#but where are those who share the memories

[lottins-only]

THE STARS ALIGNED, THEY LED ME TO YOU | Jude Bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

word count: 5.4k

summary: jude starts his 2025 with a quiet morning walk to his favorite cafe, where his horoscope leads him to someone very special. as the year unfolds, the stars continue to chart his path, marking important relationship milestones and memories

warnings: smut

A/N: had this idea for quite a while and it was fun to write! let me know what you guys think :)

I.

january 1, 2025 - cancer, today is all about partnerships and fated meetings. keep an eye out for new connections that could change your life, and all things green. yes, green. 🍀

jude squints at his phone.

he’d downloaded an astrology app as a joke a while back, roped into it by a friend who was one of those people who took astrology really, really seriously. it was all rubbish of course. but for some inexplicable reason, he hasn’t deleted the app yet. maybe it was out of curiosity, or maybe just the fact that he liked having something to chuckle at during breakfast.

this morning, jude doesn’t feel like laughing at all. he groans as he shoves his phone into his pocket, wincing at the dull ache in his head. last night’s champagne had been a mistake. or maybe it was the tequila shots that came after. he wasn’t sure anymore. either way, he was paying for it now. the cold january air didn’t help much either, biting at his skin even through his oversized hoodie and thick sweatpants.

on early mornings during his off days, he liked walking inside the gated community he lived in. sometimes, he even dared to walk beyond the gates, wandering the streets of madrid where he's rarely afforded anonymity. he had a set route, a memorized path that despite technically being habitual by now felt like an escape from the sometimes drab routine of his daily life. occasionally, he'd stop at a small cafe nearby, ordering a small coffee to go. he had an unspoken agreement with the barista on shift during those early morning hours: no acknowledgment of who he was, no whispered recognition in front of the other patrons. or maybe he was overthinking it and the barista had no idea who he was at all. who knows.

he tugs the hood further down over his face, adjusting his headphones and the mask he wore to keep from being recognized. not that he expected to see many people out this early on new year’s day, anyway. there were only the party survivors, disheveled and stumbling back home. no time for them to notice any lone, wandering footballers.

when he eventually reaches and walks inside the cafe, he's not surprised to see that there's less people than usual. just a young couple in party clothes, bleary eyes and sharing a croissant.

he orders his usual, headphones still blasting music, and lingers by the counter as he waits. his eyes do wander though, and he notices a lone figure sitting by the window, her back facing him. his eyes are immediately drawn to the oversized bow in her hair. the bow is bright yellow, a contrast to the muted tones of the cafe.

he finds himself staring, wondering what pressing matter would have someone typing frantically into their laptop on new years day in a near deserted cafe. he watches her, all social awareness seemingly fleeing his mind.

that is, until the girl suddenly turns and gets up. his eyes snap away immediately, and he pretends to be busy with his phone as she walks up to the same counter he's standing by. it strikes him that it would be more awkward if he pretends not to have been looking at her, especially if she'd somehow noticed. so he looks up from his phone and catches her gaze.

the second thing he notices about her, besides the bow, is how strikingly pretty she is. deep brown skin, almond shaped eyes peering through tortoiseshell glasses, and a small smile on her lips as she catches his gaze. annoyingly, he feels his stomach dip. tell tale sign that he's attracted to this girl, which he could've figured out without the physical reaction. jude's a pretty self aware guy, after all.

"don't have a match today?" he voice carries over the music in his ears.

he blinks, momentarily thrown off by her directness. "no, i'm off"

"okay" she says, unfazed. "your coffee is ready"

"huh?" he blinks again.

"your coffee?"

his eyes follow to where her finger is pointing, to find that, sure enough, his coffee is ready and waiting for him. jude curses silently, realizing he was too busy staring at this girl and being lost in his music to notice the barista setting it down on the counter.

he glances up at the barista, who sends him a sly wink, as if to say, caught you.

he murmurs a quiet thank you, pays for his drink, and generously tips. all the while he waits for the girl to strike up conversation with him, or ask for a picture, or yell BELLIGOL!!!!! unprovoked. because that's usually what happens when people recognize him in public.

instead, she asks for a muffin, and when the barista hands it to her on a plate, she simply offers a soft smile to jude before walking back to her seat.

jude's jaw slackens.

"ask to sit with her" the barista, whose name tag reads enzo, encourages from across the counter.

"but-"

"you've got nothing to lose" he reminds him. "if she says no you just walk out and leave and never see her again"

except he does have something to lose. he always does, when it comes to these things. a small, paranoid part of him runs through the scenarios: what if she sneakily took a picture of him while he was standing there? what if she says no, and then runs to one of those stupid gossip accounts on instagram to announce jude bellingham is such a creep, ew!. what if-

the chatter in his mind is silenced when he notices the pin on the barista's shirt, which reads: GREEN PEACE.

jude is immediately reminded of his horoscope this morning. keep an eye out for all things green.

enzo follows his gaze, then grins. "i volunteer there. great cause you know?"

jude doesn't respond. the familiar thought creeps in again: horoscopes are ridiculous, and any person who makes decisions based on them is naive at best and downright cuckoo at worst. but this is harmless isn't it? its not like he's letting astrology convince him to sink his entire net worth into some sketchy crypto currency or something.

so he squares his shoulders and mutters to enzo, "fine, i'll go talk to her"

the barista just gives him an encouraging thumbs up as jude picks up his coffee and heads her way.

she’s still typing as he walks over, her fingers flying over the keyboard with the kind of focus that makes him wonder if she's even aware of her surroundings at all. the oversized bow in her hair bobs slightly as she shifts in her seat. for some reason, he finds that little detail endearing.

when he finally reaches her table, he clears his throat softly.

“hi" he says confidently. "would you mind if i sat here?”

she looks up, tilting her head to study him for a beat. then, with a shrug, she gestures to the empty seat across from her. "go ahead"

she doesn’t look surprised that he’s there. instead, she closes her laptop gently and leans back on her chair as he takes a seat.

“didn’t think you’d actually do it” she says, sounding amused.

“do what?” he asks, also leaning back on his chair.

“come over and sit” she replies, a small smirk playing on her lips. “you were staring for a while”

he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “your bow is distracting”

she adjusts it on the back of her head, and a single strand of curls slips out from where she’d tucked it behind her ear. jude has to fight the urge to tuck it back in.

"got it yesterday"

“i like it” he says, fumbling a bit. “it’s very… cottage core?” he immediately regrets his words, because he has no idea what he's talking about. he hopes he's not embarrassing himself. “it gives off that vibe.”

he's relieved when she laughs. "thanks. i'll take it"

"i'm jude by the way" he says hastily. he hopes he's not coming off as arrogant by not introducing himself earlier, even though she recognized him.

"i'm y/n"

he nods towards her laptop. "y/n, what's got you so busy on new years?"

"oh, i'm applying for grad programs. finshing up uni soon, so yeah" she says shyly.

"what do you go to school for?"

she tells him about her major, how she's feeling about graduating soon. he listens intently, genuinely interested, and when it’s his turn to share about his job and life, he finds himself opening up too. it’s easy; surprisingly easy. for someone he met just ten minutes ago, their conversation flows effortlessly. she’s funny, quick witted in a way that keeps him on his toes, and she laughs at his jokes like she genuinely finds him amusing. it makes him feel good about himself.

enzo wanders over a while later.

"you two need anything else?"

jude glances down at his coffee cup, empty for at least the last twenty minutes. this would be the perfect moment to call it a day, to say goodbye and head home like he originally planned. with january being a very busy month for the team, he knows he should take every chance he gets to rest and recharge.

but leaving is the last thing he wants to do. talking to y/n is fun, refreshing.

"yeah, jude says, before he can overthink it. he nods toward y/n’s plate with a small grin. "i’ll have a muffin too"

II.

april 9, 2025 - today the stars are urging you to take charge, cancer. whether it’s expressing your feelings or trying something new, trust that courage will be rewarded 💪

having a crush is top 10 most painful things in the world.

jude used to roll his eyes at people who said that, chalking it up to melodramatics. but now he knows it first hand. because why in the hell is one person taking up so much of his brain space? how is that legal? how is that remotely okay?

that person is y/n, of course. they're friends now. close friends. friends who hang out regularly, who text a lot. friends who have inside jokes, shared playlists that she uses to tease him about his 'old man music taste', and a mutual understanding that they just get each other. its is great. it’s everything jude could ask for. except for the fact that it’s not enough.

for four months now, he feels like he's been sentenced to a life of angst. the kind that feels heavy on his chest whenever she's near, or worse, when she's not. so much so that he finds comfort in his so called 'old man music', sometimes unintentionally sulking to  '70s ballads about longing while staring dramatically out the window like one of those moody main characters in coming of age movies. his mother had caught him once and given him the biggest side eye, as if saying get a grip please!!

and when his woe is me schtick doesn’t work? he distracts himself the only way he knows how: throwing himself at girls who aren’t her.

it’s not something he’s proud of. in fact, it makes him feel like an idiot most of the time. but what else is he supposed to do? she doesn’t seem to want him, not like that, and he’s stuck in this cruel limbo that's seemingly never ending. best bet he has is to try and forget.

on this april evening, jude is walking out of the locker room after a match, his heart still racing from the rush of adrenaline and the high of scoring a brace. y/n waits for him in the underground parking lot of the bernabéu– a rare thing, since she doesn’t care much for football and has only attended his matches once or twice, and always in the company of his other friends. the irony isn’t lost on him: the person who occupies so much of his thoughts doesn’t share his love for the thing that defines his life. it’s baffling, but it doesn't feel wrong, and he’d managed to convince her to come tonight, using the excuse that his mom was out of town and he’d appreciate the company on the drive home.

he finds her leaning against his car, scrolling absentmindedly on her phone.

“hey” she says when she spots him, grinning at him. “you took your time"

"sorry" jude grins back. "there were so many people to take pics with"

then she throws herself at him so suddenly that he stumbles, barely managing to steady them both. she envelopes him into a tight hug, and jude surrenders himself to it gladly, heart pounding insistently against his ribs.

“two goals!” she leans back, her face alight with excitement as her hands grip his shoulders. she shakes him slightly, her energy infectious. “you were fucking unstoppable!”

“thanks” jude giggles, pulling her into another hug. he’ll take any physical closeness he can get.

they stay like that for a moment longer than necessary, and then y/n pulls back, her hands flying to his hair. she tugs gently at one of his coils, frowning slightly.

“your hair is so dry” she says, her tone exasperated but fond. “did you forget to use the leave in gave you? you have to put it on after you shower, jude” she tsked.

out of the corner of his eye, jude notices his driver glancing at them in the side mirror before quickly looking away. he wonders again if this looks like more than what it is. not that he’d mind if it did.

“no, yeah, i did bring it” jude says defensively, but just as he’s about to grab his bag to show her, his hand freezes. his pockets are empty. “shit” he mutters, patting himself down to make sure. “think i forgot my phone back there”

“it’s alright” y/n assures him. “we can go get it” 

the elevator ride back to the locker room is quiet. jude shifts from foot to foot, sneaking glances at y/n, who seems to be pointedly avoiding his gaze for whatever reason.

when the doors open, they step into the hallway where jude had been earlier. he spots his phone right where he thought it’d be, face down on a bench just outside the locker room where he’d been taking pictures with fans.

“there it is” he sighs in relief. 

“imagine someone nicked it” y/n jokes as she picks it up. 

“i’d be fuming” he chuckles, but then he notices her face. she’s frowning down at his screen, evidently bothered by what she sees. a second later, she hands it back to him, a tight, forced smile on her face.

“oh” y/n’s voice is light, almost too casual. “here you go”

jude finds what’s caught her attention. Its a DM notification from a girl, the message preview reading: had fun last week.  when can I see you again?

“its  uh– its someone i met at a party last week” jude stammers. “we–we didn’t, you know, but–”

“you don’t owe me an explanation” she says quickly, her voice light but strained. “it’s fine”

but it’s not fine, and the sudden distance in her tone cuts deep. jude clenches his jaw, sliding his phone into his pocket as they head back to the elevator. fucking idiot, he scolds himself. but a part of him is hopeful. maybe she cares, maybe she wants him the same way he wants her.

the ride down is tense, a heavy silence between them. jude feels like the words are right there, desperate to get out, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“thanks for coming tonight” he finally says, breaking the quiet. “even though football isn’t really your thing”

she glances at him, her lips twitching. “you’re my thing”

the words are like a punch in the gut, but in a good way.  before he can stop himself, before he can overthink, he blurts out: “i like you. more than a friend, i mean. i have for a while now. and i know this probably isn’t the right time or place to say it, but i can’t keep pretending i don’t feel this way about you”

y/n stares at him for a beat, her eyes searching his face. then, without warning, she steps forward, cups his cheek, and kisses him. it’s soft at first, but when he kisses her back, it deepens, all the pent up feelings spilling out.

“i like you too” she murmurs against his lips in between kisses. “a lot”

she doesn’t say anything more, and neither does he. there’s an unspoken understanding that they’ll get to talk later. there’s  time to untangle his messy coping mechanisms, to decide what this is and what it could become. for now, it’s enough to kiss like two people who’ve been suppressing so much for so long. for jude, it feels like a long exhale after holding his breath. its feels like relief, like a much needed respite. 

the elevator dings, and they jump apart just as the doors slide open. a staff member is standing on the other side, clearly trying not to stare. jude is too happy to feel embarrased.

“buenas noches!” jude says brightly, winking at the man before grabbing y/n’s hand and pulling her out of the elevator, their fingers intertwined. 

III.

july 1, 2025 - things are heating up!🔥. the stars are conspiring to bring moments of ecstasy to you, cancer.

the first three months of jude and y/n dating flipped everything he'd pictured for his early 20s on its head: staying single, having fun, engaging in meaningless hookups that served their purpose but left no emotional trail behind. those plans flew out the window thanks to y/n, who makes him laugh until his stomach hurts, who became one of the few people in the world he feels truly himself with, who now goes out of her way to watch football because she knows how much it means to him.

plus he's having the best sex of his life. he really can't complain.

its the middle of summer, a couple days after his birthday and a few before he has to leave on the team's preseason tour. they're in birmingham, taking a quick two day trip before the craziness of their lives pulls them in different directions. jude spends the day showing her around the city—his old stomping grounds, the places that defined his childhood and adolescence. it feels amazing to share this part of himself with her, to show her the nooks and crannies of what makes him him. 

now they’re back in his house, indulging in other activities. 

“young denzel was so fine. i mean, he can still get it. he's aged like fine wine” she’d sighed earlier, her head resting on his chest. they were cuddling on his sofa, the mighty quinn playing on the tv. they were both slightly distracted: her scrolling through her phone, and jude absentmindedly admiring the bracelet she'd gifted him for his birthday. (jobe had caught him doing the same at breakfast and muttered something about people in love being disgusting)

jude had side eyed her, hand resting lazily on her hip. “was he finer than me?”

"yeah" she'd said without skipping a beat. "definitely"

he'd gasped, feigning offense. "you're supposed to say no. i'm your boyfriend!"

"you're not far off from him, i guess" she'd teased.

"you guess?"

"you asked" she shrugged, fighting a smile. then after a slight pause, "you know, i dated a guy that looked a lot like him once. he was sooo-"

"right that's it" he said, grabbing the remote and turning off the tv. "no more movie nights with you"

"oh no" she deadpanned, tone dripping with sarcasm as she removed herself from his arms and faced him. "how am going to survive without your 28th rewatch of training day?"

jude couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. he couldn't never stay mad at her; not even pretend mad. before she could react, he grabbed her and gently flung her onto the couch cushions, eliciting a surprised squeak as he pinned her down and started tickling her. her giggles spilled out loudly, her protests coming out in breathless half sentences as he attacked every ticklish spot he could find.

one thing had led to another — heated kisses, a move to his bedroom, clothes thrown off frantically, hands wandering—and now here they are, her body curving towards him, her face contorted in pleasure as pounds into her.

she’s so slick, taking him all at once, and jude’s body has no choice but to surrender to its most primal instincts. in and out. plunge in then retreat. he’s dizzy with pleasure, but even through it, he can’t help but feel a little salty about her earlier comments.

"bet offbrand denzel couldn't make you feel like this" jude murmurs against her ear, his voice low and rough. the rhythm of his hips snapping forward punctuates his words.

her nails drag down his back, leaving faint trails as she gasped "he wouldn’t even have to try"

he nips at the soft skin of her neck. "guess i’ll just have to prove i’m better won’t i?"

she's so tight and warm and wet, he doesn't ever want this to stop. his movements grew deeper, more deliberate, and he smirks when she cries out his name, her hands gripping his shoulders like her life depended on it. "say it" he demands, voice a mix of amusement and lust. "say i’m better"

"you’re-oh god, you’re such an idiot" she manages between moans, refusing to give in completely, though her body betrays her with how eagerly it responds to his every touch.

"wrong answer" jude mutters, his lips brushing hers before he kissed her deeply, swallowing her protests and replacing them with soft whimpers.

his pace quickens, each thrust dragging a gasp or a broken words from her lips. jude leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, his voice dipping lower. "admit it" he murmurs, his tone slightly smug. "i'm the best you've ever had"

she doesn't respond, and jude can't blame her, they're fucking so good he can't think straight now. and then, as if she can sense he's about to lose control, she gasps, "don't come. not yet. don't stop, please, baby"

he grits his teeth and tries to obey. then she brings him impossibly closer, so their sweaty bodies are pressed up against each other, and kisses him. and all he can think is mine. this beautiful, sweet girl is writhing in pleasure under him and she's his. he'll thank his lucky stars forever.

afterward, they lie tangled together on his bed, having only moved to discard the condom and clean up. their hearts drum in tandem, fast and loud. y/n looks drowsy, her eyelids heavy.

"i lied, by the way" she murmurs slowly against his chest.

"about what?"

"about dating someone that looked like young denzel washington" she giggles. "i made that up to get you riled up"

jude bites her shoulder playfully. "i hate you"

what he really wants to say is, i love you.

IV.

september 17, 2025 - communication is key, cancer 🗣️. today, the stars urge you to focus on how you express yourself. be clear and open in your communication—it’s the foundation for building trust and understanding.

jude can’t shake the feeling that something is off, and it’s gnawing at him.

he’d flown out of madrid the night before for a champions league away game, catching up with y/n for a bit after settling into his hotel room before calling it a night. now, its the afternoon of the next day and he’s in the locker room gearing up for their final training before the match, and he's feeling uneasy because he hasn't heard from y/n since.

he’d texted her his usual good morning when he woke up. no reply. after breakfast, he’d sent her a funny tiktok, something he knew would usually get a quick response, but still, nothing.

it wasn’t like her, and the silence was starting to weigh on him.

the concern he felt earlier turns into irritation as afternoon turns into evening. if y/n was upset with him, why wouldn’t she just say so? the silent treatment didn’t solve anything, and it wasn’t like her either. they’d always been the type to talk things out.

after training, he tries to distract himself. he joins the boys for a round of video games, their laughter and trash talk filling the hotel room. but every few minutes, his eyes flick to his phone, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come. each notification he gets, from group chats to random emails to that stupid astrology app just irritates him further.

they’ve never gone a whole day without talking. ever. the thought nags at him, and as stubborn as y/n can be, jude knows himself: he always caves first. always.

by the time the boys leave his room, jude is pacing, phone in hand. he sighs heavily and hits the facetime button, his thumb hovering over the screen for a split second before he presses call.

y/n’s face appears on the screen when the call connects, and jude’s irritation completely disappears the moment he sees her. she looks exhausted. her curls are a mess, dark circles under her eyes, and there’s something guarded in the way she looks at him.

“hi, babe” he says softly, clearing his throat. “you good? you weren’t responding to my messages all day”

“i’m good" she says curtly.

he waits for her to say more, but she stays silent. he feels a pang of hurt and irritation again. no asking how his day was? how he's feeling before the match?

"how was your day?" he tries.

"fine"

"what did you get up to? how were classes?" he tries again.

"okay"

jude exhales loudly, visibly frustrated. "can i get a response that's more than one word?"

he watches as she shifts around in her seat. "well, i couldn't get a word in last night so i thought what's the point?"

"what?" jude furrows his eyebrows, genuinely confused.

"you were going on and on about your match and your photoshoot coming up and i wanted to tell you about how this exam tomorrow is stressing me out-" her voice wobbles over the last few words and she pauses for a bit, lips pursed and eyes glossy. "- but you couldn't pay attention for the life of you"

jude is silent, jaw slack as he watches his girlfriend on the other end wipe a stray tear away because of him. in his head, nothing seemed amiss last night during their call. but she wasn't lying; he was venting a lot about the match and some logistical issues his agents were worried about for his next shoot. and yeah, maybe he hadn’t given her the space to speak, hadn’t noticed the subtle shifts in her tone or the demeanor that might’ve hinted at how overwhelmed she was feeling.

he curses himself under his breath, because now he realizes that he hadn't even checked their shared calendar the past couple of days, so he hadn't even known about the exam. and to think he picked up the phone because he was annoyed at her.

“y/n” he says, voice low and filled with remorse. “i-i’m so, so sorry. i didn’t mean to-” he stops himself, groaning softly as he facepalms. “i messed up. i wasn’t paying attention, and that’s on me. i’m really, really sorry”

she sniffles. "its okay"

"please don't cry"

"i'm not crying because of you, idiot" she snorts. "i'm crying because i'm stressed out"

jude fully lays down on the bed. "okay, how can I help?"

y/n sighs, wiping her cheeks as she looks at him through the screen. "you can't exactly help me pass this exam, jude"

"no, but I can help you feel less stressed" he says earnestly, his voice softer now. "talk to me, babe. tell me everything. what’s been going on?"

she hesitates for a moment, but when she starts talking, it’s as if a dam breaks. the words spill out in a rush, tumbling as she tells him everything; the material is so much harder than she anticipated, no matter how much she studies it feels like nothing sticks, and the crushing pressure to excel is suffocating her. she pours it all out, every frustration, every fear, every doubt.

jude nods, listening intently. “yeah, that sounds rough. and i made it worse. i should’ve checked the calendar, and i should’ve asked how you were feeling. instead i was just rambling about my stuff"

"you didn’t mean to" she says softly, though her tone is still tinged with exhaustion.

"but I did it, and I’m sorry" he replies, sitting up now, his elbows resting on his knees. “look, communication is our thing, yeah? it’s what makes us work. we can’t let that slide. i don’t ever want you to feel like I’m not here for you, especially when you need me the most”

she gives him a small smile. “and i shouldn’t have just shut down on you today. i could’ve told you how i was feeling instead of ghosting”

“so lets agree no more bottling things up” jude says, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “if one of us is stressed or annoyed or just having a bad day, we say it. no silent treatments, no guessing games”

y/n nods, her shoulders relaxing. “deal”

“good” jude says, his voice lighter now.

they spend the rest of the call catching up on the little things. she shows him the nails she’s planning to get soon, scrolling through her pinterest to show him the design. he mentions that he’s getting a trim in the morning, which prompts her to tease him mercilessly, saying he probably spends more time in his barber’s chair than he does on the football pitch. he quips back that its probably less time than she spends obsessively curating her pinterest boards.

they say their i love yous and good nights, and jude heads to bed, already feeling lighter and more relaxed about the game tomorrow. she has that effect on him, y/n. a way of making him feel seen, loved, and just serene.

he wants to keep her forever.

V.

january 1, 2026 - gratitude grounds you, cancer. 🌟 take a moment today to appreciate everything you've accomplished, as it will give you the clarity and confidence to take the next steps with purpose✨

enzo is standing behind the counter when they enter the cafe, a smile spreading across his face when he recognizes them. it feels serendipitous, almost fated, that they're greeted by the same barista who served them on this day last year, the day they first met.

"ah, my favorite lovebirds!" he exclaims. "happy new year! what will it be today?"

they order their drinks and settle into a corner table, the same one they’d sat at a year ago. between sips of coffee, they make plans to stop by the pharmacy on their walk back to pick up ibuprofen for the hangover still lingering over them.

then, as if it’s the most natural part of the conversation, jude pulls out a key from his pocket and slides it across the table. his expression is soft, his voice as confident as the day he’d first asked to sit with her. “move in with me” he clears his throat. "please?"

she blinks, caught off guard for only a moment, before her lips curve into a smile. “ yes. i mean, i would love to”

it was a long time coming. their relationship is going strength to strength, despite their seemingly different worlds. all because, at their core, they're the same. jude feels proud that he's built something great with someone so special- even looking at her now makes his heart splutter, he's never going to be used to how beautiful she is. most of all he's proud that they’ve managed to carve out a space in each other for each other.

every time she stayed over, every morning they woke up tangled in the same sheets (her inevitably hogging the covers to his annoyance) it felt right. so this question has been building for a while, and when he finally asked it, her answer, immediate and without hesitation, feels like the most natural thing in the world.

they walk out of the cafe after a while, arm in arm. he steals glances at y/n walking beside him and he feels an overwhelming sense of gratitude. for that stupid astrology app and enzo's GREEN PEACE pin. but most of all, for the kismet of that day a year ago, for everything they’ve built since, and for everything still ahead.

[luminni]

Ya know what? I'm actually not done talking about Johnny being in love with his childhood best friend who now suddenly has a boyfriend.

Imagine your new "boyfriend" (Johnny hates to use that word) is actually taller than him, not just that but he's just bigger than him too. The twat looks like he hits the gym once a day and it pisses Johnny off. He's not used to many people being taller than him, most aren't (if your exclude his mates in the service). So imagine his horror when this new git you've been on about, someone he's sure he can out match, is bigger than him. Of course he's no where near as skilled and all that bulk is just that, bulk with no strength to back it up, but it doesn't matter. Johnny still hates him, he's hated everyone you've dated, they haven't been good enough for you. No one would ever be good enough for you besides him, but he's convinced himself he would be able to let you go if it was to someone worthy of you (but thats never going to happen).

He bites his lip when he has to listen to your female friends gush over your new man. "Oh he's so tall!" "He looks like he could pick you up!" "He's funny too!". Johnny doesn't get it, he could do all that and more, so much more. He picks you up and twirls your around every time you come and pick him up on the tarmac when he gets off deployment. He uses your head as an arm rest all the time, which yes, you do complain about but he sees that playful sparkle in your eye, you really do love it. Not to mention he can work you into a laughing fit that has you unable to breath. He has no clue what your friends are on about, the man they really should be encouraging you to date is him.

He still remembers when he would convince you to skip 3rd and 4th period with him, ditch school and go driving in the country side. Going to pick up take away and eating it in the parking lot, he treasures those memories. Those times when he was your entire world, when you'd look at him from the passenger seat with the sun behind your head like a halo, you always look perfect to him, even when you didn't see it. Nowadays, you were barley looking at him twice, all your attention on that new bastard who wasn't even looking at you. But when he did meet your gaze, that same spark was still there. That mischievous twinkle he recognized, the look in your eyes reserved only for him. But when the bloke would inevitably drag you to some upstairs room, he would have to leave to keep himself from dragging the disrespectful twat off of you.

And it goes without saying that the 141 has heard all about his troubles over a pint.

" 's jus' not fair!" Johnny would whine, going on and on about how upset he was for what felt like hours. " 've know 'er longer and I know 'er better'!" He would groan, slumping down dramatically to lay his face on the bar table.

Kyle would laugh at his friends sorry state, "You know wha's happened to ya mate?"

"Wha?" Johnny looked up pathetically from his position on the table.

"He's pinched yer bird"

Another dramatic groan from the Scott, followed by his friends laughter.

"An' he'd probably kick yer head in." Ghost would finally add, not helping the situation in the slightest.

Price would give the old man advice of just confessing. What's the worst that could happen? But Johnny couldn't bare to loose you as a friend too.

Now imagine his elation when you come crying to him in the middle of the night, at the door of his flat (of course he woke up from a dead sleep for you). Sobbing about how the prick had cheated on you, a blubbering mess in his arms. Johnny would let your cry and bad mouth him all night, finally getting to share with you how he truly felt now that you both were on the same page. He'll let you fall asleep in his arms after you ate every tub of ice cream in the flat. He'd have to beat the shit out of the idiotic bastard for having the gall to cheat on you but that could come later. Right now, he finally had you all to himself, protected from the world in his strong arms.

Maybe theres hope for the hopeless romantics after all.

A/n: Yes theres a happy ending because I'm incapable of writing pure angst. Also heavily inspired by "bigger boys and stolen sweethearts" by the Arctic Monkeys bc they are great.

[thefandomsfervent]

JayVik x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 21) - Phthalo Emerald (NSFW)

As of last chapter this is a jayvik x reader fic now. It is going to be a JayVik fic. Ft. Viktor being a quiet lover boy and JayVik smut. haven't written MLM +18 before so careful and I'm sorry in advance lol. it'll be marked by a breaker MDNI

Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

As much as daily chapters were fun to do, not feasible with my current work schedule. It may move to 2-4 days between releases now. stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3 Sorry it took so long for this update! I was in a wedding that I had to travel for and also holiday burnout. But I'm back with a vengeance.

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It had been a good morning for Viktor, he had awoken rested. Warm. Wrapped in Jayce's arms. This became a more familiar feeling. What was once ephemeral memories of rarely shared naps had turned into cuddling in bed together, warm broad hands rubbing into his legs and back. Jayce cologne settled into his pillows weeks ago. Cold mornings alone now were warm and slow starts to the day. Fleeting kisses and soft touches, drapes of cloth and linen. This morning was like all the others, and there was nothing that either of them would change about it. Aside from you. 

Time had continued to pass as it always did, and their patience began to wane. Admittedly it was Viktor’s own that seemed to dwindle. Jayce seemed content with just having him for now. That didn’t stop Jayce from joining in on the teasing. Now he had both of you in this lab. His golden darling, and you. Who was not his just yet. But he could want you to be. And for now that was enough. Because he saw how you were watching him and Jayce. He saw your lingering glances. Your weighted gaze on where their hands held each other. Something that lit a fire in himself and in Jayce. It resulted in some... testing this morning.  Gauging your reaction to their actions and eyes.  Seeing how beautifully red you could get just from their gentle teasing. It made some primitive part of him imagine what more hands on approaches could do to you. Discussions that he and Jayce indulged in when the wine gifted from Mel would find itself in their glasses. 

That would come later, much later if it needed to. Today all they had were words and time. That shyness that swept across your face when you heard him call Jayce, Zlato. A pink gone crimson when you heard your own endearment. If you had asked why Viktor would have gladly answered. Even if he preferred to keep such close sentiments to himself, he knew your love for imagery. He knew that if he told you why he had picked those words that you would have been putty in his palm. Zlato and Broučku each had their own meanings that he had chosen to share and that he chose to keep private. 

Zlato meant darling, but it also directly translated to gold. Jayce Talis was golden to him. His tan, his energy. Where you drew him as the sun personified, Viktor thought of him as starlight. As a continuous pulsing of energy that ebbed and flowed, lighting the night sky on Viktor’s late nights. Something to look for, to be excited to see. To watch glow and twinkle. That smile so bright as if he was lit from within. Stars he didn't always get to see back in Zaun. The smoke from Zaun and light pollution from Piltover sometimes blocked out those celestial lights. But Jayce was like that to him. Moving and changing, part of history in a way that not everyone quite understood. A gold dusting across space and time. Like gold, he was soft and malleable. Like gold, he was still strong and desired. Like gold, he shone in the sun. Like gold, he deserved to be taken care of. Like gold, Viktor wanted to wear him on his skin. 

And you? There was brouček, which was cuter. Little beetle. But broučku fit you better, he thought. When he imagined you, your always working hands, there was a buzzing behind his neck. Deep and thrumming in his ears. You had wormed your way into his lab. His life. His heart. Had burrowed under his skin. An iridescent sheen in his mind when he thought of you. Something that had truly hit him that morning after you had mixed your paints in the lab. As a scientist he understood your explanation and preference for correct terminology. But your laugh warmed his chest and soothed the mental aches being in the lab brought him. He couldn't help himself. Especially after your note where you kept the silly name, had crossed out your own words just to call back to his misnomer. 

You had become embedded in him without him realizing. Despite there being the closeness that he and Jayce had shared he was certain that you were a part of him. A kind of stability that your presence had offered that he took comfort in. Regardless of if you became entwined in the romance he and Jayce shared, he knew that you would be a sweet constant. 

Viktor sees your mind processing the nicknames, sees how your cheeks are impossibly ruddy, sees the way you fidget with your hands. You had laughed and relaxed. Still, whatever limits you had it seemed that they were about to hit them, so he taps Jayce’s hand and gestures to their table. A silent “Let us work now.” When Jayce turns around he is barely hiding all the affection Viktor knows he holds. It pours from that smile, gleaming in those happy hazel eyes. And it fills Viktor’s chest with his own. He can hear the tense breath you let loose when they both face their table. He can only imagine how your shoulders must relax without their focus on you. Can not help the last look he gives you. His eyes are catching yours. Your own watering from laughter. Viktor almost speaks. But you smile at him and any words catch in his throat. So he offers his own and gets back to work. The soothing sounds of all three of you working plays in the background. 

As the day continues like normal there is a burning that had settled in him. There was a tenderness in today’s teasing, yes. But something in Viktor had been awoken by all that blushing of yours. It means that when you call it an early night he only waits until the door shuts to tug on Jayce’s tie. His golden partner was looking over his shoulder at calculations. Jayce says nothing at the action, simply waits. Having been victim to Viktor’s teasing in almost all its forms he knew better than to react too quickly now. 

“Perhaps we should call it a night too.” is all Jayce needs to hear to lean into Viktor’s back. Eyes closing when he feels Viktor rise to stand. There’s no straightening of notes before they leave. Just a silent walk back to their rooms. Lately they had spent most nights in Viktor’s room, the mattress more comfortable on his leg. Tonight they stop at Jayce’s door. 

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Jayce sat on the bed patiently,  his hand loosely fidgeting with the sheets as Viktor undresses. Jayce himself had already made it down to just his boxers, straining in the fabric just watching. An inaudible hitch in his throat when he sees how Viktor had loosened his tie. Two moles on the right side of his neck unveiling as the collar dipped open. Jayce can feel his own gaze travel down to those beautifully long fingers deftly working at buttons. Watching with a growing hunger. They had been so gentle and teasing this whole time they'd been together.  More so before their talk to make it more. But tonight was different. And so he didn't want to forget a moment. He would catalogue it deep within his brain. Would make sure to remember every little thing he did right. Remember every movement Viktor made. A clearing throat pulls his gaze up. 

Viktor’s small smug smile greeting him. Flushed cheeks. It's all he can do to not pull him down onto that bed right away. To kiss up and down every inch of the man before him. Instead, Jayce opens his arms wide. Asking. Pleading with his eyes, leaning forward without thinking. He tries to ignore the thumping of his heart. Jayce Talis was a lover. He was a man that had been with men and women, needed affection and to give it. Craved it. And with his partner here in his room that one simple fact about himself did not change. Only became exemplified. As soon as Viktor stepped between Jayce’s legs he could feel those tan arms wrap around his back. Feel them slide under the loose button up. Thick fingers splayed along his lower spine. He could feel Jayce’s lips trailing soft kisses, loving and slow up and down his stomach. The press of Jayce’s nose into his abdomen. Viktor wrapped his own arms around Jayce. He trailed his hands until they met with the nape of Jayce's neck. And how could he not chuckle at the sigh he heard in response? At the puff of air he felt in his skin as Jayce leaned into his touch and looked up through loving hazel eyes?

Jayce tries to stay focused, tries to not let the night become a blur of bodies and sensations. Leans into every kiss, committed to every action that has a taste and sound. Everytime his hands wander too low Viktor’s hands pull them away and up. When Viktor himself is only in his boxers he’s sitting in Jayce’s lap. Hands holding Jayce’s above his head, whispering about patience and behavior. Words that he wishes he could focus on. All he knows is that Viktor tastes like coffee today. Like home. Cold hands on his hot skin. Hips moving deep and slow, brushing against each other. 

Viktor isn’t sure how long he’s kept Jayce at this point before he settles further down the bed. Trailing fingers over where Jayce has made a mess in his underwear. Reveling in the gasps Jayce can’t hide. In the way he twitches beneath the wet fabric. It’s deliciously pathetic. Makes him hungry. Lightheaded. When he fully presses his palm down Jayce curses, trying to stay still. A task quickly abandoned as Viktor continues to tease, until he’s panting and whining. 

“Do you need more or could you finish like this?” Viktor’s voice is soft and admiring. A tone that is heavy with demand yet still asking. Jayce only nods, eyes barely open enough to see what Viktor’s doing. Crawling up for messy kisses and that hand never stops. “Vik I can’t, I’ll-” It takes an ear nip and a few well timed praises. A groan that rumbles deep in his chest, loud enough that Viktor can feel it in his own as a wet flood pulses through the fabric of Jayce’s boxers. He keeps moving, focusing on getting every last bit until he hears a whine. 

"Can't wait anymore, let me touch you. Please. Let me make you feel good. " His voice is hoarse. Emotion that could be lust or love. It’s both but that didn't matter as his lips met skin and hands fumbled with the waistband of his underwear. "Wanna taste you. Can I?" Viktor just looked at him. A ring of amber barely visible around the blown pupils. Finally Jayce could feel that sense of pride. Drinking in every second of those mole and freckle covered shoulders heaving up and down.  Loving every minute that he could be touching his partner. "Please V."

Viktor wants to deny him but impatient stuttering hips betray his resolve.  He lifts them and nods, not trusting the voice rising in his throat to stay steady. Not when Jayce looks at him like that. Pouty kiss bitten lips parted to show that endearing tooth gap. He had no time to take in the cool air he’s suddenly exposed to. Jayce’s hands are already on him, pumping his length. All their heavy petting and grinding meant that it didn't take much to get him fully hard. So Jayce wastes no time in pushing him down, leaning forward on his knees. The pillows by his feet getting kicked off the bed as he settles and puts his mouth on Viktor. The hot muscle moving to make room and properly cradle the underside on each slow pass. Viktor could hide his first groan, but not the second. 

Seeing Jayce’s brows furrowed together in concentration, those short thick lashes resting on the swell of Jayce’s cheeks. Especially not when Jayce hums as if he's content to be here of all places. Viktor can feel the back of his partners throat, kissing the head as Jayce tries to swallow around him.  It's too much, too far and he wants to pull away. But Jayce is lifting Viktor’s hips. Pressing himself impossibly close, nose brushing against that patch of hair, taking in shaky breaths. His orgasm is fast. Too fast. Viktor can't warn him, all he can do is let his head lean back as he spasms. He can feel his leg twitch, a heel dogging into Jayce’s back, he can feel himself twitching as he cums. The wet heat of Jayce’s mouth staying there the whole time, slowing down his movements to draw it out as long as possible. When he finally pulls off Viktor is barely there. That bliss of another person warming his whole body. He can barely register the kisses on his inner thigh, just when they stop and he feels Jayce lay his head on a bony hip. Jayce hums when he feels Viktor's hands in his hair. A few strands stuck to his forehead, just getting his breathing together and they both relax. 

“Again?” Viktor can feel Jayce pushing into his hand, head tilting to look up at him. Face so open and vulnerable, and absolutely drunk on the feeling of being there with each other. 

“Incorrigible.” It doesn’t stop him from tightening the grip of his fingers in those dark brown locks. 

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--.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 20-.-Next Part will be linked here.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .--

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[merrycrisis-if]

I didn't realize up until 3 days ago that you had updated Merry Crisis. I played the demo very late at night and I felt such a strong feeling of melancholy and longing when reading the scenes between MC and their family members. The messy drama with the aunts and the uncles... The endless boredom shared between all older cousins... The bittersweet memories when remembering departed grandparents... The sibling rivalry when playing any type of games... "Don't forget the taste of your mother's soup". God. I might have shed a tear or two. More than the romances (who are actually great, don't get me wrong), I fell in love with the way you write about the MC's family and culture. There are many things about them I could never truly understand ; I'm not Singaporean, nor Chinese, or even American, and I never lived in either of the places the MC spent most of their life. Culturally speaking, we have nothing in common. But there were so many moments where I saw parts of myself reflected in that young adult struggling with conflicting aspects of their identity, especially when it comes to feeling torn between different places, feeling like a stranger no matter where you are, and being queer while fearing coming out to your parents. What struck me the hardest was when the MC thought their grandmother would have gotten along with Nat, even though they don't know how she would have reacted to their partner being the same gender as them... So, thank you for that. Anyways, this isn't really why I'm sending you this ask. There were heavy rain falls where I live yesterday night, and a part of my basement got flooded. I had to throw a lot of things away, including many childhood drawings and family pictures. Some of my dad's old stuff got pretty soaked as well, but his vintage ViewMaster 3D collection miraculously didn't suffer too much damage. I was drying them up as best as I could, before coming to a stop. There were a few slides of Singapore lost among the countless others of European and American cities, dating back from 1957. It reminded me of you, probably because your story was still so fresh on my mind, and I thought I'd share a few of my favorites with you. I'm sorry for the horrible quality, though. They are pretty old and my phone doesn't take very good pictures.

Thank you for your stories. Happy holidays to you and your loved ones, I wish you all the best.

This message struck me really deeply, so thank you so much for sharing this with me. It makes me so incredibly moved when merry crisis reaches across time and space and ends up resonating with someone from a completely different culture/place -- makes me think about just how many experiences are shared in the most unlikely ways.

I'm sorry to hear the flooding but wow it sounds like you uncovered a lot of real gems. Thank you so much for sharing them with me! The one in the top left made me think about my grandma who says back in the day, my old house used to overlook the sea (kinda like those shophouses in the picture) -- until Singapore reclaimed land and pushed the coast much further south. And the other one, in the bottom left of Haw Par Villa reminds me of the time I went to there with my family (this is a little creepy Chinese place with scary statues and an awesome exhibit of the "ten courts of hell") and there was one statue of what happens when you talk back to your older siblings and my younger brother and I had a good laugh over that (you get boiled alive in lava or something equally horrifying).

Anyway, your message was so special to me. Receiving things like this make me so motivated to write!!

Happy holidays to you too!! <3

[konstantynowitz]

I could’ve just messaged you but I want to get this question out there! So I was wondering: would Renissa ever leave St. Mungo’s or would she remain there for the rest of her life?

Fyi: this all happens shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, so Voldemort is gone and there’s no one left to threaten Renissa’s safety or punish the Lestrange brothers for going against his wishes to have her killed.

Let’s say it’s post-1998 and Renissa is around thirty-six or thirty-seven? Right? Since she was born in 1962 so that would make her around one of those ages. Anyways, Andromeda somehow finds her at the sanitarium and is so relieved that Renissa is alive that she gets her discharged and brings her to live with her and Teddy?

If I remember correctly, you mentioned to me once that Renissa would’ve been close with the Black sisters, since Tasoula and Druella were best friends at Hogwarts. I understand they would’ve grown up together, and maybe could’ve seen each other as sisters? I feel like Renissa and Andromeda would’ve been the closest since they both didn’t share in their family’s pure-blood ideologies.

I don’t know how Andy could’ve found Renissa, or how she would’ve known to go looking for her if Ren had been registered under an alias. But perhaps maybe Rabastan could’ve told Andromeda? I feel like the two were also pretty close, and I headcanon that at some point Rabastan was a potential husband for Andy.

If Rabastan had lived past the Battle of Hogwarts, Andromeda could’ve visited him in Azkaban and he might’ve told her about Renissa still being alive? That kinda makes more sense to me rather than Andromeda stumbling about Renissa herself.

…Thoughts?

This ask has actually caused me to reconsider a few things I had planned for Renissa. Originally, I think I've mentioned that she would stay at St. Mungo's for the remainder of her life in an ask I got a while back, but that's probably not going to happen. Renissa will leave at some point, possibly within only a couple years of being admitted there. I feel like she is a character with so much wasted potential, and I don't want to keep her on the sidelines. What you said about Andromeda taking in Renissa after the war is something that I haven't thought about before. If Andy did end up finding Renissa and discharging her from St. Mugo's sometime after the war, then she still wouldn't remember Andromeda or who she was before Rodolphus and Rabastan obliviated her. As I've said before, Renissa isn't ever going to get her memory back, unfortunately, but the idea of Andy being reunited with her childhood friend is so bittersweet and it could work as a possible ending for the lost Lestrange girl. A while back, I actually thought of having a Lestrange OC marry into the Scamander family as a way to create a parallel between Newt and Leta. I was thinking that maybe Renissa could've married Lycidas Scamander? One of Tina and Newt's twins. I know I haven't gone that far into depth with this character, since I believe I only posted a few aesthetics and a small strip of headcanons for him. A problem with this would be that Lycidas is about sixteen years Renissa's senior... I mean that isn't exactly a problem but it's not very ideal. I guess it isn't that big of a deal seeing as Nymphadora and Remus were maybe thirteen years apart? I can't remember. Age gap couples aren't really my thing, especially when we started getting into modern times where it becomes less common. Lycidas would've met Renissa at St. Mugo's since he actually works there as a Psychopathologist. Obviously, Renissa wasn't actually mentally ill or anything so I'm not sure how she'd fit into his department, but they did know each other. Lycidas was kindhearted and sympathetic to his patients, and I guess that contributed to him later earning Renissa's trust. Keep in mind that by this point it's 1980 and Renissa is eighteen, and according to the birth date I gave Lycidas (1946) he's like what... thirty-four? Now that kinda concerns me lmao but I could always change it if I wanted to. Of course, that would make Newt and Tina significantly older when they had their twins (around their fifties?) so idk how I feel about that.

If Renissa marries Lycidas then she would have Rolf by the time she's nineteen, since I believe he's about the same age as Luna. That would mean that Lycidas and Renissa would've had to get married or start an official relationship within the first year she was admitted, which to me seems a bit rushed. I'm still thinking of loop holes around all of this, but I might just end up trashing this idea altogether if I'm being completely honest with you. Side note: the name Rolf would go perfect with my headcanon for the lestrange family naming their children with letter 'r' names and also the common theme of their meanings having to do with wolves.

extra side note: Renissa had the gift of foresight and I bet you they drove her a little mad, so I guess there is a possibility that she would've been put in a ward for the mentally ill? I like to think she drew out her visions on the walls of her room.

[missriggie]

If Inquisitor Lavellan is Hope, Elf!Rook is Freedom

Forgive my rambling but I just wanted to share this, see if it inspires discussion/theories/new friends to reach out, and maybe cement myself in this fandom.

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

I've given a sparing thought to some theories and headcanons I've seen circulating with the confirmation of elves once being spirits in Veilguard and all the clues sprinkled throughout Inquisition. One has popped up that I find intriguing and I agree with. Inquisitor Lavellan is a Spirit of Hope.

I think there is a very strong case for that, especially for those Solasmancers out there who love to pair them up as Wisdom and Hope. It's a very beautiful thought as they are without a doubt soulmates, at least in the cases where those two end up together.

Hope defines the Inquisitor's journey. They become the Herald of Andraste, a symbol to look to after a period of ruthless war, then into the ass-end of a demon apocalypse trying to mend a broken world. Deed after great deed they prove their capabilities, and become a formidable player in Thedas's history, keeping people looking up. They are the Dawn That Comes.

Now that Veilguard has since confirmed that Elves were spirits made flesh, I've started to wonder at what possible spirit Rook could be, should they be of Elven lineage. I've decided, either through evidence or delusion or trying to piece together the fanfic I've got brewing, that Rook could be a spirit of Freedom.

Every faction could have some way of a purpose toward liberation. A Veil Jumper would want to free their history and their people from ignorance. A Grey Warden would want to free Thedas from the Calling and the Blight. The strongest background, and most the likely canon faction for Rook would be a Shadow Dragon, putting pressure on the Imperium to abolish slavery.

Rook has a knack for freedom. We free Lucanis from the Ossuary, the Dalish Elves from the Venatori, the Kal Sharok dwarves from the Titan's anger, young griffons from the Gloomhowler. We even free ourselves from a prison of regret built specifically to lock up gods.

My first go round, I played a Lord of Fortune Spellsword, and it coincided very nicely with this theory. An ex-galley slave turned marauding treasure hunter with no masters to hold them back. She lived and breathed freedom so it made sense, at least for my Rook.

We also see the potential to corrupt that spirit of freedom. Into what you ask? CHAOS. Which also ties into the other thing that connects them to Solas; The Tower.

The big teaser for Rook as the protagonist back when it was still called Dreadwolf was the Tower/rook chess piece and floating head of a wolf. Solas's Arcana at the end of Inquisition is the Tower. This Major Arcana represents calamity, disruption, upheaval, unavoidable change, chaos.

Too much freedom leads to lawlessness, and Rook is never one to follow rules as far as we witness. In all backgrounds, no matter the faction, Rook's actions cause unrest, turmoil, disruption, often a total breakdown of authority, much like the spirit they are mistaken for when delving into Solas's memories in the Crossroads.

Rook cannot be caged or told what to do. But also, Freedom cannot go unchecked, to do so on either end of the spectrum just leads to untold mayhem. It needs a guiding hand. It needs Wisdom.

With this in mind, it just makes their dynamic with Solas so much more fascinating. Everything he has done is in the name of Freedom, and if he were to have a living embodiment of it move against him it would be so confronting. It would make him question his entire angle. Why is he really doing this, if not for freedom? But his pride would keep him in imprisoned in denial and regret. This denial is then reflected back to Rook in regards to the fate of Varric.

The case for each spirit, both Hope and Freedom, only intensifies if one chooses the Atonement ending.

Lavellan sees the Wisdom in Solas and tries to appeal to him through that. She gives him Hope, and joins him in the dream, forever protected from his fear of dying alone.

Rook holds a mirror to his Pride, his mistakes, his trauma and makes him confront it. They gather all the pieces needed to unravel his fear, allow him to let go and make his own choice to atone and return to his true self, opening a path to true Freedom to finally come home to the Fade. WHICH IS TWIN-FLAMEY AS FUCK

So yeah, I love this game.

[mercymaker]

▬ grief is unexpressed love

She missed Aleria, she missed Halsin, but above all else she missed her mother.

Mother that she would never see again.

The thought alone was like a dagger sinking into her heart, and soon, more tears came spilling out of her mismatched eyes. Thoriel sobbed as she sat at the mirror, her voice so unlike the one she had shared with the audience mere hours ago. Instead of a melody that would put a songbird to shame, the walls of the room heard only cries, broken and hushed.

She had spent years yearning for adventure, praying to her goddess every night to let her leave the little cabin at the edge of the woods. For so long, living under her mother’s wing felt like its own type of prison. It was warm and safe, yet it was a cage nonetheless. And she was a bird—a moth—meant to fly.

Yet now the young drow craved nothing more than to return back there, to rest by the hearth and listen to her mother’s soft humming. Oh, how foolish she’d been to leave her so soon. How cruel of this world it was to never let her return home again.

When she’d be scared or sad, Thoriel would cling to her mother’s waist, wrapping her small arms as if the drow was no mortal, but a god, capable of burning any fear or danger away with a single flick of her hand. And when Maleane pulled her close and held her, for as long as she needed, it was almost as if everything else in the world vanished. It was just her and her mother. It was comfort. It was warmth.

But who was to comfort her now? Who could take this weight, this sadness off her shoulders? How could she think of anything else when her mother lay cold in some distant grave.

Where was she supposed to find comfort? Where was she meant to find home?

All that was left of her family was just a chunk of amethyst dangling on a single chain.

Thoriel looked at the necklace, her vision distorted by tears, trying to recall the last time she’d seen it before the spawn showed up with the terrible news.

It used to be like hers, pretty and purple and glimmering, hanging from her mother’s neck like a promise. A ghost of her grandfather whom she’d never gotten to know. Now, the stone lay stained in her hand, soiled with the very blood of those who’d taken her mother away.

Thoriel felt anger burn hot and sharp somewhere deep within her chest, behind her heart. It was the one time she was glad to know that Astarion was a cruel man.

Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

She dipped a towel into the warm water and scrubbed the rouge off her cheeks, the pretty pinks and purples melting into the fabric to make a brief, ephemeral painting. The warmth felt soothing against her skin, raw and puffed from crying, but it brought little comfort to her heart.

Even as she slipped out of her costume—the familiar discomfort of all the corsets and pins and stage paint—the emptiness remained. All of the grooves and indentations that the night’s performance had left on her fragile skin paled to what felt like a gaping wound in her chest. Thoriel couldn’t help but look back at the bloodied gem, catching her eye in the reflection of the mirror like a gash in the otherwise plain backdrop.

It was dirty and stained and reeked of death. That’s not how she wished to remember her mother.

As if moved by some unseen current, the bard grabbed the necklace off the edge of the table and dipped it into the same warm water she’d used to wash her face. Thoriel scrubbed and scrubbed, frantically, pressing the cloth into the pendant, trying, desperately, to wash away the dried blood hiding in all the tiny crevices.

But the details were too fine, the cloth—too big—and soon frustration poured out of her in yet another pitiful sob.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, hot and heavy, and this time they stung like a dozen tiny needles. Yet she scrubbed and scrubbed as if the action was the only thing holding her attached to this world, to the memory, to whatever warmth remained of her mother. Thoriel closed her eyes, trying to force the tears out of her as if they could take away all the sadness, the sorrow as well. And she scrubbed, just as frantically as before, until her hand slipped and the wet necklace fell right between her fingers and unto the dark floor.

The sound stopped the drow in her tracks, the sudden silence surrounding her a cold shock to her frenzied efforts.

In that moment, as she sat there empty-handed, the magnitude of her situation settled like a fine film of dust.

Her mother, the one person that seemed like an unbreakable constant, was truly gone.

And for the first time in her life, Thoriel felt truly and utterly alone.

[elyssialumengard]

Alastor x Reader : The Puppeteer ( Part 1 )

Summary : Alastor travels to a macabre theater, where the Puppeteer, a mysterious and captivating woman, manipulates puppets in a mixture of beauty and terror. As Alastor observes this horror show with a satisfied smile, he is both fascinated and repulsed by the performance of ( y/n ), the Puppeteer, who seems to take pleasure in playing with the suffering of others. The contrast between the art of the puppeteer and the cruelty of her puppets intrigues Alastor, promising a story where the line between beauty and monstrosity is blurred.

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The dark streets of Hell were restless that night.

Whispers spread like wildfire, evoking a mysterious and disturbing spectacle in a secluded theater by the edge of a sticky lake of blood. Damned souls, eager for macabre sensations, flocked in droves, their clumsy silhouettes pressing together in the oppressive darkness. The air was heavy with an almost electric tension, mingled with a familiar metallic scent that permeated all of Hell.

Amid this creeping chaos, one figure stood out : Alastor, dressed in his immaculate attire, advanced with an almost otherworldly elegance. His long cane tapped the ground softly in a steady rhythm, a sinister tick-tock amid the commotion. His wide, fixed smile illuminated his face with a chilling light, turning the dancing shadows around him into grotesque puppets.

He wasn’t there simply for entertainment, oh no. It wasn’t the rumor of a morbid spectacle that had drawn him here. It was a name, an idea : the Puppeteer. That very word had echoed through Hell’s underbelly, whispered by trembling lips, murmured by extinguished voices. And that word had awakened something deeply buried within him.

Alastor paused for a moment under the flickering glow of a twisted lamppost. His gloved fingers brushed the handle of his cane, and an even wider grin spread across his face.

- Ah ! What delightful nostalgia !

His voice, soft and theatrical, broke the relative silence.

- I still remember that fascinating story... told on one of my favorite shows. The case of the Puppeteer ! What terror I sowed among my dear listeners ! What a delight !

He burst into laughter, a sound that was anything but human. It was a laugh filled with malice, making the wandering souls who dared to pass too close tremble. They quickly moved aside, their unsteady steps betraying an instinctive fear.

Alastor continued on his way, lost in his memories. The story of the Puppeteer was one of his favorites. Oh, how he had adored it! During his lifetime, he had discovered that horrifying case : a series of murders so ingeniously macabre that he couldn’t resist sharing it on the air. An unknown, elusive individual who used human parts to craft puppets or grotesquely realistic prosthetics, sold in the shadows.

He still remembered the bloody details he had recounted to his captivated listeners. His descriptions had been so vivid that he’d heard rumors of some people vomiting as they listened. He’d laughed about that, too. What satisfaction it had brought him !

But it wasn’t just the horror that had fascinated him. No, it was the intelligence, the precision, the cold genius behind those acts. The morbid artist who had conceived such works deserved his respect. At the time, he had wondered who could be bold enough, mad enough, to accomplish such a thing. And now, here in Hell, he might finally have his answer.

He arrived near the theater, a decrepit building whose walls seemed to ooze a strange black substance. The place exuded a menacing, almost living aura. Alastor’s smile widened further, if such a thing were possible.

- Oh, my dear friends, what a delightful evening this promises to be ! Let us see what this 'Puppeteer' has to offer.

His chilling laughter echoed one last time before he pushed open the creaking doors of the hall. The theater unfolded before Alastor like a forgotten mausoleum, steeped in the acrid scent of dust, mildew, and… something else. A metallic tang, almost sweet, reminiscent of dried blood. Alastor inhaled deeply, as though savoring the bouquet of a fine wine, his ever-present grin etched across his lips.

The lighting was dim, and the few chandeliers suspended from the ceiling cast trembling shadows, bringing the cracked walls’ textures to life. The hall was full, yet a stifling silence hung in the air, as if even the damned souls dared not speak.

He selected a seat in the center—not by chance, but to ensure he missed nothing. Resting his cane against his knee, he crossed his legs with casual elegance, waiting for the performance to begin.

A sudden noise shattered the silence: a sharp, metallic creak from backstage. Then, slowly, a pallid light illuminated the stage, revealing a female silhouette.

The Puppeteer.

She stood straight and motionless, draped in a dark gown seemingly woven from shadows and crimson stains. Her hair rippled slightly, as if stirred by an absent breeze. Her eyes glinted in the dim light, immediately capturing everyone’s attention.

- Ladies and gentlemen… lost souls and wandering hearts, welcome to my humble theater.

Her voice, velvety and soft, resonated in the oppressive silence of the room. She paused, her eyes sweeping over the audience with calculated slowness, as though weighing each individual, each damned soul present.

- Tonight, I invite you on a journey… not to a realm of dreams, no, but to a kingdom where beauty flirts with horror, where every string I pull unveils a truth you might prefer to ignore.

Her smile, subtle yet captivating, seemed to illuminate her face with an almost supernatural glow. She extended a gloved hand toward the audience, inviting them to plunge into the abyss she was about to unveil.

- I am ( y/n ), and here, my creations dance for you. Not out of mere whimsy, but because they must. Every gesture, every movement… every silent sigh contains a story.

Her voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper, yet each word cut through the air like a finely honed blade.

- Tales of love and betrayal, of life and death. Fragments of forgotten humanity, transformed into eternal art. Tonight, my dear guests, I offer you a unique performance, a vision… of the sublime.

She paused, letting her gaze linger on the faces in the audience. Then she added, with an enigmatic smile hiding countless secrets:

- But beware : some threads, once pulled, reveal far more than you anticipated. And here, what breaks… stays broken.

( y/n ) bowed slightly, her movements unnervingly fluid. Raising one gloved hand, the stage lights flickered before plunging into complete darkness. An absolute void enveloped the room, sending shivers and nervous murmurs rippling through the audience. Then, gradually, a pale halo reappeared, illuminating a single puppet suspended at the center of the stage.

The puppet was a masterpiece of terror. Its face, waxen and deathly pale, seemed sculpted from candlelight, but its eyes—large and shining—were too alive to be artificial. Its delicate hands bore impeccably maintained nails, and its dark costume was finely embroidered, marred here and there with crimson stains.

With fluid movements, ( y/n )’s fingers danced over invisible strings, and the puppet came to life. It wavered at first, like a clumsy marionette, before straightening, its movements growing increasingly graceful.

A melody arose : a discordant organ tune interwoven with creaks and distant whispers. The puppet began to dance, spinning slowly, its arms rising and falling with sinister elegance. Each motion was imbued with a silent agony, as though it were aware of its macabre existence.

The audience watched, transfixed. A few murmurs of admiration broke the silence, but Alastor remained impassive, his glowing red eyes scrutinizing every detail.

As the first puppet, clad in black, continued its solitary dance, the light narrowed to a pale beam, casting the stage in semi-darkness. An oppressive silence followed until a chilling creak echoed from above the audience.

From the shadows descended a second puppet. Unlike the first, this one appeared almost human: its waxy beige skin, glassy green eyes, and pristine white dress suggested a fragile purity. Yet its movements, though graceful, were slightly jerky, as if struggling against its unseen strings.

The music resumed, a haunting, discordant string melody. The first puppet froze, turning its head slowly toward the newcomer. Its mechanical movements synchronized with a sinister creaking, as though every motion defied its wooden frame.

Tension mounted as the two puppets began to interact. The larger, darker figure dragged a long, gleaming blade across the floor with a piercing scrape. The smaller, more delicate one seemed to tremble, its motions pleading, hands clasped in a silent entreaty.

The performance grew more horrific as the narrative unfolded. The dark puppet toyed with its prey, forcing it to flee across a stage whose confines closed in like a cage.

Suddenly, one of the secondary puppets collapsed, shattered. From its broken torso oozed a dark red liquid, pooling slowly on the stage. The metallic scent thickened in the air.

The smaller puppet in white was finally cornered by the dark figure. The blade was raised, and in a flash of crimson light, it tore through the pristine fabric. Beneath, the puppet revealed "skin" crafted from stitched-together scraps of flesh.

The audience sat paralyzed, hypnotized by the unfolding horror. Every unmoving puppet on stage seemed to observe the scene, as if awaiting its turn.

As the light dimmed further, ( y/n ) reappeared, standing in a spotlight. Her voice, soft and alluring, pierced the frozen silence:

- Stories do not emerge from nothing, my dear friends. They come to life through sacrifices… one piece at a time. Thank you for offering yours.

She spread her arms wide, and every puppet lifted its head in eerie unison. Their mouths snapped open with a sharp click, releasing a piercing wail, as if the souls within were unleashed in a tidal wave of anguish.

The light vanished abruptly, plunging the hall into darkness as whispers echoed from all directions. In the blackness, Alastor remained still, his grin stretching wider, almost unnaturally. He leaned forward slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming in the void.

- What an exquisite performance ! Such horror ! Such beauty ! ( y/n ), my dear… you have thoroughly captivated me.

The curtain had fallen, but the room buzzed with murmurs. The audience, demons from every corner of Hell, seemed torn between fascination and unease. Some marveled at ( y/n )’s audacious artistry; others debated the unsettling realism of the puppets.

Alastor, however, lingered in his seat, savoring the electric tension that still clung to the air. His grin, broader than ever, remained fixed. He reveled in this liminal state where fear and admiration intertwined, where minds were still ensnared by what they had witnessed.

When he finally rose, he struck the ground with his cane in a sharp gesture and headed toward the back of the hall, where a discreet door led backstage. On his way, he passed several spectators murmuring :

- Those puppets… they seemed so alive ! Do you think she’s using… real parts ?

- Don’t be ridiculous. It’s theater ! Just a staging trick. Nothing more.

- Nothing more ? Did you see the way they bled ? That wasn’t fake blood, I swear !

Alastor walked past them without a word, his smug smile betraying his amusement. He relished these rumors, the frightened speculations. ( y/n ) knew how to manipulate her audience, and that fascinated him deeply.

The backstage area was a dark labyrinth, lit by a few flickering lamps. Ropes hung from the ceiling, and unfinished puppet pieces lay scattered about, giving the place the air of a macabre workshop.

( y/n ) stood at the center of the main room, her hands still gloved in black. She was gently removing her stage mask, revealing a serene face. Her curly hair framed a calm, almost warm smile.

She hadn’t yet noticed Alastor, too absorbed in speaking with a nervous assistant who was gathering tools.

- Remember, every string matters. She said softly. One wrong move, and everything falls apart. The details, my dear—the details make all the difference.

The assistant nodded frantically before slipping away. Alastor chose that moment to announce his presence.

- My dear ( y/n ), what a performance ! A true symphony of terror and beauty ! I simply couldn’t resist coming to congratulate the mistress of this… magnificent monstrosity.

( y/n ) turned slowly. Her smile widened slightly when she saw the peculiar figure. She instantly recognized the legendary Alastor, the Radio Demon, whose reputation always preceded his appearance.

She inclined her head slightly, her gaze shining with a mix of curiosity and politeness.

- Well, I’m flattered to receive the praise of such a figure. You honor me, sir…?

- Alastor, of course. A pleasure to meet you. And you, ( y/n ), are an artist who knows how to captivate her audience… or rather… enchant them. Such precision ! Such exquisite horror !

( y/n ) chuckled softly, a melodious and measured sound, but her eyes studied him closely, as if gauging her interlocutor.

- Ah, you flatter me too much, Mr. Alastor. But tell me… Is it my art that fascinates you, or is it something else ? You have that look… like a man who already knows the end of the story.

- A story ? He said with a laugh. Perhaps, my dear. Or perhaps it’s your little secret that intrigues me. I recognize a fascinating soul when it stands before me.

( y/n ) raised an eyebrow, still smiling.

- Secrets, Mr. Alastor, are like puppets. They only dance for those who know how to pull the right strings.

Their exchange was both lighthearted and laden with subtext. ( y/n ), like any skilled psychopath, remained calm, charming, and entirely in control of her role. She was curious about what Alastor truly wanted but betrayed nothing.

Alastor, for his part, reveled in the game. He saw in her something unique—a darkness cleverly hidden beneath a flawless exterior—and he was determined to uncover more.

- Tell me, ( y/n )… would you be willing to discuss your art with me ? Such talent deserves to be… explored in depth.

( y/n ) pondered for a moment, then gave a slight bow.

- I would be delighted. After all, isn’t it an artist’s duty to share their vision ?

Alastor burst into laughter, a distorted, radio-like sound that echoed through the backstage. He leaned his cane against a table cluttered with strings and hooks, approaching ( y/n ) at an unhurried pace. His smile remained fixed, but his eyes glimmered with a strange light.

- My dear, your name rings in my mind like a familiar melody. Oh, but it’s not just your talent today that intrigues me. No, no, no ! There is… something more. A story I once told, a tale so delightfully macabre it chilled the blood of my listeners.

( y/n ) tilted her head slightly, her polite smile unwavering, though her gaze cut through Alastor like an invisible blade.

- Really ? What a fascinating coincidence. But I’m curious… what was this story that so captivated your audience ?

Alastor took another step forward, savoring each word as if it were a delectable dessert.

- Oh, I remember it perfectly. It was called The Case of the Puppeteer. A series of terrifying disappearances, bodies found—or rather, pieces of bodies. Transformed into puppets, sold as mere trinkets or displayed in sordid shop windows. Such a… creative work. So… delightfully morbid !

He leaned in slightly, his eyes locking onto hers with unsettling intensity.

- And I wonder… is it you, my dear ( y/n ) ? Are you the artist who made the living world shiver ?

( y/n ) remained still for a moment, her smile unbroken. Then, she clasped her hands in front of her, as though preparing a carefully measured response.

- Well, Mr. Alastor, you have quite the remarkable memory. Yes, I am the one you call the Puppeteer. I see my work managed to leave a lasting impression… even after death.

She began to walk slowly, her fingers brushing against the suspended puppets around them, as if caressing memories.

- But tell me… was my art truly recognized ? Or was I simply reduced to a morbid curiosity to satisfy the thirst for sensationalism ?

Alastor burst into laughter, a distorted sound that seemed to resonate throughout the room.

- Oh, my dear, your art was legendary ! Every word I spoke on the radio was laced with the admiration I held for your… ingenuity. Of course, the masses didn’t understand your brilliance. They saw only crimes where there was creation !

( y/n ) raised an eyebrow, her smile widening slightly, though her eyes remained cold and calculating.

- That’s all I ever wanted to hear. A true artist doesn’t seek approval. They seek to leave a mark on the mind. I suppose, in a way, I achieved that.

She stopped in front of an unfinished puppet, her fingers gliding over one of its joints.

- I had reached the peak of my art. Every puppet was a perfect masterpiece. Every detail, every movement… I knew there would be nothing better. And, like any true artist, I realized it was time to bow out.

She turned her head toward Alastor, her smile now almost dreamy.

- So, I ended my life. Not out of despair, no. Out of satisfaction. I had nothing left to prove.

Alastor nodded, his smile stretching even wider.

- What a magnificent conclusion to a life of… masterpieces. You are a fascinating soul, ( y/n ). And now, here in Hell, you have the chance to continue your art without limits. Such delicious irony, isn’t it ?

( y/n ) laughed softly, her melodic laughter mingling with the almost electric crackle of Alastor’s.

- Yes… but tell me, Mr. Alastor. Why are you really here ? You’re not a man who does anything without reason.

Alastor responded with a slight shrug, his smile unchanged. He picked up his cane, twirling it nonchalantly between his fingers, and moved toward an old puppet hanging from a hook.

- Why am I here ? A charming question, my dear. Let’s just say I’m a curious man, drawn to sparks of ingenuity, much like a moth to a flame. And you…

He turned to her, his piercing gaze locking with hers.

- You are a most fascinating flame.

( y/n ) held his gaze for a moment, her smile immaculate, though her eyes analyzed every word, every gesture.

- Oh, such poetry, Mr. Alastor. But a flame burns, you know. Perhaps you should keep your distance before you’re consumed ?

Her tone was light and charming, but an undertone of warning lingered in her words.

Alastor erupted into his distinctive laughter, a booming sound that seemed to make the walls tremble.

- What a delightful warning! I shall not forget your talent for the… dramatic. But you see, my dear ( y/n ), fire does not frighten me. Quite the opposite. I find it illuminates things in the most… exquisite way.

He pivoted, slowly heading toward the exit of the backstage, but stopped just before disappearing behind the curtain.

- Oh, and about your art… know that it left a mark far beyond the minds of the living. Here as well, it has made an impression. Whether that serves as inspiration or a reminder of your peak, I’ll leave to you to decide.

( y/n ) raised an eyebrow slightly, her smile still fixed, though a flicker of intrigue passed through her eyes.

- Your flattery is almost dangerous, Mr. Alastor. You have a rare talent : walking the line between admiration and provocation.

Alastor gave a slight bow, his smile stretching impossibly wider.

- A talent I hope will entertain you as much as it amuses me. On that note, my dear, I leave you to your puppets. We shall cross paths again, I’m certain.

He stepped through the curtain, leaving behind the echo of his distinctive laughter and the lingering shadow of his electric presence. ( y/n ) remained still for a moment, her delicate hands brushing against the strings of a puppet. A subtle smile played on her lips as she stared at the spot where Alastor had disappeared.

- An intriguing man… dangerous, but intriguing.

She turned back to her creations, her fingers tightening slightly on the strings.

- One more thread in the web, perhaps… or one to cut. We shall see.

The murmurs of the audience still echoed in the theater, fascinated or horrified by the spectacle they had witnessed. But backstage, a subtler game had begun.

Alastor and ( y/n ), two powerful souls, had crossed paths for the first time. And though their true intentions remained shrouded, one thing was certain: a macabre dance had just begun.

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Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter. I would like to apologize for this long absence – almost a year without news. But know that the story of Fragile Link is not over, and I intend to pick it up again. However, I wanted to share this new adventure with you, and I am slowly resuming writing. I hope you enjoyed this beginning and that you will be there for the rest. See you soon !

[mysteriousxgirls]

Hana watched him stand, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips as he ruffled her hair. His words, light and teasing, made her heart swell with affection for him, though she could feel the weight of everything unsaid lingering between them. She didn’t respond to his playful remark, not because she didn’t want to, but because her heart was too full of the quiet, unspoken truth she couldn’t bring herself to say. She remained seated, her fingers resting on the spot where his warmth had lingered moments before. Even in the silence, there was something so incredibly comforting about his presence. It was as if no matter how much their worlds shifted or changed, they would always find their way back to one another. As the door clicked shut behind him, Hana allowed herself a deep breath, still feeling the echo of his vulnerability, still wrapped in the afterglow of the connection they’d shared. Her eyes drifted to the window, her gaze distant, unfocused. She couldn’t help but think about the things she could never say, the thoughts that still haunted her in the quiet of moments like this.

Maybe if the accident never happened… She thought, her mind wandering to that time before everything changed. Maybe if I was still the same person I was then… if I still had my voice… maybe I could have been the person he deserves.

Her chest tightened as the memory of her former life, her former self, tugged at her heart. Before the accident, before her voice was taken from her (even if it was a choice), she was someone else entirely. Someone strong, someone whole. But now, she was broken. And no matter how much Everest cared for her, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t worthy of his love. He deserved so much more than this—more than someone who couldn’t even speak without struggle, more than someone who could no longer offer the world she once thought she could. She had never quite realized how much her music had defined her until it was gone. There were times when she would find herself watching old videos of her performances, of her old band, just to hear her own voice again. The sound of it was so foreign now, as if it belonged to someone else. Someone stronger, someone unbroken. Each note, each word, was a painful reminder of what she had lost.

And yet, here she was, sitting in silence, holding onto a connection with Everest that she couldn’t quite understand. He was so much to her, yet she felt like she was giving him nothing in return. She wanted to tell him—tell him how much she appreciated him, how much she longed for things to be different. But there was a part of her that feared if she did, it would all fall apart. That he would see her for what she really was now—broken, incomplete—and walk away. And that fear, that silent terror, kept her tongue tied, her heart heavy with unspoken words.

She closed her eyes and exhaled, willing herself to push those thoughts aside for now. Maybe one day, everything would fall into place. She hoped, she really did. But for now, it was just a dream. And dreams were dangerous. They were fragile things, often slipping away when you least expected them to. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, the truth remained: She didn’t deserve him. Not in the way he deserved someone whole. Someone who could be his equal in all things.

he wasn’t the best at showing emotions other than his anger when someone innocent would suffer. all of the rest has been bottled deep within and at this moment, it erupted like a volcano. the hot lava was his tears burning as they continued trickling down his face. the sweet and caring gestures from hana were like the green light for him to just let it all out. his body shaking while he cried, even when he felt the lingering kiss on the top of his head, then the slight weight of her head resting against his. while his heart ached, he could have sworn it also felt a certain warmth at the same time. unknowingly to her, she was mending him. her actions spoke louder than any word could, everest knew that. aside from their bickering, which he absolutely loved, she always took such good care of him to the point he had sat alone at home, thinking. thinking if he could ever repay her for everything she had done until now. he hated reading into what they had as more than just a friendship, way too scared that if he revealed his feelings, he would ruin everything between them. one day, he would muster up the courage and talk about it. just one day, he would let her know.

with his raging thoughts calming down, his shaking body did too and the tears slowly ceased. taking deep breaths, everest realized his sleeve was soaked with tears after crying a bucket. somehow, the silence wasn’t so deafening now and his chest didn’t feel so tight. her presence, her touch, her warmth was the silent promise she would be there and he knew that, putting him at ease. the familiar ding of his phone indicating that the food he had forgotten he ordered was nearby, made him finally move his arm away. albeit not wanting to move, ruin this intimate moment, he slowly pushed himself to sit up. his expression conveyed just how much this meant to him– her being there and holding him through this eruption of emotions. he would do the same for her in a heartbeat. “ they’ll be here soon. ” he looked at his phone, seeing how their food seemed to be approximately five minutes away. everest got up, giving her hair a gentle but playful ruffle before shooting her a charming smile on his way. “ i'll be right back, don't miss me too much. ” he said while opening the door, making sure to wipe his face using his sleeves as napkins before heading downstairs.

[patsybelle]

Commission work :3

Process

[ofscalesanddatabanks]

*offers welt some of peepaws OsMaNtHiS wInE*

"Hmm... not bad. Definitely better than the mung bean soda- it reminds me of a similar brand I once shared with friends who I haven- well. Let's not stay lost in the past, shall we?"

[lemongogo]

why do i love the conflict more than anything else . the misery . the incompatibility that spreads like oil slick . wanting so desperately for resolution that never comes . hmmm

[smerciskart]

"imagine there are two chairs. which one do you sit on and which one do you let mom sit?"

"wtf kind of question is that? why am i supposed to choose between these two??"

"it's a russian joke, just go along with it"

[deusfoundry]

WHAT flowers

[ashlyns-general-blog]

SO, WHO WAS GOING TO TELL ME THAT THE VA FOR NAZEEM (upon countless other Skyrim Characters) ALSO VOICES ZHONGLI????

and apparently that one dude from Jujutsu Kaisen (I have only seen two episodes, please don't kill me, I like it already, I swear.)

Edit: AND SPEEDWAGON????????? EXCUSE ME???

[godoflazziness]

// I bring forth my key evidence that hsr!zhongli is definitely on the luofu or one of the xianzhou flagships ( idk if they actually have osmanthus wine on the other flagships though,, ) /hj /lh