

“Look, I really like spending time with you, Raphael. Not just teaching you, but having you around again has been really, really nice. And once you’re ascended-” he notes with a small smile that, true to her word, she isn’t turning this into an ‘if you survive’ moment. “-if you wanted to be stationed in New York, we’d love to have you.”

He isn’t expecting that. “We?” he questions, following a hunch.

“Yeah. Jace and the others... and me,” she says, then folds under his steady gaze. “Alright, mostly me. I’d love to have you there, but only if you want to.”

Raphael smiles. “I do,” he agrees, and it’s nice to know that Izzy wasn’t just helping him because she felt any sense of obligation, but because she genuinely enjoys spending time with him. He’s thrilled that extends to his time as an actual Shadowhunter.

...now he just has to get through the Ascension.

---

He does. At his insistence, Izzy and the others don’t come to the ceremony, because he doesn’t want them there to witness if something does go wrong. Thankfully it does not, and he emerges a full, proper Shadowhunter.

Of course, in true Magnus Bane fashion, there’s a party at the Loft afterward, complete with banners that Magnus made out to say “It’s a Vampire Mundane Shadowhunter!”.

“You’re not funny,” Raphael says, deadpan, only to have Simon walk up immediately after, burst into a fit of laughter, and tell Magnus how hilarious the banners are. Raphael can only glare more pointedly in response.

Wasting no time, his first patrol is the very next day. Isabelle goes out with him herself, and it’s an easy one with no actual reported activity. This gives them a chance to talk a little more about how he’s doing and little things they can do so he adapts into this new role in the Shadow World as easily as possible, starting with a room at the Institute.

“Would you rather I threaten everyone into being nice to you or threaten everyone into avoiding you entirely?” Izzy jokes. At least, he’s relatively certain she’s joking.

“I’m hoping they warm up to me eventually,” Raphael admits. “This isn’t exactly a… what did Simon call it… a single-player game,” Raphael recalls. Shadowhunters have to work together on patrols and missions, they have to be a team. They have to trust each other. He can’t do that if he isolates himself the way he’s used to. “I can take care of myself, but I guess that’s the one thing the Academy managed to drill into me - it’ll rarely be just me out here.”

Izzy’s smile softens. “They will,” she reassures him. “Once they get to know you they’ll love you as much as I do.”

Raphael’s heart skips a beat at her words, and Isabelle suddenly looks very preoccupied with the ground in front of her as she quickens her pace to walk a few steps ahead.

---

It’s better than he ever hoped it would be. Raphael could admit to himself, at the very least, that the idea of becoming a Shadowhunter was more than a little idealistic. He’d accepted it as his only way back into the world he missed, accepted it as a compromise that allowed him back into the Shadow World at all, but the longer he’s here the more suited he finds himself to the lifestyle of the Nephilim.

He’s a good fighter, and he gets better once the others trust him enough to train and spar with him. He’s also a good teammate - he always was, even before he went to the Academy. The number of times he put the good of the Clan before his own wellbeing, the risks he took for them, leave him with the same instincts to use on missions, just for the sake of a different group of people.

Mostly it just feels good to help people. It’s what he always wanted to do, what he tried to do even as a vampire, but now he can make the sort of difference protecting people that he set out to do even as a child, as that teenage boy going after los vampiros to protect his family and friends. His family may be long gone but he has a new family now, new friends, and he can still protect them.

Once he settles and begins to drop his guard, he starts to notice, to really notice, Isabelle. At first, he thought she was just spending time with him to keep an eye on him during his transition, but she seems to genuinely enjoy his company. They find themselves spending their free time together, whether it’s going out and exploring new places to eat or staying in and losing hours to talking, or simply existing in each other’s space.

“Missed you at breakfast this morning,” Izzy says one day after Raphael oversleeps and misses the normally shared mealtime. It’s such a casual statement, but it catches him off-guard. He never imagines himself as a presence that would be missed, but Izzy misses him when he isn’t around.

He can’t help but remember another time, not so long ago when he thought there might be something between them. The timing had been off then, but now…

“What’s that look for?” Izzy asks, breaking his silent, drifting thoughts.

“I don’t have a ‘look’,” he deflects, quickly looking away.

Maybe there’s something there, but he isn’t going to risk ruining the friendship they have, not until he’s certain.

---

The thing about ‘routine’ missions is that there’s nothing routine about their job - anything can happen. It isn’t anyone’s fault when the demon he’s sent to find ends up finding him first, and his small group is descended on by more elapid demons than they expect.

Raphael gets caught not once, but twice, by the venom-laced fangs of the demons, but manages to keep fighting until they’re almost taken care of before collapsing to the ground, unconscious.

He awakens in the Infirmary of the Institute, to the red eyes and tense features of a very worried Isabelle Lightwood.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she says, then promptly collapses against his chest in relief, her hand clutched over his own where it rests beside him on the bed.

“I thought… I was so worried…” Isabelle starts, then stops, then starts again, the words mumbled against the sheet draped over him. “Ugh, this is awful, how do Alec and Magnus make these dramatic declarations so flawlessly all the time?”

“I love you too, Isabelle,” Raphael says, and Izzy looks up at him with a smile he never wants to see leave her face again.

---

It takes a little while for word to spread that the two of them are a couple, mostly because of Raphael’s dislike of public displays of affection. Isabelle never pushes him, she never asks for more than he’s willing to give, never expects anything other than his returned feelings for her.

“I know you’re not interested in sex,” she says to him early on. “And I’m not sure what else you are, or aren’t into, but whatever it is, I’m fine with it.”

Raphael raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Izzy nods. “Really. I have you, right here, just as you are. That’s all I need.” It takes him a little while to believe her, but that trust comes the way everything else did with Isabelle - after she proves time and time again to be a woman of her word. She never moves to hold his hand, or wrap him in too-tight hugs, or kiss him on the cheek, or the corner of his mouth, or his lips, until he either does it first or tells her it’s fine.

They figure it out slowly, but they figure it out together. He finds a simple, easy happiness with her that he never expected to find in his life, not even when he had an eternity stretched out before him to seek it.

He knows how lucky he is to have found it here, now, with Isabelle.

Raphael plans to keep this love and joy, to make it as strong and permanent as possible, which is how he arrives on Maryse’s doorstep one night. It isn’t the first time he’s been here - Isabelle’s brought him over for the occasional family dinner or drinks - but it’s the first time he’s been here by himself.

“Come in,” Maryse says, with a small grin tugging at the corners of her lips at the sight of him. He imagines it must be obvious why he’s here, that he could probably skip the theatrics of the small speech he has planned, but if he’s going to do this then he’s going to do it right.

“Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?” Maryse offers, already making her way into the kitchen as Raphael closes the door behind him and toes off his shoes next to it.

“Coffee would be lovely, thank you Mrs. Lightwood,” Raphael calls after her.

“Please, Raphael, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Maryse,” she laughs, returning a minute later with two steaming cups of coffee, handing one over to him as they make their way to the table. They sit in companionable silence while they take their first sips until Raphael works up the nerve to speak.

“I’m head-over-heels in love with your daughter,” he begins.

“I know,” Maryse says. “I can tell every time I see the two of you together - and I can tell that she feels the same, too.”

“I certainly hope so,” Raphael admits with a small smile. “She’s been there for me through so much of my transition into a Shadowhunter, and as much as she’s supported me I want to be there to support her as well, through anything the future may have in store for her. She deserves nothing but happiness in life and I’d like the chance to be the one to bring that happiness to her, as much as I can.”

Raphael is aware that the practice of asking for permission to propose is a bit antiquated, that his speech is too formal, that if Isabelle wanted to marry him he’d do it no matter what her mother said. But that doesn’t change the fact that he wants to do this the right way - he wants to make sure she knows he’s serious about her, that he isn’t taking this lightly just because he already lived one lifetime over.

“I’d like to spend the rest of my life with Isabelle by my side. And it would mean a lot to me to have your blessing first.”

Maryse eyes him critically, and for the first time he feels a moment of fear that she might actually say no - it passes the moment a wide smile spreads across Maryse’s lips. “Of course, Raphael. The two of you are so good together. You’re so good for each other. You have my blessing a million times over.”

Raphael smiles back.

“Of course, we both know that it doesn’t matter what either of us says here tonight. No one makes up Isabelle’s mind besides Isabelle. When are you going to ask her?” Maryse asks. They spend the rest of Raphael’s visit discussing his plans for the following day and end it with a promise from Raphael to call Maryse first after it’s done.

Raphael can only hope it’ll be with good news.

---

The proposal is simple. Raphael asks her in the privacy of her room - a room they share more often than not these days - just after they wake up the next morning.

Raphael turns over and watches Isabelle’s eyes flutter open slowly, her expression still soft and hazy from sleep.

“If I could wake up to this sight for the rest of my life, I’d be a very happy man,” Raphael says quietly, the words barely above a whisper.

Isabelle smiles. “I’m not going anywhere,” she promises.

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Raphael says, reaching an arm behind him to open the drawer on the table next to his side of the bed, pulling out a small box. He shifts to sit up slightly, holding it out to her. “Marry me?”

Isabelle shifts up to half-sit beside him, propped up on her elbow and looking from the ring up to Raphael’s face in surprise. Raphael isn’t a fool - he knows there’s a chance she’ll say no. That dating and even love are one thing, but marriage, to a former Downworlder with nothing to his family name, is another entirely.

“Yes,” Isabelle says, dispelling any worries he has with a single word. He slides the ruby engagement ring onto her finger before bringing his lips down to meet hers.

Raphael doesn’t think he’s ever felt more at peace with his place in life than he does at this moment. Not as a child looking out for his friends and siblings on the rough streets of the city, or as a vampire looking out for his clan, or as a human reconciling the decades he spent in a world of magic and angels and demons. Every one of those things was accidental, a decision made for him, a world he was thrust into unwillingly, even if he did his best to accept his place in it as part of a higher purpose.

He still believes in a higher power and that he’s exactly where he needs to be - whether it be God’s will, or Raziel’s - and he likely always will. But he believes in something else now, too, in a way he hadn’t before all of this, before his ascension, before Isabelle: he believes in himself. He’s here because of himself, because of his own will and motivation and desire. He’s exactly where he needs to be, and for the first time, that’s also exactly where he wants and chooses to be.

“Not regretting asking me already, are you?” Izzy asks, her tone light to show she isn’t serious-serious, but curious at the way she notices him lost in his thoughts just then.

“Not at all,” Raphael replies, moving to lay down again and pulling Izzy beside him, wrapping an arm around her. “Quite the opposite - I don’t regret a single choice I’ve made since the day I first walked into your office.”

Izzy smiles at that, warm and comforting, a smile that feels like home.

“That makes two of us.”

[fan-fantasies]

Took You Long Enough (P.2)

A/N: Hey guys, I’m not particularly feeling smutty and I feel as though that would hinder my writing if I tried to do it at this point. I’ll try to add in something sexual but I doubt that I will add full on smut. I’m sorry! I hope you enjoy either way. -H

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Warnings: Swearing and sexual situations, fingering

Masterlist   Marvel Masterlist

Part One

You had been at the hospital for a few days now and Negan hadn’t shown up so you assumed he was just going to go off on his own. It would be easier for you that way. 

It was early in the morning and you heard the guard come in and whisper something to Rosita. You watched her head to the window so you decided to get up and see what was happening. 

“It’s Daryl. He has Negan,” she said as you came up next to her. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw his leather jacket in the distance. 

“He doesn’t have him restrained,” you noted. 

“I’ll go meet them,” she sighed. You nodded and went over to the makeshift kitchen area and fixed yourself some tea. You thanked the heavens that you remembered to pack some in your go bag. You paced by the window for a while until you heard hushed voices coming up the staircase. 

Negan’s eyes were already on you when you turned around. Daryl came over to you first and hugged you. You melted into his arms and finally felt safe for the first time in days. Daryl was like the older brother that you never had. 

“You hangin in there?” He asked. 

“I’m glad that you’re here. It seems like a lot’s happened,” you said, nodding over to Negan who was talking to Lydia. 

“He killed Alpha and he even saved my life at one point. I don’t know what’s gonna happen moving forward but he’s an asset to us now,” he told you. 

“More like just an ass,” you mumbled. Daryl chuckled and ruffled your hair before going off to see who else was there. 

You knew that you were going to have to make amends with Negan eventually if he was going to be sticking around and working with you guys. You wanted to at least be civil with him but you weren’t sure how you were going to accomplish that. You let your walls down with him and then he betrayed you. 

On one hand, you knew that he was acting in the best interest of the community when Carol asked him to sneak off and kill Alpha. You didn’t understand why it took him so long or why he felt the need to sleep with her. You told yourself that it was because women were disposable to him and that he never really cared as long as he was getting pussy. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to look at him the same way again. 

“You seem to be lost in thought,” Ezekiel commented, breaking you from the trance you had fallen into. 

“Got lost trying to find answers.” You gave him a sad smile. 

“Things are hard right now. And they probably won’t get better for a while, but they do get better. If I’ve learned anything from life is that there are lots of questions and not many answers to them,” he sighed. 

“That was very philosophic, Zeke, but not very helpful.” You chuckled and elbowed him in the side. 

“Talking about things usually helps, even when it hurts,” he said. You rolled your eyes and looked over at Negan who was eyeing the both of you. 

“I know you’re right. I hate that you are, but you are.” 

“They don’t call me the king for nothing,” he chuckled. 

“Promise me that you’ll be safe out there and I’ll promise to talk about my problems. When I’m ready to though,” you said. 

“I promise to do my best,” he nodded. You gave him a hug and wished him and the others that were going out the best of luck. You were asked to accompany them but a part of you wanted to stay in the hospital and not have to worry about much for a while. You knew it was selfish but you needed it. 

A few days past and you had managed to avoid Negan fairly well. The only real exchange you had was when he took over the watch position for you one night. You just gave him your report and went on your way, ignoring whatever bullshit was coming out of his mouth. 

You had just gotten off watch one morning and were very much looking forward to getting some shuteye. You decided to go to one of the empty floors that wasn’t being used so you could have some peace and quiet. You knew there was an empty room with a bed a floor down so that’s where you headed. When you were headed to the room, you heard a door open behind you and suddenly you were pushed into a dark space, probably some sort of supply closet. You tried to scream and struggled but the person had your mouth covered and a tight hold on you. 

“Hey, sh sh sh. You gotta be quiet, sweetheart. It’s just me,” Negan whispered into your ear. When you calmed down he took his hand from your mouth and you pushed him off of you. 

“What the actual fuck?” You spat. You turned around to open the door but you were pulled back flush against him.  

“You used to like when I surprised you like that, sugar,” he chuckled. You felt the scratch of his scruff against your neck as he pressed kisses along your sensitive skin. Your head was spinning but you came back to reality and sent your elbow back into his stomach. 

“No. No, no, no, no, no! You do not get to pretend like nothing has happened and think I’m gonna drop my panties for you whenever you want!” You screamed. You opened the door and tried to slam it behind you but he was fast and caught it before it closed. He followed you down the hall and into the room you were heading to in the first place. 

“Baby, please. I want to talk,” he begged. 

“That didn’t seem like talking to me, Negan,” you scoffed. 

“Well I mean, getting a little wouldn’t hurt either,” he laughed. He got serious when he noticed the glare on your face. “I’m sorry, not the time for jokes.” 

“No, it’s not the time for jokes. It’s not the time for anything except for sleep, so please leave me alone so I can do that.” 

“I can’t keep staying here with you like this. Being able to see you every damn day and not being able to do anything about it, it’s killing me. I want to be able to touch you, and kiss you, and see your smile again. I love you and I’m not gonna stop loving you,” he said. Your stomach was twisted in knots and you weren’t sure what to say. You wanted to just forget about everything that had happened but that wasn’t possible. 

“Look, Negan. I love you. I loved the time that we had together. But that’s over now. You ruined that. I appreciate what you did for us, killing Alpha, but the other things that you did while you were out there, there’s no excuse for that,” you told him. “I’m willing to forgive you so we can be civil and live in the same space peacefully. But things are never going to be the way that they were before.” 

Negan walked toward you but you held up your hand for him to stop. 

“No, Negan. You touched another woman and I’m not okay with that. You hurt me and you don’t get to decide that you didn’t. I don’t know everything that went on out there but I think there’s a part of you that liked it. I was willing to forgive your past because you showed me that you had changed, but... I don’t think you have changed.” 

“Yeah, I did like it. I liked being able to walk freely among people and not get looked at like some monster. I liked being treated like I was important. And as for fucking that thing, I couldn’t say no. If I said no, she woulda killed me. It was a trust thing so I could get close enough to kill her.” 

“I’d say that you certainly got close enough.” You rolled your eyes and sat down on the bed, kicking off your shoes. “I treated you like you were important and not like you were a monster but that wasn’t enough for you. You need to leave now, Negan.” 

“I’m not going to give up on us,” he growled. Silence filled the air while the two of your just stared at each other. 

“I’m not asking you to give up, but don’t be disappointed when you don’t get anywhere with it.” You laid down on the bed and closed your eyes, rolling over to face away from him. You heard him sigh and then the sound of his heavy footsteps going down the hallway. It wasn’t until you heard the sound of the stairwell door close that you let out a sob that you had been holding in. 

You fell asleep with tears streaming down your face. You were woken up a few hours later by Lydia. 

“People have been looking for you. Are you okay?” She asked. 

“I’m fine,” you croaked. 

“It’s okay if you’re not. I can tell you’ve been crying,” she said. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, clearing the sleep and dried tears from them. “Being around Negan tends to bring pain I’ve noticed.” 

“What?” You asked. You weren’t expecting her to bring him up. 

“I know that you were with him. I’ve always known. And I know what he did while he was out there with my mom, before he killed her.” You grabbed her hand in yours and sighed. 

“I know you’re going through a lot right now. I can’t imagine how all of this has been for you,” you told her. 

“It’s hard, but I’ll get through it,” she reassured you. “Look, I’m not saying you should let Negan off the hook, but I know how my mom is and what she can make people do. She was a monster and she could make people do monstrous things.” 

“I don’t think he needed a lot of persuading,” you sighed. “Come on, we better get back up there.” 

“Yeah, we should. Just do me a favor though? At least consider giving Negan another chance? I can’t stand to watch him mope around anymore,” she laughed. 

“I’ll think about it,” you shook your head with a smile. You guys went back upstairs and into the bustling group. People were finally settling down and relaxing. It was nice to hear laughter again. You scanned the room and saw that Negan was already looking at you. You sent him a small smile and he seem stunned. He sent you back the most dazzling smile, dimples on full display. You couldn’t deny that it made your heart leap. 

After that smile, just a small gesture, Negan began to test the waters more. It started with saying good morning while he handed you a cup of coffee which you would gladly accept. Then it was checking in on you during your watch shifts or bringing you some water because he knew that you always forgot to bring some with you. He would place a hand on your hip when he was stepping around you or brush his hand against yours when handing you something. You were eating lunch one day by yourself when Negan came over to refill your drink. 

“I could get used to this,” you laughed lightly. 

“You got something...right...here,” he said as he wiped something from your lip. he immediately stuck his thumb in his mouth and your eyes widened, your gaze fixated on his lips. He noticed the look on your face and he smirked. “Some things never change, huh?” He sent you a wink before walking away. 

You missed him, you really did, but you still weren’t in a place where you could move on from everything that happened. You had to admit, though, that seeing how he handles Lydia and is so good with Judith makes your heart swell. You knew that he was a good guy that had just done some bad things, really bad things, but people were worthy of forgiveness. 

The day after the lunch incident you had gotten off of watch early in the morning once again. People were already up and chattering so you decided to go downstairs again. You tiredly walked down the stairs, dreams of that bed in the sweet silence were already floating in your head. Before you could reach the room, however, you were pulled into the same supply closet as before. 

You were held tight with your back against a big, muscular body and you could feel the scruff against your cheek. 

“Negan, that better be you,” you snapped. 

“Were you expecting someone else, sugar?” He chuckled. 

“No, but I wasn’t expecting you either,” you sighed. “Negan, I’m tired.” 

“I know babygirl. I just figured I could help you fall asleep.” You relaxed into him and he took that as a good sign. You could feel his heart beating against his chest and you knew he was nervous. 

He slowly moved his hands down your body and settled at your waistline. His fingers toyed with the top of your pants and goosebumps erupted over your skin. 

“Can I help make you feel good, baby?” He asked. You closed your eyes and nodded. “No, I need to hear you.” 

“Yes. Yes, make me feel good.” It had been so long since you had been touched by him and you were craving it. His hand slipped down into your pants and cupped your pussy over your underwear. 

“God, I missed this,” he sighed. You could feel his hard cock pressed into your ass as he rutted against you, aching for friction. 

He moved your underwear to the side and slid his fingers though the folds of your pussy. 

“So wet for me, sugar,” he growled in your ear. His fingers found your clit in no time and started to rub slow circles. Your hips bucked against him and he chuckled. “Patience.” 

His movements slowly increased until you were moaning quietly in his ear as he pressed rough kisses down your neck. His free hand palmed your breast through your shirt. He slid a finger, then two, into your entrance and your legs got weak. 

He pumped his fingers in and out for a few minutes, teasingly slowing down any time he felt that you were close. You were a whining and moaning mess against him when he finally slid his fingers from your pussy and focused on your clit again. You felt a heat building in your stomach and you begged him not to stop- and he didn’t. You were coming undone a moment later, pleasure bursting from within you. He gently slowed down to help you ride out your orgasm. 

When you had recovered you turned around and reached for his zipper, hoping to return the favor but he stopped you. 

“But-” 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll handle it myself, go get some sleep, sugar.” He kissed your forehead and smiled. 

“Are you sure?” You asked. 

“I’m sure,” he said. He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips that you went to deepen but he pulled away. “I love you and we’re gonna do this right.” 

“You just had your hand down my pants two minutes ago,” you said. He let out a deep laugh and pulled you in for another kiss. 

“We’re doing it right, starting now.” You nodded your head slowly and smiled. 

“I’m fine with that,” you told him. He kissed you one more time and sent you off to get some much needed sleep. 

Maybe you couldn’t change the past, but you could certainly make sure that the future will be different, better even. Time heals all wounds and that’s what you would need, but Negan seemed to be willing to work for what he wants, and what he wants is you. 

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

Taglist: 

Permanent for all: @lokilvrr @m-a-t-91 @blueeyedbesson

[gloriousprofessorhan]

Searching for Universe

you were in an arranged marriage with Baekhyun for four years. and today, he wants to divorce you.

(re-upload from my deactivate AFF account. and i will re-upload all my stories here. “search for universe” on AFF 2018)

...where’s my universe?

   there’s only cloud on my head, shielding the starts above.

You just got back from the funeral of your father in-law when your husband, Baekhyun, released his hand that holds you all the time. He looks beyond sad, but not devastated. After three years of illness, two months being hospitalised, and five days in coma, he knew he’s gonna lose the only parent he had left.

“You want some warm tea?” you asked, the big victorian house you have with him is empty from maids because they will stay at the other part of the house.

He shook his head and left to the study room.

This marriage has been so cold, well, it never warm.

Four years being together, there were only cold in daily basis, and hot whenever you and Baekhyun decided to touch each other. Most of the time is when he went home drunk from office party.

But, there’s one night when both of you sober, but you prefer to blame it on the exoticism of a Coron island in Philipines when you and him had the anniversary gift from your parents.

Baekhyun stepped out his study room and found you sitting at the empty dining table.

“Now that my father has gone…” he said, “let’s separate.”

You didn’t say anything, just staring at his long slim finger which still had the wedding ban.

“He was the one wanting this marriage, the marriage of me with the daughter of his colleague.” He murmurs, “we never wanted this.”

“What about my parents?” you asked.

“You told me they let you decide whatever you want in life. It was my father who pushed us to do this!”

“I know, but it will break their heart too!”

“But until when are we gonna hang on this kind of marriage??” Baekhyun raised his voice and you were startled.

You never told him you had growing some feelings towards him, that’s because you knew, perfectly knew, that you’ll end up find your heart shattered by this workaholic.

“W-what about me?” you carefully asked. Hoping he’ll understand.

Baekhyun stopped, “you…?”

You dared yourself looking at him.

“Ah, right, you’re not working.” Baekhyun pressed his lips into a thin line, “don’t worry about that, I own this company now. I’ll make sure you will have shares, and you can have as many properties as you want… take this house, take the apartment in Gangnam… and the resting villa in Jeju.”

You don’t want any of those, but you nod.

-

The lawyer came several days later, Baekhyun told mr. Kim, the lawyer, that you and him wants to keep this down until everything settles. Nobody is allowed to know.

“But no separation is allowed without any hearing and trials.” Mr. Kim said.

Baekhyun tilt his head, his face shows confusion.

“If you want to split, you can do it right away, sleeping in separate bedroom, living in different houses. But to divorce we have to follow the procedures. And the procedures are; filing the divorce, do the dissolution of marriage such as counselling, and hearing reasons of divorce, then you moved to the first judgement, and then the ancillary matter such as asset separations…”

“That’s… complicated.” Baekhyun mumbled, and again, you’re hoping he’s just gonna live with it, live with you. But he turned to you and said, “it’s fine, isn’t it, we’re gonna file the divorce now and we’ll do as asked, wouldn’t we?”

and again, you nodded.

-

In four years of being together, you wouldn’t fall for him if you found nothing in him. He’s a workaholic, that’s the first impression you got from him, but also, he’s a friendly person—to his friends. You knew them, you knew all his close friends.

Baekhyun loves party, not the wild party but dinner party at home where he’d asked maids to prepare good food and the finest wine before the invited his friends. You’ll be there, sitting beside him, talking to the guest as Baekhyun had you around his arms.

You started to know his character, he’s chatty when he’s in a good mood, his humor match yours and you feel like dying from laughter whenever he’s saying something funny. And those what makes you love party too, because you gotta see the different Baekhyun. He’ll be a warmer man, and a caring husband.

When the last guest left, he’s not immediately giving you the cold shoulder, but he’s back to treat you as a roommate, someone he’s living with.

Now you’re preparing dinner for him while he’s taking shower. And when he’s done, still with damp hair, he sat across you in the dining table.

“Whoa, ribs.” He smiles, he loves spicy ribs while you can’t eat something spicy, but you can always cook yours differently and he was never noticed.

“So,” you said, “I did my paperworks.”

“What paperworks?”

“The divorce documents, and all…” you murmured.

“Oh,” he lift his eyes to your level, “I haven’t, but I’ll do it soon.”

You wish you saw different kind of surprise like disappointment because you seems eager to finish the paperworks faster, but you didn’t find it.

You cut the flesh slowly, while taking a soft breathe, “Baekhyun, do you still remember the first day we met?”

He stop chewing for a second before continuing, “was it in London?”

“Manchester.” You corrected him, “you came to see me…”

“Right, you were studying there.”

“Yup,” you took spoon full of shredded ribs, “I was confused, I mean, that’s the first time I met you and just an hour before, my mom told me that you’re gonna be my fiance.”

Baekhyun laughs, “I know right… my father just found out his illness and he came to see me, he said he wouldn’t be around for long and he told me his last will is to see me settled down for someone.” He sips his water, “never thought I’d be in an arranged marriage.”

“Can I asked you something?”

Baekhyun nodded.

“What was your first impression of me?” you asked.

“Only if you’re gonna answer the same question about me.” He replied.

You nodded.

“I met you in a coffee shop near my hotel, you came in a rush, I still remember… and I thought you looked pretty, prettier than in the picture.”

You knew you’re blushing.

“We talked for a while and you suggested us to have dinner in a restaurant you liked.” He said, “I thought you were a smart and passionate person because the way you explained about your study is fascinating, seems like you enjoyed to be there…”

“I did…” you smiles, “you still think I’m smart and passionate or that impressions disappeared?” you cheekily asked.

Baekhyun laughs, “all I know now you’re good at cooking.” He shove rice into his mouth, “now tell me your first impression about me.”

You’re chuckling before continuing, “you were stand out in your red coat.”

“Oh that damn coat, yeah, ugly, I know… and you knew the story.”

His coat was stolen by someone when he’s just arrived and took it off in a waiting chair to add more layer of sweater, it was winter in Manchester, and the thieve left the chilli red coat beside him.

“You sure it was stolen? Maybe he just took the wrong coat?”

“Mine was black, okay?” Baekhyun playfully rolled his eyes, “and it was Prada.”

Now you laughing with him and it feels good.

-

The next two days, he was busy at the office, all you heard from him was he already sent the document to the lawyer and you feel a pinch in your heart. That little conversation few days a go didn’t mean anything to him.

So you went into the room you shared with him, and start packing some of your clothes. And then you called him.

“Hello?” he appear to be in hurry.

“Not the right time?” you asked.

“Should be in a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Well, uhm, I’ll stay in our apartment in Gangnam…”

“Huh, why?” you know he’s stop doing what he’s doing right now.

“You want me to stay in our house?” you asked, “but we’ll splitting, I mean…”

“Oh,” he cuts you, “I see… okay.”

You feel stupid for wanting him to hold you from moving, but he was never in love with you, and as much as you don’t want to admit that you’re in love with him, you know you do.

-

You met Jongin, he’s Baekhyun’s friend who ended up closer to you than to Baekhyun for the last four years, you’re like a sister to him, and there’s no way you kept secret from him.

“He’s filing a divorce?” Jongin dramatically sighs as he placed his cup of café latte on the table. “what are you gonna do about it?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“He doesn’t know that you actually like him?”

“Nope…”

“Yeah because you never told him,” Jongin frustratedly glaring at you.

“No point, that would make him uncomfortable and he’ll look for ways to simplified the process and get rid of me as soon as possible.”

Jongin shift his gaze somewhere else, his mouth pouting, “I don’t think he hates you that much.”

“He doesn’t hate me, who says he hates me? He just never loves me. That’s why he’s not gonna hang on this relationship.” You swirl your aglio olio.

-

First mediation is you and him meeting a conselor, and she gave you both a task, to write down the detail ambience on your wedding day.

You wrote about the color that mostly white, the flowers that mostly Lillies and Roses, his birth flower, and your birth flower, you also wrote that many people came and the song, yes, the wedding song was sung by a famous singer who also Baekhyun’s close friend, Chen. He sang ‘come away with me’ by Norah Jones.

Baekhyun wrote about how his shoes killing him and how you walked too slow on the aisle, but you looked so pretty in the wedding dress and he forgave you to make his shoes cut his ankle.

The conselor smiles, she didn’t explained anything but only asked if you and Baekhyun were bestfriend before you two got married. And the answer was no.

-

You already moved to the apartment for a week, and this morning were in the middle of cooking breakfast when your phone ringing. It was Baekhyun calling you.

“Hello?”

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked you.

“Uhm, cooking.”

“Smells good.”

You chuckled to his attempt jokes, “what’s up?”

“Do you know where’s my blue houndstooth tie?”

“You can’t find it on your closet?” you asked back.

“Nope.”

“Hmm…” you took a moment to think, “oh! I packed it for your business trip this week. You’re going to Ulsan for one night, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I packed it with your oxford blue suit, I also put the shirt and dress pants.” You explained, “your pajamas, underwear, and toileteries are already there too, it’s basically ready, so today you might want to wear something else.”

You didn’t hear him answering.

“Baekhyun?” you called him out, “open the closet and you’ll find another tie, did you wear your Armani suit?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“I always paired it up with the houndstooth, that’s probably why you feel like it’s the mate… but no, it could actually good with the steel blue tie, with the dots…”

“Oh I think I know which one you’re talking about.” Baekhyun murmured.

“Anything else?” you asked after he went silent for a moment.

“Oh—uh…”

“I’m not rushing you to hang up, I’m just asking, and my boiled egg can wait.” You tried to joke.

He hang up after telling you sorry for interrupting the precious moment between you and the boiled egg. He wear the tie in a rush and walk passing the dining table. He saw the breakfast is served, his usual breakfast that you always made for him is still served with or without you at home. He took a bite and put down the rest on the plate. Yes, the breakfast he usually ate is served, but it taste different.

-

The next conseling was to talk about the favourite holiday which involved each other. “Would be much better if it was the holiday in which only the two of you.” She said.

You wrote about your trip to Istanbul. Baekhyun had a business trip there and you asked him if you could go with him since you never visited Istanbul and he said yes. The business trip was only three days but you both stayed there for another three days. . It was memorable because you got to explored the city and the culture that is very new to you.

Baekhyun wrote Coron island, and you were a bit flustered, not only because Coron is the island you went during your anniversary trip, but also, that was when you slept with Baekhyun while you both are sober. But his explanation was because he loves the beach and the island was used for King Kong movie filming set.

The mediation was short, you were about to call a cab to go home, but Baekhyun offering you a ride.

“Hey, I read somewhere that it’s nice to have a trip before splitting.” He said.

You turned your head to see him, “trip? Like holiday?”

“Yeah, I remembered because we were talked about it.” His gaze stayed on the road.

“Where did you read it?”

He stops at the traffic light and pull his cellphone, “I’ve sent you the article.”

You opened the link and it brought you to akin marriage journal or something, and you read about the point Baekhyun just told you, a couple who is about to go split should spent one last moment together so they won’t hold any grudge in the future. Also, it will be great for bonding, as a friend.

“I can take few days off, my co-workers would understand since father just passed away.” He said.

And you agreed.

-

You both agreed to fly to Japan and Baekhyun booked one Minka for you and him. Minka is the traditional house with tatami mat, sliding doors, and wooden floors. Right on your yard is small onsen facing the breath taking view of mount Fuji. Right before the room door, you saw a beautiful calligraphy, you knew Baekhyun read Japanese and understand it, so you asked him to read that for you.

“Ai wa kodashi no seyo.” He said.

“What’s that mean?”

“Love in a small amount.” He replied.

He saw you still furrowing your eyebrows.

“This quote telling people to not being in love hardly, it will only crash and burn… the secret of keeping the love longer is do not go nuts, love just a little but keep going.” He said while adjusting his robe, he was getting ready to enjoying the onsen.

You didn’t joined him for onsen, it’d be too intimate and that’s not how you rebuild your relationship with him. As friends. So you prepared dinner for you and Baekhyun. Even though you got the whole house, you can still calling a staff to get you groceries you need or simply order some food, and that’s what you did, you order some foods for you and him.

There are sashimi, unagi don, varies of tempura, and sake served when Baekhyun done. He seems happy to finally meet food, and that’s enough to make you happy too.

You feel stupid and silly. Feel your crush on your husband getting deeper meanwhile your divorce papers are being processed.

Your head was lighter from the warm sake, and you saw Bakehyun’s cheek has this pink shades from alcohol too, and you can’t stop thinking how cute he is.

“What are you gonna do after we’re separated?” he asked.

To be honest, you were surprised by his question, not because he asked that but because you really have no idea what you’re gonna do after this. You realised, you never imagine life without him, and this hits you right to your heart.

“I, uh, I haven’t think about it…” you murmured.

“Are you gonna star dating Jongin?”

You lift your gaze to his level, “Jongin?”

“I know you’re not chatty but you always choose Jongin to talk to, I mean, you have me, you can always share anything with me, but you prefer to talk to him. At this point I’m not surprise if you’re dating Jongin behind my back.”

“What the hell?” You almost stutters, “is this, is this why you’re divorcing me??”

He turn away, “not exactly.”

“We’re friends, for God sake, he’s your friend…” you’re trying to sound stable. “Even if we’re separated one day, I would never date him… Gosh, Baekhyun, he’s like my brother!” you knew at this point your face is red from anger, how can he accused you like that. You were mad so you took your sake cup and gulp it, “damn it, Baek… damn you…” now you feel like crying but you hold it because you know you’re stronger than this shit.

He moved from his seat, stood up from the mat to sit beside you and saying, “I’m sorry…” he murmurs, “really…”

You’re just staring empty at your chopsticks.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t said what I’ve said… and this trip is for us to be friends, okay? Please forgive me?”

friends.

That word sucks. That word can go fuck itself, you want to throw it away from your dictionary if you could.

Baekhyun still staring at you, you can feel it and when you looking at him, he’s smiling. That childish smile you love so much. The one melts your heart and you’re gonna scold yourself later for smiling back.

“Anyway, thank you for always being my savior in the morning…” you knew what he meant.

“No problems, you can always call me to find anything in our—your room,” you corrected youself, “I was the one organizing it everyday so I—“

“Our room.” He suddenly said.

“Huh?” you’re looking at him and you saw disappointment there and you got confuse now.

“That’s still our room… until the ancillary judgment, it’s still ours to call.”

You mentally cursed yourself for cannot think straight but looking at those thin lips which slightly pouting.

“Why…” you mumbled but he caught you on guard, he leaned in and everything feels so fast.

He kissed you.

But you pull away faster. “Baekhyun…”

You both took a moment of silence but suddenly he stood up and pull you on your waist. You gasped but when Baekhyun lift his gaze, his brown eyes looking at you deeper, swimming inside the universe you had on your eyes.

“You’re drunk…” you whispers

“I’m not, and I’m tired of being drunk only to have an excuse to touch you.”

When he leaned in and kiss you, everything is being those blur dots behind him, all you felt was only his thin lips crashing on yours. You kissed him back just because you want it. You’re desperate to feel his lips, crashing, nibling, biting your lips.

When his hands slithering the front part of your kimono, you knew you’d gave him anything, even if he asked for the world.

“Be mine tonight…” he pull away but close enough for you to feel his breath, “…for the last time.”

And that pinch you feel inside your chest re-appear. Your heart telling you no because there’s no way back, you’re just gonna fall deeper and he’s gonna break your heart again tomorrow, but your heart and body wants him. Badly. “I’m yours… tonight…” you murmured.

He took it as the cue to slid down your clothes and expose your shoulder, and his kiss trailing down from you cheek, to your neck and shoulder, “ahh…” faint moan slips out your lips when he suck your collarbone. His lips didn’t stop there, as his hands caressing your body, his lips find its way to your chest, kissing the valley of your breast and all way down without touching your erected nipples.

He such a tease…

“I am…” he chuckled, and you feel embarrassed for saying it out loud unconsciously.

He guided your hand to his kimono belt, silently asking you to take it off, and you did, you run the pad of your finger above his lean muscle when he’s lips back on yours. When your hand above his briefs, you could feel he’s ready. It was hard, and excites your heart you could hear it pounding.

“I wanna go down for you…” he said.

You don’t hate it but you’re not a fan of receiving head too, but tonight, for the last time, you’re just gonna let him do whatever he wants.

“Go down for me…” you whispers and he kissed you hard before pushing you to the floor. His kisses leaving marks on the way down, and the heat you feel just too real, to hot to handle. You knew you’re drenched down there.

A finger slips between the folds and you couldn’t stop yourself from whining, “Baek…ah…”

He replied with a soft hum before other finger joining, running up and down, caught your clit between his slender fingers.

“AH!” a sharp moan slips out when he found your core, get inside and stretch you out, “ah… fuck…” you grunts.

“Two fingers, babe, two… you can handle more…” he hasn’t finished his words when you feel tongue joining down there.

You grab his hair by instinct and you can’t even hear yourself now. His put one other finger and speed up until you feel the heat pooling on your core and you knew you’re near the peak.

“I’m gonna… gonna, ah, Baek, I’m…ah!” you can’t even resemble words.

“Cum, babe, cum…” you screamed his name and surrender, “yeah, like that…”

he creeping above you and wipe his mouth which covered with your juice with his thumb and you didn’t even think of resting, you’re ready whenever he’s ready.

“No is my turn!” you breathlessly said.

“You don’t have to, I wanna be inside you for a long time.” His voice is assertive and you swore you’re gonna obey him forever.

“Then be inside my, now.” You pleaded.

He let go of his kimono and briefs, and guided his hard shaft to your entrance, this time, no teasing, just slip it inside slowly.

“Tell me if I hurt you…” he whispers right on you ear and you got goosebumps erupted all over your skin. “damn it…” he grunts, “damn…”

He pumped you slowly until he feels you’re adjusting with his size. And you can’t leave his eyes even for a second. God you’re in love again and again for him, and this moment you can’t hold a tear rolling down the corner of your eye.

“You okay? Did I hurt you??” he stopped pumping when he saw you crying.

“N-no. no…” you can’t ruin this moment, you can cry under th shower for the next months but not now, “no I’m fine…. I feel good… that’s why…” you’re panting, “Baekhyun, please go harder.”

You saw worries in his eyes but he do as you said, his hips go in a rhythm which became faster and faster as it goes.

“Want me go faster? Huh, babe? Tell me what you want!” he groaned.

“Faster, yeah… ahh… faster…” you bite your lips and cupped your hips to make it stay while he thrust you harder. “oh God, Baekhyun, ah! Fuck…”

“How close are you…??”

“I can… cum… any second now… Baek… please…” you don’t know what you pleaded for but you feel like you have to.

“Cum with me, baby, now, now, babe, now!” one last thrust and he shot it all in you.

He fell above you, kissing you gently before planting pecks all over your sweaty face. Then you met his eyes, you could see how soft was his gaze on you, almost loving. It feels like eternity before he move his lips, “I…” he said, but then he look away, “thank you…”

-

Next day wasn’t exactly easy for you and him, you keep losing words when trying to make conversation with him, and he’s not helping, he spent whole day outside, enjoying onsen again, or reading some books left in the house. And here you are staring at the quotes hang in the wall.

Ai wa kodashi no seyo.

Love in a small amount.

“I’m gonna do it… to anyone I met after you…” you murmured, “I’ve been loving you too hard, it hurts and causing me nuts.”

-

“Why you choose Istanbul?” he suddenly asked when you and him had dinner.

You couldn’t answer right away, but you manage to say, “you remember how I was amazed by Capadoccia, the air balloon, and the view…” and you feel like you have to ask him the same question, just because. “Why you choose Coron?”

“Exactly, why didn’t you choose Coron?”

You shot your eyebrows, “why… I didn’t choose Coron? Why should I choose Coron?”

You swore to God you saw his ear getting red, “Coron was nice…”

“Which part? The one with tall rocks where the King Kong swinging? Or…?”

He snorts, “anyway…” he said, “thanks for packed the clothes for me.”

You didn’t packed for him for this journey, but you did called a maid to make sure Baekhyun brought his medicine to his allergic, “I didn’t—“

“The one you did for my business trip last time.”

“Oh, that…”

“And to be the answer of my questions every morning about where’s my tie, what’s the brand of aftershaved I usually wear, which vitamins I should take…”

You couldn’t help but mumbling, “you need me…”

“Huh?” he gets it but he want you to repeat it.

So you lift your gaze up, “you need me in your life, Baekhyun, why you trying so hard to release me?”

Baekhyun looked surprised, “w-what?”

You sighs.

“You weren’t happy.” He said.

“What?” now you raised your voice.

“You immediately do the paperworks, and during the mediation, you never talked about me. First you were talking about the flower, the color, the guest, you didn’t mention me in your narrative at all. The second one, you were talking about istanbul, the city where we were just pure tourist, no romance in that holiday.”

“Romance?” you gasped, “why would I talked about romance when you’re the one asking me for divorce?”

“Because you weren’t happy! I told you you weren’t happy and I want to make you happy by letting you go!”

“Oh my God! Baekhyun, you never loved me, that’s why you’re divorcing me!”

“I do! But how can I show you my feelings when I know you’re gonna reject me!”

“Whatt???” now you’re confused, “I was in love with you! But you neve—“

“You’re in love with me? Don’t be silly! You’re not in love with me, you avoiding me all the time.”

Now you’re gasping from his accusation, “avoiding you? When?”

“You’re not comfortable whenever I’m around.” He said.

“That’s because I’m afraid you’re gonna find out my true feelings!”

“Why you’re afraid if I found out?” he raised his voice.

“You’re gonna divorce me when you find out that I’m actually love you…”

“Why would I do that??”

“Because you don’t love me.” You tried to hold your voice down.

“Oh come on! Who are to assumed about my feelings like that??”

you stop talking, so does he, and trying to figure out what is actually happening, how dumb are you to not realised anything all this time. To be blinding only by the fact that Baekhyun married to you because he had to. And for being to denial to accept any possibilities that he might grew some feelings towards you too.

“So you love me…” he mumbled. Slowly he snickered that turns into laughter, “why are we so stupid?”

You shrugged you shoulders.

“I almost let you go because I thought that what makes you happy!” he turned to you and lift your chin up, “hey look at me.”

You lift your gaze.

“I love you.”

And the knots in your chest untied just like that, all the pain and sadness, the cloud that has been following you around is disappear. You can see the sky clearer, with all the starts in his eyes.

The universe.

Universe you’ve been searching your whole life is in front of you.

With his thin smile he pulled you closer.

“Let’s go home to Seoul…” he put you inside his embrace, “and burn down all the divorce documents… I’m gonna stay being your husband forever and love you harder…”

“No…” you said, you saw his eyes confused, “Ai wa kodashi no seyo.”

-END-

[a-j-quill]

Watermark

Warren walked the long gray expanse of the corridor, holding a venti cappuccino in one hand and a single-use ice pack in the other. The cold felt like a pleasant void against her aching ribs. One more left, a set of stairs, and two controlled-access doors later, she was down in the belly of the building, where hopes and dreams went to die.

The click-clack of Warren’s heeled boots led her past a row of cells, each of which had a different convict’s face pressed between the bars.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, honey?” crooned some idiot sharing a cell with a more tenured criminal. The latter yanked him back by the scruff of the neck.

“Can it, you fucking moron. Who do you think sent you down here in the first place?”

Without turning her head, Warren gave a wry salute. The bastardized sheriff’s badge on her belt glinted in the bad fluorescent light. It was fake as hell, but it was apparently convincing enough for her to be considered a “viable asset to the Serious Crimes Division.” Hey—a girl from the East Quarter had to forge a few documents to get where she wanted to go.

She came to a halt before Holding Cell #14, at the bitter end of the cell block. Inside, the stone walls were stained with drips of rust from too many leaks out of too-old pipes. The room looked empty. Well. Almost.

From the cot in the corner rose a pile of darkness, which grew into a shambling blue coat, which grew into a man with a cold, cruel smile.

“Warren Rime,” he hissed, his shell-white teeth slicing at the name.

Warren took a pointed sip of her cappuccino, even though it was still on the “ouch” side of extra hot. “If you’d like to skip the creepy re-introductions, we can get down to business.” She perched one hip against the bars, and somewhere underneath the shadows the man’s eyebrow went up. See, you grimey bastard? I’m not afraid of the likes of you.

“Businesssss,” he hissed, leaning a little too heavily into the hiss that time. Warren could hear the nearmost inmates squirming in their cells behind her, already curious why she’d come to trade whispers with their newest neighbor.

“Cut the crap,” she told him, giving him a significant look. “You don’t get to pull any of that snake-man bullshit underground. You’re on my turf now.”

“I’m not a snake,” he reminded her.

“You’re a creepy dude with an amount of power he shouldn’t have. Not by normal standards, anyway,” she added, gesturing vaguely at the pack of criminals lurking over her shoulder.

Another unpleasant grin. “Normal standards, eh? And what does that make you?” his watery eyes drifted ostentatiously downward, landing on her right wrist. Warren shook her sleeve down with a casual gesture, hiding it from his view.

“I’m a regular old narc, remember? Here to enforce justice an’ shit.”

He shook his head, a slow gesture that should have exposed more of his face, but didn’t. “You’re one of us now, little girl. You went in the water.”

Warren’s fingers tightened around the ice pack in her left hand. The mere mention of water made her blood pulse louder in her veins.

“Ruined my good jeans, too,” she tsked, eager to change the subject. “Do you want to tell me where you’re hiding all the money you stole, or do you want to drag this out?”

He leaned forward against the bars, smelling of brine and calcium. “You can feel it, can’t you? Like a second heartbeat?”

Warren took another scalding sip, just to have something in front of her face. Yesterday morning she’d caught this man fleeing and knocked him into the fountain on the corner of 9th and Bristol. It should have been empty. It was always empty. The thing had been busted since she’d moved to this godforsaken city. So why, on the day of her biggest criminal nab yet, was it conveniently a soak zone?

“Rumor has it that fountain used to be fed by the river,” said her prisoner. “And the river...well. You know the legends.”

“It’s polluted,” said Warren, fighting a wince as she shifted her ice. Her bones were battered from the scuffle, not to mention the still-split lip that was tainting her flavor palette. “Nothing legendary about water nobody can touch.”

The man gave her a wry look. “Does it look polluted to you? It’s crystal clear. The only thing in that water is the Glorious Unexplained, darlin’...and I know you’re feeling it. Everyone who touches it does.”

He wasn’t wrong. Warren could feel things creeping around in her bloodstream, and she didn’t like not knowing what they were. She kept noticing a swaying sensation around her thighs she hadn’t felt since she was a kid in sunny San Diego, but it was unmistakable. It was the feeling you only got after spending hours and hours in the surf; when you got out of the water, you could still feel the phantom aftershocks of the waves lapping at your legs.

What am I, now? Fucking Aquaman?

“Save your fairy tales, buddy,” Warren said with mock calm, pushing off the bars and licking metallic-tasting cappuccino foam off the lid of her cup. “Why don’t I come back when you’re feeling more amenable to discussing your money laundering scheme, eh?”

“You can’t run from thisssss,” the man called after her.

“Shut up, snake man,” she muttered, but she knew full well his hiss was nothing to do with snakes. It was the sound of rainwater rushing from an overfull gutter, the sound of the ocean dragging backward over a rocky shore...the sound of a fountain that should definitely, definitely have dried up years ago.

On her way back upstairs, and against her better judgement, she snuck a look at her right wrist. A triangular shape stared back at her, pulsing white under her skin. It tingled, sending a fresh wave of uncertainty creeping up her spine.

“Nope,” she said aloud to the empty elevator. “I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with magic.”

@flashfictionfridayofficial​

[hellyeahomeland]

“Prisoners of War”: an HYH recap

The finale of our last season opens just as the finale of our first season did: with Nicholas Brody’s suicide tape. Brody stands before us just as we remember him: uniform pressed, grainy black and white, defending his decisions to the masses. Carrie drives late at night, her face steely, as those familiar words echo in her ears: “People will say I was broken, I was brainwashed. People will say that I was turned into a terrorist, taught to hate my country. I love my country.”

She arrives home, again, to an empty house.

Back in New York, Linus is paying Saul a surprise visit.

Saul: Hey, man! Am I fired yet? Linus: Miraculously, no! But Jalal Haqqani is definitely not dead, did you have any idea? Saul: Yeah, it was my entire idea. I didn’t tell you so you’d have plausible deniability. Linus: WHERE IS THE ALLIGATOR? Look, Hayes is pissed and is saying he’s going to take out Pakistan’s nuclear facilities if they don’t stand down. Saul: Jesus. Ok, get in the car, I’ll explain why I’ve been acting so fishy on the way back.

The next morning, Carrie’s enjoying a nice cup of coffee while watching her former enemy Tasneem deliver an address at the UN. Tasneem explains that the US are basically a bunch of annoying bullies and they have no choice but to defend themselves with everything they have. After, Anna goes back to the Russian Federation’s office and into Director Mirov’s office, where she notices the red flight recorder. She recaps Tasneem’s speech and Mirov is delighted because they’re all about to get promotions. Anna is steely-faced and says he deserves it.

Carrie arrives at Charlotte Benson’s giant mansion. Two Russian hunks, one of whom looks EXACTLY LIKE Jonas but is not, escort her to Charlotte’s murder demo. Actually, Carrie’s not going to murder him. She’s just gonna mix a few chemicals and create a gel that she rubs on his skin to immobilize him, then the Russians hunks will murder him. According to Yevgeny, they’re the best, and Yevgeny wants nothing but the best for his girl. Carrie looks like she may actually vomit, even though I already completed that bingo square.

In the Oval Office, Saul arrives for his meeting with Hayes but instead it’s just Evil Spawn Zabel, who looks so totally delighted to be going one-on-one with Saul again. Saul shares that the flight recorder indicates the helicopter wasn’t shot down after all, it was just mechanical failure. Zabel seems intrigued initially, the wheels in his head probably spinning to figure out how he can play this to his advantage. But Saul doesn’t have the recording and in fact has no proof. Zabel says he’s full of shit. They basically talk past each other, neither side budging from the facts (or, as Zabel would say, “facts”). He pronounces Saddam in Saddam Hussein like it rhymes with “Goddamn” and then says the Iraq War was a good idea “for the record.” Hugh Dancy revels in the slime.

Saul’s relaying this shitshow to Linus when he arrives home to find St. Maggie. Mr. Bill “I’ve Had It” Mathison has a friend who swore he saw Carrie at Langley the other day, which makes no sense to me or to Maggie but Saul’s like “could have happened!” Wasn’t Carrie on trial for being involved in the president’s murder? Anyhoozles, Maggie is once again exasperated with Carrie, her sister whom she just can’t understand. Carrie hasn’t even stopped by to see Franny. Saul agrees it’s strange.

Ironically, while Maggie is paying a house visit to Saul, Carrie is paying a house visit to Maggie. Well, more specifically to Franny’s bedroom, where’s she’s hidden a go-bag filled with cash and a shitload of meds and a half dozen passports. On her way out, she pauses on a photo of Franny, her hair red as ever, in a bright yellow rain coat. She takes it with her.

Later that night, Carrie arrives back at Saul’s, looking again like she could hurl at any minute. She spots the Russian hunks in a nearby car lighting up a cigarette. She steps inside to find Saul, sitting in his library, listening to the Fleabag soundtrack. It’s very ominous. Dad is NOT happy!

He confronts her immediately. Why hasn’t she seen Franny? Actually, why the fuck is she even back here? Seems like she’s planning a quick escape. But why come back in the first place?

She deflects initially, but it’s Saul. She knows that he knows. He knows that she knows that he knows. There is a lot of knowing going on.

Carrie: You know the answers to all your questions. Saul: I still want to hear you say it. With my own ears. Carrie: I made a deal with Yevgeny. The flight recorder for your asset in Moscow. Saul: Asset? What asset? Carrie: Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. I know she exists. I know how you communicate. Saul: Good God, Carrie, tell me you haven’t. If you have, you’ve permanently crippled our position in Russia. She’s the last live source we have there. The rest were sent to the wall by Allison Carr, a thing that was 0% my fault. Carrie: We can rebuild the intelligence network. Saul: It’ll take a decades. Meanwhile they slowly strangle us. Carrie: Let’s worry about all that tomorrow. We’re on the brink of nuclear war today in case you forgot. Saul: Relax, I’m talking to some journalists tomorrow. Carrie: Lol, like that will make a flying fuck worth of a difference. Saul: Well, sometimes that’s the price of doing business. Carrie: Who even are you? Saul: What do you want from me? Carrie: GIVE ME HER NAME. Saul: I never will. God, get the fuck out of my house. You’re turning yourself in ASAP.

Carrie storms upstairs and starts to mix the not-murder potion. For some reason she forgets to close the door because Saul walks in a few moments later. She panics and smears the gel across his neck. He looks confused for a second and then collapses. Carrie looks in shock at her mentor sprawled out on the floor. She signals the Russian hunks on the street outside. Sara begins to have an actual panic attack thinking Carrie might murder Saul.

Saul can hear her, of course, but he can’t move. He can barely speak. She tells him to give her the name, now, or some Russian dudes are gonna murder him. She says it’s out of her hands when it’s entirely in her hands. She explains to him the legacy plan. The poor guy looks literally dumbstruck. She asks him to see reason. No one person can be worth the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocent people. It’s an interesting replay of his conversation with Zabel earlier.

The GRU team walks in then — she gives him one final chance, but he still won’t say her name. They take him into his bedroom, which is GIANT, and begin prepping for the murder.

Carrie tries again. She tries really hard, with everything she has.

“Everything you have ever asked of me, I have done.” In a single line, their whole relationship, eight seasons’ worth. He stares back up at her, simultaneously expressionless and filled with hurt and pain. Is there no fucking line?

Then: “Come here,” he mumbles, barely audible. She leans in close to him, expectant. “Go fuck yourself.” A fat tear rolls down her face and she shakes her head at the GRU team. She says something about a fallback plan and then turns toward Saul, every inch of herself sorry and lost and guilty. “I had to try,” she says quietly.

The fallback plan is to go see Saul’s sister Dorit (“Saul, what do you have?”) in the West Bank. And, once there, to tell Dorit that Saul’s died of a stroke and Dorit needs to go back to DC at once for funeral arrangements. Carrie plays somber yet dutiful surrogate daughter well. She’s disgusted with herself but, again, can’t hold back. Wherever the line is, if it existed, she’s lost it now.

While she’s helping Dorit pack, she makes her move and pokes around the legacy plan. Dorit, like Mira before her, sees her brother in this woman all too clearly. “Always an ulterior motive,” she says. But Dorit is kind-hearted and she does have an envelope for Carrie. There’s a thumb drive inside and Carrie looks so relieved she could cry. She sends Dorit on her way (but not before swiping her phone... I LOVE YOU CARRIE).

Back in Washington, Saul has full motor control again but he’s really late for his meeting with those journalists, and Linus, ever the mensch and detective, realizes something’s fishy pretty immediately. Nevertheless, Carrie’s just given word to Yevgeny that she has the name, so they peace out anyway.

Yevgeny arrives at Dorit’s house on cue and dressed for warm weather. Carrie’s not getting a needle to the neck this time. She’s on full alert, gun pointed straight at him before he even walks through the door. She makes a big show of patting every inch of his body down for a weapon that he actually doesn’t have, and then tosses him a piece of paper with Anna’s name. Then she shows him what’s on the flash drive.

Here’s what’s on the flash drive: a much darker-haired Saul, with different glasses, explaining who Anna is. Aside from Carrie, she is the most important professional relationship in his life. She’s an asset but she runs herself (sounds familiar!). She is extraordinary. And he never told her because he was protecting her. Carrie turns away — his soft, sure words are like daggers. Everything he’s talking about on that tape is destroyed. Carrie took a match to it all.

Anna’s now burned and Mirov knows. Saul rings up Resident Hottie Scott Ryan at the UN for an assist. Saul pleads with him to get Anna out of there ASAP. At the same time, Mirov’s men run in quick pursuit. Scott and Anna make their way to a dead-end room in the basement and barricade the door. Anna asks for a gun, not to shoot her way out… well, at least not out. Anna is determined, assured, confident. She won’t let them take her. You can tell how she’s been such an incredible, independent asset all these years and why Saul wants so desperately to save her. Scott refuses to hand over his gun and Anna asks to phone a friend.

On the phone, Saul reacts initially just like Scott. There’s got to be another way. We can get out of this, you don’t have to do this. But she is persistent, she’s determined. She wants to end this on her own terms. “I’ve never known anyone so brave,” Saul says, his eyes wide. He orders Scott to give her the gun. On the other end of the line, Saul hears the single shot. He winces in pain.

Shockingly, Russia followed through with their end of the deal and Mirov gets up at the UN with brand new evidence that Jalal Haqqani didn’t shoot down the president’s helicopter. It was an accident and now the whole world can hear the cockpit recording for themselves. Watching in Israel, Carrie’s disgusted. Yevgeny, ever the considerate boyfriend, asks if she’s ok.

Carrie: Just cut the bullshit, the game’s over. Also, why the fuck are you still here? Just leave already. Russia’s a frontrunner for the Nobel Peace Prize and a decent woman is going to be tortured and killed by your government. Yevgeny: That decent woman got two assets of mine killed in Cyprus. Carrie: Oh, I’m sure they were both good samaritans. Yevgeny: Fine, if you want to blame me, go ahead. Carrie: Good, I do blame you! Yevgeny: Look, sometimes it’s just the cost of doing business. I did what I had to do. Carrie: WHY DO ALL THE MEN IN MY LIFE SAY THE SAME THINGS? Yevgeny: He should have pulled Anna from the field the second he realized what you were doing. Carrie: You just don’t fucking get it. He didn’t pull her because he trusted me. He fucking loved me. I betrayed him. I broke that.  Do you even understand what that means? Yevgeny: You’ll survive. So will he. Carrie: I don’t know what it’s like on your side but it must be very lonely.

In the Oval Office, Hayes, Zabel, and Linus—still not eaten by an alligator—are huddled around the TV watching Mirov’s press conference. Mirov pleads with Hayes to stand down following the reveal of this big misunderstanding. Suddenly Zabel looks like he wants to get eaten by an alligator! Hayes asks Linus, who hasn’t been addressed directly by POTUS in 4-6 weeks, for a direct line with the military. They get Owens on the phone. Zabel’s plan to start a phony war to consolidate power and kill more brown people has been thwarted. Everything’s coming up Linus!

Back at Dorit’s house, Yevgeny tells Carrie that Anna’s killed herself. She’s about to make some quippy remark like “Sorry you missed out on some gulag fun” when Yevgeny connects the dots for her and says that Saul must have warned her. And then Carrie connects the dots for us: Israeli counter-intelligence knows too. Time to book it! They hop in their getaway car and head for Ramallah. Yevgeny has people there who can smuggle her into Syria. And then? And then…

Are you sitting down? We fast forward two years. We’re in Moscow. Carrie Mathison is in a large, spacious penthouse. She is applying MASCARA. TO HER EYELASHES. HER HAIR IS CURLED.

“You almost ready?” says a familiar, accented voice. IT’S YEVGENY. She turns and smiles. Y’ALL THEY ARE LIVING TOGETHER IN MOSCOW.

Sara: [head explodes]  

He asks if she’s excited. “Very.” Remember in season five when Claire’s like, “Carrie’s doing great, for five minutes.” This is like that only better.

Yevgeny gives her a gold necklace, for “finishing.” Do we all get one too? He tells her what she’s done is very, very important and it’s time to celebrate. It’s sort of surreal. The best way I can think of to describe it is the season of Lost where Jack and Kate are off the island and living together and in love and if you were, say, into that, it was paradise. If you were, say, not into that, it was bizarre as fuck.

Once ready, Carrie runs into her office to get her purse. It’s… about what you’d expect her office to look like. There are stacks of books everywhere, documents printed out and tacked to the wall, sticky notes all over the window. The picture of Franny in the yellow rain coat is still there. She turns to the wall and takes it in. It’s pages and pages of news articles about the CIA’s drone program, Abu Ghraib, the black sites, torture. Familiar figures—in real life and in-show—are visible. Snowden, Brody, Quinn, Keane. It’s her professional career—her entire life—arrayed in one final collage for us to take in. The familiar closing score from “The Star” begins playing as she shuts off the lights.

Cut to Saul, in his house, now much emptier. He and Dorit are packing boxes. He’s had a heart attack and is moving out, presumably to someplace where he’s not alone all the time. The phone begins to ring. It’s someone looking for a Professor Rabinow.

Then the jazz stars to play. Yevgeny’s big celebration for Carrie was a jazz concert by Kamasi Washington and crew. It’s electrifying. They’re both into it, bobbing their heads as much as one can bob their head to jazz. It’s a clever callback not only to the jazz musicians Carries spots in the pilot but also to this oft-parodied passion of hers. The cacophonous sounds, it’s bliss.

The song finishes and out of the corner of her eye Carrie spots a woman in the orchestra exit her seat. She absentmindedly rubs Yevgeny’s knee. It’s a subtle but specific detail with one purpose and that is to reveal that this relationship is real. It is comfortably intimate. It exists in the grey--in the duplicity--that Carrie’s relationships with men have always existed in. Maybe that’s her happiness. Maybe that’s how she’s not alone.

In DC, Saul pays a visit to his friend Claude, who calls him Professor repeatedly, even though Saul claims all that stuff is over with. Well, the package addressed to Professor Rabinow that was just delivered this morning begs to differ.

At the concert, Carrie excuses herself to go freshen up her makeup and ends up at the vanity right next to that woman she’d spotted. The other woman eyes Carrie, before casually taking off with Carrie’s purse. Carrie takes hers.

At his home, Saul has the Professor Rabinow package. He opens it. It’s Carrie’s book, the presumed result of all that research in her office. It’s called Tyranny of Secrets. A haunting black-and-white image of Carrie stares back at him from the cover. This is her work... and it’s his, too. He flips through the first few pages. He reads the subtitle, “Why I Had to Betray My Country.” And the dedication, “For my daughter, in the hope that one day she will understand.”  

He doesn’t get it until he does. He flips the book upside down into that familiar Y shape and then extracts a slim piece of paper from the spine. She reads: “Greetings from Moscow, Professor. The Russian S400 missile defense system sold to Iran and Turkey has a back door. It can be defeated. Specs to follow. Stay tuned.” He looks up in awe, a hint of a smile across his face.

At the concert, the saxophone blares in her ears, vocals ringing, strings, bass, piano, drums. Everything, all at once. She sighs, then smiles, bathed in blue light. Not noise. Music.

[kiss-my-freckle]

8x9 Rewatch: The Cyranoid

“I can see it's not Keen. But what I can't figure out is why it's not Keen.” Couple this episode with The Wellstone Agency. Aram and Ressler have what they need to find Liz. They just need to put their heads together. 

This episode gives you everything you need for the rest of the series. If you want my summation, skip to the bottom because I included every pertinent dialogue. 

A parallel to Pete in 5x7.

Man on the phone: They know. I don't know how, but they know.

Pete: They knew I put in a request with CODIS. I don't know how, but they did.

A parallel to Aram in 7x1. The Seventh Seal, for those who don’t know. 

Red: You all look like you're in a Bergman film playing chess with Death.

Aram: Now we are both eating Polish sausage and playing chess with Death.

If you haven't noticed yet, they've got a coffee cup theme going on. This is like their 4th or 5th time with the coffee cups. To understand this, you have to go to the opening diner scene in 2x21. 

Tom: Alright, dream scenario. We finish our coffee...

Bremmer’s statement pushes back to 8x3 and 5x9, for a reason.

Bremmer: He'll never forgive you for this

Cooper: What you did to her, what you did to Katarina, I don't think Elizabeth will ever forgive you for it. Red: She might. Some day. But before then...

Liz: Can you forgive me? Red: Yes. Will you be able to forgive yourself?

Red: I fear she may do something that she can never recover from. And of all the tragedies that you and I have experienced together, that would be the most tragic. We have to do - do everything in our power to prevent that from happening.

Apparently, Neville is the reason Liz lost 30 years with her mother. 

Red: Make no mistake, Harold. By going after Townsend, Elizabeth is putting her life in grave danger.

I like the pest control van Ressler and Park use for their surveillance. The majority of Ressler's scenes push the idea of him turning to Red for help.

Gina: They say two things will survive a nuclear holocaust - cockroaches and twinkies.

A lot of their dialogues push back to Ressler's storyline with Prescott. Turning to Red now to help Liz ... it’s the kind of favor that wouldn't put Ressler in his debt because it's not for him, it's for Liz. if he ended up saving her by pulling her back in, Red would consider himself in Ressler’s debt just as he did with Aram. 

Aram: A war criminal and an international fugitive. Your parents must be proud.

This line of dialogue leads me to believe Neville is an international fugitive because Mary is the war criminal. Aram talks about her crimes later on in the episode. Everyone is led to believe Townsend got his hands on Liz. 

Cooper: You know Townsend. What hope does she have? Red: He's a very dangerous man. Elizabeth kidnapped his sister, and now he has Elizabeth. If I were her, I'd feel pretty hopeless.

Neville knows what Elizabeth looks like, which means he likely saw her in the news when she was on the run in S3. As you watch how Liz controls her Cyranoid, understand this is how much Tom and the woman from Paris have been controlling Liz. It's an emotional hostage-taking.

Liz: No, I know who I am. I am the puppet of some high-functioning sociopath.

Liz: A marionette with a high-functioning sociopath pulling my strings.

When you have someone who controls what Liz believes, and therefore, what she feels... you have someone who has taken Liz emotionally hostage. Period. That's why no one recognizes her. 

Red: I'm not worried about my hide. I worry about Elizabeth's. I strongly suggest you do the same.

Cooper automatically assumes Red killed Rakitin's patsy, and because of that, basically reveals he's the one who has Red's thumb drive. This gives Red his open to demand he return it.

Liz: You believe my mother was murdered by the Kazanjian Brothers. That never happened. They betrayed you, cut a deal with my mother to fake her death and buy her the time she needed to clear her name. Neville: I don't believe any of this.

William: Well, whoever I am is irrelevant. Katarina Rostova is dead.

Neville: Katarina Rostova is N-13.

William: Assuming, for the sake of discussion, you are who you claim to be, what proof could you possibly have? Woman: I have the identity of N-13. William: You're N-13.

Neville Townsend and William Heidegger shared the same belief. Katarina is N-13 and she's dead. By using “N-13″ as an unidentified codename, it allows them to drag out Red's identity reveal further and evens the war with Townsend. Both Katarina and Red are N-13 because Red is Katarina. Liz thinks she's avenging her mother when she's putting three generations at risk... her mother, herself, and her daughter. Using N-13 also makes it possible for Red to survive this war. If they didn’t do it this way, Red wouldn’t, that’s a guarantee. I told people this when they first brought up the idea of Neville being the big bad. If Red’s real identity got outed to the world, he wouldn’t survive it. He’d have to hide out on his island for the rest of his life. 

Neville: Are you saying Reddington killed her to hide the fact he's N-13? Liz: Yes. And I can prove it. That he's the reason your family's dead.

Ilya Koslov is the only person who can prove the identity of N-13 because Dom is dead. It's likely Sikorsky can prove it, but I don't think Liz will be able to push that far. 

Rakitin: The witch hunt is over and there's one less government knob sticking his nose into our business. You should be thanking me.

Red had his witch trial in S6. He’s a witch because he’s Katarina. Rakitin comes off a lot like Tom Keen, and I do think it’s purposeful. He's one of Red's assets.

Red: You tricked them. For a day. Maybe two. But they'll see past it, and when they do, they'll come looking for you.

Katarina: The news of my death would fool most. It won't fool Velov.

I believe his 30 year project is the Devry map and the blacklist, and it's a shared mission because Red is Katarina and Liz is Masha. A mythic battle that he and Liz are central to because they're mother and daughter Rostova. I think he's trying to remove the threats that separated them for 30 years. They've already cleared out the Cabal. Their affiliates likely went blue, so Red and Liz still have a massive blue player war to fight. 

Liz: I wouldn't have gone to the effort of taking your sister, luring you out, of making this pitch unless I was certain. Raymond Reddington killed my mother because she had uncovered the truth.

Most people don’t see it yet, but this war is on the opposite side of S5. 

Liz: You can trust me.

That’s why Liz is telling Neville he can trust her. For the same reason Tom told Red he can trust him. Because Red couldn’t trust Tom, and Neville can’t trust Liz. 

Tom: You can trust me. Red: No, I can't. I hired you to do a job. The rules were explicit, and you violated them. You're unreliable.

Red KNOWS Neville can’t trust Liz. 

Red: Elizabeth Keen is not to be trusted.

Neville is gonna find out she’s unreliable. She’s STILL Red’s daughter lol. This is where Liz's hopelessness will come in that Red spoke of earlier.

Red: He's a very dangerous man. Elizabeth kidnapped his sister, and now he has Elizabeth. If I were her, I'd feel pretty hopeless.

This Cyranoid changed everything when she surrendered herself. 

Cooper: We don't have to find her because she found us. She surrendered herself out front five minutes ago.

A quick gather of dialogues to show you what I mean.

Ressler: I can see it's not Keen, but what I can't figure out is why it's not Keen.

Cooper: Seven years ago - she was kind, enthusiastic, decent. Under your tutelage - she's become someone I fail to recognize.

Red: I'll tell you what she's not doing - behaving like you would.

Aram: Who are you? Liz: You know who I am and why I have to do this. Aram: You forged my signature to get 16 ounces of Semtex. You nearly killed Mr. Reddington and Ressler. I knew who you were, Liz. But I don't recognize who you've become.

Ressler: I'm just saying, if she did reach out to you, if you actually saw her, you might think differently. Aram: Did she reach out to you? Ressler: No, she didn't. But if she did... I'm just saying it might make a difference.

Aram: He didn't "say," he ordered. Ressler: Yeah, but I told you, if you saw her you'd think differently.

Aram: You were right. It is different.

THIS is exactly what the task force needed. To change Liz's face so they can know what they're seeing - a completely different person. Liz IS an imposter. She’s been an imposter since she stepped off Tom’s boat in 2x22. The task force still believes Red is Ilya, but this is where Liz parallels Rederina and both parallel the Deer Hunter. All that’s left for Liz is a gender change. 

She's becoming Tom Keen, but keeping her face. A Pinocchio wife and daughter because they’re holding her emotionally hostage. Tom, by making her believe he’s the father of Agnes. The woman from Paris, by making her believe she’s her mother. Tom and the woman from Paris are pulling Liz’s strings. She’s a fucking marionette. 

Cyranoid: I told you, it's me. Ressler: No.

Cyranoid: Why don't we start with what happened between you and me the night before I went on the run? Ressler: Who the hell are you?

Just like Reddington. “Who are you?” The entire fucking point. Imagine Liz changing her face to look like her Cyranoid. They'd never see Liz again. THIS is what Katarina did by permanently changing her face to become Raymond. You might as well Consider “Raymond” to be Katarina’s Cyranoid.

Dom: Last time I saw my daughter was in this rearview mirror nearly 30 years ago.

Put this entire Post Office playout in 2x22 context and you can see my memory wipe theory. You just have to consider Mary's death like Connolly's. That gif set is here. Liz is wrong. “Almost everything” has changed because she had her memory wiped. The only thing that hasn’t changed is her face. That’ll be left for Agnes. 

Cyranoid: You should let me go. Ressler: Those days are over. Cyranoid: Why? Nothing's changed. Ressler: No. You ordered your puppet to murder Bremmer. Now you're helping her escape. Cyranoid: I've missed you. Ressler: Well, how about we get together? Have a little chat.

I love how Panbaker says this when they haven’t even told her Red is Ilya. 

Panabaker: Which is why I give you a perilously long leash. But it's not so long that I'll approve granting immunity to someone whose identity I am unaware of. Cooper: Ressler, go over the forensics again. Facial recognition, prints. See what you can find. Panabaker: Be good if that included your dignity.

Ressler doesn't see that he has the power to make Liz surrender. They need to stop their physical search and start an emotional one. They lost her in S2. 

Red: She's the master of her own puppet. An avatar of herself.

Liz is a puppet controlling her own puppet. 

It makes her Grendel’s mother. Little Red Riding Hood. 

Liz: Before we had Agnes... I thought Tom and I were gonna adopt.

Tom: Tonight, you are finally gonna see what this little monster looks like.

A parallel to 3x17.

Neville: You need me on your team. This is my price. Are you willing to pay it?

Red: Do you really want your child to pay the price for that mistake for the rest of his or her life?

A parallel to 7x10.

Cyranoid: Your brother loves you very much.

Woman: But she asked me to give you a big hug and tell you how much she loves you.

I believe this will be the means of Agnes’ hit. Revenge for Mary Bremmer. 

Mary: I've done nothing wrong. Aram: Except use chemical weapons on men, women, and children.

Aram: Have you seen what she's done? Chemical Mary. The way her weapons have been used. Against civilians... children. The Agent Keen I know wouldn't use someone like this to get to Townsend or anyone else. She'd arrest her and make sure she couldn't hurt anyone again.

Aram: Whoever she is, she is not our problem. Now, this... this is our problem. Douma and Khan Shaykhun. Syrian children victimized by chlorine gas. We have a war criminal in custody. I am going to confront her with her war crimes.

For the same reason Victor Skovic took over Dr. Krilov’s business when he got arrested. Neville knows his sister. He’ll tailor his revenge to fit her.  

Separating this section. A parallel to 7x10.

Aram: She'd arrest her and make sure she couldn't hurt anyone again.

Ressler: You scrambled my brain, and I'm here to make sure that you never do that to anyone else.

Separating this section. A parallel to 3x15.

Aram: Whoever she is, she is not our problem. Now, this... this is our problem.

Red: Tom is your Tom problem. 

You basically have to put Agnes in Red’s place. She’s the one in danger.

A parallel to 5x8. 

Cyranoid: I don't expect you to understand, but I am doing what is necessary to end this. To stop Reddington.

Garvey: I like to think I'm the kind of man who'd politely ask you to stop this, to let this end here, but I can tell you're the kind of guy who won't get the message and stop.

These bits sell Liz’s surrender should Ressler turn to Red.

Cyranoid: That's why I have a Cyranoid. To eliminate your control.

Cyranoid: You really think you have power over me, don't you?

Cyranoid: I am not surrendering myself to you.

Red: When you love someone, you have no control. That's what love is. Being powerless.

A parallel to Dr. Fulton. 

Neville: Uh, it turns out that you're due for a reckoning.

Fulton: Closure requires a reckoning.

Because Red is Liz’s mother. So run this opposite. 

Fulton: A widow. A mom. A cop. Liz: And one more thing. Fulton: What's that? Liz: A daughter.

A parallel to Ruin. 

Blake: Try and get some sleep. Neville: I always try. And I never do.

Liz: What matters is that I did it and I was good at it. And I didn't lose any sleep over it. Red: You will. One of these nights you will. It's just a matter of when.

Summation.

They’ve covered most of my predictions for this season. Had I grouped these dialogues, you'd see it even more. With Neville, Liz pushes the danger to Agnes. With the task force, she pushes her second memory wipe and her possible surrender later on. A culmination of things for their first hit on my Tom Domino theory, and I do believe this very arc will lead to that reveal. Agnes’ hit is coming and everyone is falling in parallel with each other. They’ll have more coming, so expect a lot of parallel gif sets from me as they do. 

Liz: I want revenge. Alice: You have my full attention.

Liz is seeking revenge for the death of the woman she believes was her mother. That's it. She's not seeking truths, but feeling quite certain Dom framed her mother and set her up as a patsy. Don't confuse a woman willing to break the rules to seek revenge as a woman who's in control of her life. There's no control to have in seeking revenge, only a poisoned soul. The difference between 3a and 8a shows you where they're heading. The only way Liz can gain control of her life is by getting to the truth rather than seeking revenge for what she believes is the truth. Once those truths come to light, Liz will have the power she needs to take control. Because she’s seeking revenge for what she believes is the truth, Agnes will end up in parallel with Red. Liz and Agnes willl basically fall on the other side of The Djinn's episode. She's harming her own daughter by aligning with Neville, and she was stupid enough to take Agnes on the run with her. 

Consider Liz no different than Bahram because this is where they're heading.

Red: Look at that. Pinned like a swallowtail.

Red: I need an ambulance. A man's dying on a cross.

Ressler: So, you go ahead and you nail yourself to a cross...

You simply need to change Ressler's position from the Deer Hunter episode.

Ressler: Don't. Don't ask me to feel your pain, Liz. I got more than enough of my own.

Liz: But if she isn't who I thought she was, if she's a threat - Ressler: Then we'll deal with it.

Because Agnes is his daughter and he’s gonna feel that pain with her. 

Bahram: I wanted to protect you, Nasim.

Tom: We were trying to protect Agnes. Red: I guess that didn't work out.

I’m predicting Neville runs opposite William with the ducks. 

William: There's a park on the corner of Wabash and Grant. I take my granddaughter there to feed the ducks.

Duck, duck, roasted goose. Fire for Agnes. Burn scars like the makeup on the woman at the costume shop. Fire like Alina’s friend. Burns to the face like Mary Bremmer. I think that’s why they’re on the carousel with the unicorn. Unicorns are good luck. Washer necklaces are bad luck. I think he’s gonna drop a deadly weapon through Liz’s skylight on behalf of his sister.