#I want him to take a break and rest because he’ll have Multiple lifetimes to achieve his goal

[otaku553]

Learning how to draw him,

[cz19y]

Not sorry for the title

CARS ! [HCs]

Multiple × GN!Reader

[!] A.U. — Cat / Them as Cats ! . . . [ Part 2 ]

∆ Fluff, PLATONIC, NO ROMANCE, pet & owner dynamic, OOC[?], slight hint of injuries[reader, Chigi's part], mention of overworking, no cat breed description because I'm lacking in cat knowledge, grammar & spelling errors[? NOT proofed] I have no idea what um doing this is just a word vomit

FT.: Chigiri Hoyama, Niko Ikki, Kunigami Rensuke, Nagi Seishiro . . . . Check this post ! : [Cat!Isagi] — [Cat!Nagi] & [Cat!Nagi 2]

NOTE: um, I'm alive.

NOTE2: I got a little excited in Niko's part, guess my favorite guys !! So not obvious.. :3

[ starting . . . ]

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CHIGIRI would be very much the type of cat to stare at you and slowly push something off the table.

Does not care + sassy.

But if he broke something important, he'd feel bad and try to maintain distance from the things after the incident for a short period of time. Would let you scold him in that scenario.

Other than that… Threats you with breaking your important objects if you neglect him for too long[he won't break it but it's so he’ll get your attention]

Would be THE cleanest cat you’d ever seen. Grooms himself often, you don't have to worry if he has any tics or anything.

For that, Chigiri is a very handsome cat.

10/10 fur, soft fur, pretty feline eyes, in good shape, has a way with things..

Even though being clean, he forgets to clean after himself.

Balls of fur laying around the house.

Talking about fur; he doesn't let anyone touch him — at least anyone who isn't his owner and other cats he’s friendly to.

He was cautious of letting you touch him the first time you adopted him. Hissing and not hesitant to show his claws.

But after some while, Chigiri started to let you near him more often after gaining his trust.

Agile. You cannot catch that cat on your own and with a group of 5 people.

Purrs slightly when he gets a compliment of his speed.

Chigiri has his monthly check in with his leg, poor thing is used to it although seeming to dislike it.

He just accepts his fate and takes it.

If there's visits, Chigiri is not paying one ounce of attention to them.

Dodges everybody and sits prettily on your lap. Asking for the daily dose of affection before running off to some corner until the guests leave.

That thing is shameless when he wants to.

If you're overworking too much, he'd threaten you by pushing your mug off the table.

Distracts you to waste your energy, so you can get your rest.

I feel like he’s very subtle with affection sometimes. But stills make big moves of showing his endearment for you.

If ever having the scenario of gaining a lifetime injury that can disabilitate you — he'd be by your side in those dark times of distress.

.

SHY SHY SHY

Too timid for his own good — NIKO takes the longest to warm up to you.

Does NOT let anyone touch him. Even you had trouble with approaching the small black ball of fur.

Seems cautious of anyone who tries to pet him near his head. You're worried his fur will irritate his eyes, but he seems to prefer it like that.

He’s used to the fur covering 90% of his vision. But not used to you grabbing his face(gently) and smashing his little face, spilling words of how cute and beautiful his eyes are.

Guests? No Niko in sight for the next hours till they leave.

Where can you find him? In your bedroom, under your bed or near your manga shelfs he somehow seems fascinated with.

Adores plotting next to you and “watching” TV when you're playing some anime series. You doubt he understands a word they're saying but he seems transfixed on it anyways — so you just let him be.

Was weirdly quiet after the day you bawled your eyes out watching Banana Fish.

Rarely initiate some type of affection. But when it does happen, Niko is so cute. Just a tiny ball of black fur on your lap, purring under your touch.

Has a hushed purr. Cannot hear the feline almost all the time, but you can tell he is enjoying being pampered.

Loves being massaged and just being taken care of, just make sure to straighten his fur when you finish.

Fluffy tail.

Grooms quite often, you don't really have to worry about him being dirty or leaving a mess behind(different from chigi-)

Gets all awkward when you pamper him — doesn't know where to look at and just funbles around with his paws shyly.

Only lets you pet him, but Niko looks like he has mixed feelings about you muffling his fur.

The first time you tried to introduce Niko to other cats, it was a mess. It started out slow, but stuff got heated. Other cats are too intimidating for him. Being the youngest and one of the shyest are difficult in this situation.

After a lot of persuading, he finally found somewhat of a group he could be in. 5 other cats that was a weird combination but it worked.

You're proud of your little companion for becoming more and more bolder.

It’s supper on the spot when hunting a bug. Calculated and on aim, if missed, Niko knows it’s next move. It’s like a way of repaying for taking care of him.

Not a big fan of vet, quieter than usual but he doesn't make a fuss about it.

If he senses you're upset or in distress… he’s clueless. Bro has no experience in that at ALL.

But one can try, and he's in for making you feel at least slightly better. Why not give his best purrs while he allows himself to curl up next to your sulking form on bed? Flap his ears gently against your arm to tickle you a little? Rub his small ball of fur of a head on you as a green light to slip your worries out even if he can't do anything about it?

.

Protective baby.

So protective, safest kitty to be around.

KUNIGAMI is surprisingly calm and collected for a cat so damn big.

This feline is huge, almost like a dog. It’s a whole workout to just pick him up.

Loves walks, really does — or just overall being active in activities. Easily mistaken by a dog when he so excitedly wakes you up for the morning walk.

Specially muscular for a cat but it's not a surprise for his size. It’s hell if you want to guide him or when he just pops himself on top of you. It pretty much… crushes your lungs.

It doesn't take much to approach him — warming up to him is a different story. You have to be a good soul for him to acknowledge you. Good vibes and someone who surprises him in a way can already be accepted by him.

Social but on the quiet side. Will not complain if you put him in a room with other cats, and gets along pretty well.

He is MESSY. Balls of fur here and there, he can accidentally make some things fly off the corner and he won't even notice.

Feels bad for making you have to clean up, so he plays a role in taking care of the house when you're out.

Guard cat frfr.

A good boy — lot of energy too. Loves engaging with you. Type of cat to linger around where you go, not too far but not too close. Kunigami just.. there.

Has a lot of fur, it’s a miracle he’s so clean with so much fur.

Often intimidating, despite being friendly. Other cats are weary of his size. And Kunigami does know how to put up a fight — a big fight by the way. You learned that in the hard way when he encountered a blond cat with lashes and exotic eyes.

Indifferent about the vet, he just accepts it and gets over with him.

Protective. Did I mention that? Legit takes the role of protecting his home seriously. This includes his owner. If a guest looks too out of place or a stranger is pushing things on you, Kinigami’s hissing and glued to your side.

When you took him in, the previous person that was in charge of him mentioned his two other siblings in his litter. You assume that's where his protective nature comes from.

Kunigami isn't blind to not notice how you're not taking care of yourself. Be drained because of work or study, this cat is going to drag you aside so you can rest.

Gives his best to be of any help when your mental state isn't in the best shape. He really just hopes for the best for you.

Get’s annoyed when you give him an “insult”(affectionly).

Shower him with compliments and he’ll get awkward. Loves it, but he is just too lost to do anything.

Hang outs with the red-pinkish cat and other two cats are his favorite hang outs.

.

Sleeps 24/7 you bet he’s at the top of his life — he has never been so satisfied with this lifestyle, you bet NAGI prayed for this in his past life.

Gigantic, even bigger than Kunigami. Difference is; he doesn't do shit like Kunigami does.

But hey, don't judge him! He’s giving his best… and gives up(as if he cared in the first place).

Fur all over your house. In your clothes, couch, bed, everything. And he didn't even bother to clean up.

Definition of ball of fur, but add messy to the mixture.

The only effort you'd ever see him make is chase the sun on your floor to lay down and sleep.

Okay jokes aside; he is somehow active, just not often.

Nagi got one if not the best reflexes you’ll ever see in the body of a cat this huge and lazy. Good with limbs and manipulating whatever object that calls his attention enough.

Surprisingly good at running, you'd never guess it if it wasn't for a black cat that’s X3 smaller than him. It rarely happens, but you still have to keep an eye on them or else things might escalate.

Gives absolute no fuck to guests, if he wants your attention he will get it. But if he has a choice of where to be when guests are in, he’ll be buried in the best place on earth: your bed.

HATES vets. Hides and actively avoids you when the date comes. Good luck being able to drag him because he's heavy.

Bathing or grooming him is pretty easy, just tiring as heck for his size and how much fur he has

Looks like a wet rat when you bathe him.

Letting Nagi out in the wild is safe. You know he won’t go too far either, he just lingers and if he does go out; he always comes back somehow.

Nothing serious; he just surprised the living soul out of you when he came back with a rich purple cat trailing behind him.

Loves getting pets from you. If it’s from another someone that’s not special to him, he doesn't care then.

Purrs rather loudly, but it’s very muffled and low.

It's 9/10 chances you’ll wake up having difficulties breathing because the cat is either being your personal scarf or laying across your chest. He won't budge, so just try to flip over if you can.

Funny habit is that he’ll go for affection and then disappear, reappear, and repeat. He does like being alone after all.

Like the other cats on this list; bro actually has NO clue of what to do when you're down.

“It's so bothersome”… but he knows he can't be like this. Nagi comes to be a little more active, being to call your attention or just to get you to understand he's there.

Nagi actually has a clue of what is happening, he just has to be put in the right mind to get his gears running.

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A/N: I was gonna make a small doddle for this one but I gave up X3 damn this has been sitting on my drafts for decades holy shit

[nemeseos-noctua]

For Xiao, Zhongli and Albedo: what if their s/o (separate) made a song for them https://youtu.be/n8g-LdDf-pA note: S/O isn't immortal haha but they made the song in case they probs leave just to reassure their beloved loses them and uses it as some lullaby for them or something--

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: xiao, zhongli, albedo (separate) x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: mentions of death, xiao & albedo & zhongli story spoilers, not proofread

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: for those wondering: the song is abt finding ‘you’ (the characters in this case) over and over again, even after death. bc you (reader) are never truly gone bc u were in their (the characters) hearts

also srry if i trailed off w this request!! i didnt know whether u wanted an angst or fluff ending!

stares at u menacingly

is this. FORESHADOWING. that ur gonna DIE. hello?! 

once you clear it up that it’s just merely a song because you’re a mortal and he’s not, he’ll relax a bit

but then he’ll get a lil sad 😔

he knows. he knows death is inevitable, even for someone like him. he knows, one day, one day he will be alone again

but he wishes it didn’t have to be this way. the adeptus xiao, wishing for a happiness so unobtainable... 

Xiao was silent as you sang him your melody. The lyrics were so concise—yet, he felt as though you had rammed a spear into his heart multiple times.

He knew you were not permanent. That you were but a temporary, fleeting mortal soul, a soul who’d disappear like a wisp in the wind.

Your song—it reminded him of the Dihua Flute he had heard all those millennia ago. It reminded him of the eons he had spent, alone, the eons he had spent, cold. 

All of those memories he had hidden in the corner of his brain, racking up cobwebs ever since you came. You were the light that’d pierce through the darkness of the night, the darkness of his mind. You were someone so, so much more than a ‘mortal’ he had dubbed you as.

And yet, he wished he could dub you as anything, anything but ‘mortal’. Mortals meant temporary, mortals meant erasable. 

But you, you were not erasable. Never, never, ever. For as long as he’d live, as long as his name was ‘Xiao’.

You—you were the person whom he’d fallen in love with. [L/N] [Y/N].

he’d memorize the lyrics and tune of your song

though—as long as you live, he never wants to hear it again. hearing it once had already sent him into a dysphoric state, a state of which he seemed to mourn the future, to mourn what was about to come

and though—and though xiao knows, he knows you will leave him, that you will disappear like the rest...

he wants to believe. with his arms wrapped around you, with his hand clasped in yours, he wants to believe you will be by his side for eternity

The moon was silent, opening up a pathway for the Vigilant Yaksha as teal strands of hair fluttered with the wind, dancing like a needle and thread. 

Long ago, you were by his side. Long ago, you had sang these same words to him—

“I’ll love every version of you.

And you’re never truly gone

As long as a part of you in me lives on.”

The world was quiet without you.

Maybe because—because it wasn’t you who was singing the song.

zhongli will have a bittersweet smile etched onto his face

he, like xiao, has come to accept the fact that you are but a fleeting life in the sands of time. and though it pains him greatly—zhongli has suffered many, many losses

though, that does not mean yours is numb to him. goodness, no! if anything, yours would sting him for an eternity

but zhongli knows, for his wisdom is unmatched. he knows that he should take this time with you and spend it to the best of his expenses. he knows that though you may not be with him for the next hundreds of years, to have you in these mere decades is enough for him

and though his heart is already beginning to brace itself for a swan dive into the future, he—he, the mortal zhongli—will love you in this lifetime, and the next, and the next

“Did you arrange the lyrics yourself? They are quite beautiful, love,” Zhongli smiled, though, you did not miss the way his amber eyes flickered in melancholy.

“Hehe, yeah! I made this song for you, Zhongli! Because I know...” You trailed off, rubbing the back of your neck bashfully as the consultant wrapped his arms around you, the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart pounding against his chest. 

Walking among mortals—Zhongli is reminded, time and time again, life is temporary. It always is, and always will be—even to someone such as himself.

Eternity was impossible, unreachable, but the ex-archon must admit... 

He wanted to spend eternity with you.

albedo had told you of his concerns, of how he’s afraid to one day destroy mondstadt

it was obvious how he hinted the fact that he may break up with you. not because he fell out of love per se, but for your own good. 

and, a part of you had wished he had given you a chance. yet, you knew, you knew he did. he loved you, he loved you like how he loved alchemy, he loved you like how the sun would nurture and care for plants after the darkness of the night—

yet once again, albedo pulled through. he did it for you, he stopped loving you for— you

but you will never stop loving him.

Albedo sat in the corner of his camp, the fire doing nothing to alleviate the cold of his heart. 

He was alone. Again. The alchemist somehow always found himself in this situation—lost, forgotten, tossed away like a used beaker. 

But then he remembered, hah. It wasn’t him who was tossed away, it was you. It was your crestfallen face when Albedo ‘broke up’ with you, stating how he was ‘busy’ with experiments that you knew were just him shielding you from his inevitable doom.

Somehow, his mind always trailed back to you... as it always did. Whenever he felt powerless, the mere thought of your voice and laugh somehow brought him back to the known, back to hope. 

“But my love, I will hold you close to me.

‘Till you fade from my arms peacefully.”

The melody of that song you had strummed just for him still replayed in his mind like a broken stereo, like an endless music box that’d be played whenever he fell down.

Never before has Albedo wished to forget you—but, during this time, during this freezing snowy night,

He wished you never brought him warmth, for he feels colder than before. 

— constellations! 💫

[panda-noosh]

unlike me {fred weasley x reader}

  Words: 8k

Summary: You, a shy Hufflepuff, have caught the eye of Fred Weasley.

Genre: fluff

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - did i just write pure fluff? wow. i’m learning.

----

  Fred Weasley doesn’t do things to impress others. He never has. Trying to please others is so far from his mind when playing one of his pranks that it’s almost laughable to think he and his twin brother do anything for the sake of attention. They live to amuse themselves, and nobody else.

    But sometimes the reactions of others do catch his eye. It happens rarely, but there have been the odd times when Fred and George are fleeing from the scene of one of their usual messy pranks, and Fred will look over to see someone standing there, staring open mouthed and wide eyed at the scene in front of them, and he will turn back to the path and smile because - yet again - he has left somebody speechless.

   More often than not these days, that person is you.

  Fred doesn’t know much about you; you’re clearly very shy, hardly ever being spotted in the hallways unless you’re making your way to your next class, and even then you’re prone to keeping your head down, refusing to talk to anybody who wants to talk to you. Fred doesn’t know if you have any friends, if you want friends, if you’ve ever looked at him and wondered what it would be like to talk to him…

   “So, Harry, tell me a bit about that one over there.”

   Harry looks up from his breakfast plate, eyes still fogged from a night of no-doubt restless sleep. Beside him, Ron is still trying to wake himself up and Hermione is hastily flipping through a gargantuan textbook. It seems to Fred like the Chosen One may be the only one at this moment in time in a fit enough state to answer his pressing questions.

   “Huh?” he replies.

  Fred leans forward a little more, so close that his mouth is very nearly touching Harry’s ear. “That one over there.” He nods over to the Hufflepuff table. “The one sitting on their own.”

 Harry narrows his eyes. “Y/N L/N? What about them?”

  “They’re in your year, aren’t they?”

  “I think so. I don’t really know too much about them; they’re quite quiet, really.”

  “Yeah,” Fred and George say together. “We know.”

  Harry raises a brow, flicking his gaze to the twins standing on either side of him. “Why? Are you both interested?”

  “Just ol’ Freddy Boy here.”

  Ron scoffs. “You? Getting in with Y/N L/N? Mate, that’s about as likely as Percy showing up for Christmas this year.”

  Fred slaps Ron on the back of the head. “Shut your mouth, you git.”

  “So, what? You really think you have a chance with them?” Harry asks.

  Fred shifts uncomfortably; he hadn’t meant for the conversation to get this far. All he wanted was for Harry to tell him a bit about you and that be it - he was fairly confident he could handle the rest on his own using his incredible charm and humour.

   But now these snotty little fifth years are making him second-guess his own abilities, which has never happened before in his seventeen years of life.

    “I think so,” he replies, trying to keep his voice as confident as possible. “Why wouldn’t I have a chance? I’m charming, and witty, and-”

  “And loud, and annoying, and centre of attention literally all the time,” Ginny finishes, waltzing into the conversation. She sits down next to Hermione, pinching a hash brown off Harry’s plate. “Y/N is the complete opposite of that. You’ll scare them away before you even get a chance to ask them out.”

   Fred frowns. George says something in his twins defence, but Fred has stopped listening, instead choosing to glance over to where you’re still sitting, smiling shyly at the Hufflepuff boy who has just taken a seat next to you. It’s clear - and always has been clear - that you get plenty of attention - you just don’t want it. Fred has watched you get shy and awkward, shuffling away from people who so much as grin in your direction. Fred has even watched you scurry away when he walks past, and at this point, he isn’t even surprised; the scenes Fred finds him in are far from the types of scenes you’ll want to be caught in.

   You really are very different people, and Fred isn’t stupid enough to deny that. Nonetheless, there’s something about you that has always caught his eye, from the day he was a puny little second year, watching you scramble up to the Sorting Hat. Even then he found himself staring at you, fingers crossed in the hopes you would get sorted into Gryffindor, that he could find an excuse to lead you to the Common Room himself - not Perfect Percy - but then you were being sorted into Hufflepuff and an awful long time went by in which Fred did nothing to pursue you.

   But now he’s in his sixth year. If not now, then when?

  “Have you ever tried speaking to them?”

   Ron’s voice snaps Fred from his daze. He looks down and shrugs.

  “Not really.”

  “That's not like you,” says Ginny. “Have we actually found someone who makes you shy?”

 Fred scowls. “I’m not shy. Y/N’s shy - I’m just respecting that and keeping my distance.”

  “Good on you, mate,” says George, before he ducks his head down and whispers loudly in Harry’s ear, “Every time he sees them, he wets himself a little.”

  Fred kicks his twin. “Would you lot give it a rest? I’ll talk to them today, alright? You’ll all see.”

  “Oh, don’t wind him up,” Hermione tuts, slapping Ron on the arm when the group of youngsters start laughing.

  “Oooh,” George says. “You’ve got Granger sticking up for you, Fred - who would have thought that would ever happen to us?”

   “I think it’s cute that Fred likes Y/N,” says Hermione, sitting up a little straighter. “I don’t know much about them, but I think someone bringing them out of their shell could do them a world of good.”

   Fred can’t help but grin; the thought of it, of you actually giving him a chance - it makes him unnervingly happy. “Cheers, Hermione.”

   Fred takes that tiny bit of assurance and carries it with him throughout the entire day - he doesn’t really know when he’s going to make his move, just that he is.

   At some point.

  He has no classes with you. He barely sees you in the hallways. He doesn’t share a common room with you - the situation is really not working in his favour, but Fred Weasley will not let such a drawback ruin his plans. He’ll find ways around it, just as he finds ways around everything.

   The solution finally comes to him at 11:00pm.

  He should be in bed. He knows he should be in bed, that if Filch were to see him right now, the old man would be going absolutely ballistic, overjoyed with the idea of giving another student a detention. Fred has the advantage of the Marauders Map, plus a lifetimes worth of sneaking around, but that doesn’t make him feel any less nervous.

  He’s been out of bed after curfew plenty of times before, but never has he crept into another common room whilst doing it.

   He heads towards the basement, checking the Marauders Map every few seconds to ensure Filch and his filthy cat are as far away as possible. His mind is working at a million miles per hour, because for the first time in his life, Fred is convinced he’s being stupid. The amount of protective charms that must be on the doors of these openings would be insane, and Fred is insane to think he could ever try and get past them, but god, he can’t go down to breakfast tomorrow without making some attempt to talk to you, just like he said he would, just like Hermione-

   “Eep!”

  Fred spins on his heel, nearly falling over a body of armour stood in the corner. Multiple paintings rouse from their sleep, and the ones that were already awake break into fits of giggles. Fred doesn’t even acknowledge the tiny noise that made him jump in the first place, instead choosing to desperately hush the paintings around him.

   “Shut up. Sh! Filch will hear and then we’re all in trouble!”

   “Speak for yourself, Weasley,” says Doogle Doolaly through a mouthful of giggles. Fred shoots the painting a glare before abruptly remembering what had caused him to stumble in the first place.

   He spins around. To his surprise, you’re still there.

  You, standing right in front of him with both hands clapped over your mouth, eyes wide. You’re wearing a pair of yellow bed robes, hair a mess. Fred has to take a minute to just stare.

   And then, “What on Earth are you doing out of bed?”

  Slowly you lower your hands, biting your lower lip as you stare right back at him; Fred, though pleased, finds this quite odd considering he’s so used to watching you avoid eye contact as much as possible. “I was walking.”

   Your voice is quiet, timid.

   Fred tilts his head. “Walking? At eleven at night?”

   “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Me neither.”

   You nod. Fred nods back. The two of you stand a good five feet apart, unsure of what to say or do to make the silence go away - of course, there’s so many things Fred wants to ask, considering he was previously convinced you would never step out of line, but none of those questions are appearing right now.

    Fred, however, knows this silence can’t last forever, so he’s the one to make the first move in breaking it.

   “You alright?”

  You look up, startled. “I’m fine. Why?”

 “I was just wondering. You look like you’ve seen someone use an illegal curse or something.”

   “Thanks.”

 Fred’s stomach flips. “Not that you don’t look really pretty, because you do, but I’m just saying-”

   “Why were you heading towards the Hufflepuff common room?”

  Fred pauses. Have you just caught him out?

  “How did you know that’s where I was going?”

 “Because nobody else comes down here this late at night unless they’re a Hufflepuff coming back from detention.”

  “You’re good at this, you know. Right little detective, you are.”

   You shrug.

  Fred sighs, rubs the back of his neck before saying, “I was just having an innocent little dander about. Those Gryffindor sixth years can be a rowdy bunch - it’s hard to get to sleep.”

   “Oh. Okay.” You trace your eyes along his towering form, and for a moment, Fred is almost convinced you’re genuinely checking him out. It boosts his confidence a little. “Well, I’m sorry you couldn’t sleep. I’m also sorry for making so much noise - you startled me.”

   “Yeah, well, I’m a pretty scary person I’ve been told.”

  Your lips twitch. “Who told you that?”

   He shrugs. “It’s not so much a verbal thing. Sometimes sweet little Hufflepuff’s run away when they make eye contact with me.” He raises a brow, smirks when he sees your own smile fade, replaced by a mild look of embarrassment because you both know exactly who Fred is talking about.

   You cough and awkwardly kick at the floor. “Sometimes sweet little Hufflepuff’s get a little shy.”

   Fred’s confidence is really flooding back into his system now, and he doesn’t know why it feels different. This isn’t the confidence he carries around with him on a day-to-day basis, the confidence that allows him to play these big pranks without a care in the world. This is a type of confidence he has never felt before, makes him feel elated, like he can do anything.

   He smirks, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m Fred Weasley, by the way.”

  “I know.” Your eyes pop open for a brief second. “I mean - uh - Ron. Ron is your brother, right?”

  “He is.”

 “I know your brother. He’s in my year. Goalkeeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, right?”

 “Right.”

 You nod, biting your lower lip in that way Fred has learned you do quite often when you’re flustered. “I heard of you - uh - from him. Yeah.”

  Fred nods. He stares at your flustered form, finding amusement in the way you quickly look to the floor, trying desperately to avoid his gaze which has apparently now become too much for you.

  He chuckles and pushes himself away from the wall he found himself leaning upon. “It was lovely talking to you, Hufflepuff. Try not to run away next time and maybe we can talk again.”

   You look up and nod, lips twitching. Fred grins right back, bows his head to you before he walks off down the corridor, pretty darn pleased with himself.

  ----

   “So how did it go?”

  “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  Ginny gasps, slapping Fred on the arm when her, Fred and George sit down to breakfast the next morning. “You kissed?”

   Fred snickers. “No. But we spoke, and it was great. Y/N L/N is actually a bit of a rule breaker.”

 Ginny raises a brow, reaching across George for a slice of toast. “Shut up.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” says George, at the same time Fred says, “I’m telling the truth.”

   “Wow. What were they doing to break the rules?”

 “Walking about after curfew. Lucky I was there, or else Filch would have had them.”

   Ginny scoffs. “Because god forbid anyone be as sneaky as you two.”

  “Exactly,” the twins reply.

   “So what was the conversation like?” Ginny prods. She wears a distracted gaze in the hopes that Fred won’t see just how curious she really is, but Fred sees right through her.

   “It wasn’t bad,” he replies. “A bit short, but that’s easily fixed.”

  “So you want to keep talking to them?”

  Fred raises a brow. “Of course I do.”

  Ginny hums around the slice of toast in her mouth. “Cute, Fred. Cute.”

  Fred opens his mouth to give a sarcastic retort, but gets abruptly distracted by the sight of you rising from the Hufflepuff table. He sits bolt upright, craning his neck to see over the heads of everybody else; you don’t spare him a glance, apparently retreating back to your usual, shy self. With your head ducked down and your books piled in your arms, you hastily make your way towards the exit.

    Fred is standing up before he can even process he’s moved. Ginny and George watch him, both smiling maniacally as Fred utters a half-hearted goodbye and follows after you. He really has no plans for what he could possibly say when he finally catches up, but he’s decided to take every opportunity he possibly can.

   He bustles out of the Great Hall, finding you only a few seconds after as you head back towards the Hufflepuff common room.

  “Y/N!”

  You freeze, spinning around as Fred jumps onto the step just below the one you’re currently standing on. He pants dramatically, clutching his chest.

   “You move quick.”

 You glance over his shoulder, hugging your books a little tighter. “Hi, Fred. How was breakfast?”

  “Oh, good. Great, actually. I - uh - had toast.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “Yeah.” He straightens up, rubbing the back of his neck; why is he suddenly nervous? “Where are you off to?”

  “I have to go grab some books for my first few classes,” you reply, and Fred can’t help but note the slight tinge of amusement in your voice. “Where are you off to?”

  Fred pauses; again, this was not something he necessarily thought through when he first decided to follow you out here. He really just wanted a chat, to hear your voice one more time before he was forced to go to classes.

   He folds his arms over his chest as nonchalantly as he can manage, leaning against the banister. “I don’t think it’s right for a lovely wizard like yourself to be walking to class on your own; I thought I’d offer my services.”

    You raise a brow, once again taking a cautious glance over Fred’s shoulder to ensure nobody is around to hear his flirtations; nonetheless, you make no attempt to stop him, which he takes as a relatively good sign. “Well, you can walk me to class if you like. I have to get my books first, though.”

 Fred gestures up the stairs. “Lead the way.”

  And so you do. Fred follows you all the way to the Hufflepuff common room, where he is forced to wait outside whilst you gather your belongings. His stomach grumbles, evidence of his uneaten breakfast, but he doesn’t even care right now. Not when you walk out of the common room, all smiles and nervous glances. Fred offers you his arm, and it’s with only the slightest bit of hesitation that you take it and allow Fred to lead you back through the school hallways.

   “What is it like in there?” he asks.

   “In where?”

  “The Hufflepuff common room. Surely you can hear all the house elves rattling about in the kitchens at night.”

   You shake your head. “The walls are soundproof; did you know Muggles have soundproof things as well?”

  Fred raises a brow. “You’re not obsessed with Muggle stuff, are you? My dad’s into all that stuff - I’ve heard enough of it for a lifetime.”

   You giggle, and Fred is fairly certain his hand starts trembling.

   “No, I’m not obsessed,” you say. “I do find some of it interesting, though. The similarities between our world and theirs.”

  “Are there many? Similarities, I mean.”

  You shrug. Looking to the side, Fred can see your face suddenly change; what once was an expression of nerves and uncertainty is now one of interest and intrigue as Fred asks you questions on a topic you are clearly very invested in. It makes his heart lift, and he has to bite his lower lip to stop the smile from spreading and making it too obvious.

   “A few I’ve picked up on,” you reply. “They still - like - wear clothes and stuff. Just different styles. And they live in houses, and go to school-”

  “School? Don’t insult Hogwarts like that. Muggle school and wizard school aren’t even comparable.”

   You furrow your brows, glancing up at Fred. “But they still learn.”

   “Not the important stuff. Not like we do.”

  “And what would you consider important?”

  Fred hums, gazing wistfully into the distance. You giggle again. Finally, he says “aha!” and clicks, whirling on you. “Right, tell me this - do Muggles learn Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

  You frown, grip tightening on his arm. “I don’t think so. They don’t have magic, so it would be a bit pointless, wouldn’t it?”

  “Ah, but it’s important. What are they gonna do if a Dementor comes knocking on their front door?”

  “There’s nothing they can do, even if they knew the basic stuff we know. They don’t have magic, Fred.”

  Fred grunts. “Must be a hard life having to do everything by hand.”

   “I agree.”

  Fred chuckles, glancing down at you. Your eyes meet his for a fraction of a second before you bite your bottom lip and avert your gaze.

   “Go on then,” Fred continues. “Tell me some more similarities. You’ve got me interested now.”

   “Really?”

  “Mm.”

  You tilt your head in thought. “Well. . . I suppose the way their government system works is quite similar to ours.”

   “Explain.”

  “They have people in power. A system of higher-up’s, if you will, who control everything.”

  “Is theirs as corrupt as ours?”

  “Oh, definitely. Sometimes I’d even argue they’re even more corrupt than ours.”

  Fred’s eyes pop open. “Blimey. How has the Muggle world not completely broken down?”

   You laugh. Full-on laugh, eyes squinting closed and head thrown back. Fred can’t even bring himself to laugh alongside you, suddenly too engrossed in your enjoyment to indulge in his own.

   You hiccough yourself back to reality before looking up and saying, “Surely your dad could teach you all this stuff if he’s so interested in Muggle affairs?”

   “He’s interested, but he’s also a bit oblivious. Doesn’t matter how many times Harry tells him what a telephone is, he still has no idea how it all works.” Fred shrugs. “Plus, I enjoy my lessons much more when you’re teaching them.”

   You stiffen, lower lip hiding - yet again - behind your teeth. You swallow thickly, and before Fred can do anything, you’re unwinding your arm from his and picking up your pace, calling a quick, “I’m gonna be late!” over your shoulder. Fred falters mid-way, staring after you with his mouth dropped open and confusion making his stomach churn.

   Someone crashes into his shoulder as you round the corner. “Nice one, mate.”

  “Shut up, George.”

   “It doesn’t look like it’s going too well.”

 “It’s - it’s going fine.” Fred curses under his breath - now you’ve got him stuttering? “They’re just a little shy. But I think they like me.”

    “Oh yes, the most obvious sign of attraction - running away.”

   ----

   Fred is beginning to get very tired of his classes.

  He’s only here for the sake of his mothers sanity; god only knows how Molly Weasley would react if he showed up at the Burrow six months early, claiming he was finished with school before he’d even managed to bag an acceptable amount of N.E.W.T’s.

   But he doesn’t want to be here any more. He’s getting tired of forcing himself to listen to things he only half cares about, getting tired of being told off for things that - honestly - the teachers should just be used to by now. It’s not like they haven’t seen it for the past six years.

   He grunts to himself as he and George walk out of History of Magic. Yet another boring lesson that seemed to drag on much longer than necessary; all Fred has to prove he was there at all is the doodle of a cat in the top hand corner of his notebook.

   “I need a sleep,” George says. “His bloody voice exhausts me.”

  Fred opens his mouth to respond, but his twin brother cuts him off by slapping a hand to his arm and pointing straight ahead.

  Startled, Fred looks up. Standing by the gargoyle just outside History of Magic is you, hugging your books whilst awkwardly looking back and forth, as if afraid one of the passing students is going to stop and harass you.

  George snickers. “Go on, mate. I think they’re looking for you.”

  Before Fred can object, get himself together, George shoves him forward hard enough to make him stumble. Your head snaps up at the sound of Fred saying “You git!” and Fred is quick to lean against the wall, look at you and say, coolly, “Y/N. What a pleasant surprise.”

   You stand up a little straighter, lips twitching. “Hi. How was class?”

  “Boring.” He smirks. “Much better now that you’re here, though.”

  The unmistakable sound of George snorting as he passes by floats between you. You smile, giving Fred’s brother a nod before you turn back to Fred and say, “Do you fancy taking a little walk before break ends?”

   Of all the things Fred expected to happen today, you asking him on a walk was certainly not one of them. It takes him a second to reply, and it’s only the realisation that you’re probably just as nervous as he is that he snaps out of it and nods.

   You wind your arm through his without him having to offer; his cheeks are burning.

  Together, you set off down the hall. It’s quiet for a little bit, Fred still trying to figure out what’s happening, and you inspecting each and every one of the sculptures you pass, as if too afraid to look over at Fred.

    Finally, however, you break the silence. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

   Fred’s stomach jolts. “What are you sorry for?”

  “For how I reacted. You were just being nice and I - uh - I don’t really know how to handle that kind of thing.”

  Fred perks an eyebrow, glancing down at you with genuine curiosity. “I find that very hard to believe.” Because he does. He finds it downright unbelievable that compliments are not something you have grown used to across the five years spent in Hogwarts.

   You shrug. “Well, believe it. I really appreciated what you said, but I just. . . I don’t know how to respond, or if you’re telling the truth-”

 “I was definitely telling the truth.”

   You bite your lip. “I shouldn’t have ran off like that. It must have made you feel awful.”

 Classic Hufflepuff behaviour - thinking more about other people’s feelings than their own.

  “You know,” Fred drawls, “if my flirting makes you uncomfortable, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

   “No!”

  Fred’s eyes snap down. You look back up at him, eyes wide before you realise the abruptness of your protestation and hastily avert your gaze to the floor.

  “No,” you say, softer now. “I - uh - I don't think you should stop. I quite like it, actually.”

  Fred smirks, keeping his eyes trained on you even as you fight desperately to look anywhere but him. “Do you fancy me, Y/N L/N?”

  “Oh, give me a break, Fred.”

   “I think you do.” He rubs his cheek against your own. “Just a little bit.”

  You jerk away, slapping his arm. “Well, it’s not bloody difficult, is it?”

  Fred falters, though his smile only widens. “What does that mean?”

  You groan, pulling your arm from his yet again. Fred stumbles back, unable to help the laugh that bursts from his throat at the sight of your flustered state.

   “I’m going to class,” you announce.

  “You didn’t answer my question!”

   “I don’t have an answer to your question.” You stand there a little longer. With a smile still beaming, Fred watches as you take a single step forward, a step back, another step forward-

  And then, as if telling yourself to just get it over with, you jump forward and press your lips to Fred’s cheek. His jaw drops open, but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything before you’re spinning on your heel and rushing away, rounding the corner without so much as a wave in his direction.

   Fred swallows thickly, reaching up to brush his fingers against the area you have just kissed, just like they do in those cheesy Muggle movies his mum is so fond of. He can’t believe the feeling that comes with it - his heart is going to explode.

    Oh, no…

   ----

   The Hufflepuff table is boring compared to the Gryffindor table. That’s the first thing Fred notices.

  Maybe it’s because his friends aren’t with him. Maybe it’s because George flat-out refused to accompany him. Maybe it’s because Fred is nervous, and he’s angry about it, because since when has Fred Weasley ever been nervous about anything?

   This morning, however, he is pushed on by the memory of your lips against his cheek. That is his only source of motivation, the only reason he doesn’t flick Ernie MacMillan on the back of the head when the Hufflepuff boy turns and scowls at the Gryffindor student currently making his way towards you, sat at the very end.

  You have yet to look up from your textbook. Fred takes great pleasure in wrapping his arms around your shoulders, your body jumping back against his in your shock. He leans down and chuckles in your ear, moving his head so you can see his clearly amused features.

   Immediately your eyes widen. “Fred! What are you doing here?”

 “I thought I’d come have breakfast with you.” He waves his wand; a sausage springs up from Ernie’s plate, which he catches before biting into. “Like a date.”

    You bite your lip. “Do you want to sit down?”

 “Uh, Y/N?” Ernie calls over as Fred takes the empty seat next to you; he doesn’t miss the way you barely look up when you hum in response to Ernie’s - quite frankly - rude call of your name. “You know the houses have to eat together. He’s breaking the rules.”

   You shyly look up. “Oh, Ernie, let him sit down…”

 “Yeah Ernie,” Fred jeers. “Let me sit down, you nosy little git.”

   You choke on the pumpkin juice you just lifted to your mouth, spinning in your seat to hide the amused smile growing uncontrollably upon your face. Fred grins, placing his hands on your shoulders.

  “Did you like that?”

 “You’re impossible,” you hiss, slapping his arm. “Just ignore him. He’s got a grudge against anyone who plays for Gryffindor.”

 “Yeah, I know.” Fred narrows his eyes, craning his neck a little to see over your shoulder, where Ernie sits with a scowl on his face. “He better not give you a hard time for hanging out with me, you know. You’d tell me if he was?”

    You shift so you’re covering Ernie’s face and are now the centre of Fred’s attention. “Of course I would. Plus, Ernie doesn’t scare me.”

   “I’ll certainly scare him if he so much as-”

 “Fred,” you laugh, nudging his knee beneath the table. His eyes drift back to you, his body immediately relaxing at the sight of your glowing smile. “Calm down, okay? He’s got nothing against me - it’s you and the Gryffindor team he’s got a problem with.”

   “Is that supposed to make me hate him any less?”

  You shrug, plucking Fred’s hands from your shoulders and placing a hash brown between his fingertips. “He’s got a point, you know. You are breaking the rules by sitting here.”

   Fred raises a brow. “Right, I’ll leave if you-”

  “No!” You latch onto his arm, pulling him back to the bench as Fred bursts into yet another round of raucous laughter at how easily flustered you become. “No, you should stay. Dumbledore isn’t even looking.”

   “If I was any less wise, L/N, I’d think you want me to have breakfast with you.”

   “I just don’t get to see that much of you,” you mumble.

  Fred coos; he’s trying so hard to keep up the fun-guy persona, putting on a mask of confidence despite the speed at which his heart is hammering in his chest at the moment. You make it so easy for him to feel this way, too easy, because sure, Fred has had crushes on people before, but never has he put himself out like this. Never has he wanted to make someone laugh so much. Never has he been so proud of being the reason for someone else’s smile.

    Fred leans forward, lowering his voice. “That’s very cute.”

  “Yeah, well…”

   He chuckles, flicking your heated cheek before he takes a bite from the slice of toast you’re holding. You jolt upright immediately, swatting him away with a glare. “Hey!”

   He licks the butter noisily from his fingers. “Yummy.”

  You roll your eyes. “Get your own breakfast.”

  “But yours is so much tastier.”

   You grab another slice of toast from your plate and push it against Fred’s lips. He opens his mouth, takes a bite and hums appreciatively.    

   And then the world stops.

   It really is like those scenes in those cheesy movies his mum watches all the time, where the room seems to go still and it’s like nobody else exists. Your fingers hover inches away from his face, your eyes cast to his lips where the slice of toast has just disappeared. Fred swallows, his own eyes drawn to your lips, slightly parted, so soft looking-

    “Weasley! What do you think you’re doing sitting at the Hufflepuff table! Get back to where you belong right this instant!”

   McGonagall grabs a fistful of his robes, pulling him up from the bench. Fred gasps, stumbling up with his eyes still locked on you. You hastily look back down at the table, pushing hair out of your eyes, trying to avoid being told off by the Deputy Head.

   “Awk, lay off, Professor!” Fred exclaims. “I was having fun!”

  “You were breaking the rules, Mr Weasley. You can integrate with your pals whenever breakfast has finished, but until then-”

   “Yeah, yeah,” Fred grumbles, giving you one last glance. It’s to his utter relief that he sees you looking back at him, a tiny smile on your face. Fred winks before McGonagall shoves him forward, back into his seat at the Gryffindor table.

   ----

   When Fred receives your note, he is sat in the Gryffindor common room with George.

  Homework litters the table in front of them, unfinished and not understood by either of them. Hermione had long since gone to bed, insisting she wasn’t going to help people who didn’t want to help themselves. And so, the twins sat up until the late hours of the night, staring at their homework with a sense of frustration building between them.

   Fred feels certain he’s going to snap at any given moment; this whole school thing really isn’t working out for him nor George, and the two of them have such prestigious dreams that sitting in a classroom all day just feels like a waste of time. Maybe that’s why he can’t bring himself to properly concentrate on his lessons. Maybe that’s why neither he nor George care as much about grades as all his other siblings.

   “Right, so clearly Flitwick was on something when he wrote this,” says George, scowling at his charms homework. “He didn’t even mention flying charms last lesson, so why has he-”

   The fireplace suddenly erupts.

  Both Fred and George jump at the sudden interruption, swivelling round in their chairs to catch a glimpse of what has happened; they both know full well the kinds of things these fireplaces can permit, and neither of them want to deal with anything too dangerous at this time of night.

    In the fire, however, is not the face of a Death Eater, or anything close to such - instead, a single piece of paper sits in the ashes, Fred’s name printed in bold across the top.

   The twins frown at each other. George makes a suggestive gesture, all but shoving Fred closer for inspection.

  Fred stumbles, sends George a glare before he bends down and picks the piece of paper up. Immediately the handwriting is recognisable by the lazy flick of the letters, how effortlessly neat it looks. It would take Fred hours to write a note that looks like this, and yet he’s watched you scribbling notes down; this is undoubtedly your doing.

   Suddenly he’s smiling.

  “Oh, here we go,” George groans, noticing his twins expression. “You’re sending love notes to each other now?”

   “Shut up.” Fred sinks down into one of the armchairs, reading your note thoroughly. “Y/N wants to meet up.”

  “Right now?”

   “Mhm.”

  George raises a brow. “Have you two even kissed yet?”

 Fred’s eyes snap up, cheeks heating before he can stop them. He never ever gets flustered around George, but the mention of such a thing has his stomach flipping. “Why do you care?”

   George raises his hands in mock surrender. “Never said I did, mate, but the smile on your face right now would suggest at least a peck on the cheek or something.”

   Fred scowls. “No, we haven’t kissed. We’re not even properly together, so drop it.”

   “How does that make sense? You both fancy each other-”

   “Yeah, but it’s nothing official.” Fred lazily flicks his hand, clicking his fingers so the note folds itself into a perfect square and zips into his robe pocket. “You wouldn’t understand these things, Georgie Boy. You’ve got to take it slow.”

   Goerge scoffs, throwing a pencil at Fred. “Very bloody slow apparently. But I forgot, it’s a Hufflepuff you’ve got your eye on. They tend to be a bit hard-to-get, don’t they?”

   Fred opens his mouth to protest, to stick up for you, but he can’t even deny the truth in George’s words; a fair amount of time has passed since the two of you first started talking, and all you’ve done is say you enjoy his company. There’s been no kissing, no hand-holding, nothing even close to being considered romantic.

   Fred is okay with this, of course. He’s in that very weird head space where even just being in your presence is enough to satisfy him; he catches glimpses of you as you parade from one class to another, and that is enough until he sees you again at lunch, or dinner, or during breaks.

   He sighs, pushing himself up from the armchair. “Don’t wanna leave them waiting, do I?”

  George scowls. “What about our homework?”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “I’m not covering for you if Flitwick asks what you were up to that’s more important than his homework assignments.”

 Fred grins, not even giving a response as he clambers out of the common room and ducks into the hallways.

  He knows exactly where to go, even though he’s never met up with you after hours before - not since the first time, which he doesn’t even count considering it was entirely an accident. To this day, he still isn’t convinced that wasn’t some type of dream - a Hufflepuff, out of bed after hours? Not a single soul would believe him if he told them.

   Fred makes his way down the corridor and grins when he sees you standing there; you’re much braver than him. Fred, personally, feels much safer when he’s wading through the halls - it makes it more difficult for Filch to catch him if he’s not stationary. You, however, seem to have no issue with standing behind a suit of armour, waiting patiently for Fred to round the corner.

   “Hola. Bonjour. Hello. Hi.”

   You look round, face immediately lighting up. “Fred! Hi!”

  He’ll never get used to that greeting.

   “Y/N! Hi!” he mimics. “I got your note.”

  “Good. Great. I was worried I did it wrong.”

   “You? Do something wrong?” Fred screws his face up in an expression of mock confusion, which prompts you to roll your eyes and nudge him. He grins, stuffs his hands in his pockets and says, “Out after curfew again, eh? Have I finally corrupted you?”

   “You must have,” you reply.

   Fred tilts his head. “What’s the actual reason you invited me out?”

   And that’s when your expression shifts.

   You bite your lower lip in that way you always do, eyes darting to the ground awkwardly. Fred raises a brow, leaning forward a bit in his attempt to get you to look at him again, but you suddenly seem much too embarrassed to even be giving Fred the time of day. His stomach flips with uncharacteristic anxiety, and he can’t stop himself when he steps forward and places a gentle hand on your elbow.

   “Hey. Did something happen?”

  The words burst out of you in one breath. “I left my book in the bathing room and I’m too scared to get it myself but I really need it to help me sleep, so I was wondering if you could help me get through the hallways without Filch knowing and then I promise you can go back to bed and never speak to me again.”

   You take a sharp breath before looking away again, apparently too embarrassed by your request to even look at him.

   Fred takes a moment to reply. He has to untangle your words first, and then he has to bask in his amusement at how embarrassed you were by asking it; personally, he doesn’t see the problem. He’s happy to help. In fact, he’d be pretty annoyed if it wasn’t him you were asking.

   “Alright.”

  Your eyes snap up. “Really? I mean, you don’t have to, I just thought - well, you know your way around, and you’ve dealt with Filch-”

  “You don’t need to explain.” He offers his arm, just as he always does. “What book is it?”

 And it’s with only the tiniest bit of hesitance that you take his offered arm and allow him to guide you through the corridors he apparently knows so well; in truth, he doesn’t tend to go out after curfew all that often, because he gets all of his mischief done in the day time now. But you were indeed correct in saying he knows this place better than anyone else. He and George spent the majority of their school careers finding secret passageways and little hiding spots they could use at any given time. As he listens to you talk about the book he’s about to try and save, he recalls each and every one of these hiding places whilst keeping a sharp ear out for Filch.

   The two of you arrive at the bathing rooms and Fred pushes open the door. It squeaks, and you wince, glancing at Fred anxiously; he merely places a hand on the small of your back, pushing you further into the room.

   He follows, closes the door and exhales heavily. “Made it. Now where’s that book you’ve lost?”

   You skitter around the edge of the massive bathing pool; it’s still filled to the brim with forever hot water, always clean despite the amount of people washing themselves within it on a daily basis. Fred stands on the edge, hands stuffed in his pockets as he watches you rush to the far side of the room, rummage around in a basket of towels before pulling a particularly thick book out from beneath them.

   You look over, smiling broadly with the book pressed against your chest.

  Fred raises a brow. “Happy now?”

 “Overjoyed.”

 You skip back over to him, pulling open the front cover to look inside. Fred leans forward, reading the confusing inside blurb over your shoulder.

   “And you use this for a bit of light reading in the bath?” he asks.

  Startled, you slam the book closed. “It’s good, honestly.”

  “I’ll take your-”

   Fred’s sentence is cut off by the sound of Filch yelling.

  And it’s unmistakably Filch yelling, because Fred has heard it many, many times before. It always comes with that initial rush of panic, the realisation he’s been caught, and if he was with anybody else, that initial panic wouldn’t have even lasted. Now, however, he takes one look at your slack face, the horror swimming in your eyes, and he realises this is the first time you’ll have ever gotten in trouble with the caretaker.

   A traumatic experience for anyone.

  “Oh, god,” you whisper, dropping the book with a SLAM. You jump, scrambling to pick it up, but the noise only seems to draw Filch closer to the door. Fred has to think now.

   He groans low under his breath, fumbling beneath his robes for his wand - a wand that has been left on the table back in the Gryffindor common room.

  You jolt back up straight, hugging the book to your chest, and that’s when Fred does the one thing he can think to do right now - he grabs your arms and pushes you back, jumping into the deep end of the bath with you alongside him.

    He holds you close, opening his eyes as much as he possibly can. He can hear Filch’s yelling from above, aggravated screams of “I know you’re in here! I know you’re in here! I heard you!” Fred simply pulls you closer, urging you to hold your breath for as long as possible.

   But he can see you panicking, the air leaving you. He can see your lips threatening to split open so you can scream or cry or breathe, Fred doesn’t know, but he can’t let you do it. Not right now.

   Without magic, there’s only one thing he can think to do.

  He presses his lips to your own and pries your mouth open. He doesn’t know how this works. He read about it once in a Muggle Studies book, but he never thought he would ever actually need to pay attention to the details. He takes your relaxing body as a good sign, tightening his hold on your shoulders as he continues to breathe as much air into your mouth as he can possibly muster.

    And then the door is slamming, and Filch’s screams are muted behind the gold plating, and Fred immediately lets go of you and bursts to the surface.

   You follow, gasping for air, wiping water out of your eyes along with fat strands of wet hair. Fred pants, wiping his eyes roughly, trying so hard to find words for an apology but unable to gather enough breath to even think proper thoughts at the moment.

   His heartbeat soars. He looks over at you; you’re already looking at him, and the entire room is silent besides your synchronised panting breaths.

   You shove past the water, into his arms, and kiss him.

   Fred’s eyes pop open wide, but his arms wind around your waist almost instinctively. His lips mould against yours, and once the initial shock has passed, his eyes are slipping closed and he’s falling, falling, drowning, never wanting to resurface ever again.

   You pull away first. Water drips from your bottom lip, your eyelashes, your chin, and Fred has never seen a sight so beautiful. He reaches forward, swiping his thumb along your lower lip before he leans forward and gives you a final peck.

    “Always full of surprises, you are,” he whispers.

  ----

   Fred watches you. Leaning against the door frame with his arms folded across his chest, he watches as you run the towel down your face, grumbling beneath your breath about how impossible it will be to explain your soaked robes to Professor Sprout.

   Fred hasn’t even stopped to properly think about how the two of you are meant to get back to your respective common rooms without someone noticing; you’ll surely leave a trail of water in your wake, and Filch is already on high alert. Despite this, Fred can only focus on the kiss the two of you have just shared, and what it means for the future.

    You sigh, slamming the towel down and turning. There’s an adorable pout on your face, eyebrows furrowed, hair still soaked and clinging to your skin.

   “That really was a shock,” you say.

  Fred chuckles. “Just the bit where we took a swim?”

   “And the bit where you saved me from drowning.”

  “And the bit when we resurfaced and you-”  

   You groan, waving your hands in front of you as if swatting a fly. “Awk, don’t. I never do anything like that. I probably did it all wrong-”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Kissing is just something I never got the hang of. I’ve only done it a few times, because I don’t really tend to like people that way, but-”

  “But I’m a special case?”

  You scowl, deflating. “You know you are.”

  Fred grins that cheeky grin of his, pushing away from the door. He wades towards you and stops only when he’s close enough that you have to crane your neck to look into his eyes. “I think you got the hang of kissing perfectly fine. You’re a bloody natural.”

   You blink. “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” With that, Fred leans down and presses his lips to your own. It’s only slow, slow enough that Fred can feel you melt into him, your rib cage suddenly coming against his own, your fingertips brushing delicately against his waist. It’s adorable, feeling you lose yourself like this, barely registering what is actually happening.

   He pulls away just as slow, so you can feel everything when he does so. Your eyes stay closed for a second before opening, lower lip retreating between your teeth, face hot when Fred brings his hands up to your jaw.

   “Does - Okay, well, stupid question, but does this make us a couple?” you ask.

  Fred laughs. “If you want, yeah.”

  “Do you -”

  “Oh, Y/N, don’t even ask that; you know full well I want to be your boyfriend. Full. Well.”

   A grin splits your face. “Okay.”

  “Yeah?”

  You nod, wrapping your arms around his middle and placing your chin in the centre of his chest. “Yeah.”

[simplyclockwork]

I am a huge fan of your writing. I would love a post season 4 fic where we see John and Rosie move back to 221b. Sherlock has an accident and breaks an arm and a leg. As he is wondering how he will take care of himself John turns up to collect him from hospital like its the most natural thing in World that he will take care of Sherlock. The focus is John wanting a chance to redeem himself. Happy Johnlock ending please. I’m over 18. Smut optional!

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Hi, anon! Thanks for your patience with me filling the prompt. Hopefully, you like what I’ve written :) Please feel free to send a prompt anytime!

You can also read your prompt on Ao3 here. The rest of the fill is below the page break.

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It’s only been a couple of weeks since John moved back to Baker Street, with his few belongings and infant-daughter in tow. Sherlock is still adjusting, and so is John, while Rosie bounces about the place like a tennis ball. She provides a perfect distraction, a much-needed buffer between John and Sherlock, who are still trying to find their way back to something considered normalcy.

Whatever their new normalcy is, Sherlock doesn’t know. He just hopes they find it soon because the unresolved tension hovering over 221B is starting to drive him mad.

Things are different. Better than they were before when John… well, that was before, and this is now. Sherlock tries not to dwell on their brief tilt into insanity. Mary, the aquarium, Culverton Smith, Eurus and Sherrinford. Each has taken a toll on Sherlock in one way or another. Things are different. John works at the clinic more often than he joins Sherlock on cases. He has a daughter to provide for, and his evening spent in a well with chains around his ankles has made him somewhat skittish.

Sherlock can’t blame him, not when he feels a little skittish himself—but he’s the world’s only consulting detective. It’s him, or it’s no one, and he’s got a bit of life left in him yet. Casework feels strange without John at his side, but John hasn’t been there in any consistent capacity since Sherlock returned from the dead, so he adjusts.

Sherlock’s had more madness than most, more than enough for several lifetimes. These days, Sherlock tires more easily. Moves a little slower, reacts a little later. Retirement is a word he starts to hear more often, echoing in his Mind Palace and staring back at him from the bathroom mirror when he pokes at the new wrinkles in his face and as he tugs at the silvered hairs appearing at his temples with increasing frequency.

It is pure irony that on the day Sherlock decides to slow down on the more challenging cases, to focus on fours and sixes and the life he hopes to build with John and Rosie, he has an accident.

The case is a straightforward kidnapping that Sherlock solves in minutes. The kidnapee, a young woman in her 30s, named Alice Forbes, is taken from her London flat by an ex-boyfriend. Sherlock leads Lestrade and his team to an old building with a decommissioned lift. Narrow and festooned with disturbed cobwebs, the shaft is dark and accessible with a rusted but sturdy-looking ladder.

In hindsight, Sherlock should have known it was too easy. Should have waited, should have let Lestrade’s men go before him. But, true to his impatient nature, he is the first to rush down the ladder.

And he’s the first to fall when one of the rungs, eaten through by rust and time, gives way beneath his hand, sending him to the bottom of the lift shaft. The fall isn’t far enough to kill him, but it is far enough to break bone, and Sherlock winces at the double crack he hears before agony and fire spill through his left arm and right leg. A cross-body break, of all things, arm trapped beneath him and leg striking a cable at the wrong angle.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade’s voice reaches him from above, invisible in the dark, and Sherlock clenches his teeth to resist the urge to scream.

Definitely multiple breaks, he can tell. Nothing hurts like a break, and right now, Sherlock is ablaze.

“Don’t climb down,” he manages to reply, voice wavering and strained with pain. “One of the rungs broke. Could be others.”

“Fuck,” comes the reply from above. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock squints in the dark, wetting his dry lips with his tongue as he takes stock of his body. At least the two breaks, possibly a mild concussion, and sweat rising on his brow. Shock. “No,” he finally says, swallowing around the taste of bile. “I need an ambulance.

Lestrade spits another short curse. “With how much you hate going to the A&E, I take it that it’s bad?”

“Rather bad,” Sherlock replies, trying for humour and just sounding weak and ragged. “I believe I’m going into shock.”

Instead of answering, Lestrade starts barking orders. Setting his temple carefully against something cold and metal, Sherlock blinks in the dark and takes in his surroundings. A shape shivers and sags against the wall of the lift shaft not far from where he lies. Given Alice’s lack of response to the shouting, he’s not confident she is anything like okay. Only the constant shivering tells him she’s still alive, and he clears his throat before shouting, “Make that two ambulances.” Swallowing, Sherlock sucks in a breath at a ripple of agony from his leg and adds, “I found Alice. Alive, but not conscious.”

“Got it,” Lestrade calls back. A light shines down, and Sherlock squints. He can’t make out Lestrade’s face, and likely the DI can’t see him either, but the beam from the torch is a point of light in the dark, and Sherlock fixates on it. “We’re gonna get you out, alright?”

“That would be preferred,” Sherlock replies, trying for venom and only sounding tired.

A rope snaps down next to his head. Tossed from above, it hangs in the air with a silent expectancy. Staring at it, Sherlock hopes Lestrade doesn’t expect him to climb up the offering. When it begins to shake and wiggle, he knows someone must be climbing down. A small, shaky sigh escaping his lips, Sherlock tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, though whether the comfort is for his benefit or Alice’s, he doesn’t know.

As his mind begins to darken and drift, he feels a pang of guilt for not letting John know where he’d be today. Sherlock has time for one last passing thought of how he’ll manage with two broken limbs, whether or not John will even bother to visit him at the hospital, and if this little stunt will shatter the tenuous connection between them before everything fades away.

***

The faint drone of voices draws Sherlock out of his head, and he opens his eyes to bright lights and white coats. He blinks, squints and blinks again, waiting for his vision to clear. When it finally does, he finds a young woman standing over him with a small smile.

“Hello, Mister Holmes,” she greets, and Sherlock blinks once more before she introduces herself. “I’m Doctor Seif.”

“Hello,” he replies, his voice rough. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Concussion?”

Doctor Seif nods in sympathy. “Mild, but enough to knock you out. You came in and out of it until we set your leg, then we lost you for a bit from the pain.” She pats his shoulder with a gentle hand. “Your left humerus is broken, but not severe enough for a cast. So we’ve done a splint, but your leg will need a cast.” Moving to set his chart down, she pauses and turns back, adding, “We called your brother—he was listed as your emergency contact. We spoke to his aide, and she said he would be here once he finishes with a meeting.”

Sherlock waves a hand, dismissing both her words and the faint pang he feels at the reminder that John is no longer his emergency contact. “He’ll turn up. Always does, just like a bad penny.” Doctor Seif laughs.

“I have two older sisters. I know just how you feel.” Tapping his chart, she tilts her head. “Now, let’s get you fixed up and out of here, shall we?”

Sherlock’s smile is small and strained, but an attempt nonetheless. “Certainly.”

***

The cast is bulky, and his arm aches in the splint, his pain barely impacted by the basic painkillers. But Sherlock refused anything stronger, and he grits his teeth hard against the discomfort as a nurse helps him into the protocol-dictated wheelchair. Doctor Seif stands next to him with a script in her hand for prescription refills. She hands both the slip of paper and a crutch to Sherlock once he’s seated.

“Let me know if anything changes or you experience worsening pain or signs of infection,” she says, waiting for Sherlock’s tired nod. “Otherwise, I’ll see you in a few weeks to evaluate the arm. Good evening, Mister Holmes.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock says in a quiet voice. He is exhausted, his body heavy with fatigue and faded adrenaline. He tilts his head toward the nurse, who begins wheeling him out of the room and down the hall.

They make it only a few feet before footsteps sound behind them, and a panting voice calls out, “Sherlock!”

The man pushing his chair pauses, and Sherlock turns his head to see John trotting down the hall toward them. Bemused, Sherlock glances at the nurse, who shrugs. He turns his attention back to John, who pulls up in front of them with a sigh.

“Sorry,” he gasps, straightening with his hands on his hips as he pulls in a loud inhale. “Took me a bit to get Rosie to her babysitter’s, then there was traffic, and…” John shakes his head. “But nevermind that, I’m here now.”

Sherlock stares up at him. “You’re… here?” he repeats, confused. John’s brow furrows, first with confusion, then with understanding.

“Of course I’m here. Greg called me, then Mycroft.” His frown deepens. “Was surprised to hear he’s your emergency contact.”

Sherlock’s eyes dart away, and he doesn’t reply.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the nurse cuts in, his voice reluctant, “but I need the chair, so if I can wheel you outside…”

“Yeah, of course,” John says, picking up where the words trail off. “I can take it from there.”

The three of them continue down the hall, the nurse pushing Sherlock in the chair with John at his side. They walk in silence, with Sherlock darting quick, bemused looks at John from the corner of his eye. John either doesn’t notice or pretends not to, and Sherlock is grateful for whichever it is.

Once outside, the nurse stops, and Sherlock starts wrestling with the crutch, the chair, his own body until John quietly murmurs, “Can I help?”

Sherlock pauses and glances up at him before nodding once, a stiff jerk of his head. Something like relief and gratitude passes over John’s face, there and gone too quickly to verify. Before Sherlock can take the opportunity to study him, John moves around to his side, the one without a splinted arm, and loops his hand gently around Sherlock’s torso. John helps him onto his uncasted foot, slips the crutch in place, and keeps close as Sherlock tests out a little hop forward. He is clumsy and awkward but mobile and shuffles along slowly. John stays close, helping where he can, one hand resting light and ready on the small of Sherlock’s back.

When Sherlock finally raises his head, coaxed forward by John’s quiet voice, he sees a silver car and freezes. John almost bumps into him and stops just in time, steadying Sherlock.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his head to look at Sherlock’s face.

Brow furrowed, Sherlock blinks at the car. “You bought a car?”

“Yeah, last week,” John says, relief in his expression. “Easier with Rosie, you know? And paying less rent, well, I thought…” he shrugs, letting the words trail off.

Wordlessly, Sherlock nods and lets John lead him off the curb and toward the car. John opens the door and coaxes Sherlock to drape his uninjured arm around his neck, helping him scoot down into the passenger seat.

Once John is next to him, sitting behind the wheel and waiting for Sherlock to finish getting settled, he doesn’t seem to know where to look. When he, at last, opens his mouth to speak, he and Sherlock talk over one another.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

They both go silent and still, staring at one another. Blowing a loud exhale out through pursed lips, John breaks the standoff first.

“First off, I’m glad you’re relatively okay, considering.” Sherlock braces himself for the angry words, the dressing-down. But John just looks at him with a small, tentative smile, and Sherlock stares as John quietly says, “And of course I came.” He clears his throat, eyes darting to the windshield before they return to Sherlock’s questioning face. “I know things have been… well. I know it’s not like it was before, but I… I want to try.” Swallowing hard enough to make his throat bob, John looks at Sherlock with a mixture of hope and uncertainty in his eyes. “I know I have no right to ask for it, but I want a chance to show you things are different.” Hands clenching slowly inward then outward in his lap, John’s voice drops. “I want to show you that I’ve changed.”

“John…” Sherlock starts, only to find he doesn’t have any more words. John seems to understand, a slight smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“I want to redeem myself, Sherlock,” he says and holds up a hand to silence the protests he can no doubt see rising on Sherlock’s lips. “Don’t tell me there’s nothing to make up for because we both know that’s not true.” The small smile fades, and he reaches out to slip his fingers over Sherlock’s where Sherlock’s hand rests on the centre console. It’s unexpected and entirely welcome, and Sherlock blinks down at their hands before looking up at John. “I’m here because we’re a team.” His eyebrows twitch upward, and he adds, “Just the two of us, right? Against the world?” His smile is small and hopeful, and Sherlock feels a rush of warmth at the sight and the words.

“Of course, John,” he replies, nodding. “Just the two of us. And Rosie.”

This time, John’s smile is firm and confident, his laugh pleased and just a little surprised. His fingers curl between Sherlock’s knuckles with gentle but firm pressure. “Just the two of us and Rosie,” he agrees. His eyes glitter, and Sherlock’s lips twitch upward in quiet acceptance.

When John starts the car and guides them out of the parking lot, their fingers stay slotted together on the centre console.

[carnelianns]

Hallo! Can we request some Ikesen headcanons or reaction (whichever you prefer really) when MC died because she save them. If you can't do them all, can I get them with Nobunaga, Mitsuhide, Kenshin, Ieyasu and Masamune? Thank youuu! 😘

anon u sound so happy requesting something as sad as this i cried sm

Nobunaga Oda

Your life is precious to him — priceless. The Devil King himself said that nothing, not even his own, can take its place.

And yet here he is, alone, cold, and without you.

You were the only one who truly loved him, who supported him and who cared for him. Now that you’re gone he just.. breaks.

He’s the same Nobunaga, the same Devil King, the same ruler. But he’s not a man, not a human. You had taken the last place in his heart, and without one — without a heart, one is reduced to nothing.

And it’s his fault. Because time and time again has he said that he’d sacrifice himself for you, that he’ll do anything for you. And he’s failed pathetically.

He loved — loves you with his whole heart. Hell, he sees you in every goddamned thing. The stars remind him of how your eyes shined whenever you asked him a question, the pillows on his futon give him the illusion of you and your warmth, even the goddamned konpeito reminds him of you.

He can’t sleep at night. He never does anymore, really. The stars serve a better company than the emptiness of his futon. They remind him of you.

“Perhaps the gods deemed me unworthy of your love, Fireball.” He says into the night, chuckling out emptiness. “After all, I was the one who caused your death, no?”

It’s quiet, of course. He wasn’t expecting anything. Not even the lone tear that falls from his eye.

“I apologise, my heart. But even if I have to wait for five hundred years, or even for my next lifetime, or for the ones after that—” 

His voice cracks, though he is the only one to hear the painful sound. “I will do so. And not even the heavens will stop me.”

Masamune Date

Masamune had promised you time and time again that he’d protect you, that he’d love you, that he’d make you as happy as you make him.

He didn’t. He couldn’t. He failed, and he beats himself up for it every single day. 

What if he was just a second earlier, what if he moved faster, what if he trained harder… 

Countless of these thoughts filled his head every day. Not once have they stopped. 

He lives in regret, in pitiful what ifs, in memories he knows he’ll never get back. 

And so, he does his best to not regret, to not listen to those what ifs.

 Masamune Date turns into a reckless beast, not once stopping, not once thinking about the consequences of any and every action he makes. 

He kills the gang responsible for your death. He trains his own self to near exhaustion, to the point wherein he’s found passed out wherever on multiple occasions. He screams, hoping you’d come back, knowing full well that you never will. 

“Masamune, stop! You’re going to get nowhere like this, and you damn well know she wouldn’t want this either!” Hideyoshi yells one day, after striking the man down with one, hard punch. 

“You know what she wanted, Hideyoshi? She wanted to love me. Me. And look what it did to her.”

Sinking down against the wall, he grips his hair, longing for her touch, for her smile, for her. Tears flow down his face, caressing him just as he wishes you did.

“It killed her. I killed her. And I would do anything if it means seeing her again.”

Ieyasu Tokugawa

To live is to love, and Ieyasu only learned how to do both when he met you. 

And now that you’re gone, now that the only person he loves is gone, living isn’t an option for him. He’s simply.. enduring. 

Enduring life without you, without your smile, without the forever you promised him.

Now that you’re gone, he can’t go on anymore. Gone are his snarky comebacks, his sarcastic retorts. Gone is he, deep into the abyss he himself made. 

He cries at night. Or in the morning. Whenever he sees something that reminds him of you, really. 

Of course, he tries to stop the tears. To no avail, however. All his frustration, his regret, his sadness falls. Whether from one, lone tear or from a full-on breakdown.

He lives, yes. Enduring, and holding onto the little wisps of you around him. 

“Ieyasu, you need rest. You’re broken, man. Eat up.” Masamune pushes a bowl of otherwise delicious food towards the man. 

“I don’t need rest.” His voice is soft, barely audible, as he stares blankly at the bowl in front of him, at the meal he knows you’d be forcing him to eat right now.

“I need her. And it is so, utterly devastating to need something so far out of your reach.”

Mitsuhide Akechi

He does not admit that he has nightmares in the very rare moments he allows himself to succumb to sleep. 

He does not admit that each and every day of his life, all he can do is regret and regret and regret. 

He does not admit that losing her caused him to lose himself. That losing the one he loves, the one that allowed him happiness, caused him the last of the humanity he had. 

Mitsuhide acts as if it doesn’t. As if he’s fine. As if he can still continue living. 

And it works. The pitying glances stopped after a few weeks, the worried check ups after a month. Hell, everyone treats him as if he’s human now, and not some messed up, traitorous snake. Something only you did.

They had all fallen for the mask he hand-crafted himself. The mask of a liar. Like he always was.

All of them had fallen, except for one. He doesn’t lie when he says a call from his lord surprises him. 

“And what may I do for you, my Lord?” He asks, a smirk on his face at the eyes of the man he knows he’ll never get past. 

“I have one simple question, Mitsuhide, and you are to answer me truthfully... What is it you wish for?”

The silence is akin to that in his Manor now that you’re gone. And after a time that is close to forever, Mitsuhide smiles. He smiles, and it is oh-so fake, oh-so sad, oh-so pathetic.

“My only wish is to turn back time, to warn her not to fall for the monster that I will always be.”

Kenshin Uesugi

Kenshin is the epitome of anguish, of sorrow. The poor man has lived his whole life surrounded by it, and meeting you, he was able to escape it. To be happy. 

And now you’re gone. The only person he’s allowed himself to love, with no regrets, with no qualms, stolen from his grasp. All because of him. 

He’s gone through it once, and with you, he was so sure he wouldn’t have to again. Was. Because due to his failure once more, you’re gone, and he lives with the hard fact that you’re never coming back. 

He’s living in hell every single day of his life. If he had withdrawn from purely women before, now, he had withdrawn from every and any living thing.

Even himself. He couldn’t stand it — the face of the devil who let you, the only person who had saved him, die.

He’d stay in his room, only going out in the dead of the night to train and train and train with the very sword that failed to save you, withdrawing once day breaks and once he hears footsteps. 

Kasugayama Castle would try again and again and again to get him out of his destructive cycle, saying that it’s not what you would have wanted, yet to no avail. 

Because only you are you, only you are the one who taught him how to love once more, and only you are gone. 

“What are you thinking, Kenshin? What’s in that heart of yours?” Shingen tries, just as he does everyday. 

“Her.” He replies simply. The room is quiet, making the pain in his voice so, hauntingly obvious. 

“She’s the only one in my heart, Shingen. And she’ll always be. And so I ask, foolish and regretful and doomed to die…”

“Why? Why must I always be the cause of my own destruction?”

[escxpedes]

loopholes (fin.)

Remember when I said I’d post this like two days after the last part? No? Me neither... Sorry about the delay, I’ve had a severe lack of motivation. (It’s mental illness innit.) I feel like every part of this story gets longer and longer, and makes even less sense. If you haven’t read the other two parts, I recommend you do so. These technically can be read standalone, but I think it’s cuter when you read them knowing the context. Even though, again, they seem to make less sense the more I write. Lots of new information came about season 5, and it’s both nerve-racking and exciting at the same time! Three cheers for anxiety, amiright? Hope you all are doing well, I’m excited to hear the feedback on the last part of this series. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to write, I’m a sucker for prompts! x  

part one | part two

~

loop·hole

noun | A loophole is an ambiguity or inadequacy in a system, such as a law or security, which can be used to circumvent or otherwise avoid the purpose, implied or explicitly stated, of the system.

~

hands that wrap around my wrists, (and arms that feel like home.)

Shutting down the monitors she was using, Riley tries not to think about how her sleep deprivation affects her body. It’s one thing to work as a distraction, but the drag in her pace tells her this coping method is wearing her down.

How is she supposed to save innocent lives when she’s so exhausted.

And she is, exhausted, that is. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. Every part of her is weightless, suspended in air, and it feels like she can’t do a single thing about it.

An irritating helplessness encompasses her, tightening its grasp on her sanity.

She wants to cry out, throw something, cause a scene. Instead, she buries her feelings deep in her subconscious and tries not to focus on how tight her chest is.

It’s an occupational hazard, she tells herself. It’s nothing she can’t handle, she repeats daily. It’s almost a mantra by now, echoing inside her head and ramping up what seems to be an infinite supply of determination.

It’s the only way.

Mac waits for her outside, leaning against the building while she locks up. Her vision is still kind of fuzzy due to lack of energy, and her body doesn’t seem to be completely awake yet. She can physically feel Mac’s concerned gaze burning a hole in her cranium as if staring hard enough will give him access to all recesses of her mind.

“Ready?”

She nods, feigning a smile, and bumping his shoulder with her own, “You never mentioned why you stopped by so late.”

Ignorance is bliss, right?

“I left my phone in the labs.” She can hear the exasperation in his voice; concern rushes forward and sends a pang through her heart.

Suddenly, she’s irritated too, not with Mac, but for Mac. He does the right thing for humanity despite all that humanity has done to him. She can’t imagine how frustrated he must be with the entire situation, once again putting the world before himself.

He’s had so little time to process everything.

She knows he could use a break but also knows that he won’t admit he needs one.

For how smart he is, he can be really stupid sometimes.

When she turns her head to look at him, she can tell she’s lost him to his own thoughts. His eyebrows are furrowed, his usually clear eyes unfocused, and his mouth is set in a grim line.

If she listens closely, she can almost hear the gears turning, working out possible solutions, and thinking through every outcome.

It’s not an uncommon expression.

She stops abruptly, “Hey.”

This seems to shake him from his trance, his eyes meeting hers in a questioning manner.

“You are doing the best you can under the circumstances, but pushing yourself too hard won’t solve anything,” Her hand finds its way to his arm and squeezes reassuringly, “You can take care of the planet, but make sure to take care of yourself, too.”

The look he gives her is so full of gratitude and affection that nearly every emotion that Riley’s fought to contain bursts through its confinement and surges through her body.

“Thank you.”

Her breath catches in her throat, making it hard to breathe.

“What for?”

She really hopes the shaky breath that follows goes unnoticed.

“For always believing in me, no matter what.” His gaze is piercing, robbing the ability to form words from her throat.

She rakes her mind for something, anything, to say that will stop her from doing something she would totally, one hundred percent regret.

“It’s what Jack would do.”

It takes everything in her to break eye contact and shrug nonchalantly. Humor laces her tone, despite the sincerity of her statement. It is something Jack would do, something he taught her to believe in. Not necessarily in Mac, but what her gut is telling her.

It seems that in any given situation, before or after Jack’s departure, Mac’s intuition has always mirrored her own. Since the second he broke her out of prison, they always had the same values. Just like Jack, she learned how to read and understand Mac.

She knows how to interpret his rambling. She knows that no matter the situation, he’ll always put everyone else first. She knows that whatever crazy plan he’s come up with, it’s constructed with the best intentions.

She knows that no matter where he goes, and no matter what he does, her instinct is to trust him.

So she does.

With every ounce of her being. 

She desperately wants to share this with him, especially if it would probably make him feel better. However, she knows the second she starts talking, she won’t be able to stop. Mac’s got a way of doing that, translating her thoughts into words that tumble out of her before she can control what they might mean.

The grin Mac throws her, which conveys understanding and amusement, allows the tension between them to dissipate.

“Speaking of Jack, he would absolutely kill me if I let you drive home in your state.”

Before she can get a word in edgewise, he’s already opening the passenger side door of his truck. The tone in his voice leaves little room for debate, as if he’s ready to refute whatever argument she can muster up, so Riley doesn’t argue.

She wants to, but just the idea of operating a car sounds exhausting.

Besides, she’s missed this. She’s missed Mac, not just as someone she’s possibly in love with, but as her best friend. With everything going on, she’s hardly been able to see him.

The absence of him in her life hurts just as much as having him in it.

She literally can’t win.

The silence that follows is comfortable, the rumbling engine serving as white noise to Riley as she dozes off against the window.

She tries to, anyway. Driving with Mac is always an adventure, which is useful when trying to avoid being killed by a terrorist organization. Maneuvering Los Angeles traffic? Way, way less so.

“Maybe driving myself home wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.” She mumbles, fighting the urge to grab the handle above the door.

“Hey! I always get us home in one piece.”

“Physically maybe,” an amused smile finds its way to Riley’s face, “But mentally? I should sue you for psychological trauma.”

The look of disbelief that follows is enough to get her through several lifetimes, or it could be the smile he struggles to hide under his offended facade.

“Ouch,” Mac puts his left hand over his heart, “That hurts right here, Riles.”

The nickname throws her off, causing her stomach to flip. It’s just a silly name, it shouldn’t affect her like this, but her heart still clenches uncomfortably.

She attempts to brush it off, trying for a humoring grin that feels more like a grimace.

Though the comfortable atmosphere doesn’t change, the playful energy is replaced by more silence. As buildings pass outside, all Riley can think about is how much she hates silence. Man, what she would do just to get rid of it for a little bit. It’s constant these days, and it always finds her no matter where she goes.

Her fingers tug at her bottom lip, a nervous habit she’s recently adopted, as she tries to think through possible solutions to the predicament she’s found herself in.

She must be pretty engrossed because it takes her a minute to realize Mac’s spoken again.

“What?” Her brain slows down enough to pick out his words, something about how much sleep she’s gotten recently, “Oh, I don’t know.”

She tries not to notice how concerned he looks when he asks, “You don’t know?”

Not really

Logically, she knows that she sleeps almost every night. How long? It’s hard to tell sometimes. If she’s lucky, she can get a couple hours in before her brain goes into hyperdrive. Other times, she’d rather be doing something productive on her rig instead of staring at her ceiling fan.

She props her elbow against the window and rests her head in her hand, “I guess it hasn’t been a priority.”

From the corner of her eye, she can see him open his mouth and close it abruptly, trying to find the right words to comfort or soothe her.

As always, Mac is trying to rectify the situation.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

She doesn’t miss the parallel and throws him the same reclusive look he had given her on multiple occasions.

“That’s my line.”

There’s an irritating tension that fills the space, like the feeling you get when you can’t get past a certain level on a video game. It’s a little stifling, urging Riley to do whatever it takes to make it disappear.

“C’mon Riley, you’ve been off ever since, you know, the whole codex situation. At first, I thought, well, it was kind of traumatizing for everyone involved, but then you moved out and,” He trails off, and she can physically see him putting all the working components together, “Is it the apartment?”

God, she wished it was just the apartment. Sure, it plays a part in all her problems right now, but she knows that it’s more of what the empty apartment represents than the apartment itself.

Still, she’s glad he came to that conclusion. It’s easier to lie to him when it doesn’t pertain to the actual issue at hand.

“The apartment’s fine,” she says after a moment of hesitation.

“It’s the AC unit, isn’t it?” His lips compress shortly before he shakes his head, “I knew I should have looked at it.”

As he starts ranting about the condenser coils in her air conditioner and how easy it is for them to get dirty, Riley can’t help but let a soft laugh fall from her lips.

“Mac, it’s not my air conditioning.”

When he opens his mouth to respond, she holds her hand up to stop him. “It’s not my heater either, or my ceiling fan, or anything that might require your unique expertise.”

“But it has something to do with the apartment.”

The statement is blanketed in excitement as if he knows he’s getting closer to uncovering the truth. He’s always been so obsessed with knowledge and learning, never quite capable of letting things go and living in ignorance.

His eyes light up with child-like curiosity; it’s highly annoying and endearing at the same time.

She feels her self control loosening.

With Mac, she feels secure, like maybe she can put herself back together again. She could confess to a crime, and he wouldn’t look at her any differently.

That helplessness kicks back in, tearing her apart from the inside.

When he slows to a stop in front of her complex, she hasn’t answered him yet.

In the back of her mind, she’s a little proud of herself for only joking about his driving once in the ten minutes it took to get there.

She stares at the lobby entrance and can feel the soft flannel of his shirt, giving him a hug before she exits his truck. She can hear the sleepiness in her voice as she leans against the door and tells him goodnight. She can see herself walk through the double doors and not turning around.

She can see it so clearly, but she remains planted in the passenger seat.

Fear tangles itself in her shoulders, in her stomach, in her heart.

Not just because she dreads the idea of spending another night counting the minutes before her alarm goes off, but because she doesn’t want to leave with their friendship in this state.

She just wants everything to go back to normal, to get back some semblance of their old friendship before she knew how she felt.

Mac waits beside her, a patient and comforting presence.

“It’s just so quiet. Up there, it’s just me and my thoughts. They never cease or quiet down; it’s a constant loop. I try listening to music or watching TV, but I can never focus on any of it. Then, I start panicking because I don’t know if it’ll ever go away. There’s no comfort, no stability. I’m just… alone.”

With every word, a little of the weight falls from her shoulders.

It almost feels like she can breathe again.

“The only time I don’t feel like that is when I’m working,” she clenches her hands in her lap, “At Phoenix, I can get to any room in the dark with my eyes closed, and I’m constantly surrounded by people I’ve known for years. It feels… safe.”

Mac’s silent, reaching over to grasp one of her hands.

“You don’t feel safe here?” He encloses her left hand between his own and squeezes, the pressure and warmth spreading through her body like wildfire.

She meets his eyes, “Not in the way that matters.”

He turns the truck off, hopping out before Riley can say anything else. He walks around the hood of the car and pulls the passenger door open, “Come on.”

“What are you doing?”

He helped her out of the truck, “You trust me, right?”

More than he’ll ever know.

“You know I do.” She eyed him suspiciously as he opened one of the complex’s doors for her, following as she entered.

“From what I can recall, Bozer got you a Nintendo Switch for your birthday earlier this year. It’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of destroying you in Super Smash Bros.”

His voice was quiet, trying not to disturb the people trying to sleep.

“First of all, you’ve never destroyed me in Super Smash Bros, and you never will if you keep playing with Luigi,” She grinned, watching as he shook his head in disagreement, “And second of all, it’s two in the morning.”

He shrugged, “That’s never stopped us before.”

He wasn’t wrong, but things were different now.

Riley tried not to think about Desi, wrapped up in Mac’s bed, peacefully sleeping and blissfully unaware of this entire exchange.

Not that she had anything to worry about.

It didn’t matter anyway because clearly, Riley had issues with saying “no” to Angus Macgyver.

“Fine, but prepare to get your ass beaten.”

He grinned triumphantly, “That sounds like a challenge.”

She unlocked her apartment door, stepping into the dark and quiet entryway. She faltered a little bit, her heartbeat quickening with newfound anxiety.

As always, the apartment radiated energy that always put Riley out of place.

Mac closed the door behind him, helping himself to any food he could find in her fridge. There was an intimacy to it, a closeness that made the apartment much more bearable. Her shoulders dropped a little, the anxiety easing a little as she took a deep breath.

She busied herself in the living room, connecting the switch to her TV and grabbing a variety of different pillows and blankets.

It was, after all, a tradition for these types of events.

Mac joined her after a couple of minutes with two beers, “Your fridge is worse than mine.”

“Will you get it started,” Riley ignore his comment, handing him one of the controllers, “ I’m going to change.”

When she returned in a comfy ensemble of leggings and a sweatshirt, Mac was scrolling through the character list. She hopped the back of the couch to sit next to him, watching as he hovered over Luigi for what feels like an eternity.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mac’s determined expression didn’t falter, “You’re just jealous of my skills.”

Those skills proved to be no match for Riley’s, though, after she managed to beat him in the first game. It became much more entertaining when she did it again in the second. She tried not to laugh, but it became nearly impossible with his onslaught of complaints.

“You’re such a cheater, you can’t do that!” He pressed down hard on the keys as if smashing them harder will make Luigi speed up.

Jokes on him, Luigi was the slowest character in the game.

Very slowly, her exhaustion began to creep up on her. She knew she was done for when Mac actually managed to beat her. He seemed just as surprised as she was, but he suggested switching to a movie anyway.

They ended up choosing a documentary, something that Mac had been interested in watching recently. Riley didn’t care what they watched, as long as she got to lay down.

Mac placed a pillow in his lap and tapped it gently.

“So, was this your plan,” She comfortably adjusted her body, so her neck wasn’t in an awkward position propped up on the pillow.

In front of them, a monotone voice explained the phenomena surrounding the universe.

“Homo Sapiens are social creatures; we need people to survive,” Riley could feel Mac’s fingers coursing through her waves, creating a soothing pattern that calmed any remaining tension in her body. 

“You feel comfortable at Phoenix, sitting around the fire pit at my house, or spending time with the team at the arcade because we’re there. It’s okay to need us, Riles, because trust me, we need you, too.”

Mac’s words barely resonate with her, and she hummed noncommittally in response.

His fingers gently combed through the tangles at the nape of her neck, “I don’t think we build homes in material things like houses or apartments, but rather, in the people we surround ourselves with.”

Laying there, with her head on his lap and his fingers in her hair, Riley could only think one thing:

He couldn’t be more right. 

[ananapanini]

Government Siblings Headcanons

IDC is older

America initially went through multiple versions and attempts with our domestic government but during the revolution we needed to negotiate with other countries for help so we got our international relations settled up early on, making IDC the older one.

Nooo, I'm not saying IDC had a twin that was the initial 'government' system during the revolution that died and was replaced by another little brother who was too weak or didn't work and also died, repeat process once or thrice before DC came about, not at all, what would EVER make you think such a thing?

DC was sick a lot as a kid

(I explain why in this post here)

This led to IDC missing meetings to check up on him and trying to stay home when she could to make sure he got better, along with doing his work too so he's get some rest.

She couldn’t loose another one

IDC wasn't taken very seriously at first

I mean, other countries already didn't take America that seriously when we first started out, why would their personifications take her, as "America" seriously either?

There's also the fact that America happened before women's suffrage did. When America started out as a country it wasn't taken that seriously. So here we have IDC, who in representing that, isn't taken seriously because she's a woman

Whenever meetings were held in the US they'd usually ask for DC to hold the meeting, telling IDC to wait outside of the conference room. This left DC to take notes for her so she'd actually be able to do her job. It was a tiring setup for both of them.

Related to the previous one

Once women gained rights and it settled into being the norm, meaning IDC could do whatever she wants, she instantly used the ability to its highest potential. She still doesn't let people tell her what to do, she's had enough of that for a lifetime thank you very much.

IDC will live however she wants and you can fuck off if you try and tell her otherwise.

They care a lot about image

DC is the government and needs to represent the country well, image is important to him, so if something is the norm he's gonna meet it. He wants to be perfect. Is he tho?

This extends to IDC but rather than her wanting to follow rules and act a certain way, she simply has to. You can make or break negotiations with other countries depending on how you present yourself.

This leads to her not having the energy for even the bare minimum of manners when she's just gotten back home from international duty, hence the ‘idc’ attitude (dc has definitely poked fun at the coincidence of her name)

DC was a Problem Child ™

He was a growing government and so in his younger years, before he chilled out, he did the crimes as practice. Vandalism, pick pocketing, cons, shop lifting, etc.

When he was little he'd trick the President's and White House worker's kids/grandkids into giving him their Holliday candies by giving them 'magic immortality gems' that were actually just shiny rocks. He got a l l the chocolate bunnies.

As he grew up he moved on to worse crimes until his late teen years when he fully calmed down and settled into underhanded shady government business.

Unless IDC actually cares she can't fake enthusiasm

All her energy to do so is used up during world meetings.

As a result DC got very used to saving news for when she gets back just to make sure the reaction is genuine (she has a history of going along with whatever will have DC happiest)

DC is bad at the self care thing and IDC will not hesitate to ground him

He'll forget to eat, or sleep, or drink water, or shower, or carry out basic self care because he's busy working. So what does IDC do when she hears about this? Grounded.

She clears his schedule, transfers all online documents to her own computer, takes away his paperwork, and makes sure he has no excuses for not taking care of himself. She'll also choose a state to follow him around and point out when he's not resting, usually this task falls to Florida since he'd never pass up the chance to bug DC and is always hanging around him anyway.

Yes he's an adult but as his older sister, IDC is still allowed to ground him, whether he likes it or not.

Nicknames

They call each other DeeDee and ID respectively

[handonhaven]

Okay Lizzie and Josie really pissed me off in 3x16. Like Hope just ran off with someone who tried to kill her and someone who manipulated Josie. With no clue why or where they were going. And Lizzie first thought was to try to find Hope a rebound. Not to try to find out where she went or if she was in any danger. And Josie was no help either she didn't bother to do any of those things. She just asked Lizzie with who. I also didn't like Lizzie comment either. When she said "we can't afford to be picky. Anyone who doesn't melt after having sex with her will do." Maybe it's just me and I'm taking that comment the wrong way. But when she said that I got so mad. Because what I took from that was being able to have sex is only thing that matters. So let's just try to hook her up with anyone. Doesn't matter if they're a killer or a psychopath as long as they can have sex then it's fine. I don't know maybe I'm just over reacting to that(but I can't be the only one to feel something like that after hearing that comment, can I?).

So, so many Handon scenes just hits so differently now knowing that Landon was really malivore. I'm not gonna lie after I found that out I went back and watched those scenes over again trying to see if I can find any clues or hints at it. But when I did that I start it to think about the fact that we had a whole season without the real Landon. Then I start thinking about the fact that Landon has had a whole season of going through trauma one right after the other since 3x02(when Raph died) and it only got worse from there. Then I got mad at the writers for doing that to him. It was bad enough that his life before coming to the school was hell. So were they just like yeah lets put him through a whole season a trauma too. Now before anyone says well Hope went through hell this season too. I'm not saying she didn't. But I feel like Landons was on a whole different level than Hopes. Because Landon had to watch his brother die, then had to watch himself melt, then he was in malivore, then in the prison fighting off monsters, to then having malivore take over his body. And who knows what he's going through in this own mind right now. But I think my biggest fear is that when they do get Landon back the real Landon. That they play off his trauma to save time(like they often do now). Or someone will try to downplay it like it was nothing. Because if they do that imma be pissed.

So I start it thinking about that maliLandon scene with Cleo when we saw both malivore's and Landons memories. And all of Landons memories were big Handon moments for season 2(I think there might have been some for season 1 but I can't remember). And I know they did that for a reason. I think in that scene it inspired both malivore and Landon somehow to do something. I just can't figure out what and I know myself this will be stuck on my mind until we finally find out lol. I'm already thinking up theories and all both make sense but don't make sense all at the same time. And this is really going to bug me.

P.S 1: I have to say this season had one very consistent thing, the "Logical" answer is wrong.

- Logic telling Hope, Landon was dead ....wrong

- Logic telling Hope, Landon was back.....wrong (Hope felt something was off but chose to ignore it bc she missed him)

- Logic telling Hope, she and Landon are doomed.....wrong

- Logic telling Cleo, to trust Landon and he was only traumatized.....wrong

- Logic telling them Malivore wanted Cleo to escape the prison world....wrong

- Logic telling them, the monsters were coming from a actual pit....wrong

- Logic telling Hope the only way to kill Malivore is to become a Tribrid.....wrong

- Logic telling Hope she caused Landon to melt.....wrong(okay I know we don't know for sure about that one. But that feels way way to much like a red herring with how much it's been said). Also another consistent thing is everything they say things Multiple times over and over again espesally things that have no concrete proof turns out to be False. They keep repeating these things; Landon is Human, Landon is dead, Landon is not a Phoenix anymore, Hope needs to become a Tribrid, Hope is toxic to Landon(once again I know we don't know for sure yet, but there's no way that isn't a red herring), Hope and Landon are doomed. Watch all turn out to be wrong.

2. The antis and H*sies are already coming out the wood works. And there this one line I see that they're really trying to hold onto like it's a win or something. How at the end of 3x16 when Hope said "we want our friends back" they're taking it like Hope sees Landon as a friend now(among other things but that would make this too long if I write it all out). Which is sad and means they're truly not paying attention to anything. And let me just point out that Hope was speaking for everyone not just herself. So it makes more sense for her to say "we want our friends back" then it would be for her to say "we want our friend and my boyfriend back". Since they're all friends with Landon and Cleo. Even though they're not very good friends to Landon(minus Hope because Hope is with Landon and treats him better than his "friends" does). But that's a whole other thing for another time. I do my best to say away from antis and H*sies but somehow one of them somehow always end up in my timeline. And it's gonna make these next three months so much longer than it needs to be tbh.

Same. Exactly! It was all so strange.

Lizzie was just upset over the fact that Hope ditched them, but Hope has always done stuff like that on her own to keep others out of danger. Yet Lizzie didn’t even seem to care, even though both her and Josie said they didn’t trust Clarke after all he had done. So they knew that Hope could’ve been in danger. But Lizzie’s highest concern in that moment was finding Hope a rebound as quickly as possible?? What on earth... And Josie acknowledged that Hope could be in danger, said she cared more about her actual life than her romantic one, but then proceeded to do nothing. And exactly! That comment really bothered me too! Yep, that’s also how it came across to me. Like Hope being able to have sex with someone was the priority, the rest wasn’t important. I don’t think you’re overreacting, I thought it sounded really bad. And the fact that Lizzie was focusing on that over Hope’s safety... I don’t even know what to say. Then Ethan shows up and they drag him into it, it was just a mess, and probably the weirdest way and time to bring in a love interest for Lizzie. Then they get to the school, are casually standing around chatting, then Lizzie wants to give Ethan a tour. All thoughts about Hope’s safety forgotten, besides Josie mentioning in passing that they needed to tell Alaric what happened. That was the full extent of their efforts to help Hope. Then she gets back and all they can talk about is how she ditched them? Not about what happened or if she’s okay? And they’re the ones who just promised Hope she wouldn’t be facing Malivore alone... not off to a good start.

And right? It’s crazy! Me too, watching the breakup scene is SO different now haha. But ugh, yes. We seriously had nearly an entire season without the real Landon... I can’t. And same. That’s one of the things I’ve been thinking about the most, and I’m honestly mad at the writers as well. Like, it’s actually shocking to think about just how much trauma he has gone through. And I don’t know what made them to decide to put him through that much because it’s unreal. Just... why?? So true, he had a lifetime of trauma before the show even started! Went through more trauma while at the school, going through death after death. And then went through the most horrible things this whole season. And yes, Hope did go through hell, but what she went through was very different. I agree, what Landon went through was on a whole other level. Exactly! He literally went through one trauma right after the other. And he went through them alone (apart from losing Raf). Without any help, and every single time he escaped one thing, he ended up in another and endured more trauma. He’s been through pure hell, nonstop, and I can’t imagine what state he’s in right now and how he’ll be when this is all over. Oh, and literally me. I’m honestly so worried they’re gonna do that too. That they’ll just ignore his trauma, that they won’t show how he’s been affected or have him talking about it. And it will just get cut off and forgotten and they’ll jump to the next thing and he may not get even a break. Because that really is what they do all the time. And right now is their chance to show what he’s been through. To go back and show what happened to him and show his side of things. We need to actually see what he’s been through and how he’s being affected right now. And once they get him back, they need to address it. They need to let him and Hope rest. I think season 4 needs to be about them healing together, though I’m sure they’ll be dealing with more crap. So I’m very worried about that, I will be pissed right along with you if they don’t go into that. That’s probably what I want to see the most at this point, and what I think is extremely important, not only for his character, but also because they shouldn’t ignore that kind of trauma.

And yes, they were! They had Landon remembering Hope telling him she loved him for the first time, and then those other huge moments for them, the 2x08 reunion, and the scenes in 2x11. I‘m wondering if those might be Landon’s most powerful memories. And I think you could be right, I’ve wondered the same thing, but I also can’t figure it out. Like they showed Handon memories with Malivore creating Clarke like... I’m so confused haha. They definitely left us with too many questions, and now we have to wait, it’s gonna suck.

Wow, you make very good points with that. That’s very interesting for sure. The writers really used “logic” as a way to mislead the characters in order to shape the plot for the season. And I think because of that, they also had to hold the characters back from investigating things further. When I feel like Hope, especially, would’ve looked into things more to figure out what was going on, but they couldn’t have them finding out yet so they just had everyone believing in the “logical” answer. Which does end up fitting with the idea that things are not what the seem, especially with all the things you listed that they keep repeating. Which does make it seem pretty obvious that they’re trying to convince us of these things that aren’t actually true. I think it’s gonna all turn out to be wrong as well. We already know it wouldn’t make sense for Landon to be fully human since he never was, and that he’ll surely get his Phoenix powers back. And I agree about Hope being toxic to Landon too, the more they’ve talked about it, the less I believe it’s true haha. And same now with them talking about Hope having to become a full tribrid, it seems like they might be doing the same thing. Or at least, if these things aren’t already wrong, Hope and Landon will find a way to prove them wrong by fighting their fate.

Yeah, those people clearly aren’t paying attention to the show and are grasping for anything at this point. Did they not watch Hope’s scenes with Clarke and how she responded to him talking about fighting fate? Did they not hear her literally tell Cleo that she still loves Landon? Obviously, Hope does not view Landon as just a friend. She was speaking for the group, just like you said. I don’t even think Hope sees Cleo as her friend right now. When Cleo told Hope that she hopes they can be friends again after all this, Hope said nothing and just walked away. So yeah, she was speaking for everyone else, although it’s weird that the rest of them would even view them as friends either. I’m pretty sure Kaleb is the only one who really sees Cleo as a friend. And true, they’re not even friends to Landon, none of them gave a crap when he died, so I’m not even sure why they were there. I guess since there’s a threat now? But anyway, yeah, I get that it’s hard to avoid those fans, the hate is everywhere. But knowing how ridiculous their reasoning is and how far they’re reaching helps me to just kind of laugh it off sometimes, although it is annoying. It gets so tiring to see, but I’m just gonna try to focus on enjoying Handon and ignoring the antis as best I can!

[monbeauloup]

Where all the poets go to die || 𝖂𝖔𝖑𝖋𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗

Summary: Remus and Sirius write each other letters, while he’s in Azkaban.

Warnings: none

A/N: This is a fanfiction, which will be multiple chapters long. You might want to follow me for updates. I would also greatly appreciate some feedback or your thoughts on my writing in general.

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

(𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟏)

Remus never felt so completely and utterly lost in his whole life before. He didn’t intend to tell anyone about the part, that’s tearing him apart and yet he’s sitting on the soft cushion of a chair, that belongs to no one other than the Weasleys. Like now, in quiet moments of reflection, he feels tears spring into the corner of his eyes and he quickly wipes away the ones, that have unknowingly begun to fall down his face. The room is silent, except for a kettle, which is quietly cooking on the kitchen stove. Through the open window, he can smell the cold autumn wind. It drifts over his head and when he closes his eyes, he comes up. Again and again, he comes to him and the once loved memories, the ones he now so despises, come crashing over him and ripple throughout his body.

"I never felt about anyone, the way i feel about you," Sirius says, thumb caressing Remus' cheek as they lie on the bed in their shared apartment. He’s tucked into Sirius' lap, resting his head against his chest how he did on that fateful day. "Nothing in the universe will ever tear us apart."

How wrong Sirius had been, Remus thinks. Swallowing, his eyes close tightly and he tries to find a way to drown his thoughts out. Sirius is gone and all he left him with is his crumpled heart. How could he join Voldemort’s side and betray both James and Lily? It feels as if he’s always on the verge of waking up from a bad dream and sometimes, when it all becomes unbearable, he thinks about giving up. Falling apart at the seams, knowing he’ll never be who he once was, but there’s a whole other side that he’s desperately holding on to. The part he fell in love with. The side of him that created a ‘happily ever after’ in his head. But then the realization hits. The realization, that it’s all been an act. He loves and was never loved back and the hardest part of this process is trying to reconcile the two seemingly polarised sides.

Before he was alone. Distracted by his own thoughts and emotions, but now, two figures stand by, observing quietly from the shadows. Molly Weasley gazes down upon him with concern and quiet understanding. The wonder of what to say lives in her mind. She startles slightly, as the teakettle begins to whistle and a few seconds later, the face of her husband comes into sight. Remus seems slowly return to reality, as Arthur Weasley kneels down with a cup of freshly brewed tea and eyes him worryingly.

“Remus -”

The silence lingers, the voice numbing his senses. He glances around before reaching for the cup.

“Thank you.. Arthur,” Remus whispers.

The tea soothingly warms him from the inside and it’s almost too much. He has gotten so used to the newfound cold within.

“Are you alright? Is there something you need?” The concern drips in Molly’s voice and Remus frowns. His wounded self screams at the back of his head. They don’t understand. He’s been hurt in ways, he never excepted to be hurt and there’s no way out.

“I’m fine,” he mutters instead. A sad smile curving his lips.

Molly just continues to look him concerningly due to her well known nurturing and caring nature. She and Arthur give each other a silent look and a nod before she leaves and Arthur takes seat in the chair opposite from Remus.

“You have to make something out of all these feelings within you,” Arthur speaks up. His voice is silent and raw and the fact that he sees him in such a vulnerable state, makes Remus' heart swell.

“Have you thought about writing him a letter?”

Remus takes a while to answer, too taken aback by his suggestion. A letter? How could he factor all his anger and frustration into just a mere letter? Besides, Sirius doesn’t care. He never cared. He took everyone down with him and did it on purpose.

“Well... i don’t know how,” Remus finally says with a shake of his head.

He feels Arthur’s big and warm hand on his arm, grounding him. His dark blue eyes full of concern.

“Write to him.”

Remus eyes stay fixed on him, feeling that Arthur isn’t wiling to let this go. He notices a tightness throughout his body and he didn’t even realize, that he had been tensing up and holding his breath.

“He betray-” Remus stops mid sentence. His heart pounding in his chest and tears burning in his eyes. “You don’t think there’s a chance that he could be innocent, do you?”

Arthur clears his throat. “I refused to believed it at first, but witnesses saw him... twelve Muggles.. an extremely powerful explosive curse....”

To hear it out loud, makes Remus fall still, eyes slowly closing.

“You have to free some of the anger and hurt, that lingers inside you. I can see it’s killing you,” Arthur says in a soft voice.

Remus looks up and nods, knowing that it’s true. He knows that Arthur is right and that all the memories inside his heart could break him in half. Shatter him.

“If there’s a way, i’ll write him. I’m sorry for -”

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for,” Arthur interrupts him, while he shifts slightly in his chair. “Prisoners are usually not permitted to correspond with the outside world, but i'll talk to Dumbledore. You can use Asora, our owl, as well. Don't hesitate to ask us anything.”

Remus heart almost burst with untold affection for this man. “Thank you. For everything,” he says.

The slight hint of a smile he receives in return, makes him forget everything for a mere few seconds and Remus knows to treasure it well. Sincere or forced, it mattered little — The gesture was appreciated all the same.

“Anytime.”

He feels his heart unclench. A few minutes of silence pass by, until Remus gently nods towards the door.

“I better be leaving. It’s been a long day.”

He gets up off the chair and before he heads out the door, he gives Arthur a quick hug.

"Say thank you to Molly for me."

"I'll. Just keep holding on, Remus. We’re waiting for you."

With a tiny hint of a smile on his lips, he slips through the doorway and lets the sweet cold air reach his lungs. Arriving at home, alone, he warms himself in front of the fireplace, where a bright and cozy fire burns. It’s been a long day and all he wants, is some peace and quiet, but Remus feels a restlessness he can’t shake. Nothing is bothering him. No sound, no smell, nothing. Everything is calm, except him. Slowly, his eyes drift to his writing desk. Though his body doesn’t want to move, keeping still seems an impossible task. Finally, he just gives up, sits down at his desk and pulls out a jar of ink and some paper.

~*~

To Sirius Black

November 12th 1981

It’s almost impossible to forget you.

Your absence and betrayal is the most painful thing i had to ever go through. Being so close and watching you disappear hurts the most. James and Lily are dead because of you. How could you, Sirius? I’ve been lied to by the person, who has always treated me with the most daring respect, who listened to my interests and even for a little while, made me feel and know love in a way that no one else ever has. How could i’ve been so blind? I can’t take it anymore. I wish to depart so far and free. Is it easier to stay? Is it easier to go?

Truth is, shatter my heart and soul, i never wish to see you again. Sometimes, i long to feel the same one more time, but it hurts. My soul is frozen and there’s no sun to warm it.

You weren’t just a star to me, you were my whole damn sky.

I love you, but i hate you so much. You’re nothing but a liar, making us think that the friendship and love we shared was real and then you turn your back on us and betray us in such a vile manner. Your sins will never be forgotten.

Everything reminds me of you. Your scent is a sweet felony. Sometimes i wonder, if i'll ever fall in love again. I wonder what it would look like. How would i act? Is it the same as the first time? Or more cautious? I’m curious. I have this feeling, that i want to feel it again, but i don't at the same time. I’ve been hurt so deeply and i wish you a lifetime of coming to terms with the pain you caused. I hope you can live with yourself, even though i wish you’re constantly reminded of what you’ve done.

Farewell, Sirius.

Remus

There's a sinking feeling in his chest as he finishes the letter. For a while, he remains emotionless in his seat, while he processes every syllable.

His own words bring him to tears and suddenly it all seems too blurred in the way that his heart sinks everytime he thinks of Sirius in their bed. Waiting for someone who will never be his, who will never come to him. He picks the letter, reads it a second time and his salty tears burn the little scar, that rests on his chin. He goes to bed on an empty stomach that night, crying until his pillows are soaked.

[cherryplasmids]

☆ all that could have been ☆

pairing: john seed x deputy!reader fandom: far cry 5—non-game sequence prompt: it’s about time john knows how you truly feel, but it couldn’t have come at a worse time.  notes: first time doing far cry so please be nice lol — i was encouraged by @hopecountyhellcat​ and @punisherpage​ —check out my other works; masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

    Everything went wrong in a matter of seconds. In one moment, you’re flying high in the air with the intent of going to the Rye’s house for a drink of beer and some laughs. After a successful day of bothering the Seeds with no violent moments, you wanted to end the day right with your favorite people. You messed with the radio for a bit before turning it off in favor of humming your favorite song. The next moment, the engine explodes and you have no choice but to jump out of the plane. The parachute doesn’t do much to give you a safe landing. Instead, it gets caught in the sturdy branches of the tall Montana trees. It rips easily. 

And you’re going down fast, bruising every body part as you hit multiple branches on the way. 

There’s no time to think before your back slams against the forest dirt, head bouncing off the ground and connecting with loose rocks. A mixture of an agonized groan and a winded gasp emits from your lips. Tears gather up in your eyes immediately as obnoxious ringing vibrates through your head. Other than that, you can’t hear anything. Not even the loud explosion from the destroyed plane rattles you. You wouldn’t even notice it happened if it wasn’t for the flash of bursting colors and heat warming your skin. 

You want to scream for help. To let out something besides the pathetic and agonized croak gurgling out of you. Your bruised throat disables that from happening.

 Hopefully, the engulfing fire catches someone's attention. 

An eternity later, you decide to move, no matter how excruciating. Every movement sends a stinging sensation through your arms as if a thousand wasps stung you all at once. Lifting yourself up into a sitting position, your eyes zero in on the rest of your body. It hasn’t faired any better. A rusted jagged piece of shrapnel sticks out of your thigh, with blood steadily pouring out the wound. With just the tip pointing out, a passing thought breezes by—10th-grade anatomy class mentioned important veins in the thigh. You never memorized the placements, but you might have an inkling now. 

The watch on your right-hand beeps. The screen is scratched up but not cracked enough to hinder any information from being displayed. Messages upon messages come through, all from the Rye’s and Sharky. As you read through them, your mind gets all foggy, jumbling the words together. Removing your eyes from the bright screen, you begin to move with no direction. There’s no way you would die alone in the middle of this godforsaken county. 

It takes a long time until you reach a clearing. Of course, it happens to be John Seed’s massive ranch. With nowhere else to go, you continue crawling to his front porch. When you reach it, you sit propped up against the wooden banisters. Despite the pain, your body begins to relax. You’re safe here. Always safe on John’s ranch. With the crash being in his territory, there’s no doubt he would go investigate. He’ll know it’s your plane once he sees the cropped baby blue sweater he bought you three days ago in the back seat and the expensive black jeans he left there after a quick rendevous a week ago. If he digs any further, he might even find the polaroid nude you tucked away in the back pocket. Only if the fire didn’t burn them.

Noticing the blood trail, you realized there isn’t enough time left before the inevitable demise. The thigh injury is pumping blood faster than a cheetah running to catch prey. By the time John comes, you’ll be done. 

Jacob will celebrate the news. 

You take a deep breath as you hear John’s orotund voice, mixing in with the low ringing still prominent in your ear. The pulsing sensation is thumping in your head is triggered, flaring behind your skull. He’s most likely a figment of your imagination, conjured up to keep you company until you die. A lazy hand travels slowly to touch your head. The matted hair is covered in blood and you let out a choked laugh. 

“Rook?”

It takes a couple of seconds to register John’s walking toward you, eyebrows furrowed. He lifts his sunglasses and perches it on top of his head like normal. The closer he gets, the more his body mingles with the blurriness of the trees, swaying to the sporadic wind breeze. You wave at him, blood dripping from your hand. 

He’s actually here.

“Hi, John.” Your raucous voice echoes in your head but you could tell it doesn’t affect him. In reality, it’s a whisper he isn’t close enough to hear. He runs to you once he notices the blood, his shiny Gucci belt beaming in the sunshine. A tired smile reaches your lips and you sigh, attempting to ignore the throbbing headache, the difficulty in swallowing, and the continuous blood loss. John’s here now. He’ll save you from this fuck up. 

He’s yelling something but your hearing goes in and out. The words don’t make any sense when you attempt to piece them together. It only hurts to try. Once he reaches you, he tucks you into his muscular arms with his lips forming words. His lips are moving too quickly to be understandable so you opt to read his expressive eyes. Tears prick the baby blues for a few seconds before spilling over like a waterfall. 

“Ro—Rook—Rook!” His voice like a high-piched foghorn, John successfully pulls you out of your daydream. 

A smile still plays at your lips. “I had a little accident, John.”

He’s shaking his head. “A random fucking Angel shot down your plane.” He sniffles and cradles the back of your head. His body shudders when he sees blood oozing out onto his hands. Never once did he ever cringe from the substance in his adult life and yet, here is practically breaking at the sight of it. He doesn’t care if other people suffer—actually revels in the sight of it. But now, with you in his arms sporting the same pained expression as the rest, he’s afraid. A childhood flashback of Jacob bleeding from parental abuse takes over for a moment. The fear is vivid. 

“I’ve called an ambulance.”

A thought conjures up in your head. He’s utterly stunning. Somehow John remains mesmerizing in every way. The splotchy redness on his cheeks, the peeking snot, and his frightened eyes do nothing to deter that fact. 

“Joseph isn’t too happy, I bet.” You let out a weak chuckle before peering up at him. “You came for me.” 

“I’ll always come for you.” 

“What a tiring job.” Your words begin to slur, saliva gathering in your mouth. However, the way John’s eyes comically widen, you know it isn’t saliva. 

“You’re going to be okay. The ambulance is coming and you’ll be fine—back to annoying us, okay?” 

You cough up, blood splattering John’s left cheek in small droplets. “Maybe not.”

“No!” He yells and you flinch. He visibly softens, a fresh batch of tears seeping out of his eyes. The redness of his eyes interferes with his beautiful baby blues. You want him to stop crying, so you grasp onto his hand and give him a strained, reassuring smile. 

“Sorry,”

He shakes his head and caresses his thumb across your split bottom lip. With such tender care mixed in with whispered lovely words, your body eases into relaxation. Every word or sound coming out of his mouth is like butter, all warm and comforting. Even in this time, the raging pain subsides for a moment to allow some clarity—to listen to John’s rich, calming voice. 

Everything about him is magical. 

“Do you think we could ever be together?” The pain from your bruised throat causes the words to take ages for it to come together. Soon, coherent sentences won’t be possible. 

“Of course, we are meant to be together. Joseph said so himself. God wills it, Rook.” 

You ignore his words and continue with your frayed thoughts. “Not in this lifetime. In another where your brother isn’t a psycho—” You take a deep breath, cutting the sentence short. The anger bubbling within your stomach at the thought of Joseph uses more energy than you would like. You’d be damned if your last words were about him. 

“I love you, John Seed. It took me some time but yeah. I love you.” Your words are choppy, consciousness falling in and out as you strung your last sentences together. 

He begins to sob.

“Would’ve married you too. Spend every day loving you. You deserve it, Johnny.” 

After feeling numb for so long, John can’t lose you. You’re the only thing that encourages real, raw emotion from him. To come to terms with his traumas and twist it into a positive outlook. “You've been through shit, Johnny.” You told him months ago, the first time you stumbled upon his ranch. Why let that shit get you down? Stop you from living life? I’ll teach ya, free of charge. With a wink and a pat on the ass, John knew he was hooked. And you’ve done exactly that. Taught him that there’s more to life than suffering. A life where he doesn’t have to inflict pain to feel something. A life where he can live happily without the idea of sins carving him up at any given moment. You’ve been ingrained within every aspect of his life to the point where he doesn’t remember ever being without you. 

What will he do when you’re gone?

Another heart-wrenching sob emits from him. His alarmingly begins trembling even more. Through all the anguished cries, he says your real name, chanting it as if it’s the only prayer he knows. He’s talking again and moving frantically. But nothing computes in your brain. He does all sorts of things in seconds: wiping his snot on his blue Prada shirt, tapping your cheeks when your eyes close for a nanosecond too long, waving at something beyond your restricted vision. All the quick movements send your mind spinning like a gravitron. It takes you back to the first time you ever went on one. You were 10 and they had to stop midway because you threw up in it. 

Your eyes begin to feel heavy “Let’s take a nap, Johnny.”

“No,” his voice sounds like he’s speaking underwater. “You have to stay up, Rook or else—” He breaks off, choking on his own words before pulling you further into his arms to cry into your chest. “Please, just listen to me for once.”

You try to nod but your head is filled with heavy lead, weighing it to the point where it hurts to even twitch. All the words you want to say die in your throat, replaced by blood. It creeps in your throat before spilling out of your lips in a thin trail. 

Slowly but surely, you begin to fade, sinking into a deep abyss of empty blackness. Your last thought is about John’s baby blues and all that could’ve been. 

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 1,848 published: april 18, 2020 [my birthday!] edited: n/a

[youregoingtobe-thedeathofme]

if you pass by your soulmate but don’t meet them, the day you passed them will repeat over and over until you finally find them. (Ted and ??? )

oh my god and this would have been when Ted started working at THE OFFICE!!! Which totally fucking works for... CCRPOLY!!! All of them!!!

So He goes through his first day, getting all introduced and he’s funny but a lil slimy as a first impression instead of an unbearable douche (that happens after a few weeks of working with him)

He meets Bill, he meets Paul, Davidson, Melissa, Charlotte, some tech and warehouse employees, and to welcome him to the office they all go out for coffee and he meets Emma, too.

When Ted wakes up to the same damn day he’s kind of annoyed that This was the day, because first of all- it almost HAD to be one of his new coworkers, and secondly, that would take for Fucking Ever to figure out. Spending each day dwelling on one person with the odds slim would mean he’d be replaying this day for a week.

So he does, getting more and more frustrated because he kissed Bill in the parking lot and it felt Real but no, he wakes up to his first day again.

And Charlotte feels so comfortable to vent about her marriage (probably because she’s had to find soulmates that are Not her husband on 3 seperate occasions before now) and Ted and her share a cigarette and hold hands and he is in love with giving himself up for tragedy so He thinks it has to Be Charlotte but it ISN’T

So it’s got to be the assistant. Melissa’s pretty, but Ted feels awkward just talking to her, about how she looks at him. He quickly decides that he does not want someone to be his soulmate cause they see their Dad in him, so he actually gives up halfway through the day and speedruns through Davidson and the I.T department, beginning to flirt- He actually gets in quite a bit of trouble, so he’s almost hoping to replay the day.

And he does. He’s almost visibly bored and upset as the day progresses, and that’s when Paul notices him. And some kind of fire lights when Paul Notices Him. Ted’s thinking this has to be it, but his thoughts still manage to wander even as he bonds with Paul. He actually tells Paul he’s trying to find his soulmate. Paul thinks its very sweet, and its so charming that Ted has admitted this after spending a whole day with him. And then He admits he’s had several repeat days in the span of the last year, and this is one of them. They’re both convinced, and in their excitement hook up at Pauls place.

Something hurts within Ted when he wakes up in his own bed. He remineces the three people who have made him feel like this, and how he already cares about each of them.

And he decides the world must be a sick cruel place after all, so instead of focusing at work he speaks to those he brushes by, every single one of them. Learns their names.

Nothing. He wakes up more frustrated than before, far earlier than he’s supposed to due to restless sleeping.

So Ted, at 5 am, with 2 hours to spare until work, goes to Beanies. And he finally really gets to meet Emma. Because who the hell else in hatchetfield is getting coffee at this local version of starbucks at 5:30? So Ted begins to think- hey. This is my soulmate. She’s my soulmate.

In a spur of sudden confidence he asks her on a date, actually. Well, It’s not a date. He offers to take her to a different establishment somewhere else and taste something better than coffee, and she agrees to meet him when she gets off.

And its Lovely. It really is. While Ted is pondering over Emma being his soulmate, he’s also pondering over the other 3 he’s fallen a little in love with. And he feels terrible about it. But this has to be it, right? She’s one of the last people he met on this day. They have firecracker chemistry. He kisses her at the door of her appartment complex and she writes her number on his wrist all cheeky with a signature. They make out at the door of her appartment complex, But it’s Ted who has to pull away and bid her goodnight when all he remembers is how Bill tasted in that parking lot.

He shakes the feeling as he walks home, only punching Emma’s number into his phone as he slips into bed. ‘Goodnight, princess.’

He’s barely concious when the response comes. ‘G’Night, asshole.’ He beams, plunging into a restful sleep.

Ted wakes up slowly, for the first time. He rubs his eyes and something feels off. Maybe that something means it’s a new day, right? He can’t help his sleepy smile as his eyes adjust, reaching for his phone. If Emma just broke him out of this hell, she certainly deserves a good morning.

And then he can’t find the conversation, which is weird, but maybe its cause he was too tired to give her a contact name. He looks to his arm for the digits

It takes about a minute for shock to dissolve into some kind of frustrated sadness. He always thought he didn’t deserve a soulmate, but he didn’t know an eternal first day at work would be the result of his self deprication.

But he gets up. He doesn’t know how, but theres still a little drive in him.

Ted’s been fueled by the lifetimes he thinks he’s lost.

So he goes to work. He chats up paul on break and gains his attention cause he knows how to now.

He talks with Charlotte at lunch, but instead of just holding her hand for comfort he admits that Sam sounds like an asshole, and she deserves someone who legitimately could fall in love with her. Every morning. Not just once. And this time they Kiss. And Ted’s delighted enough to decide if the day repeats he’s doing the exact same fucking thing for forever when they do.

Ted chats with Paul at the end of the day, and something drives Paul to kiss his cheek. Something very similar drives Ted to squeeze at his hand and double-check he has his number. It’s another moment he’ll revisit when he wakes up today, but for now he’s living in the current today when he spots Bill.

He tells Bill he’d love to get to know him, cause they’d be working so closely. He teases Bill about his dresshirt while he’s at it, and Ted’s delighted when a flustered Bill offers beanies. Because he’ll see Emma before she gets off.

And he hits on her, just to see how corny he can be and still land her number. Instead of in his wrist this time, Ted gets a scrible on his coffee cup. But it feels just as right, when he goes back and gives Bill his drink. “What, you said surprise you- it’s called a frappecino, Come on you’ll like it.”

And Bill and Ted are at beanies until closing. Ted listens, which is a new sensation, but he does. As Bill talks and asks for some kind of sympathy which Ted gives generously. Bill’s situation is shit. He wants nothing more than to help him out of it. He places his hand on Bill’s, and not even two minutes later Bill is walking out nervously, citing something about his daughter as he nervously puts his coat on

And this is really new. Ted didn’t know what he had done, honestly. He calls after him, manages to stop him in the parking lot. The sun is going down when he finally puts a hand on bills shoulder. “What- what’s wrong- We can really just forget it, I’m sorry, Bill i just-“ “I can’t- I just can’t-“ “can’t-what?” “You. Again.”

Ted’s left with some kind of shock in his stomach as Bill heads to his car. “Again?” He repeats, but Bill’s already got the doors shut and Ted Can’t Move.

He blows it. He can feel it, when he walks home. He doesn’t even bother texting Emma.

He goes to sleep, knowing what he’s going to wake up to. And gets ready like he did the very first time. Goes to work like he did the first time. Does everything like the first time, cause he knows they’ll all go to beanies.

He gets everyone their coffee, as in their favourite kind, without prompt, and asks very politely if Emma can take it to the table for them. He tips her 50 bucks, and assures the rest of them he’ll cover their bills.

They sit at a table and the other three try to get Ted caught up on work details or people he may not know enough about. He quiets them as their coffees come, and before Charlotte can ask him how he knew how much she liked chai lattes, he clears his throat and asks emma to just take a breath here.

“Alright. It’s my Fucking millionth time doing this day. And I have a theory. Paul, you mentioned something about multiple repeat days? No- not today, the second today.” He pressures, and all Paul can do is nod and blush, muting himself with his black coffee. “Good. Now, we’ve all been here before, haven’t we?” Ted’s eyes are on Bill now, who can’t hold the stare. Emmas transfixed now, nodding a little. “You know-“ “sshhhh, princess. I do know. Multiple soulmates exist. You typically pick the one you find first or the one closest to you- but look what happened, huh?”

“What happened?” Charlotte questions, and ted stands, grabbing for his iced latte and lookinh down. “Nothing, Charlotte. I just fell in love with all four of you. Because I think you’re all my soulmates.” Ted gets it out, looking over puzzled faces. “Damnit- it doesn’t matter, does it. Because either you’re not and I wake up today again, none of you remember, or you ARE all my soulmates, and tomorrow we talk that out. I’m exhausted, theres my number.” He points to the scrap paper on the table.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He dismisses, and then He’s Gone.

He wakes up to 3 messages, but 1 comes up as he finally rises from bed.

‘Good morning, asshole.’

[cosmiceverafter]

The Pieces Want to Be Together

Pairing: Alex Manes/Michael Guerin

Characters in this chapter: Alex Manes; Michael Guerin; Gregory Manes; Isobel Evans; (mentions of Flint & the Scooby Squad). 

Rating: T

Words in chapter: 2k

Read on ao3

Ch.1/Ch.2

**Content Warning for this chapter: mention & slight evidence of torture/abuse during a kidnapping; blood warning; minor violence; mention of death (no character deaths). None of these are graphic.**

Summary: Day 3: | REUNION | faith, loyalty, optimism, resilience.

A/N: A lot of what I wrote, is speculation for the episodes to come for the rest of this season. It also shows my hope that Gregory Manes is in fact a good guy and Flint Manes can be redeemed.

I hope you enjoy the last chapter of this fic for Missing Alex Manes Weekend! I really enjoyed writing something that was a bit different for me. But you should always know, with angst will always come to a happy ending full of hope. Thank you for reading!

To you Alex Manes: I love you very much.

Ch. 3: Fit Together with You

Alex flutters his eyes open, feeling a searing slash of pain from his head.

All he sees is darkness. He is unable to make out any features around him.

Where am I?

Trying to make sense of everything, he calculates strategically the surrounding area.

Why would someone want… him? Was he getting a bit too close to something? Did this have to do with the aliens of 1947? Did this have to do with Michael?

His hands are bound, but he tries to feel the ground. Cold hard pavement.

He will find a way out. He owes it to himself and the love he has for Michael.

Alex will not go without a fight.

***

Michael thought he understood fear after a lifetime of hopelessness. But fear was finally understood when Alex Manes was gone.

Alex had been kidnapped, and his brain had short-circuited any reason or patience.

When he had been searching location after location without a trace, that was when the fear settled in as well as the realization he couldn't lose Alex.

This human boy had taught him so much, not just what love truly meant, but learning about who he was and what he wanted from this life here on earth.

He fell in love early on with Alex in high school, staring constantly at the way Alex’s eyes fluttered when he got into his music. He was so talented and Michael admired him from a distance for so long.

But Alex had offered not only a safe haven to call his own, but his heart as well.

Michael for the first time in his life felt what having a family could feel like.

The two of them had made mistakes, more times than he could possibly count, but they kept coming back to one another in a way cosmic lovers would.

Alex was the shooting star in his night sky and together they made the constellation of peace, love, and hope.

It was the melody he had heard every single time Alex had played on his guitar. Quite honestly, it was the most moving moment of his life.

These were the thoughts that swirl in Michael’s mind as he searches all of Roswell. He would travel to heaven and hell to find one simple clue to Alex's well being.

After hours of nothing, he receives a phone call. It’s Gregory Manes.

***

Bright lights shine in his eyes, and Alex swallows, “Who are you?”

There is shuffling and Alex knows there are multiple people around him. He can’t make out faces but he can see figures standing around.

Finally, a deep unfamiliar voice says, “You’ll know in time. This is for the greater good.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We know who you are, Alex Manes, and who you associate with. That is, what you associate with. We will have answers.”

So this was about aliens.

Alex isn't clear on much of this situation, but one thing is crystal clear: He will protect Michael Guerin with his last dying breath.

***

Michael had always been right about Gregory Manes. He was the next best Manes after Alex.

The guy was good. He cared about his younger brother, more than even Michael had realized. He didn’t fit the mold that Jesse had once created for their last name.

Gregory had also found out Alex was missing when he had come to visit Roswell. He too had entered Alex’s house and went on his own search when he had seen the evidence of a struggle.

Apparently, he had inquired information from their other brother Flint, who wasn’t always the guy you’d want watching your back. But Michael also thought there was more to Flint than meets the eye.

After hours of figuring information out, they had all come to terms with the fact this wasn’t Jesse’s doing, much to all their surprise.

It was another puzzle Michael realized, that he didn’t know how to fit back together. Story of his life.

***

They ask questions; he doesn’t answer.

He’s hit, repeatedly; he’s had worse.

They press further; he doesn’t cry out.

Their frustration grows; he stands his ground.

They use fear and hate; he uses resilience and love.

***

Michael refuses to give up, he can't.

His phone rings and he looks down. It’s Isobel now.

“Iz?”

“It’s Alex.”

“I know...I’ve been searching for him with Greg,” Michael says as his eyes fill with tears. No use trying to stop them. “We can’t find him. Anywhere.”

He looks at Alex’s brother who is now driving his truck, and his brother looks as solemn as he feels.

“Michael, listen to me!” Isobel exclaims on the other side, “I know where Alex is!”

***

Alex’s whole body aches and he finally lets a moan escape his lips. He’s not sure how much more he can handle. He’s tough, but hell, he’s only human after all.

Whatever these things are...he's not entirely sure they are human. However, feeling delirious will do that to a person. He can no longer make sense of it all.

It’s been hours, and Michael never leaves his mind.

Michael is his anchor that keeps him tethered to his strength; it keeps him grounded and sane. He’s grateful even though his alien isn’t even there.

Truthfully though, Michael is always with him.

It all seems so trivial now; their arguments the inability to connect through the pain.

If only they both had foreseen this future, maybe they would have communicated what they had wanted so much sooner.

Being at rock bottom will do that to a person though. Your regrets, your mistakes, all of it, comes crashing into you like a current in the ocean.

These thoughts stay in Alex's mind. He realizes he probably won’t make it through the night. But at least he will go knowing he didn’t budge; he kept Michael’s identity and whereabouts hidden, as well as his pod siblings.

Some things are worth dying for.

As he allows himself to lean against the wall and close his swollen eyes, he hears a commotion outside the cold dark room he’s kept in.

There is yelling, a boom, and screaming.

He can’t make sense of it; he doesn’t have the energy to even try.

But that’s when he hears it, the most beautiful sound in the world.

Michael’s voice.

He found me, Alex realizes as he finally breaks. The tears run down his cheeks as he succumbs to darkness.

***

Isobel, that brilliant-not-by-blood-sister of his, was right! She had given them a location, something that she had seen when she had gone to Alex’s house.

Isobel had touched the floor where Alex had fallen, and that’s when she had a vision. The warehouse had been clearer than the light of day, and she explained it perfectly.

It was miles out of Roswell, but luckily, Michael knew exactly the one. He had driven past it many times over the years.

Gregory is by his side as they enter the location. Michael does not see who the people are that took Alex because their faces are covered, but that doesn’t stop him from throwing them against the walls. Hard.

Michael knows he's probably just given away his identity. He just doesn't care.

His anger is unmatched at this moment.

Gregory stops and looks at him with a look of shock, but Michael just shrugs and keeps on moving. There is no time to talk about the “what are you and where did you come from?” speech.

Unfortunately, whoever they are, escape quickly, but his number one mission and priority is to find Alex.

They will be dealt with later, that much is certain. A vow of his for the mere fact that they ever thought they could touch Alex Manes.

Gregory yells at him to come over and he sees a locked door against the metal wall. Gregory gives Michael the look with a bit of hesitation.

Michael opens it easily with his powers and scopes out the room quickly.

Alex.

His stomach falls as he sees Alex crumpled in the corner of the small room. Michael almost collapses, but Gregory steadies him.

Alex’s brother rushes over to his younger brother’s side, clearly checking for a pulse.

Michael has never felt this before. Before when trying to find Alex, he was on a mission. But this… this is different. If Alex is not okay, Michael will not make it. He knows this to be true. They are too connected and intertwined.

He won’t survive that type of pain.

So he’s stuck. Unmoving. He literally cannot breathe.

“He has a pulse,” Gregory calls out, which adds faith and hope back into Michael’s life. “It’s weak though. We have to get him to a doctor.”

“Valenti,” Michael replies, still scared to see Alex and the damage they caused the love of his life. “Kyle Valenti. He’ll help.”

“Here,” Gregory exclaims as he rushes over, “let me talk to him.” Michael punches in the number for the good Doctor and gives his phone to Greg. The guy looks over at Alex, and his eyes are full of sadness, “Go be with him. He needs you, Michael.”

Gregory leaves the room for a moment and Michael can hear him talking to Kyle.

Slowly, as if in a dream...a nightmare, Michael walks over to Alex.

He bends down and starts to cry instantly as he takes in Alex. All the emotions he has felt searching for Alex and the horrific outcome of this reality is too much.

The bruises are all over Alex. He’s swollen and bloody. Not Alex. God, no. Not to Alex….

Michael lifts Alex’s hand up gently and sees damage there as well. “I’m so sorry, Alex.” He cannot stop crying. The heavy sobs leave his body as he trembles uncontrollably. Michael realizes he’s not just crying because of what happened to Alex, he’s sorry for the way he has treated Alex over the last few months. He took Alex for granted and now here his love is, broken and in pieces right before him. “I’m so damn sorry.”

He bends down and kisses Alex’s battered forehead. That’s when Alex moans. He squeezes Alex’s hand softly, “Alex! Alex, I’m here. I’m here. I won’t leave...I’ll never leave you again.”

Alex squeezes his hand back.

***

It takes Alex a while to heal, but luckily with the help of Kyle, Michael, and his friends, he makes progress every single day.

It's both mental and physical healing he needs and that in itself, takes time.

The group continues digging deeper to try to figure out who took him. It’s nice to see everyone working together for a change. He’s wanted that for some time. Maybe that was the good of being taken after all; they stopped taking each other for granted.

As far as Michael, he never leaves his side. That gesture doesn’t annoy him though, if anything, it’s beyond comforting and welcoming.

Neither of them is walking away. They prove that more and more each day.

Michael is generous and gives him space and time, not expecting anything. It means so much to him.

But he does give Alex several hugs a day; clinging on to him tightly as if to make sure Alex is real. Alex gets his strength from Michael every time. 

They finally have their breakfast and open up about it all, even the parts that hurt. But that was the point of healing, true healing. In doing that, they break the barriers of their cycle once created.

Their talk wasn't a one-time thing either; they talk for weeks and weeks, sometimes going late into the nights. The nights where they make each other laugh, are Alex's favorite. He realizes that even though during their time apart when they weren't together, they had been building that friendship all along.

Sometimes during these chats, he catches Michael just staring at him, and he can’t help but smile. Their love has only grown. Deeper than even he could have imagined it would.

One sunny morning, he decides to finish the song he has been working on. Alex is staying at the cabin that Jim left him. It offers peace and solace, especially if Michael is there. Which he is, always.

Alex smiles as he pulls his guitar out of the black case. It's funny how an object can cause so much joy. The gift of music was just that, a gift.

As he holds the guitar in his hands for the first time in a while, he closes his eyes from the comfort it brings. His fingers sometimes still ache, but he plays anyway.

He plays the trauma he grew up with, the pain, and the sorrow, but also the resilience and the strength to rise from the ashes. He adds the hope, faith, and love that Michael has brought into his life. The joy of friendship and unity as he sees his friends smiling back at him. And most importantly, he plays the love he feels for himself and the growth he has made, with a nod of gratitude in Forrest’s direction.

It is the melody of his life. The melody that makes him...Alex.

“That was so beautiful,” he hears softly behind him as he finishes.

Alex looks over to see Michael beautifully leaning against the doorframe holding two cups of coffee, his curls tousled from sleep.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, I know it’s early.”

Michael shakes his head, “Nah, it's the best alarm clock there is actually.” He walks over barefoot on the wooden porch and hands Alex a mug.

He sits down and looks at Alex with a genuine loving smile, “Truthfully though. It might’ve been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard you play.”

“Thanks,” Alex replies with a smile of his own. “I’ve been working on it for…well, a very long time now.”

“Is it finished?” Michael asks. Alex looks deeper into those hazel eyes. Not for the first time around the guy, hope fills him up like a balloon. “I think it’s just the beginning of a very special story actually.”

Michael nods and takes Alex’s hand softly. “I hope to hear each chapter of that story then.”

Alex moves Michael’s healed hand to his lips and kisses it gently, “You are and will always be a huge part of this story, Michael. The story is a part of us.”

“You always have a way with words, Alex Manes.”

The words he has wanted to say every day are right there. They are the only words that truly matter when it comes to the alien sitting next to him, “Speaking of words, there are a few more important ones I need to say to you.”

Michael smiles once more as he leans in closer to Alex, “Please, tell me.”

Alex takes in this moment, never looking back, “I love you, too.”

Tears fill both of their eyes as they come together as those two pieces of their puzzle, finally fitting together as one as they kiss.

The missing piece was there all along.

Hope was the melody that would always bring their love home.

[celestialholz]

A Good Day To Die

Hello, dear Qcard squad - happy slightly belated Tapestry Day! <3 I’m SO SORRY this is a little late, though for once it’s absolutely not my fault! I’m visiting some family up in northern England, and there’s been a hell of a storm that’s outed several power lines locally - they’ve only just reconnected this morning, so I’m finally able to pop this up as my laptop now has some charge! I shall be reblogging all your lovely contributions with commentary tags today too. <3

Let me tell you a quick story before the actual one though, friends, of a girl on a Saturday afternoon playthrough of TNG for the first time, about six years ago now; already a huge fan obviously because we’re in series six, already very much in love with Q and the indomitable captain, but I’d wondered here and there: why was Jean-Luc so special? Sure, he was clever and wonderfully diplomatic, even a bit nuanced, and a nice change of pace from Kirk, who I also loved - but where did this spark come from? Why was he a rebel sometimes, when he seemed to play so much by the book most of the time?

... And then we get to this. A fascinating premise right from the word go of an immediately deceased/critically injured Picard, going into the fascination of a void space, a god cloaked in white with his usual wondrous enigma, and what’s always been to me the single finest piece of character exploration in the whole of the Trek canon. It’s intelligent, deeply amusing, philosophical, psychological, fascinating... we watch this man fall apart and rebuild and learn his lessons, and all the while we have this gorgeous chemistry, this blatant and beautiful homosexual coding, between our two stars, with Q’s ambiguous motives and goddamn, I was enchanted. 

... Honestly, it’s my favourite fucking TV hour of all time, and it’s my pleasure to finally celebrate its anniversary properly. My great thanks to @q-card​ for taking my idea and running wild with it, you marvellous being you. <333

I’d planned to make something much grander and mad for this accordingly, but... well, you know how it is. Very long week, depression... eurgh. So instead, please accept something a fair bit shorter but no less lovely: a parable of ancient Egyptian culture, a delicious dose of angst and love, and the promise of forever from a man who really can’t understand the meaning of the word, but wants nothing more than to offer it anyway. Set during STP, and I for one think this would be a lovely way to end it all...

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

It’s fitting, Jean-Luc, he thinks serenely as he disengages the autopilot with a pang of adrenaline, a silent resignation, stoicism etched into his weathered features. Everything has its time, dear man, and you’ve had more than most.

There’s no real other method of death he’d have been content with, if he’s being honest with himself. It’s explosions, fireworks, heat, when he’s too old for any of it physically, when he’s exhausted mentally, but can still lay claim to the most youthful and adventurous spirits, the very soul of a captain; it’s plunging into a supernova at sub-warp to take out the rejuvenated Borg fleet in the resultant fire, beings he abhors so profoundly, is still so very haunted by all these years later, still has nightmares of his time amongst their number.

The protests of his newfound crew echo through his mind, the panic of five minutes prior naturally fresh; a simple plan, ultimately, forged days after he’d discovered their real enemy. Emergency transport, patterns already established, ready for the simple verbal command of a destination within reach; his friends enveloped, incapable of escape without the certainty of scattering to atoms, horror absolute.

“Admiral, you can’t be fucking serious - ”

“This cannot be how our quest ends! I will never forgive you!”

“... No, no, I know that look - JL, you can’t , you bastard - !”

“They took you once, Captain; we’ve won, dammit! There is no need to prove it further!”

He shivers with their regrets, jaw setting in defiance of his actions - it isn’t about proving anything, and he’d imagined Seven of all people would know that good and well. It’s about setting the universe to rights, ensuring continued prosperity from a species who deserve simply to be left in peace, who had been through more than enough to last them multiple lifetimes... to perhaps finally repaying a fraction of the debt he owed to the dead, the assimilated, of Wolf 359. It will never absolve him; nothing ever could.

But he can ensure it never has to happen again - not to him, not to another living soul in this quadrant. This is their last stand, and he will eradicate them. He isn’t a threat, of course - why would he be, in his tiny vessel?

Resistance is not, and never has been, futile, he acknowledges coldly, teeth beared in disgust. You wanted me to lead you, didn’t you? Allow me to make it so.

“Warning: recommend immediate retreat. Heat shields at thirty-one percent integrity; collision course with Elphoric Supernova in three minutes, thirty seconds.”

“Computer,” he announces frostily, “cease warnings.”

“With respect, my dearest admiral, perhaps you’d do well to pay attention.”

His mechanical heart skips several beats in the same moment, frenzy racing up his spine in anger, anticipation, anguish -

He hasn’t seen the speaker in four years, but he’ll turn up for the last three and a half minutes?

The flash claims his vision, the signature ping resounds, and the air falls immediately silent as he stares at eyes that read eternity and burn solely for him.

“Would you mind explaining what the hell you’re doing?”

He takes a full ten seconds of his remaining few minutes to simply absorb his husband’s presence, the faint lines that crease his forehead, the unspoken despair and the silent love and the carvings of exhaustion, and it’s as though something snaps once more back into place in his soul; as though he’s finally returned home after a solid millennia of travelling, embraced instantly by recalled warmth and comfort and precious, precious familiarity.

... Perhaps he ought to be less furious.

“... War’s over then, I take it?” His voice cracks through the stagnant bridge, and for the briefest of moments, he forgets entirely that he’s voluntarily crashing to his own destruction.

Q’s gaze flickers, stricken, and he regards his spouse with disbelief, crouching before him.

“Hardly the moment.” He curls fingers around shaking ones, squeezes tightly. “Honestly, I leave you alone for five minutes -”

“Four years,” Picard intones, hollow, charcoal eyes ablaze. “Four, dammit.”

Q winces, digs finely manicured nails gently into aged skin with sorrow. “Bit difficult to keep track when the universe is falling apart, though I thought my dearly espoused was rather above the ultimate display of tragic hubris.”

“This isn’t arrogance,” Picard snaps in response, suddenly furious.

The god raises a brow, turns from him for a moment to consult the cosmos; he analyses the situation quietly, eyes falling shut before they wrench open in horror.

“... Oh,” he realises aloud, returning a pitying gaze to his husband. “Well, I was planning to take you for dinner, celebrate our reunion, but... it had to the Borg, of course. It was going to be magnificent, you know. All candles, oysters, Risan teal whiskey - imagine you’ve grown a little weary of the family vintage by now -”

Picard’s internal chronometer, borne of years of starship clockwork efficiency, ticks over to ninety seconds, and he’s kissing him with desperation, with the misery of parting, the anxiety of war, the coldness of a universe where no one else can ever quite understand -

It’s brief because it has to be, given the circumstances, but it’s no less intense for it, shot through on both sides with passion and need and loss and reestablished harmony; they break eventually, slipping back to rest foreheads together, and Q is breathless with pain as he whispers.

“My universe has already shattered once, Jean-Luc.”

Picard blinks against the tears that threaten, the anguish that engulfs him at the very thought.

“It’s the Borg, Q,” he explains simply, voice woven with apology.

“... And it doesn’t count for anything that I could click them to dust, I imagine, stop them threatening anyone ever again?”

He smiles warmly, bitterness rich - not at an entity who has been trying to save his people, he could never be angry at that. He’s trying to do the same, isn’t he? Always has. 

No, life is merely unfair, and it has to end eventually. 

“‘Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it,’” he quotes gently, and a rasp of a sob trips from Q’s tongue.

“Stupid, noble, self-sacrificing idiot,” he breathes, thumb running over the wedding ring unconsciously. “The shen ring, Jean-Luc; you’ve always admired the ancients. The symbol of eternal protection.”

A single tear slips down his cheek, a stammered exhale follows, and he locks eyes to his in true dread. “Please, darling - tell me we can still go for dinner.”

Everything in creation drowns in silence, even as the console roars at him that he’s thirty seconds from death; nothing matters but his words, his long-spoken promise - that his husband absolutely comprehends them.

“I’d be offended we didn’t, frankly,” he whispers. “Haven’t seen you in years, we’re rather overdue a catch-up.”

He kisses his brow tenderly, physically feels the permanence of the relief that bursts through the god; he has to make sure, nevertheless.

“Perhaps tomorrow, we could watch the meteor shower on Tansid VI.” He softly pulls Q’s thumb back to the wedding ring, to the tangibility of what it offers, the vow it proclaims, and runs his own preciously across it. “Croissants. Champagne. Different region, different grapes - I’m not quite bored of that one yet.”

“And the day after?” Q’s voice cracks, brittle as sand.

“Oh, moons of Tanothry Prime, I imagine. Driver’s choice. Though I’d quite enjoy a trip to the Magellanic Clouds, perhaps in a few centuries.”

Another sob, profound this time, raises, stuttered, from his immortal spouse.

“I reserve the right to make it hurt less.”

“Oh, please do, my love. My Thoth.”

Q stifles a laugh, so wondrously enamoured. “The Egyptian god of the dead, of magic and wisdom.”

“‘As for Thoth, he crosses the sky in my presence; I pass safely.’“

“Yes, you do,” the deity vows, adoration warming the severity of his features. “Nothing will ever have to hurt you again, darling.”

It’s a strange experience, dying without fear. He’d been so certain, so determined, but so very afraid.

“Ten seconds to impact,” the computer chimes, emotionless.

“I have a dog,” Picard tells his husband, eyes falling closed. “You wouldn’t much like his name.”

Q smiles tightly, clings to him.

“I do hope it isn’t mine,” he replies dryly, and the human chuckles as the ship ignites around them.

“Oh, it’s so much worse.” He beams tenderly at him, braces for impact. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Yeah,” Q breathes, caressing his ring, and together they burn.

[btsonmymind]

Seoulmates : Chapter One

P A I R I N G : Model!Jungkook X Reader X ?(You’ll just have to read to find out ;))

G E N R E : Angst (if you squint very hard), Soulmate AU

W O R D  C O U N T : 2.3K

W A R N I N G S : None

S U M M A R Y : For thousands of years, the closer humans got to their soulmate a electric feeling shoots through the air. Only about 40% of the population will find their soulmate. The sparks you feel when the two souls meet is a give away, but what if there’s another way you could find your soulmate?

*BREAKING NEWS*

ACTRESS, LUNA YOUNG, FINDS HER SOULMATE ON A TRIP TO PARIS! SHE RECALLS THE PICTURE PERFECT MOMENT, “It was magical, a moment any girl would kill for.” STAY TUNED TO HEAR MORE ABOUT THIS ONCE IN A LIFETIME STORY. ONLY ON…

“Hey, I was watching that!” My best friend, Jimin, whipped his head in my direction, glaring at me. If looks could kill, I would be dead right now. Both of us were sitting on my couch watching the new channel for almost two hours. Jimin lived for those celebrity news shows, it was like a drug to him.

Throwing the remote on my coffee table, I shrugged my shoulders, “It was almost over anyways. Also, how do you even know she’s telling the truth? What if they are doing that for publicity? Science says it is a one in a million chance you would be able to find your soulmate anyways.”

Rolling his eyes, he turns his body toward me, “(Y/N), you are over exaggerating. It’s, like, one in a thousand. And, celebrities have money to travel and do all sorts of things, so it’s easier for them to find their soulmates.”

Sighing, I get up and walk to the kitchen. It’s really hard for “ordinary” people to find their soulmates. None of my family members ever found their “true love”, so they just married whomever they pleased. There are only a couple of stories of people actually finding their other half.

Everyone, who has found their soulmate, says the closer you are to them you get this tingly feeling, like electricity almost. And, the less distance between you and your “true partner” the stronger the sensation becomes. But it is hard for average people to find their “other half” because most of the time they live in other countries. Like Luna Young for example, she found her soulmate is Paris! She has the money to travel anywhere, at any time she wants. That’s why every month there is a new celebrity that found their soulmate.

Following me to the kitchen, he opens up my fridge and grabs two Cokes: one for me and one for him. “I just don’t get why you are so against finding your soulmate.”

“It’s because I don't want to waste my time and give my hopes up. If I find them, I find them. If I don’t, I don't. It’s not my dream to find my “one true love” and I’m not going to dedicate my whole life searching.” I crack open my drink and take a sip. The bubbly liquid going down my throat is nice and cold.

“Watch, with that attitude, you would be the first one in your family to find your soulmate.” He says with a slight attitude.

We sit there in silence, scrolling on our phones until Jimin speaks up again. “One of my mom’s friends is moving to Seoul next week. He’s going to be going to college with us. My mom wants us to show him around and to befriend him.”

He flips his phone to show me a picture of a guy around our age. I would be lying if I said he wasn’t the most attractive man I have ever seen. “Damn, he’s hot! What’s his name?”

“I think it’s like Sebastian... or something along those lines.” He shrugs his shoulders and continues to scroll through his phone.

Jimin and I start our first year of college next month and I couldn’t be more excited. Having the freedom of living on my own and not having my parents breathing down my neck 24/7 is life changing. Jimin made sure we both signed up for the same classes. For the most part we do except two classes, which I have to remember to make friends in.

Jimin and I have been best friends since we were 15. Jimin’s mother and father left South Korea when he was around 5 or 6 years-old. A couple months after arriving in California, his parents decided to open a bakery in the Los Angeles area: Cherry on Top. To this day it is still well-known and a popular spot for tourists to go.

Jimin and I first became friends our Freshman year of High School. He was always my seat partner in every class we had. So, being forced to talk to each other, we found out we had a lot in common. We've gotten closer and closer ever since.

Now for me, I’ve always lived in California. My father owns a popular modeling company in California: Star Modeling Agency. He travels all over the world recruiting new people to replace the old. But, recently, he has been traveling less. So, to continue his recruiting, he buys the recruiter their plane tickets to Cali. Father is trying to expand his company to South Korea. Having one in Los Angeles and the other in Seoul will double our income.

My father wanted to give Jimin a modeling gig, but Jimin politely declined. His dream was going to college and taking over his parents' business. So, in the future he wouldn’t have time to model and run a whole business at the same time.

Jimin and I had the same dream, except I was expected to take over the Agency. My father trained me all of my life. Yes, I could have skipped college and went straight into the business, but I wanted to experience college. Living in Korea, far away from my father, is too special to pass up.

After sitting around and doing nothing for another hour, it was time for Jimin to go home. “Text me when you get hime, so I know you made it there safely.”

Yanking me into a bear hug, he smiles “Yes mom…” He says in a mocking tone. I wave goodbye until I can’t see him anymore.

Going to my room, I get ready for bed. What if moving to Seoul is my chance to find my soulmate? What if Jimin was right that I’ll be the first one in my family to find my other half. “(Y/N) why are you even thinking about that?” I shake the obnoxious thoughts out of my head. Closing my eyes, I fall into a deep sleep.

*DREAM*

A GUYS LIPS CAME INTO MY LINE OF VISION. THE FLIRTATIOUS SMIRK ON HIS FACE TOLD ME THAT HE COULD HAVE ANYONE HE DESIRED. HIS FACE AND WAS FUZZY, BUT THE BACKGROUND WAS ALMOST HD.

“Who are you?” I REACHED OUT TO TOUCH HIS FACE, BUT BEFORE I COULD HE BACKED AWAY. I STOOD THERE AND WATCHED HIS BACK RETREAT UNTIL HE DISAPPEARED INTO A HAZY FOG.

Every night I would have that dream, my heart would be racing and my cheeks would be hot. I haven’t told Jimin about the dream, scared he would make fun of me or go on a rant about “soulmate this” or “soulmate that”. It’s not possible to see your soulmate in your dreams, especially if you haven’t met them. So, how could the guy in my dreams be my soulmate if I have never met him.

This is crazy! I don’t have a soulmate. It was only a dream, there could be a logical explanation to it. Should I tell Jimin? No, he’ll just overthink it. But, what if he is right and it is my soulmate. No, that’s just stupid. Stop thinking about it (Y/N)! I hit my head multiple times directing my attention to something else.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re going crazy,” Jimin looks up at me from his bowl of cereal, “Are you stressed about college? Did you forget something?”

Jimin and I sat in the back of my father’s car, riding quietly to the airport. A month has passed since I’ve seen him last. Both of us were dressed in a tank top and sweats. He had one of his airpods in his hands waiting for my response. It has been a month since I’ve last seen him. His hair has grown out a little, covering his eyes slightly.

Should I tell him? He is my best friend and I’m desperate for advice. “No. I packed, it’s just...if I tell you this, you have to promise me you will not tell a soul.” I whispered to him, so my father wouldn’t hear.

Nodding, he listens to every word I say. “I’ve been having a dream for the past month. It’s the same thing over and over. I’m standing there looking at a hazy face. But, the only thing I can see, clearly, is his lips. Also, he is smirking at me, which makes me feel hot all over. I try to reach out and touch his face but he chuckles deeply and turns around to leave. I can’t move or anything, I just watch him leave. The dream feels...real.”

He sits there staring at me, trying to process every word that shot from my mouth. “Let's be honest, after Luna came out with her soulmate, you have been trying to picture yours. I read on the internet that it’s completely normal to do that. It’s your brain trying to picture your soulmate for you.”

What Jimin tells me makes perfect sense. I’m trying to imagine what my “true love” looks like, so I can be satisfied with not meeting them. That’s the only logical explanation of my dream.

Groaning, I rub my face. Jimin can sense how bothered I am by it, so he changes the subject. “Hey look on the bright side, we are almost to the airport! A new beginning is waiting for us.”

I am excited. It is an opportunity to go to Korea where no one knows who I am. And, everyone who knows my name won’t associate it with my father.

Father did a great job by keeping me out of the camera’s eye as I was growing up. But, once I became a High schooler everything changed. Kids only became my friends, so they can get a contract with my dad. Jimin was and still is my only true friend.

The closer we got to the airport, I started feeling weird. It was like I was having constant shivers. I wrap my arms around my body, curling into my knees.

Looking at me worried, Jimin asks, “(Y/N)? Are you okay?” He rests his hand on my shoulder, lightly squeezing. The feeling is so hard to explain.

“Yeah, just a little cold.” I chuckled. I reached in my bag and yanked out my flannel jacket.

Jimin looks at me questionly, but ignores it and goes back to listening to his music. Looking out the window, I watch the cars zoom pass. Looking at my father drive, I wonder if he’s happy that I am leaving? I know he doesn’t hate me, but a part of me knows he is more relaxed with me gone. Father told me before that this is a great opportunity for me and that I should get used to Seoul, whatever that means. It was always just my dad and I. My mother left us when I was around 3 or 4. My father has always told me that I look just like her, and I think that is a part of the reason why he wants me gone so much.

I never knew the reason why my mother left us, my father never told me either. So, as I grew older I just let it go.

The closer the three of us got to the airport, the stronger the chills got. It was almost like needles pricking my skin. I was interrupted by my father speaking, “We are here,” he shifts in the seat to look at me, “I can’t get out because of the-”

“Paperazzi. Yeah, I know.” I rolled my eyes. Two security guards opened the truck of the SUV getting Jimin and I’s baggage. Jimin was standing waiting for me.

Before I could open the car door, my father spoke, “Text me when you get there, okay?”

I nodded and got out of the car. Jimin and I walked side by side. Both of us put our sunglasses on  one the flashing began. The paparazzi yelled questions at both Jimin and I. With both of our heads held high we walked to our gate. The security guards helped us until we were safe inside the plane. As we walked, the chills got worse. Now feeling like energy crackling around me, I double over. Jimin grabbed my arm leading me onto the plane.

Once we sat down in our seats, Jimin grabbed my face so I could look at him. “Are you okay?” His eyes are blown wide, staring me down.

Grabbing his wrists, I reassure him, “I am fine Jimin. My stomach started cramping up, that's all.”

Throughout the whole plane ride the electric feeling stayed the same. I could tell Jimin was worried about me, so every so often I would squeeze his hand and smile up at him. I couldn’t have been happier when we landed. Putting shades on top of my head, I walked out of the plane, Jimin following me.

“I’ll go get our suitcases. Just stay right here.” I nod at Jimin, watching him leave. The shivers were back but that’s the only “pain” I am feeling. As I stood there waiting for Jimin. The electric feeling came back tenfold. Turning around I brace myself on the wall closest to me. Leaning on my left side I wrap my arms around my body. Can this feeling please stop. The feeling is getting worse. Should I go look for Jimin? Debating whether or not I should, I decided to go look for him. Whipping around, I hit right into a chest.

Right when I look up into the person’s eyes I feel like the time has stopped and everything is in slow motion. The sensations I am having feel like sparks. I’m pretty sure if you look close enough you can see the sparks shooting from our bodies.

The man that is holding me is smiling from ear to ear. Before I can comprehend what is happening, the fine male staring into my eyes speaks up.

“Hello, my name is Jungkook. And, what is your name, soulmate?” He stares into my eyes and smirks.

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

{A.N.}

Hello guys!!! Thank you so much for reading! Chapter 2 will be out as soon as I finish writing it !!!

[i-turned-the-emperor-to-dust]

Movie/Musical Theory

Astruc has already stated that this is an Adrinette song. So knowing this, automatically, there are certain things to assume while approaching the lyrics. My theory, then, is that Marinette knows Adrien is Chat Noir, and here’s all the reasons why:

SOURCE: https://twitter.com/ThomasAstruc/status/1137182300737888256). 

Since each line builds off the next, I’m going to address Marinette’s lines first, and then sum up Adrien’s at the end.

[1] When I see him, I’m not me anymore. I turn red and talk softly. I run out of breath, and my heart beats fast. [2] But why? I dare not tell him anything. I want him just for me. His light, his smile. For one night crossing this wall between us.

Marinette is referring to how shy and nervous she gets around him, and how she “dares not tell him anything”. Naturally, we’re meant to assume she’s talking about her crush on Adrien, and her inability to confess her feelings… but if you approach those lines from a post-reveal standpoint, what if she’s not? What if the “anything” she’s referring to is the fact that she knows he’s Chat Noir? What if she dares not tell him she’s Ladybug and that she knows he’s Chat? 

Likewise, this may mean she’s not acting like herself around Chat Noir anymore either.

[3] You and me. If we could see each other beyond the mirror, forget our masks for one night, let's break off the pieces of this wall between us. (these lines are sang in tandem).

It’s actually quite interesting that these lines are sang by both of them. They make sense from Chat’s point-of-view: he’s always wanted to reveal their identities and know each other outside of their superhero personas, and if he’s suddenly experiencing feelings for Marinette, it makes sense he’d want them to reveal themselves even more… then they can be together and he’ll no longer have to “duel with his heart” over these mysterious feelings for another girl. Feelings he’s trying to run away from.

However, this has never been the case with Marinette, not in her feelings towards Adrien. So why do the lyrics include “us”, “we”, and “our” [our masks/we could see each other]? Why not “I”, “me”, my? [remove my mask]/[show you the real me]? That would make sense for both of them, and especially for Marinette, who could be singing to Adrien about wanting to reveal her identity as Ladybug so he’ll love her too.

But if you approach it from the viewpoint that Marinette does want to reveal her identity now, but can’t, suddenly those lines extend to both of them, not just Chat, and it makes a lot more sense in context, because frankly, there’s no reason for Marinette to think ADRIEN should be wearing a mask… there’s nothing for him to remove or to reveal.

[4] A day will come, you will discover, the happiness of being two, you and me. When we will hug [embrace] each other.

Another word for hug in English is to “embrace”, and an embrace can be physical and metaphorical; she could be speaking of embracing both parts of their identities, in addition to the physical aspect of “hugging”.

[5] Yet, I feel it, this whirlwind of feelings that takes hold of us firmly. In the sun and in the wind, a unique chance. Magic is spinning/stirring. It's strong when I see it. I want to shout it from the roofs, our love that reaches out to us, but I know I shouldn't. This is not the moment. We have to be patient. Be patient. [6] I know that one day we will fly. Because, my love, one day you will see, that with me, you will become who you are.

Marinette talks about how strong their feelings are: “our love that reaches out to us” and how she wants to “shout it from the roofs” but “it’s not the right moment. We have to be patient.” I can’t help but think this whole line is hiding something in plain sight: It’s almost as if she knows her feelings are reciprocated, but something is holding them back from being together. Otherwise, why would their love already be established?

She later goes on to say that the day will come when “you will see, that with me, you will become who you are.” When you think about it, that’s actually a very deep thought to be coming from Marinette who tends to put Adrien on a pedestal and sees him as perfect - yet here she is talking of his duality, and how he can’t be himself. Which means she’s aware that there are two sides that he keeps separate/hidden… something that’s only possible if she knows both of those secret sides for herself. After all, if she was referring to the dichotomy of Adrien’s model-persona/home-persona, those aren’t so secret, not since he has friends who know of his lonely home-life: so technically, he can be “himself” with Nino, Chloe, and all his friends. But Ladybug is the only one who knows his secret superhero persona, and that’s the one that needs to meld with “Adrien” - thereby allowing him to become the man he truly is. The Ladybug and Cat miraculous are meant to be two halves of a whole, so it makes sense that both sides would eventually need to come together. And that can only be accomplished through Marinette.

So why isn’t the moment right yet? Marinette has already tried multiple times to confess to Adrien, so what has changed now? This is merely speculation, but maybe it’s because she knows both sides of him, but he only knows one side of her. It’s only when he learns to love Marinette just as much as Ladybug, that they can “shout their love from the rooftops” - that’s why they have to be patient, because he’s not there yet. But what she doesn’t realize (and we do, thanks to all of Adrien’s lyrics) is that Adrien has already found himself falling for Marinette, despite the fact that his heart has already been taken by Ladybug.

[7] We will be together in the night, like in the day, when all that glitters, our love will be to infinity. [8] Despite the wall between us, love goes from one side to the other. We are, together, a rare strength. For you, I will wait a lifetime. Because, yes, I love you to madness. I will love you to infinity.

“We are together a rare strength” is another line that brings to mind Ladynoir, not so much Adrinette, connecting back to the idea of the miraculouses and how they’re stronger together. And “together in the night” could be referring to their alter-egos, and how they are not yet able to see each other clearly as Chat and Ladybug, since they wear masks, and keep themselves hidden (aka, the dark). But during the day, those masks are removed, and they can see each other as Marinette and Adrien, though they yearn to know each other in both day and night.

And the rest is pretty self-explanatory: they love each other lots, which is evidenced by how they fell for each other “despite the wall” from “one side [of the love square] to the other”

[1] She is standing right behind me. She smiles at me and turns her eyes. I think I understand her funny game. [2] Get away! It's the only thing to do. My heart is upside down. I sense a power that pulls me beyond the wall between us. And yet, when I think of her, I feel unfaithful. I want to run away in the night to see my Ladybug. I have a heart to duel.

All of Adrien’s lines are pretty self-explanatory: He’s awakening to his feelings for Marinette, and has come to realize that those “funny games” she plays (being shy, silly, awkward) is because she likes him.

He then goes on to explain that this new realization has got him spooked! He wants to “get away” and escape, because it’s confusing his heart, and making him feel guilty towards Ladybug. He feels like he has to “duel” his heart and make an effort to stop feeling the way he does towards Marinette, but if the duel’s any indication, it’s a struggle.

[3] I do not understand what I want. I do not want to fall in love. Where does this mysterious feeling come from? [4] But why, if my heart is elsewhere, do I feel in my soul, a warmth? A thrill that brings me happiness.

Adrien’s such a romantic, it must be terrifying for him to admit that he’s feeling torn between two different girls, so he’s in denial. He does not want these new feelings for Marinette and doesn’t understand where they came from or why. Yet, he can’t deny that she brings him happiness, and that she brings warmth to his soul. However, undeniably, he loves Ladybug… so whyyyyyy? He’s no player! His love is true (he swears) and yet…

Orrrrrr, I could be wayyyyy wrong and will laugh at this post once the musical is released LOL.

Either way, it was fun to think about, and I could pimp my video at the same time. ❤️