#((if you have a bad memory like me WRITE YOUR PASSWORDS DOWN))

[misiahasahardname]

🎵 one of these things is not like the others, one of these things doesn’t belong🎵

[harfanfare]

Hey! I really love your "how to win the heart of." Can you do one for Vil? If not that's totally fine I'm just curious.

How to win the heart of Vil Schoenheit?

Be a fan.

You like to think that the oldest memory you can recall is how you became Vil’s fan.

Until then, the recitals your school took you on were boring. Only in fifth grade, the teachers realise that, hm, maybe ancient plays might be a bit too much for those little brains, and in a spark of determination to change something, your class was taken to watch a staged version of a fairy tale, played by youngsters for youngsters.

The memory of Vil, the villain of the story, entering the scene is much more vivid. Even as a child, he was inarguably elegant and strikingly beautiful, it left you agape and your curious heart beating loudly in your chest.

“It’s better than having a completely fictional crush,” your classmate said after you confessed how much endeared you were by Vil and his acting. You listened as you typed a password to a newly-created Magicam account, solely for following him there. “There is a chance that you and him will be together.”

“A big chance?”

“Uh, like this?” She tries to show how big your chance is with her fingers. She wants to leave a gap between her fingers, but ultimately, they touch, and she puts her hands down. “I mean, we are almost the same age, so maybe you can go to the same high school as him? In a very long future…”

“I am not delusional…”

Nonetheless, the thought did make you hope.

After you reached the age of sixteen, the invitation came. For a whole year — since you saw Vil’s post on his new college choice — you’ve been pondering whether you’ve possessed enough magic talent to get into Night Raven College, the school of chosen. In good dreams, the Magic Mirror deemed your soul to be solely fit for Pomefiore. In nightmares, you were doomed to… well, any other dorm, if you were a student at NRC at all.

And maybe dreams really come true because the future you’ve anticipating has turned into a reality.

“Alright, is everyone from Pomefiore here?” Your heart stops when you hear that wonderful voice, this time not from your phone nor from 100 meters away from the speakers. You turn around, and there he is, Vil Schoenheit in all his glory stands and guides the students to the hall of mirrors. He looks like a portrait, and even if you saw his face thousands of times, the glint in his eyes redeems you speechless. “Congratulations, everyone. We will hold the welcoming introductions at our dorm. Follow me!”

Yes, Vil Schoenheit is your idol. And in the first seconds of meeting him, you were ready to follow him to the end of the world.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Get rejected. Have your heart broken.

“I apologize,” Vil says slowly, and you notice how his voice is a little monotonous. Just a bit, as if he had repeated these words countless times like the lines before a recital. “And while I wholeheartedly appreciate your feelings, [Name], I want to focus on my studies and career. It’s a bad time for me to think about dating. Nonetheless, thank you for being brave and sincere enough to tell me all of this.”

You nod. The pain in your chest gives you goosebumps. It makes your head spin so fast your legs feel unstable as if there is some shift in gravity. You bow with curtsy because every Pomefiore student should be able to do so elegantly even on a space station. “Thank you for listening to my confession.”

“Of course,” he says and looks down at the letter he got from you. It’s neat, somehow cute with how carefully his name is written on it. He holds it gently so as to not crinkle the delicate paper. “I will read the contents tonight.”

“Thank you. No need to write a response,” you force a little chuckle and excuse yourself. You will be overthinking how could you say something like that after you get over your stupid letter and even dumber confession.

Vil doesn’t say anything as you walk a little too fast to keep the step elegant. He sighs at this view and mindfully tucks your letter amid the pages of the book. Now’s the time for history class. He shouldn’t get distracted—

—and soon enough, you’re out of his mind.

That is until he reads your letter.

It's a beautifully crafted confession, put into elegant lettering and a pale pink envelope. It's sealed with red wax in the shape of a perfect heart; if you haven't used magic, it must've taken several evenings to get the precision you wanted.

You’re his fan. He knows it even if you hadn’t pointed it out; the well-tailored sentences betrayed your utter attention on him in the last several years. You’re his fan, but you don’t cheapen yourself. He is the idol you admire and love, but you don’t degrade yourself to a servant or a worshiper. And that is, unexpectedly, uncommon.

The letter is—also—a challenge to yourself. “If you were to reciprocate those feelings, I will prove myself worthy to stand by your side,” it reads.

He likes that letter. Once he finishes it, he skims over the text one last time and puts it between many other letters he has gotten. Between them, another envelope seems unremarkable, yet the words there…

Unforgotten.

He sighs. Maybe he will pay more attention to you from now on.

‏‏‎ ‎

3. Don’t remember all the etiquette rules.

“You wrote in your letter that I've inspired you to learn. Go on, then. Show me how motivated you are.”

So, now Vil bullies you over your letter.

He can’t be satisfied with your scarce etiquette knowledge—he wouldn’t be content if it was decent, as it would be a dishonour to Pomefiore—but amusement crinkles in his eyes at your utter confusion over the numerous forks, knives, spoons and glasses. They’ve been spread out in several rows and columns varying from the oyster forks to champagne flute.

You hesitate. Maybe you could point out which one is the butter knife or sugar spoon, but you never cared enough to discover which fickle knife is a fish knife. Should you be looking for the one with grooves or an extremely thin one? Would it hurt to use a normal knife to eat the salmon?

Oftentimes you’re thankful there is no awkward silence between you and Vil after your confession, but you can’t shake off the impression he’s been harder on you.

“On second thought, maybe I wasn't motivated enough to learn all the names of cutlery,” you say, not daring to try your luck in labelling each piece.

To your surprise, Vil smiles and uses a teasing tone that leaves you stunned and wide-eyed. “Is that so?”

You take a breath and huff, lowering your eyes. “Yes. The power of—,” unrequired, you bite your tongue on that bitter word, “—love ends here.”

Vil cracks another delighted smile. You start suspecting that someone drugged him with a smiling potion, as you should have received a severe scolding by now. You don’t have anything against the change, so the mention of Vil’s (relative) laid-backness goes unmentioned.

“I will have you seated next to me on tomorrow's dinner, so don't even think of slacking off,” he says, putting a hand on your lower back and gently pushing you towards the next table where the heavy textbooks look so very uninviting. “I won't have any student under my wing not know the basic etiquette. Especially if it’s my fan.”

‏‏‎ ‎

4. Have opinions and the courage to voice them.

Because standing for your own makes you flourish in your own colours and not blend into the monotony of the mainstream. Seek truth, good, and beauty and you will bestow the brilliance upon yourself.

‏‏‎

5. Try to have a healthy lifestyle.

You’ve never imagined Vil barging into your room with a tray of food. Why would he? But here you are, sitting in front of an aesthetically pleasing breakfast, mouth-watering pancakes with cream and a bit of honey, and the deep green shake in question that suits the colour palette but probably tastes awfully, like all good stuff packed with vitamins.

“You should never starve yourself if you want to live healthy.”

It’s hard to swallow anything as your dorm leader glares at you, but Vil refuses to leave you before he sees you eating the stuff he brought. You wondered if he prepared the breakfast himself. Probably not.

“No? I thought that keeping a diet is good.”

“If you are dieting you eat,” Vil hisses and sinks a little more into the couch. He brings a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as if he suddenly got struck with a headache. “Oh, heavens. What am I going to do with you?”

“Maybe—”

“Quiet,” it apparently was a rhetorical question. Maybe Vil would be mad at any answer from you as he considers you a fool. He waits until you take another bite of the pancake. “A dinner break will be in two hours, and I expect you to be there.”

“I think I will still be full by that time,” you admit, glancing at a pancake and a half. “These pancakes are savoury but so very filling.”

“Savor them as much as you like,” Vil says somewhat proudly. …Maybe he did make those pancakes? No. He wouldn’t bother this much. The satisfied note in his voice makes you ponder nonetheless. “But you have no excuse for yourself not to sit with us on the meals. Also—”

His gaze grows unexpectedly impish as his eye catches something.

“I will reeducate you on the topic of a healthy lifestyle,” he glances at the bowl of bland lettuce you prepared for yourself. He smiles, either in amusement or light pity. “It should have a little more… spice.”

‏‏‎ ‎

6. Take an interest in high culture.

“It feels like the hellish lessons of Heartslabyul…”

“The Queens’ 810 rules?” Vil’s smile is lopsided and his eyes render into a knowing look once they meet your gaze. “They are nothing compared to a number of customs in etiquette.”

You take a turn. The classes for today might have ended, but if hearing all that useful stuff meant you would walk with Vil back to Pomefiore, you could bear another few minutes of a lecture. You know that everything he tells you about, he already mastered. He wouldn’t teach you anything half-heartily.

“The etiquette of speaking, the dress code, the knowledge of dinner manners (well, you’ve mastered some part of it already, with the cutlery lessons), the control of body language, the indication of voice, the honorifics, the art of writing letters and emails… You don’t want me to list all of the things I expect from you?”

You would like to, because Vil’s voice is beautiful, but the student part of you takes over control and shakes your head. Just like Riddle, who has a reputation for demanding impossible care and inquiring rules, your dorm leader is not much better — maybe even worse, because while Heartslabyul has to oblige the absurd in chosen hours or circumstances, you are on your toes in every moment.

“So much to master in just four years in the NRC…”

“It’s a lot,” Vil says, and he’s the only person you would doubt if he speaks the truth in that matter. Especially if through your walk his strides seemed perfectly calculated and hand gestures finely planned. “But if you put a mind and heart into it, you will learn all of this in no time.”

You hum. It’s hard to think of having any more motivation than from where you were a zealous Vil fan.

You ask (ponder) and he delivers.

“Actually, I have an offer: if you’ll learn it all in ahead of time, I will teach you a dating etiquette.”

…

What?

“…Dating etiquette?!” You shriek so loudly, that several students turn their heads. You cover your mouth as if it would do something, and ignoring Vil’s delighted gaze, and lower your voice to a whisper. “There is such a thing?”

“Of course. Who should invite who on the first date and where, what gifts can you give and what can you accept, and how to behave with your loved one, like,” he pauses a little, and you almost know he bites the sides of his cheeks to contain himself from smiling, “How to kiss someone in particular situations.”

You want to die. How else should you react? How can he tease you so much when he rejects you? (Not like you were expecting much at the time, yet…)

“There is no kissing etiquette. You tease me…”

“Just a little,” Vil laughs, and you slowly relax. “But take my proposal seriously. If I can give you another motivation to engage in your studies, then I will by all means do so.”

‏‏‎ ‎

7. Get an access to his private Magicam account.

“Do you have Magicam? If you want to, you can add me.”

Vil asks the question. He should have chastised you for mindlessly scrolling through social media because you can probably put your mind and hands to better use. The casual tone surprises you, but the inquiry gets you defensive as if it questioned you being Vil’s fan.

“I’ve already been following you for years,” you declare and pull up your phone.

Before you get to his profile, Vil sighs.

“Not the promotional account,” he says. “Mine.”

You frown. Many times you’ve seen Vil posting the photos on the “promotional account” with his personal thoughts. Maybe because you've been blinded by the elegance and harmony of every post, the idea that he would operate the Magicam profile solely for business purposes has never occurred to you.

“You have another account?” You ask, flabbergasted.

Vil rolls his eyes at the surprise in your tone and sits next to you. Your phone beeps as you get a notification about a new user following you. In a heartbeat, you follow the account back. You almost gape at the pictures there; they are beautiful, elegant, and all in Vil’s manner, but he looks like… a common student. Not ethereally, not otherworldly, but still enchantingly.

“It’s a private profile, so I ask you for discretion. I would like to keep this one for my close friends and family,” Vil says, and you hastily nod, your heartbeat sounding like a drumbeat in your ears. Having access to his personal account felt… personal, ironically.

I would like to keep this one for my close friends — he said that, didn’t he? Does he consider you a close friend?

That’s more than you ever imagined.

And yet you dare to dream for more.

You pull your phone close to your chest. “I feel honoured.”

Vil smiles at the statement. “Of course. As you should.”

‏‏‎ ‎

8. Let yourself be pampered.

“Don’t move,” Vil asks for impossible because you want to bolt as he leans to you once again and only the glare he staggers you with as you push away the urge to close your eyes. You hope the foundation is thick enough to cover a blush that creeps on your face. “You will ruin my work.”

You give up and glance down, earning another heavy sigh from your superior.

“Maybe I should finish the eye makeup myself?” You offer. “I am unused to anyone doing my makeup, so it’s hard not to flinch.”

Your good intentions get ruined as the question aggravates Vil even more because he frowns at you. Staying put and keeping quiet about that whole ordeal would seem like a lovely idea, you question whether your heart could manage another hour in this setup.

“Don’t be absurd,” he says. “We need to handle your sensitivity to the touch or you will struggle in the future if you decide to be a model.”

“I am not—”

“Stop.”

“I—”

“Silence. Be quiet, potato,” he presses his finger to your lips to seal them shut. You feel something sticky, and as his finger traces your lips, you realize it’s the lip gloss, and it’s a very good-smelling one like a strawberry; you didn’t expect something so sweet-tasting to be in Vil’s liked products. “You are under my care now. It also brings me satisfaction to see my skills used on someone.”

“Vil—”

“Shut up,” it’s hard to get offended at him, as he uses such a gentle tone. He takes a good look at your lips and as he glances up at you, probably to see if the colours of the whole makeup are consistent, your mouth goes dry. “Before I tell you to do so, don’t speak. You will mess up with the lip gloss and it’s… difficult to apply one on you.”

What? It’s difficult to apply the lipgloss on you?

Alright**,** you nod, pondering if the lip makeup is really that difficult. Do you have an unusual shape of lips (it’s probably not that?), or is this balm so hard to spread? You sit still, as Vil moves closer to you.

Yeah, except for the touch you need a way to ignore the beating of your heart.

‏‏‎ ‎

9. Move on from your heartbreak.

“Would you like to go out with me today?”

A kind smile convinced you to agree, although you barely recognize the name of the boy standing in front of you. His voice was hopeful, and you were reminded of the time you bore the same expectant expression.

You had no heart to let it fall, not right now, not so quickly, so you paint a delighted smile over your face. “Thank you. I would love to.”

…

You should’ve done this a long time ago.

For the sake of your friendship with Vil, you decide to stop hoping that the man of your dreams might change his mind after getting to know you better. He found a friend in you, and you would hate to disappoint him with your longing for him.

So, you should distract yourself from him and fall in love with someone else.

Today’s date will be a perfect opportunity.

You dress quite stylishly, not enough to steal all the attention, but enough to impress your date. You put more effort into the makeup this evening and spend some time picking the most fitting jewellery. The perfume you picked is subtle but alluring and chic, an excellent concoction, but you could’ve expected nothing less from Vil’s recommendation.

…It feels kind of wrong to use everything he taught you to prepare for a date, but you would’ve used this knowledge one day either way, no? It’s not like he is your first… and last love.

“I heard a boy from Scarabia have confessed to you,” the familiar voice you love but don’t want to hear like now spooks you. Vil leans on your door frame, and you wonder how much he has stayed here.

“I just agreed on a date,” you say, standing up and adjusting the folds of your outfit. You look him in the eye. “How do I look?”

Vil snorts, and his lips stretch into a mean, devilish smile. “Are you expecting an approving comment from me?”

Asking the fashion icon to rate your outfit might’ve been a wrong move. You shake your head.

“Nevermind. He’ll have to deal with however I am if he doesn’t want me to be late,” after glancing the last time into the mirror and receiving a smile from your reflection, you pick up your phone. “Well then. I shall get going.”

Vil is still, as if he hasn’t been blocking the exit or as if he wanted to keep you here. You would have loved for him to stop you here. It’s hard to stop the disappointment from flooding over your composure when Vil moves away.

“Alright. Your look is satisfactory so that Scarabia boy better be grateful for being able to go out with you,” he says something ambiguous again, and you feel bad for your date who will have to deal with such a lovesick fool as you. “Enjoy your date.”

The pang of pain pierces your heart. You smile slowly and leave the room.

The heartbreak better goes away as soon as possible, or you’ll go crazy if the thought of dating anyone else hurts that much.

‏‏‎ ‎

10. Look kissable.

“You’re late.”

Maybe you are, but you haven’t been expecting Vil waiting for you. He sits on a sofa, a book is in his hand and the tea that was served in front of him looks cold. You can guess he’s been sitting here for a while.

“How did it go?”

“It went well, I think,” you say. The date went well. Yet, you couldn’t have enjoyed it. The throbbing pain in your heart strained each of your smiles, and it surged when the Scarabian student started to be flirty. You felt as if you were cheating. “He is a kind guy. He has some hobbies and is quite charismatic, so… He’s alright.”

Vil hums. “Will you settle on ‘alright’?”

You stare at him wide-eyed, but he doesn’t look bothered at all. He didn’t lift his gaze from his book, and his tone was nonchalant, so he almost seemed not interested. He was. He is because Vil never asks the question to whose answers he doesn’t want to hear.

“Pardon?”

He spares you a glance.

“I thought your resolution was stronger. What happened to the person who confessed to me and was so willing to determine their worth to me?”

“Are you jealous?”

“I am furious,” he lifts from the sofa, the book forgotten. The air around suddenly grows warmer, and the shiver you didn’t mind that much runs down your spine. Vil’s strides are slower than usual, creating an imposing image of himself before he stands just before you. “If you want to set the bar so low, go on. But let me give you a taste of ambition.”

He twists his head so his eyes meet directly yours. He doesn’t touch you — not yet — but you can feel a warm breath on your cheek, and the scent of his light perfume envelops you. You have the urge to move away and cling to him at the same time. They balance, and you stay still.

A taste…

Vil puts a hand on your cheek. The gesture is much softer and more benevolent than when he was putting makeup on you. His eyes lock with yours, your heart stops, and then they drop to your lips. He moves a thumb over them.

And he kisses you.

In your dreams, you had him kiss your hand, the top of your head. The corner of your mouth. In your boldest wishes, you wanted him to kiss you like that, so lovingly, with so much care. It makes you want to push away for more air, but it makes you worry Vil will disappear if you break the kiss, as all the dreams shatter upon the morning.

He moves away, not breathless, yet not unaffected either. His cheeks burn slowly into a red shade, and his eyes look somehow glassy. “I told you, I will give you just a taste.”

How disappointing.

Before you can say something, he pushes a letter between your fingers. Its envelope matches the one you gave him several months ago. “Read it. I want an answer by midnight.”

The big clock on the wall shows you have over three hours. So much time, and you already know the answer. “You will wait this long?”

“I am giving you a chance and hope,” he says with a subtle smile. The blush on his face makes him more beautiful than you’ve ever seen him. “It’s my duty of your idol to do so.”

[the-desilittle-bird]

Hi,

do you still take Gellert Grindelwald requests? If you do, could you please write a fanfic, where the reader is Newt‘s best friend (a bit younger than him) and is also relativly close with Dumbledore. She meets Grindelwald during his escape, with her being one of the aurors. (At the beginning of the 2nd film) At first she despises him, but slowly starts warming up. Newt and Dumbledore often try to save her (she also tried to escape in the beginning), but in the end (after FB 2) she chooses Grindelwald over them. Smut in the end?If you are comfortable with it.

Thank you for considering

AN - Yep! I still love that old and beautiful man and god knows how long I have not been on this platform. I forgot my password and what not so sorry for the dead silence. Hope you like this.

Enjoy your Read and Thank You!

Requests are Open!!!

Be By My Side

Gellert Grindelwald x Fem!Reader

Summary - What happens when Y/N finds herself on a crossroad and needs to decide between her best friend and the ultimate love of her life?

Warnings - You asked for smut, and you will get it (please pardon me if it's bad, its my first or second time) (Breeding Kink and Dirty Talk). Gellert Grindelwald (He requires his own warning).

Tag List - @lady-athanasia, @littlesatanicassholebitch, @eudximoniakr, @hyacinthus007, @shopping, @choccocake, @andlizeth, @lady-juliettes, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @killing-gremlin, @narcy, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad

GIF Credit goes to @grindeldore-is-real

Y/N FOUND HERSELF STARING AT THE BLUE FLAMES WITH WIDE EYES AND A RACING HEART. This was it, she thought to herself as she watched the loyal followers of the blonde man step through the circle of fire and disappear. Perhaps to Nurmengard, she assumed.

The past few weeks raced through her mind, memories turning her mind dizzy as she was overwhelmed by the burden of the choice that weighed her down; turning her body to stone.

Months ago, had she been told that she would need to choose between Newt, her best and probably the only friend who had ever stood by her side, and Gellert Grindelwald, the dark wizard she was supposed to catch. She would have chosen her best friend and had allowed her former professor's words to sink deep into her. But now, she felt her mind and heart conflicting.

Don't choose a man who is capable of destroying you, Dumbledore had said on the day she had graduated from Hogwarts and started her job as an Auror. Probably he knew that she had a liking for questionably type of men, or perhaps he could see future; Y/N doesn't know.

"Y/N/N." Newt's scream fell on deaf ears as the young girl remained locked in her own memories. Remembering the first argument she had with the Master of Elder Wand, having pointed her own wand to his face while he had not even flinched. Perhaps he knew that she would never harm him or kill him. She was not allowed to.

The young Auror could remember the day vividly when she had tried to escape her prison, caught only due to the cold winds and the snow. I do not wish to harm you, I never will, he had said, carefully placing his wand on the snow, disarming himself to comfort her. You are a liar, she had argued only to earn a smile and a deep chuckle.

If I had lied to you, then I can assure you that this moment would have never happened. He was right, she knew in her heart. Gellert Grindelwald was a master of words; had he truly ever wished to trap her, he would have already.

The gentle brush of his lips against her was still fresh in her mind. A deep hum from his throat, a moan from hers. One hand sliding down her sides to hold her against himself while the other pursued its way into her hair.

The electric tinge she had felt was unique, something she had never heard of. The same could have been said for her heart skipping a beat or the butterflies in her stomach, but was it really unheard of? No. Those were all indications to a revelation she wished not to see. But how long could she run away from the truth?

"Y/N," the rumble of Gellert's deep voice made her open her closed eyes, inhaling sharply as she felt every pair of eyes present watching her. But above all, the mismatched eyes of her lover watched her with a tilt of his head.

He took a step, and again, and again. He approached her, never letting go of her eyes as he walked up the stairs. His hand was outstretched, empty; waiting for hers patiently.

"Come join me, beloved," he whispered, making the girl gulp as her eyes trailed off to her best friend who watched her with desperation. 'Don't,' she saw him mouthing, but her mind could no longer register anything, frozen in a single place.

Gellert's lips brushed against the outer shell of her ear, eliciting a deep moan which made him chuckle. His hand cupped the side of her face while he whispered: "Be by my side. Be my Queen."

All the thoughts vanished from her mind, leaving behind only a single man in focus. One who had platinum locks and mismatched eyes which resembled so much like his own personality. The man who stood in front of her, waiting for her to say the word, to give him the consent.

"Yes."

Silk sheets covered her bare body from the preying eyes of her lover, whose fingers drew patterns on her back while she slept peacefully. The soft glow of the first sunlight entered the bedroom, filling it with a golden glow.

Y/N hummed to herself, snuggling deep into the arms of Gellert who smiled down at her; a smile reserved specially for her. His fingers deliberately moved south, running along her spine before they moved to touch her thighs.

His fingers were calloused, rough, against her skin. Creating the perfect sensation that had her moaning prettily into his shoulder. A light flush painted the skin of her neck and cheeks, touching the tips of her ear as she tried to hide herself in the crook of his neck.

"How pure," he whispered with a smirk, his fingers teasing her folds, gathering the moisture that had coated her lips. Another moan left her lips involuntarily as the pad of his thumb came in contact with her clit, rubbing a slow circle that had her withering.

"Yet so desperate," he growled, retrieving his hand as he flipped them. His eyes watched with amusement as the girl underneath him flustered pink at his words.

She leaned up, chasing his lips into a shy kiss that had Gellert groaning as his hips snapped against her. His hand moved eagerly, intertwining with her hair before tugging her back, baring her neck. The sight of purple bruises and bites had him grow harder as he nipped on the skin on her collarbone.

"Gellert," she moaned, hands shooting off to tug at his disheveled hair. "Please," she mewled, moving her hips desperately. With a smirk plastered on his angular face, the wizard taunted, "what do you want, rabbit?"

The cry that left her satisfied him enough as he slowly settled inside her, grunting at the feel of her insides squeezing him. A broken moan left Y/N as a single tear rolled down her cheek, her nails digging into his back as she forced herself to relax around his length.

Moments after, the entire room was filled with loud sound of moans and grunts and the peculiar sound of skin slapping against skin. Filthy words escaped Gellert's mouth as he praised her while pounding deep into her.

"Such an obedient little girl. A perfect slut. So tight, so pure, so innocent. The perfect little wife. Should I make you a mother? Would you like that? Carrying my child. I feel you clinging around me, seems that you like that idea."

The sunshine filled the entire room in a holy glow as Gellert and Y/N cummed on the same time. Breath labored, both of them slumped against each other, foreheads pressed together as they came down from their peaks.

"I love you," she whispered, the words almost lost between the heavy pants. But Gellert heard them anyway, and with a smile and a light heart, he whispered the words back.

"I love you too, beloved."

[galamalion]

┈ ✧.* 𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ summary﹕you experience a shameful hangover after you night out at the baratie, then go get breakfast with your new friends. how could anything bad happen at breakfast?

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing﹕one piece x fem!reader

┈ ✧.* chapters﹕[i] [ii] [iii] [iv]

╰┈➤ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ w/c﹕3.1k

┈ ✧.* chapter ii﹕drunken memories

Your first night at the university was a rough one.

Upon waking up in your bed—and thankfully not the street—you immediately felt sick. You threw your blankets off and looked around the room, standing up to see Vivi and Nami still lying in bed, the latter looking rather worse for wear, tossing and turning with her blankets.

You threw open the door to the bathroom and sprinted inside, leaping across to hunch over the toilet to puke your guts up. Your stomach was never the strongest, and unfortunately neither was your alcohol tolerance. Speaking of, how much did you drink? You only got a small glass of wine to fit in with the Italian vibe, and you hadn’t even drank half of it! But—oh, that’s right, Nami was there. 

A memory—or rather, memories— came flooding back in an instant, all of Nami ordering small little fruity drinks. She insisted you tried all of them, ‘just a sip!’ she said. Well, all those little sips clearly did a number on you.

“Damn you, Nami…” you grumbled, stumbling back to bed.

After exiting the bathroom, you picked up your phone from your desk, noticing it had been charging. Did someone do that for you as well? It would have struck you as kind if you hadn’t been hungover. All you could think about was your pounding headache and upset stomach.

Before inputting your password, you noticed you had a text from one ‘Mr. Prince,’ a name and number you hadn’t recognized. 

| Mr. Prince: Hello Sleeping Beauty!! &lt;;333 | Mr. Prince: I hope you slept alright, you got were pretty smashed after Baratie  | Mr. Prince: but not in a bad way!! in a super cute tipsy kind of way!!!! | Mr. Prince: Also it’s Sanji!! I put my number in your phone so you wouldn’t be confused or anything!! | Mr. Prince: Luffy saw and also put his, and then Usopp wanted to put his, and then Zoro decided to put his…… | Mr. Prince: Anyways, just text me when you wake up Sleeping Beauty, just want to know that you’re safe!! <333 ^3^

Were you really the drunk one in this situation? You were pretty sure you hadn’t even spoken to him, only remembering his flirty attitude and writing him off as a playboy. But if the name in your phone was anything to go by, he seemed more like a Prince Charming-esque character. 

| You: i’m ok | You: thanks :)

You hoped the smiley face would help you sound like less of a prick. It was hard to be friendly after years with no friends, and you were doing your best to adjust to the sudden change. 

Before returning to bed you chugged a glass of water for your nausea and headache, praying the pain would go away after your short nap. Nami and Vivi would probably be awake by then too, giving you an even better reason to take this nap. And maybe your dreams would be more pleasant than your current state of consciousness. Nausea doesn’t follow you into sleep, right? Right?

“‘m not drunk…” you mumbled, staggering out of the restaurant with your new friends in tow. 

“Come on, ____!” Luffy begged, trying to drag you down the sidewalk. “It’s time to go home!”

“No use arguing with a drunk, Luffy,” A voice chimed in, slowly getting closer to your location.

“This isn’t home~” you hiccuped, “‘is college!”

“Alright, let’s go…” the voice spoke, leaning down near you. “Arms around me, darling.”

You felt yourself being hoisted up, and despite your drunken flailing, your front fell firm against a solid back.

‘Smells good…’ you thought, laying your head on the warm structure before you.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” the voice whispered to you. “Just keep everything inside and we’ll have a wonderful conclusion to this wonderful night.”

“Yer’ warm…” you mumbled, snuggling your head into their neck. 

For a moment you were able to focus, seeing the bright lights of downtown flicker all around the streets, as well as the blonde head of hair directly in front of you. It looked soft, like that Chinese cotton candy stuff you’d heard about. What was the name again? Would his hair taste like it? No, better not to try now…wait for later, when he’s not looking.

He? Oh, that’s right, Sanji’s blond. Or did he have red hair? You were having a difficult time remembering. But you did know he was a flirt, and not a good one. It wasn’t gonna work on you, even if his hair smelled delicious…

Thousands of thoughts raced through your mind, and their constant thrum slowly lulled you into sleep, head still resting on Sanji’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah, that happened,” you mumbled drowsily, half asleep.

The conclusion of your dream-memory had roused you awake, your muscles slightly achy after only an hour of sleep. You really were that drunk, and not the ‘cute tipsy kind’ like Sanji said. But college was supposed to be a learning experience, and last night you learned the valuable lesson of watching your liquor.

You hoped Sanji didn’t take your drunken rambles the wrong way. But you didn’t voice all of your thoughts, just that he was warm! He didn’t know that you thought he smelt good. Unless your sniffing was really loud…

Oh God, what if you were sniffing him really loudly? At that point he probably just thought you were weird. But he called you a cute drunk, right? That meant something! But then again, you hardly knew him. And yet you had his number!

Your obsessive pondering was interrupted by another text, and from Sanji no less. Was he going to confront you? He seemed so pleasant in his last texts, what more does he have to say?

'Just stay calm, stay cool, and stay casual,’ you breathed, ‘if you pretend like you don’t know, maybe he’ll pretend like he doesn’t know!’

| Mr. Prince: HI | Mr. Prince: GOOD MORNING | Mr. Prince: WANT 2 GET BRAKFAST?

‘What the fuck?’ you thought, quickly typing a response.

| You: breakfast? | You: also why are you typing in caps lol | Mr. Prince: IT LUFFY STOL SANJI PHONE RUNNING

‘Well that explains it,’ you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

| You: didn’t you also put your number in my phone?

A moment passed without a text back, leaving you anxious for Luffy’s safety. Sanji wouldn’t hurt him too bad, would he? You soon got your answer through another text.

| Straw Hat: Hi this is my phone want to get brakfast? | You: lol brakfast? | Straw Hat: Ya you want? | Straw Hat: Zoro and Sanji and Usopp and Chopper too | You: chopper? | Straw Hat: New friend!!  | You: nice, can vivi and nami come? | Straw Hat: Ya!!!!!!!!!!!! | You: will be there soon! | Straw Hat: Attachment (1) Image

The picture in question was of Luffy holding a much smaller, cheerful boy who looked to be about 13, but if Luffy just met him, he had to be a college student. Unless Luffy kidnapped a local child, which you wouldn’t put past him. Luffy looked worse for wear despite his classic grin, having a large bump on his head and a very angry Sanji behind him, mid scream.

You giggled at the image and got out of bed, preparing to wake Nami and Vivi up. But after standing up, you noticed that both of them were gone. Did they leave without you? How long were you asleep for? It was just a small nap, you woke up in the middle of the night, after all. They probably thought you were weird after that night out, saw you still asleep and snuck out without alerting you—

“Good morning, ____!” Vivi’s voice called out as the door swung open.

You jumped backwards at the sudden intrusion, subsequently tripping over your feet and falling flat on your butt.

“Oh my gosh,” Vivi rushed over to you, “I’m so sorry, I thought you’d still be in bed! If I had known I would have—”

“What’s done is done, Vi,” Nami stepped into the room, “one apology is more than enough…”

You glanced up at Nami, noticing her familiarly sour expression.

“Hungover?” you asked.

“Hungover,” she sighed, fumbling over to her closet to change.

“I made some tea for Nami to help her,” Vivi offered, picking up the small pot of hot tea. “If you would like a cup, I can pour you a cup!”

“Thanks, Vivi…” you smiled, accepting the fresh cup from her. It tasted sweet, with just a slight tingle of mint within the brew. Even if it didn’t cure your headache, at least it tasted good.

“Hey,” you stood up from your spot on the floor. “Luffy texted me and asked if we wanted to get breakfast with the guys again. Are you guys cool with that?”

Nami immediately sprung up as if she wasn’t hungover two seconds ago. 

“Sure! Anything to get to his brother!”

“How about you, Vivi?” you asked.

“I would love to,” she replied gracefully.

With that matter settled, the three of you prepared for the day and left together towards the dining hall.

The three of you entered the dining hall, grabbing breakfast and reconvening at one of the numerous tables. You didn’t see Luffy and company when you walked in, and you didn’t see them after sitting down either. Maybe they were at one of the outer tables?

| You: u here luf? Delivered 9:34 | You: earth to luffy? Delivered 9:39

Memories of Luffy’s carefree nature danced in your head, and with that in mind you decided to text a different member of the party. One with more sense. The question, however, was who?

Despite your pleasant conversation with Zoro, you felt like he might leave you on read, and not because of his stoic attitude, no. He gave you an archaic vibe, like your grandparents asking you for help sending a text. So he was off the list.

Usopp was your best bet, but after careful consideration you decided against it. You hadn’t had a conversation with him, and despite his seemingly more mature attitude—at least compared to Luffy—he gave you a cowardly vibe. 

And that left Sanji. The most sensible? Maybe, maybe not. But, you were nervous to text him. The texts he sent you made you feel tiny butterflies in your stomach. It wasn’t his flirting that caused that tickling, it was the care he put into contacting you. He didn’t have to text you, but he chose to.

You felt stupid, like the kind of childish stupid where you have a crush on the kid who lets you borrow their pencil. But you were older, more mature. You knew not to read into every little message and movement of a person. So you could text Sanji, easy peasy!

| You: hey sanji, u guys at the dining hall? Read 9:39 | Mr. Prince: I’m sosososo sorry my Princess!!! | Mr. Prince: We let moss head lead us to the dining hall and we got lost ;o; | Mr. Prince: Lesson learned!! heading over asap!!! ^3^

“Alright, looks like they’re on their way,” you sighed, looking up to your friends.

“Are you kidding me? They’re the ones who wanted to meet!” Nami grumbled, “what gives?”

“According to Sanji, they let Zoro lead them here, but then they got lost.”

“What the hell? Their dorms are, like, fifty feet away?  How the hell do you get lost?” Nami scowled.

“I believe that’s a question for Zoro,” you replied, taking a bite of your toast.

Ten minutes later and your rag-tag crew of misfits barrelled into the dining hall, almost knocking over a dozen students on their way in.

“____!” Luffy called out, heading spinning around as he searched for the three of you.

“Over here,” you yelled, raising your hand up.

You should have realized the consequences of your actions sooner, as Luffy hurled himself at the three of you at full force. There weren’t many options to ensure safety, besides cover your heads or duck under the table, which you and Vivi immediately did. 

Nami, on the other hand, stood up and pulled her fist back. Luffy was going too fast to avoid her punch, and knowing how powerful Nami could get when she was angry, there was no way he’d be able to tank it without injury.

It passed by in slow motion, you and Vivi peeking up to see the collision, Usopp yelling in fear, Zoro and Sanji running to try and stop their friend, and the remaining student population watching in horror.

And just like that, it was over. Luffy laid on the ground, utterly defeated by Nami’s strength. A small bump arose on his head, slowly growing in height.

“Jeez, Nami,” you coughed, “nice…shot?”

“Thanks!” she giggled, flexing her surprisingly muscular arm. “I like to keep people on their toes. If you two ever need a strong-arm, just call me, ‘kay?”

“A-alright,” you stuttered.

Why did you stutter? You weren’t scared of Nami, were you? No, this wasn’t fear, it was more like awe. But not the kind you feel when you see someone do a card trick. More like when—oh, dear. The butterflies were back, fluttering around in your stomach, bouncing off the walls of your intestines, scattering through your body and hitting all of your nerves—

“Luffy!” Usopp and a boy—Chopper, if you remembered correctly— screamed, rushing over to cradle the body of their companion.

“You killed him!” Usopp declared, pointing an accusatory finger at Nami.

“Actually, he’s alive,” Chopper chimed in, “he’s just sleeping.”

“He’s what?” Nami and Usopp deadpanned.

Luffy shot up like a zombie rising from the grave, earning a shriek from Usopp. He stretched his arms above his head, letting out a long yawn.

“Oh boy, what happened?” Luffy asked, looked around at the crowd of spectators before he landed on you. “Hey, ____!”

You gave him a small wave, trying to keep your horrified expression hidden behind an apprehensive smile. Before you could get a word out, however, Luffy was quickly sent back into the ground by a punch from Sanji and Zoro.

“You idiot,” Zoro growled, “way to cause a commotion.”

“You scared my lovely ladies!” Sanji hissed, turning to flash a reassuring smile at you three. “I hope you’re alright, my Princess!”

“I just wanted to say hi to ____…” Luffy croaked, eyes falling shut.

“Oh my God, he’s dead!” Usopp wailed.

“Nope,” Chopper reassured, checking Luffy’s pulse. “He’s just asleep again.”

“Again!?” Zoro and Sanji yelled, staring shocked at their sleeping friend.

Vivi slowly uncovered her head, looking at Luffy, “Maybe we should stop hitting him…?” she offered.

The two men huffed, stuffing their hands in their pockets.

“Perfect,” she sighed, doing her best to smile. She turned towards Chopper, who was doing his best to tend to Luffy’s injuries. “And what is your name?”

Chopper looked up, startled before stuttering, “C-Chopper, miss! I’m a medical student who is staying on the same floor as Luffy!”

“A medical student?” Nami asked, “but you’re…”

“I know, I know,” Chopper sheepishly grinned, “I was able to skip a couple grades when I was younger, so…”

“Wow, you must be smart,” you blurted, peeking from under the table.

“N-not really!” Chopper reassured, “I just know a lot of medical stuff! I had a teacher when I was younger…”

“Meat…” Luffy muttered, drooling in his sleep.

Zoro sighed, “Well, you heard the man, let’s get some grub.”

“He didn’t mean you, idiot,” Sanji argued.

“The hell?” Zoro barked, turning to face Sanji.

“Now now,” Usopp interjected, separating the two men and walking off with them, “I think there was wisdom in Luffy’s words…”

The three of you—not including a sleeping Luffy and attending Chopper—sat back down, saying nothing for a minute as you all processed the events that occurred.

“Well,” Vivi finally said, breaking the silence, “I’m grateful that our friends are quite energetic! Back in Alabasta, I would have been escorted to a bunker if this happened!”

“I’m glad you got something out of it, girl,” Nami groaned, eating a tangerine slice.

“I kinda get Vivi,” you replied, finishing off your slice of toast. “It’s an exciting change of pace compared to my life before.”

“Alright, I get it,” Nami mumbled, “maybe you two have a point…”

Suddenly, Luffy arose from his slumber, awaking with a cry.

“Meat!” he howled, rushing to the lunch line.

The four of you watched helplessly as Luffy ran over the entire line of students, piling his plate full of meat, so much so that there wasn’t room for anything else, much less more meat.

“Do you think every meal will be like this…?” Chopper whispered, horrified by the display of gluttony before him.

You stared at your table, seeing Vivi’s intrigue and Nami’s curiosity. Then you turned to watch Zoro and Sanji argue, a moment away from turning into a full on fist fight. Finally you looked at Luffy again, seeing the joy in his eyes as he not-so-carefully maneuvered his giant pile of food.

“I can’t say for sure,” you sighed, a smile gracing your face, “but I’m hoping they’ll be similar to this.”

“Look!” Luffy shouted, slamming his plate onto the table. “They let me have all of this! Isn’t this place great?”

“I doubt they let you, Luffy,” Sanji said, approaching the table with Zoro. “More like they were powerless to stop you.”

“Shishishi!” Luffy chuckled before diving into his mountain of meat.

Before long the dining hall’s aura returned to normal as students resumed eating, only glancing at your table occasionally.

‘Probably to make sure they’re at a safe distance,’ you thought, finishing your food.

But after a while the chatter once again died down, only a whisper being passed along tables as an odd air filled the hall.

“Well,” Nami huffed, “you five took so long that we’re all done with our food, so you better hurry!”

“Go get more, then,” Zoro retorted, earning him a bump on the head.

“That’s a good idea!” Luffy cheered, “let’s all go get more food after—”

A small black blur zipped across the dining hall, barely scraping by the top of Luffy’s head and bisecting his plate of meat. You all turned towards the source, shocked at the blatant murder attempt, with hundreds of witnesses no less. But Luffy was furious, standing up and turning towards the culprit.

“What’s the big idea!” he yelled, clenching his fists.

“Oh, come on now, Luf! That’s no way to greet somebody!” a voice called out, stepping through the crowd of students, wearing the most ostentatious outfit you’d seen during your time here and carrying a hockey stick, clearly his weapon of choice.

You watched as Luffy’s fists unclenched and his expression changed to one of brief confusion, quickly morphing to one of insurmountable joy.

“Ace!” he cried out, sprinting away from the table.

“Ace?” Chopper questioned.

“The hockey player?” Sanji gaped.

 “The brother?” Vivi asked.

Ace grinned, tucking the hockey stick behind his shoulders.

“The one and only!”

tag list: @sylum , @dimplewonie

[samptlay]

To My Sweetheart Who Carries A Wounded Heart Ch. 8

A/N: February 29... It's been more than two weeks, my apologies... But enjoy, btw I'm uploading 9 & 10 today.

~

Series Masterlist, Chapter 1 🤍, Chapter 2 🖤, Chapter 3 🤍, Chapter 4🖤, Chapter 5🤍, Chapter 6🖤, Chapter 7🤍, Blade & Reader's Relationship,

Taking a deep breath in and out, you make a beeline out of the guest bedroom and make your way towards the kitchen. At this point, you've lost your appetite and don't feel like eating.

You're not eating for two any longer either way, so the only person you're harming is yourself. Who cares?

Deciding that coffee is enough to satisfy your needs, you open your phone to find no new notifications, (from other human beings, not some Pinterest board of house decor) which makes you both relieved and irritated. At this time of the day, March and Stelle would be bantering or debating on some random political topic in your group chat (including Himeko, Welt & Dan Heng) that you would jump in on for fun. It was oddly quiet today, and you were glad that they were taking into account the loss of life, yet conflicted about the change.

It wasn't routine. It was change, something you suddenly weren't accustomed to yesterday night. You physically shiver at the thought of everything that’s happened. You felt the same way when you woke up alone today, but you’ll get over it. Speaking of alone, you still have no idea where your husband is. You trust him, but did he have to leave without any notice? You gave him a call, but after two rings it went to voicemail, Opening Messages, you click on “Dearest💙” and write a text.

(Y/N) ❤ Honey, where are you? I went to the guest room and found the bed empty, I was hoping we could make breakfast together this morning. Call me when you can. I’m sure there’s a lot of things on our minds but we’ll be okay.

Well, it was delivered, so you know it went through. But after sitting in silence for a few minutes, which turned into ten, you wondered if it did. It wasn’t like him to take long to respond to you, especially since he’s been all over his phone for the past 6 weeks. Protective as well, he even changed the password on it without telling you. You’d leave the memories of confrontations in the past since thinking about them is what caused all this to happen. But you’ll inevitably think of them again.

The silence takes you back to a conversation with Himeko around two weeks ago when she invited you over for afternoon tea (or coffee). It was a rainy day and the breeze was chilly, so what better thing to do but have a friend over to talk to while enjoying the beautiful scenery outside? She could tell there was lots on your mind, so she decided you needed a small break from your husband and his shenanigans.

During this relaxing afternoon, it suddenly turned sour whenever she mentioned that you had seemed more on edge lately. It was likely because he was at home more frequently, caused by a catastrophic event at his workplace he refuses to tell you about. According to him, HR was sticking their noses into something that shouldn’t have concerned them, and since he worked with computers he was sent home with his stuff to work from there.

You didn’t want to seem pushy or disrespect his boundaries since the matter seemed personal to him, so you didn’t pry further. Himeko was intrigued by this and looked a bit taken aback, since you were his wife, exactly what boundaries were there that would be crossed by asking a simple question? She found this suspicious, which rubbed you the wrong way and caused you to become defensive. He was your husband, you trusted him more than anything and she was his friend as well, so why would anything be said by her that painted him in a bad way?

Irritated, you stormed out of her penthouse and made your way down with Himeko calling out to you. She had meant no harm and was only trying to look out for you, but you were too caught up in your own head to see that. However, later that evening you gave her a call pleading for forgiveness & blaming it on the pregnancy. She knew you wouldn’t usually react that way if she had advised you of something similar, so she wasn’t upset with you at all. She even apologized for doubting Levi. You two quickly made amends and all was forgotten, but the conversation still replayed in the back of your mind occasionally.

You were sad to admit you felt rather lonely and were left alone with your thoughts. Looking out the window, and bringing your mug to your mouth your mind trails off into a place you don’t want it to be. You’re in desperate need of a distraction, and you want to distract yourself with someone else. You could be entertained together, shut away from the rest of the world.

Picking up your phone again, you scroll through your favorite contacts until you come across the one name that always made you smile.

‘Ren🥀🖤’

What better way to get away from it all than to spend your time with the person associated with the one thing you knew would never change?

His stance by your side.

~

Taglist: @uhfhfhfhf @xdrin @msun1c0rn @lovingnahida @strrawb3rrysh0rtcak3 @ssecylia @skyl8ver @immahuman @meowmeowraven @01234 @markexplanation @esthelily @dawnofazrael

Borders by @cafekitsune

[casketscratch]

I am trying to write it all out and just purge what happened, or line up the pieces I know.

I can only ever do this when I use the pronoun "you," like--

Your parents get divorced. You still see your Dad every weekend. He takes you to see your grandfather every Sunday so your mom can focus on her coursework.

It's never "me," it's never even a specific alter name, it's just this "referring to myself in second person because it offers a certain distance." But I've always done this, journals going back as far as I can find are just 'you' all the way down, and sometimes in a really meta, self-aware way? There's an entry on the dreamwidth somewhere where it's like a narrator self-reflexively checking himself about how there's no real "you" there and he doesn't know who he's talking to.

Which, on the one hand, no wonder I gravitated toward being an English major, lol.

On the other hand... I doubt this is just me because "does anyone else do x" questions inevitably end in "yes!" from someone, right?

Totally cutting this because I am getting super navel gazy and English majory about my own writing at the same time.

I'm really interested in how much dissociative distance this enables while still being "intimate" in an omniscient narrator sense? Like "I" can still write about it by treating it like a second hand story or something. It's also definitely a sort of Watcher/Narrator part whose role it seems to be, he calls himself the Chronicler, so there's a lot of "an alter talking about another alter who he doesn't feel is part of his person" and whatever. But before I knew about any of that, this is just. How I'd journal without thinking much about it.

(I am also kind of high and working through this like a bad first draft here now, sorry, lol)

We never really experienced 3rd person POV dissociation like a lot of the literature talks about either and I kind of wonder if that made writing in third person feel more alien than second. Or something. (Or it's bits and pieces of all of this and a lot of factors at play, which, yeah.)

Bonus points: I hated psychoanalyzing literature in university because I'd have to start thinking about this stuff, but that period was also when the "you" logs really started. It was Chron and Stephan and Crue, or Chron reflecting back Stephan and Crue to themselves as "you," or whatever. Lot of "you" entries that read like short stories, like Chron was... watching our life like a TV show, but instead it was writing it like a book, I suppose?

And lest we forget, all of those entries from that period were "coded." We recovered our memories last year by realizing that if we followed the trail of references and allusions to our own, other journals over the years, we could trace a path to Crue in the inner world (or whatever, I guess more like discover our own system's architecture and find communication lines). That's how we reconnected with him.

He joked once that he introjected House of Leaves, because the logs/journals/thing really is this massive sprawling hypertext of memory and forgotten blogs and logins and passwords, Borges labyrinth kind of thing, and we've still only worked through about half of it. It was enough to break through our host's denial, anyway.

Maybe this urge to rewrite everything with what we know now is connected to that too. Like it's updating what's basically our own system's domesday book and fleshing out what Chron's learned since? Just. All in second person, all the time.

(The House of Leaves thing is like 50% a joke and 50% not, because I am also getting pinged with memories of studying it in a postmodern fic course when Crue was doing the academic work and maybe he's really not kidding, maybe our brain really did go "oh that'll be USEFUL" and here we are.)

[apieceofsonja]

Tuesday, August 15.

Hi, D.

If this post is here, it means that you have successfully killed yourself. Because I just don't know where to write to you. I bet you don't even have Wi-Fi down there, or up there? geez, I have zero knowledge of anything that happened after death. Wish you could tell me, though.

Your last scheduled text to me was a lists of sad apologies, I mean, come on, you could've done better than that. An explanation would works better. What was your last straw? how could you find such horrible suicide method? why there? what happened with you and that asshole? anything? your death left me with endless questions I won't find the answer to. That's unfair.

Anyway, about those apologies...I kinda want to offer you the same exact thing. Can you forgive me for being such a bad friend? I can't even remember your birth date even though you usually let me access your Twitter for stalking my stupid ex. Your birthday was the password, and my mind has been erasing your memories. Holding on to you feels like chasing an actual ghost.

For your amusement, I want to share some trivial details about my life: I gained some weight. Most of my old clothes won't fit me anymore...But honestly, I can not look any better than this. I am happily fat. Can you even picture that?

I am still struggling with a lot of things, especially when it comes to my relationship with God. But it's far too personal to share, even to you. Just know that I am working on it, as best as I could. Might even send you some prayers, idk, just wait.

Also, things didn't work out with that person. And trust me on this: it was for the best. I ran out of excuses to make him a slightly decent person that what he actually is. There's no remedy for the things he did. He deserves no forgiveness.

But hey,

I married a nice guy, nicer than anything I've ever imagined. I did what we always talk about; settling down before 25. I just wish you could see my husband. Maybe threaten him a little just to make it fun? some "I'll kill you if you ever hurt my best friend" kind of thing? Jokes aside, I want to say that I love you, and I know he would've loved you too. I'm in good hands.

I am also 11 weeks and 5 days pregnant. A soon to be mom. You missed out on a lot of things.

I'm sorry for not forcing you to stay, I kinda wish I did.

Sleep well, aunty D.

I love you, and I miss you everyday.

[bewitchedbat]

parents: DON’T EVER GIVE OUT UR PERSONAL INFORMATION OUT ONLINE! YOU DON’T KNOW WHO YOUR TALKING TO!

almost every single company or app: pls give us your full name, phone, number, email, address, SSN, your will, where you were born, and your next of kin :) to validate if you are a real human being and for security purposes :)

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

Rewatching S3 and it gave me an idea, Tay do you think you can write something about a reader who just found out that they can see their rank on their hand? But… Y/n:“How come mine doesn’t appear?” R: “Let’s see…” *grabs hand Y/n: *😳 R: “Say the password again.” Y/n: “Show me my rank…🫣” R: “Ah! There you go! :D” *hand still in his as it carves out the word “mizunoto”

a/n: E my beloved :D ask and you shall receive my dear ^^ i dont actually know if the hashira have a ranking on their hand like the other ranks- and i dont know if its in the manga or not bc i haven't read it yet- but for this particular scenarios they do LOL (this isn't proofread im soRRY)

-x-x-x-

you found out about the ranking marks much in the same way the kamaboko gang did

you were still lower ranked and found it frustrating and at the time rengoku was with you (whether you're traveling with him, training with him temporarily, his tsuguko, what have you)

after hearing your small argument of annoyance at what you think is your lack of experience he quickly encourages you

"you are close to being promoted very soon! your ranking will start increasing the more youre in the field of battle!"

easy for him to say- he's a hashira when you currently sat at the bottom of the barrel

"are you so ashamed of your ranking?" he tries to pry more out of you before trying to slap a bandaid of words over your emotions to try and lift your spirits

"it's bad enough i haven't gone any higher, but i don't even have a way to see if i do get promoted anyways."

"that is incorrect!" he was quick to correct you since Wisteria Flower Engraving was placed on every member of the corps. "i shall show you, watch my hand"

he makes sure to pull his sleeve up past his wrist to ensure his entire hand is visible before he closes his fist and you can see the muscles in his wrist and what little of his forearm is showing grow tense

"show me my rank" he would actually say it quieter than usual, lowering his almost permanently loud octave down just a notch, but enough to be noticeable

you watched in awe as a red ink started to fade onto the back of his hand in splotches before the rank of 'HASHIRA' was painted boldly on his hand

"you see! this is called Wisteria Flower Engraving. if your memory serves you well, you should remember your arm being tinkered with after the Final Selection! by simply reciting the password and flexing your muscles your rank becomes visible!"

and so you try, but for some reason it doesn't work?? and that just makes you more frustrated- much to rengoku's entertainment

he didn't like when you were frustrated, but it was interesting to watch you get huffy over something so small

"try again!" he urges you and you do, but still the result was nothing

"how come my rank isn't appearing like yours did, am I rankless or something?" you huff

"certainly not," he reaches out and takes your hand in one of his, curling your fists as his palm ingulfs your curled fingers. his other hand went to lightly push his fingers around your wrist

"you are not flexing your hand enough. come, try again once more. say the password."

you almost hesitated, not sure if you could take another fruitless effort to see the rank you so much detested at the moment

still, the way his eyes focused on the back of your hand before they lifted to your own gaze to silently encourage you, you decided one more go wouldn't be so bad

"show me my rank" you almost murmur it, ready to rip your hand out of his grasp if that red ink you had seen on his hand did not appear on yours this time

"now flex, quickly and as tightly as possible," he quickly tells you as soon as the password leaves your lips

following his instructions, you squeeze

you feel his fingers pushing against your muscles as your wrist hardens and his hand around your fist tightens as if you help you

then those red splotches fade onto your hand before a bold 'Mizunoto' rank is painted on your skin

"ah! there you go! that is how it is done!" rengoku congratulates you as he continues to hold your hand in his as you stare at your rank

his hand that squeezed around your wrist moved so it not hovered over your ranking, pushing his index finger into the center of it

"all you have to do is remember to put enough strength into your muscles and your rank will appear once you say the correct words."

"i feel a bit silly," you admit as you try to slip your hand out of his as your rank starts to fade when you let your muscles relax again, but he keeps a firm grasp on you not allowing you to pull away

"nonsense! not everyone knows of the engraving, so it is not something to feel silly over at all!"

although the engraving had slipped your mind altogether, it wasn't exactly what was making you feel the way you did

more so it was the minor tantrum you were throwing bc of your position- the process to show that blasted rank only making you feel more childish

"you have only just recently passed Final Selection and began your job as a demon slayer corps member. you must keep that in mind- one does not just kill one or demons and get promoted. it is a tough process and you should not let it weigh on you!"

his words made sense and in the same silly sense that made you feel weak, his justifications made you feel silly since they began to cheer you up

you nod to him, understanding

"i'll just need to keep working hard, huh?" you lightly joke at him as he finally drops your hand and he laughs at your resolve

"that's correct! although, remember to be mindful not too push yourself too hard! it is dangerous to fight demons while fatigued."

"i'll do my best"

he smiles at you warmly before he nods at your words

"you always do."

[iwishicanbeagoodpianist]

the Wifilcon and the Winter Router

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC/Reader Summary: When Bucky learns that his neighbor has been stealing his wifi for months. Warnings: None A/N: I'm not a fanfic writer at all, this, like all my stories, are adaptations to fanfics. My original stories are not written in english, so this is also a translation. please do not repost my work

For an instant, Bucky thought that the knocking he was hearing was coming directly from his head, I mean, it wouldn't be the first time his mind played tricks on him, but he realized that the sound was actually coming, unluckily for him, from his apartment door. Oh no no no no no no no, I just got back from putting up with Sam for almost 6 full weeks, I don't need interaction with more people for now.

Bucky thought for a minute to ignore the sound, to wait for the person to give up and leave, anyway he didn't spend many days on this apartment, almost no one had seen him leave or enter the building and he had no contact with the neighbors, only with the lady on the 7th floor who once lost one of her cats, which ended up in Bucky's apartment, accidentally. Not that I found the cat in the alley and actually brought him to my apartment, it doesn't mean that I stole the cat, he was in the street by himself, I rescued him.

When the banging on the door stopped and Bucky thought he could breathe calmly again, a voice between altered and annoyed was heard all the way to the living room where he was sitting trying to overcome his third panic attack and fourth existential crisis of the day .

-"I know you're in there! I saw you coming in a few hours ago! I've been waiting for days for you to come back!"-

More out of instinct than anything else, Bucky pulled out the knife hidden in his right boot as he slowly backed away from the door. Do I really have a spy as a neighbor? Should I call Sam? Is he in danger too? Never mind now, you need an escape route Bucky, concentrate, third floor, window to the alley, 2 minutes max, the bike is parked far away, I'll have to run, but to where, rendezvous point, safe place, think....

- "for God's sake, open the door, I need you to pay for your fucking internet plan, I'm in the last season of my series and I need to know if Carolina died or not!"-

- "The internet?"- Between the andrenaline from escaping and the shock of not understanding what was happening Bucky spoke louder than an assassin, with over 60 years of experience, should have spoken. Oh, shoot.

-"Yes! Your wifi, I need it to finish watching my series"-

Whispering "wifi" to himself, Bucky tries to remember where he has heard that word before, this is what I get for never listening to Sam when he talks to me. But before he can continue his mental analysis of all the conversations with Sam about such stupid things as his favorite American Football team, the New Orleans Saints, that I remember, to how Antonio could possibly leave María on the last episode of the 6 o'clock telenovela of which Sam is a fan, his apparent "neighbor" spoke up again:

-"Jesus Christ, can you open the door? So we can resolve this like adults"-

Bucky resigned to the fact that he has given his position to the "enemy", walks to the door and opens it waiting for his death. Well at least if I die I won't have to listen to Sam again talking about Antonio and María. But on the other side of the door, there was a woman, who in her pajamas, very unthreatening but cute, was watching him as if he were a ghost but still with defiance in her eyes, in one breath she introduced herself and continued her speech about her complaint to Bucky:

-"As I was saying, I need you to pay for your internet"-

-"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understand what you mean"- mumbled Bucky.

- "Good Lord"- To Bucky's surprise his neighbor, pushes him and enters his home, well not so much a home home, more like the headquarters of his secret club, of which he is the president, vice president and only member, the point is that it is his place, where he can (and wants to be alone), as she lives here. This must be a dream, maybe I hit my head too hard in the last mission and I am unconscious in the hospital.

Crossing the room, Bucky's unwanted visitor looks around searching for something while whispering the words "I see you are quite minimalist, but maybe this is too much, someone urgently needs to look for some inspiration on Pinterest". She stops abruptly in front of the shelf where, in theory, a TV should go, while shouting: "EUREKA", she bends down and picks up a white device which has two antennas and like a million little blinking lights, damn, that looks like something out of a spaceship, I'm being watched by aliens? I'm being spied on by Kree?

-"This is your router, this is where the internet signal comes from, which I need you to pay for so I can finish watching my series"-.

Bucky, still in shock for the third time in less than 15 minutes, as he processes the idea that perhaps Thanos' unknowing twin is spying on him for a second invasion of earth and revenge for his brother's death. He can only nod to his now more relaxed and happy neighbor.

-"Perfect, thanks! I need to check the food I left in the oven, I'll talk to you later"- and as quickly as she came she left through the same door, leaving Bucky with more doubts than answers, peeking down the hallway, he realizes that she is the neighbor who lives next door, to his right. When Bucky comes out of his initial stupor, still not fully understanding what is going on, he decides to take his cell phone out of his pocket and call his own personal Google to solve his doubts about this century: Sam Wilson.

-"Hey Buck! What's up?"-how does he always manage to sound so happy? focus Buck.

-"What the hell is a router and why do I have one in my house?"- somehow Bucky manages to formulate, although maybe his voice cracked a little on the last words.

-"That thing's been there for at least two months and you didn't even notice it? Have you even paid the bill?"-

-"You put this in here? Without telling me????"- maybe Sam is also a Kree? Who can I trust now? It's all a trap?

Listening to Bucky's accelerated breathing, Sam tries to explain to him slowly, that in this century life without internet is not life, but obviously as Bucky does not even know how to set the alarm on his own cell phone, he was in charge of buying the router and creating the contract with the company so that, the 106 year old man could have his personal network at home. He had given it the name but he had not given it a password so that Bucky himself could set it up later. "I am an excellent friend, I mean co-worker, if I may say so"

-"Sorry man, after all that happened, we got called for a mission and I forgot to tell you, do you have your laptop over there? I'll help you set up a password, so your neighbors won't steal your internet anymore"- and with that comment everything started to make sense in Bucky's slightly screwed up but functional mind about the events with his seemingly non-spy and harmless neighbor.

Meanwhile Bucky was trying to remember his own password to unlock the laptop in front of him, also courtesy of Sam. "Bucky, when you learn about online banking and that you can pay your rent, electricity, phone and everything with a click of your computer, you will thank me". It should be noted that Bucky hasn't used that laptop once, like a good 100 year old grandpa he goes to the bank to make his deposits and pay his debts, which obviously consisted only of electricity, water, gas and phone because the man had no idea that there was a device in his house that spit out internet, apparently only his next door neighbor knew this. Buck tells Sam how he thought his router was an alien device and how he thought his neighbor was a KGB agent coming to kill him. "Relax Buck we all have undesirable neighbors that steal our internet signal sometimes", well undesirable is not the word I would use to describe her but ok.

When Sam finally explains to him how to connect his computer to the internet, Bucky can finally see the name that his wonderful co-worker, not friend, because he could never be friends with someone so stupid as to think that the name "THE WIFILCON AND THE WINTER ROUTER" was a good name.

- "my god Sam, you're such an asshole!"-

-"HEY! That's a great name!"- Sam responds with as much indignation as possible, he's the best at naming everything from dogs to wifis.

- "I can't believe you're Captain America, I can't believe we're even friends"- Bucky really can't understand his luck to have friends, well, co-workers whatever.

- "Well excuse me but we're co-workers..."-

- "Well, take this call as my formal resignation, bye"-

-"Wait a minute Buck..."- Bucky ended the call, to finish -his self-imposed- punishment of listening to Sam Wilson talk for over an hour. At least I asked him how to use the bank's website to pay for the internet. Suddenly, without warning and without explanation, the memory of his neighbor is lodged in his head, her hair in a ponytail, her reading glasses, pink shorts, her sweater from some university of which he can't even remember the name because he was watching out for other things... that she wouldn't kill me obviously, he was watching out that she wouldn't pull a knife out of her back and kill me right there. The message on his laptop indicating that he can now set a new name and password to his wifi distracts him enough to stop thinking about his sweet and cute non-spy neighbor and how she would look with her hair down and her glasses off.

Still with the sweet feeling in his chest and the desire to see her again he writes as the new name of the wifi, while laughing:

"If you want free internet, you owe me at least one free dinner"

After paying the internet debt and closing the laptop, Bucky gets up hoping to find something edible in the kitchen, while leaning over to look inside his fridge and analyzing how bad it would be to eat a fried egg with pasta and sriracha, he hears again a knock on the door, but this time it does not cause Bucky the anguish and anxiety that caused him the first time, but quite the opposite.

-"Open the door Winter Router! I prepared chicken pot pie for dinner"-.

[samwisethewitch]

dorm friendly magick for broom-closeted student witches

Got roommates that aren’t into witchcraft/magick? Can’t burn incense in your dorm room? Don’t have time for elaborate rituals between studying for exams and writing papers? I’ve been there. Here are some of my favorite undercover spells and rituals for witches living that college life. 

Journal Magick

Keep a manifestation journal! Find a journal that really speaks to you and makes you feel good every time you open it, whether it’s a bulky leatherbound tome or has a holographic cover and hot pink pages -- what matters is that you feel a connection to it. 

Every morning, write down the things you want to manifest in your journal in the present tense, as if they had already happened. [Note: this works better if you are writing the same thing every day for at least a few weeks. Consistent intent is key!] 

For more information on this type of manifestation, just search “scripting” on YouTube and you’ll find approximately 642934 videos on the subject. 

This is a really great technique for closet witches, because no one is going to be suspicious of you writing in a notebook -- plus, it’s normal for people to want to keep their journals private.

Work with correspondences just like you would for a normal spell! You can print out photos of herbs, crystals, tarot cards, astrological signs, or moon phases that correspond to your intention and glue them into your journal (or draw them, if you have artistic talent). You could even get an essential oil that matches your intention and dab a drop of it on the page. You’re essentially creating an altar dedicated to your intention, just on paper instead of in a physical altar space.

Tap into the magick of color by writing your intentions with a pen in a corresponding color (green = abundance/wealth, pink = love and friendship, yellow = academic success, etc.).

Tea and Coffee Magick

Tea and coffee are already essentially potions, and no one is going to think twice about a college student drinking a lot of coffee/tea. 

Coffee is associated with grounding and protection, and it adds energy to any spell it is added to. Black tea is associated with protection, courage, and abundance. Green and white tea have their own, slightly different magickal uses. Based on these correspondences, you can use coffee and tea as a base for undercover potions!

For mental clarity and memory retention, brew a mixture of black coffee, lion’s mane, chaga, and ginger. For a caffeine-free alternative, brew an herbal tea with rosemary and peppermint. 

To cleanse negative energy and release stress, brew a mixture of black coffee, Ashwagandha, cinnamon, tulsi or basil, and Eleuthero. This is based on a Four Sigmatic blend, lmao.

For a sneaky prosperity spell, brew a mixture of black coffee, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and vanilla. Yes, that is essentially pumpkin pie spice, and yes, you can use a pre-mixed pumpkin pie blend instead of buying the individual spices.

I could go on, but you get the idea. You can customize your morning beverage to suit any magickal or spiritual need. 

Most plants have medicinal uses that are the same or similar to their magickal uses. So if anyone asks, tell them you’re adding these extra herbs for their nutritional and/or medicinal value. 

You can also charge your tea or coffee with crystals. Just set a small crystal associated with your intention (amethyst for mental clarity, black tourmaline for protection, citrine for prosperity, etc.) next to the mug for a few minutes, or place it on top of your coffee maker. Be sure to charge both the crystal and the drink with your intention!

Candle Magick

If your dorm lets you have candles then congrats, because candle spells are both super powerful and a super easy way to hide your magick in plain sight.

Find a candle in a scent and color that match your intention. For example, you could use a pink, rose-scented candle for a love spell. 

You can find custom spell candles made by witches for witches on Amazon and Etsy, and these have the added bonus of having been specifically created for magickal use. Some of the businesses I’ve personally had good experiences with are Art of the Root (available on Amazon), Esoteric Arts (available on Etsy), and Crystal Journey (Amazon). 

That being said, I’ve gotten good results with $1.99 scented candles from Walmart, so please don’t feel like you need to spend a fortune on special candles for your spell to be successful.

In a pinch, an unscented white candle can be used for any intention. You can get these at the dollar store, and it’s never a bad idea to have a few on hand.

Oil Magick

Your dorm has a no-open-flames rule, so candles and incense are out of the question. No problem -- you can get similar results with essential oils. 

An essential oil literally contains the concentrated essence of a plant. Magickally speaking, this makes them a powerful way to add some oomph to your spells. They’re also commonly used for aromatherapy, so your roommate probably won’t be phased by you diffusing them in your dorm.

You can create custom EO blends the same way you would create an incense blend, by combining different plants based on their correspondences. You can also buy pre-mixed blends online if you’re feeling lazy or if you have a certain blend you know you’re going to use a lot like, say, a focus-enhancing blend for studying.

Another option, and one that’s more traditionally witchy, is to use magickal oils/ritual oils. A magickal oil is an oil that has been created for a specific magickal purpose -- it’s like a spell in a bottle. A ritual oil is created for a specific use in magickal ritual. You can find tons of different ways to incorporate these oils into your daily life for some very subtle witchcraft.

You can create your own magickal oils by combining herbs, essential oils, and crystals that match your intention, or you can buy magickal oil blends from witch-owned businesses. Art of the Root has my absolute favorite oils -- I have like six different blends, and they’re all ridiculously powerful.

Some ways you can use magickal oils: 1.) wear them as a body oil, 2.) diffuse them like you would an essential oil blend, 3.) use them to anoint and bless objects, like tests or study guides, 4.) add them to spiritual baths, and a million more. [Note: many magickal oils come with real herbs and resins in the bottle. These chunky bits could damage a diffuser, so do keep that in mind.]

Personally, I wear magickal oils on a daily basis in the place of perfume, since most of the ones I own smell really good. As I apply them, I say a small incantation to power them up. For example, if I’m wearing an attraction oil, when I put it on I’ll say something like, “I am powerfully attractive to the people and things that will improve my life.” Which oil I choose to wear depends on the day and the area of my life where I want some extra help. 

Tech Magick

The nice thing about being a witch in the 21st century is that, if all else fails, you can keep your entire magickal practice contained on your laptop and/or phone. And even if you’re not doing 100% of your witchcraft in a virtual space, you can still use your technology as a tool in your practice. 

Pinterest is the ultimate visualization tool. You can create a virtual altar to a deity or spirit guide by dedicating a Pinterest board to them, or create vision boards for the things you want to manifest, or create a brainstorming space to plan your full moon rituals... the possibilities are endless. 

Keep your Book of Shadows and/or manifestation journal in a Word document. If you’re really concerned about privacy, you can even password protect these documents. Another pro of an electronic Book of Shadows is that most word processors have a “search” function that lets you look things up more easily. 

Make a devotional playlist for a deity or spirit guide. Making Spotify playlists for my deities is one of my favorite devotional acts! I’ll put together all of the songs that remind me of that deity, and I can listen to it anytime, anywhere to instantly connect with them. And don’t be afraid to ask your deities what type of music they like -- you may be surprised by the answer!

If any other witches have similar tips, feel free to add onto this! This is just stuff that I’ve found works for me, but magick is deeply personal and everyone will do things a little bit differently. 

And not to shove my content in everyone’s faces, but I did just post a spell to enchant your school notebooks on my YouTube channel, so check that out if you’re interested!

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 5

First

Previous

Tim finished up pretty quickly.

After all, all the baby toys seemed to just be different variations of each other. Some crinkle, some make sounds, some squish, some… do nothing at all? Tim had no clue how he used to get by as a kid.

He ended up getting Damian three toys:

A tiny rubber duck. He’s almost completely sure that Marinette would have bought one if Tim hadn’t. At least when he was the one buying it he could opt to get the Darth Vader one (Damian had always been woefully uncultured, this was his one chance to make the kid watch sci-fi without risking getting stabbed).

A plush cow with crinkly ears. He had to hope that this could maybe jog memories of Batcow and, in turn, everything else. Tim had tried to think of something a little more relevant but all he could think of were things related to Batman, to Superboy, to the League of Assassins (did their lives really revolve around vigilante-work that much?)... and, unfortunately, this reality didn’t have merch that he could give the kid.

And a squishy plastic baguette. Because that was all he could think of to get back at Marinette for the duck thing.

When it came to little kid books he hesitated for just a bit before getting the basics -- stuff like animals and the letters and Spot The Dog. He wondered, vaguely, if he’d have to teach the kid numbers since they already used the Arabic numeral system. He got a book on it just in case.

Then he got a couple of books on parenting.

He checked out and then walked back to the sitting area where he was supposed to meet Marinette.

… she was taking forever.

He sighed quietly and skimmed through a book on parenting.

… oops they were supposed to breastfeed until Damian was about two. No clue what to do about that. Maybe the kid was already used to a bottle? He hoped so. He’d watch him more carefully while Marinette was holding him to see. In the meantime, he’d get a bottle and some formula on top of the baby food they’d been getting so far.

Alright so the kid was supposed to learn behaviors and language through observation. Good. That, hopefully, solved that problem. Tim probably would have just given the kid a textbook and said ‘good luck’. Marinette… he didn’t really know what Marinette would have done, but the woman wasn’t a teacher as far as he could tell and asking her to teach the kid properly was a little unfair.

Babies around his age are supposed to speak in something called… protowords? Like… a baby language? Damn, he has a miraculous and it seemingly allows him the power to understand every language but apparently ‘baby-speak’ didn’t count as a language. Tim called bullshit.

He felt a weight settle down on the bench next to him and absently glanced over.

Marinette sent him a slightly tired smile. She was wearing a new, dark red scarf.

He opened his mouth to say something only to have her shake her head and adjust her scarf a little to show him something.

Ah. It looked like Damian had fallen asleep on her shoulder so she’d fashioned the scarf into a makeshift baby sling.

“Could’ve used the stroller,” he whispered, setting his receipt in the book to mark his page.

She snorted. “And risk waking him? He cries every time he wakes up, I’m not dealing with that right now.”

He bit his lip. “You know… this book says he’s supposed to cry for, like, an hour to an hour and a half a day.”

She tipped her head to the side a little. “He’s cried like… three times.”

“Yeah, and he was really easy to shut up. Decidedly not normal.”

They looked back down at Damian, identical frowns on their faces.

“Does it have an explanation for why he’d be like this?” Marinette asked, her voice soft.

Tim hesitated.

“The only reasons I can think of are that he doesn’t think we’d help him if he cried or he thinks crying is something he’d be punished for. Considering how he was raised… it could be either. Or both.”

~

Marinette yawned as she sat back on the hotel bed. She leaned back against Tim, leaving him to bear the weight of both her and Damian.

He, to his credit, barely even blinked. He turned slowly until they were both leaning back against each other.

She tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder.

She could fall asleep like this, she thought. Propped against Tim. Damian, in her arms, watching an episode of something called True and the Rainbow Kingdom… it was nice.

Or, at least, it would be if Tim could stop that infernal tapping.

“Ugh, could you stop that? Some people actually sleep.”

He gave a tiny puff of laughter that acknowledged that he heard her but, alas, he continued typing.

She groaned a little and reached a hand behind herself to give him a tiny bap to his side.

“Hm. This may shock you, but hitting me really hasn’t helped your case.”

She huffed and twisted around to try and see over his shoulder. She’d given up on sleeping, anyway.

“What are you even doing?”

He shrugged just slightly. “Trying to figure out what to do about money.”

She nodded slowly, looking over his shoulder as he scrolled through jobs they could do with zero experience or degrees. That could sustain a family of three and pay for the daycare they would have to take Damian to. The options... weren’t great.

Damian tugged on her shirt for her attention and she looked down as he pointed at his screen with a bright smile. There was a black cat on the screen. She didn’t really know what he wanted until he kept saying ‘ma’ over and over. She nodded and said ‘cat’ in both Arabic and English, which seemed to sate him as he went back to watching… the giant green yeti monster stealing a basket of candy? What the fuck was even going on on this show? Were kids’ shows like this in her own world, too? Or was this one’s shows just especially weird?

A thought occurred to her and she looked back over at Tim.

“You exist in this world, right?”

He nodded absently and opened a tab that, despite its claim that it was an entry level job, apparently required two years of experience and a degree. He closed it quickly.

“Why don't we just mooch off of the other you?”

Tim sighed. “Because that’s illegal?”

“You’re a vigilante. I don’t think that ‘borrowing’ money from your alternate self is where you should draw the line on illegal activities.”

“I draw the line when it harms innocent people.”

She laughed at that. “He’s rich. It’s not like he’s going to miss it. Think of it as… giving the money to people who need it.”

“You’re a regular robin hood,” Tim said sarcastically.

“I know. I’m so kind,” she agreed, grinning.

There were a few moments of silence.

Then, finally, he shook his head. “Even if we could somehow do that -- which I can’t guarantee because I’m not completely sure I could guess my passwords -- the fact that we’re in Texas… he’d notice.”

She shrugged. “Then let’s move back to Gotham.”

He blinked and finally looked up from the computer. “What?”

“We don’t have much of a life here, really, so why not move?”

He considered this for a while before sighing and flopping back on the bed. “Let me see if I can even get into the account. There’s nothing to say that I even have the same social security number here...”

She nodded her understanding and laid back next to him. Damian whined a little at the sudden displacement but just ran a hand up and down his back absently until he was watching his show again, completely silent as he stared at the screen. Now the main girl was reaching into her bag for a weird orb of light that was, apparently, sentient. Was this the Dora of their world? God help their children.

Speaking of helping their children...

She picked up a parenting book to read while Tim tried to guess his otherworldly counterpart’s passwords.

~

Tim managed to get in.

He rested his head in his hands, cursing quietly.

She glanced over and smiled at his slightly flushed face.

“What was the password?”

He grumbled under his breath.

This only seemed to encourage her more because she started nudging his shoulder, the soft smile morphing into a cheeky grin.

He sighed and took a moment to gather himself before looking over at her. “It’s… ‘<3Richard<3graysons<3little<3brother<3’.”

“... I don’t get it.”

“Good. So you can’t tease me about it,” he said, sticking his tongue out at her.

She scoffed. “That’s not fair.”

“Totally is.”

He set the computer down beside himself and stretched his achy old bones. He’d had a baby for approximately two days now and he could already feel the bad back setting in. Tomorrow he would have gray hair.

“I’m going to look it up if you don’t tell me.”

“... he’s a celebrity,” Tim said quietly.

Her grin wavered back towards that genuine smile for just a second before spreading into an even wider grin. She reached out and pinched his cheeks. “Awwww, Tim, that’s so cute --!”

“Shut up,” he complained, batting her hands away.

She snickered. “No. I’m going to write that password on your tombstone.”

“You’re assuming I’m going to die first.”

“I have an extended lifespan. You’re only going to have that for another fifteen years. After that? Unless I’m really stupid you’re gonna die first.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to find out how to be immortal now. Purely to spite you.”

She snorted. “Okay. Good luck with that.”

“Thank you.”

With that, he pushed himself up with a groan. “I’m going to get him ready for bed.”

She nodded her understanding and continued with her reading.

Damian whined a little when Tim tried to take him away from where he had curled up next to Marinette but that seemed to be more because he was tired and cranky than genuine distress.

Tim was the one to bathe him. It wasn’t a bubble bath, he wasn’t eager to repeat the previous night’s mistakes, but he did give Damian the rubber duck. This seemed to work for all of them, since Damian now allowed them to take him out of the bath as long as he got to bring his duck.

Marinette grinned when she looked over at where Damian was chewing on his rubber duck as Tim struggled to click the annoyingly difficult buttons of the onesie into place.

“Told you he would love it.”

“We both know that wasn’t why you wanted to get it.”

“And we both know you didn’t get that squishy bread-thing just because you thought he would like it, either.”

He smiled. “Maaaaaybe.”

The onesie finally allowed itself to be buttoned and Tim picked Damian up so he could get into bed.

Marinette frowned. “This book says we shouldn’t let him sleep with us every night. Says it creates a bad habit that’s hard to break.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at her but, reluctantly, carried the kid over to the crib so they could sleep separately.

“Fine. But I’m going to sleep before him so I don’t stress out all night.”

She snickered. “Fine. Fine.”

He climbed into bed, set a pillow between them, and promptly dozed off before he could get woken up by Damian whimpering through the night.

… Tim woke up a few hours later -- his body wasn’t quite used to sleeping through nights just yet -- to find that Marinette had brought the kid into bed with them again.

He smiled a little and moved the pillow out from between them. Even if Damian was currently too trapped in Marinette’s arms to even reach it, it was best to make sure it couldn’t happen.

Damian whimpered a little in his sleep again and Tim tipped his head to the side. He reached over and gently combed his fingers through the fuzzy little tufts of hair that the kid had so far. Damian relaxed.

Tim sighed and shifted in the bed until he was closer to Damian, then maneuvered through Marinette’s mess of limbs to press a tiny kiss to the top of his head. The baby smiled in his sleep and, though the kid couldn’t see it, he returned the smile. He rested an arm around the kid as well in hopes that it would keep the kid feeling safe before allowing himself to drift off.

~~~~~

Next

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[obiwanobi]

I was asked to write angst with a happy ending for the Sith Senator Kenobi AU where Obi-Wan believes Anakin has been killed during a mission, so here’s 2.6k of sadness featuring Obi-Wan and Ahsoka before I finish the happy ending part: 

Ahsoka can only remember a few details from the funeral of her master.

In her mind, the memory has the fuzziness of an unpleasant dream, and not the sharpness of an event that happened only yesterday. 

Surprisingly, it was Master Windu who led the ceremony with a gentle voice.  Master Yoda gave a speech, but she can't recall a word of it.  She remembers Senator Amidala trying to blink away her tears.  She remembers Master Jinn's heavy hand on her shoulder when the heat of the flames started to warm her face. She remembers Rex, still as a statue from beginning to end. She remembers Senator Kenobi being the first to leave without a word. 

It took four hours for the pyre to burn to ashes. 

___________________________________

"Oh. Hello, young one." 

Senator Kenobi's tone is surprised, but his face is as impassive as ever.

It reminds her of that one time her master said that he would have made an excellent Jedi, and Kenobi immediately proved him wrong, dramatically grimacing at the thought and making Anakin burst into laughter. 

There's no grimace on Kenobi's face right now. His hair and beard are perfectly combed and trimmed, and there isn't one wrinkle on his pristine clothes.  

It makes the deep shadows under his eyes stand out even more. 

"Senator," Ahsoka greets him with a polite bow. "Would you mind if I come in?" 

Kenobi blinks twice before taking a step back. "Please."

She walks into his apartment a bit rigidly, hands clutched around the box she brought, and seats on the couch he points at her. 

If he knew she was here, Master Jinn would disapprove. Her grandmaster has never liked the senator, partially due to his charming public persona which only echoes in a bizarre void in the Force —"some plants are easier to detect that him", she once heard Master Jinn say,— and partially because of his close relationship with her master. 

Ahsoka herself has never known what to make of Senator Kenobi.

Stuck between pretending to ignore the looks he used to share with her master and making sarcastic remarks about it to fluster them both, it now leaves her in an awkward relationship she can't define without mourning for the missing link between them.

Anxiety starts nagging at her as she looks at the box in her hands. Maybe she should have waited. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

"Caf? Tea?" Kenobi asks from the kitchen. 

"Whatever you're having is fine, thanks." 

She hears the cabinet doors opening and closing, water boiling for a few seconds, and then the senator comes back with a teapot and cups on a tray. "I hope you like black tea, then. I never drink caf." 

Ahsoka isn't sure if she's more surprised by a senator not having any personal employee to assist him, or the fact that she can clearly see what looks like a very expansive caf machine on the kitchen counter. 

"How did you know where to find me?" 

"I commed your office first," she admits, refocusing her attention on him. "Your assistant said you were working from home lately, and gave me your address."

Kenobi raises his eyebrows. "She did? Well, that's a surprise. She usually bites people who try to see me without an appointment or a life-or-death crisis. Preferably one with multiple dead people already." 

"Hum, yes, she— She almost brushed me off, but then I told her that I needed to give you something. From my master." 

To his credit, Kenobi, teapot in hand, freezes for only half a second. Then, pointedly not looking at her, starts pouring tea again. 

On the comm, Kenobi's assistant also paused when Ahsoka told her that, before grumbling 'it can't make it worse anyway' and then giving strict instructions about when was the best time to come see him. 

"I see."

She puts the box next to her steaming cup, and stops her hand just before opening it. "There were some... important chips and datapads from previous and ongoing missions that he had in his room, and I was the one who looked for it. So I cleaned a few drawers."

Letting someone else disturbs Anakin's bedroom has felt wrong. Even if she knows that it was only selfishness that pushed her to volunteer to look through his room, she's still glad she did.

No one needs to know how long she spent seating in the middle of Anakin's bedroom, trying to wrap his lingering Force signature around her. Or that it took three hours before she could touch anything in it without feeling like she was breaking one last invisible connection to her master. 

"And I found this box." she taps on it lightly. "This is... I think— I think you should have it." 

"What’s in the box, Padawan Tano?" Kenobi asks behind his cup. 

The proof of my master's complete disregard for the Jedi Code, she wants to say. Ahsoka bites her lip.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter anymore. 

"Mostly datachips with holos on it, a few old tickets for a race, a password-protected datapad and some personal belongings."

"And what that has to do with me?" 

Ahsoka frowns. 

Kenobi doesn't sound like the conversation interests him. His hand moves, and for a second Ahsoka thinks he's going for the box, but instead, he takes the recipient filled with honey and put a small spoon of it in his cup before leaning back on the couch. 

His indifferent expression is starting to grate on her nerves. 

"I took a look at the holos. My master is on it, but you're also there. With him sometimes. Most of them are holoimages, but there are a few longer recordings with sound." Ahsoka has only watched one, but it's still hard to reconcile the man fondly rolling his eyes and telling Anakin behind the holocamera to please, dear, don't waste it on me, with the impassive man with the blank stare in front of her. "I didn't watch all of them, but I think it's safe to say that he wouldn't have wanted anyone else to find them."

"I see," Kenobi says distractingly, stirring his tea. 

Ahsoka's hand is starting to turn into a fist in her lap.

"Do you? Do you really? Do you know about the Jedi Code, Senator Kenobi?" She asks, suddenly opening the box herself and getting one of the datachips and a small holoprojector out.  

"I know enough." 

"Because this," she continues, pushing the chip in it and opening the first holos, "this isn't really approved by the Code. Do you know what the Code recommends, regarding attachment, Senator? To material things? To people?"

Did you love him? she wants to ask, as a holo of Anakin, dressed in light civilian clothes, smiles and makes a rapid 'come one' hand gesture to the person behind the camera. Did you love him as much as he did?  

She presses the next button rapidly, going through a few holos of sunbathed landscapes and olive trees, and then Anakin is holding a glass of wine in one, tasting it in a second, and making a ridiculous face in the third. There's a lot of Kenobi after that, also dressed in lighter clothes than usual, with shades on. Him trying to read a sign in a foreign language but clearly failing, him looking at some old and decrepit ruins in wonder, him with a face covered in sunscreen, sending an unamused look above his glasses at the camera.

Ahsoka's irritation makes her forget to be embarrassed when she goes through some of the holos where they're pressed against each other in such an intimate way that it feels like she's holding their honeymoon holoalbum, but it doesn't stop her from wanting to cry when she catches the tenderness in Anakin's eyes in every holo where he's looking at Kenobi.

It's only when she reaches the one taken at a weird angle where Anakin is lying in the shades of a tree, asleep, his face nuzzled against a red beard, that a hand stops her before she can keep pressing next.

She turns her head toward Kenobi, ready to push him again to get a reaction, but he’s not looking at her. His gaze is fixed on the holo and his face is making a bizarre expression she doesn't recognise. Then, he says, softly, "I told him not to keep any of it."

And then she gasps for air. 

The Force... the Force feels like a void.

Not a blank space, or the faint static she's used to next to Kenobi, but a true void. She chokes a bit on the emptiness of it all, almost sick to her stomach by the vertigo effect. It feels like she's standing near the edge of a hungry precipice, just like what she felt when Master Jinn told her that her master was dead, after she's stopped saying that it wasn't possible and he was wrong wrong wrong. She felt like falling then, endlessly falling and never hitting the ground, and she feels like falling now. Headfirst into the void. A long, endless fall through nothingness.

The void feels like it could swallow her whole and leaves nothing behind. No memory or emotion or connection. 

The void is lonely, and aching, and lonely.

And lonely.

And lonely. 

Then the sound of shattered porcelain resonates in a disturbing echo in her ears and everything stops. 

Ahsoka gasps again —did she stop breathing at one point?— and pants heavily, hands shaking on her thighs.

She violently throws herself against the couch, as if the void is still here at her feet, ready to devour her.  

"That's quite enough of that for now."

Disoriented, it takes a moment before she remembers where she is. Kenobi has already turned off the holoprojector and put it back in the box when she feels capable of forming coherent sentences again. A cup of tea is pushed under her nose, and she automatically takes it. It burns her tongue a bit. She's so glad to feel something so simple and physical that she keeps drinking it anyway. 

Kenobi is standing up now, napkins in hand but not moving. He's looking down at something, stuck still in an aborted move, and Ahsoka realises that there is an ugly stain on his tunic, right on his chest, and that fragments of porcelain are lying all over the floor around him.

She didn't see how Kenobi broke the teapot, but it must have been quite a fall to scatter all these hundreds of tiny little pieces around him. On the white rug at his feet, a large brown stain is expanding slowly but surely through the intricate design of the textile. 

He couldn't have made a bigger mess on purpose. 

"You shouldn't stay here," he tells her, but his eyes stay locked on the liquid still dripping from the edge of the table. "You could hurt yourself." 

"I— yes. Sorry." 

She doesn't know what she's apologising for. She's tense, unsettled, and doesn't dare reach through the Force to find any kind of balance. She doesn't understand what the kriff just happened, but she's not in the mood to look for answers right now.

She just wants to be home. She just wants her master. She just wants to sleep.  

Box under her arm, she takes a breath and stands up, careful not to walk on any fragments of broken porcelain.

"I should go anyway."

"Would you mind letting me see one last thing before you leave?" 

She blinks, surprised. "From... the box?" 

"Yes." 

She hesitates a second, still not sure if this was a mistake or not. But who else could she share it with?  

Kenobi seems like he's giving up on cleaning for now, and dries his hands with a napkin as he watches her put the box on the counter. He takes a moment to look inside this time, before grabbing the datapad and turning it on.

"It's password-protected," she says, just to break the tense silence. "I've tried a few things to bypass it but nothing works." 

"Why do you think it's about me, then?" 

"If you try enough wrong words, a message will pop up to give you a hint." Kenobi sends her a questioning look, but she just shrugs. "Try something. Anything."

"Oh," he says, voice suddenly soft, after putting Anakin's name and surname. "It says it's for my birthday." 

"Yep." 

"'Something that could make a politician cry'?", he reads out loud, intrigued. "What is he talking about? I told him enough times that politicians don't have souls, or—"

His mouth opens in a silent 'oh'. He turns to look at her pensively, and right when she's about to ask him if he's thinking of something, starts tapping on the keyboard. 

The pad beeps happily. 

"Of course," he whispers. "Of course." 

Ahsoka can see his fingers swiping on the pad a few times but she's not at the right angle to see what he's actually looking at.

It would have bothered earlier. Now, her head feels heavy and her mind clouded, and she just wants to go home. The only reason she's not leaving right now is the glint of something in Kenobi's eyes. 

Maybe it's just the reflection of the blue light on the screen. Maybe he's trying not to laugh in front of her at whatever her master had planned for his birthday. 

Maybe he's trying not to cry. 

He turns off the datapad suddenly, straightening up and offering a polite smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The glint is gone. 

"If this is alright with you, Padawan Tano, I would like to keep that box." 

You don’t deserve it, a voice in her mind says. 

But she knows that the box isn't for her. She's a Jedi, and these are just material possessions. Holoimages and a few useless trinkets.

Her master isn't in that box. Her master is in the Force, with her, always. 

She's not certain she should trust Kenobi, but her master did. So she chooses to believe. 

"Okay," she murmurs. "Just... just keep it safe." 

"I will." 

There is no way to know if he means it, but she's definitely not in the mood to reach through the Force and check right now.

"I should go." She turns towards the door, ready to go home and sleep for fourteen hours.  

"Ahsoka."

The surprise of hearing her name in his mouth for the first time stops her hand on the door handle. She's so tired that she barely turns her head sideways, waiting for whatever insipid parting words he will offer her.  

"Anakin was very proud of you. He couldn't stop talking about how great you were going to be as a knight."

Her heart misses a beat. Or three. 

Don't say his name, she wants to say, we managed to ignore it the entire time, why did you have to say his name? But her throat only seems to be able to produce an uncontrollable choked up sound. She can't blink fast enough to see through her tears.

After so long looking for a hint of human feelings in Kenobi, she almost wishes his voice wasn't so gentle right now.

"Please make sure to do all you can to make it true."

She only allows herself to cry once the door slams shut behind her. 

[leafs-lover]

Prompt List

Hey I've been in somewhat of a rut for writing, in an attempt to get my wheels turning I am doing another prompt list/ blurb weekend. I will be accepting prompts from the following list today and will be writing/ releasing them over the next little bit.

+ pick a player or two for each prompts

+ pick one or two prompts, if you pick more than two for each request I more than likely will only write two of them

“It’s 1AM. Go to sleep!”

“Who buys 25 packs of balloons?!”

“Could you please make an effort with them?” “I don’t care about them, I only care about is you.”

“Rules are meant to be broken.” Actually, that’s not-“ “Come on!!”

“If you don’t stop now I’m calling your mom!”

“Calm down, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“I’ve never wanted anything so much in my entire life.”

“I thought I could trust you.”

“What’s the password?”

“How long are you planning on staying?”

“It’s okay to cry, you know.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like I can’t stop crying.”

“I can’t quite believe you’re standing here in front of me.”

“It’s awfully dull around here without you.”

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

“Doesn’t take an idiot to figure it out.”

“I wanted to kiss you.”

“Of course I stayed”

Wow…you…you look stunning.”

“It's okay, I promise you, I will be here when you wake up."

“Sometimes, i guess i kinda wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

“Is that my shirt?”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I feel safe in your arms, I always have”

“I could get used to this”

“I can’t wait to wake up and see you in the morning”

“I like the way your hand fits in mine”

“Stop distracting me”

“Were you touching yourself?”

“I’m at work.” “all the more reason”

“I thought you said he was gone for the night”

“I would have stayed if you asked”

“You know I’d do anything for you”

“I feel so fucking stupid”

“Please don’t go”

“We just don’t really talk anymore”

“You’re nothing more than a memory”

“This isn’t what I wanted”

“I’m not drunk enough for this”

“Take off your shirt”

“I told you not fall in love with me”

“We’ll figure this out.”

“Do you still love me?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Maybe you should just leave.”

“Maybe this is all it will be”

“How long?”

“What are we doing here?”

“We we’re on a break”

“It’s snowing!”

“It’s going to get hard.”

“They are so cute when asleep.”

“Can you come over?”

“I knew you’d miss me.”

“Are you…are you jealous?”

“It’s not you it’s me.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You expect me to just forgive this?”

“Drunk saying are sober thoughts.”

“If we stay still they might not see us.”

“Just forget it.”

“Why are you lying?”

“Lie to me then.”

“I can’t keep pretending strangers are you.”

“I don’t share.”

“I still remember the way you taste.”

“We’re not friends.”

“You’re so oblivious.”

“You’re going out, dressed like that?”

“Please don’t go.”

“One last time.”

“Shouldn’t you be with them?”

“This isn’t goodbye.”

“Dance with me.”

“Even after everything you don’t believe me.”

“I could never forget you.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I lost our baby.”

“That’s wifey level shit.”

“They’re monsters.”

“I just need you to smile.”

“I had a bad dream.”

“Want to just run away from all this?”

“Are you done?”

“Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Take your clothes off.”

“You know what that face does to me.”

“I don’t love you anymore.”

I never meant to hurt you.”

“This is new.”

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being an Avenger with a photographic memory

Avengers x reader

warnings: alcohol mention

a/n:

prompt: anonymous: “Hcs for the Avengers with reader who has eidetic memory? They just remember ever little detail about everyone there?”

you were a great asset on intelligence missions, for starters!

if data couldn’t physically be acquired, they’d send you in to gather info

“y/n, everything going okay in there?” -cap

“well, yes and no”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“the mission is going smoothly, don’t worry...but while searching these files, i found some...unsavory images that i’ll never be able to forget”

“i don’t want to know”

remembering all the avengers passwords for all of their accounts, which is both a blessing and a curse

“y/n, what’s my instagram password again?” -tony

“man-of-iron79”

“thanks! you’re a lifesaver!”

or you could pull some REALLY FANTASTIC pranks on them by sending very questionable emails to nick fury

Dear Fury, I am afraid that I prefer the ice over this day and age. Please put me into cryosleep at your earliest convenience. Tony is exhausting and I need another long nap. Sincerely, Steve Rogers

you’d never seen fury laugh so fucking hard

cap had to change his password

but he did get a kick out of it

“hey, y/n, can you remind me to tell bucky to ‘fuck off’ whenever he comes back?” -sam

“this seems like something you would remember yourself but okay?”

“yeah, well i try to ignore him when he’s nearby. thanks.”

sometimes people forget that you’re not omnipotent, you just have a really good memory

reading up on as many SHIELD files you can get your hands onto for future missions

also bc sometimes clint and nat forget that they added very minor details into their reports and clint gets worked up when you somehow know about some miniscule fact from a mission 5-15 years ago

“how the fuck does y/n know about budapest?”

sometimes you wake up at night to find tony in the kitchen wearing nothing but underwear and you just regret getting out of bed

“i would say ‘forget this ever happened,’ but i know you wont so just keep moving”

unfortunately you remember all the “party nights” too

bad for you but also good for you

you remember all the stupid things you did while drunk, but you also hold all the cards since your teammates dont 😌 only steve and you know the truth and that’s enough

the team also likes talking to you !! abt anything !! bc wherever they leave off, they can immediately pick back up and you won’t forget a thing

tony said JARVIS is better than u

wanda!!! you’re collectively trying to figure out how to get rid of certain memories with her bc....no

the team encourages her to get rid of their most embarrassing moments from your head

“if you happen to find the time where y/n saw me slip down the stairs and, well, see my butt hit every step...could you just get rid of that please?” -bruce

“yeah, they’ve heard me sing before, we can’t have that existing in their mind” -natasha

“wait, no! please don’t get rid of those ones, they’re my favorite!” -you

“y/n’s mind, y/n’s rules” -wanda

stupid fucking quotes buzzing around your head all the time and every once in a while you mumble one to yourself and an avenger LOSES IT (esp if it’s their words)

“on va voir, motherfucker”

*steve’s jaw drops*

sometimes you randomly laugh at a vivid memory that comes up and everyone tries to guess which one

“uhhh, that time clint crushed a smoothie on his head?”

“when peter cried during patrol because he had finals the next day?”

“was it when tony choked on a blueberry?”

“natasha doing tiktok dances flawlessy?”

“what about thor kissing mjölnir?”

“oh, was it that time we caught steve listening to katy perry with tears in his eyes?”

good times, really good times

there were other...bad memories you wish you could have forgotten

casualties of battle.....failure......your own embarrassment

but at least you were a valuable member of the avengers !

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedgiant // @emygirl // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisbisexual // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @purpleskiesstorm //