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“It's ok Emily, really” Abel told her far too casually while trying, and failing, to not get in the way, as she hastily shoved her belongings back into her bag, “it's totally nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“It's pathetic, and creepy” Lute cut in harshly “the people who are into that are weird. -”
“Lute that's enough. While it's not something I would have ever expected from Emily, to attack her character is unnecessary” Sera wouldn’t meet her eye. “And even though I wouldn’t recommend you spend your time on… this, everyone is entitled to engage in their hobbies without shame. Although I could find you some alternatives that might be more stimulating mentally”
Even when she was defending Emily, Sera still had that holier than thou, I’m not mad I'm just disappointed attitude, that only managed to make her feel worse.
“Save it Sera,” she snapped, which immediately made her feel guilty, but she was so close to tears she couldn’t bring herself to take it back.
Adam was still laughing obnoxiously in the background at the joke he made earlier, using Lute to hold himself up. Emily the gooner, he had called her thinking it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. What a child.
But it hurt. To have so many people she cared about talking about her like she was a deviant teenager. Abel made an attempt but was so quickly silenced by his overbearing father and Adams’ weird situationship that it hardly registered. Peter was standing in the back not looking at anyone and trying to subtly organize the books, refusing to get involved with anything.
After what felt like forever she had managed to haphazardly gather everything up and clumsily made her way out the door. To add insult to injury she dropped a book and had to awkwardly try to pick it up while balancing all her other belongings. Which just sent Adam into another fresh fit of laughter. Sera, to her credit, scolded him into silence.
As she made it out the door Able managed to catch up to her just in time to catch that same damn book from falling to the floor. He rubbed his head and awkwardly chuckled as he looked it over.
“You know I wasn’t lying before. Lute has no idea what she's talking about.” He told her as she took the book from him, eyes burning with humiliation and unshed tears. “Lots of people are into that sort of thing. If you ever want to, you know talk about it, you can always come to me, I'd be interested in-”
“I’m sorry Able not now,” Emily cut him off “I just need to go hide in a hole for a bit, ok. I’ll see you later.”
“Oh. Ok yeah, no problem. Another time. Just send me a text, or a call, whatever works for you.” He said throwing up finger guns, a move she normally would have found endearing.
But Emily was neither paying attention nor slowing her pace as she rushed out of the building.
This was the final straw. Emily had decided. This time Adam, and his unnecessarily aggressive follower, had gone too far.
He could be gross and uncouth, and a little sexist (well, a lot sexist). And maybe he said some really horrible things sometimes and didn’t care if you called him out. And occasionally he would burp in your face and laugh when you got grossed out. But somehow despite all that, she had still considered him a friend, maybe not a good friend, but they had known each other for so long, how could he not be a friend by this point.
This was just too much though. He actually brought other people into his torment, specifically to humiliate her. You don’t treat people you claim to care about like that. Just thinking about it made her eyes sting and threatened to make her break down here in the middle of a crowded street.
But with those escaped tears, came rage. How dare he. He clearly knew nothing about anything, let alone about her.
Emily was a good person. Her tattoo shop, Celestial Ink, was inclusive and welcomed everyone. She worked with charities to offer coverups for people trying to get out of racist or gang organizations. She had deep discounts for clients with top surgery scars and breast cancer survivors. She was the first-person hospitals, and other medical centers came to with clients who had severe scare tissue or burns that could be covered or worked into a piece of art that could help them heal.
She was a good person! She does all of this because she wants to bring joy and ease suffering. With her art she was actually able to do that, and in the process, Emily was helping to build a real community.
The types of books she read has nothing to do with her character or the type of person she is.
With this new resolve, she wiped away the emotion and marched down the street. Past the bar she danced at with her actual friends, past the antique store that had been here longer than anyone else, and into the flower shop that stood right next to own tattoo parlor.
He would help her.
Alastor was a weird one, to be sure. When you think of a stereotypical flower shop, one usually pictures a bright, clean shop, with neutral colors and lots of light, filled with a vast assortment of colorful flowers and bouquets.
The Voodoo Botanic was not that.
Alongside the traditional bouquets you could find anywhere; in this shop you could find herbs both fresh and dried, potted plants and succulents, traditional botanical diagrams made in shadow boxes with actual plants, terrariums, taxidermy and entomological displays.
The whole place was decorated with warm colors and rich dark woods, with a vintage aesthetic that more resembled an old-fashioned speakeasy than a flower shop.
But more than that, the owner, Alastor, really knew his stuff. He could tell you which plants were edible, which could be used to heal cuts and alleviate pain, or the ones that were so deadly you needed gloves just to handle them.
As the name of the shop implied, Alastor was well known to practice voodoo and study the occult and used various plants for that. He even had an altar set up in the greenhouse that was attached to the back of his shop. He could tell you the correspondence and meaning of every plant in the building, and what rituals they could be used for.
There was nobody who knew flowers like him.
“How do I make a flower bouquet to tell someone I hate them?”
And for her purpose today, he knew everything to know about the art of Victorian Flower Language.
Alastor had effectively given up trying to keep Emily (among others) out of the back of his shop. He had been working in the greenhouse where he grew a lot of the plants he sold, when she had barged in. He didn’t react right away, just finished repotting some herbs before wiping his hands on the green apron tied around his narrow waist while turning to face her.
“Hate is an awfully strong word for a sweet thing like you. Should I bother to ask how you’re doing today little dove?”
“Adam is on my shit list right now and I need to express that to him”
“Why am I not surprised your method of choice is an aggressive bouquet.”
She pouted up at him as he moved her bag to an unoccupied hook by the door, standing so close she could smell compost and dirt under his cologne.
“Tell me dear” he said turning back towards his worktable “why would I just do that for you? What's in it for me?”
“Well, you don’t like Adam, and delight in corrupting me.” She replied dragging a stool next to his workbench and sitting with her chin in her hands while staring up at him innocently.
That worked like a charm, and he laughed as he made room for her request and began to pull out the supplies. As he brought out each flower, he told her what it was and its meaning. Yellow carnations for distain, basil and orange lilies for hatred, oleander as a warning to beware, with coltsfoot to let him know justice will be done and finally rue so he knows to regret his actions against her.
Alastor, of course, couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself, pointing out that there was no way Adam would be smart enough to understand what any of it means. Maybe he (definitely) wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t matter, she would know what it means and that’s what she cared about at the moment, she’d figure out the rest later, or if she was even willing to talk to him again.
Right now, Emily got to enjoy watching Alastor work. His long dexterous fingers began to weave individual flowers and filler together into a work of art. As he worked, he would talk, his voice was smooth and carefully controlled. And while it was really pleasant to listen to, Emily knew that it wasn’t his real voice. His real accent, the one he worked so hard to hide, a Louisiana drawl, only really came out when he had been drinking (a lot) or during moments of intense emotion.
As they had gotten to know each other, closely, she had been witness to both.
Emily was the most resent resident of the block, arriving just over a year and a half ago. She had been greeted warmly by most of her neighbors. Charlie, in the little cafe next door, was particularly welcoming. When Alastor introduced himself, he did so with an elaborate flourish and was nothing but proper and polite, although he did make a quip about not expecting her to last long. During the next couple of months, the closest they had to an actual conversation was polite small talk while getting the mail.
and it stayed that way until Vox showed up.
A ruthless businessman who seemed to have a particular hate on for Alastor, one that was clearly shared. He was hell bent on destroying Alastor, and everyone in the general vicinity seemed to have gotten caught up in the process.
Vox had his eye on the street where their shops were located as prime real estate to build a new entertainment district. He spent the better part of a month trying to pressure her into selling him the land. This was the same thing he had done to the previous owner, who simply couldn’t take the constant harassment, which is why she was able to afford her place at all.
Vox had clearly expected her to be a pushover. And without the support she had received from some of the other locals, Including Charlie and her girlfriend, and Molly and her twin brother, she probably would have struggled more than she did.
Together they had stood up against him and his sleezy cohorts. Becoming a permanent thorn in Vox’s side and quickly became major targets of his hate campaign. Still, they held their ground. Charlie even managed to rally other local business against him.
And against his better judgment it seemed Alastor had been impressed with their tenacity and potential.
From there Emily and Alastor’s connection grew, slowly deepening into something, unexpected. And although they had gotten close, very close, he was very secretive about the time they spent together.
“Tell me my dove, what exactly did Adam do to warrant such an aggressive display of rage? You must tell me, and don’t leave out any details.”
Just like that, the humiliation of this morning came rushing back. Really, the last person she wanted to tell was Alastor, she had been embarrassed enough as it was, and Alastor could be obnoxious at times when he teased you. She tried to just shrug it off, but Alastor was having none of that. He crossed his arms and turned to fully face her, pointedly stopping his work on her flowers. He would not continue until he got what he wanted. Heaving an exasperated sigh, she tried her best to explain what happened without giving yet another person ammunition against her.
“Adam has no concept of privacy or personal property, unless it's his. Heaven help you if you touch his stuff. Anyway, he just started digging through my bag without asking, he dumped it on the table and all over the floor without any care. Claimed he was looking for gum.”
When she didn’t continue Alastor raised an eyebrow and hummed
“That's it?” He questioned
“No. He kinda… found a couple of… my books.” her voice got quieter until she was speaking just above a squeaky whisper.
It took a moment for the meaning to register, but when it did Alastor didn’t even try to hide his devilish grin.
“Oh, you mean spicy literature! My dear how naughty!” He leaned back clutching his chest in mock scandalization “That such a sweet, innocent soul, such as yourself would hide such salacious behavior!”
He was being so dramatic under any other circumstance she might have found humor in it. but this time she was just irritated.
“It’s not anyone else’s place to tell me what I can and cannot read! I’m not a child who can’t tell the difference between reality and fiction” she snapped
But he didn’t stop grinning and teasing her. So, she kept talking.
“It's not even that I had the books, it's that when he saw it, he was flipping through it and when he got to an… explicit scene… he called Lute over and started reading it out loud to her in a crowded bookshop. Loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, including my sister!” the words were coming to fast to stop now, “He stood there in the middle of the room reading at full volume, as if he has any other volume, holding the book out of my reach even as I begged him to stop! He kept bringing other people around us into it too! Asking Able and Peter if they had ever ‘heard something so absurd.’ He even asked Sera if she knew what sort of books I was reading and GAVE HER EXAMPLES!”
She was panting and shaking by the time she stopped, angry tears once again bubbling to the surface, and to her horror Alastor was still grinning. He wanted information and knew how to get it. She knew this about him. Worse, it had worked.
“Ha! Once an ass, always an ass.” Alastor told her chuckling “Come now Emi, that oaf is simply not worth your tears. Or your precious smile for that matter.”
He reached up to wipe the tears from her cheek and licked them from his finger.
“Besides, as I recall there are a lot of things you hide from your sister, how many tattoos does you sister think you have versus how many you actually have?”
She crossed her arms and even though her eyes were still watery she couldn’t help but to try and hide a smirk, which he of course wouldn’t let her do, angling her face up so he could see, telling her a smile suited her much more. And against her will, she started to feel better.
What did he know, even after everything that had… happened, he’d still never seen most of her tattoos.
Alastor on the other hand, Emily knew, had no tattoos of his own, he had, something else.
Weeks ago, he had shown up at her parlor 10 minutes to close, knocking on the back door just as she was cleaning up to leave. It was late at night and she almost didn’t answer, but couldn’t shake the curiosity he inspired.
Alastor was leaning on the door frame with his jacket pulled tight around him. His usual grin was tight and strained as he tried to casually ask her if she could give him a hand.
She got him onto her table, and he lifted up the back of his shirt to reveal a crudely stitched wound just out of his reach on his lower back. Several of the stitches had popped open causing the wound to ooze. All this, the result of a “mysterious injury” he still refused to elaborate on. While she was cleaning and bandaging him up, she had seen them peeking out from underneath his shirt.
It’s called scarification.
Not something she offered at her shop; she specialized in covering them up. His scars weren’t from burns or injury, they were self-inflicted, sigils he had carved into his own flesh.
Without thinking she had lifted up his shirt to get a better look. The ones she could see were mostly on his ribs, but according to him there were others over his pecs and on his legs. Fascinated, she had begun to run her fingers gently along the raised skin. When she got to the first one that she had seen right under his ribcage the stroke of her fingers had elicited a shuddered gasp that caught them both of guard.
She finished bandaging him in silence; both trying (and failing) to not bring attention to the jolt that passed through them.
When she was finished, he readjusted his shirt, thanked her with a gentle kiss to the hand, and left into the darkness of the night.
Later, as she lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, Emily tried desperately not to think about what his other sigils looked like, where they were, and what it would be like to have full access to them, she promised herself she would forget about it by the morning.
Of course she didn’t.
She couldn’t simply forget or purge the thoughts completely from her mind.
And apparently, neither could he.
They had to get through a couple days of awkwardness before they once again settled into comfortable companionship. (Which had happened after every moment they had) But he had clearly put some thought into what happened or he never would have brough up his request.
During a quiet moment in his greenhouse, he gave her a once over and a sly smile asking if she would be able to make some time for him, her last appointment of the day, if possible. He wanted a new design. The sigils he had done himself got the job done, but they were rough. He wanted something with cleaner lines and more detail than he could possibly achieve on his own. A magnolia blossom to remind him of his home in Louisiana.
She tried to tell him she had never done any form of scarification before. Tried to convince him it was a bad idea, and she wouldn’t want to risk messing it up. But he was undeterred. He assured her that there wasn’t anyone else he would possibly want to get one from. It was her or nothing.
So, the next Saturday, when everyone else was gone for the night, Alastor arrived at her parlor, coming in through the front doors for the first time. Standing out ominously against the bubbly, pastel shop.
He looked around with an amused smile, politely taking in the cheerful decor. Eyeing the gallery wall at the entrance filled floor to ceiling with photographs, paintings, handmade art and neon signs. Trinkets and figurines covered almost every flat surface, and she had to fight that shameful gut reaction to be embarrassed. She set out on her own away from Sera for that exact reason, no one would make her feel childish for the things that made her feel joy, not even her.
So, she pointed out one particular canvas, a painting she had done herself, that she was particularly proud of. He took his time to get a good look at her work and laughed playfully.
“Ah yes, I can really see your personality coming through, fluffy and saccharine.” he teased “it’s well done, I suppose, though I wouldn’t know much about technique”
He took his time to wander the rest of her shop, taking in her quirky decorations with an unreadable smile, while she set up her workstation the best she could. Still completely baffled at how he got her to agree to this, and why he would even want her to in the first place.
She had gone to the local medical supply store and picked up a scalpel and other potential supplies as if she had any idea what she was doing and wasn’t basing everything off a late night google search.
When she finally felt as ready as she could be, she brought him over to the tattoo bed, told him to remove his shirt and lay flat on the table.
Alastor had always been a very well-dressed man, never casual, always in colorful tailored suits with vests. This was actually the first time she had seen him without a jacket, having arrived in just a vest and suspenders. There was a good possibility he didn't even own a t-shirt.
He pulled down his suspenders in a motion that, for anyone else, would be comical, but for him it was the most casual thing in the world, and definitely didn't make her face get hot. Next his deep red vest with fine embroidered embellishments all the way down to the cream button down shirt.
For the first time, his bare chest was exposed to her. The sigils he did himself marked his warm skin with raised jagged scars. He wasn’t a particularly hairy man, and much thinner than expected, with dark curls that covered his strong arms, peppered his sternum and trailed down his front to the top of his trousers. Emily couldn’t help but appreciate his figure, any concern about the unusual body mod was pushed out of her mind by the excitement to her hands on him.
The magnolia blossom design she had drawn out for him was a flower in full bloom with leaves and a twisted stem. It came out larger than she had expected, but he was thrilled by the mockup. It was placed on his left, around his stomach over his navel curling just under his ribs and stopping right above his hip. He looked at it in the mirror, admiring the design and confirming the size and location, spinning suddenly to face her he grabbed her shoulders excited to get started before hopping up on the table and wrapping one of his arms around the back of his head letting the other hang loosely at his side.
He watched her work intently, eyes shining bright, making her stomach flip under his scrutiny. The minutes ticked by while carefully, bit by bit, she carved the design into his flesh.
As they got comfortable, she began to lean over him and relax, placing a gentle hand on his side to keep his skin in place.
She heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up into startled eyes, darting between her face and her unoccupied hand that had started to rub gentle circles into his hip, completely against her will. Unsure of what else to say she just asked him if he was ok, and he hummed a confirmation in response. Emily got back to work still softly rubbing circles into his skin, he never told her to stop, just leaned back and closed his eyes contently.
Occasionally she would hear a hum, and a sigh, that soon transformed into quiet gasps and stifled moans. His eyes were closed tight now, and he was gripping the side of the table till his knuckles turned white.
Unfortunately for him, they both noticed at the same time, there was no hiding his bodies response to the delicate hands on his sensitive flesh.
Emily had never seen him look so bashful before. Not even after those stolen kisses in private moments, he seemed to revel in her shock and every flustered blush when they almost got caught. But this was very different, he’d never had such a physical reaction before. Eventually he was able to make eye contact with her and gave her a wry smirk.
“Do you need me to stop?” She asked breathlessly
“No. God, no.” his voice sounded different, not so calculated, his accent was different too, she liked his real voice, hoping she could hear more of it. It wouldn’t be till later she learned his was from Louisiana, and that is what she was hearing.
He laughed, reaching for her face, making heat pool low in her tummy and encouraging her to continue, everything.
She began to really pay attention to read his reactions and discover the difference between what felt good and what felt good. The closer she got to his hip and the v of his waist the harder it was for him to stay still, to stay quiet.
She found that she liked how he reacted. She wanted to make him feel good, in his way. He seemed to appreciate differences in sensations, the pain from a swift cut then a gentle stroke, nails pressed into his hip, one after another, he would twitch in response to each and emit a happy hum.
Her hand almost slipped the first time she heard him swear.
“Fuck me” he groaned into the crook of his elbow.
The little gasp did not go unnoticed making him peek at her from under his arm playfully. He was flushed and so was she, caught up in this strange and wonderful moment.
Her free hand was exploring more of his chest and ribs now. The design was so close to being done, but she wasn’t ready for this to end. fingers trailing up to his pecs, nails dragging down to his hip. She was working on the last finishing touches. He was fighting against his body’s reflex to buck up into nothing. She considered going over several cuts to make them deeper just to make it last longer, but that runs the risk of cutting too deep and she had to concede that she was finished.
It had been hours and it still went by too fast. Moving to hide her disappointment, she grabbed the cleaning supplies and bandages to patch him up, turning to find he had moved so quietly to stand up he was now directly behind her. He tilted her chin up, holding her face in his hand so she couldn’t look away. Head tilted like a curious animal, his smile was bright and unwavering, intense eyes unblinking, his fingers traced her lips before he roughly grabbed her shoulder and dragged her against him, smearing blood on her clothes and skin.
At 5”11 she was not a short woman, in heels the two of them were almost the same height but wrapped in his arms he was overwhelming, she felt tiny and delicate, she felt like prey. It scared her a little, but more than that, it scared her that she wanted more.
Alastor’s kisses always ended up a little rough. His grip like a vice, firm and unyielding. He liked to lick and bite, leaving marks on the skin, and delighted when she bit him back.
Her nails dug into the skin beneath his shoulder blades. Causing him to grind his hardness into her. He was hot and throbbing against her own over heated skin.
Her little whimper when they came up for air seemed to trigger some sort of aggressive instinct in him, his eyes and smile somehow widened in delight, this close she could see his pupils were huge. He suddenly felt very dangerous, and she felt very bold.
Slowly her hands moved lower down to fiddle with the top button of his pants. his breath hitched as she popped it open. That was the only time he hesitated. But he did not stop her, granting her access. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was nervous.
Emily was no wilting virgin she’d had sex before, with handsome men and beautiful women, there was something about Alastor that made it different, more tense. He was such a strange man, a creepy mystery no one really understood. And here he was, half naked and bleeding in her tattoo parlor with his dick in her hands.
Thankfully he at least seemed comfortable enough to laugh when she told him he had a very handsome penis.
With every stroke he panted more and held on to her hips tighter, bucking into her hand. His eyes snapped tightly shut, his whole body went tense, back arched, mouth opened in a silent strangled cry, thick hot ropes of cum pulsed over her hand. He shuddered and slumped forward, resting his head on her shoulder and pressing his face to the crook of her neck, his heavy breath tickling her ear and baby hairs.
Far too soon, Alastor pulled her hands off him and leaned back to quickly tuck himself back into his trousers and then guided her to take several steps away from him while he stood straight up, smiling down at her cocking his head curiously. Grabbing one of her paper towels he wiped the evidence from her hands.
The only hint now that he had been affected at all was a slight wobble the first time he stepped away from the tattoo table. He stood in front of the mirror admiring her work wiping away the last of the blood that still stained his skin.
“It's beautiful.” he told her spinning to face her delightedly.
Emily beamed with the praise, and headrush that came from the mood whiplash. Never before had Alastor dropped his wall so significantly, been comfortable enough with her, or even seemed remotely flustered. He was still grinning, but it was softer, cheeky and a little sheepish. He gave her a tentative kiss on the forehead clearly unsure how to proceed now that something had pointedly changed between them, but not wanting to just leave.
After being bandaged up, and re-dressing, he headed out, promising that he would keep her updated with the healing progress, sneakily telling her that it might take more sessions to ensure it wouldn’t fade with a wink.
A thumb running across her lips followed by his words, dragged her from her pleasant memories and back into the warm light of the greenhouse.
“You’re looking a little flushed, mon petit.”
She hadn’t even realized she had zoned out, or for how long. He had finished her bouquet and cleaned up, in comfortable silence, and was now leaning on the work bench in front of her, his chin in one hand while his free hand brushed hair from her face. He was leaning down so that he was directly in front of her.
She gasped and looked at him with wide eyes, she could feel the lingering phantom sensations making her squirm and the heat on her neck and face, no doubt brought on by her inappropriate daydream, and there was no hiding it. He knew exactly where her mind had gone.
Emily’s eyes dipped quickly to his lips and back to his unblinking eyes in a motion he could not possibly have missed. He let her know it with a cheeky grin and raised eyebrow, all the while running the back of his fingers against the side of her face.
Her mind was fuzzy making her bold, and without thinking she leaned her face into his hand.
Oh, he liked that.
He stood up to his fill height, back straight and moved to stand right in front of her, looking down at her with a mischievous grin, making her look up at him through her lashes. His presence quickly became overwhelming, and she stood up to face him, stubbornly refusing to back down.
Toe to toe and unyielding, he was making it hard to focus.
He was way to very close now.
She had no idea when he wrapped his arm around her back, rubbing calloused fingertips against the bare skin under her shirt. Head cocked to the side watching her curiously, studying her reactions. He did that a lot she noted absently.
She brought her hand up under his vest, over his shirt, on his stomach, right where she knew his floral scars were hidden under layers of conservative clothing. Pressing herself closer while his grip on her tightened.
His kisses were light and cautious, starting slow before working up to a crescendo. One minute they had been standing next to his workbench in the middle of the room, the next he had hoisted her up and sat her on the long counter that lined the wall underneath the windows that opened up into the flower shop proper.
He stood between her legs while she wrapped her calves around him, her arms mirroring them wrapped around his neck. The already sun warmed room, was getting incredibly hot now, or maybe it was just her core temperature rising at an alarming rate.
His lips traveled from hers to her jaw, and down onto her neck, as he began to suck and nip bruises into the tender skin there, making her whimper and coo like a scared animal, encouraging his ministrations more. Her nails dug into the skin of his back making him rumble in pleasure.
Emily could feel herself throbbing with want, wet and squirming, trying to get closer to him. Unable to form a coherent sentence to verbalize what she wanted.
Twinkling bells from the shop's front door caused him to stop abruptly and pull away. The sudden cold of his absence shocked her back into reality.
Looking through the window she had been sat in front of, through leaves and flowers, an older man was browsing the arrangements on sale, oblivious to what was happening just feet away in the back.
cockblock.
Frustrated at the loss of contact she pouted angrily up at him, gripping the ledge of the counter. It did not have the desired effect.
“Now, now don’t give me that look sweetheart” he chuckled tugging at her bottom lip playfully “How about I make it up to you?”
“I’m listening”
“Are you free on Friday?” he asked “come by my place once you close up, I’ll make you dinner. I am an excellent cook if I do say so myself”
That was an intriguing offer, she had never been upstairs in his private apartment before. As far as she knew there were very few people who could say that they had. Playing coy did not last long.
“Fine, is there anything I should bring?”
“Just your beautiful smile” he told her as he handed her the bouquet she had requested, and almost forgot about, while heading to deal with the customer up front.
No matter how her day had started, there was nothing Adam, or anyone else, could say to her now that would banish the excited butterflies.