#but boy oh boy i very dearly wish that i could in fact read minds so i knew if i needed to just Stop being effusive or affectionate

[remyfire]

One of the more interesting parts about not figuring out you're autistic until you're in your thirties is every so often jolting awake and going, oh god, my enthusiasm has been annoying the hell out of everyone my whole life, huh?

[sirensmojo]

"Big Bank!" - Hubby! Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Big Fluff, Old Money love story vibes.

Summary: Tommy decided to let his wife take care of his Gin. He comes to taste it for the first time after the Gin was met with great success.

A/N: We stand for a caring & trusting Thomas, sorry not sorry.

*Masterlist*

It was a windy day when Tommy entrusted you with his Gin distillery.

The sun was out, as your children were running around the garden, their giggling easing his mind. His head dropped backward on the garden chair as fingers of one of his hands were fidgeting with his cup or whiskey, as a cigarette was locked in between his lips.

Spring was early this year, much to your family’s pleasure. Spending time outside was something you loved to do, and knowing Tommy’s busy agenda, you made sure to make every family moment the best one.

No need to say time flew so fast, the days becoming months, becoming years.

Tommy and you was an evidence. From the day you bumped into each other in the London’s library his sister Ada used to work, you were inseparable. Thus you didn’t know each other for very long, but everything between you made this fact questionable.

You were acting as if you knew each other since children, a single look and you understood what the other thought. Not too many words were said, but not too many words were needed.

Although you weren’t Tommy’s first wife, you were “the perfect two”, making all the people you knew jealous and envious.

“My love,” you announced your presence when coming closer to the garden table as your husband was eyes closed. “I did some thinking.” You added, catching his attention.

Tommy straightened back his head and he was now facing you as you seated in front of him, glimpsing from afar of your three little boys.

“You know I don’t like your whiskey or any type of alcohol, truly.” You raised your brows, and he puffed on his cig, waiting for you to continue. “I want to make Shelby’s Gin.” You let out outright.

No need to turn around your wish, by the way he shifted position you already knew he was ready to hear anything, and you didn’t want to disturb him from his peace. You knew how he dearly appreciated those little moments in which he didn’t have to think about running a business or dealing with dirty gangsters and rude people.

“You want to do what?” He raised a brow not too sure he heard you well, but when he caught eyes of your lips curling at the corner of your mouth, he knew he had heard it well.

His family was his haven of peace and you would do anything to take off some weight off your Shelby’s shoulders. it was a regular task, a daily basis habit that you quickly took and that you’ll probably never lose.

“I already tried a mixture.” His deep voice accentuating your smile.

“It’s my turn now, you played enough with that, you need to focus on real business now. Put your mind elsewhere and let me fill my bottles.”

You couldn’t quite put your finger on what changed precisely, but you noticed a shifting in your husband’s expression along with the gleam animating his iris.

You thought it was worry.

You lost your father a few months ago due to lung disease and your mother died long ago when you were the age of your own children, and as an only child, you were now all alone without your parents.

Gracefully you had Tommy and the kids because if you hadn’t you didn’t know how you would’ve handled this loss.

As being a sensible cord, your husband didn’t bring it up, and he wasn’t the type of comforting people with words anyway, but he tried it his way, which means he bought you a ridiculous amount of new jewellery and books because he knew how much you liked to read and how you were a simp for big diamonds.

Incidentally, Tommy always found it funny how much time you spend with your nose in books while having a voracious appetite for jewellery. He would never miss an occasion to make fun of you when catching you reading as you had to wear glasses, and it was all funny and stuff till he too, had to wear glasses to read.

Now, in bed, you looked like two old people, instead, you were reading adventure and dramatic novels whereas he was stuck with political subjects.

“Okay.” He didn’t hesitate a single moment which made you smile.

“Okay?” you repeated, your smile growing as seconds passed. He straightened back, leaning over the table to you and his hands reached for yours.

You intertwined your fingers together with ease, sparkles spreading at the tips of each of it.

It was that way with every of his touches. He just had that power over you, which you were proud of as it was just love. It could never be anything else.

His deep blue eyes were anchored into your Y/C/E’s ones and you knew he was trying to bring you comfort. He knew what it felt like to lose people, and was ready to give you whatever if that meant to ease your pain.

You neared your faces and he ran his thumb over the end of your nose, down to your lips as cupping your cheek with his palm. Tommy’s head was slightly tilted to the side, his only purpose being to reach your soul with either his touch or his soul hidden behind his iris.

You leaned your head into his touch and closed your eyes for a second, enjoying that moment between the two of you as the breeze made its way to your neck under your mane.

Now, nearly five weeks later, all Birmingham was only speaking of the Shelby family as the people making “the good priced good gin” according to what you heard in the streets. From the fancy restaurant to the underground pubs, everyone in town had tasted of that oh so liked liquor.

Tommy first heard how good the gin was by his brother Arthur. He, who liked to get drunk all day long and all night long, was always keeping a bottle of it in his car or even on himself.

Then it was Ada, always offering him a drink of it whenever he would visit her.

(...)

It was 4 in the afternoon when Tommy walked through Charlie’s yard to join the Gin factory, when opening the door he was surprised to see you, seated at the old dusty desk filling paper and sipping on several cups.

Your husband frowned, “Y/N?”. He didn’t know if he should be worried or glad to see you working in such a place while drinking a lot knowing you’re not even a drinker in the first place.

You lifted your gaze to him and a huge smile instantly warmed up the atmosphere in the space, “Tommy!” You exclaimed as you got up. Being a bit dizzy you were strongly holding onto the table while getting up but you wanted to join him, and that’s when Tommy noticed your reddened cheek and little eyes.

“You’re drunk,” he stated, concerned. His expression shifted. He seemed a bit worried as he took one of your wrists to help you walk correctly.

You waved your free hand before you as to blow away his remark, “I was trying a new mixture for the Gin.” You informed him. You slid a hand into his rough one and stepped backwards, to the desk. “Here, choose one and tell me.” You proudly pointed to each of the cups. “This one on the left is spicy, the middle one a little too sweet for the Americans, this one to the right is the version that is out, and the last one is a bit strong. If the sadness hit too much.”

“The sadness?” Tommy asked while grabbing the third cup, being the gin that was already out. He was quite startled by how implicated his wife seemed to be, he didn’t actually think she would invest that much time and energy in this activity, but he was relieved she found a reason to get up every morning other than their beautiful family.

He knew how living a life without having or serving a purpose was meaningless and boring, even more, when being saddened by something you can’t control such as the death of a loved one.

The Shelby brother will sleep better now, knowing his other half found purpose somewhere, even if seeing her drunk was a sight he could never get used to…

At this moment, he felt the need to feel her skin under his touch before doing anything else, and that’s what he did, putting his hand at the end of her back, he pulled her closer, his thumb rubbing her skin over the fabric of her dress.

Tommy then drank from the cup and took his time judging the taste of it.

He opened his eyes and dropped the cup on the desk before turning to his wife, she was looking at him, impatience spreading all over her face. She seemed ready to hear Tommy’s opinion on her Gin... On their gin.

The blue-eyed man grabbed her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to Y/N’s. She closed her eyes a couple of seconds before opening them to a staring Tommy. He was fondling her cheeks with his thumbs before exhaling deeply, “I now understand why everyone’s talking about us, Shelbys, being fucking genius’, eh” He got distracted by her lips.

“This,” he pointed to the bottle standing at the corner of the table, and, once again, Tommy got distracted, he noticed words were present on the bottle down the name. “Distilled for the eradication of incurable sadness.” He read out loud.

A faint smile was found on his face before he agitated the bottle in his hand. He was proud.

He put down the bottle and directly sealed his lips to Y/N’s, the calling for love being too loud to resist.

That was exactly why it was her and no one else, she was always unpredictable and versatile. Who would have thought his bibliophile wife could be a real gem in the making of gin?

She put away, gasping for air before looking him in the eyes, “What? Did I never tell you the fact that my grandpa was making alcohol?” She teased his lips by speaking inches away from them, “I know one or two tricks. That’s why it’s selling well.” She concluded before pressing their lips together eagerly.

“This is a big bank, yea” He succeeded at saying in between two kisses.

[laskyy]

Hey guys! I was finishing up the Keeho imagine and realized I had a request in my inbox! I didn't see it until now so I'm not sure when it was sent so I'm really sorry I didn't write earlier if you sent it a long time ago! This was requested by @ipupwkr! I hope you like it! And sorry for the wait!!!

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P1harmony when they realize they love their s/o

Tw: kissing (as always lmao), stress, crying (let me know if I missed something)

Genre: fluff

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Theo:

Theo had been working nonstop since their comeback was very near and it was clear that he felt absolutely drained in every aspect possible.

You of course weren't oblivious. You did notice that your boyfriend was overworking himself. So you wanted him to relax a bit.

It was almost 2 am when you went to fnc and found him in a practice room, dancing alone. You felt the vibrations of the music coming to an end and you took this as an oportunity to come in and take care of your boyfriend.

(rest of Theo and the other members under the cut!)

"Hey babe!" You said softly as you closed the door of the practice room and put the food you brought on a nearby table.

"Oh hi, baby! What brings you here?" He asked as he pecked your lips and gave you a quick hug.

"Well, you've been very stressed lately and I also noticed that you haven't taken some time to rest! So I'm here to make sure you relax! You need to be healthy and you probably have only been eating junk food so I also cooked some food for you! And you also need to slee-"

You didn't get to finish the sentence because Theo tackled you in a hug. Theo looked you in the eyes and he almost teared up. How could he be so lucky! You cared about him so much like no one has before. You weren't someone to mess up your sleeping schedule and he knew it, but you came here to him in the wee hours of the morning. He realized at that exact moment that he loved you and you were definitely the one for him.

Keeho:

Keeho was thrilled because he hadn't seen you in quite some time because of his busy schedule, but today he was free and you decided to meet him in the dorm to spend some quality time together and he was more than excited to have you in his arms.

"Baby!" He said as you arrived and hugged him tight.

"Hi bub!" You said as you kissed his cheek tenderly.

"Let's go up to my room!" Keeho said as he excitedly extended his hand out to you (a/n: as I was writing this, Nemonade started playing hsisjs this is unrelated to the imagine, but just wanted to said this song is a certified bop lmao) and you took it immediately.

You guys went up to his room and as he closed the door he started kissing you all over your face, something he did when he had missed you.

"I missed you sooooo much! You have no idea!" He said as he planted a big kiss on your lips and you giggled while reaching into your bag.

"I missed you too you big baby! And by the way, I got you something!" You said as you gor a pair of sunglasses out of your bag.

"OH MY GOD! HOW DID YOU KNOW I WANTED THESE GLASSES? I LOVE THEM!!!" He said as he gladly took them and put them on while striking random poses and making you laugh.

"Well, the last time we went on a date I remember you looking at them while we were shopping and you looked at them with stars in your eyes, so how wouldn't I know!" You said as you wore an expression of endearment as you looked at your boyfriend who managed to look fine in everything.

"You're the best really! I aprecciate you so much!" He said as he hugged you lovingly. He hadn't said it to you but at that moment he felt gos heart beat faster than It ever had before. It wasn't the fact that you brought him something. It was the fact that you noticed the small details and that you could read him so well. At that moment Keeho knew. Keeho knew he was in love. Keeho knew you were the love of his life.

Jiung:

You were sleeping over at your boyfriend's dorm. It was the first time you slept in the same bed as Jiung, but honestly it was so cozy. He was so warm and his embrace just made you feel inner warmth as well and you swore that was the best sleep you've ever had!

You woke up before Jiung and took your time in admiring his features. He was so ethereal even when he was sleeping. You couldn't believe how lucky you were in finding such an amazing guy. Jiung was everything to you and you couldn't imagine your life without him.

You got up without waking Jiung up and decided to head to the kitchen to make breakfast as a way to thank him for everything! You went to the the kitchen in Jiung's oversized shirt and shorts and as the others weren't home you decided to play some music while cooking.

You were so into dancing and singing happily to End it (a/n: A BOP) while making breakfast that you didn't notice Jiung standing behind you as he watched you with heart eyes.

He looked at you with so much love. At first he was kind of sad that you left the bed before him, but all of the sadness left his body as he observed you being so immersed in the music while wearing his clothes.

He couldn't thank his lucky stars enough. He was so happy to have found you. And right now, as you were in such a domestic moment he couldn't help but realize that he loved you. You were the love of his life. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Intak:

You and Intak were hanging out in his room just talking and cuddling, when you got into a conversation about how you guys were feeling about work and stress.

As Intak started speaking of the stress he was feeling with the comeback being so near he couldn't help but start crying because of feeling so overwhelmed.

"Oh Tak! Come here baby!" You said as you hugged as tight as you could while rocking him back and forth while kissing his head.

"I can't even begin to imagine how stressed you feel. I wish you could just pass the burden to me! I hate seeing you so upset! But, in the end, all of your hard work will pay off! It always does, and you know why?" You asked as Intak looked at you in the eyes as you wiped one of his tears with the pad of your thumb.

"Because you're Hwang Intak! You're an amazing artist! You're incredibly talented and passionate. You love what you do and it shows! You're going to rock this comeback like you always do! And I'll be here to help you throughout everything!"

By the end of your little encouraging speech Intak started crying harder. Don't get the poor boy wrong though. He started crying because your words made him so happy. He knew you cared about him, but he didn't know that you vocalizing it would make him realize everything. He realized he loved you and that he wanted to be by your side forever.

Soul:

You and Soul were watching a movie and honestly you guys weren't that interested in it. You were talking about your goals for the future and whatever went through your minds at that moment.

The conversation went on for a while until you felt Shota's head laying heavily in your shoulder and realized he fell asleep. God he looked so cute! You played with his hair softly until the movie ended and then you decided to make him comfortable on the couch or else he would wake up with a cramping neck.

You layed him down gently on the couch and you might not have noticed, but when you went to get a blanket to cover him he woke up and looked at you. When he saw you coming back he decided to close his eyes and pretended to be asleep to see what you would do.

You came back and tucked him in the blanket so that he could sleep well. You squatted on the floor and caressed his cheek softly for a while. You were about to get up when Soul spoke.

"Stay with me!"

And you couldn't say no to your cute boyfriend so you layed down next to him and cuddled him while listening to his steady heartbeat.

Soul looked down at you and and kissed your forehead softly while thing about how much you cared for him. Just thinking about it gave him butterflies. He was still young and had a lot of things he didn't understand, but one thing he did understand was that he was in love with you.

Jongseob:

You and Seobie were playing some video games in his room while catching up on what you guys have been doing lately. Jongseob suddenly cuddled closer to you and you could feel that he was shivering.

"Seobie you're shivering! Let me get you a hoodie." You said as you grabbed your bag and handed him his hoodie that you loved wearing.

"But you said you weren't going to give it back!" Seobie said kind of confused as he put it on.

"Well, I'm not giving it back. But you're cold and the hoodie is loosing your smell so it's a great oportunity to kill two birds with one stone!" You said as you played with the strings on his hoodie.

"So you wear my hoodies because they smell like me?" Jongseob asked as his smile grew wider.

"Of course I do! They help a lot when you're working and need to be away for a long time. That way one part of you is always with me and I feel safer in a certain way." You said as you grew shy of your sudden confession.

"Just when I thought you wouldn't get cuter!" Jongseob said as he kissed your cheek and hugged you tight.

No one ever made Jongseob feel this way. You always made Jongseob learn new things and today he leaned that he loved you dearly.

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So guyyyys, DID YOU SEE P1H'S COVER OF GOOD 4 YOU BECAUSE I DID AND I DIED DHKDBDJJD LIKE I DON'T EVEN HAVE WORDS SO HAVE SOME NUMBERS 288292829288282892.

Anyways, Keeho's imagine will ho up tomorrow because I drained my energy with this request! But I think you guys will like it! Love you guys! Pray for Ni-ki's recovery!!! 💖

[nolanell]

Apartment 9: Writer Wednesday September 8th 2021

Writer Wednesday: @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape

Pairing: Maxwell Lord (WW84) x Female Reader

Length: 2.8K

Warnings: Mention of divorce, being a single parent, brief consideration of being a woman alone in a big city. A lot of this takes place in a lift. Allusion to an age gap (not a big one, and reader is of age). Aside from being female and other characters describing her as pretty, there are no other descriptors of the reader. There is one kiss described, but no other physical intimacy.

Author's Note: My first ever Writer Wednesday submission! I hope you enjoy. I have read a few soft and fluffy things for Max Lord recently and he's just been in my head. Inspiration struck me with this week's prompt and I just went with it!

--

You didn’t know much about the man who lived down the hall. What you did know, you didn’t know if you could fully believe as a lot of it was snippets of lift gossip you had heard as you went to and from your apartment to the ground floor. That didn’t seem reliable, or like it would be particularly kind in the way it painted a picture. But if this gossip was to be believed, he had recently lost everything except his son, who he loved dearly. Essentially, he had made some bad decisions and was now paying for them.

You hadn’t seen him in person yourself until he had been there about six months. It so happened he was running for the lift and you held the door for him. You didn’t know who he was at first.

‘Thank you,’ he smiled softly as he stepped in.

You smiled back.

‘Have you… have you lived here long?’ he asked.

You turned to him and raised an eyebrow. There wasn’t anything inherently wrong with the question, but you couldn’t be too careful, a woman living on your own in the big city.

‘I- I just meant I’ve been here six months and we’ve not met before,’ he explained.

You softened a little bit. Whoever this was, was just trying to be friendly. ‘Two years, nearly,’ you replied.

The lift door dinged as you reached the ground floor. He motioned for you to go first. You paused a second, a little taken aback at his politeness, but walked out of the lift, turning around to face it once you came out. He stepped out after you, not quite sure what to do given you had stopped. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

‘You live on the eighth floor too?’ you asked, a little surprised.

‘I do,’ he nodded. ‘Number 11.’

‘Number 9,’ you pointed toward yourself.

‘Wow, practically neighbours for half a year and we’ve only just met!’ he laughed. He had a genuine smile, but his laugh seemed a bit restrained, a bit guarded.

You couldn’t help but break into a big smile at the absurdity of it. ‘Right? How crazy!’

He seemed to perk up a bit at your smile; seemed to stand a bit straighter, his smile starting to reach his eyes a bit more. He pushed his floppy, blondish-brownish hair out of his eyes and smiled again.

‘I’m Max,’ he offered his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

You offered your hand in return and gave your name. ‘Nice to meet you too, Max.’

‘I’ve got to get going, I’m picking up my son,’ Max said, moving toward the exit.

‘Where from?’ you asked. Couldn’t be school at 10am on a Saturday.

‘From his mum,’ Max explained. ‘I get to see him this weekend.’ The smile on Max’s face showed just how happy he was about it. It was a much more genuine smile this time, and very infectious.

‘I won’t keep you then,’ you smiled back, moving to catch up to him. ‘Have a lovely time together.’

‘Thank you,’ Max was still smiling and this one had reached his eyes fully; he looked genuinely pleased at your remark. ‘Have a good rest of the day yourself.’

You parted ways as your came out of the apartment building. He seemed pleasant enough. Just a single dad, clearly loved his son, trying to get by, as far as you could tell. And after all, wasn’t everyone in the building just trying to get by? And if the lift gossip was true, was that really your business, or anyone else’s, for that matter? Max seemed nice enough to want to say hello to, and hold the lift door for again.

You didn’t see him again for a couple of days, and this time you were both waiting for the lift to arrive. After exchanging the standard ‘hello’, the silence was a little difficult; you weren’t one for inane small talk. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Max stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring at his feet. He looked… nervous?

Come on, you must be able to think of something.

‘How was your time with your son?’ you asked, glancing over at Max.

He looked relieved that you had said something. ‘It was great, thank you,’ he smiled. ‘How have you been?’

‘Not too bad,’ you gave what you hoped was not a tired smile. ‘Just trying to get by.’

Max nodded. ‘I hear that,’ he agreed. ‘Just one foot in front of the other, it feels like some days.’

The lift dinged and the doors opened. Max motioned for you to go first again. ‘To the ground?’ he asked as he went to hit the floor button.

You nodded. ‘Are you seeing your son again today?’

‘No,’ Max said, more than a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘Just out for a walk and a coffee.’

‘There’s a great place round the corner from here, if you haven’t already been. Maria’s?’ you furrowed your brow trying to remember the name.

‘I think I’ve walked past it,’ Max nodded. ‘I’ll check it out. Anything exciting planned for you today?’

You shook your head and laughed. ‘I wish. Just errands.’

‘Never ends, does it?’ Max agreed.

The lift doors opened and again Max motioned for you to go first. As you left the building, Max wished you a nice rest of the day and that he would see you later. You smiled and nodded. You only had two interactions lasting less than five minutes, but Max seemed much nicer than the lift gossip suggested. Which is exactly why you tended not to not give it any credit. At least next time you had something to ask about; whether he tried the coffee at Maria’s, and what did he think of it. You found yourself hoping you saw him again fairly soon; it was nice to have someone to talk to who didn’t just want to gossip about the building residents. Or was it that he was kind of cute? Sure, he was a little older than you, but the way his hair flopped forward when he looked down was adorable. He had a nice smile too. But, you reminded yourself, he was just trying to get by, one foot in front of the other.

But weren’t you, too?

You didn’t see Max for a few days after that and even then, only very briefly. You were coming out of the lift having come up, as he was waiting for it to go down. There was a boy with him you assumed was his son; there wasn’t a huge resemblance, so you assumed he must look more like his mum.

‘Hello Max,’ you greeted him as you stepped out.

‘Hello,’ he smiled at you. ‘I’m so sorry, we’re in a bit of a rush.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll hold the lift for you soon,’ you smirked over your shoulder as you walked to your door. You heard the lift doors close behind you, but not before you heard a chuckle from Max and a young voice ask ‘Dad, who is that?’. So you’d finally met Max’s son, sort of.

You did in fact hold the lift for Max a couple of days later, but on the way up this time. He was carrying a couple of grocery bags and smiled at you over the top of them.

‘Thank you,’ he said as he tried to hold the bags without anything slipping out.

‘Told you I would hold the door for you soon,’ you laughed softly. ‘Can I give you a hand?’

‘Would you mind?’ Max looked relieved. ‘Only if you’re sure, I wouldn’t want to impose.’ You motioned with your hands to pass you one and took the one in his left arm from him.

‘How was the coffee at Maria’s? Did you go in the end?’ you asked, once you were sure the grocery bag was secure.

‘I did, it was lovely,’ Max smiled. ‘Definitely one of the best I’ve had since I got here.’

‘It’s my favourite,’ you agreed. ‘Oooh, and it’s nice to see your son has your curiosity.’

Max blinked at you and looked genuinely confused. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘A few days ago, you were in a hurry as I was coming out the lift? He asked who was that as you got in?’ you explained.

‘Oh! Sorry, yes, I’d almost forgotten,’ he said as recognition crawled across his face. ‘I keep telling him to use his indoor voice. He does keep me on my toes.’

The lift doors dinged, and before stepping out you asked Max if he’d like some help carrying them to his apartment.

‘If you’d hold on to it while I get the door open, that would be wonderful,’ he said, motioning for you to leave the lift first. He followed you as you stepped out and nodded in the direction of his apartment door.

As you got to Max’s door, you were standing either side of the door itself, facing each other as Max fumbled in his pockets for his keys. This was the first time you’d properly looked at him, and you found yourself picking up details you’d not noticed before. His floppy blondish-brownish hair flicked down toward his eyes, that you’d seen before, but you hadn’t noticed how beautiful his deep brown eyes were, and you hadn’t taken in his gorgeous golden skin, and the size of his hands on the grocery bag…

Girl, get it together. This poor guy is probably reeling from who knows what, given he is a dad not living with his son he very clearly loves, and describes living as one foot in front of the other. He does not need you looking at him like that.

You heard Max say something.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ you ask.

‘I… I said thank you so much for helping,’ Max said, his skin a little pink.

His front door was open. He’d found his keys and opened the door while you’d been gawking at him. Your cheeks burned slightly at the thought he might have noticed.

‘Oh! It’s no trouble,’ you smile. ‘Want me to bring this in?’ You raised the bag you were still holding.

‘No, don’t worry, I’ve got it from here,’ Max chuckled. He seemed to be avoiding your gaze.

You straightened up and smiled again as you passed the bag over. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it. See you later, Max!’

‘See you later,’ Max replied, as you were already walking back to your own door.

Later turned out to be a couple of days later, and again you met Max going up in the lift. He had his son with him again.

‘This is Alistair,’ Max beamed proudly, after introducing you to his son.

You knelt down, and smiled at Max’s son. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Alistair,’ you hold your hand out.

‘You too!’ he smiles in that adorable, excited way most children do, and shakes your hand.

You stand back up again as the lift dings and you all get in, Max holding Alistair back as he lets you go first again. In the lift, Alistair presses the button for the eighth floor, and looks up at you.

‘Can I press the button for you?’ he asks.

‘You already have,’ you smile down at him. ‘I live on the same floor as your dad.’

Alistair smiles. He gets this expression on his face you can’t place. You don’t dwell on it as you hurriedly try to think of small talk; what can you ask that doesn’t ignore one or the other? Then it hits you.

‘Alistair, has your dad taken you to Maria’s?’ you ask him, a smile teasing at the corners of your mouth.

‘The coffee shop?’ Alistair looks at you, confused, as you nod. ‘No, he says coffee is for grown ups,’ Alistair rolls his eyes.

‘That’s true, but you know what? Maria’s also does amazing milkshakes,’ you grin as you look at Max. He smiles at you.

‘Ooooh,’ Alistair gasps.

The lift dings. Max motions for you to go first. You step out and kneel down to Alistair again. ‘It was nice meeting you, Alistair. See you soon?’

Alistair nods with a smile. You stand up and smile at Max ‘I’ll see you soon,’ you say as you walk toward your door.

‘Dad, is that the pretty lady from number 9?’ you hear Alistair’s voice, and you’re glad you’re walking away as your face flushes red.

‘Indoor voice, please, Alistair,’ you hear Max sigh, as their footsteps move away from you.

--

You’re beginning to think Max is avoiding you. It’s been almost a week since you met Alistair and you’ve not seen him. You’re standing in the lift waiting for it to start moving, staring at your shoes, as you hear someone get in. Your eyes flick up for a second and you see Max standing in the lift with you.

The lift doors close and it begins descending.

For the first time, you actually feel like there is an awkward silence between you two. You dare another glance at Max and he is doing the same as you, staring at his shoes. That gorgeous hair has flipped forward again, hands stuffed into his pockets…

You clear your throat. ‘Do you normally tell Alistair about all the pretty ladies you see?’

Max’s head whips round to you, so fast your surprised he’s not given himself whiplash. ‘I’m… I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.’

You smile kindly at Max. ‘Not at all,’ you reply. ‘But that’s not what I asked,’ your expression turns into something of a mischievous grin.

Max blushes. Those stunning eyes meet yours. ‘I… I told him… well, you’re the only one I’ve ever mentioned.’

It was your turn to flush red. ‘Really?’

Max nods as the lift dings for the ground floor, and gestures for you to go first. ‘And even then, it was his idea.’

‘What?’ you ask, confused.

Max looks at the floor, smiling nervously. ‘Remember when we were on our way down, when we were in a rush? Well, he asked who you were, as you heard, and I explained you lived at number 9 and we got the lift together sometimes.’

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

‘And Alistair really does keep me on my toes because he said you were really pretty, and I agreed. And of course he decides to remember that at the point it would cause the most embarrassment,’ Max sighs, risking a glance over to you.

‘I think it was more the lack of indoor voice that was the problem,’ you giggle.

Max laughs, another genuine one that reaches his eyes, and he nods in agreement. ‘It certainly was,’ he smiles, a sweet little dimple emerging on one side of his face. He was so cute, and you were starting to think he had absolutely no idea.

You both stood there for a few seconds in silence, not really knowing what to do next but also not really wanting to end the encounter.

‘Where are you off to?’ Max asks you.

‘Nothing too exciting, just a walk and then coffee at Maria’s,’ you reply.

‘What a coincidence,’ Max smiles. ‘Would you mind if I join you?’

‘Of course,’ you nod. ‘Who would turn down the gorgeous guy from number 11?’

Max flushes red. ‘I don’t know about that. But I’m glad the pretty lady from number 9 wouldn’t.’

Damn, he really had no idea how cute he was, did he?

As you step out of the building, Max offers you his arm, and you loop yours through it as you walk down the steps from the entrance. You pause at the bottom, smile and gaze into those incredible dark brown eyes. Before you know where you are, your lips are on his and you’re running your hands through his hair, curling your fingers at the back of his neck. His lips are impossibly soft, his hands finding their way to your waist, holding you close to him. His tongue gently brushes against your lips, seeking permission, and you are all too happy to grant it. He’s gentle, almost hesitant at first, but his kiss deepens into something so passionate you’re glad he’s holding your waist, as he’s making you weak at the knees.

Eventually you pull back, breathless, giddy, smiling. ‘Wow,’ is all you can offer.

Max smiles and blushes for about the third time in five minutes. ‘Wow indeed,’ he agrees. ‘Come on, let’s go and get a coffee and you can tell me about this gorgeous guy at number 11.’

You roll your eyes, loop your arm in his and start walking. ‘Sure thing, but only if there’s more of those kisses in it for me,’ you tease.

[skywardscroll]

divine intervention | venti

✧ word count: 2.5k

✧ summary: baring witness to world can become wearisome. venti, though you don’t really know him, wants to help.

✧ warnings: really angsty with some fluff thrown in! the reader has depression / there is self-deprecation. reader is also afab!

✧ a/n: this is so sweet >-< . i’m really proud of this one! also, writing klee is literally the funnest thing ever lol. <3 hope you guys enjoy!!

Teyvat, as you’d come to learn through your years, was a dangerous, merciless world. Every day, people lost their fathers, sisters, friends, and lovers. The world was full of greedy bandits and vicious monsters, and it only seemed to be getting worse as the days went by.

This last adventure out to Liyue had really taken the optimism out of you; Growing weary from traveling, you returned to your home in Mondstadt quite exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. Was there any other facet of you that could be exhausted? Because you were sure that it would also be stricken with strife.

You told the Adventurer’s Guild that you were temporarily retiring from your work to take a well-overdue vacation from fighting and the ever-arising political strain you witnessed every time you left the City of Freedom. You just wanted to enjoy your safe corner of the world, at least for the summer.

The (admittedly strange) way you decided to do this was by staying indoors with your books, sometimes going entire days without once stepping into the sunlight. It was a pleasant way to spend the time, but you knew it was unhealthy.

Your books, when the main characters shared similar habits to you, called this behavior ‘depression.’ Though, you willfully ignored this, pretending that this was normal of someone with a heavy heart (just a heavy heart. Not all the other symptoms that you were falsely denying you had, like an aversion to engagements with friends, or a neglect of hydration.)

It was one of the hottest days in July, you remembered, when you heard a knock on your door. You contemplated answering it, thinking that maybe the Adventurer’s Guild would want you back to work prematurely. This was quickly disproven, though, when a small voice called from outside the door:

“Miss Y/N? Oh, Miss Y/N~! Please come out!”

Klee’s sweet voice seemed to somehow wrap itself around your heart and pull you towards the door.

“Miss Y/N?”

You hesitated, knowing that once you saw that endearing child’s round eyes, you would be forced to play outside with her for as long as she wanted you to. You loved Klee dearly, and would do anything for her, even if you didn’t necessarily wish to go along with it. But you really didn’t feel like leaving your house, knowing that the Freedom Festival was currently in full swing.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” You recognize a second voice to belong to Grandmaster Jean.

Inhaling deeply, you opened the door to see Klee’s face light up as she excitedly pulled on Jean’s hand.

“She opened the door! She did! I told you Y/N would open the door!”

“Y/N!” Jean said, obviously surprised by your appearance. “It’s so good to see you’re well.”

“It’s good to see you two, as well.” You said with full honesty. You hadn’t realized it until you saw them before you, but you had certainly missed seeing your friends.

“Y/N! I wanted to ask if you wanted to go to the Freedom festival with us! There’ll be food, and music, and I overheard Rosaria saying something to Kaeya about special drinks!”

“Oh… I don’t know…”

“Come on! It’ll be fun! They have this game, and it has a prize that looks like a biiiig dodoco! I want it but if you come you can have it!” Klee’s excitement makes a smile appear on your face.

“You should come, Y/N. It would be good for you, I think.”

You sighed a little, looking back at your book which sat with the pages down against the cushion of your reading chair, waiting to be returned to. But as if by design, the wind carried the smell of food into your door and your stomach rumbled. Besides, Klee’s eyes were bearing into your heart just as you predicted, and you could see Jean’s hand clasp onto Klee’s a little tighter in hopes that she wouldn’t be disappointed.

“Alright, I’ll come.”

If you were to be frank, you had no idea what the difference between the Windblume Festival and the Freedom Festival was. To you, it just seemed like another concocted excuse to party. Which, in your youth, you never complained about, and you weren’t inclined to complain now, either, as Sara handed you a particularly delicious-looking chicken and mushroom skewer. You hadn’t eaten something like this in a month, and it was very welcome in your stomach.

“Over there! It’s Venti! Venti!” Klee went running ahead of you and Jean, who were idly speaking to one another as you finished off your food and threw the stick away.

“Klee! Don’t run off!” Jean called out, running after the young girl while you walked a bit behind, enjoying the scenery of Mondstadt decorated in flowers and it’s streets lined with vendors.

“Hi Klee!” You looked up and saw a man hug Klee tightly (a boy? He was quite short, but you were pretty sure he was an adult.) It was hard not to notice the golden lyre in his hand and how the strings seemed to be luminescent. You’d never seen anything like it before, and accidentally stared at it in clear awe.

“Do you play?” He asked, a smile that seemed to lift your heart was directed to you after the question left his lips.

“No… Not anymore. I tried to learn when I was a child but…”

“That’s alright. It takes a lot of practice, yeah?”

You let out a breathy laugh and nod, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Jean scooped up Klee into her arms before she could run off again. “You two haven’t met before?”

“Sadly no.” Venti said, placing his hand over his heart. “I would’ve remembered such a beautiful face, surely.”

Bard’s and their sweet words. You thought to yourself. Out of kindness, you only laughed in response to his compliment.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Ahh! I’ve heard of you! The exceptional adventurer!”

Why does this guy say everything so enthusiastically? Is this what you used to sound like? His way of speaking, though you felt guilty for it because you knew he couldn’t help it, grated against your nerves. You weren’t in the right mindset for his optimism. Or, perhaps, it was that you were jealous that he still had a hold on his, and so easily too, while it had been so long since you were excited about anything.

When you didn’t say anything, there was a small look in Venti’s eyes that told you he could see right through you, or that he was at least aware that something was wrong with you.

“Well, I ought to be on my way back home.” You said, causing Klee to whine out.

“Y/N~! You can’t go yet! What about the giant dodoco?”

You frowned, feeling guilty for letting Klee down, but feeling too exhausted for any more socialization.

“At least stay for a song, Y/N?” Venti offered with a quieter tone of voice, pointing to a chair that was left unoccupied by the gathering crowd around him.

“Yeah! Just one song~?” Klee pleaded.

You bit the inside of your cheek before eventually nodding and sitting in the chair. Klee let out a cheer of celebration as Jean sat down beside you, letting Klee sit in her lap. You noticed how Jean had been particularly silent throughout this. Did she feel bad for you? Or did she, too, want you to stay for some reason?

“I’ll sing a very special song for a new friend!” Venti announced to the audience, to which you blushed a little at the attention and rolled your eyes. Though, once Venti’s fingers started gracing the strings of his harp, all feelings of discomfort and irritation floated away.

“Sit here closely, let me tell,

of the young maiden’s heart who one day swelled.

The once frozen walls, the once salty tears,

Now gone with a kiss that she wished had lasted years.

In the times of old, long before the gods were bold,

there was no remedy for a heart gone cold.

The young maiden wandered, hoping for peace

from the heartache and unrest the world did unleash.

Did she find it, you ask? Did she find it? I’ll tell.

She found it in freedom, from freedom it fell.

For Barbatos did bless her, from under the Windrise tree,

She only had to meet him in the morning at three.

The warmth she had searched for, that unlike she had ever known

was hers, finally, to own.”

The crowd clapped for Venti as he finished his short song, one that was unfamiliar to you and unsettled you to no end.

What was his motive?

You weren’t stupid. You’d read enough of your books in the last month and been on enough adventures with a multitude of twists and turns to know that he had just come up with that song for you. As beautiful as it was, you felt uncomfortable with the stranger being able to see through you so well.

Yet, when he flashed you a cheeky smile while he reveled in the applause, you felt that he had good intentions. In fact, you wondered if he could do any wrong. He just didn’t seem like the type to do anything evil… Ever.

“Did you like it, Klee?” Venti asked, bending down to talk to the girl who wriggled excitedly in Jean’s lap.

“Yes! It was sooooo pretty! I’ve never heard it before!” She gushed.

“A very lovely song, indeed, Venti.”

“Thanks Jean!” Venti flashed her a confident grin.

“Well, Y/N! Thanks for staying for the show!” He said, standing back up and turning to you. “I hope I can see you again soon!”

“Yeah. See you soon.” You replied with a half-hearted tone.

You were entirely conflicted. Your mind was telling you no; You shouldn’t go out there tonight. It was dangerous and you were significantly out of shape to be dealing with slimes and hilichurls. Besides, it was just a song… What if you were reading too much into it? And what if… You just wanted him to be singing about you and him?

Your heart wanted that to be true. It’d be like the books you’ve been reading, where the prince comes up with some elaborate way of asking the maiden to meet him in secret. You were, no matter how hardened you became, a hopeless romantic at heart. Something about Venti made your heart soar from the pits of depression you had fallen into. You… Trusted him.

You could do with a late-night walk, you supposed.

It took longer than usual because of the festivities, but the city eventually fell silent as everyone either rested in their beds or in a tavern. You found walking in the empty city strangely comforting. Rather than being shut away from the world out of fear of pestering others, you could now walk freely without a single care, if you so pleased.

You took your time walking out of the city, smiling at every stray cat and even stopping for a moment at the bridge to admire the water. You missed how, when you were a young girl, you used to look at the lake and dream about visiting all the other lakes in the world. You’d seen a lot of them, now, but this one still held a special place in your heart.

Windrise, though it had been years since you visited the Archon Statue, was as beautiful as ever. The tree looked even more alive in the moonlight, if it were possible.

You were raised to believe that you were under the protection of Barbatos, though you never would call yourself devout. That title belonged to the sisters of the church, who were truly faithful to Barbatos. But you would feel comfortable saying you were a believer. You liked that Barbatos was so just, and his famous story of his liberation of old Mondstadt was a tale you frankly would never tire of.

Regardless, as you sat in front of the statue, you saw no signs of the charming bard from before. You wondered if he memorized that tale of Barbatos; A part of you wanted to hear him tell it.

“I’m a fool, aren’t I?” You said, talking to the statue (not talking to yourself.) “A silly, odd, hermit of a fool. One who shuts themselves away and avoids all their problems. How cowardly can I be?”

A peculiar phenomenon began: The words started pouring out like an uncontrollable waterfall. Once the self-deprecation started, it didn’t seem to want to end.

“My family was so proud to hear I was a part of the guild. They said that you – that Barbatos – had blessed me with the life of an adventurer – a life of freedom. Am I selfish to despise it? I don’t feel free. I feel heavy with all the troubles of the world. Outside Mondstadt it’s… Well, you’re a god, you know how it is.”

You hadn’t spoken much to anyone in over a month. You didn’t even know if anyone was listening. Was he listening? Did he see the tears starting to run down your face and did he hear the cracking in your voice?

“I feel like a joke. A witness to trouble without the power to make things right. It’s so… Frustrating. I hate myself because I hate the world. I’m so useless… So useless.”

And you cried, your head leant against the statue of Barbatos. The months of pain finally bubbled over and bared itself for the world and the gods to see. You were ashamed, and angry at yourself, but you let yourself cry. You cried up to the heavens, to Celestia. Was he watching? Listening?

“Y/N?” A voice softly spoke your name, but your sobs turned into wails immediately following and you couldn’t make yourself stop even if you wanted to.  You felt a pair of arms wrap around you and you hugged Venti back, breathing in his scent of Cecilia. He was so warm compared to the cool summer breeze that blew through the leaves above.

“I’m sorry.” You cried against his shirt; the words muffled but still understandable. There were so many apologies you were making with the single phrase: Sorry for crying, sorry for being rude. Sorry for shutting everyone who cares about me out. I’m sorry for being ungrateful. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“You don’t have to hide your tears from me, okay?” His voice was so soft and gentle as he pulled your head away from his chest and wiped away your ever-flowing tears from your cheeks.

This went on for a while, him running his thumbs over your cheeks every few minutes and catching the tears. You felt so awful that he was witnessing you like this, he barely knew you. But something in you was saying that this was right. Trust him, this is where you’re meant to be.

You calmed down enough about an hour later that he felt he could speak.

“Everything will be alright, Y/N.”

You let out a jagged exhale. At this point, your jaw was numb, and you were developing a headache. Still, being in Venti’s arms brought you comfort unlike anything you’d ever experienced. It was… Divine.

“Do you think he heard me? That he’s watching over me?”

Venti gave you the most assured, comforting smile you think is humanly possible. Brushing your hair from your face, he replied.

“I’ve never been so certain of anything.”

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

seventeen (paris, 1901)

this is inspired by "seventeen" by MARINA! i recommend giving it a listen! the way she sings the chorus honestly gives me chills, it really makes me think about how young alastair was when all of this was happening. sorry in advance for the angst!

cw: toxic relationship, bullying

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Could never tell you what happened

The day I turned seventeen

Seventeen, Alastair thought. The number sat happily in his mind. It wasn’t a particularly special number. He still was not an adult in the eyes of the Clave, but he took comfort in the number. One year older.

When he was younger, he thought of his birthdays and the years passing optimistically, imagining that in the future there would eventually be a day where he felt like the age of his body matched the age of his mind. Now, however, he doubted that day would ever come.

Adults liked to tell him he had an ‘old soul.’ Parents always commented on his maturity. Not his parents, of course, but when he visited the boys from school or his family found themselves at some gathering of sorts, those were the words he always heard. Oh, Alastair is so mature for his age.

Perhaps that was his problem, he’d always thought. That was the reason he could never make friends the way that Cordelia did. The reason he never got on well with people his own age. He was never any sort of teacher’s pet in school, but he always found it easier to converse with adults nonetheless. He felt far more comfortable with Charles than he ever did with any of the boys from the Academy. It was all because he had an old soul, and his peers did not.

As he grew older, however, these designations made less and less sense to him. He did not feel as if his soul was old at all. In fact, most of the time, he felt more like a thirteen-year-old pretending to be a thirty-year-old than anything else. Now, he was certain that he would never feel like his physical age fit the rest of him. Still, seventeen was a nice number.

Alastair didn’t have strong feelings about birthdays. Most of the time, he simply did not wish for the attention. Back before he went away to school, birthdays were never much of an ordeal. They were far too busy with his father’s health to spend much time, money, or energy on something as relatively insignificant as a birthday. Still, he and Cordelia had a habit of making each other presents for their birthdays. His was in early autumn, September, and they’d spend the day outside, wherever they were living.

They’d collect the prettiest flowers and stones and anything else they could find, then build whatever they could make out of what they had. A castle out of clay; a crown out of twigs. It was nice; it was special. It was theirs.

Then, Alastair went away to the Shadowhunter Academy. He was not excited to spend his fourteenth birthday alone. He missed Cordelia dearly, and the bullying did nothing to help. On the morning of his birthday, he’d gone to the mess hall, attempting to contain both his excitement that there would be letters waiting for him and his anxiety that there would not.

When he arrived, however, the boys were waiting for him, Clive and Augustus and the rest. Clive was in the front, holding an opened envelope. He twirled a flower stem in his fingers, the petals clearly torn off. He could see a few other broken flowers, crushed at his feet. Augustus was beside him, holding out a letter for the others to see, already mocking the writing on the page simply because he could not read it.

Alastair would never read it either, whatever his mother had written him, nor would he read Cordelia’s letter. In fact, he would not remember most of that day at all, only the bruises after.

He did not write to them after that, and when he returned for the winter holidays, conveniently the same time as Cordelia’s birthday, he let the occasion pass without a word. When she asked him if he’d received the flowers she sent to him, he told her he didn’t.

She did not send him anything for his fifteenth birthday.

He spent his sixteenth birthday at home again, but it did not matter. He’d already put far too much distance between him and his sister. He considered trying to apologize for the way he’d treated her, promising to do better, but when the day came, he’d spent the entirety of the night before searching for their father who always decided to go on a bender a few weeks after they arrived in a new city. He’d wistfully wished himself a happy birthday at some early morning hour, gone to bed, and decided it simply was not worth the effort. The only thing he wanted for his birthday was for it to no longer be his birthday anymore.

Today, he was finally seventeen. He’d received two letters at the Paris Institute the day before, one from his mother, wishing him well on his travel year, and the other from his sister, though it was short and he was fairly certain their mother had forced her to write it. There were no flowers, and he did not deserve them. The boys at school may have hurt him, but the way he continued to treat her in the years after was entirely on him. He thought for a moment that he should find her something in Paris, a book or a piece of jewelry so beautiful and thoughtful that she would need to forgive him. He did not believe he deserved her forgiveness, though.

Charles was away visiting his family in London, so Alastair would spend his seventeenth birthday alone. He doubted Charles even remembered it anyways, or that he would have wanted to do anything special for it if he had.

Thus, he did what he did any time he needed some cheering up: he started by visiting various bookshops across the city. He did not typically purchase much from them, but he found the atmosphere comforting. His father was an avid reader and was always severely critical of his son’s tastes in literature. He had many opinions over what was worthy of reading and what was an utter waste of time. Any time Alastair attempted to choose a volume to purchase for himself, he inevitably felt his father’s voice creeping up in the back of his mind. He wasn’t certain whether he preferred the books that the voice favored or the ones it didn’t. Nonetheless, he disliked anything that reminded him of his father, so he resigned himself to casual browsing, purchasing books as gifts for others, and only ever buying for himself what he had the space to hide.

After, he’d take himself to an art exhibit or the Louvre. He was fairly certain he could spend weeks in the Louvre and never grow tired of it.

When he finally returned to the Paris Institute that evening, he’d felt content that at the very least, his birthday was not as terrible as the ones preceding it. As he entered the building, he was startled to see Charles’ coat in the cloakroom. He quickly hung up his own belongings and went to the dining room where dinner was already being served. Charles was there, politely chatting in French with the head of the Institute, Jean Beauvale.

“Monsieur Fairchild!” It felt odd to address him so formally, but while it may be appropriate to address Charles by his first name in English, it was not in French. “You’ve returned from London.”

“Yes, I just got in a few hours ago,” Charles responded. “How was your day?”

“Yes,” Monsieur Beauvale added. “You must tell us how you spent your day off.”

Alastair always felt like this question was a bit of a trap. He knew that Shadowhunters viewed art and literature as a waste of time, but at the same time, he did not want to show a lack of appreciation for the culture. In the end, he simply commented on the beauty of the city and the language, thankful that he could spend a bit more time learning about France.

A servant arrived then with a bottle of champagne, and Monsieur Beauvale proposed a toast. This was how Alastair learned that the Beauvales would be traveling for several months, and Charles would serve as interim head of the Institute. “That is not the only thing we have to congratulate you for, is it,” he added.

Charles grinned a humble, sympathetic politician’s grin. “Oh, thank you, Monsieur. Yes, it’s true, Ariadne Bridgestock and I are to be married,” he announced.

Alastair felt his blood run cold. He bit the insides of his cheeks, forcing a smile and a congratulations. The rest of the meal dragged on, though Monsieur Beauvale and Charles did not seem to sense any tension. When it was over, Alastair promptly excused himself and returned to his room. He suddenly wished desperately that he had purchased a book earlier, anything to take his mind off of this awful truth. Charles was to be married. He was marrying a woman. Of course he was, why would Alastair have ever been enough for him? Still, he felt as if he’d at least been owed a warning.

He heard a knock at his door, but he did not respond to it. “Alastair,” he heard Charles say gently. “Please allow me to explain.”

He should have refused. He should have told him to leave and been done with the whole ordeal. When he looked back on this moment years in the future, he’d wish he did. However, he was lonely, and it was his birthday, and thus he let Charles inside.

“I know you’re upset,” he began.

“I’m not upset,” Alastair said quickly.

“Right,” he responded. “Anyways, this is merely what needs to be done to please our families, both mine and Ariadne’s.” Of what Alastair knew of the Fairchilds, he had a hard time believing that they cared that much about Charles’ romantic life. “This is what I need to do if I wish to secure a position in the Clave, a real position, not simply interim head of an Institute. It means nothing, I swear it. She has no interest in me. It’s merely an arrangement; it’s not real.”

“Not real? You mean, you’re not getting married?” Alastair asked, not fully believing Charles’ words.

“No,” he said quickly. “I mean, perhaps, one day far, far in the future, I will need to, but I have no intention of getting married right now. I am merely doing what I must, you understand that, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“You know what the world we live in is like. We must do what we can to ensure our success in it.” Satisfied with Alastair’s reluctant acceptance, he pulled a long, thin box from his pocket. “I have a present for you.”

Alastair blinked. “What?”

“You didn’t think I would forget your birthday, did you?” Charles handed him the box, already smiling in anticipation.

He slowly untied the string securing it, and uncovered a fine, ornate dagger made of stunning Damascus steel. He must have paid handsomely for it. He knew that Charles did not understand his collection of blades, why someone, a warrior, would collect weapons with no intention of using them, but the dagger was gorgeous, each element of it expertly chosen. Alastair could not keep himself from smiling.

“I knew you’d like it,” Charles said, pleased. “Alastair, you know how deeply I care for you. I would never do anything to hurt you. I swear, everything I do is so that you and I could be together.”

Alastair looked at him in stunned silence. He’d never heard those words before, but he’d hear them many, many more before their relationship finally came to an end. At that moment, Alastair felt as if Charles’ words were true. He felt as if there had never been anyone to care for him as much as Charles cared for him, and there never would. He felt as though the key to everything he desired lay within this man. The way he was looking at him, this beautiful dagger in his hands, how was he to feel anything but loved?

He’d look back on it years down the line and wonder how long Charles must have planned that moment, if he’d organized his trip and his engagement all around Alastair’s birthday so that he could have an excuse to give him such a very expensive gift, whether the existence of it was merely a ploy to distract him from the reality of his engagement. If it was, it worked.

That night, Alastair held no doubts in his mind that Charles’ words were anything but the full truth, even as he left him cold and alone that night to return to his own room, only ever staying until he himself was satisfied. Many months would pass before Alastair would even begin to question that night, when he would begin to wonder whether it was the beginning of the end.

The rise of a king and the fall of a queen,

Oh, seventeen

Seventeen

thanks for reading! taglist (lmk to be added/removed or if you only want to be tagged in certain fics):  @stxr-thxif @satanisanauthor @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Bygone Love

This is for @pearlll09 for @thewitchersecretsanta!

Fair warning, this is 6k+ words so here is the AO3 link, if you think it’s easier to read on there!

This is a Geraskier soulmate AU :) 

Happy holidays and I hope you enjoy!

-

Jaskier stared wistfully at the book in front of him, wishing it were true.

Those meant to be, linked by destiny, soulmates.

It was bullshit.

Maybe it hadn’t always been. All the stories say that soulmates just stopped appearing hundreds of years ago and no one knew why. However long ago it had been, there was very little record of it left. The book sitting in front of Jaskier is one of the only books left that tells anything about it.

And, while it isn’t a very detailed book, and has quite a few missing pages, what is there sounds lovely. The person you were meant to be with, your very souls linked, it’s romantic. The idea of there being someone who is your perfect match in every way was enticing. Someone who would love you as were, no need for you to bend or break yourself to make them happy.

Jaskier sighed, standing slowly, grabbing his bags and the book, and returning the book to the hook-nosed librarian that watched every Oxenfurt student with the utmost sense of distrust.

-

Jaskier’s final day as a student at Oxenfurt was bittersweet. His years there had been wonderful, his experiences grand, but now he would get to travel and truly make a name for himself.

The bard, Jaskier.

He would be a name known across the land, called upon by kings and queens. 

Strutting out of the city walls, a bright smile on his face, Jaskier looked in the direction of Lettenhove, his family’s lands. The smile slipped off his face. There would be nothing there for him, anymore. He wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms, not as Viscount and certainly not as a bard.

Resolutely turning on his heel, Jaskier took the opposite path. He wasn’t exactly sure where it would lead him, but he was excited to find out. 

-

Six months on the road hadn’t exactly snuffed out Jaskier’s optimism but it had put a certain damper on it, being thrown rotten or stale food instead of coins was a bit disheartening after all, but still he persevered. He was currently playing in a tavern in Posada and the patrons were… nicer than a lot of the others he’d encountered the past few weeks.

Taking a break and gratefully collecting the stale bread thrown his way, Jaskier’s eyes skimmed the room, settling on a cloaked man seated in the corner.

Oh, he looks like trouble.

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

-

“Geralt,” Jaskier started one night, a few months into their travels, drawing the witcher’s attention, “how old are you?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, staring silently at Jaskier.

“I only ask because I’ve heard witchers have long lifespans.”

Geralt cocked his head to the side, remaining silent.

Jaskier huffed in frustration, “There are some things I learned about at Oxenfurt but most of the information has been lost to time! I just thought you might have some further information on it, is all.”

“On what, bard?”

“Soulmates.”

Geralt snorted, “They don’t exist.”

“But they did!” argued Jaskier.

“Possibly,” Geralt agreed, “but they don’t now, so what is the point in wondering.”

Jaskier was indignant, “For the history, Geralt! The remaining texts are so few and old and damaged we don’t really know anything about them!”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not that old. And we didn’t learn about soulmates in our studies, they weren’t important.”

Jaskier sighed, looking down at his hands, “Oh well, I suppose that’s that, then.”

The camp turned silent as Jaskier let his thoughts wander. It was a foolish dream, really… the idea of soulmates. 

-

Jaskier spent the rest of his year travelling with the witcher until finally autumn had arrived and it was time for the pair to part for winter, Geralt going north to somewhere secret and dangerous and Jaskier back to Oxenfurt to gloat about his wonderful travels to all those who doubted him.

Jaskier clapped Geralt on the back, smiling brightly, “Well, friend, this is it I suppose.” He would miss the witcher dearly, the past year travelling with Geralt had been the best time of Jaskier’s life.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier’s smile didn’t slip with Geralt’s taciturn response, more than used to it at this point, and instead continued with his farewells, “We can meet up again, as soon as the snow melts!”

“Great.” Geralt grunted.

“No need to sound so enthused Geralt.” Jaskier stated, hands on his hips.

And then they parted.

Jaskier turned on his heel and pulled his lute in front of him, ready to write a new ballad to commemorate the past year, and the hope for what the next year would bring with his new travelling companion, his new muse.

Halfway to Oxenfurt, Jaskier noticed a strange tickle in his nose, hopefully I’m not getting sick, he thought, dreading the possibility. His eyes were itching, and he was sniffling, sneezing occasionally, but he never developed a fever, so he wrote it off and continued on his travels.

-

This is getting ridiculous, Jaskier thought as he sneezed again. Not long after he and Geralt had parted ways, Jaskier’s allergies had begun acting up and even now, halfway through winter, they were still bothering him.

His eyes were sore and itchy, his head was stuffed, his nose was running constantly. Jaskier wouldn’t go so far as to say he was miserable, but he certainly wasn’t having a great time. He’d had allergies most of his life, come down with hay fever almost every spring, but never had he had such persistent symptoms and never had his allergies bothered him during winter. 

“Jaskier, just go see the healer.” Priscilla said, rolling her eyes as he blew his nose yet again. His best friend had been at the mercy of his complaining since he had returned to Oxenfurt and it was a wonder she was still being so nice to him.

“I’ve been, Pris. They said I’m fine.” And Jaskier had been to a healer, to two different healers in fact. They’d both said the same thing, common allergy symptoms, nothing to worry about. 

-

Geralt had almost reached Kaer Morhen, he would get to the gate by midday, when he noticed a strange pressure behind his eyes. Looking around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and his medallion wasn’t vibrating, so he continued on his path, expecting the pressure to dissipate by the time he reached the keep.

It didn’t.

By the time Geralt had reached the gates of Kaer Morhen the pressure in his head had increased and his nose felt full of cotton. Certain something was wrong, he hurried through the gate, rushing to the main doors and into the keep, not even properly stabling Roach.

Eskel was in the main hall and his head swung around to stare at Geralt, brow furrow as he watched Geralt's dramatic entrance. "Geralt! Welcome. Is something wrong?"

"Yes. I think I've been cursed." Geralt pushed past Eskel, heading straight to the kitchen where he could hear Vesemir moving around. 

As Geralt burst through the door, Vesemir continued his motions, stirring a pot filled with stew. Not looking up from his cooking, he addressed Geralt, "What kind of curse?"

"It's affecting my head."

Vesemir shot an unimpressed look over his shoulder at Geralt, "What do you mean? Be specific, Wolf."

Geralt growled, “There's a pressure building in my head and I can barely breathe through my nose."

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully, still stirring the pot in front of him, "And when did it start?" 

"On the pass, not far from the front gate." Geralt’s head was aching, the pressure seeming to build and build, it felt like his head would explode at any moment.

"And did your medallion vibrate?"

"No."

"And you had no symptoms prior to that?" Vesemir finally turned around, staring at Geralt.

"No."

"It doesn't sound like a curse."

Geralt growled again, angry at the dismissal, "My head feels as though it's going to explode!"

"Stop exaggerating." Vesemir responded curtly, far too used to the dramatics of his charges.

"Something could be wrong!” Geralt yelled, stepping forward and angrily gesturing to his head.

Vesemir levelled Geralt an unimpressed look, "Hush, boy. You're going to be fine. Get settled in and we'll figure out what's wrong after dinner. Whatever it is, it isn’t life threatening.”

Turning in huff, Geralt stormed out of the kitchen and past Eskel where he had been hovering by the door. If they wouldn’t take him seriously then he would figure out what was wrong himself.

After he settled Roach.

-

Dinner was tense, Geralt in pain and Vesemir ignoring him. Lambert had yet to arrive so Eskel sat beside Geralt, uncomfortably glancing between Geralt and Vesemir as if he were unsure of what to do, if he should say something or not. 

Geralt's head ached every time he moved, especially when he leaned down. If he tilted his head back, the pressure behind his eyes made it feel like they would explode from his skull. 

Vesemir ate silently, focused on the meal in front of him and saying nothing until he had finished.

"How does your throat feel?"

Geralt startled at the question, looking across the table and meeting Vesemir's eyes, "Ummm… it's sore. It hurts to swallow, like I'm swallowing knives."

Geralt sniffled.

Vesemir's eyebrows drew together as he studied Geralt, "It seems as though you have allergies, Wolf."

"You think I have allergies?" Geralt asked as he took in what Vesemir was saying. 

"It sounds like allergies."

"Allergies?" Eskel chimed in. "I haven't heard of witchers suffering from allergies."

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully, "I can't think of a time in recent history one did."

"Why would I have allergies?"

"A few things come to mind but none that seem likely. The best idea is to probably look through the library. Eskel and Lambert will help."

Eskel nodded and leaned toward Geralt, bumping their shoulders together, "We'll figure this out."

Geralt ignored Eskel and glared at Vesemir, "It feels like my head is being crushed by a boulder and the best you can offer is I should read some books?"

Vesemir stared back at Geralt, his face impassive, before standing up wordlessly and exiting the kitchen. 

-

Lambert arrived later in the week and was quickly swept away to join Eskel and Geralt in the library where they had set up. 

They had pushed two tables together and there were piles of books stacked across it, organized by Eskel in some manner that only made sense to him. 

Eskel and Geralt had been spending their mornings training and working around the keep and then retired to the library nightly, trying to find mention of witchers with allergies.

The three witchers were reading in silence but for the occasional grunt from Lambert when Eskel sucked in a sharp breath, “Hey I found something.”

Lambert looked up lazily from the book he had been staring at while pretending to read, “Is he contagious? I don’t want to catch whatever he has.”

Geralt growled at Lambert before standing from his chair and walking over to Eskel, “What does it say?”

“Well…” Eskel started hesitantly, still staring at the book, “I’m not sure if this is really what’s wrong with you but it’s the only thing we’ve found so far.”

“What is it Eskel?” Geralt asked again, growing impatient.

“It says that when unbound or broken soulmates are parted, they would experience allergy and cold symptoms until they came together again.”

Geralt furrowed his brow, “Soulmates?”

Eskel nodded.

“You think I have a soulmate?” 

Lambert snorted, “That would be cruel, forcing someone to put up with this grumpy bastard for eternity.”

Eskel shook his head, “No that isn’t how soulmates work. There’s someone who is made for you but you still have the choice, you can either accept the bond with a handfasting or perform the ritual to break the bond. Either one would allow you to travel away from each other without getting sick anymore, but until the soul bond is acknowledged one way or the other, you get sick.”

“Eskel, do you really think I have a soulmate? Soulmates haven’t been seen for centuries!”

Eskel huffed, “I know it doesn’t really make sense but it’s the only thing I’ve found!”

Geralt sighed, “I think we should keep looking, I don’t have a soulmate, Eskel.”

“Alright, I’ll add this book to the useless pile, then.” Eskel stood slowly to walk across the room to a large pile of books he had created to reshelve. 

Geralt hesitated, “Wait… is the whole book about soulmates?”

Eskel looked back to Geralt with his eyebrows raised, “Yes.”

“Can I have it?” Geralt asked, reaching out his hand for the book.

Eskel stared at Geralt, a confused look furrowing his brow, “Why would you want it?”

Geralt wasn’t sure how to respond. He had never travelled with someone before and his brothers were certain to question him about it. And there was also the chance they had heard that stupid song. “Ahh… a bard I was travelling with asked me if I had any knowledge of them because the human texts were all mostly destroyed.”

“You travelled with a bard?” Lambert cut in harshly.

“And you want to bring him a present?” Eskel asked, in a far softer voice than the one Lambert had used. 

Lambert stood up suddenly, “Wait, that song about tossing a coin! That was about you!”

Geralt groaned, his already pounding head throbbing even more at the idea of having this conversation, “Yes.”

Lambert let out a loud bray of laughter, “I should have known! Of course, you managed to find yourself a bard to sing your praises, you vain bastard.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes, causing another wave of pain to shoot through his head, and looked back to Eskel, ignoring Lambert still chuckling behind him. Eskel had walked back over to Geralt, book in hand, and he finally held it out to Geralt. Geralt took the book tentatively and nodded in thanks. 

Eskel was staring at Geralt consideringly, “How long did you travel with your bard?”

“He isn’t mine.”

Eskel rolled his eyes, “Yeah, whatever. How long?”

“Most of the year.” Geralt answered shortly, unsure where this line of questioning was going.

Eskel made a considering noise, “Did you two just split for the winter?”

Geralt nodded, “Yes, he headed back to Oxenfurt and I came straight here.”

Eskel hummed softly, his eyes wandering over the books still piled high on the table, “I don’t know how much information we’ll find in those; we’ve read all the books that were most likely to help.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to help anymore?” Lambert chimed in.

Eskel snorted and shot an unimpressed look at Lambert, “That would suggest you were any help to begin with.”

Lambert scoffed, “I was plenty help. Moral support and all that.”

Eskel directed his attention back to Geralt, “Geralt it might be best to just… find a healer or a mage when you leave for spring. I’m not confident these books will have answers. Perhaps you could head to Oxenfurt and meet up with your bard, the scholars there might have answers.”

“Do you really think we won’t find an answer?” Geralt had been worried he wouldn’t find out what was wrong with him since Vesemir had first dismissed him.

Eskel shook his head and smiled sadly, “I think we’ve found all the answers that are here.”

Geralt furrowed his brow, unsure of what Eskel meant, “What answers have we found?”

“I’m not completely sure. But I’m sure you’ll find out come spring.” Eskel walked past Geralt and quickly exited the library, leaving Geralt and Lambert staring dumbfounded after him.

“What the fuck was that supposed to mean?” Lambert finally asked. “He gets more cryptic every year. One of these days he’s going to show up and talk only in Nilfgaardian riddles.”

-

The winter had been long and far less restful than any year before. Geralt’s symptoms hadn’t improved though they at least hadn’t gotten worse. 

This year, Geralt was the last to leave Kaer Morhen, wanting the opportunity to talk to Vesemir privately. Their relationship had stayed distant this winter, though it had gotten less hostile. But it didn’t seem right, Vesemir didn’t act like this normally, he had to be keeping something from Geralt. 

Geralt cleared his throat as he gazed across the courtyard at Vesemir, “I’m ready to go.”

Vesemir nodded at him, “Travel well, Wolf. I’ll see you next winter.”

Geralt took a deep, steadying breath, “Did I do something wrong?”

Vesemir frowned and walked closer to Geralt, “No, Wolf. I just worry for you. But I’m confident you’ll find your answer back out on the road.” Vesemir quickly drew Geralt in for a hug, squeezing him tightly. Geralt returned the embrace briefly before pulling away.

“Travel well, Vesemir. I’ll see you next winter.” And with a nod, Geralt mounted Roach and set off out of the gate, his path to Oxenfurt laid out clearly in his mind.

-

Geralt wasn't sure how long he had been able to breathe through his nose by the time he finally noticed the difference. It was strange that it hadn't been more obvious of a change since he had gone the entire winter with his nose stuffed and runny. 

His sense of smell heightening was the only thing that really drew his attention to the change. He had worried the difficulties he might encounter on the Path with his senses dulled, but when he'd approached the bridge leading to Oxenfurt, suddenly the smells overwhelmed him. 

"Woah, Roach." Geralt urged Roach to slow down while he took a moment to gather himself, adjusting to the sudden difference. As he waited, he could feel as his head became clearer and clearer, all the pressure slowly dissipating. His sense of smell returned full force and his hearing became more acute. Geralt let out a sigh of relief, he had almost forgotten what it was like to have his senses so sharp. 

He would still need to find a mage to make sure this never happened again but with his senses returned he needn't be in as much of a hurry. "C'mon Roach," Geralt guided Roach back to the road leading into Oxenfurt, trying to think of where he might find Jaskier. 

He hadn't had to look for long, simply meandering down the street when he heard a commotion ahead. He dismounted and led Roach behind him as he approached the shouting, breaking through the circle of onlookers to see Jaskier and another man arguing. 

"Because you're wrong!" Jaskier shouted, waving his arms wildly. 

Geralt took in the situation in front of him slowly. Jaskier was flushed, his chest puffing heavily from his ragged breathing. He looked livid, his eyes shooting daggers at the man in front of him. 

And the man in front of Jaskier looked… well… a lot like Jaskier. His hair was darker, black instead of brown, but cut in a similar fashion. His eyes were also a brilliant blue though deeper than the bright cornflower of Jaskier's. Unlike Jaskier's clean shaven face, the other man had a full mustache, covering his entire upper lip. That's where the differences seemed to stop, though. Their build was the same, long and lanky yet deceptively strong, they had the same jaw line, the same cheek bones, the same nose. Jaskier had never mentioned family but this must be a brother. 

Geralt watched amusedly as the two men taunted each other until finally Jaskier charged forward, clearly ready to attack the other man. Moving swiftly, Geralt put himself between Jaskier and the other man, gripping Jaskier by the shoulders to prevent him from going around Geralt. Jaskier huffed and yanked himself backward, out of Geralt's grip, looking up at the man who had been holding him. 

It was clear he hadn't expected Geralt to be standing there when his mouth dropped open in shock. "Geralt! So good of you to stop by. Here, let's get out of here, the riffraff is out of control." Jaskier glared over Geralt's shoulder and grabbed Geralt by the arm, leading Geralt back to Roach. 

Geralt followed silently, amusedly listening to Jaskier's grumbling the whole way until they reached a small inn and Jaskier led them upstairs to what must have been his room over winter. 

“That bastard!” Jaskier grunted as soon as Geralt had closed the door behind them.

“Hmm.” Geralt watched in silence as Jaskier slammed his things around, seeming to move his bags and clothes for no purpose other than to throw them in irritation.

“Honestly, the bastard had the nerve to insinuate that he is more attractive than I am! Me! As if he isn’t the ugliest cock on the planet. I swear Geralt even the thought someone might find him attractive is horrendous.”

Geralt cocked his head curiously, “Are you two not related?”

Jaskier looked horrified, “Related? To that thing? Gods no.”

Geralt suddenly felt confused, the man was practically Jaskier’s twin. “Jaskier, you look just like him.”

Jaskier gazed at Geralt for a moment, a dumbfounded expression on his face, before finally he started cackling, laughing so hard he collapsed on the bed behind him.

Geralt was unsure of what was happening.

Finally, Jaskier’s laughter slowed, “Darling,” Jaskier started, still chuckling to himself slightly, “that was the funniest joke you’ve ever made. The idea of I and Valdo Marx looking anything alike is truly, absolutely hilarious. Oh, thank you, Geralt. I needed that laugh. Especially after the winter I’ve had.”

Geralt was still very much confused, positive his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him when he’d seen this Valdo Marx character, and sure that he and Jaskier did in fact look very similar. Deciding to not continue with the matter for the moment, Geralt decided to direct the conversation elsewhere, “And why was your winter so terrible?”

Jaskier threw his arms up dramatically and laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, “I was sick! The whole time. As if I had a cold. It started right after we parted and continued all the way until this very morning. All the healers said it just seemed to be my allergies. Honestly, Geralt I think I may have been cursed.”

Geralt froze, frowning at Jaskier’s words. Allergies? All winter. Starting just after the two had parted. Thinking back to the book currently resting in Roach’s saddlebags, Geralt shook his head, silently telling himself it was just an odd coincidence. “Sounds odd, bard. Perhaps you slept with the wrong person and their spouse decided on some petty revenge.”

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, still staring at the ceiling, “Perhaps. It certainly was petty in that case. I had a sore throat all winter, I was barely able to sing.”

“Hmm”

Jaskier rolled to his side on the bed, staring curiously at Geralt, still standing awkwardly in front of the door, “Well, how was your winter then? And what brings you to Oxenfurt? Did you miss me, you scamp?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at the smirk on Jaskier’s face, “Winter was winter, the same as every other year. I’m here looking for a mage or a scholar well versed in curses.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up the way they always did when he was about to get into something, he had no business messing with, “Ohhh what kind of curse.”

“Never you mind.” The last thing Geralt needed was Jaskier learning that Geralt was also sick all winter. He would make a big deal of the coincidence even without knowing what Geralt did.

“Excuse me, Geralt but I mind very much, thank you.”

Geralt remained quiet.

Finally, Jaskier snorted, “Alright well, lucky you, I happen to know a retired professor that specialized in curses and things of the sort. Not a sorceress herself, mind you, but interested in it.”

-

Jaskier led them through the streets of Oxenfurt, babbling a mile a minute, “She is very old, positively ancient, possibly even older than you. No one is quite sure how she’s still alive, or her actual age for that matter, but as she taught most of the professors that taught my professors, it’s sufficient to say that she’s been around a while. She’s also quite crotchety but she likes my singing so that should help us get some information out of her. What exactly are we asking her about again?”

Leave it to Jaskier to try to wheedle the information out of Geralt after wearing him down with a bit of rambling. Luckily, Geralt had spent nearly a year with the man already and had built up a tolerance to the man’s sneaky ways. “It doesn’t concern you, bard.”

Hopefully.

The very thought that Jaskier could be his… well… no that certainly didn’t make any sense. None whatsoever. Hopefully this wise woman would be able to identify what the problem is, and he could solve it quickly and move on.

And hopefully it would have absolutely nothing to do with Jaskier. 

Nothing at all. 

And absolutely nothing to do with the absurd idea of soulmates.

Geralt would never be able to give the book to Jaskier. If Geralt had managed to draw the connection then certainly Jaskier would as well, whether Geralt mentioned having the same symptoms during their time apart or not.

Geralt was pulled from his reverie by Jaskier drawing to a halt suddenly and opening his arms, wide, “We have arrived, my dearest witcher.”

The house was small, tucked in between a pawn shop and a sketchy looking apothecary. It was the type of house it was easy to miss, would be overlooked if you weren’t looking for it specifically. Jaskier let himself in the house, not bothering to knock, so Geralt followed quietly, feeling uneasy, though he wasn’t sure why. His medallion wasn’t vibrating and there wasn’t anything particularly strange about the front room of the house, but something didn’t seem quite right.

“Jaskier are you certain we should be here?” Geralt whispered his question, unwilling to disturb any occupants of the house.

Jaskier, however, was not as worried about disturbing anyone and responded loudly, “Of course, Geralt. I’ve a standing invitation.”

Geralt cautiously followed Jaskier further into the house, unsure of what to expect. In the last room of the house there was an old woman, sitting in a chair by a window, knitting quietly. When they entered the room, she glanced up curiously, a small smile on her face as she looked at Jaskier. 

“I was wondering when you would come find me with questions.” The woman’s voice was surprisingly deep, hoarse as if she spent her days smoking away at a pipe. 

“Were you?” Jaskier asked, shooting Geralt a strange look.

The woman hummed, “Yes. As soon as I saw your symptoms this winter. I’m glad you have been reunited though.”

Geralt felt a shock run through him, she couldn’t possibly mean…

“You know why I was sick?” Jaskier’s voice was higher than usual, sounding incredulous.

“Do you not?”

“No!” Jaskier exclaimed dramatically. 

“Ahh..” she stared at Geralt for a moment before looking back at Jaskier, “there’s no need to worry about it. Your witcher will explain everything.”

Jaskier spun around, “Geralt?”

He sighed, suddenly unsure of what to do, “I have everything I needed Jaskier. Let’s go back.”

“Go back? We came here to ask questions about a curse! You didn’t even ask anything. Oh… were we here about my curse? Was I actually cursed?”

“Come along, Jaskier.” Geralt turned on his heel, quickly leaving the house. He heard Jaskier hustling behind him.

Geralt led them back up to Jaskier’s inn room, Jaskier puffing behind him from keeping up with Geralt’s faster than normal stride. “Geralt what is going on?’

Instead of responding, Geralt rifled through his bags and pulled out the book he had previously decided to chuck in a river so Jaskier would never see it. Turning to face Jaskier, Geralt’s heart was racing. He had faced monsters out of nightmares, stared death in the face, but the idea that the contents in this book could be true, the idea that Jaskier could be his soulmate was horrifying. 

Holding out the book slowly, Geralt watched warily as Jaskier snatched it from his hands, his eyes roaming over the cover. “Soulmates?”

“I found it at Kaer Morhen and brought it for you, I thought you might like it. But now it might be important.”

Jaskier’s eyes shone brightly, “You brought it because you thought I might like it?”

“Yes.”

“What makes it important now?” Jaskier was looking back at the book, fingers tracing the cover carefully.

Geralt’s heart was pounding in his ears, “Just… read it.”

Jaskier looked back at Geralt, concern on his face, “Okay.”

Jaskier crossed the room to sit at the table and opened the book. Geralt stayed motionless, watching as Jaskier eagerly devoured page after page of information he had been so interested in for years. It was clear to Geralt when Jaskier reached the part Geralt was most afraid of. Instead of Jaskier moving on to the next page, Jaskier’s eyes slowly worked their way back to the start of the page and he read the same section again, slower this time. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier started, his eyes not moving off the page in front of him, “are you telling me that my allergies this winter were because I have a soulmate?”

Geralt grunted, unsure of what to say.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt suddenly, his face wary, “And who exactly is my soulmate in this scenario? Who else had the same symptoms while they were away from me for the length of winter?”

Geralt felt his face reddening, an uncharacteristic blush blooming. 

Jaskier stood slowly, placing the book down on the chair as he abandoned it, “Geralt were you sick this winter?”

Geralt nodded.

"Oh." Jaskier sounded breathless.

Geralt didn't know what to say, floundering in the silence. Usually, Jaskier was the one to fill the void, to put words where there was once silence. Instead, Jaskier remained silent for a beat, simply staring at Geralt, before turning back and grabbing the book, returning to his seat. Jaskier opened the book again with shaky hands and once again began reading. 

Their breathing and slightly too fast heart beats were the only sounds in the room as Geralt stood motionless, waiting for Jaskier to do something, say something. But Jaskier simply sat, reading studiously, while Geralt waited. 

It felt like ages by the time Jaskier closed the book, finally looking back up at Geralt. "Well, if we intend to travel anywhere from each other, I think it would be best to perform the ceremony."

Geralt's heart dropped, "Of course. We'll have to research the proper way to do it, I'm not sure if we'll need a mage."

Jaskier stood from his seat, walking to stand directly in front of Geralt, "Geralt, it says a simple handfasting will suffice."

Geralt didn't understand, a handfasting didn't seem like a practical way to end a soul bond, "A handfasting? To break the bond?"

"Break the bond? Why would we do something silly like that? Do you… not want to be bound to me?"

Bound to Jaskier, their souls intertwined, it sounded nice. But it wasn't realistic, Geralt was a witcher and Jaskier a bard. Clearly their souls couldn't have meant to be linked. "Do I not… Jaskier you can't want this! I'm a witcher. My life is dangerous."

"Well yes but that hasn't stopped me yet, and I don't intend to let it. Besides, the slowed aging will be a big plus for me." Jaskier sounded matter of fact, putting his hands on his hips and staring at Geralt as if it were obvious.

"Slowed aging?"

"Yes Geralt, slowed aging. The book said very clearly that those soul bonded to witchers experienced slowed aging like that of the witcher. Did you not finish the book?"

"I didn't read it." Maybe he should have read through the book, to understand more about what was going on, more about his bond with Jaskier. Geralt hadn’t felt so out of his depth in a long time.

Jaskier sounded incredibly unimpressed when he responded, "You didn't read… any of it?"

"No."

Jaskier whined, "Geralt. You suspected we could be soulmates and you didn't even read the book?"

Of course he hadn’t expected that! The very idea that they could be soulmates was ridiculous. He hadn’t even considered it to be an option. "No! I brought the book because I thought you would like it. I didn't think that was what was wrong with me. I didn't know you were sick."

Jaskier was silent, his face contemplative as he stared at Geralt. His response was so quiet, Geralt was unsure he would have heard it without his enhanced hearing, "Is it… really so awful of an idea? Being my soulmate?"

It wasn’t an awful idea at all, it was… nice actually. But that didn’t mean it was right, it couldn’t possibly be. Jaskier didn’t deserve to be stuck with a witcher for the rest of his life, "No, Jaskier… it just… it can't be right. I can't be bound to someone like you and you shouldn't be stuck with someone like me."

“Well, I stuck myself to you long before we knew about this soul bond business, so I don’t see what’s so different. Unless you wish to be rid of me.” The last sentence was hushed, like Jaskier hadn’t even wanted to say it. 

When Jaskier had first started following Geralt, the witcher had definitely wanted rid of him. He was loud and annoying and impractical. He caused chaos everywhere he went, rarely thought of his actions before making a decision, and always managed to put himself directly in harm's way. But the bard had grown on Geralt. Every time he started a tavern fight out of righteous anger on Geralt’s behalf or talked down an alderman trying to short Geralt his owed coin, or ran headfirst into danger to foolishly protect Geralt, Geralt felt a bit more fond of Jaskier. And considering how often Jaskier did all of those things, Geralt was fit to burst with his fondness for the man.

Geralt rubbed a hand over his eyes, “No, I don’t… wish to be rid of you. But Jaskier, you can’t know what you’re agreeing to. You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. My path doesn’t need to be yours.”

Jaskier’s body language screamed how indignant he felt at Geralt’s statement, “But I want it to be! I wanted to walk The Path with you last year and I haven’t changed my mind.”

Even if Jaskier meant it, and never changed his mind, he didn’t know if he would ever be what Jaskier wanted. Jaskier was young and the idea of grand love thanks to a soul bond must sound enticing, but that wasn’t Geralt. Witchers weren’t supposed to feel, it was dangerous, made them weak. Jaskier deserved that grand love but Geralt couldn’t be sure he could ever give that, “Jaskier… I’m not… I don’t know how to be in a relationship. I’m not sure I ever will… be able to be that for you.”

Jaskier’s face softened and he reached out to take hold of Geralt’s hands, “I like you just as you are, Geralt. We can figure out everything else as we go.”

Geralt felt something in him break. He wanted to be stronger, strong enough to turn Jaskier away, for his own good, but more than that he wanted to be loved. “Are you sure you want this?” Geralt’s voice cracked as he asked, one final time, simultaneously hoping Jaskier would say no, but dreading the idea of losing the bard.

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hands, “Do you?”

“Travelling with you last year was… different. It was good… to share The Path with someone. With you.” Geralt had never felt more vulnerable than he did in that moment, staring into Jaskier’s eyes. 

“I wouldn’t trade the time I’ve spent with you for the world, and I want to keep spending time with you.” Jaskier hesitated, “If you’ll let me.”

“We… will have to get handfasted then? If we don’t break the bond?” Geralt really needed to read that book.

Jaskier nodded, “Yes, either that or never separate from each other.”

An outward sign of the bond the two shared… Geralt liked the idea, “I think… that handfasting would be okay.”

“Just okay?”

“It would be… nice. I suppose.”

Jaskier chuckled at Geralt’s response, “When should we do it? We could go now if you wanted?”

They could go right then, there was sure to be someone in Oxenfurt, probably many someones, that knew how to perform the ceremony, but it didn’t feel right. “Could we… wait for winter?”

Jaskier furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side, “I mean… we can. We would have to be careful about parting through the year though.”

It was impractical, Geralt knew, but it was something he never thought he would experience. And he wanted to do it at Kaer Morhen, “Just… I think I would like Vesemir to be there. And Eskel and Lambert.”

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand reassuringly, “Okay. May I ask who they are?”

“They’re my… family. Fellow witchers. We winter together.”

Suddenly Jaskier’s eyes were filled with tears and Geralt was worried he had done something wrong.

“Oh. Yes, that would be lovely, I think.” Jaskier finally responded, his voice thick like he was trying not to cry.

“Really?”

Jaskier nodded and pulled his hands from Geralt’s, instead drawing him into a tight hug, “Yes, darling. Really.”

-

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[shatouto]

hi yes this is another installment in the raised-as-sith anakin x jedi obi-wan au i co-write with @obiwanobi. we’ve been putting what we got so far on ao3 for archiving/organizing purposes so before you read this pls check it out first if you haven’t bc there is some semblance of continuity, thank you :’) (this installment on ao3)

content note: past psychological and physical abuse, messy healing, please proceed with care

you love him dearly

You stand alone in a great dark hall. There’s no sound but your pulse jolting in bouts inside your ears. Like the footsteps of a scared bantha. And you feel like a scared bantha. You haven’t felt like this in a long time. You used to be worth less than a bantha, with your weak hands and your small body. All you were ever able to do was get yourself and your mom hurt. You felt so bad, so very bad, so bad that you were willing to beg your mom to let you go, when this man came and swept you up. This man who called you the Chosen One. This man who you now call...

“Master,” you say, and waits for your Master to acknowledge you.

Sometimes you think it’s strange, to trade one master for another. But this Master, your Master, is a different sort. Your Master taught you how to hate the right people, in the right way; gave you a crystal and let you forge your own lightsabers. Your Master told you you were special. No, no, it doesn’t matter that you were a slave, you are special, my boy. You know you are different, do you not? That you learn faster than children your age; that your reflexes are sharper, your intuition stronger. You see things before people do, know things before people see, and do things before people know. The future and the past are sometimes indistinguishable in your dreams. Clever child, golden child, you are certainly worth more than a bantha; oh, you are worth more than the population on that sandy speck combined. You are the Chosen One! You are destined for greatness.

You were weak and small and nothing. You deserve so much more, so much more. A pity that the universe has never given you and will never give you what you truly deserve. None of that is your fault, my poor boy; they are simply too blind and puny to appreciate your capacity and recognize your power. But worry not: Your Master will give it to you. Your Master is here to help you. You love him dearly, because you are nothing without him, because the universe is stupid and cruel and you hate it for making you feel like nothing. Your Master, on the other hand, must love you dearly, or else he would not have told you all about how special you are. Would not have trained you to be so strong. Would not have given you the respectable name of…

“Darth Vader.”

The greeting sounds more like a warning, because you deserve it. “I—I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough.” Even your voice comes out too small.

“Little need to apologize in words, my apprentice,” says your Master. “You know what must be done. You must learn your lesson.”

You love him, you love him, you love him. You love your Master, you chant in your heart, as you hang your head and tuck your tongue back and wait like the good apprentice you are.

The first blow is always the hardest. You convulse, feeling as if a thousand red-hot needles are exploding from within your sinews. Blinding pain crackles through your body, and you scream yourself…

Awake.

Anakin sits up in his sleeping bag, panting. He thinks he heard the tail end of a scream, his own, but it’s all silent now. He’s alone in the dark, the healed stump of his right arm tingling under the prosthetic cap. He searches his psyche for the tatters of a bond between him and the late Sith Lord; there's nothing left. Darth Sidious is truly dead. Two strides away from him, Obi-Wan Kenobi sleeps soundly in his bed.

His eyes soften. The sight of Obi-Wan soothes him, reminding him of where he is in time and in space. It has been a few months since he killed his Sith Master. He is in the Jedi Temple, in quarters belonging to Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and Padawan Ahsoka Tano. Nobody knows he is here.

Anakin turns away as one would turn away from a too-bright light. You can’t look at the sun for too long or it’ll burn your eyes; especially if you are used to darkness. He breathes in, and out, and shakily pulls off the cover of the sleeping bag. His new metal fingertips nearly tear through the fabric.

“Anakin?”

Anakin doesn’t flinch, but his stomach flips. Obi-Wan’s silhouette slowly sits up in bed, tousled and softly rumpled and Anakin feels frighteningly tender in the chest. He keeps his head down, not wanting to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes right now.

“Anakin, is everything alright?”

Anakin mumbles out something vaguely affirmative, and pushes himself to his feet. “Fresher,” he says, hurrying away. He doesn’t return to the bedroom afterwards, but goes straight to the kitchenette and begins to prepare a rather large breakfast. He knows Obi-Wan doesn’t go back to sleep either. He wills himself to ignore the circles under Obi-Wan’s eyes, come morning.

—

“Anakin, I have been thinking,” Obi-Wan begins, as he takes their empty plates to the kitchen, where a dishwashing droid stands await. “You don’t happen to have a habit of meditating, do you?”

Anakin almost tenses up at meditating, but he only lets out a huff of breath and opens the droid’s compartment doors. He’s glad Ahsoka is away for the night, staying in her friend’s quarters or some such. If she joins in with Obi-Wan it’ll only be harder for him to reject the request. Because that’s clearly a request, no matter how fancily Obi-Wan phrases his question.

I hate it teeters on the tip of his tongue, but Anakin just answers: “No, I don’t.” Obi-Wan likes meditation, as all Jedi do. It would feel bad, be bad, to say he hates something Obi-Wan likes.

Obi-Wan hums. Dishes clink as he sets them in one by one. “Would you be so opposed to it, then?”

Anakin pulls his shields higher so that none of the screaming No no no I hate it in his mind is going to bleed through to Obi-Wan in the Force. He makes the mistake of turning to look at Obi-Wan, because he can’t help it, and he's met with a hopeful smile and gentle, crinkled eyes. He can't bear to see that smile fall. “...Guess not,” he mutters.

“I would keep you company, if that’s fine,” Obi-Wan continues on merrily, like the good-natured Jedi he is. “I mean to invite you to join me for meditation before bedtime, in fact. Is that alright?”

Anakin stares down at his mismatched hands. If there is one thing he hates more than meditating, it’s meditating with someone watching. He tries very hard not to grit his teeth.

“Of course, you don’t have to,” Obi-Wan adds, fingers briefly brushing Anakin’s flesh wrist. The sensation shoots right into Anakin’s heart. That settles it; it’s not even a question. Obi-Wan will be disappointed if he doesn’t.

“It’s alright,” Anakin says, shutting the droid’s compartment door. The timer beeps, unhelpfully helping him count down to the dreaded session.

—

“So this is meditation?” Anakin blurts.

Obi-Wan sits cross-legged on his bed, in his soft robes and sleeping pants. He opens his eyes in a quizzical gaze as Anakin remains standing. Anakin curls his hands into fists and tries not to fiddle with the hem of his tunic. Obi-Wan frowns, unfurls from his position and comes up so near that Anakin wants to hold his breath. He smells like the cotton flower-scented fabric softener, like crisp, warm laundry - he smells like hard-earned safety. “You don’t need to lie to me, Anakin,” he says, a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I will instruct you from the beginning if you need me to, and I promise to help you with any difficulty. Now tell me: Have you meditated before?”

Obi-Wan says so, but Anakin is not about to tell him about the Sphere; about the long hours spent in that terrible spheroid room with enough space for you to wish you could move from your spot, but the walls were too smooth and curved for you to scale; about how silent it was in there save for his Master’s voice in his mind. Anakin is not about to tell this Jedi about the splatter of blood in the Sphere where he once bashed his head against until he passed out because he could not take it. How Sidious had punished him for it afterwards. How he never dared to do it again.

“...No,” Anakin says. “Show me.”

Obi-Wan nods; his hand slips down his shoulder and runs gently down his arm. Anakin blinks. Obi-Wan's touch always feels so… nice. Unhurried and mellow and never really demanding anything back. “I see. Take a seat beside me. Make yourself comfortable, please.”

Anakin crosses his legs as Obi-Wan does. Nervousness winds his core tight, makes his back rigid and ramrod straight. Obi-Wan is near him, both in physical presence and in the Force, his signature pulsing with the light of sunrays through butterfly wings.

“Relax, Anakin. Loosen your muscles”—his warm hand traces across Anakin’s back from shoulder to shoulder, then down his spine—“and your jaws.” His fingertips brush the hinge of Anakin’s jaws just as he says so. Anakin nearly shivers. It takes him longer than he thought it would, to truly follow those orders.

“...There we go,” Obi-Wan says. He draws back, and Anakin should be glad that the distracting touch is gone, but he feels disappointed instead. “Now breathe in deep. Ah, wait. Do it again, breathe in, deeper, and try to hold it. Yes, like that…”

They spend the next quarter hour or so wrestling with his breathing pattern, keeping it both deep and steady. Anakin goes from counting the beats to counting the breaths to finally not needing to count at all. And then when he thinks he’s gotten the hang of it…

“Let go? You mean I shouldn’t focus on my breathing anymore?” he asks, puzzled, bordering on frustrated. “But you just told me to be mindful of it.”

“Yes, correct, Anakin.” Obi-Wan sounds unfazed. “Be mindful of the rhythm, and keep it up. You’ve done well so far. Now you must turn your focus inwards, and meet the Force within you.”

Anakin’s eyes slide open for a split second and then fall shut again. He doesn’t understand, but he could just try. This isn’t any difficulty that he needs to bother his instructor with. He nods, and begins again. He begins with his breathing. In, and out. Slow, and steady. And now he must not think about the breaths anymore. Now he must...

The Force within him is a well of ink. Ink that glisten from black to crimson like the blood on his hand. Ink that sloshes and laps against the walls and the echoes turn into screams. A bright white fracture crackles from one corner of his vision to the other. Centipede-like arches of incandescence skitter under his skin. Drip, drip, the blood, no, the ink, it drips and it trails and it tickles his skin. There’s the familiar taste of copper at the back of his tongue, flavors just waiting to burst. Cruel laughter echoes from the bottom of the inky well, and somewhere in the thick darkness there is the outline of a woman’s silhouette, of small but strong shoulders and—

Something warm brushes his psyche.

Warm, but too close. Anakin snatches that tendril without a thought and delves counter-current through Force-realm. He forces himself to the other side, even as something shatters around him. He knows the drill. *Your self-preservation can only come at the cost of others', my boy.* Colors begin to flash, gentle and muted, bearing the fuzzy quality of memories. Sunlight flickers, filigree wings flutter, landing on durasteel grounds. He feels tears on his face and tears in his throat and his forehead is pressed close to someone else’s, someone he loves so dearly—no, not him, someone that the person to whom this mind belongs loves so dearly.

“...proud of you. Carry on, Obi-Wan. Live brightly.”

“Yes, Master.”

There's no silence more thorough than a heartbeat evening out into nothingness. There's no solitude more poignant than the company of a vanishing light. Saying goodbye is never an easy feat, even for a Jedi, and the anger and sorrow he felt—

“Anakin! Stop!”

Anakin jolts awake. A thick, ferric drop trails from his nose, warm on his lips. He opens his eyes and finds Obi-Wan beneath him, wide-eyed. His hands are pressing Obi-Wan’s shoulders into the mattress. Obi-Wan, who was teaching him to meditate, who brushed his mental shields in the process of instruction. Obi-Wan, his teacher. And if all of those images belonged to Obi-Wan…

He just broke into Obi-Wan’s mind.

Anakin scrambles back. The ink, no, the blood, now drips down his chin. It tickles. His teeth clatter as shivers rake up inside him. He clenches his jaws and stares at the ground. The sheets rustle.

“I think that’s quite enough for tonight.” Obi-Wan doesn’t sound angry, just somewhat breathless. Even concerned. Anakin doesn’t believe it. “Anakin, you’re bleeding. Do you need—”

“No.” Anakin staggers to his feet and backs away. Nothing worse than asking for more and becoming even more of a burden because everything he takes is a debt and he will pay for it. His Master always made sure he paid. “No. I’ll—I’ll clean up. I’m sorry. I’ll clean up.”

He stands there just long enough for Obi-Wan to respond - with anything, words, blows, anything. In the end, Obi-Wan only says, “Alright. Please, take care.” Anakin’s eyes flick up to find a grimace. He turns away and all but runs to the fresher, more dismayed than relieved.

Because if the punishment doesn’t come right away, that only means he’s going to have to wait.

[everlarkficexchange]

The Hope that gave me hope

Written by: @ameliaodair​

Prompt 156 - Toastbaby’s perspective from the womb throughout pregnancy. Bonus points from post-birth moments. [submitted by @lovely-to the-bone/ @peetamewllark​ ]

Thank you @lovely-tothe-bone for this amazing prompt!

Word Count: 5137

Rated: K-T

Unbeta’d, edited by me

SPOILER ALERT: Anyone reading my stories, “Changing the Game” or “Another Way Out” this story DOES contain spoilers for events yet to come.

Okay, so I tweaked this prompt just a little… Instead of post MJ, this story will coincide with my Hunger Games rewrite (Changing the Game, Another Way Out, and TBA) Toastbaby’s perspective from inside the womb as Katniss goes through the arena and her time in 13.  I hope you guys like it and if you are interested in some of the things “Little One” hears/experiences, then you should check out my stories.  You can find them on A03 and FFN.

***I tried to stay true to the facts of a fetus growing (what they are doing and when) in utero, but some things may have been adjusted***

Also, as I was writing this story, a memory resurfaced from when my kids were little, and I would take them to Temple on Friday nights for Tot Shabbat.  Before I give you my story, here is a little background on Leilah, the Angel of Conception.

You know that little indentation above your lips, and (under your nose? Okay, well, keep that in mind) So, the story goes that the Angel Leilah chooses which souls inhabit which seeds and accompanies them in the womb, teaching them all the knowledge of the Torah (Hebrew Bible, ((I think)).  So, while the “baby” is in the womb, it has all the knowledge and answers in the world and when you are born, your lungs fill with air, which results in crying and Leilah tells the baby to “Ssshhh” and presses her finger to their lips, which is what causes that little indentation and thus, wiping their memory…and they have to learn everything all over again.  (At least that’s how I think it goes) Anyway, I really wanted to incorporate that story into this one, so here goes.

The Hope that gave me hope

“Listen closely child, your next journey will not be an easy one.  The world has taken a turn for the worst; war and famine has devastated much of what remains, ruled by a callous tyrant.  However, you will be conceived to a pair of great importance.  Together, they will change the world for the better, but not before enduring many hardships.  There will be pain, heartache, and deep suffering, but the end result will be well worth the struggle.”

Little One, squirmed in place as the Creator described her next assignment.

“A-are you certain they are the right ones for me?” Little One asked the Creator uncertainly, although she knew the answer.

“I am certain, Child,” his voice boomed, “Do you doubt me?  Have I ever led you astray?”

“No Sir,” Little One faltered.

“Have faith, Child,” the Creator continued, his voice much softer.  “Now go on.  Off you go.”

“But … I am frightened Sir,” Little One stumbled, shrinking back with her fear.

“What is there to be frightened of, my Child?”

“I do not enjoy the solitude, perhaps you could accompany me on my journey?”

The Creator laughed at Little One, his voice rattling the ground, “You will not be alone Child, Leilah will be with you the entire way.  She will not leave your side in the womb, not for a single moment.  She will spend her time teaching you all the knowledge of the world—”

“So that I may share it with my … what are they called again— parents?”

The Creator shook the earth again with his laughter, “Yes, they are called parents.  And no, you may not share it with them.  Leilah will be waiting for you on the outside just before your entrance into the world and the moment your lungs fill with air, your consciousness of her given knowledge will be erased.  You must rely on your parents for wisdom and guidance.”

“But Sir— what is the point?” Little One asked, her face contorting into a confused expression.

“No more questions, Little One, it is time for you to descend.  Time is of the essence; Leilah has chosen the perfect … ah … specimen for you to inhabit, but like I said, time is of the essence.”

“I have one more question Sir, if I may.”

“Yes Child?”

“What will be the names of my … parents?” Little One asked.

The Creator chuckled at her question, “Katniss and Peeta,” he said, patting her on the head just before he sent her on her way.

Gestation Period: Weeks 1-4

‘It’s dark.  But I’m warm.  I’m comfortable.  I think I like it in here.’  Little One thought to herself as she burrowed herself deep inside her mother’s womb, her cells multiplying at the perfect rate.

Gestation Period: Week 6-8

Although her ears are not developed just yet and she cannot hear a thing, Little One can sense that her mother is distraught and plagued with sadness.  ‘Why are you sad, Mother?’  Little One pondered.

“It is okay Little One, your mother is just frightened.  She and your father just became aware of your existence and face many challenges ahead,” Leilah’s voice bounced against the walls of Little One’s new home.

‘Oh,’ Little One thought to herself. ‘Do … do they not want me; will I make it to my day of birth?’ Little One communicated, fearful of Leilah’s answer.  Little One knew that sometimes certain essences were not compatible with certain pairings and their journeys came to an end before it even had the chance to begin. Little One hoped this was not the case for herself.

“No dear, it is not that.  They are frightened because the world they live in is a harsh and cruel world.  They never desired to have children of their own— they did not wish their circumstances onto another.  But Little One, they already love you dearly, so do not fret.  Everything will work out as it was meant to.”  Leilah soothed Little One and began her teachings of the world.

Gestation Period: Week 12-16

‘What was that?’ Little One interrupted Leilah during a particularly boring story.

“Do not be frightened Little One, you are just sensing the vibration of excitement surrounding your mother.“

‘What are they excited about— is their excitement geared toward me?  And … and why do I sense discomfort in Mother?’ Little One was enigmatically in tune with her mother’s feelings and emotions, even from this early in her life.

“That is not for you to worry yourself over.  Soon, within the next few weeks your ears will become more developed, and you will be able to hear so much more.”

‘But … how do I hear you if I cannot hear?’ Little One asked, plagued with confusion.

Little One continued to ask question after question, so curious she was.  And the kind, patient Angel that Leilah was did her best to answer them all— to the best of her ability.

‘Why do I bounce up and down?’ Little One asked several days later.

“Those are called hiccups,” Leilah informed her.

‘Well, I do not like them,’ Little One retorted with a scowl.  Though she did not know it, it very much resembled her mother’s signature expression.

Leilah chuckled, “No, not many people do.”  Leilah smirked and continued her teachings of the world with Little One as she tried to mask her concern over the voices she heard.

“Oh, Katniss darling; we have missed you so much!” Someone on the outside crooned.  Leilah feared the worst from the shrill voices shrieking on the outside.  Those voices only meant one thing; Katniss, and most likely Peeta had returned to the Capitol, which meant they were headed back into the Games.  It was just as the Creator predicted and she worried for Little One’s life.

“Oh Katniss, Peeta, we’re so-so, sorry!” The voices on the outside hiccupped as they sobbed.

“It’s a … you’re a … a bird, it’s a—” a loud voice boomed, which caused Little One to bounce from side to side.

“A mockingjay,” Leilah heard Katniss confirm to the loud voice.

‘What is a mockingjay?’ Little one piped up from her slumber.

Gestation Period: 18 Weeks

“Hey there little nut—”

‘EEK!’ Little One internally gasped.  ‘What was that, OH! I am frightened!’ Little One called out in fear.

“Do not be alarmed Little One, it’s just your ears that are working.  It is your father’s voice that you hear.  Listen … he is speaking to you.” Leilah spoke softly, encouraging Little One to listen.

Little One sat as still as she could and listened intently as the deep melodic voice of her father reverberated off the walls of her perfect home.

“I’m going to call you Little Nut since we don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl, I hope that’s okay.  This is your father; my name is Peeta.”

‘Peeta,’ Little One tried the name in her head and smiled, deciding that she liked the way it sounded. ‘Yes, it is okay for you to call me “Little Nut”,’ Little One longed to tell her father.  She extended her arm up and waved her hand, wishing her father could see her new trick.

“Listen Nut, I’m not sure how we’re going to make it out of the arena, but I am going to do everything in my power to get you and your mom out of there.  I … I don’t know if I’ll ever get to meet you, but I just want you to know that … somehow, I WILL keep the two of you safe.  And … I just want you to know how much I love you and that you are so loved.  But don’t you worry, you will have so many people to love you and take care of you and … I just don’t want you to ever doubt my love for you.  You will have your mommy, and yes, she is scared right now, but she will be the best mommy you could ever ask for; ever hope for.  She is the strongest, bravest person I know, and she will teach you so much.  When you get bigger, she’ll teach you how to use a bow and arrow, and … and if you ever do something that upsets her, just bring her some cheese buns.  Your Grandpa Bing can teach you how to make them, or your Uncle Rye.  Cheese buns are her favorite; she won’t be able to stay mad at you for long if you bring her cheese buns.  Oh!  In case you were wondering, Bing is my dad, and Rye is my brother.”

‘Cheese buns, gee, I hope I will remember that.’ Little One knew she wouldn’t, but she continued to sit in silence, soaking up her father’s every word and finding solace in his soothing voice.

“Then there is your Aunt Prim.  That’s your mom’s sister.  Oh, she’s going to fall in love with you the moment she sees you.  Well, actually, she is probably already in love with you.  She is probably really mad at me though.  Well, me and your mom.  You see, I did something.  When we went on stage for our interviews with Caesar, I um … I told the world about you.  I hadn’t planned on doing it; it kind of just … came out.  So, everyone back at home is probably a little shocked right now, and they probably aren’t sure if I was telling the truth.  But your Aunt Prim, and your Grandma Lilly, they are healers, and I am almost certain that after my shocking announcement they’re putting the pieces together and they know you’re real.”

‘What is Father talking about?  I am so confused.  What is ‘interview’ and ‘Caesar’ and ‘arena’?  I just like the sound of Father’s voice, so I don’t really care right now. Please Father, please talk some more,’ Little One wanted to tell him.

“Oh, Little Nut, I don’t want to leave you, I really don’t.  I want to watch you grow, I want to meet you and know you.  It hurts so much thinking I will never get the chance to be your dad.  I want nothing more in this screwed up world than to hold you, hug you and kiss you— to rock you.  And … and when you get older, I would teach you how to paint—”

‘Yes, I think I would like that, too.’ Little One agreed with Peeta.

“But … things aren’t looking so good for me, so … I don’t even know if you can hear me, but, oh, I … I just love you so much, okay?”

Little One heard sniffles and she recalled her lesson with Leilah on emotions and crying.

‘Please Father, do not be sad.  We will see each other soon, I promise,’ Little One so badly wanted to comfort her father.

Gestation Period: 18 Weeks and 4 Days

‘Why do I find comfort in this?’ Little One asked Leilah as she placed her thumb into her mouth and began sucking.

“It has to do—” Leilah was interrupted by Peeta’s voice once again as he spoke to his daughter.

“Hello again Little Nut, it’s me, your dad.”

‘T-that’s my father!’ Little One began bouncing up and down with excitement.

“I just … I just wanted to tell you I love you just in case this is the end.  You stay in there and you stay strong for your mama.  I hope … I hope I will get the chance to meet you, but if not, just know how much I love you Little Nut, okay?”

Little One felt something pressing against her, causing her to shift to the other side of the cozy womb.  Then, she heard her father’s voice once more, but this time it was further away, “I’ll see you at midnight.  Everything will go as planned, just like we talked about, okay?”

“Okay,” although her mother’s firm voice resonated strength, from deep inside her body, Little One could feel the trembling in her voice, which was undoubtedly filled with fear.  ‘Mother does not believe his words?’ Little One intuited.

‘Father’s voice is gone, and I so want him to speak to me again; I really like his voice.’ Little One whined.

Leilah knew what was happening on the outside and she didn’t want Little One to worry.

“Pay attention to me, Little One, do not concern yourself with the outside noises.  It is time for our next lesson.” Leilah said, hoping to distract Little One from the fight going on outside.

Outside, Katniss and Johanna were running, stringing Beetee’s wire from the lightning tree to the beach, and then Johanna blindsided Katniss, knocking her out with a giant log— all to cut her tracker out.

‘I do not feel so good, I wish to take a nap,’ Little One said as a result of Katniss losing so much blood.  Leilah sang Little One a song that offered comfort and nestled the growing baby in her heart while she pleaded with the Creator to watch over them all.

For a long time, there was silence and Little One wondered what was happening.  Sometimes she could hear voices from far away and she longed to know who they were.  Who they were to her, to her mother— her father?  Are they the family her father spoke so fondly of?

And then finally, one day out of the blue she finally heard her mother’s croaky voice echo off the walls of her warm home as Little One waved a hand in front of her face.  Though she could not see it anymore because her eyelids had become fused shut, she still knew that she was doing it.

Gestation Period: 21 Weeks

“Peeta!  Where’s Peeta?  And … what about the baby?” Little One startled from a deep slumber to hear her mother shrieking, her voice tremulous with panic.

“My apologies Miss Everdeen, the fetus was unable to withstand the blast when the arena exploded.  You had a miscarriage,” an icy voice commanded the room, which resulted in Little One bobbing up and down as her mother started shaking.  Little One could hear her mother’s heart accelerating and her breathing quickening.

‘Wait, what?  No, no … do not believe them, Mother, I am still here!’ Little One tried to reach her mother— to no avail, who was crying so hard.

“No, no, no.  No, you’re wrong.  I— I would feel it if she— if the baby were gone.  Just like with Peeta, I would feel it, and I still feel her—” her mother tried to reason with the people surrounding her.

“I’m sorry Miss Everdeen—” The icy voice said, though she did not sound apologetic at all.

There was a loud bang, and then stillness.

‘I do not understand, why are they denying my existence?  I am still here, right?’ Little One reached out to Leilah for confirmation.  She was not ready for her journey to be at its end.

“Yes darling, you are still very much alive.  They are confused, that’s all.” Leilah assured Little One, though, she knew the truth.

Gestation Period: 21 Weeks and 2 Days

“Katniss, if you have any intentions on keeping your baby alive, you need to stay calm and do exactly as I say,” a soft voice, not the icy one spoke to Little One’s mother.

“W-what?”

“If you can keep a secret, so can I, but I need you to stay calm,” and then Little One heard the nice voice saying words like pressure and elevation, but all she cared about was that her mother knew she was still alive and safely inside her.  Little One was counting on her to keep them okay.

‘I do not understand, why would that voice lie to my mother?  Why would she tell her I am no longer, when I AM?’ Little One pleaded to Leilah, overcome with confusion.

“People lie my dear.  Sometimes it is to shield others from pain, but oftentimes it is for vindictive reasons— for their own selfish gain.  But do not worry yourself over this matter, we have much to cover before our time is up.”

Gestation Period: 23-26 Weeks

The next few weeks, or perhaps it’s months, it’s difficult for Little One to tell time from inside her mother, but somehow— she can feel her father’s presence, yet she does not hear his voice.

‘Where did Father go?’

“He is away for now, but do not fret Little One, he will return very soon.” Leilah assured her and began to distract her with more of life’s lessons.  For days and days, weeks even, Leilah filled their time with the teachings of the world.  Leilah knew what was going on in the ‘outside’ and she did her best to keep Little One’s mind occupied.

“That THING isn’t Peeta,” Little One heard her mother shout over and over.  And then she heard many words she did not recognize, words Leilah had never explained to her.  Hijacking, enemy, snow, weapon.

“Don’t you worry Little Nut; we’ll bring Daddy home soon.  He’s finally awake, and him and your Grandma Effie are coming home soon; well, if you can actually call this place home,” Little One was reassured by her mother’s promise— her heart accelerated at the mention of her father’s return and she stretched her leg out in excitement.

“Unh!” Katniss exclaimed, “was that you, Little Nut?” Katniss asked Little One when she felt the fluttering in her abdomen.

Little One repeated this action in response to her mother’s racing heart.

“That’s right, baby.  We’ll get daddy back really soon, I promise.  That- that thing they brought back from the Capitol is NOT daddy— I don’t care what they say.  Peeta— your dad would never hurt me, no matter what.  We’re going to rescue him— him and Effie, and they’re going to do it soon, or … or I won’t be their stupid mockingjay.”

After that conversation, Katniss spoke to Little One often, filling her in and sharing many details about the world outside.  Little One would always try to stretch an arm or a leg to tell her mother she was listening.  That she believed in her.  That she trusted her.

Gestation Period: 26 Weeks and 5 Days

“K-Katniss?” Little One’s head twitched to the side when she heard the familiar voice.

‘Is … is that—’ Little One stuttered in excitement, yet she didn’t want to get her hopes up.  It had been SO long since she last heard her father’s voice.  Granted, this voice was croaky and sounded almost nothing like him, but something deep inside her knew it was him.

“Yes, Little One, it is your father.  He has finally returned.” Leilah answered her.

Little One thought that having her father back within arm’s reach would have given her mother some relief from all the tears she succumbed to each night, but instead, she cried even more.

‘Why is Mother still so sad?’ Little One asked Leilah during another particularly boring lesson.

Leilah didn’t want to burden the child with all the pain going on outside, so she just said, “Your father is just going through some adjustments.  Do not worry, they will find their way back to each other, it will just take some time.”

Gestation Period: 27 Weeks

‘W-what was that?’ Little One asked when she heard a new sound echoing off the walls of her perfect home.

“That is your mother.  She is singing to you.” Leilah informed Little One.

‘I … I like it … it’s beautiful,’ Little One crooned, swaying to the sound of her mother’s voice.

Little One tried to stretch her leg out to reassure her mother she was here for her, but it seemed her perfect home had shrunk.  Anxiety consumed her as she wondered what would happen when she no longer fit.

“Do you remember our discussion entailing your day of birth?” Leilah hummed to Little One.  “When this home no longer suits your needs, you will be welcomed into the world.  That is when your true life shall begin.  It will be cold, bright and scary, but your parents will love, nurture, and soothe you.  They will be your new home— they will provide you with all that you need to sustain your life.  Though, it is not safe for you to enter that world until you have used up every single big of space in this home.  Do you understand?”

‘Y-yes,’ Little One apprehensively answered Leilah, recalling a lesson from some time before.  She wasn’t sure if she was going to like this ‘New Home.’  The one that she was currently in was perfect and she loved it in here.  Why did that have to change?  Why did she have to keep growing?  What if she just … stopped.  Could she choose to stay in this perfect, warm, and cozy home forever?

“Stop thinking so hard, and you know the answer to that.” Leilah interrupted Little One’s thoughts.  “Everything grows, just as everything dies.  It is the circle of life.  One day, it will be you who grows a person inside of your body and then you will understand.”

Little One giggled and thought, ‘That’s so silly!’

Gestation Period: 29 Weeks

‘Leilah,’ Little One began; it was the first time she had ever addressed Angel Leilah by her name, and it made her squirm uncomfortably.

“Yes, dear?”

‘What is the point?  Why do you teach me all the knowledge of the world before I am born, only to distinguish it from my mind at birth?  It just … it seems … pointless.’

“Yes, I can see how you would see it that way, but I promise you, my child, there is a reason.  There is a reason for everything.  Do you remember our lesson about the tangible things in the world, like ‘paper’ and ‘pencils’, and things like ‘writing’?”

‘Yes, I think so.’

“If you write your feelings down on a piece of paper and then erase it, so that it is no longer visible to the naked eye, does that mean it is gone forever?  My child, the knowledge will always be within you, and as certain things in your life come to pass, you will get a glimmer of a feeling … as if a moment is familiar.  That is how you will know the path you are on is the right path for you at that time.  Just because I erase the memories of all your knowledge, that does not mean it is gone forever.”

‘Okay,’ Little One listened intently and agreed.

Gestation Period: 32 Weeks

As her time in the womb was growing shorter and shorter, Little One grew more nervous and anxious with each day that passed.  She could still hear voices on the outside, but the rumbling and gurgling coming from inside her mother drowned most everything out.  The space in her home was getting tighter and tighter— she could barely move at this point.  The walls around her home kept squeezing her for a moment, but they would relax almost immediately.

‘I’m not sure that I like that,’ Little One frowned.

“It is just your mother’s body practicing for your birth.  It is natural.  Now, we must focus, it is almost time.”

The squeezing got worse.  Instead of squeezing her for a few seconds here and there, it lasted for minutes and minutes.  Not only did the squeezing last longer, but it became harder and tighter.

Gestation Period: 35 Weeks and 6 days

“My dear child, it is time.” Leilah announced one night.

‘But … NO!’ Little One cried.  ‘I … I still have room, it- it can’t be time yet, I’m not ready!’

“No one is ever ready for change, but I fear our time is up.  It is indeed early, quite early actually, but it will all work out as it was meant to, just as I told you many months ago.”

Little One was frightened, because her entry into the world was not happening in the exact way Leilah had described.  Instead of being squeezed down by the walls of her home, where she would be pushed down, down, and eventually squeeze through a narrow canal to enter the world, a slit of light was breaking through the walls of her home.

‘What is happening, I am scared!’

“I will meet you on the other side, sweet girl, and all will be well.” Leilah assured Little One.

The slit grew bigger and bigger and creatures that looked too foreign to be human— they had bland, grey suits on, and masks over their faces, pulled Little One out.  They stuck something up each of her nostrils and then inside of her mouth, which made Little One gasp for air.

Little One opened her eyes and for the first time, she saw Leilah.  She was beautiful and glowing— radiating a brilliant light.

“Shhh,” Leilah comforted her, pressing her finger to Little One’s lips to calm her— and then she was gone.

Little One’s lungs filled with air and she cried.  She cried and she wailed.  She shrieked and she shrilled.  She wanted to tell these strange creatures, ‘Put me back!’

She was so scared, there were so many people, none that she recognized … until him.  She didn’t recognize him, but his voice; it was her father.  Peeta.  He walked over to where she was lying and looked down at her.  The moment she met his sparkling blue eyes— she knew she was home.

Little One gasped and paused her shrill crying to stare at the  man looking down at her.

“Hello Hope, I’m your daddy,” the beautiful, familiar-feeling, blue-eyed man spoke to Little One with tears in his eyes.  “Dylan Hope Mellark— that’s your name, beautiful girl.  Dylan was your grandpa’s name— your mommy’s daddy, but we both agreed it could work whether you were a boy or a girl.  But I think we’re just going to call you Hope.  Because that’s what you are to all of us.  Welcome to the world, Hope.”

Everything was scary for Hope.  Everything was bright, cold, and unfamiliar.  There were giant creatures poking, prodding, and tossing her around.  She was afraid they would drop her.

’Where did the man go?  The “Daddy,” I want to see him again.' Hope thought to herself as she cried and cried.  Nothing was familiar and she didn’t like it.  She wanted to go back inside her perfect home where it was dark and warm— and snug.  And … and there was someone in there with her, but who was it?  She couldn’t remember.  But she did know that she didn’t like all the lights, the giant creatures and all the strange noises.

“Katniss, Katniss sweetie, wake up.  They’re bringing her back.” Hope was feeling a little better now, someone had swaddled her in warm blankets, and she almost felt like she was back inside her perfect home.  She wiggled, turning her head in the direction of the familiar voice— the one she recognized from earlier.  It was the man.  The daddy.  Someone picked her up and she felt as if she was flying in the air.  She was frightened for a moment until she realized they were giving her to the daddy.

When the daddy held her in his arms, Hope did not question if he would drop her— unlike the others, he held her gently and she felt safe.  When she opened her eyes, everything was fuzzy.  Even still, she could make out the blue of his eyes and wondered if her eyes looked like his.  She hoped so.

“Do you want to hold her?” The daddy asked.

“I-is she okay?” A softer— timid voice asked and Hope immediately recognized it as the voice— although clearer, without the whooshing and gurgling sounds from her previous home— but it was, without a doubt, the same voice she heard from deep inside her perfect home.

“She’s perfect,” the daddy beamed, his eyes sparkling with tears.  The daddy gently passed Hope to the woman, and Hope prepared herself to feel that feeling again— that flying-in-the air— afraid-to-fall, feeling, but it did not happen.  The daddy slowly and gently placed Hope in the woman’s arms and scooted into the bed next to her.  Hope squirmed and gasped, filling her lungs with air as she prepared to cry— not wanting the daddy to let her go, but then she froze when a familiar scent wafted up her nostrils.

‘Hey, I know that smell!’ Hope thought, excited from the familiarity and opened her eyes again to meet the blurry face of the owner of her perfect home.  But— like with the daddy— the moment the mommy cradled her in her arms, Hope knew she was safe in her new home.

“Hello, my beautiful girl, I’m your mama.  It’s nice to finally meet you,” the woman— “Mama” said to Hope, her chin quivering and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“She’s so beautiful,” the mama turned her head to the daddy.  The daddy leaned over and stroked Hope’s cheek with his finger.  Hope liked the way his finger felt, and she relaxed a little more.

“Yes she is— just like her mother,” the daddy gleamed with pride, staring in awe at Hope.

“I can’t believe we made this beautiful girl,” the mommy said to the daddy with more tears in her eyes.

The daddy snuggled closer to the mommy, wrapping his arm around her and rested his chin on her shoulder, but not before kissing the mommy’s cheek.  “I love you Katniss.”

Hope let out a little wail and squirmed from side to side.

“Hey, hey,” the daddy said in a soft voice, “Of course, I love you too, my sweet girl.  The Hope that gave me hope.”

The mommy lifted Hope up, so that her head rested against the mommy’s chest.  Hope could feel a soft pounding against her cheek— and it was familiar.  So familiar.

Swaddled in her warm blankets, nestled safely in her mother’s arms and her father just inches away, Hope got a glimmer of a feeling— that she was exactly where she was meant to be.  In that instant she knew, that burrowed cozily between the mama and the daddy— she was home.

[imherongraystairstrash]

De-age Will Part II

I just realized I’m incapable of writing normal-sized fics ✌️

Part 1

(I just realized how weird the word “part” is lol)

...

Henry was walking past when he heard Charlotte’s voice speaking softly. He poked his head into the room and saw that she was reading a storybook, little Will pressed to the side of her body yawning tiredly and rubbing his eyes with his small fists. Henry leaned against the door and watched as Charlotte smiled while she read, not able to help keeping the same smile from spreading across his. 

Her voice was vibrant and fluctuating in tone as different characters spoke. Her eyes widened when she put extra empathizes on a word and whenever she turned a page, she would plant a kiss on Will’s forehead or cheek. She would also periodically rub his back or stroke his cheek, which never failed to make Will nuzzle closer to her, enough so that he rested his tiny fists on her abdomen. 

Henry’s heart yearned for Charlotte, so much so that each day he seemed to love her more and more. His Lottie. She may not love him the same way, but being able to call her his wife, to wake up every morning next to her, was the greatest blessing he could receive.

As he watched her reading to Will, it struck him how much he wanted a child. One with Charlotte. They had Jem, Jessamine, Will, Sophie and Thomas, but a baby would be different. A little child they could hold at night a fuss over and teach all sorts of things, like how to walk and talk. Henry knew, however he could never ask that of Charlotte, for she did not feel the same, and perhaps she didn’t share the same feelings over a child… Or, maybe she didn’t wish to bear his child. They could always adopt, but that would still require a certain level of affection towards each other, affection Charlotte didn’t hold for him. It would be easy for Charlotte to file for a divorce, if she wanted one, however, it got more complex once there was a child in the middle.

So, Henry just watched as Will’s eyes slowly closed and soon he was asleep against Charlotte’s shoulder. She kissed his forehead and gently tucked him into bed before following Henry out the door.

Henry cast a final look at little Will before closing the door behind him. 

Charlotte’s smile remained on her lips the entire walk back to their room. 

Henry wanted to put his arm around her, to hold her close as they walked through the empty institute halls. But, he loved her too dearly to ever do such a thing as make her uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and Charlotte looked up.

“You were wonderful with Will.” he said, blushing.

She blushed too as she replied. “I didn’t know how much I adored children until I had to take care of one.”

“I feel the same way.”

She glanced up at him, surprised. He looked down at her, tilting his head to the side.

Charlotte turned a dark shade of crimson as she spoke again.

“Do you wish to have a ch—” she cleared her throat. “A child?”

Now it was Henry’s turn to blush. “I guess I would, if you want one too.”

Charlotte looked up at him in wonder. “You would want a child?”

“A child with you, Lottie, would be a blessing.”

She turned her head in an attempt to hide her smile, but Henry already saw it.

“Likewise.” She whispered.

They reached their room and Henry opened the door to let her in. As she walked inside, Henry couldn’t help but think that sometimes, it felt as though Charlotte truly loved him.

She turned on her heels. “Do you want to try tonight?” she asked quietly.

“Try what?” Henry asked.

“To…Oh, never mind.” She said, clearly embarrassed.

“What is it Lottie?” Henry said, eyebrows furrowed worriedly. “What did you want to try?”

Charlotte looked at him, took a deep breath and spoke quickly: “To conceive a child.”

Henry was appalled and must have looked it, too, for Charlotte appeared to be horrified.

“Henry, no, I was—”

Henry crossed to the room and held her small hands in his. 

“Of course. Of course I want to.” He whispered. 

Charlotte looked up at him in wonder, a piece of hair escaping from where it was tied back. Henry took out the pins that held it into place. Her hair cascaded down to her shoulders, framing her lovely face.

“You’re beautiful.” Henry whispered. “Lovely Lottie, my angel from heaven.” 

Her lips pressed against his and for a moment, they seemed to forget. Forget that they thought the other didn’t love them, because that moment, and what was to follow, was nothing short of glorious.

… 

The next morning, Jem woke up to find a pair of dark blue eyes hovering over him. He yelled. Will put his small hands on Jem’s face and stared intently into his face. 

“Good morning, Will.” Jem said gruffly.

Will giggled and put his arms around Jem’s neck. Jem’s head fell back on his pillows and he closed his eyes, still very tired from tossing and turning all night, worried for his parabatai and the fading rune. It’s not that Jem needed the bond; Will would always be his other half, as though, before they came into this world, their souls made a pact that they would keep a part of the other, so that they would have find each other again in the mess of the earth, to give back what belonged to the other. But, Jem couldn’t imagine never getting to see Will as an adolescent ever again. Will was still Will, but Jem couldn’t lay beside him at night and speak of his worries. His Will was like his twin brother, not a little child. 

Jem sighed. This was too strange. He put an arm around Will and let him rest on his collarbone until Charlotte came inside.

“Oh, there he is, that little minx. He got away from me.”

Jem sat up and held Will out to Charlotte, but Will didn’t seem to want to be parted from Jem just yet, and made a fuss over the whole exchange until he was back in Jem’s arms.

“He’s much more spoiled, as a baby.” Jem said, regarding Will, who was smiling wide and embracing Jem furiously. For a toddler, he had a surprising strong grip.

“Yes, well.” Charlotte said. “I suggest you get dressed, Jem darling. Ragnor has agreed to come.”

“He has?” Jem asked, appalled.

“Yes, though he made it very clear that his schedule was busy and that he couldn’t stay for long.”

“In that case…Will,” he said, turning to the boy.  “Why don’t you go with Charlotte? I’ll be right down.” 

Will looked sad, but acquiesced, stretching his hands out to Charlotte. She took him in her arms.

“We’ll be downstairs.” She said, closing the door behind her.

Jem sighed and slowly got out of his pajamas and dressed in day’s clothes, trying (and failing) to not think too hard about Will. 

…

What entailed after Ragnor arrived at the Institute was simple. He deemed that Will would be fine and that the spell was temporary. Should Will not be back to normal in three days time, they could message Magnus Bane, who was not nearly as busy as Ragnor was.

“You’d think he’s the emperor.” Sophie said to Jem, “With how busy he is all the time.”

“I really wish he would just say he doesn’t enjoy our company.” Jem said. “It would require so much less effort.”

“I suppose he is being diplomatic.” Sophie said with a shrug. Will ran up to her and hugged her legs. “Oh,” Sophie said to Will. “What do you want, then?”

He put his fist up and Sophie held her hand out. Will dropped a piece of yarn into her palm and ran away.

“Why does he keep giving me these things?” Sophie asked, holding the yarn out in front of her.

Jem shrugged. 

…

Charlotte cursed in her head. Why is it that everybody feels the urge to pay the institute a visit when it’s the least convenient to her? 

“Mr. Lightwood!” She said pleasantly, as he came in. “What a surprise to see you here; we weren’t expecting you.”

“Let us skip the pleasantries, Charlotte, I have business to discuss with your husband and yourself.”

He walked past her and strode to the direction of the institute study.

…

Jem watched as Charlotte and Mr. Lightwood walked up the stairs and Sophie sped away to fetch Henry. Will was standing next to him and Jem didn’t know whether to hide him, or just pretend like it was normal to have a small replica of Will at his side. He decided that the latter might lead to questions he couldn’t answer, so he nudged Will towards the direction of the kitchen, where hopefully Agatha would keep an eye on him. 

Jem then watched as Gabriel strode over to him and, when he came to a stop, Jem couldn’t help but notice a bruise on Gabriel’s cheekbone. He must have been staring because Gabriel scowled and cleared his throat just as he was going to inquire about it. 

“Where’s the other idiot to your duo, then?” Gabriel asked. 

“He’s…out.” Said Jem.

“Out?”

“Yes, he’s having an…erm…episode?”

“Why am I not surprised?” said Gabriel dryly.

“Don’t say something you’ll regret, Gabriel.” Said Jem, darkly.

Gabriel side-eyed him. “What are you going to do? What with your debilitating sickness, I would assume—”

Miniature Will, like his older counterpart, seemed to know the exact worst timing to appear.

He ran at Gabriel and hit his leg with a spoon. Gabriel’s face softened but then quickly hardened into a grimace. Jem couldn’t help but wonder if Gabriel was fond of children and was trying to hide it.

“Who is this brat?” He spat. “By the Angel, the poor child looks like Herondale. How unfortunate for him.”

Jem stopped breathing as Gabriel took a closer look.

“Actually, he looks exactly like Herondale. The resemblance is quite uncanny.” Gabriel stopped and then a delighted smile stretched across his face. “Wait a moment. Is this Herondale’s bastard?”

“No!” Jem said, picking up Will—who was still attacking Gabriel with his spoon— and shoving him behind a door. Jem knew Gabriel wasn’t going to be so easily fooled by the Cartwright story so he improvised the best he could. “He’s Will’s cousin. His…sister brought him here.”

“His cousin?”

“Yes. And as a matter a fact, he is very territorial and doesn’t like meeting new people, so I suggest you leave.” 

Gabriel scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. “His sister brought him here?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, how I pity that sister.” Gabriel said. “Imagine Herondale being your brother. And the poor fool who marries her. What if the children look like William? Oh Lord, now that would be a curse.” Gabriel shuddered. 

Jem was about to say something when Benedict Lightwood and Charlotte came back.

“Get in the carriage.” Benedict snapped at his son. “We’re leaving.”

Gabriel’s shoulders hunched ever so slightly as he trailed behind his father without so much as a wave goodbye to Jem. Hopefully, Gabriel was too preoccupied with his life to further inquire about this the next time they met.

Just as the Lightwoods were leaving, Will (somehow) managed to open the door and began chasing after them. Charlotte had barely managed to grab the collar of his shirt to keep him from running off. 

Benedict Lightwood must have heard the commotion and turned around. Jem tried to move in front of Will in an attempt to cover him up, but Benedict had already seen.

“Why is it that every time I come here, there’s more children? You’d think they’d created a cloning machine and activate it every time they realize their current children are failures.” He grumbled to himself.

Once he walked out, Thomas shut the heavy door closed with an air of finality and, everybody’s ramrod straight backs, relaxed.

Charlotte whirled around to face Will. “You better turn back into your old self again before you get us into any more trouble, do you understand me, young man?”

Will blinked at her. 

Charlotte sighed and turned around, perhaps too stressed to deal with this problem at the moment. Henry walked in and Charlotte pointed to Will.

“Jem, why don’t you take Will to the park or something. Benedict came in to give Henry and I a lot of work to do and it should take all morning.”

Jem nodded and held his finger out for Will to grab. The smaller boy gleefully wrapped his hand around his parabatai’s index finger. 

…

Will’s eyes darkened. “Duck.” he spat out.

Jem looked at the ducks that were standing idly by the pond. “Will, they’re not going to do anything.”

Will still looked mutinous. 

Jem sighed. Why couldn’t Will be like normal children, who could stare at ducks for hours on end? Better question yet: How is it that Will’s hatred for ducks ran so deep that even as a child, he despised them?

“Come here, Will. How about we sit down?” Jem crossed his legs and Will followed suit.

Jem had brought a biscuit for Will, and gave it to him while he stared out at the landscape in front of them. 

Jem sensed that there was something strange in the atmosphere, and it wasn’t London’s normal, filthy, city air. It was like the calm before the storm; something was brewing and it was about to explode. 

Before Jem could order further, a duck suddenly came from behind them and quacked before Jem could stop it. Will screamed and ran away, which caused the duck to chase after him. 

“Why do these sort of things always happen to me?” Jem grumbled, chasing after Will and the duck.

.....

Tagging some people who enjoyed the last part:

@autumnangel20 @heronstairs2014 @hitheresomeoneusingthus @itsdaughterofthemoon @carstairstessa @minaxcarstairs 

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 10

thank you all for your patience. these updates will probably because fortnightly rather than weekly since im swamped with uni work now, but i still love my boys dearly and i love YOU all for reading!

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @ghostcomit @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley (please ask to be added or removed!

CW: pet whumpee, hospitals, dehumanisation, burning

-

It would have been a great mercy for Rowe to drift slowly awake, pulled towards lucidity by his aching legs. Instead, in an instant he was wide awake and screaming as unfamiliar hands touched and gripped and pulled. Rowe weakly pushed them away before he realised what was going on. How could I- I was trained to never resist. How can this happen? What is wrong with me?

‘’See how far non-compliance gets you,’’ came a voice. Rowe squinted against the light to see two people in elbow-length gloves, with masks and cold eyes looking back at him. One of them- the taller of the two- reached to either side of him to click open what looked like handcuffs. ‘’In. If you don’t make a fuss I won’t clip your legs. You wouldn’t want that with the state they’re in, would you?’’

Rowe shook his head desperately. He could barely listen through the terrible pain, but he was programmed to understand commands, and had learned to understand threats. The tall one gave a little grunt and spread Rowe’s arms wide, locking them in place on either side of the thin mattress he was laying on. Rowe vaguely considered that Master Tomas had given him an especially nice mattress at home.

His bed at home. His room. The nice carpet soaked with his blood while he lay there, helpless, Kasia swinging the hammer down again and again, and Rowe able to feel his hatred with every impact. Master had found him, Rowe remembered. He had taken him here. Was he being put down?

He felt something trickling down his temples. Tears. When did I start crying?

He shook his head, trying to push all these questions out of his head. Pets don’t cry. I don’t cry- I shouldn’t cry. I’m just a thing that feels pain and serves. I can lie here and take this. Master left me here; this is what he wants.

‘’Right…’’ The tall one said. Rowe blinked quickly and saw her inspecting his wounds. ‘‘When did you get these?’’

‘’Th-this afternoon, I-‘’

Rowe’s voice died away when he saw the look she was giving the short doctor, who bent to grab something from the compartment strapped to the end of the bedframe.

‘’Oh dear. I don’t remember you having permission to speak. Muzzle, if you please, Dr Clerval.’’

The shorter doctor- Clerval- handed it to her and Rowe went limp reflexively. This muzzle looked sharp, and cruel, and as the taller doctor fastened it to Rowe’s face he felt it cut into the skin around his ears and the corners of his mouth. The bit was cold, keeping his tongue pinned down.  

‘’Now,’’ she said, ‘’you’re going to be a good Pet, aren’t you? We’re doing you a kindness, after all.’’

Rowe nodded, lowering his eyes. The tall doctor smiled, and Rowe saw her push some sort of sharp instrument into him, and then he started screaming.

-

The woman who had summoned Tomas introduced herself as Gwen. Her Mary Janes echoed through the corridor as they spoke.

‘’Can I see him?’’

‘’Your Pet? I’m sorry, sir, he won’t be out for a while.’’

‘’Then… what did you want me for?’’

‘’We actually had a few issues with your paperwork and just need a few signatures off you, if you don’t mind. Right in here, please.’’

They entered a warm office and Gwen gestured for Tomas to sit in a plush, deep buttoned chair.  

‘’Okay. I have here your Pet’s file, but it seems you’re not the official owner.’’

‘’Huh?’’

‘’When you received your Pet, did you sign any paperwork?’’

‘’No… I didn’t.’’

‘’Well, your P-‘’

‘’His name is Rowe. Sorry- for interrupting, but he has a name. If that’s easier.’’

Gwen gave him the gentle smile of a vet explaining to a child why their sweet pet had to be put down. ‘’Of course, Mr Grz- may I call you Tomas? Great. Currently Rowe is listed as unclaimed, under the legal ownership of a Pet rehoming organisation. Is this where you got him from?’’

‘’Yeah. I have a friend who works there.’’

‘’I see. Well your friend has forgotten to give you the appropriate paperwork. What this means is that Rowe is not officially your property yet- you can’t take people to court if they damage or steal him.’’

‘’Right. Shit. How do I get this paperwork?’’

‘’I have it here, since you need to be the legal owner to submit him for medical treatment. This will establish that you are Rowe’s acting owner, but you need to get your friend to sign too, okay?��’

Gwen handed Tomas a single sheet of paper and a pen. So simple, Tomas thought. One bit of A4 for the right to Rowe’s life.

‘’Thank you,’’ he said as he signed, printing his name below it in his delicate script. 

‘’Great,’’ beamed Gwen. ‘’And now we can discuss your payment.’’

‘’Payment? Isn’t this… isn’t this on the NHS?’’

‘’No,’’ she said patiently, ‘’just as animals aren’t covered, neither are Pets.’’

Tomas’s goodwill towards Gwen was dissipating quickly. He would pay, of course. But for Rowe- his Rowe- to be considered closer to an animal than a human made him stiffen. Gwen seemed to notice this and pressed on.

‘’Oh, but don’t worry, it’s not going to be expensive. Pet treatment is far simpler than treating a human.’’

Gwen didn’t elaborate, and Tomas didn’t enquire, if only to preserve his own sanity. The floor, he noticed, was the same shade of cream as Rowe’s room. He looked away quickly. He could still smell the blood- could still hear the way Rowe had screamed and moaned when he lifted him up. Tomas didn’t even know how conscious he had been then. Did he think Tomas was hurting him more on purpose? Would he think Tomas was angry? Probably. Tomas would have to be very, very patient when Rowe was discharged and started begging for forgiveness for wasting his Master’s time.

-

The muzzle only hurt when Rowe shifted, now. It had sunk into his flesh and stayed there, and Rowe could ignore the pain up until a movement made it flare. In a way, he was happy that he couldn’t speak- he always made things worse by speaking, and although he did his best to make Master Tomas happy, he sometimes wished he would be granted a muzzle and the safety of silence.

He had stopped screaming, mostly. The bit had sliced his tongue so badly he wondered if he would even be able to speak once it was taken off. As Dr Clerval and the other doctor, whose name was Easton, dug into his calves, he just moaned and spasmed involuntarily. His chest, still brightly lined with Kasia’s cuts, strained and lifted with every new jolt of pain.

The pain was awful- acute pain- different to the wide, messy whacks of the hammer. Rowe could feel every stab of the instrument, a million precise cuts, sinking into his skin and then leaving just as quickly. He hoped he wouldn’t throw up. He tried to focus on the fact that he wasn’t being put down, at least.

He had never been to hospital before. When his old master had whipped him, or poured boiling water on him, or beaten him unconscious, he had always had the night to recover and then it was back to work. If he couldn’t do that, he was given the morning off and forced to sleep outside for the next week as penance. He was always so grateful when old master allowed him that.

Anaesthetic wasn’t wasted on Pets, Rowe knew that. Master Tomas knew that too, undoubtedly. Don’t worry sir, no need to punish your Pet yourself. After all, you’ve already wasted enough time on it. We’ll make sure it suffers so it knows not to bother you again.

More stabbings in his legs. It felt like he was being stitched up. That made sense, at least. Rowe’s old master was kind, far kinder than Rowe deserved, and would always tell him why he was being hurt. He felt the same amount of comfort here. He was being hurt for a reason. Kasia’s beating had been made all the more unbearable because he hadn’t cited any insolence, any misstep. He had barely said anything at all.

On either side of him were dark green curtains, but beyond them he could hear screams, and wails. He wondered how many injured Pets were in here with him, just out of sight. He had never met another Pet before.

Another jolt of pain brought him back to the present. Dr Easton was looming over him with a- a- Rowe’s head went dizzy with fear. Dr Easton had a thick metal rod in one gloved hand, and the end was white-hot and smouldering. She held it near Rowe’s face and he pulled away as far as he could against his restraints, the whites of his eyes glinting in the sterile light. He could tell that underneath her mask was a wicked smile.

‘’We’ve got one or two pesky wounds that might get infected. But we’ll see to that. Do you know what cauterisation is?’’

Rowe nodded, and this seemed to be the right answer, because the rod was taken away from his face. Before he could relax, though, Easton pressed the burning end into Rowe’s calf.

His eyes rolled into his head as he bucked and thrashed, his screams mixed with desperate, anguished sobs. His thoughts were running wild with helpless pleas- not this not this not this, I’ll do anything to make the pain stop, please Master I’m so sorry, please I’ll do anything, just not this, not this.

It didn’t calm down when the rod lifted from his leg, after the longest few seconds of Rowe’s life. No sooner had he even registered the change was the pain was transferred to another wound, further up the same leg. He felt like a wild animal, screaming in a way he had never screamed before, guttural and horribly altered due to the muzzle. Rowe didn’t even recognise the sounds. The pain was worse, so much worse than the boiling water or the whip, he couldn’t even form coherent thoughts anymore, he couldn’t see, everything he knew in that moment was pure, awful pain.

Eventually, the cauterisation was done. Rowe felt exhausted, and more than anything, he felt scared. He missed Master Tomas so, so badly. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, he dreamed of being back in Master’s living room. His legs worked, and he wasn’t damaged goods. He was pretty. He was a good Pet and Master ruffled his hair. Good boy.

Master never said that to him. He told him he was good, but no more. He had ruffled Rowe’s hair, and hugged him once when he was drunk, but he never ordered Rowe to kneel at his feet and let himself be pet. For all that he was terrified of his old master, Rowe cherished the days where he was good and allowed to lay his head on old master’s thigh and feel his rough hands card through his hair.

Rowe knew it was still early- he hadn’t been Master Tomas’s property for even a fortnight yet- but he couldn’t help wondering sometimes what he was doing wrong. He fucked up so much, but Master never got mad, and told him he was good, but never went further than that.

But right now, in the space between awake and asleep, Rowe indulged in his most gentle fantasy. He felt Master stroke his hair, a million miles away from the blood-stained mattress and his calves wrinkled with stitches like seaweed on the ocean floor.  

[talas-starlight]

Killing me softly - Sokka x reader

SUMMARY: Having only heard good things about Sokka, you always wanted to see how great he is for yourself. When you finally get the opportunity, you struggle to find him as funny as everyone said.  

This is based off the song killing me softly by the fugees which you can listen to: here! or there is a version by zhavia: here!

I strongly suggest you listen to the song because I think the whole vibe you get from it will get you in the mindset for this (and hopefully distract you from how poorly this was executed AHAH)

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

WARNINGS: angsty vibes. tried to have a hopeful ending but idk if it worked lol. poor writing skills.

A/N: ahA I really couldn’t get this idea out of my head so here we are! most certainly did not do this concept/ song fic justice to the way I imagined it but lol this shit low key hurted my feelings but also tried to turn it around? Idk I think this is okay?

KEY: words in-between dividers = lyrics MY MASTERLIST: here!

I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style And so I came to see him, to listen for a while And there he was, this young boy, a stranger to my eyes

You knew nothing and everything about him all at the same time. Hakoda allowed you to join them as they recruited people across the nations to prepare for invasion day. In doing so, you unknowingly signed a non-verbal contract to hear all the stories and jokes about his son, Sokka. Of course, he spoke highly of his daughter, but there was an unrelenting sense of pride and joy that came with hearing about him.

“You’ll really enjoy speaking with him y/n. He can take any dull or sad moment and turn it into something that will make you laugh beyond your years. He’s been through so much, but he’s become the warrior I knew he was always destined to be.”

It was impossible not to want to meet him. You wanted to hear the stories in the flesh as he became the light in the darkness of this war.

Yet when he finally boarded the ship with his friends after Ba Sing Se, that’s all he became, a story. As a mechanic and strategist, your time was booked to the brim, building upon the plans Sokka created himself. Somehow, you managed to have interactions with Katara and Toph, even Momo, but being in the same room as Sokka? Impossible. You weren’t avoiding him by any means, and neither was he, it just seemed that even when confined to the space of a ship your duties dragged both of you into different directions…. Until now.

Finally having time to relax as you finished reviewing a draft for one segment of the invasion, you made your way mess hall in a desperate search to consume any food you could get your hands on. Walking in, Toph perked up at feeling your presence when entering the room. Considering you were always busy when working on something and she was not too chatty, you got along well with minimal conversations and comfortable silence.

You grab a bowl, filling it to the brim with fresh soup and sat at their table across from her. Feeling content as you feel the soups warm and wholesome scent fill your senses, you glance around to see who else is sitting at the table. Eyes zeroing in on Sokka’s frame at the other end of the table, your breath instantly hitches. Suddenly your face feels as warm as your soup, and you want to kick yourself for letting yourself be so affected just by your incredibly short glance at him. Shifting your focus back to your soup you make the painfully obvious decision to focus all of your attention towards it, only listening to their interactions around you. You reminded yourself that you didn’t truly know him, only what everyone else has told you. You knew better than to let yourself become a total fool for the Watertribe boy without having any proper interactions with him. Hence, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t at the edge of your seat in anticipation to see Sokka joke around and tell stories with your friends. After all, that is what you were told about from the moment you met his father.

Strumming my pain with his fingers (one time, one time) Singing my life with his words (two times, two times) Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song

The excitement quickly dissipated when he began to dive into this evenings’ jokes and anecdotes.

“Guys! You wouldn’t believe it!! I was exploring the ship after training today, and I found all of these Fire Nation scrolls about their art and folktales in one of the rooms, and let me tell you, it’s a load of shit!”

As everyone laughed, you momentarily stopped breathing. Your entire being began to fold into itself, terrified at the prospect of him taking all of the things you favoured about your childhood and rip them to pieces.

Katara attempted to see the light in his statement. “Come on Sokka it can’t be that bad! I mean even the Watertribe has some questionable stories, I remember even the one Gran Gran told was a bit-“

“No, Katara! This is by far soooo much suckier than those stories. Okay, so there’s this one about dragons right? What happens is that there’s this Dragon Emperor who becomes bound to a mortal’s body by a Dark Water Spirit. So obviously! I was expecting this super cool battle or revenge plot, but in the end, they turned it into this lame love story where the Dragon Emperor falls in love with a mortal who turns out to be the Dragon Empress!”

“Aw I think that’s sweet! I mean surely there would have been a battle with the Dark Water Spirit so it wouldn’t have been a total loss?”

“Ugh, Katara! You don’t get it! It's just… sooooo oogie! They shouldn’t have done that. It should have been a story about battle, and warriors! I mean come on, that’s all the Fire Nation is good for right? Destruction and battle. So why did they have to ruin that story like that with all of that lovey stuff?! It just seems like nothing good can ever come out of the Fire Nation.”

Taking another mouthful of the soup, you kept your face downward as everyone laughed at Sokka’s exclamation of hatred for the nation you grew up in. No one knew where you grew up there except Hakoda, and you liked it that way. In complete fairness to you, it wasn’t your entire identity since your mother was from the Earth Kingdom, and you only spent the first seven years of your life there. But that didn’t mean it hurt any less when he tore apart the only things you dearly loved as a child.

Toph sensing your discomfort as you didn’t join in their amusement, she swiftly diverted the conversation into a new direction. While you were grateful, the thought of being in his presence any longer made you want to cry. It clearly didn’t work either as he continued to joke around about the food and other small things he picked up about the nation throughout their journey. Silently finishing up, you didn’t say a word or even give a half-hearted smile as they all laughed. Placing your bowl in the sink, you headed straight to your room.

The actions made everyone at the table confused, yet no one spoke out about it. Afterall, no one really knew you personally, nor did they understand what caused you to cut your interaction with them so short. Sokka himself became particularly curious. Afterall just like you, he heard many great things about you from his father, admiring your kindness and work ethic from afar. So, to say he wasn’t hurt that you chose not to stay longer or even crack a genuine smile, would be a lie.

Making it to your room, you took out any piece of paper or a scroll you used for your plans and began to pour out your pain onto to pages until you passed out from exhaustion. Not caring what contents were on the other side, you allowed yourself to be unfiltered.

You knew Sokka didn’t mean any harm; everyone laughed. He became the light you oh so desired to witness for yourself. Deep down, you knew you would have laughed too if it weren’t for the fact that he took the few happy memories you had with your father and set it on fire. A fire that produced the light you wished to see… but it seemed it wasn’t in the right way you hoped for.

I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd I felt he'd found my letters and read each one out loud I prayed that he would finish, but he just kept right on

You sighed as you finally finished fixing the pipes in the lower decks of the ship, once again tired and done with today’s work, you went to the mess hall for a late dinner.

“Hey Hakoda, I finished the plumbing problem so no one on the second floor should have any troubles now.”

“Thanks, y/n! You really are such a valuable person in this team. You’re always making sure everything is up and running.”

“Of course! What would you do without me? After all, let’s not forget how I spend my free time with your invasion plans.” You joked.

Turning your back to him to scoop some food onto your plate, he spoke up from behind you. “Oh right! That reminds me, I mentioned your ideas to Sokka earlier, and he seemed to really like them! But Sokka being Sokka, he got so excited over them and asked so many questions I didn’t even know how to respond. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know he’s probably at your desk analysing all of your scrolls right now. That kid never seems to be able to contain his excitement.”

“Yeah, that’s oka-“abruptly, you dropped your plate as your brain processed the information. If he was looking at your plans, then that meant……

Not even giving the Watertribe chief another glace or end to your response, you ran. Taking the fastest route to your room, everything in your mind and your surroundings became blurred, and you became hyper-focused on the fact that Sokka probably found what you wrote about him. Desperately trying not to cry as you bumped into people in the hallways, you couldn’t think of anything worse to happen in this very moment. The very idea of him knowing how you felt about him as well as how his words affected you made you want to scream. Maybe if you got there in time, he wouldn’t have read enough to understand your feelings fully. But when you bust through your door, it was too late. Sokka stood near your desk, with all the scrolls you ever wrote on scattered around the room. Some lay on your bed, the floor, across the desk, and even one in his hands.

“M- my dad said that you had a lot of perfect ideas for the invasion. B- but I- I found… I never thought…” His eyes never met yours as he continued to read the current scroll in his hands.

You slowly approached him, not caring as you walked over every word you wrote on the floor. “Sokka…” You silently begged him to stop reading, unsure of its contents.

He kept reading clearly in shock at the words before him, “why didn’t you s-say something?”

You sighed, somewhat unsure of how to approach the situation. “It’s not my place –“

He threw the scroll to the ground, finally looking up at you with bloodshot eyes as tears streamed down his face. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S NOT YOUR PLACE Y/N! It is your place! You had… no, you HAVE every right to say something! You sat there that night as I picked away at every single thing you ever loved, and you didn’t say a thing! Why would you let me do that to you!” Sobs wracked his body, falling to his knees in front of you. Torn apart on the inside about how much he hurt you. He never wanted this to happen, not just because of his small crush on you- that didn’t matter at this very moment. The very idea that he hurt someone who was so kind and selfless as a person, ruined him.

Beginning to feel immensely guilty for his current state, you knelt down to his level. Placing your hands to his wrists, you gently moved his hands away from his face. “Sokka… hey, Sokka look at me…”

As he looked at you, you struggled to keep your composure as tears began to fill your own eyes.

“It’s okay. What you said hurt, I don’t need to explain that for you to know it. Even though it felt like a small dig into who I am as a person and what I grew up to love, it’s true. What the Fire Nation did, what they are doing is awful, but I can’t speak up to defend them. I am in many ways apart of them. I grew up there, I celebrated their holidays, cooked and ate their food, and read their folktales. As much as I hate what the words ‘Fire Nation’ symbolises to the rest of the world, to you, it’s a part of who I am. No one can take that away from me, not even myself. Despite how much it hurt me, I can’t get mad at you or anyone because your feelings, and everything you said, is valid.” Moving his arms out of your grasp, he wrapped himself around you, holding you close to his chest.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to hear that, you’re amazing y/n. You deserve to be treated with the kindness and love you give to everyone on this ship. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m going to be better, I promise. I promise.” Overcome with emotion, the tears you tried so hard to hold back burst at his words.

Strumming my pain with his fingers (one time, one time) Singing my life with his words (two times, two times) Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song

Neither you nor Sokka bothered to move from your intertwined embrace on the floor of your room. You were both a sobbing, crying mess. The pain from both of you suffocated the air around you as you cling onto one another for forgiveness.

Forgiveness for being from the very place that caused him so much pain.

Forgiveness for being unable to embrace so much of who you are.

The pain was unrelenting as he weaved his fingers through your hair, shifting so your noses’ and foreheads against one another as he whispered words begging for forgiveness. Wishing, praying, to the Spirits he could take it all away. Sokka’s heart burns from the raging pain that has awoken inside of him. He doesn’t stop running his fingers through your hair almost as if he can stroke away the broken pieces inside of you, looking for new ones underneath so he can start again. Because despite his resentment for where you came from, he knows that to him, you are like a divine angel. You both have your own complex and conflicting backgrounds of life, but he has a desperate desire to care for you in a way he will never be able to explain.

You wanted to lie to him. Say it didn’t hurt, say you could forget. You could do it easily, but you wouldn’t. Knowing you both suffered enough, you didn’t want to do something that could potentially cause each other more pain. This was enough. As you both continued to cry, holding one another with his hands still in your hair, you leant back slightly, bringing a shaky, tender hand to his cheek.

Looking up into his eyes, it’s awfully evident how much pain swims in his beautiful shades of blue. Yet, there seems to be an unspoken understanding as you see a small glimmer behind all the tears. The light you have been yearning for. He sees it in your eyes too. Neither of you can change or take back what’s already been said, but in this very moment there’s hope. You know you can move forward and heal together.

“We’re going to be okay.”

A/N: hi friends!! I hope you liked this one 😊

TO THE TAGLIST: hi all! i was a bit torn on what to do here because i wasn’t sure if you all only wanted to be tagged in my zuko series or my other works as well?? so im so sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged in this so please just let me know if you’d only like to be on the list for the series, zuko, sokka or other characters in general :)

TAGLIST: @slythergirlimagines​​ @mangoberry43​​ @eridanuswave​​ @whiskeywinter89​​​ @kaylove12​​ @simplyfandomish​​ @khaleesi-of-assassins​ @callums-keith​ @ilovespideyyy​ @calciumcow​ @blackhood5sos​ @nnon-it-up​

[3elphie]

let go ; oikawa tooru

→ pairing: oikawa x reader

→ summary: you are tired of oikawa’s bullshit

→ genre: angst!!! and fluff if you close your eyes shut

→ for more of my works click here!

→ author’s note: OUCHIE this was lowk for his bday ngl... but i am posting oikawa fluff on his bday so do not worry my loves! and by the way the slanted words in the beginning are flashbacks :0

what you felt right now bothered you immensely.

you regretted holding on to him. sure, you and oikawa had good moments in your relationship, teeth rotting moments. those are what kept you going. ever since december, you’ve been in and out of arguments. it goes three ways,

1. he pretends it doesn’t happen, and completely ignores the problem. that’s his way of fixing the problem.

you missed school. took a break for a day. you didn’t want to see him after the huge argument you had yesterday you were tired of fixing. 

you get a text from oikawa after school had ended.

babyboy : why weren’t you at school today?

you : ... i was sick.

babyboy : awh, i’ll come over with food and medicine. wait for me, okay?

you : thanks babe, i love you so much.

you were a bit disappointed he didn’t address the problem. but, at least you didn’t have to cry about the argument. it was ‘fixed’.

2. you pretend you were at fault for the argument. you really weren’t, but you knew his pride was too big. your way of fixing the problem.

“why were you hanging out with iwaizumi so much during lunch?” oikawa says, clearly annoyed. 

“we always play volleyball at the court, but today i couldn’t find you.” he sighs.

“it was his birthday today, oikawa.” you were confused, if anything oikawa should be spending the day with iwaizumi.

“that’s not an excuse, are you just a little whore who wants both me and iwaizumi? gosh.” your eyes open at the words, you jumped a bit at his tone.

you sigh, “sorry baby, i didn’t mean to. i won’t do it again.”

“good.” he goes back to studying the volleyball match.

3. you don’t fix the problem. that’s the position you were in right now.

“why does it seem like you don’t love me anymore.” oikawa says, in the middle of the night. you knew you had it coming. oikawa had been silent, leading to you doing the same.

“you barely contribute to the conversations we have, and fawn over anime boys. you know i can’t be like them right?” he let it out. you laughed in your head, he’s blaming me. ‘ah shit, here we go again’ you thought in your head.

“oikawa, i never knew you felt like that. why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you were being hypocritical. you should’ve told him you’ve been feeling like this for the past five months.

“i’ve given you so much chances,” you are amused by the words coming out of his mouth. in reality, you were the one who gave him the chances. all the terrible things he did to you, you concealed for the sake of you both.

“i’m so sorry, i’ve treated you so badly. i don’t deserve you.” you say the words you desperately wish he could’ve said to you, but never did. 

“i’m so tired of you.” oikawa sighed and left, without saying goodbye. you finally let out a bitter smile. was he the one stayin up all night waiting for a message from you? no, you did that. was he the one who asked you to come over? no, you did that. you thought your eyebags and puffy eyes showed you’d had enough of his bullshit.

it all feels numb. doesn’t hurt anymore. the tears that fell out your eyes were just drops of water that had no purpose.

you wanted this to last so bad, so fucking bad. he gave you all your happiness, and you loved him oh so dearly. could you say the same for him though? no, you couldn’t. 

going into the relationship, you were ecstatic. you didn’t think you were very pretty, to say the least. he’d be better off with one of your other friends. but, he choose you.

he says he’s so tired of it, so why hasn’t he broken it up yet? he’s just waiting there, thinking you’ll send him another message he can leave on read just like he did to the 8 messages you sent this morning. damn that big ego’d king. he was a king, and you were his slave. you gave him love as if you were giving him gold. he stated would split the gold with you. no fake gold.

but that was a lie. all just fucking lies. you knew you loved him more he did you. he most likely just came into the relationship because he felt lonely. but, you felt even lonelier in the relationship than you did out of it.

did you really waste all your time on him? you were disappointed in yourself. wasted all the times to speak your side of the story, just for the sake of the relationship. what a worthless effort you put in. now you’re stuck here. why did you have to pretend to be the bad guy. you should’ve knew, the fact you had to do that told the truth.

while you were doing all this thinking. what was he doing? who did he have lunch with? who did he spend all his time with even though you hadn’t broken up yet? not disappointed, you already see him flirting with another girl.

after days with this weight on your shoulders, weight that was not full of sadness, but a weight that told you you needed to fix this the only way it could be. you gather everything he gave you, with a box he gave you for your tenth anniversary. and you made a letter.

dear tooru oikawa,

           i love you so much, too much to let go. but after recent events, i think i need to let go. i’m glad you have someone else on your mind already, i really hope you’re happy without me. yes, i think you can tell i’m breaking up with you. such a cheesy way to do it, i know. i think you know how cheesy i can get.

           but, that’s not all. i have more things to say. i know it might be hard to process, because you can’t understand anything i say that makes you seem like the bad guy. i hurt too. you think i haven’t cried endlessly, every fucking night, just because of you. a scumbag like you. i’ve always had to pretend to be the bad guy, just to make this last. but my this, and your this is different. we were both bad guys oikawa. but what pains me the most, is not the fact that this is ending. it is the fact if you didn’t think you were so high and mighty, this could’ve worked. nonetheless, i hope it works out with her. by the way, never fucking speak to me again. thanks.

                                                                                                  love, f/n l/n.

in this box, you put his hoodie, shirt, cologne, and the half assed letters he gave you. with the letter taped to the top, like cherry on top of an ice cream sundae. 

you drive over to his house, knocking on his door. he opens it, with a shocked look on his face.

“what do you wan-” you stopped him from speaking, you didn’t want to hear him. 

“i have two things to say.” you take a deep breath,

“i love you,” he scoffs at your words.

“yeah righ-” you stop him again.

“and fuck you.” with that you gave him the box, and left him standing there, it felt so good, but so bad. he looked at you, driving away into the fog that clouded the area. he knew it was coming as well, but he didn’t think he would be the one left crying about it. you finally let go.

[igotyouniverse]

Breathe Me - Chapter 1 [nct vamp au]

Description: After dropping out of college and coming home for the first time in two years, 22-year-old Ava Lee gets caught up in a mystery surrounding the people she thought she knew for so long. Between friendship, affairs and true love the young women finds herself being pulled into a  nightmare she would never wake up from.

Pairing: Oc x Taeyong , Oc x Johnny [several side-pairing involving Mark, Ten, Lucas and Jaehyun.]

Included Members: Taeyong, Johnny, Mark, Lucas, Ten, Jaehyun, Doyoung, Haechan (maybe more)

Genre: Drama, Romance, Angst, Action, Fantasy

Warnings: none (this chapter)

suggestive content, strong language, violence, blood, death. probably more, not sure yet (later chapters)

a/n: Here it comes! After years of procrestination I finally managed to write the very first (very boring) chapter of my vampire au with nct! Anyway, the main drama will start in the next chapter so stay patient and bear this one with me. It took me long enough, haha. All the warnings will be for later chapters so don't start reading if u dont feel like reading stuff like that qq If someone wants to get tagged please send me a message, ask, comment or whatever qq

I really hope you guys enjoy it, it was a very heavy birth. ♥

ch.2 || ch. 3

                                                   †

The girl sighed deeply and took a look outside the small airplane window. She saw how the plane slowly drove into the prepared parking lot and felt how her level of anxiety rose with each second. Even though the flight was 18 hours long and her legs started to hurt she didn't want to stand up. Standing up meant for her to actually leave the plane, get her luggage and meet her family which would sooner or later lead to them asking all these questions. It wasn't like she didn't miss them.

She missed them very dearly. She missed the Sunday morning brunches with her neighbours, the movie nights where her dad would always pick out a movie because he'd pout if not, she even missed  her little brother Mark bursting into her room without knocking and asking her some totally stupid questions. She missed catching up with her best friend. She missed all these sleepovers when all they had to worry about was who the cutest boy at school was and what they'll do together once they were adults. She craved for all these past memories. The last time she set foot onto this ground was two years ago at her very first spring break after leaving home, moving to a town thousand of miles away, not knowing anyone.

She heard a beeping noise which indicated that the passengers could stand up and get out but she waited. All of them seemed in such a hurry to leave the plane, grabbing their belongings, everyone trying to get out first which ended in a crowded queue inside of the plane. She stretched her legs as much as possible, not making the slightest move to stand up.

Her eyes wandered back to the window, allowing her to take a glance at the sky, she wished to be into again. It was still quite bright outside, even though it was nearly evening, the sun nearly blinding her when she looked up, leading her to cover her eyes with her hand. The sunsets were so different in the States than here, in South Korea. Her eyes tried to focus on the slowly fading sun, leaving the sky in beautiful pinks and oranges with just a hint of soft white clouds.

Her mind started to spin, thinking about all the things she had to explain to her family sooner or later. But for now she needed to stay positive and hide the fact that she – the oh-so-perfect – student managed to drop out of a university, her parents nearly went insolvent to pay for to allow their daughter to get the best medical education they could think of. At the beginning the girl actually thought that it was her biggest dream to become a famous surgeon but after a short while she had to face the ugly truth that the job she so desperately wanted to do as long as she could remember just wasn't her thing.

She tried so badly to keep on and thought that it's just a phase every young adult went through when they started university but every time she talked to her friends at university she saw that that wasn't exactly the case. Everyone was so focused and motivated to become a successful doctor or surgeon they underwent the torture of endless sleepless nights, insane pressure and the feeling of not being able to even cut an onion correctly, which the professor didn't even care to make better. Every day she got told that she would never be able to work in the medical field and could try herself with some more basic and easy studies. It didn't matter how hard she tried to remember all the lectures and do her assignments – she failed miserably at everything.

Of course, her family didn't know. She was way too afraid to burst the bubble her parents created around her, leaving her in that perfect, white spotlight, portraying her like some sort of angel on a pedestal for everyone to see. They loved to talk about her in front of everyone, telling them that she'd be a successful surgeon, working hard and publishing groundbreaking articles, making herself a name in the medical community. Maybe even getting some famous award. Everyone in that small town knew about the smart daughter who got into one of the best medical universities in the United States, who worked so hard she was barely home.

She couldn't bear to see the disappointment on their faces once they see what she really was – a failure. She managed to hide her dropping out of university so well, she created her web of lies carefully over the last year, she sometimes even believed what she was saying. But as soon as her alarm clock went off, remembering her to go to work at a small corner café to pay her rent and even save some money in case her parents might throw her out, she had to face real life again. The life in which she dropped out only one year after starting, loosing hundreds of thousands of dollars and leaving the incident in her resume forever.

She was glad she got a job in the café as it belonged to the parents of one friend she met at college, who managed to get in because of a scholarship. They allowed her to work as much as she could to save money and even helped her sometimes.

“Excuse me, Miss?”, a soft and gentle voice made the girl leave her deep thoughts and look up. A beautiful, young flight attendant smiled down at her. “You need to leave the plane, please.”, she said in sweet yet demanding voice  and got her luggage out of the cabinet above for her. The girl didn't realise that the plane was already as good as empty. She thanked the attendant, grabbed her bag and went out of the plane into the airport, feeling her legs shaking more with each step she took.

She pulled out her smartphone, turning off flight mode only to get bombarded with dozens of messages, mostly from her mom asking if she already landed and that they waited for her at the gate. After that she only texted emojis. Hearts, heart-eyes and some other stuff which made her feel even more anxious. How could she disappoint a mother as proud as her? No, she needed to keep her secret for a bit longer. Maybe until her brother messed up. But what could he possibly mess up which would overshadow her dropping out of college? Maybe if he committed a crime.

Mark was different from her, She didn't know how but he actually managed to tell their parents that he doesn't want to become a doctor or lawyer, and instead insisted of becoming an author or journalist. To say her parents were unhappy would be an understatement. They were more than angry and told him to pay the tuition himself. They believed it was just a small teenage dream he had but when he finished High School and started working at the local bookstore to save some money to actually study creative writing they realized that he was serious. That small incident happened just 14 months ago, yet he continued to work there and save up. He even managed to visit her every couple of months, as she didn't want to come.

When she arrived at the luggage claim the suitcases were already out on the baggage belt and she waited as long as she could, watching her lonely suitcase making its turns on the device, purposely ignoring it until it was the only one left and she had to grab it. Her phone vibrated in her pocket again.

Mark [06.07pm]: Where r u?

She rolled her eyes and just put it back in the pocket of her jeans as she headed towards the exit. The girl took a deep breath, putting on the brightest smile she could manage and stepped out of the doors. Her family wasn't hard to notice. Her parents held a way too big and bright  banner in their hands

WELCOME HOME AVA

Ava tried to keep her smile up and waved at them. “Oh, honey welcome home!”, her mother shouted as she lowered the banner to hug her daughter tightly. “I'm so happy you're finally home again, our doctor!.”, she said and patted her back softly. She felt her dad joining the hug and giving her a warm smile as well, joining her mother in telling her how happy he was to have her back home. Ava clenched her jaw, trying to smile as honest as possible.

“You're really squishing me to death guys.”, Ava chuckled and was glad when her parents finally let go of her. She looked up and saw her brother Mark smiling at her.

“Come on, give your favourite sister a hug.”, the girl laughed, making her brother chuckle before embracing her in a loving hug as well. The last time she saw him he visited the campus a few months ago. Of course he didn't know she dropped out then and nearly choked on his water when she told him. She knew he wouldn't tell their parents but he thought it would be better if she told their parents as soon as possible, which she didn't of course.

“Happy to have you back.”, Mark said and squeezed his sister one more time before he let her go and took her suitcase.

Ava stretched her body slowly before getting into their car, really not wanting to sit down for another hour but apparently she had to. As soon as she sat down and put on her seat belt her mother turned around to look at her and smiled.

“Tell us, honey, how is Stanford? Is it going well, yes?”, she asked and Ava felt like she needed to throw up.

“Yeah, everything is fine. I handed in all assignments last week and I have a good feeling.”, she chuckled and felt guilt crawling all over her body. She smiled slightly and turned her eyes away to avoid her mother proud gaze, yet she could feel Mark eyeing her.

“Ah, that's so great, honey. Your father and I just talked to the Lee's from across the street and they told us their son wants to apply to Stanford, too. We told them you could talk to him and give some advice.”

“Sure.”, she just sighed and pulled out her phone again, hoping her mother would understand her silent plead to leave her be. Her mother smiled again and turned back to talk to her father about what she'd make for dinner on this special occasion.

Ava checked the other texts she got, scrolling through them. She smiled when she saw a text from her best friend, sending her a picture from her in her nurse uniform. She looked so cute, proudly standing in front of the mirror in the dressing room, posing with a finger heart.

[Ava 06.54pm] Cute! Just landed, on my way home. Wanna hang out later?

[Yunmi 06.57pm] Can't. Night shift today but pick me up tomorrow morning and get breakfast? The café next to the bookstore finally opened!

[Ava 07.00pm] absolutely! Can't wait. Miss you so much ♥

She scrolled through the remaining texts just to feel a little disappointment in her body after not seeing what she so desperately wanted to see. But then again, she didn't expect to see a text from him after he ignored each and everyone of hers the last two years. He didn't even care enough to wish her a happy birthday in November so he probably couldn't care less texting her when she came home.

She sighed lightly and looked outside the car window, seeing how the landscape came and go in front of her eyes and how the sky got all these beautiful colours in it, she could even see the moon already. A wave of tiredness crashed over her exhausted body as she decided to close her eyes for just  a moment.

The girl felt someone poking her arm multiple times, calling her name.

“Wake up, we're home.”, she heard Mark say and groaned, before rubbing her eyes.

“Yes, I'm awake, you can stop poking me.”, she said when her brother continued to poke her arm with a grin on his face.

“Don't make me hit you.”, she warned and slapped his hand away.

“Pff, please.” he answered mockingly and jumped out of the car before her fist could reached his body.

Ava chuckled , getting out of the car stretching her stiff body slowly, hearing all her joints crack at once.

“How old are you? 80?” Mark said teasingly, getting out her suitcase from the trunk.

“Trust me, I feel like it.”, she yawned loudly and slowly got up the stairs to their house.

She inhaled the sweet and calming scent of her mothers vanilla candles as soon as she set foot into the house, taking of her shoes before she walked further inside. It hasn't changed a bit. The beige coloured walls still had pictures of the family on them. Ava smiled and looked at the picture of her and her family from her Highschool graduation three years ago. She smiled when she saw the exact picture her parents had chosen. Mark and her making some weird pose while her parents rolled their eyes.

“Honey, dinner will be ready in half-an-hour, okay?” she didn't realize that her mother was standing right next to her and flinched a bit.

“Yeah, sure, thank you, mom. I'll start to unpack then. Love you.”, Ava said, kissing her mothers cheek softly before going up the stairs into her old room where Mark already put her suitcase and bag.

Her room hasn't changed either. Of course, it looked a bit colder as she took all her personal stuff with her to the US when she moved out, but it still felt comfy with it's cozy beige sofa and her queen sized bed, which her mother already prepared for her. She closed the door behind her and looked outside the big windows, which connected to a small balcony, which was only hers. She remembered how mad Mark was when she got the room with the balcony and not him and grinned. She stepped outside for a moment to breathe in the still warm air, listening to the rustling sound of the trees as a mild breeze blew through them.

The small wooden bench she made herself with her dad back when she was younger still stood in the very same corner and even had pillows on it and a blanket, indicating that someone still used it even while she was gone. Probably her mother when she wanted to have some time and space for herself, she thought and smiled before going back into her room.

She stretched her stiff body once again before squatting down and opening her black suitcase to unpack her things. Ava only brought some clothes and other necessities with her as she didn't believe of staying home for a longer period of time. She rented her tiny apartment, or as she preferred to call it, her shoebox to a friend from university who looked for her own place as long as she stayed with her parents so she didn't need to worry about paying rent. So she just packed her essentials and hoped to keep her pretty little lie for some more months to figure out what she actually wanted to do with her situation now. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to stay in Stanford . She just knew, she didn't want to stay here in this tiny town where everyone knows everyone.

She loved the size of New York, she loved the vibes, the people and even the stink it had. It was charming in some kind of way and she enjoyed the anonymity she had. She liked living in the famous city which never sleeps but it didn't feel like a complete home to her yet and maybe never would. Not to mention, that she was just working in a café which was barely enough to live so she needed to get something more permanent very soon. But she had no idea what that could be. Maybe she'd apply to another university, maybe she didn't want to go to college at all. But what were her options anyway?

Ava groaned, throwing a stack of clothes into her closet in frustration, before squatting down again to fold them neatly. She felt her phone vibrating in the pocket of her jeans and sighed when she saw the name of the person who messaged her blinking in front of her. She opened it and thought about her answer for several minutes before she decided to ignore it for the moment and maybe get back to it later, unsure about her wanting to meet the sender or not.

She furrowed her eyes as she looked at the clock hanging at one of her walls, showing that it was way later than she expected and her mother still hadn't called for dinner yet. She put the last of her belongings in the connected bathroom she shared with her brother and checked her phone to make sure she didn't receive a text from him telling her dinner is ready. Ava didn't realize how hungry she was until she thought about the dishes her mother was probably busy making and her mouth started to water. She really missed good Korean food. There were quite some Korean restaurants in New York but of course nothing tasted as good as her mother's home cooked meals.

Just as she wanted to open her door and check downstairs she heard her mother shout from the kitchen that dinner was finally ready. She opened her door and could already smell the kimchi and meat her mother apparently made and couldn't wait to finally taste it.

“Coming! I'm getting Mark”, Ava shouted back and wanted to knock on Marks door, telling him to come down but the boy who opened the door wasn't her brother.

“Oh, hey Ava. Haven't seen you in forever. How are you?”, Johnny asked, seemingly surprised but a small smile appeared on his pretty face.

He hasn't changed a tiny bit. He still looked as gorgeous as three years ago when she left and never heard of him again. His hair was still black but a tad longer than before. It framed the contours of his face just perfectly which made it hard for her to look away and think about how she was mad at him for ignoring her for the past years, even though the last thing she remembered with him was actually something very nice. Or that's at least what she thought it was. Apparently he thought differently and had to treat her like air. Not even daring to step a foot in their house when she came home for spring break once.

“Umm, fine. Are you staying for dinner?”, she asked, trying to sound as calm as possible but she couldn't hide a tint of anger in her voice, yet the anger mixed up with other feelings she was way too bad at hiding.

“Yeah, I invited him. He basically lives here anyway.”, she heard Mark say behind Johnny who didn't seem to sense her displeasure over his invitation. Why do they have to be best friends? She asked herself and secretly hoped for Johnny to disappear or something. But of course that wouldnÄt happen.

“Please, the food gets cold, come down.”, she heard her mother saying from the foot of the stairs with her hands stemmed in her hips, still wearing her red-dotted apron.

“Actually, I'm not hungry.”, Ava said taking a step away from Johnny as his simple presence made her legs feel stupidly weak.

Her statement got quite unbelievable when her stomach started to growl from the heavenly scent of her mother's food.

“Doesn't sound like it.”, Mark said and raised his brow looking at his sister questionably.

“I'm really not hungry and I'm meeting a friend. Can we postpone our family dinner to another time?”, she said while purposely emphasising the term family to show her displeasure about the clearly unwanted guest guest.

Before her mother could answer something Ava ran down the stairs, giving her mother another short kiss before running outside, leaving her house behind.

She took a deep breath before letting out some vulgar curses towards the situation and especially the person causing her to still feel all these things.

Ava pulled out her phone and messaged the only person she could think of, who might get her thoughts somewhere else, even if she might regret it in the morning.

masterlist

[jjkpls]

crayons ‘net’ (finale) (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, light angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 4k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

Time heals every wound.

Even the deepest, bloodiest ones, alike the ones inflicted to the ego. 

It felt like you wouldn’t ever get over how embarrassed you'd felt but you did, to a certain degree, get over it. The fact that Mr Kim didn’t appear before you for a few weeks helped a little, and the one that Jimmy was doing great -way better than you had expected, somehow, after overcoming the very first difficult step, he’s been able to improve profusely, consistently- helped immensely.

You felt like you've done your part regarding him and his overall situation at home. You helped as you could, you pushed the buttons just waiting to be pushed, needing that little extra help, and on his own, progressively, Jimmy’s found himself influenced by his environment and naturally, has been learning to adapt to it.

You shouldn’t interfere anymore is what you keep telling yourself. But for the past week and a half, after the class has been long dismissed, you've been seeing his little backpack, with the two bear ears decorating the top, skimming through the hallway as Jimmy's little legs shuffle to keep up with Adrianne‘s energetic walk. If you don’t see them, you hear them, or more accurately you hear her, talking to him, or mostly to herself, out loud as she furnishes the quietness of the corridors after all the children have left. 

The curiosity is eating you alive. You resist for as long as you can until you break, grabbing your mug in one hand and your dustbin in the other, not sure which one is a better excuse to be bursting in her way, and you catch them exiting one of the adjacent classrooms. Adrianne seems shocked, startles, and you mimic her as well as you can, feigning a coincidence. 

“What are you doing with this? You know I was going to take care of it.” 

“Oh, you know...” And you see that she doesn’t know but you don’t either and you have no idea what to add. Therefore simply you drop the subject altogether and start with what you're interested in. “Jimmy, why are you still here?” You ask kindly, tending a finger forward to swipe back one of his lock falling on his face. He doesn’t flinch nor winces at the gesture. You internally smile. Only half committed to answering, he looks back at you simply shrugging, pouty mouth twisting a bit. 

“His daddy is always late. I think they don’t have a nanny anymore.” 

“Oh is that right?”

“Hm. So little Jimmy keeps me company while I clean the rooms. I have to do the rooms, even if it can't be too fun for a little boy. Is it fun, Jimmy?” 

And Jimmy nods, quite eagerly even though he can’t possibly be sincere. Especially given the fact that if Adrienne is a lovely respectable woman that you appreciate dearly, you can’t deny that her boisterous voice with her tendency to go on and on no matter the lack of encouragement from the other end, can’t be too pleasing, especially after a full day of working the brain. You're guilty of sometimes closing your door when you stay late in your class to quiet down her ranting to herself as she goes from room to room to tidy up.

“Do you want to leave him with me? It’d be more convenient for you.” You're not exactly sure what motivates you as you suggest it. You can tell, from the line her eyebrows are drawing, that even if she won’t express it in front of him, having to watch over him and take him along on her route is not the most practical, definitely must make her waste time and efficiency. Still, you're not even sure why you propose to relieve her.

You just like the kid, you suppose. 

You ask yourself the question, actively, as Jimmy and you silently stroll back to your classroom. It’s only when you take a seat, him at his desk and you at yours, that you see the pile of today's writing exercises the kids submitted to you that an idea occurs. 

You're not sure of the ways your brain works. It seems to be working backwards recently. 

You decide you could teach him. Jimmy, if he’s not lost behind his other classmates, is still lacking a bit. Having started life in a whole different culture, being suddenly thrown in this new one, having to learn a new language on top of another drastically different one, while being lost in a sea of other children, the same age as him, but somehow way ahead of him, all of this is, you suspect, one of the main reasons why he doesn’t like to participate. His father had a point on that. And you want to give him the tools, the confidence to simply try. 

But it’s not like you can work over basis the other children mastered subconsciously, effortlessly, already long ago the few years of their lives. 

Here comes an opportunity though. Late afternoon classes, while waiting for his dad, assuming his schedule will keep allowing you the time.

“Thanks a lot. I’m sorry again, I’ve had a little issue with the lady who took care of him and-“

“It’s fine. Don’t apologise. Have a nice evening. I see you tomorrow Jimmy?”

You're all smiles and soft words but you don’t give Mr Kim much attention. Not meeting his eyes, facing towards Jimmy instead of him. You're not being petty. It’s simply the warmth who started spreading along your neck and cheeks as soon as you heard the opening of the main hall door from the distance, highly uncomfortable and impossible to ignore. You thought you were over it but clearly, you were wrong. Not seeing him directly for those few weeks of resting was entirely misleading. 

He is now standing in front of you and you have this awful feeling again, the one that’s making you feel like you regret every single life choice ever made by your own stupid self, any swipe of a butterfly’s wings that led to this moment. 

You're effective though. Not wasting any spare moment, as gently as possible, yet firmly, you intimate their way out.

This is how it goes.

Somehow he allows it to happen. From his stalling around, the way his lips open slightly full of intention but nothing ever coming out, he means to say something. He feels the awkwardness, the tension. He perhaps wishes to diffuse it but as polite and agreeable as you naturally show yourself to be, you're able to show yourself cold and distant.

You've given up on this anyway.

You don't know what this is, precisely. And you do not care to figure it out. You know it's not something reasonable, something you want to spend time thinking about. It's something that won't lead you anywhere, it's something that had never started yet made you do dumb craps and feel awful. So, screw this.

Carefully, meticulously, you apply the same routine to every single day. Mr Kim's schedule does happen to allow those extra courses. For a while, it's simply how it goes.

Until embarrassment -this bitchy disease- seems to grow on his side. You're not sure where it comes from, maybe he misinterprets your attitude, take it too personally. In any case, he grows weary of the time and energy he seems to believe he's making you waste on them.

He starts arriving, forehead soaked from how hard he runs to get to the school not too late. Sometimes he manages to be right on time and Jimmy doesn't even get to come back to you, escorted by Adrienne, for a quick reading of a short story or a low, very discreet recitation of a short poetry you've learned together before. In those cases, you're annoyed, and so is Jimmy -you can tell, from the puff of his cheeks and even sometimes, from the way he refuses to raise his eyes from whatever you're working on, purposefully ignoring the loudness of his dad appearing before you two, not ready as he is to go home yet.

Therefore, naturally, you have to talk to him.

It's not a pleasant thought. You're not enthused at the idea, you don't even know what to tell him incisively but you know, you have to talk to him.

It's all ridiculous. Jimmy has made progress even you didn't imagine possible. He's almost good to go and expend his freedom born from a tiny, shy but very much existing newfound confidence. But you like your late afternoon classes. And you know he does too. Also, he doesn't have much interaction with anyone besides his father. From what the later told you, even talking with his cousins is a challenge he struggles to submit himself to.

And there's his mom, gone, never to come back. Your heart aches each time you think about it. It's not your place, you have to remind yourself constantly. Yet, you can't help it. Because somehow maybe it is. You're not sure what that place is but maybe there's one for you. One that is a strange, coincidental, sort of fated little space for you to fill, for a little while, that will mark him enough to help him through this awful test Life had for him and possibly, even, later on in life.

Life is strange. It's filled with curious encounters with strangers that leave a trace within you, that you'll carry forever. They can hurt and engrave a nasty scar that'll affect you forever or the opposite, they can help heal, help bloom hope, inspire friendship and love and benevolence.

Somehow, even throughout your constant reminding yourself that you should not get too involved, you should not care so much as to let it affect your everyday life and state of mind and emotions, you've done exactly that. You don't exactly regret it.

It's a thing, so stupid and useless, that makes it feel like you regret it.

Because now, you have to talk to his dad and explain to him, fully, with sentences and blanks for him to answer and probably looks to spare his way for polite measures, what you've been doing and how it's more than fine that he's late after the classes end because it allows you time to spend together and work on a lot of different essential things.

"You had something to say to me?"

God. You don't want to talk to him.

You've been dreading this moment so hard for the past week that your steeping anxiety turned into deep aggravation and you can't stand looking at him. Just seeing him makes you angry.

"Mr Kim, I've told you multiple times before not to worry when you're late." He frowns a little, looking back at your severe gaze, confused. He nods slowly, not saying anything, and you assume it's because he isn't really in capacity of speaking right now. Not when his breath is so ragged and his brain probably dizzy from the race he submitted himself to from his office. "Yet you keep running in my class every day, all dishevelled and- and all-"

"But. But I shouldn't bother you-"

"Mr Kim. You are bothering me by not listening. What I've tried to tell you is that Jimmy and I can take advantage of your schedule.” Deep breathing in and out to calm down and slow the high ladder your voice naturally wants to climb, and you start again, only slightly less on edge. “If you're late, we can work on things we can't do during the day with his classmates. Haven't you noticed his improvements?"

"I- I did but-"

"But what?" You're plain rude. Arms crossed tight on your chest, eyebrows low above your eyes, sighing and almost tapping your foot on the floor. You look like a cartoonish version of an angry teacher. In other words, you look ridiculous. It's not justified whatsoever. Or more like, the reasons you're so mad are ridiculous and absolutely not related to his being thoughtful of the time he might be stealing from you by letting you, sort of, babysit his kid after your official work hours. You'll be embarrassed by it later.

He's cartoonish too. With his helpless "but-" and sheepish looks. Until he's not anymore. He has the shadow of a grin creeping on one corner of his lips.

"Feels like you're scolding me, Miss ___." He bites back a smile. His forehead has softened out, his gaze gentler and calmer, he doesn't seem to take personally your attack. Which he should but whatever. It's even more annoying because smiles look really nice on him and it's hard to stay as mad as you'd been when the dimples coupled with them are hinting their way on his honey cheeks.

"Precisely. I wouldn't have to if you'd just do what I'm asking of you." He beams blatantly now, having decided that somehow you're not mad anymore. As you said, staying angry when the softest looking dimples you've ever seen on anyone dig their way in his cheeks is an impossible task. And Your frown progressively turns into a barely upset pout.

A ridiculous, childish pout of a stupid child who's upset about being teased and flustered.

"You really like your students that much?" He asks, tone sweeter, not in a rush to obtain an answer. You're thankful for it because you wouldn't know how to express how you feel.

You do like your students “that much”. You like people. You want the best for them and you know how those couple of first years living in the world, experiencing it and its beings populating it are determining. You're not too crazy about all of them because some, unfortunately, have already been rubbed with distasteful attitudes by distasteful parents. But for the most part, you do love them a whole lot.

Also, you really like Jimmy Kim, for some reasons. He just directly affects your heartstrings and you simply can not help it. If you just wish the best for anyone, and especially for your students, for Jimmy, you wish even more. You wish only happy days and wonderful experiences and people. Maybe it's the sadness you read for months since you first met him in your class, reinforced by the newly glint of joy and excitement you've been catching recently.

It's all very abstract and confusing and hardly decipherable. So much so that simply trying to figure out your emotions, to convey them into an answer for him, you feel yourself getting emotional. You think he even notices. Therefore, simply, you settle for not much,

"Jimmy is a really sweet kid."

"I'm grateful for you noticing it." Mr Kim starts before taking a deep breath. "I just feel like you're too nice to us. I don't know if- I mean, maybe that's what you do for every family and if it's the case, it's- it's wonderful, very kind of you. But- I mean, don't you, I don't know, you must have your life to get back to. After work, even if I like my job, all I want is leave and you know, get back to my life."

"My job is my life, Mr Kim. I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to."

"It can't be all of it. You- you must- I don't know, want to go home to your boyfriend and go out with your friends and unwind and do fun things and I'm just trapping you here to care for-" You're ticking at that. Bold of him to assume that you have a boyfriend. Fortunately for you, you've learned from your mistakes and you know better, this time, than to correct him. You're not falling into that trap again.

"Mr Kim-"

"Namjoon." You raise an eyebrow, searching your brain for an explanation you missed. "My name. Sorry. You keep calling me Mr Kim and it feels weird."

"I-" It takes you a second to compose yourself. The firepit of rage has a little blaze threatening to bring the whole back to life and consume your whole gut. "Listen. You expressed your concerns. I listened to them. From that, I said that not only did I not mind, I wanted to take this opportunity. So now, the reasonable thing to do is to simply accept what I said. I'm not deceiving you but even if I were, it's my problem, you don't have to worry anymore, do you understand?" How can someone so concerned about making you waste your time can also waste it so expertly and your energy and sanity along with it? He, Namjoon, just stares for a second. His eyes then fall upon his son, a couple of meters away. You're both standing in the hallway while the boy sits patiently at his table, in the back, far enough for him not to hear a simple conversation but given your tendency to heat up for no proper reasons, you're worried he catches bits of the friction. He seems pretty engrossed in the book he's looking at though.

You observe his dad, watching over him, frowning. "Except if you have a problem with me." As on a reflex, his head spins around for his wide eyes to face you. "You do, don't you? You have a problem with me and that's why you're being so difficult!" He gasps, looking awfully offended but you can't even trust it. It'd make way more sense. It's all making sense. "Well, fine, but just say it then, instead of-"

"I don't have a problem with you!"

"Yes, you do. It's obvious. I don't even know how I haven't noticed before..."

"I don't have a problem with you, Miss ___!" Jimmy has definitely noticed now. He's watching you from his seat, four rows away. Curiously, he doesn't seem too fazed. He seems intrigued by the noise but not that concerned. "You're doing so much for us and I feel burdened because I want to give back to you but there's no way- I don't- nothing seems appropriate and I don't know what to do."

"You don't owe me anything, Mr Kim."

"I want to. Can't you be reasonable and accept that?" On his side, the fury has diminished, only a fading shadow remains, colouring his words into something more animated than his usual way of talking. "I really like you, I don't have a problem with you. I'm so thankful for you just entering our lives, sincerely. I'm sorry if I gave a wrong impression." Here comes the awkward tingle that has no right to be appearing. You have to chastise yourself, to rationalize, loud and clear to your delusional all-over-the-place heart, that his thoughts got lost and distorted by translation. He can't mean what he said no matter how much, apparently, your heart would like it.

"Well, ok, then." It's lame. Not very eloquent, pretty self-reflecting. But this man is a rollercoaster. It's hard to adapt and honestly, it's a miracle he hasn't thrown you out of the circuit. You don't know how to react. How to come back down from your suspicious accusations, from your childish outburst, from your giddy excitement at the words he didn't really mean the way you heard them.

That will do anyway. Deciding that most of your issue has been settled and that probably, by continuing this conversation, you're taking the risk to lose it again and possibly traumatized innocent Jimmy this time, you conclude, on a common agreement, the impromptu meeting. Mr Kim goes to help Jimmy pack up his stuff and slip his vest on.

They express goodbye to you, Jimmy waving quickly a hand half-hidden by his sleeve, Mr Kim nodding his head, lips tight as if not meaning to take the risk of saying something wrong.

"Have a nice weekend. See you on Monday, Jimmy."

Then Mr Kim stops in his track, his son bumping into his leg and almost falling to the ground if it were not for the strong grip keeping him upward by the hand. They were just about to reach the entry doors, a few steps away only from them. Mr Kim crouches to his son's height, says something to him, one of his hand cupping the side of his face, fingers brushing his cheek before he stands up, trotting quickly to you, still standing in the doorway of your classroom.

"Miss ___." He's slightly out of breath, weirdly enough for a man who keeps in shape, at least, with the daily runs he makes from his work to his son's school.

"Do you like running that much?" He smiles a bright, wide grin that makes your heart skips a bit.

"I don't actually." He stops and throws a look over his shoulder, towards his son. "There's something I meant to ask but as I said, I feel it might be too inappropriate."

"Ask away."

"If it is, please just say so and ignore me and let's just pretend I've never said anything, ok?"

"Fine. Ask your scandalous question." He looks boyish for a second. Swallowing hard, Adam's apple bobbing obnoxiously along his throat, glancing one more time to Jimmy before he finally gets to it.

"Would you allow me to treat you to a restaurant some time?" You can't deny it, the flutter from earlier is back, stronger than ever. You're so enchanted, feeling tickly all over, like a fucking fifteen-year-old being asked on a date for the first time. It's absurd. Because you're not even sure that's what he means, again. This time, even if you're frustrated and flustered and you want to get mad at him for putting you through this, you can't because the unfamous butterflies are too excited, celebrating the sudden blooming of a garden full of flowers in the pit of your stomach.

"Like a... 'thanks for being the best teacher for my kid' type of diner?"

"Maybe." He has a pout on his mouth his teeth bite on. His eyes are smiling at the corner, but they hold a sheepish hesitation. You don't know if you can trust your perception. He does look like you imagine yourself to look like right now. You wonder if he feels the same way too. Or if, once again, you're imagining a lot of things that are not there.

"Ok. With great pleasure."

You're a coward. You know that. But it's ok, you decide. Because if it turns out to be a date, surely you'll figure it out, won't you?

There's a little stalling moment. A short instant where eyes discuss silently. They're better at speaking then your mouths are. Not arguing, meeting somewhere they understand each other and you have an evident sense of comfort there you're scared to lean in, but that screams at you that there's something very soft and gentle and deeper than simple politeness floating around. He nods, smiling to you or to himself, until he waves you goodbye, quite alike Jimmy did earlier and then he's trotting again, this time back to his son.

It feels like you're walking on some sort of stilts, jumpy, giddy, too excited to just saunter back in your classroom. On your table there's a drawing you've never seen before, sitting next to the neat pile of your documents. It's an adorable, colourful illustration of a girl. With the blue hair and the purple eyes, you hesitate for a second, but after further observation -the similar dress and hairstyle help- you conclude it's a portrait of you. A lovely portrait of you Jimmy has made, while his father and you discussed, that he left on your desk for you to find.

A/N: what an abrupt ending lmao; sorry i couldn’t figure something better out. I really hope you liked it, thank you SO MUCH for reading :) kisses & hugz

[reimahowaido]

I’ll get to those Magic Crafter Dragons I sweeeear But first, fun stuff from Discord. Dunno who made the original, it was just posted on a server, but yeet I did it anyway First of all, I don’t play a lot of games. I like games and the idea of them. I enjoy people playing stuff, I love watching others play. It’s that little sibling culture. But lemme toss a word or few about all of these. Though first of all, I only own 4 of the 8 games listed and even still I’ve only played 3 of them xD R.I.P. Pokemon Cafe Mix - The game is just Super Cute. Like oh my god Aesthetics! Adorable, every pokemon looks so nice and I just want to go to the cafe and taste everything and just chill. Please. It looks so cozy and relaxing. Gameplay is fairly simple too. Sometimes things seem a bit BS but in one way or another I’ll get through every stage etc. so it’s not too bad. Most of the time relaxing, can be addicting because of how simple things are. But really I love the game and I hope one day they’ll add more of the pokemon I like xD Buizel is my current favourite <3 It’d be nice seeing Mienshao or Mienfoo for one, maybe Glameow as it doesn’t get a lot of attention. We got Gogoat, but I wouldn’t mind a Sawsbuck or Deerling Pokemon Black 2 - To keep the Pokemon trend going, this is my fave out of the mainline games. I’ve been a fan ever since the first generation, I’m older than Gen 1 at that. But yeah, we did buy games but Nintendo stuff was too expensive and so I never really got to play those growing up. Black 2 was the first game I ever bought, for myself, with my own money. It was my first game and I loved it dearly. Still do and man I’d Love to replay it, but the curse of only 1 save file is cruel. I don’t want to restart my first ever save file. Currently I have no way of transferring anything over and I even have a Shiny Gothorita there (as underwhelming as it is, it was my first ever shiny). I love these games~~ Lots of different pokemon to choose from, great story, the fact that it’s a sequel is so freaking cool and unique I Love It So Much. Of course it’d be cool to have some extra things to do in it, like cleaning my badges, contests would be cool, I loved the mining stuff in Gen 4 when I got to try it on my friend’s Platinum save file as a kid. Speaking of, Gen 4 games would probably be my favourites, if I ever had the chance of owning and playing any fully. They have soooo much to do in them! Gen 5 is good and certainly up there in faves, but bruh, Gen 4 had all sorts of extra stuff, especially Platinum, and in HG/SS you had Pokemon following you like bruh that’s Crazy and I’d love to have that for a game I own, it’s like a dream Honorable mentions to Mystery Dungeon and Gen 6′s Pokemon Y for some grand memories. Firstly Pokemon Y, the second game I ever owned I think, great fun. I played that game for hooooooooours and it’s the only Pokemon Game that I’ve both played as a Nuzlocke and actually reset to play again. Also the first gen where I actually really got into competitive stuff, breeding for natures and stuff, and I’ve caught so many shinies in Y and Omega Ruby (mostly Y, OR has 1 shiny in Pidove, while Y has Ninetales, Pachirisu, Burmy, Gligar, and perhaps some other ones I caught/hatched myself). Mystery Dungeon games get a mention for having cool stories and I like the idea of the personality test and stuff. I’ve never played or owned any of these games, but I’ve watched Marriland play a handful of the games and currently am enjoying MDB playing through the first games in the series. Also a quick bloop on Colosseum being Cool as heck, and Battle Revolution gets a shoutout for looking so freaking good, having amazing music and making me search up videos with my favourite pokemon and just looking and watching hundreds of videos just because they looked so nice

Fire Emblem has to be the 2nd series of games I’ve gotten the most into. Although I’m a fairly new fan and my experiences and knowledge are limited, I do still enjoy the series and games - both old and new - a bunch. I only own Awakening, Conquest and 3 Houses, but I’ve again watched others play the past games a bunch, so I have some knowledge and memorable moments from those games too. Now I haven’t actually gotten myself to play 3 Houses yet, I’ve seen playthroughs of the game already and know the story etc. But yeh. Still, I’d say that I’ll probably like 3 Houses more than Awakening and Conquest. Awakening is nostalgia galore for me, but it does have its things with the story and characters and stuff. It’s nice, but I dunno, I just feel 3 Houses has an edge on it in some way. Maybe it’s just... Less controversial? Less Flame Wars? Maybe? Fates games, well, we all know the big glaring thing here. The story. And some of the characters suffer from this too. I kinda do wish that the Player had a biiiit more control in how the story went and played out, like I feel you definitely could have saved Scarlet in some way still, and all that. But eh, there’s enough stuff for me to go and prefer 3 Houses over it. And yes, I like choosing the members of my team and playing however I like, so giving me the ability to class my characters however I want is going to be a mistake as I’ll just make everyone a mounted unit and get destroyed but hey! Options :2 Variety :22 Great tiiiiimes~ Also it’s Blue Lions for me, Golden Deer Second Now for the games I don’t own. I chose Radiant Dawn because the Tellius games are just so good. I love the character in them, the story is pretty solid and the worldbuilding is cool too :2 I like both of the games, and while Path of Radiance is more coherent and doesn’t give split the characters up a bunch, Radiant Dawn has More of the great characters :2 Yes I know, not all of them are as fleshed out and thought out as the first game’s characters, but yo I still love them. I love a good continuation to a story. I love a ‘hey maybe it wasn’t as Black & White as we were made to believe’ twist. Also just hella good memories from watching BigKlingy play these games. The audience memed Aran to the final levels. We did it, he did so well, Aran deserved to be there xD Radiant Dawn also brings us Nailah, who is just. Yeah, you speak to me on so many levels, I’m easily readable. But also, woman, wolf, strong, yasss~~ Also I love the idea of the Jaegan character being a Thief/Assassin. That’s just so different and cool to me after all these Horse Units. And I’m the one guy who likes Levail and would love to see more of him. Give us more of Levail, the man who almost made it to being playable. Man. Levail is probably the one reason I’d pick Radiant Dawn over Path of Radiance xD The other game I’ve watched BigKlingy play through (and that’s my only experience on that game) is Sacred Stones. Pretty solid game all in all. Story, characters, but speaking of that story, if you really think about it, it’s Hella Dark, and that’s actually kinda cool in a way. I’m not that into dark stories, but here it worked. Also watched PhoenixMaster1′s playthrough on the Echoes game. I do like the game, if i find it one day I Might buy it but I’m not like in a hurry to get it. It was cool though, different for reasons but hey~ Also, Berkut, yes. I’m one of those people who like this angry man. But come on, he was really good xD Spyro I’ve already talked about in my lengthy little thing that I’ll get to continuing eventually xD But yes, I freaking love Spyro, my childhood, still very enjoyable experience full of great memories Metroid Fusion - Oh boy here come the nostalgia~ I’ve actually never played any Metroid games myself. I got introduced to the series in the early 2010s through youtube videos. I’m fairly sure it was me looking through dozens and dozens of Top 10 videos, several of which were on ‘the scariest bosses’, either unexpectedly scary or something else. But guess what, Nightmare from Fusion was in there, and I Think the person in the video said something on not wanting to even show the final forms of Nightmare’s face because it was that horrifying to them. And honestly? The fact that they didn’t show how bad it got, mixed with my morbid curiosity and woop, here I go~ Down the Metroid rabbithole where I watched a lot of videos on people fighting Nightmare and the other bosses in the game, eventually going into watching full run-throughs of the game and enjoying my time. Game looked pretty good, soundtrack was really nice too. And so I ended up on listening to a lot of the game series’ music and getting more familiar with the other games and the lore too. Learning to know that Samus was a lady was also hella badass. Fusion started it all for me, and while Super Metroid is cool, people also just play it a loooot, especially the Speedrunners, there’s also plenty of hacks based on that game and yeah I get it the game is Good, but that makes Fusion all the more special to me~ Devil May Cry 3 - Ok so again, I’ve not played any DMC games myself. This one again though is nostalgia ocean for me~ 2010 or such, I’m on some forum, said forum has a forum game based around songs or such and someone links one from this game. I Think it was the Doppelganger battle theme, or then I just found that one and listened to it for hours among the other battle themes these games have because they’re soooo gooood~~ DMC 4 was fairly new at that time, but I remember Gredo’s and Agnus’ themes being up there in songs I listened to a lot too. My experiences and stuff on this series was fully based on the songs, images on said songs, bits and pieces of the cutscenes of these games I saw and comments I read. I didn’t get too deep into DMC back then though, but I did have a bit of knowledge here and there, even if my idea of the stories in all the games was, well, I wouldn’t call it warped, but I definitely had imagined the story going differently to how things actually went xD Still, as a few years back I returned to DMC out of that feeling of nostalgia, and discovered DMC 5 had Just been released, boi, I was In. And I watched through cutscene compilations, playthoughs and what have you on all the games (Except for DmC, boot to you ReBoot), and it was quite the hype time~ I enjoy the chracters, the story that there is around them, and just how carefree and fun stuff can be. The party sure did get crazy~ Lost Dimension - The last game I have on the list there. This might be a weird one and I get that yeah. How many have even heard of this game? I sure wouldn’t have ever known of it without BigKlingy’s playthrough of it. But that playthrough was full of memories, I should really rewatch it one day~ I may not remember an awful lot about the game, but I do keep coming back to it in one way or another. I liked the character designs, the fact that all of them were unique and had their own abilities, there was a bit of story around all of them, the traitor system had you thinking & made each run a little different... That’s some Cool Stuff! The game might be a bit obscure and seriously not known at all, but for what it was, it was great and I enjoyed it a bunch! And now for stuff that wasn’t on the list but I kinda still want to mention. Because why not~ IB - This Almost made it onto the list, but I felt a little closer of a connection to the other games on it. But IB is one of those games from the early 2010s that I also got introduced to through the wonderful world of Youtube. I have forgotten the name of the person whose playthrough in the game I watched. But I watched a ton of people play this game. It was just. So cool. The puzzles in this game were nice and the fact I myself could solve and understand them too was pretty nice to me, and for some reason I just enjoyed watching other people react to the game and try solving stuff. It also had a couple different endings so watching and seeing what the other people got was also interesting. Great memories~ Witch’s House / Ao Oni / Mad Father - And all sorts of other horror games that kinda fall under this grouping and style and stuff. Yeah, IB kinda opened a bit of a thing for me as I realized I greatly enjoyed the horror games with puzzle elements to themselves + a bit of story here and there. There’s definitely much much more than these 3, I watched soooo many of these games being played by others. Ao Oni I may have discovered through my Hetalia phase though, HetaOni, if any of you still recognize that name. Daym. Although at first I didn’t want to watch HetaOni because of the portraits. Pfffff I thought the person who made them was being mean to some of the characters, but nah, I’d later learn that those were simply just mimicing the ones from the original game. But yeah, Ao Oni had a dozen variants and things inspired by it so those kept me busy for a whiiiiiile Hades - Now here’s a cool recent game! Again, haven’t played it, but it looks cool. The story is nice, character designs are God Like (hehe), soundtrack is super cool, aesthetics and oh my god everything is voice acted oh my gooood. This game is just. So cool. And the team who did it seems really cool too and are seemingly full of nice amazing people. This is definitely some great example work on how things should be done :2 Definitely something to look up to, I love everything about them~ The only reason Hades isn’t up there is because of its recentness and my brain not managing to think of it somehow even as I struggled to come up with stuff (I was mostly trying to think of stuff I had played, so that’s one thing. I even struggled to remember DMC because my current hyperfixations are elsewhere and that’s freaking Wild considering how much I enjoy DMC) But yeah, Hades is Super Freaking Cool Crash Bandicoot - These games I did play as a kid actually, the 1st one was way too hard and the 3rd one was my favourite. I like Crash, these games were nice too and I have plenty of good memories with the game, just not enough to make it up there on my list. Yeah it sounds stupid that I’d take out a game I actually played and replace it with stuff that I didn’t, but... Hey, my list Minecraft - Watched several videos on other people pllaying this game, I know of it, I respect it, but I’ve never played it myself and stuff. It’s cool but didn’t make it on the list Animal Crossing - Riiiiiight, these games seem adorable and I wouldn’t mind owning an AC game one day. I’d probably reset continuously though to get Skye in my town/village/island, she’s my favourite xD If the recent game had cost lest I might have gotten it. 60-70€ is just, a lot of money Persona - I guess I’ll mention these too. My experiences are through Bigklingy’s videos again. 3 is a fave, 4 seems cool, 5 I don’t know a lot about but it seems nice too. I probably wouldn’t be able to play these games myself, since some fights kinda need certain things and strategies and you can’t really just pick whatever and whom ever and roll through with brute strength. I mean, I Guess you could, but that might not be as fun in the long run? Who knows, but it’s not exactly like Pokemon or Fire Emblem in those regards you know The big conclusion is that I like all sorts of different aesthetic looks, mostly probably natural with some brighter colors in it. Stories are good, I love stories! Good characters with nice designs and backstories are really nice too. Things being thought out and built nicely is great you know? A little bit of strategy, fantasy here and there. Nothing too dark and gloomy or ‘hyper realistic’ or what have you. I guess no first person shooters either, though combat is fine. Games where I can pick and choose what to use and what kinds of ‘teams’ I build and the ‘members’ I use in them is nice. I do love watching others play, but with games like Pokemon & Fire Emblem I have that drive of choosing who to use and having my own unique experience kinda gets me to buy the games.