#digging through old posts brings so much joy as i am. in not the best mental health spot

[thetimecrystal]

like the morning newspaper, i'm there!! :D /vvvvsilly

Logging on to tumblr.com to like and reblog the usual many morning posts of Ed banger rec and Justice pics along with The Strokes from @thetimecrystal

(It’s appreciated though, I love seeing all the pics being reblogged and found from 2009-2015 depths of tumblr)

[kayzume]

Pairing: Osamu x Reader

Genre: late as usual, fluff, bit of angst

wc: <1k

Note: late again of course, like it's news😉..yeah enjoy!! I think, also part of Anilysium SFW collab => HERE!! please check everyone's work!!

P.S Don't be like me, Be productive :>

Beta:

“That’s the last one!” you almost jumped in joy as you taped up the last box full of your kitchen utensils.

This is it, you’re finally moving out of your parent’s house, soon enough out of this town too, Oh how you’ll miss all your precious memories here, for someone who is moving out you should be feeling ecstatic at the fact that you’ll no longer be under the same roof with your parents, you’ll finally stop being a burden, you’ll be independent, but then looking back you didn’t want to leave your mother and father behind. You’re all they have, but you want to give them a much better life than the one you're living in now, you want to be like your friends who grew up matured and went on their ways being a provider, you don’t want to be the only one left behind groveling in your own self pity party. You unusual silence must’ve alerted your mother as she went rushing to your side,

“Honey, is everything okay? Feeling a bit nostalgic on your last day hmm?” she asked whilst caressing your cheeks

“Yeah, I just...can’t believe it. Mom I’ll be- just don’t miss me too much” being around her made you feel even more gloomy, you’ll be the one missing them too much, you’ll probably buy a plane ticket as soon as you arrive and fly back home.

“I need some air mommy, can I go out for a while?”

“Sure baby, just be back before dinner, you need to get ready, your flight is only a few hours away” she reminded you as you waved back goodbye.

Your neighborhood walk brings back memories of you running off the streets holding bug nets during the summer, a big wonky snowball from that one memorable winter. You used to walk these streets all the time attending school with your friends, then walking back again from late after school club practices. Oh those truly were the days, you hoped that you could stay carefree like that forever, but time moves and so should you just like everyone already has.

All that remembering through memory lane made you clueless to your surroundings that you bumped yourself on a post.

“Careful there, y/n. I see you haven’t grown out of your clumsy phase yet” a deep chuckle made you swing your head behind you that you almost snapped your neck

“Osamu! God how you’ve been? We live in the same town yet I’ve never seen you much after high school” the man before you was none other than one of the twin boys you used to played around with as a kid

“Good, I’ve been out most of that time after high school, ya know visiting other places trying new flavors. I just got back from Tokyo. I branched out my business there. Everything is going smooth so far so I returned here” his bored face doesn’t match well with his cheery voice while he was talking about his business, wait..

“You have a business?!” and now you’re pointing fingers

“Is that such a surprise I thought you knew, we do live in the same town just like you said. It’s a restaurant business, an onigiri shop” he said looking so proud, as he should

“Ha you’re still obsessed with onigiri? I mean that’s all you eat even before” he eat those rice balls everyday, middle school until high school, who would’ve thought he still haven’t gotten sick of eating white rice with bunch of fillings

“Of course I am” shameless as ever, he hasn’t changed at all after all these years

“Say, why don’t you come by have dinner at my place one last time before I leave town” you nudged at him

“You’re...leaving? To where? When?” questions come pouring out of him like a faucet out of control

“One at a time please, I’ll tell you while we walk”

Story after story on how you finally decided to move out and work elsewhere was told the two of you missed to notice that you walked further than where your house is supposed to be standing. You two are now in the family park you used to play in.

“This place, it’s been forever since I- I meant we’ve been here” that large acacia tree still stood out in the middle of the park giving such a nice shade under the lowering sun.

“Do you still remember, what we kept here y/n” you looked at him with curiosity filled eyes,

“What?”

“That shoebox we stole from Atsumu”

You both sniggered at the memory. Atsumu was so upset he almost cried, as evil as that childish prank was, it was satisfying.

“Should we dig it up?” you asked suggestively.

“We could, I for one am prepared, you see I’m carrying a spoon” Osamu looked so cute presenting his spoon like a proud kid who won the game.

“Yeah, a spoon will take as a year”

“It’s around this spot, come” he gestured you to come close as he shoved the metal spoon on the dirt below you.

After digging for quite some time it seems that the mighty spoon has finally hit rock bottom or in this case a red molding box. Osamu carefully lifts it out and to your surprise it’s mostly intact. Keyword: mostly. The sides were molding and there were small tears that started to be noticeable on one of the corners.

“Open it” the boss in you commanded with excitement.

The first thing that caught your eye was a blue velvet box standing out from the rest of the childhood junk you two used to collect. Passing through Osamu you pulled out the box dusting off the dirt on it

“What’s this, I don’t remember us putting something so fancy in here” your curiosity got the best of you as you looked at Samu for answers

“That box, actually I put that there...haha did you forget I used to propose to you everytime I win candy rings at the arcade?” Osamu shied his gaze away from you whilst rubbing the back of his neck

You do remember, your hands are starting to sweat from the embarrassment, he doesn’t just do that when you were alone then. He used to do it everywhere, it was sweet and cute.

“I remember the rings, but this box- too fancy for two middle school kids playing house”

“I dug up the box the night you went home, this velvet box was owned by my mom I asked her for it, I told her I want to make my proposal more realistic, maybe then you’ll actually say yes” he cut you off before you could even ask

“You know Samu, I would’ve said yes any other way but we were like ten, eleven years old., I like you then and.. To be honest I still like you now” before he can even get his hopes up you wanted to break it to him,

“But it’s more complicated now, I’m leaving in a few hours and- it- it just feels impossible now” you were saddened by your own words but this is the reality of things and the both of you should just accept it as early as possible, it gets less complicated that way.

The sigh that escaped his lips, means something and it’s starting to break you, what a great timing this is.

“I’ll wait for you, until you’re really ready, until you come back..to me, I’ll wait, that I assure you is not impossible, I’ve waited our whole childhood I’m not giving up now” his determination came from nowhere and it eased you, he’s right it’s complicated right now but it won’t always be like this, like him you too will wait, your time will come, you’ll be back.

“I hope you keep that promise too Samu”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Understanding the Human World Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Phone call between Victor and Goldman before the date: here

Candlelit Night Collection: Gavin // Kiro // Lucien

Trivia regarding the name of the date:

The date is called 遍阅人间色, which is loosely translated as ���reading the colours of the human world”

This could be reference to a quote from 菜根谭 (Cai Gen Tan), a book written by a Ming Dynasty scholar and philosopher Hong Zichen

The full quote is: 阅遍人情, 始知疏狂之足贵; 备尝世味,方知淡泊之为真

A possible interpretation of it is: After experiencing all the things in the world, you will realise that ordinariness is the best

-

[ CHAPTER ONE ]

The date begins with MC, Anna and Kiki in the office, commenting on the work of her new intern (whose name is Wei Wei)

When the intern first started, her work was of horrifying quality. However, she has improved by leaps and bounds since then

The topic shifts to MC, and they comment that under Victor’s influence, she has become much more independent

MC receives an email from Victor at around 7pm telling her to amend parts of her proposal, so she stays behind

By the time she tidies up her materials, it’s already 9pm. She hears someone entering the office - Wei Wei returned to finish her work

MC is stunned by her work ethic and tells her to Relax™

But Wei Wei looks troubled and asks:

Wei Wei: Boss, would you feel upset if you fall for someone who is very bright and out of reach? 

MC: Huh?

Wei Wei: I’m such a mediocre, normal, and plain person. It’s only when I don’t sleep, don’t rest, and keep running forward that I can catch up with him.

I seem to comprehend, yet not comprehend at the same time.

Wei Wei: No matter what, I have to keep running forward!

Victor calls and says he’d pick her up

MC has a sudden realisation - Wei Wei’s fast improvement happened after her visit to LFG with MC... 👀

-

[ CHAPTER TWO ]

All of a sudden, Victor informs her of his agreement to be a cameo in a short film which would be shot overseas by a guy called Ronan, and that they’re flying the next day

MC wonders who exactly Film Director Ronan is for Victor to just readily accept the role, but Victor doesn’t respond

When they arrive, MC is surprised to see that Director Ronan is a tall and slim, curly-haired young foreigner

MC: Nice to meet you, Director Ronan. I’m MC. 

With a cheery smile, Ronan shakes my hand.

Ronan: Hello, bride-to-be.

I turn towards Victor confusedly.

Victor: Did you not hear a single word of what we were talking about just now?

MC: Of course not! You were both talking about... wedding attires, exchanging of wine cups... I understand that, but... I’m also acting?

Perhaps I look overly lost. Victor doesn’t even say that I’m stupid, but there’s a look of resignation implied in his glance. 

MC: So this is what you meant earlier when you said I should prepare... I see...

After half an hour, I finally understand the situation completely. 

Ronan is a very old friend of Victor. Even though he’s young, he is a famous film director in France, and has won numerous international prizes. 

He’s currently on a long vacation, and is planning to prepare a short film. In it, he will convey his attitude towards love through the use of various cultures’ wedding customs. 

The first stop for collecting materials is in China. 

Ronan: It’s called Devotion, and will be my first non-fiction work. I hope it can be presented in a beautiful and well-designed form to convey genuine and believable emotions. 

MC states that if she has the chance, she’d also want to go to different corners of the world to film

Victor responds with his usual remarks - “are you done with your report?”

Ronan laughs softly, revealing an intrigued expression. 

He walks to me and bends down, meeting my eyes and giving me a wide grin. 

Ronan: MC, Victor has a lot of little secrets. If you want to know anything, I can tell you.

At that moment, I feel as though I’m standing in front of a big mine, treasures laid out before me. I have no idea where to begin digging.

Victor: Why am I unaware that I have a lot of secrets? 

Ronan gives him a light sweeping glance. Then, he raises his voice. 

Ronan: I can tell you that many girls want to know his phone number. 

MC: Eh? 

-

[ CHAPTER THREE ]

While the staff help with her outfit and makeup, she overhears their conversion:

Makeup artist: Is that Victor? 

Costume staff: He looks even better in person than on television. No wonder he’s so popular. 

Makeup artist: You like his type? 

Costume staff: Difficult to say. It’s easier to be with someone who’s a little better than a regular human, or someone who’s just two points better. For someone like him, who’s akin to the stars hanging up in the sky... liking him is futile. 

I mull over these words, and several images flash across my mind, finally pausing at Wei Wei’s unbending expression. 

-

MC enters the filming location and sees Victor, who’s looking at his script.

Sensing my gaze, Victor sets down the script in his hands and walks towards me. After looking me up and down, he finally gives a positive evaluation. 

Victor: Not bad. 

Sensing the glances of the staff members, I touch the hair accessories in my hair. A little embarrassed, I look around for the director. 

MC: [blushing] Are we filming soon? Where’s Ronan?  

Ronan: Here!

Without realising it, Ronan is standing behind me, a stunned look in his eyes. 

Ronan: The Chinese wedding attire is so beautiful! We’ll go with what I mentioned just now. Don’t be nervous. The two of you just need to relax a little more, and I’ll be able to capture the best shots. 

They begin filming. MC feels nervous, and strikes up a conversation with Victor

MC: Victor, don’t you think we’re always pretending to get married? 

I’m unsure if Victor is pretending not to hear me, but he has no reaction at all.

MC: Victor, look at the moon tonight. It’s so round!

Victor: Mm.

MC: ...

After confirming that Victor is ignoring me on purpose, I change the topic.  

MC: Victor, after you left the makeup room, Ronan came over and told me a lot of your secrets!

Victor: Did he tell you that many women want my phone number? 

MC: Huh? No!

Victor smiles lightly, then meets my eyes. 

Victor: Continue.  

MC: He told me a story about close friends. 

Victor arches his brows slightly, as though he already knows what I’m about to say. 

MC: I heard that when LFG first started, a director with nothing to his name came looking for an investment. He boldly promised that his work would win a grand prize. The young CEO, with his good tastes, decisively invested after seeing his work. Afterwards, this work won a grand prize, and even three international prizes. Overnight, LFG became reputable in the industry. If that’s the case, he must be a close friend of yours. Why have you never mentioned him?

Victor: We have a good relationship, so there’s nothing to bring up. Also, we haven't met in three years.  

MC: Three years?!

Victor: He’s busy with a lot of things. I am too.

Victor says this in an ordinary manner, but I hear the most moving overtones.

MC: But you dropped all your work the moment he called and asked you to film?

Victor: Encounters between people are very short-lived. The next time we meet, it might not just be three years later. 

His tone is light, as though he’s talking about a normal matter. Yet, it’s as though I’m seeing pages with “The End” written on them. If the page is flipped once more, the book would close completely. 

I suddenly think of many people in my life. People who were once close to me - people who had walked through many seasons with me - and how they silently left at some point in time.

Sometimes, I didn’t even realise that after waving goodbye to certain people, it would be the last time I would ever see them again. 

Noticing that I haven’t spoken in a while, Victor speaks in a softer voice.

Victor: What are you thinking about?  

MC: There are many important people I don’t want to only share short-lived encounters with. 

Victor: For example? 

MC: For example, you.

I answer without thinking, and without a second of hesitation. Even Victor pauses for a while after hearing my response. 

Victor: MC, do you know the meaning of Hejin wine? 

[Trivia: Hejin wine is also known as “The Wedlock Wine”]

For some reason, he changes the subject. He holds up the two wine cups in front of us. 

Victor: “Jin” is a kind of gourd. It tastes very bitter, and is split into two halves and added to the wine. When the bride and the groom drink it together, it becomes Hejin wine. The meaning behind it is - you and I are originally one body. Whether it’s in joy or sorrow, or bitter of sweet times, we will go through it together. 

While Victor speaks, he draws closer to me, placing one of the wine cups in my hand. 

Victor: On this earth, there will be one person who will drink the same cup of wine together with you, and will experience the same taste as you. Other people will leave, but he wouldn’t. If you want to wait for other people to return, he will accompany you in waiting. This is the meaning of Hejin.

The red silk and the colour of his clothes blend together. The overwhelming colour of red envelops me.

The dazzling red candles are reflected in his pupils, and within them holds my dumbfounded expression. 

In this pair of eyes, I see the world’s vastest tenderness. 

Victor: I promise you. I will always be with you.

-

[ CHAPTER THREE: Extras ]

After Ronan is more-or-less done with filming, MC just chills outside

She tells Victor how she feels sad about not taking sufficient photos of themselves in their gorgeous attire

Victor: What other photos do you want to take?

MC: I want to pictures of the palanquin, pictures of the firecrackers, and kowtowing!

[Trivia: MC is referring to traditional Chinese wedding processions]

Victor: There isn’t a palanquin, and the firecrackers have already been set off earlier. If you still want to act, there’s only the kowtowing left. 

I cast a glance towards the inner hall, slightly embarrassed. 

They get into position :’)

MC: A bow to the heaven and the earth--

With the heaven, the earth and the cosmos as my witness, being able to meet you among the vast sea of people is already the best encounter in my life. 

MC: A bow to the parents--

The parents witness the girl, who used to fall a lot when she was younger, grow up. In the years she spent growing up, she finally found someone to entrust her entire self to.

I turn my body slowly. For a moment, I don’t know what expression to have on my face, so I lower my head. 

Victor: A bow to each other. Both witnessing the rest of our lives...

Victor speaks in a deep, unhurried voice. But he stops suddenly.

The mist-like moonlight seems to cage him in a thin and light dream.

MC: What? 

He leans over and whispers into my ear. Every sound is immersed in the night, dim and inviting. 

The familiar aroma of wood is in his breaths, mixed together with the cooling night breeze. I wonder if I should follow my instincts and sink into it, or wake up.

Victor: I’ll tell you next time. 

-

[ CHAPTER FOUR ]

After the filming, Ronan sends MC and Victor to the hotel to rest, but tells them not to change out of their outfits just in case he needs to re-film certain segments

MC actually has no idea when Ronan started filming, or how the film is going to turn out. She only knows that it started the moment Victor lifted up the wine cup

Ronan just told her to keep looking at Victor with fascination in her eyes

MC: Victor...

Victor: Mm?

MC: Don’t you find “Devotion”, the name Ronan gave the film, very appropriate? I once read a poem where the poet used this word to describe the adoration between lovers. It’s a... similar feeling to having faith in each other. Even though two people are already extremely intimate, the ties between a desire for the other person and feelings which are as deep as the sea... they push one forward.

Victor is making tea. After hearing my serious interpretation, he tastes my words carefully. 

Victor: Not a bad insight. 

MC: But...

Victor: But what? 

MC: Victor, do you know that you make people feel like you’re out of reach? 

Victor: What do you mean? 

MC: Something like... always hanging up in the sky brightly and brilliantly, and no one can possibly pluck the stars. Or the feeling of unattainability... You’re smart, strong, and can deal with anything calmly and properly. You give the impression that nothing is too difficult for you. You’re always decisive, wise, having an opinion and having goals. Unlike me...

The more I speak, the more I feel the words don’t match what I intend to say. After struggling for a while, I decide not to continue. 

I thought Victor would feel at a loss in response to my sudden lament and random conversation topic. However, his expression is unexpectedly calm. 

After a short moment of silence, he lets out a light “mm”. He carries two tea cups and walks over, sitting down on the chair opposite me.

Victor: If you want to say something, say it directly. I’m listening. 

I hold my chin. Steam from the two tea cups drift towards his eyebrows. Even before I start talking, I’m already unable to suppress a smile.

MC: I kind of... admit that I’m a dummy.

Victor: ...

Victor lets out a laugh. I seldom hear such bright laughter from him.

I’m unsure if he’s laughing at my display of self-awareness, or because he’s happy that I complimented him. After a pause, he lets out a light sigh. 

Victor: What nonsense do you think about the entire day?

MC: It’s not ‘nonsense’, it’s...

The words are lodged at my throat halfway, and I’m unable to find an appropriate adjective even after a long time. Meeting Victor’s patient expression, I find myself at a greater loss for words.

Seeing that I’m speechless, Victor unhurriedly brings up the topic again.

Victor: MC, does Ronan make you feel like he’s out of reach? 

MC: Huh? 

I can’t find the main point of his words, so I simply go along with his line of thought. After thinking for a while, I shake my head. 

MC: But I only just met him...

Victor: At his young age, he is already a world-renowned director. He outpaces others within the industry, and there are many people who are envious of his natural talent. He is very good in his field - even better than me. 

MC: But...

Victor: Don’t you think so? 

I want to refute him, but he’s actually not wrong.

In the long silence that follows, I rub my fingers against the smooth, porcelain surface of the teacup, slowly taking in the implication in his words. 

I see a streak of light in the entire Milky Way.

Victor: In the future, you’ll see an even broader world, and meet even more great people. At that time, you may think that Victor is actually just an ordinary person.

MC: ...huh?

Still immersed in my thoughts, I’m unsure if I misheard.

MC: What did you just say? Victor is just an ordinary person?

In the next few seconds, I even think of the title of the next proposal - The Ordinary Victor. 

Sub-title: How the legendary CEO of a huge business empire re-defines what it means to be an ordinary person.

Victor sips his tea, putting an end to the conversation

MC: Victor, do you still remember how I went to Venice to participate in a photography exhibition? 

Victor: I remember. It was in September. 

MC: Since young, I’ve always wanted to go to Venice because of movies and stories. So when I was booking the tickets, my whole brain was thinking about the fun things to do once I got there. But on the third day in Venice, I felt like coming back. I kept feeling that being alone overseas, so far away from you, resulted in something being missing in my happiness. It was only when the plane landed and I returned to the familiar streets that this uneasiness finally disappeared. Did you know that... when I got off the car, I smelt a strong scent of osmanthus. I dragged my suitcase looking for osmanthus trees, thinking... “I wonder if Victor knows how to bake osmanthus cakes!”

[Trivia: Osmanthus is a traditional symbol of true love and faithfulness, and is used in old wedding customs, where the bride would bring it to her new family. It also means “giving birth to noble children” 👀]

Victor lets out a laugh, relaxing his posture and leaning against the back of the chair.

Victor: Why didn’t you ask me to bake an osmanthus cake?  

MC: I wanted you to see me in a different light, so I tried it myself while referring to an osmanthus cake recipe. After that... it wasn’t successful. Didn’t I make you steamed pumpkin with osmanthus? You even said it wasn’t unpalatable and that I improved!

Victor thinks for a while, as though grasping around his memory for a trivial moment. The smile which��has been on his face this whole time reveals slight hesitance.

Victor: I thought you just made that dish for fun.

MC: That’s not wrong...

Victor doesn’t continue. There were many times I thought he’d definitely call me a dummy, but he didn’t.

He reaches out and interlaces our fingers together.

He holds them lightly, leaving space between his warm palm and my fingertips. 

Victor: You’ve already plucked the star. Aren’t you going to hold it more tightly? 

MC: Huh? 

Slightly overwhelmed, I look at our interlaced fingers. Tentatively, I gather my five fingers together. 

I imagine how my fingertips touch the lines on his palm. I imagine every fragment of time we spent together turning into speckles of bright light, filling up the entire world. 

But Victor probably found that I was too slow. 

He unfurls his five fingers, then wraps my hand tightly into his palm. 

Victor: Remember - when you meet anyone, there’s no need to feel that you’re not enough. You have your own uniqueness, and it’s just as precious. 

I look towards him, seeming to understand his words. I nod my head out of habit, but it’s a more serious nod than usual. 

At this moment, a phone notification chime resounds in the quiet room. Victor takes up his phone and gives it a look. 

Victor: Ronan says he has completed shooting today’s materials, and there aren’t any issues. We can change out of our outfits. 

-

After she’s done changing in the bathroom, she sees the glorious sight of Victor setting the candles alight

[Trivia: On the night of traditional Chinese weddings, the newlyweds will set candles alight in front of the bed. The light of the candles are meant to symbolise a long-lasting love]

Victor: Are you done changing?

-

[ CHAPTER FIVE ]

While Victor changes out of his clothes, MC muses about how she can’t bear to part with the wedding attire. Ronan could only borrow it for two days, which is why Victor had to rush over

MC takes several pictures of the wedding attire on her phone from different angles

She puts on the veil, but since she can’t see properly through it, she can’t take her ideal photos

Frustrated, she’s about to throw her phone onto the sofa when someone grabs her arm

Victor: Why are you barefoot? 

MC: It’s fine...

Before I finish talking, Victor lifts me up. The sudden weightlessness causes me to hurriedly wrap my arms around him.

At such a close distance, I can clearly smell the moisture on the side of his neck.

He places me onto the large bed in the room.

I reach out to remove the veil, but he stops me. 

Victor: What kind of bride takes off her own veil? 

I only see a patch of red in my vision. Because of this, every word entering my ears is made even clearer. 

His undulating breathing and the tenderness in his dull voice enter my heart more directly than before. I find myself feeling nervous.

MC: Oh right-

Seeing me straighten up after remembering something, Victor lets out a sigh of resignation. 

Victor: Aren’t you tired after a whole day of tossing about? You’re still so easily startled...

MC: I remember Ronan mentioning that his plane is leaving tomorrow too. Once he leaves, it could really be several years later till you two meet again. Do you want to change the flight to a later slot so you can send him off? 

Victor: Sure.

Despite a slight pause, Victor’s answer does not contain any hesitation. His words seem to conceal a smile. 

Victor: Why did you suddenly think of this?

MC: It wasn’t sudden. You’re always not saying what you mean. I was afraid you would pretend it doesn’t bother you. When it comes to important people, you have to welcome them when they arrive, and send them off when they leave. Through these interactions, the fate between you two can be sustained for longer. 

Victor: Mm. 

His slender and long fingers hold onto one corner of my veil. Following his movements, my vision slowly returns. 

First, I see his black shirt. Then, every button on it. After that, his slightly trembling Adam’s apple, and his clean chin. 

Finally, I meet his gaze, which is even deeper than the sun, moon, and stars. 

MC: Victor, could you teach me how to bake an osmanthus cake when we get back? A green bean cake, jujube cake, or a peanut cake will do too. 

Victor: Do you really want me to teach you, or do you just suddenly feel like eating them?

MC: Both are fine, they aren’t mutually exclusive. 

Victor reaches out and gently pulls me into his arms. A familiar warmth seeps through his thin shirt. My eyes drift shut, and I press the side of my face against his scorching neck.

Actually...

To me, just the word “Victor” already holds great meaning to me. 

He is the very first ray of light to appear at the beginning of the world. 

He is the ray of light that appeared when God said, “let there be light.”

I grasp his hand tightly. I hold it very, very tightly. As though I will never let go. 

-

At 3pm the next day, Ronan’s plane takes flight. 

His next stop is Southeast Asia, then South Asia, then Europe, the North America... 

The next time we meet, he would have explored the entire globe, taking beautiful pictures that cause people to marvel at them.

Victor: Although it was delayed by two days, the deadline for the proposal is still the same. I hope to see improvements in your third amendment by this Friday.

MC: ...

Goldman: CEO!

Goldman and Wei Wei are at the airport to fetch them 

Wei Wei looks really anxious 👀

MC asks what Wei Wei is doing here, and the latter responds that there are urgent documents requiring MC’s signature 

But MC remembers Anna mentioning that those documents aren’t urgent 👀

Wei Wei drops her pen accidentally, and her pearl bracelet suddenly snaps while she tries to pick it up 

The pearls roll onto the ground 

Before MC can step in to help, Goldman uses his file to stop the pearls from rolling away even further 👀

Wei Wei’s cheeks are red, and she stares at Goldman with a look of anticipation in her eyes.

MC: I see...

It turns out that the sky every person looks towards is different.

Encounters with people are short-lived. The stars in the universe have their own tracks, so if you lift your head and find an exceptionally bright star--

Pick up your feet and chase after him. 

Don’t sleep, don’t rest, and keep running forward!

Till you can hold onto his hand, and drink a cup of bitterness and sweetness - the hundred flavours of life - together with him.

Victor, who is walking in front, stops and turns his head to look at me. 

Victor: Why are you just standing there looking silly? They’re catching up soon.

I can’t help but laugh. Our gazes meet. 

Perhaps the smile on my face looks silly. Victor lets out a soft sigh, turning his body towards me halfway, as though waiting for me. 

I no longer hesitate, taking large strides in Victor’s direction-

And running forward!

-

🍒 Cheri’s thoughts 🍒

That was a somewhat awkward ending LOL

The Goldman x Wei Wei ship... T^T

Reading Victor’s Colours of Rain Date after this is highly recommended. It makes reference to this date, and also shows the other extreme - what happens if you keep pushing yourself and maintaining a strong front

[accioxreparo]

the Talk | g.w.

part one // baby fever | part two // the Talk

synopsis: You and George did everything young. It was only fitting that you two talk about having kids when you did.

pairing: George Weasley x reader

warnings: brief mentions of the war, a touch of angst but mostly fluff

a/n: wow this is ended up being so much longer than originally planned. I really wanted to get in more backstory though so here we are. Let me know what you guys think about the format cause...I kinda like this little hybrid thing?

~~~~~~

You and George did everything young.

 You had just turned 13 years old when the two of you went on your first date.

It was the summer before your third year and the two of you snuck out one night to go to a festival happening in a neighboring muggle town. You still have the moon shaped necklace George had bought you that day. He still has the sun shaped one you bought him. The gifts weren’t planned but it was the first time you saw how truly perfect the two of you were together. 

You had your first kiss a few weeks later the day you returned to Hogwarts. It was in one of the courtyards and there was nobody else around. Now the details of it were a little fuzzy but you could still remember the awkwardness of it all. 

 The first time you talked about getting married was at 16. 

It was more playful than anything else. You’d both drunk just a bit too much firewhiskey during the post-Yule Ball party thrown in one of the abandoned rooms. You’d toppled over together on one of the couches in the common room and you found yourself giggling when you saw how George was staring at you. “What are you thinking about?”

He had pulled you on top of him, resting his hands on your hips as he peppered kisses all over your face. Finally he pressed a soft kiss on your lips and gave you a dopey sort of grin. 

“About how pretty you look. And about how one day we’re going to be dancing just like we did today but you’ll be wearing this huge, puffy white dress that you can’t stand but that you wore because my mum said you looked like a princess in it. And I’ll be wearing my fanciest dress robes or maybe a normal suit. Either way it won’t matter because I won’t look anywhere near as good as you will.” 

You had smiled and kissed him again, a little longer this time. When you pulled away your forehead rested on his and you both had to resist the urge to just forget the conversation and continue the kiss. “That’s a wedding you’re talking about, Georgie.”

“I know,” He had said it with complete ease. “We’re going to have one of those for us one day.” 

It was only a few months later, now at the age of 17, when George decided he was going to ask you to marry him for real. 

Ever since the end of the Triwizard tournament he’d been filled with this nauseating feeling that nothing, absolutely nothing at all, was guaranteed.

The events of that day were stuck in his mind. He could remember the feeling of you shaking in his arms as you cried upon finding out Cedric had died. He could remember being confused at your reaction until you told him the two of you had been friends once but you couldn’t remember the last time you had a real conversation with him

It was with a completely clear mind that he got out of bed at precisely 6:21 AM and wandered through the house until he found his mother sitting at the kitchen table reading the newest edition of the Daily Prophet.

“Can I talk to you?” George had asked before she got the chance to say anything.

Molly had immediately grown concerned by the much too serious look on his face. Not to mention the fact that he’d never once asked a question like that. Nonetheless she still put down the paper, smiled softly, and put her full attention on him. “Absolutely, dear.”

“What if I,” George had avoided all eye contact, instead focusing on fiddling with the hem of his shirt, one he’d only just stolen back from you. The thought made him smile, giving him the courage he needed to finish asking his question. “What if I asked Y/N to marry me?”

That definitely hadn’t been what Molly was expecting him to say. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t see it coming though. For six years now she’d seen the way he was around you. For four years you’d been tied at the hip, bringing out the best in each other. This felt like just the right step. “Well you’re both of age now if that’s what you want to do.”

“But what do you think about it?” That was the part he was really nervous for. “I don’t want to wait any longer. After everything that happened this year I just want something I know is good and real. Something that,” His voice is softer then, more vulnerable. It surprises even himself. “Something that nobody else can take away from me.”

And Molly understands completely. She’s been there before, seen all of this happen once already. There’s not a single part of her that wants to argue because she trusts and believes in both him and you wholeheartedly. 

So she gently rests a hand on top of George’s, which are still pulling at his shirt, and he looks up to see her smiling at him. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

 He asked you that same night.

He actually didn’t even make it halfway through breakfast before telling Fred, Ron, and Ginny, all of whom were completely ecstatic. They loved you after all.

The four of them had been bouncing ideas off each other all day long while Molly had disappeared into the attic to dig through a bunch of boxes, not telling any of them what she was looking for.

They’ve got no less than five different speeches and approaches planned by the time Arthur gets home from work. Nobody can get the news out fast enough and though he’s a little surprised, he expresses his own joy at the news. He helps them brainstorm and soon they have a sixth plan thought out.

“When are you gonna do it then?” Ginny is the one who asked excitedly. “Don’t know. Soon I guess,” George glances at the time and stands up. “Actually supposed to meet her at some place in London in a few.”

He disappeared up the stairs to find where he left the address you’d given him and just as he’s found it Molly walks into the room.

She hands him the object she’d been searching for. A ring with a diamond in the middle and golden flowers laced all around the band. One she says has been passed down through the Prewett family for as long as anyone can remember.

He takes it with a soft thank you and a smile telling her it’s perfect as he pockets it, too afraid to leave it lying around.

When he gets to the address you gave him he’s a little surprised when he finds you sitting on the sidewalk with a book in your hands. It’s with an amused grin that you pull out your wand and before he knows it a building is appearing out of nowhere. You tell him it’s 12 Grimmauld Place, the House of Black, and that’s where you’ve been for a few days now helping Sirius, Remus, and Tonks fix it up

The entire time he’s there, exploring the rooms and wandering the halls beside you, the ring lies in his pocket and it feels heavy, as if reminding him it’s there.

He actually didn’t mean to ask you when he did.

You were right there though and the ring was in his pocket and he couldn’t think of anything else. 

You were both curled up on the couch in the living room. There was that familiar light, a glint in your eyes that he absolutely adored seeing and you were telling him a story about what had happened the day before while at Tonks place with a huge smile on your face and he just couldn’t help himself.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked him again when you found him staring at you, much like that night just a few months ago. This time, though, you were both completely clear headed. 

“About how I want to ask you to marry me.”

That caught your attention. Almost immediately you felt butterflies grow in your stomach and slowly you sat up, turning to face him. George was completely serious. You were at a strange loss for words. “You - I - what?”

He gave a soft laugh at the confused look on your face and sat up himself, pulling the ring out of his pocket as he did so.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know what to feel because after the tournament it's like every moment is fleeting. Everything suddenly feels temporary and that scares me. There’s only one thing I do know and that’s that I don’t want this, us, to be temporary. Every single thing that I feel for you, that’s all real. It always has been. I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me, I’ve never been more certain of anything else in my life. Will you marry me, Y/N?”

“I-” You’re at a loss for words and also painfully aware of three very shocked people standing in the doorway of the room. Despite the surprise you know your answer right away. You’re absolutely positive this is what you want too. “Yes.”

George hadn’t been planning to ask then and he hadn’t really thought of how he would react. So he can’t help but be happily surprised when you agree. “What?”

“Yes, you tosser,” You laugh and happily kiss him, effectively bringing him back down to earth, though he swears he’s still dreaming. It seems too good to be true. “I’ll marry you.”

The memory of you two getting engaged isn’t just of you two in the living room of 12 Grimmauld Place. It’s also of Sirius and Tonks shouting and jumping around in excitement before either of you can get another word out and of Remus scolding them both about ruining your moment.

It’s your favorite memory of them.

 Especially because less than a year later, still at only 17, just a couple days before your birthday and a month before you’re to be married, Sirius died.

He was perhaps one of the only people you had never once doubted. All it took was you giving him wide, puppy dog eyes and he was immediately rendered incapable of lying to you, a fact even he found amusing.

He and Remus were both named your godfathers for a reason and you knew that very well. Even as a child you would brave the halls of Azkaban just to go see him no matter how much Remus didn’t want you to. He couldn’t argue with you, though, because he always ended up giving in much too easily.

You trusted Sirius with your life and he’d wasted too many years inside that prison and maybe that was why you had asked him to walk you down the aisle. To remind him of what was good and pure and happy.

He never got that reminder. Instead you were burying him the weekend after your birthday.

George had been at a loss about how to comfort you over Cedric’s death and he was at an even bigger loss now. He himself had grown rather close to Sirius over the last few months while spending late nights awake with the two of you and struggled to deal with the news of his death alongside you.

You guys have a strong support system though. There’s never a moment either of you is alone and you know that. It hurts to have to move on but you do.

If anything you’re more certain than ever before that this, your wedding, marrying George is exactly what you want.

 So you do it. At 18, a month after the date you had originally planned, you and George get married.

It happens in the large backyard of the cottage you’d grown up in with Remus. It’s late summer and the tree in the backyard is covered in blossoms and you could not have imagined a more perfect place to have your wedding.

The ceremony and reception were meant to be small and intimate and they are but they also end up more extravagant than you could’ve imagined. You find out as all the decor and outfits and food is arriving that Sirius had taken the liberty of getting you and George only the absolute best.

You’re sure you’re handling the last surprise you have from him well until the day before the wedding. You’re in the backyard alongside Molly, Tonks, Ginny, Hermione, Fleur, and Andromeda when you get an unexpected visit from a goblin from Gringotts. He hands you an envelope and a small brown package and tells you that they were given instructions in Sirius’ will to deliver it to you.

You break down the moment you open the letter to see loopy handwriting that you recognize immediately

Y/N, I understand that you wanted your wedding to be more about the two of you and less about the decorations. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years it’s that there’s no time like the present. I like to think you’ve picked that up from me and of that I’m proud. Therefore I hope you don’t mind me spicing things up a little. Oh and these are my gift to you because my favorite goddaughter will have the best if I have anything to say about it. And her soon to be husband too I guess and I like him, I really do, but these are mostly for you. Hope you like them as much as I liked picking everything out. -Love, Sirius

Your hands shake as you open the package to find a pair of elaborately engraved wedding bands, the ones you’re to use tomorrow

And you have to laugh because even when he’s not there anymore Sirius really does just know you that well. They’re perfect and you’re positive he knew that when he picked them out. A little card falls out of the envelope and you smile through your tears at his final note to you.

You’re ready.

 Everything you and George did you did young so it was tragically fitting when the war came around and you two were only 19 years old

Even now, only a year after everything ended, you remember the plots and the fights and the flashes of light coming at you from every direction.

You remember running for your life and hiding in whatever corner you could. You remember not being sure if your friends were dead or alive.

 But most of all you remember everything you lost.

Remus. Tonks. Fred. Sirius. Cedric.

In just a year it seemed like everything had been torn from your hands, your world turned upside down. It took you a while to properly grieve what you lost.

You had George, though.

And yes, there were nights where neither of you could sleep, still clearly hearing the echoing of loud bangs all around you, flinching at even the smallest movements with your wand gripped tightly in your hand, but never once were you alone.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask George one night after a particularly bad nightmare. Your face was stained with dry tears, your eyes bloodshot, and when you spoke your voice was hoarse. He had wrapped you in his arms tightly and held you until you stopped crying. You felt safe with him. It made the nightmare of losing him alongside everybody else that much worse. You wanted to hear his voice. Needed to hear it. Needed to know he was still there. 

“About how much I love you,” George had answered honestly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “And about how we’re going to be okay.”

You knew how to handle loss now, that was simply a side effect of the war.

Just a few months after the fight at Hogwarts you were taking a position at St. Mungo’s to help those also struggling with everything after the war

Now, a little over a year later, you were spearheading major changes in St. Mungo’s, helping to make all sorts of care more readily available. Everything from providing wolfsbane to those who couldn’t afford the ingredients on their own to support programs for everyone, adults and children alike.

 You’d been busy and maybe that’s why you put off having The Talk with George at first. But eventually two weeks passed by and nothing had changed. There was still an ache that filled your body every time you dropped Teddy back off with Andromeda. That weekend when you were all at the Burrow you didn’t even realize you were practically glued to Fleur’s side.

You also don’t notice the way George is watching you every time you hold Vic in your arms. This image of a little toddler running around your apartment with his hair and your eyes keeps playing in his mind and he smiles every time.

It’s not until you two get home late that night that you try to work up the nerve to bring up the topic. You’re sitting on the couch, comfortably leaning against George while some music plays in the background

“What are you thinking about?” George asks when he sees the look on your face. He can read you inside and out and knows you’re conflicted about something. He’s just not too sure what it’s about though he has a vague idea. 

You turn to look at him and figure now is as good a time as any to tell him what you’ve been thinking. “About how I want us to have a baby.”

For a second he doesn’t say anything, simply taking a moment to mull over your words. Finally he shifts a little bit so it’s easier to bring you closer. “Y/N, love -”

“I think it’s the right time,” You start talking again before George can continue. “I know you’re trying to expand the shop and I have a ton of things going on at work but I really do think we can do this. I thought it was just cause we’ve been around Teddy and Vic so much lately but it’s more than that. I think it at least warrants a conversation. I can’t imagine making a family with anybody else.”

A silence hangs in the room but its not uncomfortable. Slowly a small, partially amused smile grows on George’s face and he only stares at you as if waiting for you to say something else. “Are you done?”

He watches you nod and bite your lip, a nervous habit you’ve had for as long as he can remember. He reaches forward and gently removes your bottom lip from between your teeth, still holding your face in his hands so you’re looking right at him. Then he kisses you softly and when he pulls away he smiles at the sight of your eyes still closed, a relaxed look on your face.

“I was actually going to agree with you since I’ve been thinking the same thing.” George admits, laughing as you beam up at him excitedly. “As long as you’re ready to do this I think it’s worth trying.”

Honestly you weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe a talk about how you’re both still young, some mention of the fact that you were both doing a lot at the moment. But you and George are on the same page. A baby of your own is something you both want and you suppose that’s the way it should be.

“Alright,” Your smile widens and you’re the one who kisses him again. He’s as excited about this as you are, you can tell. “Looks like we’re gonna try to have a baby.”

[crystalirises]

Lake

Tumblr back at it again with deleting my posts ;-;

So yeah.... reupload of that Parent!Eret and Fundy fic.

They ran a hand through their messy brown hair, the sun beating down at them from above as they settled against the smooth surface of a marble column. Their bones ached with fatigue.

Eret watched as the clouds rolled by in the sky, a calm afternoon breeze sweeping through the newly built land of New L’Manburg. It had been over a month since Dream had dethroned and casted them from their castle, tossed to the agitated wolves that comprised Pogtopia’s army. They could still feel the harsh glares that everyone had burned into Eret’s skin, the distrust in their gazes.

They pulled the flimsy brown cloak tighter around their shoulders, a piece of old clothing that Niki had cheerfully given to them the moment they had expressed their desire to move into New L’Manburg. Niki felt like their only ally in a country that detested their very existence. Not that they could blame everyone… not after what they did. The nightmares still plagued his mind, the horror in their companions’ eyes as it dawned upon them what Eret had done. There were nights where they would stare at the ceiling, Eret’s pure white eyes the only light source in a desolate room that felt too suffocating despite its spacious quarters. There wasn’t a day that went by where their heart didn’t ache with regret. Would they be here now if they had refused Dream’s offer in the beginning? Was all of this Eret’s fault? It felt like it was… Wilbur would be alive if they―

“Eret!”

They glanced up, freezing before a familiar pair of fox ears caught their eye. A soft smile formed on their lips as Fundy sat down beside them, a wide grin on his face as he fiddled with something in his hands. Eret had no doubt that Fundy had just gotten back from scamming some poor unknowing soul. Fundy’s gold-flecked brown eyes glanced at the large unfinished structure behind them, his brows furrowing as his ears twitched at the top of his head. Eret pursed their lips, wondering how Fundy would react to the building’s true purpose. They had thought it best if they had tried to create a museum in honor of… the first L’Manburg. It felt ironic… but someone had to do it. No matter how much it stung to go through memories of the past. It had to be done.

“Gold for the king.” Fundy’s voice broke through their thoughts, casting away the haze that had plagued him for days. There was a cheerful smile on Fundy’s face, his hands holding what seemed to be a stack of gold. Eret blinked at the offering, their mouth agape with confusion as they finally looked into the fox hybrid’s eyes. Fundy’s tail was curled around his waist, his ears twitching as he waited for Eret’s reply. Eret hadn’t the faintest clue on what to say. Their last conversation was years ago, during that strange time where Fundy decided to decorate their castle with faux flamingoes. Eret missed those flamingoes. “They’re not stolen, Eret. You gotta trust me on that.”

“I trust you, Fundy.” Eret’s hand hovered above the gold, guilt striking their heart at the momentary thought of this being a scam. Fundy bit his bottom lip, not missing the way they hesitated before taking the gold into his hold. Eret carefully tucked the gift away into their inventory, a small smile on their face. “I do believe you, Fundy. You have to understand my hesitation, I’m not quite on anyone’s friend list regardless of my ‘change of heart’ during the final war. What is this gold for?”

“I don’t have any use for them…” Eret knew a lie when they heard one, they know what it was like to lie. Fundy’s gaze shifted to the side, his fingers twitching before they finally settled into picking at his sleeve. Eret reached out a hand, gently moving Fundy’s hand away from his jacket’s sleeve. They didn’t want Fundy to tear into the cloth. “And… I heard about the dethroning thing.”

“You just found out now?” Eret raised a brow at that. They assumed everyone knew by now, Dream didn’t exactly keep George’s coronation a private affair. “I’m not a king. I never was.”

“I refuse to call George a king.”

“Well, he’s the new king. There is nothing to be done about that.” They pressed their fingers at the bridge of their shades, pushing up as it had begun to slip. “And how are you, Fundy?”

Eret turned to Fundy, their piercing gaze causing the fox hybrid to shift in place. They didn’t miss the way Fundy’s shoulders shook, the poorly concealed dark circles beneath his eyes. Though Fundy kept a smile on his face, their was a pain in his eyes that made Eret’s heart pang with a familiar regret. Everyone had lost something during the war, but Fundy most of all. He had lost his father, his home, his birthright, and now… Eret knew Fundy didn’t know what to do with himself. They were both foreigners in a land that regarded them with distaste and with mockery. They were the outcasts, the forgotten, and the traitors. No one wanted either of them.

“I’ve been… busy. Did you know it takes an entire week to fill in a crater? Well… half a crater. Tubbo made the presidential decision to build on top of the corpse of the old L’Manburg. It’s been great. It’s been great.” Eret watched as Fundy’s tail bristled at his own words, his shoulders hunching up as he kicked at a loose pebble on the ground. They hadn’t offered their services in the rebuilding of L’Manburg, not that Tommy would have allowed them to help. Fundy sat down, pulling his knees closer to his chest as he buried his head in his arms. Eret crouched down beside him. “Oh… and Wilbur’s back. Ghostbur… You know Ghostbur, right? He doesn’t remember much. He doesn’t remember what I did… what he did… and I think… he barely remembers me…”

There’s a wobble in Fundy’s voice, a strained sob that seemed to have been forced down. Eret placed a hand on his back, small tremors racing up and down Fundy’s spine. They could hear the soft sniffles, muffled but clearly there. Eret wondered when was the last time Fundy allowed himself to cry. They felt sick… who taught Fundy to cry so quietly? Eret took a deep breathe, hoping that they wouldn’t find claws digging into their skin in just a few seconds. They pulled Fundy into a hug, the fox hybrid stilling in their hold before finally melting into the touch. Fundy’s arms wrapped around their neck, his head leaning against Eret’s chest. Eret pulled him closer.

“It’s okay, Fundy. You’re allowed to mourn. It’s just the two of us right now… and you know I would never judge you.” Fundy was violently shaking in his hold, a cold chill spreading across Eret’s shirt as Fundy began to cry. Eret placed a hand on the top of Fundy’s head, caressing his still ash-covered hair. It had been a month and yet the residue of war still haunted Fundy, both physically and mentally. Eret closed their eyes, basking in the silence of the afternoon. They rarely got visitors to the museum, and even if someone were to stumble upon them, Eret would make they didn’t see Fundy. Fundy never did like to cry in front of people. Their heart broke as Fundy let out a soft whimper. Maybe… maybe if they hadn’t betrayed L’Manburg during the first war, Fundy would still have a dad. Fundy wouldn’t be an orphan. A scared and unwanted orphan.

“Thank you.” Fundy moved away, wiping at the tears in his eyes. Eret gave him a soft smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. Fundy sniffed, holding onto their hand as if it was a lifeline. It was times like these where they were reminded that Fundy was just a kid… now he was an orphan. The thought terrified them. Fundy may be Techno’s nephew but everyone knew Techno wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if given the chance. Eret couldn’t let that happen. Not to Fundy. “Shit. Sorry. I can… uh… pay you more gold for the shirt. Fuck. You shouldn’t have seen me like this.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Fundy. I remember when you were but a kit… you were a lot shorter then. You were terrified of me at the start, commenting on my… odd eyes. It took a while but you eventually warmed up to me. You rarely cried as a kid, but when you did you always ran to me. Years have passed… but one thing remains unchanged. No matter what happened – no matter what may happen – I am still your confidante. You need not be wary to come to me in your time of need.” A smile found its way to Fundy’s lips, a momentary joy that didn’t sit right with Eret. The tearstains remained on Fundy’s cheeks, a reminder that not all was quite well. Fundy… Fundy needed someone. Someone who could protect him. Someone who could bring back the life into those dull brown eyes. Fundy needed a parent. Eret didn’t know if they were the right person, but Fundy needed someone who cared. “Hey… You’re an orphan now―”

“Thanks for ruining the moment, Eret. No need to rub it in―”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that, Fundy. I would never― It’s just…”

They glanced over at him. Fundy’s ears were pressed against the top of his head, his eyes narrowing into thin slits as he bared his teeth. Eret wished he hadn’t begun in the way they did.

“You need a dad.” Fundy paused at that, glancing up at them in shocked silence. Eret fiddled with the bottom of their shirt, the proposal hanging in the air between them. They didn’t know if they would be enough – didn’t know if Fundy even wanted them – but Fundy needed to be safe. He needed someone who would think of him first – someone who would choose Fundy before anything. Someone who would show him that he mattered. Fundy bit his bottom lip, eyes casted low to the ground… but he moved a bit closer to Eret. After a few seconds, Fundy looked up once more, a cautious look in his gaze as he waited for Eret to say what they wanted. “You need someone who could care for you. Someone who would make you feel wanted. I may not be the best option, Fundy. Anyone else might be better suited for such a task. But if you will have me… then I would like to take you in. What I’m saying is… I want to adopt you, Fundy.”

The silence made their heart burn with ache. Of course, Fundy wouldn’t want them. Why would he? “I know you want someone else, anyone else. I know you probably have some semblance of hate for me. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have asked… I’m sorry, Fundy. I-I-I’ll be leaving―”

Eret felt a hand grab at the collar of their shirt, yelping as they were pulled into an embrace. They held their breath. Fundy burrowed his head into the crook of their neck, his shoulders shaking as another bout of tears escaped the fox hybrid’s eyes. Eret returned the embrace, holding him closer to himself as if that would be enough to block him from the cruel world they lived in. Right now… all that mattered was the two of them.

“All I ever needed… was someone who wanted me more than I loved myself.”

They swore right then and there that they would be the best parent Fundy would ever have. Eret placed a hand on the back of Fundy’s head, holding him closer. They would be okay… Eret would make sure of it.

“I’ll try for you, Fundy. I promise… I’ll be here for you for as long as you need me.”

~~~

“Come onnnnnnnnn.” They chucked as Fundy pulled at the sleeve of their shirt, forcing Eret quicken their pace on the creaky wooden pier. The sun was setting in the distance, casting the lake in an ethereal glow of molten gold. Fundy had begged them to take him on a fishing trip – claiming to know the perfect spot to do so – and as Eret looked over at the serene waters, they were glad Fundy had suggested the idea. Fundy’s eyes held a spark, an excited gleam that Eret wished would never disappear. As they reached the end of the path, Fundy handed them a fishing rod. Eret didn’t know much about fishing, but it was worth seeing Fundy so giddy… almost child-like as he sat down near the edge, his legs dangling over the water. “Are you going to keep standing there?”

Eret blinked, casting a look towards the fox hybrid before taking a seat next to him. A soft wind blew past them, small waves fluttering through the water’s surface. They ran a hand through their hair, nearly knocking off the flower crown that Fundy had made for them earlier on in the day.

It was a cold afternoon, one that sent goosebumps down Eret’s skin as they looked up into the dying sky. A beautiful hue of pink, orange, and purple painted the sky with their radiance as fading gray clouds moved towards the distance. They looked back down at the lake. Its edges crowned by a massive display of pink flowers. Eret wondered who could have possibly had the time to plant them. Niki did say she was building a flower shop with Puffy… and a flower shop certainly needed flowers. Eret was brought out of their musings by a hand on their shoulder. They looked over at Fundy, a nervous glint in his eyes as he looked down at the unused fishing rod in his hands. Eret raised a brow at him, turning to cast their own hook into the water. They watched as the bobber floated up and down on the water’s surface, they waited for a few seconds, but Fundy didn’t follow after them. They threw a look towards the person in question, “Fundy? What’s wrong?”

“I um…” They watched as Fundy fiddled with the rod, his fingers biting into the wood as he looked out into the lake. His ears were pressed against his head as his shoulders hunched up. It only took Eret a second to realize what was wrong. They quickly moved closer to Fundy, pulling back their own fishing rod as they placed it on the space behind them. They clasped their hands over Fundy’s, a gentle hold that made Fundy’s tail wag a bit. Fundy chuckled, embarrassed that he couldn’t exactly hide the way he felt. “Wilbur used to promise me, when I was younger, that he would teach me how to fish. The wars and the election kinda pushed that back on his busy schedule, ya know?”

“I know. Wilbur… he was a busy man. I’m sure he planned to teach you… once the wars were over.” They both winced at that bittersweet lie. Wilbur didn’t plan anything after the war. He knew exactly what needed to be done and he didn’t once spare a thought for the people he’d leave behind. Eret shook their head at the thought, pushing down the horrible feel of loathing that threatened to form in their chest. Wilbur was a good father, he was just a revolutionary first. Eret turned back to the task at hand, helping Fundy hold the fishing rod in a proper manner before getting their own. Fundy’s gaze never strayed, watching as Eret held the fishing rod in the same way Fundy was holding it. “I didn’t fish as mush as Wilbur, but I could teach you the basics. If you want me to.”

Eret laughed as Fundy nodded his head, his flower crown nearly falling off. Eret had promised themselves to work on the museum, but when Fundy strolled in – a myriad of flowers in his arms – Eret knew their productive day was as good as gone. They didn’t mind, not when Fundy looked so happy… so carefree, as if the burdens of the past had vanished. Somedays… it seemed like everyone forgot that Fundy was just a kid. Fundy may look and act like a teen, but how could a child ever move past the trauma of battle? Everyone had grown up so fast. They all needed a break, a momentary peace where they could just unwind. They would give Fundy a chance at childhood, one that the hands of war took from him. Eret chuckled beneath his breath, Fundy tilting his head as if he wanted to know what Eret found to be so funny. Eret shook his head, giving the fox hybrid a reassuring smile. “I hope you’re a quick learner. Sun’s about to set, want to speedrun this?”

“Spee― pfft. I bet I could catch more fish than you.” Fundy flicked out a tongue at them, laughing despite himself. Eret rolled his eyes at the fox hybrid’s challenge. He couldn’t even fish and he expected to beat Eret? Oh, it was definitely on. Eret shook their head before turning to direct Fundy on how to use the fishing rod. It took a few tries, but Fundy eventually got the hang of it. Eret knew he could do it. Fundy was smart… but there was no way he was beating Eret at fishing.

The sun had disappeared into the sky before Fundy finally caught his first fish. Fundy looked up at it with awe, letting out small noise of surprise. Eret nearly laughed at Fundy practically pushed it into their face in his haste to show it to them.

“ERET! I CAUGHT ONE!”

“You sure did.” Eret smiled, placing a hand on Fundy’s head.

“Are you… are you proud of me?”

“I’m always proud of you, Fundy. I always will be, no matter what.”

~~~

Fundy pulled the brown cloak closer around his shoulders, shivering in the cool night air. The full moon casted a silver glow upon the water’s surface, a white abyss that looked tempting to fall into.

There was a heavy scent in the air, a bitter taste that sent a horrible chill down his spine. He focused on the pink flowers that dotted the lake’s edge, hoping the color would force his thoughts to calm down. It was a silent night in New L’Manburg, the lanterns casting the streets in dim golden rays. Fundy was glad for their presence. They gave him some semblance of comfort and warmth.

The day had been fun. He scammed a few people here and there and spent his entire afternoon with Eret. A smile found its way to his lips at the thought of his soon-to-be parent. It had been a week since Eret had asked him if he wanted to be adopted, and somehow, his world had looked a little brighter ever since that day. Eret looked at him as if he mattered… as if he was wanted. He didn’t know how to feel about that. His heart ached and crumbled at the dark thoughts that plagued his mind. Surely… surely this was a ploy? A trick? Eret wouldn’t want someone like him, right?

He began to pull at the tips of his hair, forcing down the sobs that threatened to slip past his lips. Eret couldn’t possibly be doing this because they cared. No one cared about him. He was a nobody, an orphan of a country long since dead. Who would willingly ever choose him? He wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes as tears pricked at the edges. Eret was doing this out of pity… out of some high moral obligation. There was no way… There was no way someone actually wanted him. Who would want him? The child forgotten by his own father and nation? This had to be some sort of cruel prank that would leave him broken by the end. Eret didn’t care. Eret shouldn’t care. His fingers gripped his forearms in a bruising grip as those horrible thoughts ran through his head. Eret didn’t want him. Eret couldn’t possibly want him. Eret would never―

He felt a heavy cloak being draped over his shoulders, a warm hand settling on top of his head. His eyes abruptly snapped open, a familiar pair of shades appearing within his vision. “E-Eret?”

“You shouldn’t be out here, Fundy. I don’t want you getting sick.” Eret made quick work of tying the cloak around Fundy, giving him a soft smile as they looked over at the lake. Fundy felt that strange pang in his heart. Eret sounded so sincere… but Fundy just couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Although he tried to hide it, Eret noticed the tears in his eyes. Fundy felt a hand on his cheek, a thumb wiping at the stray tears that had escaped him. Dre, he was pathetic. He leaned into the welcoming touch, wanting to pretend that Eret actually cared for him. “What’s wrong, Fundy?”

“I know you don’t care about me, Eret.”

“What?!” He felt Eret hold him closer, their other hand on his shoulder as if to keep them both steady. Fundy bit the inside of his cheek, wishing that Eret would stop pretending. It was worse that way. Best to rip the band-aid off as quickly as possible. “Fundy, what are you talking about?!”

“You can stop.” Fundy wished he could push them away, wished he was anywhere else but there. “I know you couldn’t possibly care about me. No one cares about me, Eret. I don’t expect you to. So, please stop pretending you do. Everyone leaves me eventually. I know you don’t care―”

He was pulled into a tight yet gentle embrace. Eret’s chin resting on his head.

“Don’t tell yourself those horrible things. I care a lot about you.” Fundy gripped the back of Eret’s shirt, sniffling as Eret rubbed a comforting hand down his back. “I wouldn’t have offered to adopt you if I didn’t. I care… a lot of people care. Fundy… do you really think no one cares about you?”

“They shouldn’t. Don’t you see, Eret? Anyone who’s ever loved me died…” Fundy couldn’t help but think of Wilbur… of Schlatt… of his late mother… Eret shouldn’t care. “I’m cursed, Eret. You’ll leave too… or you’ll die. I don’t want you to die, Eret. I don’t know if I could take it…”

“I suppose I’ll just have to make sure I don’t die then.”

Fundy rubbed at his eyes, tilting his head up to glance into Eret’s eyes… well, shades. Eret had a smile on their face, a reassuring gesture that made Fundy want to cry. “You can’t promise me that, Eret. You can’t promise me that.”

“But I will. You’re my son, Fundy.” He froze at the title. He hadn’t been called that in so long… at least not in a positive way. “I can’t promise you the world, but I can promise you that I care.”

“Heh… I guess you do care…” Fundy sniffled, feeling a smile on his lips as Eret finally let him go. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“We all have our doubts, Fundy. You need not apologize.”

“Yeah…” Fundy held onto Eret’s arm, clinging to it as if it were a lifeline. Eret didn’t make a move to escape his grasp, they only seemed to pull him closer to their side. Fundy laughed despite himself and the ache in his heart. Maybe he was wanted… “Can we go home now, ren?”

Eret smiled, “Of course, son.”

They walked away from the pier, the night wind billowing through their hair. Fundy closed his eyes, content to spend their walk back in comfortable silence.

He was glad to leave… the bitter smell of the foxgloves near the lake had begun to make him sick.

Yet… their poisonous scent lingered in the air.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So yeah...

This is connected to my previous one-shots titled ‘Clouds V.2.’ and ‘Foxgloves’...

I TRIED TO WRITE A WHOLESOME FIC BUT I DON’T HAVE A SINGLE WHOLESOME BONE IN MY BODY, OKAY?!

But yeah... hope you guys like this :DDD

[writtenonreceipts]

Hey hey! Happy weekend!

I hope I don't sound totally random: you see, I used to read and write fanfics in hs (never had more than two/three likes so nothing massive). Do you have any tips to go back into it? Acomaf made me want to write again but I feel I lost the "magic touch" T.T

And and and do you think posting online helped you and your creativity?

Thanks for your time!

-starry anon

🌠🌟⭐️💫

Happy weekend starry friend!!  Thanks so much for reaching out, I hope that what I say can help.  As with any writing advice, take what works for you, every writer is different. 

And forgive me, I love talking about writing and I just launched into this and apparently have a lot to say so again, take what you will...

I was the same as you--back in middle school and high school (10+ years ago) I wrote and read a lot.  Well, write is a relative term, just one massive jily fic that we don’t talk about haha.  It was fic that helped me discover how much I loved writing and I’ve done a lot of writing with OG stuff.  It’s been this last year and a half that I’ve gotten into fic writing again.  

When it comes to reading and writing, I am very character driven.  A solid character with solid motivations means a lot.  With TOG and ACOTAR, I think we can all agree that there are strong characters with interesting stories and personality traits to explore. 

So when I started posting fic again, it became a way of exploring characters and their goals and motivations. I just love writing and I wanted to have something fun to turn to when my OG stuff wasn’t working so here we are.   I don’t think a writer or creator loses their spark, rather, you find a new way to fan that flame and see it burn differently. 

With one of the first fics, I posted “runaways” I had the idea of a girl running away from life and her past mistakes and how she reconciled with an old friend/love interest.  And it just felt like a rowaelin story.

When it comes to getting back into writing, I’d say to focus on something about the characters you like or want to explore further.  Aelin’s self-discovery, Rowan’s independence for example.  And I let plot develop from there.  Unless I know a particular scene I want to explore.  Like in my Boys Night Out fic with breaking into a impound lot, that scene was inspired by the show Leverage where something similar happens.

Posting online was surreal.  I have experience with writing groups and critique, but there is something different about doing it from this sort of platform.  It helped to give me a little more confidence in myself and seeing actually in a space where others--complete strangers--can see it.  Of course, recently, my readership has dropped and it feels like no one is really reading my stuff anymore.  I’m not getting much interaction etc etc.

Which leads me to say that write what makes you happy.  Fic writing is for you.  It can be unbelievably personal, a place of discovery and change.  Writing can be raw and honest and cruel.  There are so many facets to dig up and polish.  And the best thing about fic?  If one story doesn’t work, you can go to 1 degree to the left and work the story from a different angle.    

But please! Write.  Just keep writing.  No matter what anyone else says.  If it makes you happy, if it brings you joy, do it! I am here too if you need to bounce ideas off someone or just talk something through.

<3 love you friend

[fleckcmscott]

After

Summary: Arthur is heartened to have Y/N back by his side. But moving forward isn't as simple as he'd daydreamed.

Warnings: Adult situations, Swearing

Words: 3,391

A/N: This request comes from @jokerownsmysoul​! It's a continuation of Ch. 23 of Watch What Happens and takes off right after the last paragraph. Funnily enough, when Karen originally beta'd that chapter she said, "Where's their conversation? Oh, well, I guess it's implied." 😄 Special thanks to Domino, aka @thegirlwho​, (who also wanted their conversation 😂) for sharing her point of view and helping me see things from a different perspective.

A good portion of my life is the exploding head emoji right now, so it's been a while since I've posted. However, I'm still here. Still writing. Still trying. Work on the new multi-chapter continues. If you've got any requests, let me know. Your patience, support, and you mean a lot to me. Thank you.

Nimble fingers twined through his loose, brown curls, a gentle tug as lips met and parted, met and parted. Her body surrounding that soft, most intimate part of him was visceral. Warm and wet. "I love you" fell from her mouth. Once, twice, more than the walls of his apartment had ever heard. He swallowed but was unable to murmur an appropriate reply. She came back, his mind affirmed. She came back.

Shit, I haven't mopped for a week.

Arthur braced himself on his knees and elbows to look down at her. The notched collar of Y/N's blouse had somehow remained uncrumpled. Strands of her hair fanned out messily over the beige, aged hexagons of the kitchen linoleum. Her tears had reduced to stains on her flushed cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his knuckles. She'd said he hadn't hurt her, that she was happy. Both good things. If he could figure out the next step...

His eyes flitted back and forth between hers, brows pinched. Moving to kneel, he tucked himself back into his briefs, pulled his light blue pajama bottoms over his rear, then ran his hands along his thighs. "Have you had dinner?"

Buoyant laughter left her as she propped herself on her forearms. "I'm famished. Especially after that." She extended her hand and he accepted it gladly. When she started to pull herself up, he grabbed the other. Her kitten-heels slid the weave rug along the floor; it took some effort for her to get her footing. Once she stood, she tied the drawstring of his pants and adjusted her skirt. "Be right back," she said and scurried to the bathroom.

The thud of the door closing cleared the awe from head. He'd rather have kept it. Changes in mood were typical as of late. The bliss of her return was already twisting into dread. No longer consumed by the need to be inside her, his mind conjured questions, too many to brush off. He turned the knob of the toaster over. Studied the orange glow of its heating element. Had charity - or worse, pity - caused her return? Had distress afflicted her as deeply as it had him? Had she thought of him half as much as he'd thought of her?

Was she going to abandon him again?

He suddenly felt very silly and quite small for allowing himself a modicum of relief. Nothing had been clarified. By having a quickie on the floor after they'd barely exchanged a word, he'd set himself up to be hurt. The way he had when he'd kissed Helen, or when he'd considered Randall his friend, or when he'd believed, for one foolish minute, that Murray might be kind. He flinched against the fury simmering in his stomach. That same panic and anger from when Y/N had walked out of his apartment and, he'd been convinced, his life. He clutched the counter's curved edge so hard his fingertips went numb.

But then she curled herself into his side and squeezed him tight about the waist. Her blithe bearing was almost enough to quiet his tumult. "Anything I can help with?"

"No." He moved to dig through the freezer. Beans and franks with a brownie. English style fish 'n' chips. His mother's favorite, meatloaf. Only the teal packaging made them appealing. He grimaced at the meager offerings. He snatched one from the door, held it out with some trepidation. It was possible the gel-like gravy, slices of turkey roll, and drowned stuffing wouldn't put Y/N off. "Um, this was on sale. I bought a few."

"It's perfect." She accepted the carton and tore it open. "I heard a song on the radio yesterday that made me think of you."

"Oh yeah?" He closed the door of the toaster and set the timer with a flick of the wrist.

"The man was singing that his name was Carnival. That's your clown name, right?" She chuckled, dragged the black, wooden stool from under the counter, and perched on it. "It reminded me of the subway." A flirty pinch to his abdomen. "And that I still have to see one of your performances."

Arthur scoffed and averted his gaze, struggled to push through his anxiety and enjoy her. But he wasn't the type of man to let questions lie. When he'd gotten the courage to ask Y/N on a date, he'd taken the risk. When he'd read Penny's letter, he'd hopped on the first train to Wayne Manor. After the confrontation in Wayne Hall, he'd gone to Arkham and stolen that wretched file.

His curiosity tended to pick wounds that hadn't yet healed over.

The warmth of her hand met his back. "Thank you for giving me time."

The tenderness of her tone loosened the clench of his jaw. But he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. He'd done what she'd requested, because he'd feared mistakes would drive her further away, not because he'd wanted to or understood. He wondered if someone without a mental illness would have behaved differently. She'd pleaded with him to listen, kissed him goodbye, then left like it was nothing.

Whatever the case, her appreciation felt wrong. He didn't need gratitude. He needed answers. He inhaled sharply. "Why did you go?"

She traced the knobs of his spine. "I had to figure out the best way to be with you."

"Am I that hard to be with?" he bit out.

"Of course not. That's not what I said."

He gulped and released a ragged breath. "It broke my fucking-" He faltered when his voice cracked.

"Arthur, I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry." Her embrace was tight, a welcome pressure on his ribs despite the ache. Her palm slid up his sternum. "I was afraid to do more harm than good." He should have contradicted her, told her she was crazy if she believed loving him would damage him. But he stopped himself when she nuzzled his bicep. It was a while before she cleared her throat. "I love you more than I imagined possible." She giggled, then, and sniffed. "Which isn't bad for six weeks, Mr. Fleck."

Tears threatened as his eyelids fluttered. He managed to keep them at bay, covering her hand with his to distract himself. He pressed it tighter to him, until he thought her fingers might break through his chest. Finally, he met her stare. Found it full of love and what might have been joy at being together. In that moment, he knew nothing would ever separate his heart from hers.

~~~~~

"Christmas is coming up. Let me know what you'd like to do."

Arthur's slight nod was typical of their conversation this evening. Well, that wasn't quite fair. More like half of it. He'd been vacillating between bouts of confidence and timidity, with the latter tending to win out. He'd put his arm around her, examined the latest issue of TV Guide, and asked what she'd preferred to watch. She'd let him choose; he'd picked a three-hour variety show. Minutes later, he'd been squished into the corner of the sofa, legs neatly crossed with his hands clasped in his lap. She'd risen to refresh their ice teas, and he'd halted her with a kiss to her knuckles and his handsome grin. Upon her return, he'd focused on the floor and kept quiet. The changes were difficult to predict.

At least the periods of stillness made it easy for her to reflect, even as those reflections weren't entirely pleasant. She'd had faith in his ability to take care of himself and his judgment to reach out to her if he was in crisis. And while she had no regrets about taking five days to ensure she could sustain their relationship, she lamented the pain it had caused him. She'd detected it in his stiff posture in the kitchen. Seen it in his glistening eyes. Sensed it in his inconsistent reluctance to be touched.

It had been hard for her, too. The absence of their nightly calls, of shared laughter, of his presence had been keen. She would have returned to him without receiving his letter. But the ink on the page, with its occasional misspellings and earnest admissions ("I don't kno if I'm doing this right but I want to try. Maybe you want to try with me, to?") had prompted her to run to the subway before she'd taken off her coat. Confirmed that despite their differences, them being opposite in many ways, their hearts were the same.

He perked up slightly when the next performer came on, an old man from Whitefish, Montana and his paper mache ventriloquist dummy. Y/N's attention drifted to Arthur as he leaned forward onto his knees. Though the act was nothing special - terrible jokes, drinking water while the puppet talked, strumming a ukulele as it sang - his face crinkled in amusement. "They just have regular people on there," he said. "I haven't seen anyone from Gotham. I should try out."

Thankful he was focused on the show and not her, she pursed her lips. Had he forgotten how Murray had gone? Or Pogo's? Then again, he'd believed both had gone great. And she wanted him to succeed. To strive. To dream. His determination impressed her, made her proud. She searched for a truthful but kind answer. "Once you've got a set you're comfortable delivering, sure. Would you send a tape? I have a recorder you can borrow."

"I wrote a lot this week. Not many jokes but I've done some brainstorming." He flicked ash from his cigarette into the pink ashtray on the coffee table. Splayed his fingers and rubbed his palms together. The bob of his Adam's apple was faint in the dim, blue light. "Do you- Do you want to sleep over?" He turned to her.

Elated, she smiled widely and shifted to sit side-saddle. "I'd love to, but I didn't bring any clothes."

"Hold on." He rose from the couch and disappeared into the bedroom. After a minute, she followed to find him digging through a couple of cardboard boxes. Boxes filled with his mother's things, she realized. She'd have to follow-up for details, find out what had happened to ensure the transition would go as smoothly as possible. Though the relationship between him and Penny was complicated, change wouldn't be easy.

He held out a threadbare, light-blue, nylon nightdress with ruffled cap sleeves and a ribbon at the neckline. "Here."

Y/N cocked her head. The gown was exceedingly narrow, its seams stretched. If she had been inclined to wear it, it wouldn't have fit. Arthur's hopeful expression made it plain he did not see the oddity in offering his romantic partner his mother's nightwear. It was logical, she supposed. His years had been spent living hand to mouth. He didn't have any siblings. Hand-me-downs - a spare sweater here, a pair of socks there - would have come from Penny. A tad strange, to be sure. But poverty had a way of making the abnormal normal.

"Thanks," Y/N said. "But I'll be fine in my panties." At his pout, she closed the inches between them. "If you have a t-shirt, I'll take it." His brows lifted and he gave a toothy smile, comprised of surprise and conceit. The shirt he retrieved from the living room was plain and white. The lightly stained armpits didn't bother her, nor did its loose fit. It was part of his work outfit, he explained. And he claimed she looked cute in it.

Her sleep was restful, deep, better than it had been the last two weeks. Arthur being nearby and her certainty when she'd lain her head on his pillow had calmed her. She didn't think about the Wayne Foundation. She didn't worry about how to pursue a future with him. She didn't waste her energy being afraid of powerlessness. Warmth filled her, aided by contentment and cozy blankets.

When the mattress sunk beneath his weight, she didn't check the clock. Judging by the speed with which her drowsiness dissipated and the blackness of the room, it was likely around 4:00 AM. She'd gotten a solid five hours. With a slight stretch and mewl, she blinked up at him. Her elbow accidentally bumped his chest. "Aren't you tired?"

"No." He palmed her shoulder, caution palpable in every movement. Then his caress dragged down her upper arm, hovered over her breast.

She stroked his stubbled cheek. "What are you up to?"

"Making sure you're really here."

It was unclear if he was kidding. The extent of his imaginations or hallucinations - if that's what he experienced - weren't yet known to her. She recalled how he'd clutched her jacket, the way he'd fiddled with her wall calendar and coffee table when he'd come to her for help. Tactility oriented him, as it had her father before the final stages of his diagnosis. And, outside of acute episodes, Loving Someone with... had advised her to carry-on as always.

Laughing gently, she entwined their legs. "Where else would I be?"

"I don't know," he scoffed. He tucked his chin. Silence permeated the room, interrupted only by their exhalations. Eventually, he spoke, his rasp bashful and desperate. "Are you going to leave me again?"

"No." She pressed his hand to her breast, tried to soothe his tremble away. "I like it here."

She could hear his smile in the dark. He dipped his head to capture her lips. He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her again. She kissed him back until she ached with emptiness. Until she felt him hard against her hip.

"Y/N?" he breathed into her mouth.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears. "What?"

His forehead met hers and she shivered all over. "I wanna make you come."

~~~~~

Drip, drip, drip. A calming, predictable sound. The pungent smell of generic brew wafted to his nostrils, slightly burnt but familiar. Coffee. He was making his girlfriend coffee before she went to work. After they'd made love and snoozed until sunrise. After she'd admonished him for smoking in bed, then caressed his flaccid sex and teased him about his "secret freckle." (He'd covered his face in horror and delight and promised himself that one day he'd find a "secret" on her.) He hummed along to the radio, though he disliked the song, and whistled while he filled their cups. Once he'd added three sugars to his and the last of his milk to hers, he padded to the bath. He leaned on the doorframe, an imitation of nonchalance.

In her apparent rush to get to him, Y/N hadn't simply neglected to pack a change of clothing. She was swiping his stick of deodorant under her arms with haste. When she grabbed his comb and tried to tame her hair, he didn't mind. She declined his offer of Penny's eyeliner and mascara but that was fine. She didn't need them, anyway.

As she buttoned her pleated blouse, he giggled. He'd heard jokes about women going to work in identical outfits two days in a row. The innuendo had escaped him until now. A thrill went through him at finally getting the joke. He blushed. "You're dressed the same."

"I left Patricia a message that I'd be late. It won't surprise anyone." She accepted the proffered mug and took a long drink. A mischievous look as she arched a brow. "She'll want details."

Arthur's eyes widened and he rubbed his forehead. This would take getting used to.

She squeezed a line of toothpaste onto her index finger. "What are you doing today? Any gigs?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, braced his arm on the wall. "I have to call the hospital. Figure out where to send my mother." He was glad to begin the process of moving on, moving forward. To start building a life of his own. Freed from the woman who hadn't protected him. Paired with the woman who understood him most. Still. He was daunted.

After a few seconds of attempting to brush her teeth, Y/N rinsed her mouth and washed her hands. "The social worker should be able to help. There must be homes specializing in lobotomy patients, given how common they were. Actually..." She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. "I bet there's an advocacy group for the elderly in Gotham. I'll call around on my break. We can have lunch and review their recommendations."

The tightness in his chest prevented him from holding her gaze. His longings for kindness didn't make it any less peculiar. He hoped he would be able to accept it without skepticism soon, like a normal person. That he wouldn't wait for the other shoe to drop. He tried to fight his negative thoughts rather than give into them.

But he couldn't. Not yet. "Why are you doing this?" he mumbled.

She gave a small shrug, as if what she was about to say wasn't a miracle. "I love you. Why wouldn't I?" Before he could react, she walked to the front door and slipped on her heels. "Besides, we should plan this weekend. Shall We Dance is showing at the Monarch. We could catch it and have dinner at my place. And there's a doctor I found for you - when you're feeling up to it. We'll go over the particulars."

The offer to see the film, one he knew every number of, was an obvious attempt to butter him up for that discussion. It would work. "That sounds nice." He went to her side and took her coat off the wall mounted rack, guided her arms into the sleeves

"Arthur," she started, zipping her jacket. Her pretty eyes met his. "I wasn't going to end our relationship. I don't want you to fear that."

He winced and clutched his hands together, annoyed she had raised the subject again after the wonderful morning they'd shared. "I believe you now."

"Back home, I made mistakes. That's why I needed time." She shook her head. "The thought of repeating them with you..."

Mistakes? What kind of mistakes was she referring to? She'd said her divorce had been mutual. A big fight with her sister or mother hadn't been mentioned. She almost never talked about what had happened with her father, other than to name his diagnosis and state she'd gone on medication. She was a good woman. Whatever she had done, it couldn't be that terrible. Not half as bad as the notions that wormed their way into his brain like a broken record.

Then she continued. "I didn't know what to do then. But I think I do now. " She nuzzled his sideburn and carded her fingers through his hair. "If I see you walking towards a cliff, I won't follow. I'll pull you back before you get there."

He stared at her, blinking rapidly as he tried to hold himself together. Her words felt like the kind of fantasy he'd created to ease his misery. To try to convince himself he should exist another day. That he should stick around. Multiple hospitalizations had proven that hadn't always worked. But this was new. Real. Maybe that reality would allow him, for a little while, to be all right.

He cupped her face, drifted his thumbs over her cheeks. She leaned into him, into the kisses he placed on her brow, her nose, her mouth. His lips parted but all he could manage was a shaky exhale. The press of his face to hers.

She must have noticed he was overwhelmed. It frustrated him - he wanted to find a way to articulate himself. But her peck to his jaw, her hand covering his, made him feel safe. "Meet you at my office at one?"

"Mm-hmm." He nodded into her hair, not quite ready to let go.

Gently, she pulled away from his grasp, took her purse, and opened the door. She smiled. "Call if you need anything."

At that, she strode down the hall in the direction of the elevator. He stepped out and watched until she disappeared around the corridor's corner. He rested against the door and closed his eyes, wishing harder than he ever had before that every morning would be like this for the rest of his life.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​, @ithinkimaperson​, @sweet-nothings04​, @stephieraptorr​, @rommies​, @fallenstarsabyss​, @gruffle1​, @octopus-plasma​, @tsukiakarinobara​, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​, @another-day-in-chuckletown​, @hhandley80​, @jokerownsmysoul​, @mrscarnival​

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Well, folks, I had intended to put another bit up. Since Ao3 is down, I’ll go ahead and post it here. Just some more Astarion x Ferelith banter. I’ll edit it tomorrow with the links to Ao3. Also, I have not played the game. So I’m not sure how the telepathy works.

A Prying Shame

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary: Curiosity was in his nature. And when Ferelith turns him down for a glance into her past, it only grows inside him. Especially after he had already opened up to her. Though, will his prying take him too far? And would she accept an apology?

Trigger Warning: Mentions of abuse.

Read here on Ao3.

Once and only once he had the thought of peering into her memories without her knowing. And that was only after she had declined allowing him to enter in first place. Ferelith's head was a hard safe to crack. And no matter how many picks he had thrown to her lock, nothing opened. There were safeguards in place. Not to mention the fact her mind was a complete fortress on it's own. He knew the only way in was with a bit of help and when she was vulnerable.

There were some nights, particularly when the moon was full, that Ferelith would wander to commune with the fey. She needed total privacy to do so. He imagined once she was meditating, she wouldn't need to concentrate on anything but what was needed to manifest her thoughts. Therefore, she would not even feel him coming. When the time came, and the moon was high, he waited for her to disappear from camp. It was difficult to tell if she truly was gone since her footsteps were quiet and her demeanor was unnoticeable. Still, he was willing to take the risk as he followed where he could only assume she would be resting.

Finding her was not difficult. Ferelith had a very distinct smell, something of a sweet incense and dead wood. He followed that about a mile into the forest where he found a clearing. In the center seated upon a very large old stump, was the maiden warlock. Her legs were folded beneath her, her hands resting upon her knees. She appeared to be at peace, her eyes close and her mouth muttering whispers he could not understand. She was in a complete trance. And he saw the opportunity while her mind was open.

He reached out, his fingers tangling into what felt like an ice cold stream flowing through the air. It thickened to string and intertwined into his fingertips. He could feel himself pulling on them when he flexed. But Ferelith did not stir. He pulled them closer, bringing them to his temple where he stared at her intently.

There was a girl running in a white dress, her steps muffled by the sound of moss beneath her feet. The wood was naked with no green, their branches reaching up toward a black sky. Her head turned over her shoulder and he saw the streaks of tears through a dirt stained face. Her eyes, usually so bold and yellow were filled with a fear he did not recognize. In their reflection he could make out the small balls of flame from the torches behind her. She picked up the front of her dress, already torn to one side, hoping she could move faster. One leg leapt in front of the other as if they were familiar with the giant roots tangled into the ground below.

Astarion did the best he could to follow, but the memory was dark. She was familiar with the wood. And her mind was much stronger. He waited until the mob passed by, following at their pace to seek the maiden in white. That was not what they called her, however. Among them the common word for what they were hunting... was hag. Astarion curled his lip. What an insulting word for such a beautiful creature.  An arrow let fly. And he heard it whistle into the treeline before hitting it's mark. A horrifying scream sounded ahead. They quickened their speed and he was appalled to be there with them listening to their cries of joy.

When he made it to Ferelith... she was already being drug by her hair, an arrow sticking out from her chest. They poked her with the ends of their weapons, shouting at her to remove her disguise. She said nothing, her eyes looking up in both rage and terror. She kicked and clawed and bit and hissed, much a like a cornered animal of the wild. The dress was torn from her body as she cried out, their weapons coming down upon her to bruise her pale flesh. For the first time, he felt compelled to look away from her naked figure. There were bruises, whip lashes, cuts from daggers, burn marks, and many scars. This was not the first time she had been tormented. They began to tie her feet when a loud sound boomed from what felt like the center of the forest. The mob stopped, raising the attention to one side of the wood. Their grips tightened on the torches, desperate for a light to show what was approaching.

They received their light. But it was not from what they prayed for. A massive light shown through the trees as if the sun itself was barrelling through. It was faster than any animal they had seen, and many began to run from instinct. The fools who chose to stay were pummeled quickly to the ground. And the even more foolish who attacked it fell in the dirt crying in pain. At a closer glance, the bright light had taken shape. And as Ferelith rose up from the ground to leap onto it's back, it looked at him with white eyes. A stag with curled horns looked into him. He looked back up to Ferelith to see she, too, was looking directly at him. It was time to go. They had discovered the intruder...

The memory snapped back and it was too late to move. Stepping backward to avoid her wrath, he tripped over a bush directly behind him. Ferelith was atop him, her hand reaching out and snatching his face. She pulled him up, her palm cupping his chin and her long black nails digging into his cheeks. He could see the markings on her fingers just outside his view. But more noticeable was her face. It was always the eyes with her. The glowing yellow eyes.

"How dare you," she said in a low tone that hardly sounded angry at all. "You trespass into my thoughts during the night of the moon? You defile my sacred place as I try to rest? And you read my memories while I commune with someone else?"

"I... I ..." he didn't know what to say.

His words tripped over his tongue as child would its first steps.

"Are an insult to this forsaken group," she threw him down.

He felt the force, but he was much stronger so the most he gave was small nudge to the ground. As she turned her back to him, he sprung to his feet stepping after her into the clearing.

"I only thought I'd get a glimpse of-"

"You were being meddlesome. Eavesdropping for the sake of your own curiosity. Nothing more."

"Damn it, Ferelith. If you would just-"

"You can't talk your way out of this Astarion," she turned to look upon him. The fury had subsided. It was now the hurt he was witnessing. The same eyes he saw looking at up at those men. Guilt was not an easy emotion for him. But realizing he had taken advantage of her, just as they did, was worse than any guilt he could ever think to feel.

"I saw your intentions... just as you saw mine..."

Just then, he saw a light ever so faint in the forest go cold as he caught sight of it. The stag from the dream... had been one of the fey. There was another flash of a memory as Ferelith looked into his eyes. The bleeding arrow, the horns of the stag, the look in her eyes... it was the night she made her pact. The memory was the connection the two shared, the sacred path that linked them. And he had desecrated it.

"I..." there was a long pause, his hands stretched out and his mouth open. "... am a fool."

"Flattery will get you no where, spawn. Leave me."

Spawn. It was what she called him the first time they met. It was meant as an insult, to demean him. She had been disgusted with his kind. Then, for some reason, she had changed her mind. Part of him believed it was his art of persuasion. Or perhaps he was succeeding at seducing the warlock. Now, he felt like he knew nothing of her. That he wiped away everything he kept of her. And he needed to start over. He watched her disappear deeper into the forest, the darkness swallowing her as she followed the light.

Ferelith glanced down into the basket, observing it only as garbage he had found somewhere during their travels.

"What is this?" she growled.

"An apology," he said, his tone serious but still lacking sincerity.

He knew Ferelith wasn't going to appear pleased. He knew very well she may not even be grateful for the effort he put forth in his attempt to regain her favor. But he also knew he was at the very least trying. And it was all he had to offer.

"There's red wine. A variation of flowers. And some... bones... of some thing I ki- I mean found."

Ferelith opened the lid to the basket and peered inside.

"None of these flowers can be used for spells or tea," she said flatly.

"That's not the point," Astarion looked at her in annoyance.

"Then what's the point?"

"They're pretty."

She blinked at him.

"I forget this is why I'm so fond of you," he sighed. "They were pretty flowers that reminded me... that reminded me of how beautiful you are."

"Out of all the useful flowers in this wood... these were the ones you chose?"

"Yes! Do you know the meaning of sentimental value?"

She looked down into the basket. The flowers' petals were dark purple that were even darker toward the center. The outer petals blossomed outward while the ones on the inside remained folded. Either he was very clever in his choice... or it was a coincidence.

"If you look into my thoughts again... it will be of your death."

She slammed the lid on the basket, snatching it from the ground before storming off. Again, he would never dream of following her if he had no reason to. But curiosity was his weak point. This time, however, he waited much longer to follow. What he found when he discovered her was well worth the risk. Ferelith was bathing in the river, her body half submerged on the bank. There was a wreathe of purple flowers in her hair, the wine bottle in one hand, and the skull of a dead animal in the other. It appeared... she was talking to it. And the bottle was half empty.

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Becoming A Stark (8)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Word Count: 2390

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: No Peter in this chapter, but he’ll be in the next few. Promise.

Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List 

Your dad hasn’t been home in 48 hours but, according to Pepper, he somehow had time to go to MIT, spend the night at the compound and then fly to Berlin. It took less than a week for him to go back on what he had said and to be honest you were a bit passed pissed about it. Pepper had decided to order dinner for you both and had said Tony could figure something else out whenever he got home. If you were a betting woman, you bet that Pepper ordered some extra Thai food for him though. You, on the other hand, had decided to work on homework while waiting for food to arrive. But not even your English homework could hold your attention it seemed. Tony has managed to take the joy your favorite class normally brings you, because all you can think about is how pissed you are.

It also didn’t help that the tower was freezing, but you didn’t feel like telling FRIDAY to turn the temperature up. So instead you go digging through your drawers to find a sweatshirt to help warm you up. It wasn’t until you find a black one with words that really suit your mood. ‘No. I Checked My Receipts. I Don’t Buy Any Of Your Bullshit.’ Even though AC/DC’s Highway to Hell is blasting over your speakers, a knock on your door tells you that someone isn’t going to leave you alone.

“Hey there kiddo.” Even his voice irritates you right now. Instead of greeting him, you turn back towards your English assignment and continue typing. “Wow, two days away and I get the cold shoulder.”

“FRIDAY turn music up by 25%.” You say, trying to block him out.

“FRIDAY, music off.” You huff at the fact that his commands override yours. But decide to play it sweet instead of sour. 

“Did you need something?” You turn in your chair and paste a fake smile on your face.

“I know I was gone the past two days. I let you down. But I came and saw you before I even went looking for Pepper.”

“I don’t care.” But then you see the bruise on his face and you can’t pretend anything. “What happened to your face?”

“Ex-assassin under some brainwashing. Long story.” So he’s still going to keep things from you? 

“Was this while you were in Berlin? Missing family dinner again?” You know you sound like the stereotypical teenager that you usually try to shy away from, but you can’t help it.

“I fucked up. I know. And honestly, according to people other than you I fucked up in more ways than you can count. But I’m here for tonight’s dinner. I even pushed a trip to Germany to be here for it.” Tony sits down on your bed.

“Wow, I came before Germany. Not before Berlin though.” You throw your hands outward as your head moves from side to side.

“You do come before Berlin. I was hoping to make it home before I missed another dinner because I didn’t want to disappoint you again. I’m not good at saying it, but I’m sorry. I missed you the whole time I was gone.” His eyes read your sweatshirt and then looks back at your face. “That’s at me isn’t it?”

“Kind of.” You admit. “You did say ‘I would drop anything and everything for you’ and a week later I’m having dinner by myself and then finding out that Natasha’s in building’s that are being bombed and I don’t even know where you are and I was hurt by it.”

“You’re allowed to be hurt by it. I’m trying to be better, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck up occasionally. I wasn’t in Vienna, but I’ve seen Nat and she’s fine. Saw her in Berlin earlier.”

“Don’t tell me she has one of those too.” You motion towards his eye.

“She’s fine. She’s also an ex-assassin, remember? They tend to be pretty good at fighting other ex-assassins.”

“Good.”

“Now, dinner? Last I checked you were trending downward, so it’s a perfect time for dinner.”

“Has dinner been delivered?”

“It arrived when I did. Come on.” Tony offers an arm to you and you sink into his side hug as you walk downstairs with him. Pepper smiles at the two of you as she unboxes the Thai food that had been delivered.

“You two all good now?” She asks as she sets the food on the table. You nod. “Good. Now dinner is served.” You sit down and start eating your pineapple fried rice and tofu as Pepper and Tony talk about some SI stuff. 

“You know Y/N, I talked to a boy from your school today.”

“Really, why?”

“Possible intern.

“Uh, ok. Guess that makes sense. But do you even work at the lab at SI that much really?”

“He might end up being my personal intern here or at the Avenger’s Compound.”

“Really? Do I know him?”

“He knows you.” You can’t help but cock your head to the side as you take a bite of food. “Name’s Peter Parker. Talked about you quite a bit. Especially how you skipped out of class today.”

“I had a good reason. You see your family members' names in tweets with the word bomb and you would skip out of class too. I was going to call you too, but Natasha told me you weren’t there.”

“Well he told me so much about you that it makes me wonder if I need to start laying down some ground rules for you and dating.”

“Pepper, make him stop!” You plead as you use your chopsticks to scoop up more food.

“Tony.” She warns from the other side of the table.

“No, this is my little girl. I’m allowed to be protective about this aspect. Dating and evil villains are my prerogative.”

“I’m not little. I’m fourteen. I’ve already gone on my first date.” Tony chokes on the water he was drinking.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I misunderstood you, but I thought I heard you say you already went on your first date.”

“I did. I already had my first boyfriend and girlfriend too.” You wait to see a reaction from either Pepper or Tony, but nothing happens.

“No more dating until you're 25, at least. I forbid it. I don’t care who they are. No one is good enough for you!” Tony says before angrily eating his food.

“He’ll lighten up eventually.” Pepper says with a smile.

“Or he’ll have FRIDAY lock me in my room until I’m 25.” You say with an eye roll.

“Don’t give him any ideas.” Pepper teases.

“I’m not completely unreasonable. I would just lock her in the tower.” Tony teases back. 

“I’ll text the Avengers to come save me.” You watch as your dad’s face grows darker. “What’s going on with the Avengers?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He says, not really answering the question.

“I can call Natasha and ask.”

“Natasha is busy and I don’t think you should bother her.” Based off of the conversation you had with her earlier today, you can guess that’s probably actually true. “Besides, don’t you want to see your old man before he leaves tomorrow?”

“Why are you leaving?”

“Official Avengers business.”

“Weren’t you just on official Avengers business?” 

“Yes and sometimes the Avengers business is nonstop.” You glance over at Pepper and see a look of almost exasperation on her face. Apparently this isn’t the first time for her hearing this argument.

“When will you be back?”

“Hopefully, tomorrow night. But if not the day after at the latest.” Tony wants to promise that he’ll be back for dinner tomorrow night, but even with quinjet, he doesn’t think he can make it back in time. 

You walk back into the kitchen later, not expecting to find anyone. You just want a glass of water and then you’ll head to bed. “What are you wearing?” Your dad’s voice startles you.

“What are you doing up still?”

“Shouldn’t I ask you the same thing? One of us has school tomorrow, and it’s not me.”

“I was thirsty. Came to get water.” You shrug. “What do you mean what am I wearing?” You glance down at the shorts and tank top you had thrown on to go to sleep.

“You’re Iron Man?” He questions, looking over the wording on the grey tank. You glance down and finally realize what shirt you had put on to sleep in.

“Pepper found it when we were thrifting before school started. She thought it was funny.”

“Definitely is kiddo. Now water?” He asks, already reaching in the cupboard for a glass. Stepping into his favorite role, he gets you your water and walks up the stairs with you to your room. 

“You don’t have to come tuck me in. I’m fourteen.”

“Humor me.” He says, following you into your room. You set the glass on your bedside table and climb under the covers. Tony pulls them around you and tucks you in. “Goodnight kiddo. I love you.”

“Love you too Dad.” He kisses your forehead before heading towards his own room. He can’t help but smile as he thinks about you wearing something that reps him.

“What’s got you all smiley?” Pepper asks, setting down her Stark Pad.

“Well seeing as you got her the shirt, I guess you did.” Pepper’s eyebrows furrow as she tries to understand what Tony is talking about. “The Iron Man tank top? Y/N wore it to sleep in and... I just love her so much Pep.” Pepper smiles but reaches for her phone.

“You want to see something better?” She asks as she sends Tony a picture. He glances at his phone before making a double take. “Completely her idea on the pose.”

“This is the best thing ever. I have the best kid.” Tony says. He slips under the covers to lay down next to Pepper, but can’t help but look at the picture again. Fuck it. He logs onto Instagram. Caption- I have the best kid ever. Nothing else and then posts the photo after tagging you. After posting it, he flips over to your Instagram. He notices you have changed your bio to no longer show your old last name, but it doesn’t read Stark. He scrolls through some photos that you and your friends must have taken at lunch the other day as well as some pictures of some recent reads. You really plow through books fast. Maybe he should look at signing you up for one of those book subscription boxes that you get new books every month. You’d probably like that. He likes the newer photos that he hadn’t liked yet, before clicking his phone off. He pulls Pepper into his arms and lets sleep pull him under.

When you wake up the next morning, you see your notifications have blown up over night. You have hundreds of thousands of new followers on both Instagram and Twitter. There’s also a bunch of comments. What happened? You had been sitting at a few hundred followers when you went to bed, and most of them were friends or people you knew from school. So what happened after you went to sleep. You click open Instagram and look at notifications. It’s too cluttered for you to find anything. So instead you click to your profile to see if one of your book photos went viral? That’s the only thing you could think of that would do this. But then you see the notification that you’ve apparently been tagged in a photo. Flipping pages, you see that your father made the dumbest mistake yet. You grab your phone and walk towards your dad and Pepper’s room, knowing that they’re probably up but not yet out of their room. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the situation as you knock on the door. 

“Come in.” Pepper calls from inside the room. As you walk in, you see her putting on jewelry, getting ready for her day at SI. Your dad is still laying in bed on the other hand. “Good morning Y/N.”

“Is it a good morning? Because someone in this family is an idiot.” You say looking at your dad.

“What did I do?” He asks, glancing up from his datapad as he keeps working with the design that he’ll need to work on when he gets back from Germany.

“You tagged me on Instagram. My private account now has a few hundred thousand followers and people have found me on Twitter too.” Pepper turns from where she stands in the mirror.

“I thought we were trying to keep her name out of the press?” She asks, looking at Tony.

“Ok, so I didn’t completely think this through. But it was so cute I couldn’t not share it.”

“That’s not the point Tony. The whole world knows who your daughter is.”

“They already did.” Tony counters.

“No they knew you had a daughter. But her name and her face were mainly out of the picture.” Pepper takes a deep breath. “Guess I know what my day will be focused on.”

“I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.” Tony says pushing off from the mattress. He wants to hug both females that are upset with him but doesn’t know which to go after first. You, definitely you. “Kiddo, I just had to share with the world how much I loved you. I didn’t think what tagging you would do. I’m sorry.” He pulls you into his arms. “Forgive me?” He asks.

“Yeah I guess so. Except that now everyone knows for sure that I’m related to you.”

“I’ll up security if I have to. You’ll remain safe. I promise you that.” He says into your hair. “I do have to steal Happy from you for the next few days. He’ll take you to school today, but one of the other security people will pick you up. I’ll have Happy text you who it will be after we know for sure.”

“Fine, if you have too.” You step out of your dad’s arms. “I have to go get ready for school. Try not to expose anything else about me online while I do that ok?” You tease him.

“Cross my heart.” He promises.

Permanent tag list: @wormonastringonastick

Becoming A Stark Tag list: @persephonehemingway  @iamaunicorn4704  @furiouspockettoad  @daughter-of-stark  @eternalharry  @huntective-kyeo @riiis-stuff @sunnyoongles @cosmicqueenieb @sovereignparker @bbarnestan 

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Prompt: A woman of substance.

It Does My Heart Good: Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

Brianna neatly fanned a sheaf of papers across the desk in John Grey’s study, and turned to a fresh page in her notebook.

“All right. Tell me everything you remember about her.”

Jamie raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I could go on for hours, lass. She was my first love - my only love, if ye can believe it.”

Brianna smiled. “I want to know all about that, too. It - it’s a great comfort to know that I come from love.”

Jamie set down his tumbler of whisky and reached across the table, taking his daughter’s hand. “You come from the greatest, most powerful love that could ever be felt on God’s earth, a nighean. Your mother and I - we shared a soul.” He swallowed. “God help me - I’ve never stopped loving her. And I won’t lie to ye - I’m deathly afraid that even if we do find her, she’ll have….moved on. Married another man.”

“Even if she did - there can be no way she forgot you.”

He sighed deeply. “I’m no’ saying it would be accidental - it would be deliberate. I gave her such joy, and then we shared such pain.”

She squeezed his hand. “Why did she come to Glasgow to begin with?”

“She was an exchange student at the University of Glasgow. She was studying here in Boston - Harvard. Pre-med. She had an opportunity to study abroad for a year, to continue her studies in the UK.”

“I didn’t know she was at Harvard.” Still holding her father’s hand, she scribbled a few words in the notebook.

Jamie’s eyes widened. “Ye’re left-handed, lass?”

Brianna looked up. “I am.”

He swallowed. “So am I.”

She smiled. “I’m glad to know it. Was Claire left-handed, too?”

“No - she’s right-handed. Though I do remember her saying that her mother had been left-handed.”

Brianna wrote that down, too. “Did she ever tell you the names of her parents?”

“Her father’s name was Henry, I remember that. Her mother - I canna remember her name. She rarely spoke of them. They were killed in a car crash when she was five.”

Brianna set down her pen and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “That’s so sad.”

“Aye - she had to be very strong from such a young age. She was an only child. And because I had lost my own Mam so young, too - it bound us together.”

“But who raised her?”

“Ah. Her father’s brother - Uncle Lamb. I dinna ken if that is a nickname, a first name, or a surname. But I do ken he was a professor at Harvard. Either archaeology or anthropology. She grew up following him around on digs. He loved her very much, and cared for her. Encouraged her to follow her passions.”

Brianna took up her pen and wrote this down. “This is great - really, really great. Was he still alive when you knew Claire?”

“He was. He would write her letters every week, and I remember a few times when I’d come to her dormitory to see her, she’d be on the telephone in the lobby, speaking wi’ him.” Jamie paused, eyes unfocused, lost in his memories. “From what she told me, he was quite eccentric. As far as I know he never married, or had children of his own. But he loved Claire, more than anything.”

“I wonder if he knew about me.”

Jamie’s eyes focused on Brianna. “Oh, he must have. When Claire left Glasgow to return to Boston, her plan was to live with Uncle Lamb until you were born. She - she felt safe wi’ him. She knew he would care for her. And I’d bet any amount of money that he was there when you were born, and helped her care for you until you went to live wi’ the Greys.”

“He sounds like an amazing man.”

Jamie nodded. “I always wish that I could have met him. To thank him for raising Claire, of course - but more importantly, to thank him for caring for her, and for you, when I couldn’t.”

Brianna scribbled down another note. “So - if Claire was a pre-med student at Harvard, and she returned to Boston in the spring…”

“She returned on April the 16th,” Jamie interjected. “She was five months along wi’ you. I went wi’ her to the airport.” He sighed. “The worst day of my life. Much worse than being in prison.”

Brianna watched him in silence, processing his memories.

“We had met in the University’s medical clinic. I’d been in a fight wi’ some lads, and my shoulder was out of joint. She fixed it. And the last time I saw her, she tried to make a joke. She…she told me to mind my shoulder.” Tears raced down his cheeks. “I didn’t laugh, and she didn’t either. But that’s so typical of her - wanting to draw attention away from herself. Taking care of others.”

“Do you think she finished her studies?”

“Oh, I’m certain of it. I’m certain she graduated from Harvard with flying colors, and then went on to medical school. By the grace of God, I hope she’s had a verra successful career.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Caring for others - healing others - that was her calling in life. And I ken she would have been the best mother. But I’m sure ye understand why that didna come to pass.”

“I do.” She squeezed his hand. “I really do. I’m so, so happy to learn about her from you. How she’s a true woman of substance.”

“That, and a lot of other things.” He cleared his throat. “What else can I help ye with? Do ye ken her birthday and such?”

“I do - it’s on my birth certificate. When I contacted the adoption agency, they gave me all the papers in my file. It wasn’t very extensive - my birth certificate, my medical evaluation when I was eight weeks old. A log of all the notes and photographs my parents sent the agency over the years, to pass along to Claire.” She sighed. “The file also indicated that the agency had lost contact with her many years ago. They provided the last address on file for her - but it was a post office box. Not traceable.”

“Mmphmm.” Jamie sipped his whisky. “I brought wi’ me the picture she sent me of you as a baby, and I kept the envelope wi’ her return address. Though she must be long gone from there by now. I dinna ken how useful this information I’ve given ye will be. But maybe it’s a start?”

“Oh, definitely! Just knowing she was at Harvard, that her uncle was at Harvard, and her father’s name - those are huge, huge clues. Mom’s sister works at Harvard - through her, we can find someone who can help us find the right records.”

“That’s wonderful, Brianna. I - I canna tell ye how proud I am of you. That you would care enough to find me - and then to bring me here. I - I feel so honored. Me - a rough-and-tumble Glaswegian, a criminal, a - ”

“Nonsense. You’re none of that. You’ve done many things in your life - but that’s all in the past. And don’t forget, you made good choices, too. You chose Claire. And the two of you chose me.”

“Aye, I suppose we did.” He sat up a bit straighter in his chair. “Do ye think we can call yer Mam’s sister in the morning?”

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Right Choice - Part 6

Summary: You had hoped going to Korea to look after your estranged grandmother would allow you to connect in some way to your mother’s culture. However, being half-Korean and a single mother meant you would face the stigma of a narrow-minded society instead. Had you really made the right choice to come here?

Pairing: Mark Tuan x reader

Genre: single mother au / strangers to lovers au / self-growth / angst / romance

Warnings: open prejudice and stigma over solo parenting

A/N; Although the warnings seem rather negative, this story is one I hope a lot of you will enjoy! I’ve wanted to write this for over eight months now, and I’m glad I finally sat down to do so. It isn’t as dark as it sounds, and nor is it intentionally a dig at Korean culture as a whole.

The Right Choice will be posted daily at 10am NZST.

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Despite being confused by your grandmother’s parting words, you had boarded the flight back home and when you finally saw your father, you were overwhelmed with need. You hugged him tightly, refusing to let him go even when Emerson started to fuss about the attention not being solely on her. Taking her out of her capsule, your father started to dote over her and you smiled, feeling a sense of normalcy.

These last few weeks had been quite the rollercoaster ride.

Once settled back at home, you sat on your bed, sorting through the things in your carry-on bag. You stopped when you saw the envelope your grandmother had given you, plucking it out from your other belongings. You had yet to look at it, and right now, you wondered if you should.

“Tomorrow,” you told yourself, collecting everything off your bed and placing it on your dresser, along with the envelope.

Tomorrow came and so did the day after. Every time you looked at the envelope, you couldn’t bring yourself to open it. Finally, after stalling for four days, you clamped your eyes shut and untied the lush envelope. You felt paper inside and gently pulled it out, surprised to find two types of parchment.

The smaller piece was hand made, clearly from the temple itself. You unfolded it and looked at the name before you.

Eun Jung.

You turned to the other piece of paper, finding a letter from your grandmother.

 My dearest Y/N,

I hope you don’t despair too much over my decision to give Emerson a Korean name. I once prayed over your mother’s name and when she asked me for a Korean name for you, I did the same then. It is another tradition that I have been able to pass on from generation to generation.

Eun means grace. I believe Emerson will have as much grace and beauty as her mother. You have raised her well so far and I know you will continue to do so. Jung means affection. Again, you are both full of love for all those around you. Her smile shines much like her mother’s and grandmother’s. A smile like that will warm the hearts of many.

I myself lack both traits. I was raised to believe in only one path forward, and your mother choosing to marry your father wasn’t the path I had paved for her. I resented her for many years. I yearned for her even longer. I realise now, from the beautiful photos you shared with me, that she chose the right path, the right man.

I know you will also make the best decisions for you and Emerson.

I am sorry I was too late in showing my affections for you both. The time we had together is precious to me and I will carry those feelings until the day I die.

Thank you for warming this old heart of mine,

Your Grandma.

 “You okay?” your Dad asked when he entered the room, finding you sobbing away on your bed. Hugging you tightly, you spluttered out emotions and occurrences from your trip to Korea. When you finally came to an end, he let out a bit of a sigh. “As much as I missed you and Em, I don’t think you wanted to come back.”

“I did, Dad. It was all a mess.”

“Your feelings are bruised but you aren’t ready to let go of the people you met there. Your Grandmother, this Mark guy. You’re still affected.”

You shrugged. “I’ll recover.”

“Don’t be stubborn for my sake. Your Grandmother is good enough at being that way herself. I know it runs in your blood too. If you need to go back-”

“Our home is here with you, Dad. It always has been.”

It wasn’t easy to get back into rhythm. You found that you missed the close proximities of everything in Korea. In a single area, you had all the shops you needed and more. Here, you had to travel to certain parts of the city for supplies. You craved Korean food more often than you wanted to admit, and whenever you passed by a bakery, you teared up.

You hated that you missed Mark.

When you had stopped to think over your hasty actions, you realised you had hurt the one person who had been your constant in Korea. Mark had always been at your side. When you were new, when you were lost and when you needed him the most.

You had shoved away someone who you now believed cared for you more than what you had insinuated.

Sometimes, you would hover your thumb over his number, urging yourself to call him. Other moments, you would write him messages and then delete them before you sent anything. It had been a month since you last spoke to him.

It was probably best that you just moved on with your life.

Except, your grandmother wasn’t having anything to do with that.

“She did what?” you questioned, rubbing your temples as a headache began to form. “No, I understand why she decided to quit but is there anyone else who would be willing to step in? My Grandmother can’t exactly go without some in-home care on a daily basis due to her declining health.”

Hanging up the call, you let out a groan. Your Dad perked up from behind his computer, smirking lightly. “Another one quit?”

“Must she torment everyone on this planet?!”

“You lasted longer than any of these people.”

“I’m family, she has to respect me to some degree,” you grumbled and your Dad laughed.

“You’d think she’d be nicer to the paid help huh?” You nodded sullenly. He gave you a knowing look. “Then again, if I were her, I wouldn’t want anyone other than you to look after me, Y/N.”

“She blew it.”

“Did you even ask her why she said what she did?” he wondered and you stopped, furrowing your brows together in thought. Had you? You couldn’t remember doing so and it only made you more perplexed. Carrying the thought around for the rest of the day, you were frustrated with yourself for leaving everything so open-ended. Whilst you had been initially hurt, it ended up being you causing just as many wounds for the people you left behind.

Emerson sat up beside you on the floor, using your thigh to get to her feet and wobbled back and forth. You held out your arms, ready to catch her if she fell. And then she looked at the photo on the mantelpiece, pointing towards it. Following her finger, you smiled when you noticed it was your Mum. Beside her was your Grandmother and your smile froze, especially when the child started to bounce around.

“Be careful, Emmie.”

“Ma-Ma-Ma!” Frowning, you had already heard her first word earlier in the month and she had established calling you Mum. This was different and with the way she was avidly pointing to the photograph, you realised what she was saying.

“Grandma?” Emerson clapped with joy, stumbling back into your lap and giggling, chanting the word over and over.

Even she was missing the woman.

You woke in the middle of the night to a persistent phone call, rolling over to grab your device off your nightstand and answered sleepily.

It was the one voice you hadn’t expected to hear again. “Y/N, it’s your Grandmother. She’s being rushed to the hospital again.”

You had gotten on the first flight to Korea, your Father promising he would follow you with Emerson in two days. After arriving back in Seoul, you headed for the neighbourhood you knew well enough now, ringing Mark repeatedly. He never answered but when you texted him, he insisted you go to the family home and he’d met you there to take you to the hospital.

You were a ball of nerves when you got out of the cab, unlocking the gate and stepping inside. Mark met you in the courtyard.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, staring back at you, soaking you in.

You tried to break out of doing the same thing. “Mark, my Grandmother?”

“Right,” he breathed, nodding softly. He pointed towards the house. “She’s in there.”

“She’s been discharged already?” you wondered, rushing into the home and slipping off your shoes before entering it.

And then you stopped in the doorway. There were balloons and streamers all around the living area, brightening up the room. Along one wall, a banner saying, “Welcome Back Y/N” boldly greeted you and in the middle of the room in her chair sat your grandmother.

A very healthy looking version, might you add.

“What… what is going on?”

“Your Dad arranged it all,” Mark announced from behind you, smiling widely at your grandmother. He stepped around you and gave her a high five.

You blinked several times, not comprehending anything that was happening around you.

“I hear you missed me,” the oldest in the room stated, smiling smugly. “This old thing really made an impact in your world, did it?”

“You’re not sick?”

“Well, I have had some mild breathing issues after blowing all these up,” she admitted and Mark shook his head.

“I told you to wait for me, Mrs Kim.”

You turned your attention to him. “You planned all this?”

“It was a collective effort,” he worded carefully before grinning at you. “Are you happy?”

“You tricked me! I thought something horrible had happened.”

Your grandmother nodded. “It did. You left and took Emerson away too. It hasn’t been the same without either of you.”

“But you said all those things-”

“I had said a whole lot of good too,” she cut in, tutting you. “You never let me explain.”

“I told you there was more to it,” Mark mentioned, stepping closer to you and reached to cup your face tenderly. “A whole lot more.”

You started to cry then, a mixture of relief and frustration overwhelmed you. Mark laughed as he hugged you, rubbing gently at your back.

And then your grandmother stepped in to hug you as well. “Welcome home, Y/N.”

_________________

Part 7

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[keytomind]

I am more than 400 miles away from home and halfway through a two week mountain vacation. As much as I am thriving and loving life at the moment, home is the only thing on my mind today.

As I was winding down last evening, I was perusing through the camera roll on my iPad when I saw a few pictures of my old dog, “Lucky”, laying on the same bed and the same pillows that I was about to claim for the night. I tapped on the photo info. and it was taken 9.4.2017, exactly three years ago to the date and the exact same place, more than 400 miles away from home. I’ve always been fascinated by numbers.

Lucky was the first dog that I called “mine.” We had a great 13 year run together, but an enlarged heart, daily seizures and a possible brain tumor meant it was time for my girl to get some sleep. It was the most painful decision I ever had to made and I know it won’t be the last.

I brought Lucky home on 10.27.2005, which was your ten year anniversary. I told you, I’m a sucker for numbers. I wanted to bring Lucky home on that particular day because I miss you so much more on anniversaries. I miss you every day and I can honestly say that not an hour of any single day has passed in which I haven’t thought of you. Lucky was to be my new best friend and my partner in crime.

But anniversaries are the worst because those numbers dig their claws into my flesh to remind me that they aren’t going anywhere. I can’t elude seeing 10:27 on a clock at least three times a day. That sounds like I’m going for exaggeration as a clock’s hands only match twice a day, but I’ll find 10:27 on a game clock or a timer, or a lunch bill or somewhere that you’d never expect. These numbers haunt me.

Today, however, is not that anniversary. Today would have been your 41st birthday. Today, we would be getting together as a family for a beautiful meal and celebrate your day with sweets and presents, none of which you’d need or want but things we wouldn’t be able to help ourselves from. Multiple generations all coming together to celebrate the gift we were given to have you in our lives.

You’re the reason that I measure a life in 16 years, 1 month, and 22 days. As morbid as it may appear on the surface, I’ll never break myself of this philosophy. You’re all I know and you’re still my ever-consuming thought, even at the most inappropriate or unnecessary of times. I often wonder what you would think of things today, how the effect of your butterfly would’ve altered the ripples of our history in ways that I’ll never be able to comprehend.

I never got to meet your wife. I know she would’ve been beautiful, inside and out. You knew even at a young age that there was more to a girl than her looks and that’s why you went after Angie. You would’ve been a great husband, a rock for your household and a provider of a better life because you weren’t going to let anything derail what you had set out to accomplish.

I never got to meet your kids...

This one hurts as much as losing you. I never got to meet your kids...I cannot put these thoughts to words without the tears cascading down my cheeks. You know that I pride myself on being the greatest uncle on the planet. You never got to meet your niece or nephew... I don’t have a strong enough word to describe how amazing they are and you would be so proud to be their uncle, as I am.

It destroys me knowing that I should’ve been an uncle to more than just those two. Mom often said she thought you would’ve had at least 4 or 5 kids. We weren’t just robbed of our time with you but also with them and that leaves a void in my soul that nothing can ever fill. You would’ve been the best father a child could have, much like you were the best brother that I could have asked for. Your discipline to accomplish anything you put your mind to always had a contagious effect on those who followed you, and make no mistake about it, you were the greatest leader I have ever known.

I have no doubts that you have been doing so for some time now, but please take loving care of my Lucky. I miss her so much and I long for the day that I see her again, like you. For now, all I have are the memories of her going on vacation with me and sharing this same very bed, but I know that when my time comes, she will be the first one to greet me as you won’t be able to hold her back. And she was always quicker than lightning. I long to see her jump over my head with initial excitement before she finds her way into my arms and licks my face with that stinky breath of hers. I can still smell it.

I also long for the day that you and I are reunited. But as much as I long for such a day, I also have much work to be done here first. I can’t let mom outlive me; that’s the primary and perhaps simplest goal. She already buried one of her children and she’s had a life of heartache. I don’t wish to add to this. I need to take care of her and give her a good life. I need to protect our niece and nephew and make sure that they are on the right path in their maturation before they grow to be an impressive young woman and man. And lastly, I need to make a couple more dollars, just enough to get that land in the mountains and to build the home that will see the last years of my life. I want them to be filled with joy and happiness, peace and zen... tranquility, really I just don’t want any bullshit. I’m 38 and I’m already out of fucking patience for any of that and I can only conclude that this feeling will worsen with age.

I love you. I miss you. I’m so proud that you are my brother. I’ll always wish that we were blessed with more time together, however it wasn’t in our cards and you have to play the hand you’re dealt. I keep a watchful eye for you everywhere that I know to: every butterfly, every rainbow, every 10:27.... but today is about your 16 years, 1 month, and 22 days. It sounds like nothing in comparison to 41 years with a running meter. A part of me will forever feel cheated of time with you, but all of me loves every minute that I ever had with you.

One day... 🖤🖤

@keytomind 9.5.2020 (written) 9.7.2020 (posted)

[bluesat12]

"Two books more or less about running arrived in the post last week, one I didn’t expect and wanted to read, the other like a blast from the past and I needed to read"....Sonia O'Sullivan

The first also felt like a privilege, as it was a preview copy of The Running Book, by John Connell, author of the bestselling The Cow Book, from 2017.

I knew The Running Book would be right up my alley, a myriad of reflections on running just for the pure simple joy that it brings, and something that so many people have discovered and re-discovered in recent times due to Covid-19 restrictions.

But The Running Book (in bookshops from October) would have to wait a while, as I delved straight into The Russian Affair, written by David Walsh, an insight into the life of a Russian couple and whistleblowers Vitaly and Yuliya Stepanov who lifted the lid on the systematic doping and cover-up by the Russia Anti-Doping Agency (RUSADA).

RUSADA was not anywhere near what most athletes around the world would encounter when faced with a drug tester knocking on the door early in the morning waiting to collect a sample.

The time period covered is from the late 2000s through to 2015 and the eventual banning of Russia from international sport. The drug testing facility was in place but those operating it were just using the system in a way to colour the true picture of what was going on in areas of Russian athletics, as monitored and reported by Vitaly and Yuliya.

In a strange twist of fate for Russian athletes, Vitaly, a club level athlete working for RUSADA, had a conscience and a duty of care and responsibility in his job to help ensure clean and fair sport. A romantic relationship developed with Yuliya, an 800 metres runner with a desire and passion to be on the Russian athletics team, her eyes set on the European and World Championships, even the Beijing Olympics in 2008.

The workings around Russian athletics were so corrupt that the only way to have any chance to even get on the team was to be a part of a doping system, which was organised through national coaches, and their contacts in the federation to protect them.

Part of problem with drugs in athletics back in 1990s is that there was plenty of speculation but not much concrete evidence, or indeed anyone to start blowing the whistle. Which is a pity. I was close enough to know that some things have never been above board in athletics. And even though I raced many Russian athletes down through the years, often there was very little proof or evidence that they were doing anything wrong, so for me it was easier just to get on with things, focus on what I had to do to be the best, and not worry about what others were doing.

When I look back and think of some of the athletes that I raced, I do remember when I was beaten more than when I won, and who finished behind me. At the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona, the 3,000m was won by Yelena Romanova, with Tetyana Dorovskikh second.

At that time these Russian athletes ran as part of the Unified team, when the Soviet Union was in the process of breaking up into independent States. A different colour uniform, maybe, but the same old names always present on the podium, not always consistent across all events, but always results delivered at the major championships.

I sat in the drug testing room that night after finishing in fourth position, surprising myself in some ways to get so close to a medal. All I wanted to do was run back to the Athlete’s Village, but I had to wait and provide a urine sample for testing just like those who finished in front of me.

Doing the right thing, yet the system has always been there to give the cheating athletes more of a chance to prove their innocence rather than protect those who have always been doing the right thing, competing clean. In 2007, at age 43 and a coach to members of the Russian team, Romanova died suddenly of still unknown causes.

The following year, 1993, Lyubov Kremlyova won the Grand Prix final mile in London, and I finished second, beaten by half a second, after winning the 3,000m the night before. In February of 1995, Kremlyova tested positive for steroids, yet was still allowed to run at the World Indoor Championships, also in Barcelona, standing on the podium for a bronze medal and taking the stage from local athlete Maite Zuniga from Spain, who was most likely later sent a bronze medal in the post. After a three-year ban Kremlyova was back on the Russian team for the Goodwill Games, and back on the podium for another bronze medal, no conscience on display here.

These are just a couple that I remember, in part because I didn’t focus on what I could not change, and in part felt I could still compete and beat most of the Russian runners. Sometimes even in their own backyard, at a track meet in Moscow, over 1,500m in 1995: that was one of the most oppressive places and lethargic feeling events I have ever run, similar to the Goodwill Games in St Petersburg in 1994. Between the heat and humidity, the dust and rationed food, it was not really a place that was conducive to high performance, yet some of the best athletes in the world came from Russia.

Russia is just one example of where there is now concrete evidence, in an easily readable format for all to see, and how the wool was truly pulled over the eyes of innocent athletes for decades. It does make you think as well if there was such a faulty system of drug control at the start of the millennium, what was going on before to maintain any form of control of what athletes were using to boost their training?

Vitaly is just one example of a good person in one country, trying to do the job he thought he was employed to do. Yet he was compromised and even when he tried to report it to the World Anti-Doping Agency (Wada) he rarely if ever got a reply or even an acknowledgement of a problem he was trying to bring to a higher level to get some help.

It was an encounter with investigative journalist Hajo Seppelt, in 2014, which brought things to public knowledge. It took the help of an independent mind to dig deep and unravel a trail of secrets, but it also takes time and patience to tell a story that is relatable, about normal people, who realised that the truth is far greater than lies.

Just as The Russian Affair is in some ways related to my past life as an athlete, I could resonate more with the thoughts and ramblings of the daily run explored as in The Running Book. These days I am often more aware of my thoughts and surroundings while running, than how fast and how far I am going. That sort of affair with running is long in the past.

[areiton]

the duty of love

a little post-endgame sambucky because I had feels. 

READ ON AO3 

~*~ 

Here's what Captain Goddamn America didn't tell you--

It's heavy.  

Vibranium is the strongest metal on earth, and it’s light. You picked it up, once, the shield, handed it to Cap as you took your place at his back, and he tossed it on his back, an extension of his own arm, you thought then.

It was light. Impossibly so. It confused you, then.

It confuses you now.

Because it’s yours, and it isn’t fluid, it isn’t an extension of your own arm, doesn’t respond to you the way it always did to him. It feels unfamiliar and unweildy and you think--maybe that’s just the way things are.

Maybe he was wrong, to chose you.

~*~

You think Steve Rogers had three great loves in his life.

Bucky Barnes was his first great love, the north star that guided every decision he ever made, the steady bedrock to his life.

Peggy Carter was his tragic second love, a woman caught in a war that saw him, that trusted him and helped him. You wonder sometimes, what would have happened, if he hadn’t put the plane down in the ice--if Buck hadn’t fallen from that train. If they all went home--which would he have chosen?

Or would it have been the shield? His third love, the one that shaped the man he became,  that taught him to love beyond the small confines of a Brooklyn boy pulled into a war too big for him.

You wonder, watching the sun rise and glint and shatter on the shield--you wonder if you could ever love it like that.

You wonder if you want to.

~*~

You put on the wings, stood at Steve’s side, and you figured out real damn quick being an Avenger meant everyone had an opinion. First it was just your mailman, dropping your USPS packages and a critique of the way you handled the Doombots in Central Park. Your barista flirting and giggling and telling you you were a hero. Your neice bragging about you to her class, cops hasseling you because if there was something they hated more than superheroes doing their jobs, it was a black superhero doing their job. Then it’s the new media talking about you and your military record, about your discharge and Riley’s death, it’s your boss--letting you go because you carried too much baggage--and it’s not as easy to shrug it off.

That was easier, than this.

Than the weight of it all. You wonder, sometimes, how Steve did it. How he held his head up when everyone was throwing stones and telling him it was wrong.

You smile at Fox News, you give sound bites to CNN, you ignore the endless blogs and pundits and when you’re exhausted and can’t do any more, when everything is never enough--you go home.

~*~

Bucky found the house.

It’s a small thing in the country, isolated but cozy, close enough for you to fly in without trouble. It’s out of the way enough that no one has pieced together where the new Captain America hangs up his wings at night. You know they will--but you savor the solitude while you can.

And Bucky has made it a home. It’s reassuring, stepping inside, the scent of fresh baked bread and savory stew heavy in the air, one of Buck’s cats bounding up and twisting around your ankles. Books are piled in stacks on every table and near the couch, and music hums low and soothing through the air as you makes your way to the kitchen.

Marvin Gaye. Bucky has been listening to him more often, lately.

You stand in the doorway for a long time, silently watching Bucky doing the dishes and murmuring to Bitch.

“He isn’t supposed to be on the counters,” you grumble, and Bucky flicks a smile at you over his shoulder. You don’t move, don’t do anything but stare back, steady and bland, because you don’t want him to see how much that smile means to you.

His expression twists a little, worry shading his eyes and scoops Bitch up with damp hands, passes her to you and you sigh, snuggle into her dark fur. “Bad day, sweetheart?” he asks and you close your eyes and nod. He makes a wordless noise and leads you to the couch, nudges Asshole and Princess aside so you are flanked by cats and brings you dinner and you think--

The world can go to hell, can hate and judge and find you wanting.

You will keep this.

~*~

Steve Rogers had three great love stories.

You only had one.

And you watched him die, unable to stop it, unable to help him.

Riley wasn’t your north star. He was your world, everything good and bad and mundane. You loved him in that way so few people get--completely, a friend, brother, lover. He was your partner, your shield in war, the arms that held you safe when your nightmares woke you screaming, the grin coaxing you to laugh, the asshole who left wet towels on the floor, and the warm weight in your bed.

He was everything.

And then he was gone, and it wasn’t like a bomb going off in your life, so much as an implosion, a black hole that dragged everything in until you were sure Riley’s death would kill you both.

~*~

You have new nightmares, after you come back.

The old ones too--the Winter Soldier ripping you from the sky, Riley’s scream cutting off with a sickening thud, Rhodes plunging from the sky, the saltwater choking you on the Raft.

But there are new ones.

Nightmares of endless mist and your body dissolving into nothing, dreams of Bucky’s voice, panicked and hurt and forever out of reach, and Riley screaming your name overlaying his until you were sure who was calling you, only that you had to answer.

You dream of Russian words chanted in a cold cadance, and soft gray eyes cold and lifeless and metal hands around your throat.

You dream of a house on fire and Bucky frozen and falling under the crushing weight of a shield you aren’t sure you want.

You dream and you dream and you dream and wake yourself from the nightmares and always--Bucky is there.

He curls next to you on the couch, and Princess digs her claws into your thigh and his soothing Russian lullaby soothes you into a dreamless sleep.

~*~

Bucky doesn’t fight. Some days, when you come in and strip out of your gear--you see the familiar old longing in his eyes, the itch for the fight battling with how tired he is.

You always feel guilty for that.

Because he is here, and you think--it would be easier for him to be at peace if he were anywhere else.

Living with Captain America, he will never truly rest.

You think about it, and sometimes, it sits on the tip of your tongue. The offer to let him go, to reassure him you’ll be ok, on your own.

You always swallow them back. You are too selfish to voice them.

He wouldn’t listen or believe you, even if you did.

~*~

This is a truth you know--when you come home, Bucky will be waiting.

You slip in, and you are bloody and tired, too tired to bother with the Compound and the debrief. Carol had given you a concerned look, like she wanted you to stay and you stepped away from that concern because Bucky was waiting.

He is.

He’s sitting on the couch, a book forgotten in his lap and he stills when he sees you.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say.

He makes a low, furious sound, stalking across the living room and into your space, but for all of his rage, his hands are gentle, fingers barely there brushes as he traces the bruises, the still bleeding cut on your lip and forehead.

“Ribs?” he asks, a low murmur and you nod, lean into him as his arm comes around your waist and it’s not what you want, his touch is gentle and caring but it’s not laced with love and tenderness the way you want.

But as you let him pull you gentle into the bathroom, let him clean your wounds and bind your ribs and wash the blood from your hands--you think this is enough.

If this is all he can ever give you, it is enough.

~*~

You wondered, at first, why he chose you.

Bucky Barnes was his best friend, his great love, his north star.

And he gave you the shield.

But as you carry it.

As you struggle under the weight of it, the expectation that comes with it, the responsibilities of it--you understand.

He would never give this to Bucky.

He loved Bucky too much.

You hate him, sometimes, for that--but you understand it too.

You love Bucky too much to give it to him, too.

~*~

Steve Rogers had three great loves.

You--you don’t.

You loved Riley, will love him always, you think. A love written in your bones, so deep and indelible you couldn’t scrub it out if you wanted to.

And you love Bucky.

Quiet and grumpy and beautiful and steady--he has become the whole of your world, and when you pick up the shield, you wonder if it’s for the world, or for one man and his three cats and the peace your blood buys.

~*~

The world picks you apart.

You fight, limp away, sway under the weight of a duty you never wanted, never asked for, don’t know how to shoulder.

And gray eyes steady you, strong hands--metal and flesh--hold you up, warm arms pull you close when nightmares chase you in the dark.

You wonder if he stays, because of the shield or because of you, but you never ask.

The world picks you apart, pries at the hairline fractures the weight of the shield splinter to the surface--and Bucky holds you together.

~*~

You find him on the porch, barefoot and sleep warm, sit close and he leans his head against your shoulder, long hair tickling your bare skin, and the sun rises, and you bask in it, in this stolen moment of peace and quiet.

“Are you happy?” he asks, and you nod against his hair.

“With you, I am.”

He shivers, a little, and you almost pull away, but his hand slips around your waist, holds you still.

“Are you happy carrying the shield?”

You pause, and eyes as pale as the pre-dawn sky meet yours.

“I’m happy you don’t have to,” you say, too honest, too tired to lie. Your breath catches, and Bucky’s smile--

His smile is blinding and beautiful, and you taste nothing but joy on his lips when he kisses you.

[boneandfur]

Rosemary Lane [1]

Summary: // Words: 3858 // Rating: Mature (eventual N*FW) // Notes: I couldn't wait any longer to post it... I just couldn't. This is a canon-divergence. I can't say more without spoiling it, but it takes place in 1822 and is also a slight crossover. It has two special MCs from a giveaway I did ages ago, @debramcg1106's Ava and @breaumonts ‘s Lisette are in here as well. // Thanks to @indiacater @lizeboredom and everyone else who has read snippets and listened to me talk about this fic for ages!

••

CHAPTER ONE

1822.

— "I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,

And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!" —

"My dear — a raw country girl, such as you be,

Cannot quite expect that. You ain't Ruined," said she. ~ The Ruined Maid, Thomas Hardy.

"Welcome back to Edgewater, sir and madam. How was the journey from London?" As Arthur Woods takes Briar's fine, fur lined cloak, she gazes about the great hall in wonder. "It looks much changed above stairs, does it not?" he whispers in a tone so low she must strain to hear it. Briar shoots a glance at Marlcaster, but he gives no indication he has heard them.

It does look different above stairs, and Briar drinks her fill. Despite her position, this is one of the few great houses she has been allowed access to. Most ladies will not allow her past the gate. But, then, most ladies are not her former best friend, risen so high above everyone else now that it does not matter what people whisper about her, The Bastard Duchess, The Natural Daughter, Locusta...

From the high vaulted ceilings of the rotunda, to every candle in the chandelier that sways, laden with wax; everywhere Briar turns there is some new marvel to gape at. Outside the fine, thin glass of the windowpane, she can see the groom leading their carriage away, and the rolling lawns that stretch nearly all the way to the low hills. She traces a finger along the wallpaper, gold vine and green leaves, with iridescent parrots peeking through -- and if Briar closes her eyes, she can imagine herself a bird of paradise in some deep jungle, a proper Cyprian, and not just...

There is a whistle on the air, the snippet of a song, and she strains to hear the music of it. It reminds her of something, a ballad she heard sung, long ago --

(Now if it’s a boy, he’ll fight for the King/And if it’s a girl she’ll wear a gold ring/She’ll wear a gold ring and a dress all aflame/And remember my service in Rosemary Lane.)

-- but Woods closes the window with an abrupt step forward, cutting the song off mid-note.

"Miss Daly?" Mr Woods clears his throat, holding out an arm for her cloak, and Briar steps back, feeling wounded and not quite knowing why.

Meanwhile, the ermine tails drip snow steadily onto the floor, leaving a puddle that would have made the old Briar twitch. She looks down at her hands, soft now, no longer used to honest toil, and gives a start as she feels Marlcaster's fingertips rest for a moment on her lower back, anchoring her to the present.

"Very good, Woods, thank you." But his voice is far away, distracted. She wonders if he is thinking that all this might have been his, after all, it belonged once to his half-brother. But Edmund Marlcaster no longer shares bedroom confidences with Briar Daly, no, if he shares pillow talk with anyone it is certainly not she. He has not touched me since... But she pushes the thought away.

"Oh, Mr Woods, you do not have to bow and scrape to me!" Briar claps her hands together, startling Woods. A deep, rosy blush stains his fair cheek, and she wonders if he still thinks of the girl that kissed him in London, the girl who would have thrown over a noble lover for him if he had but said the word. If... She throws a saucy wink at Marlcaster, hand on one hip, his eyes everywhere but upon her. "What do you think, sir?"

Her former patron straightens his cravat. "Quite so." A ghost of a smile quirks the side of his mouth, but it passes, and Briar thinks, for a long, stricken moment, that perhaps she has imagined it. "Is the company in the library?" At Woods' sudden step forward, Marlcaster holds up a hand. "No, no, I shall show myself upstairs."

"Edmund--" Briar plucks at his sleeve as he turns to mount the stairs, and the look on his face makes her stomach swoop in a dreadful manner. "Mr Marlcaster." She drops her eyes. We must use second names when we are in polite company, Miss Daly, how often must I remind you... "I should like to rest before dinner, of course."

"That is probably for the best." He chucks her under the chin, as though there still remains some affection between them, but the fire that once burned so bright between them is like the ash from the May Day fires, already strewn across a fallow field. "After all, you cannot present yourself to the Duchess with the stink of travel still upon you." Marlcaster seems to have no such scruples. He smells of horseflesh and leather and sweat, and yet he bounds up the first few steps like a young buck, as if he had not complained for half the journey that his old injury was bothering him.

"Mr Marlcaster, sir." Briar digs her nails into her palms, swallowing hard, and he turns around only long enough for her to see the irritation on his face. She knows it is a kind gesture, bringing her to this house party after they are already quit of each other, and yet she cannot help but feel a pang of sadness. "Give the duchess my love."

"Well, you shall see her yourself at dinner, you can give it to her then." Marlcaster shrugs, and then continues up the steps.

Briar wants to run after him, but she holds herself very still, willing her face to remain calm. It would not to do show emotion like one of the lower orders, she must remain perfectly poised, and appear to be a lady.

"Miss Daly?" Mr Woods' gentle tone of concern nearly undoes her on the spot, and when Briar looks up at him, she is sure he can see the wetness on her cheeks. Yet he says nothing, discretely passing her a handkerchief and allowing her to compose herself before he speaks again. "If you wish to rest before dinner, Her Grace has put you in the red room, I believe."

The red room. This is a dig at her reputation, she is sure of it. The old Rosamund was never one for subterfuge -- But as soon as she found out she was the daughter of an Earl, everything began to change…

When she looks back at him, her dark eyes are sparkling, unnaturally bright. "I must ask for a girl to attend me and do my hair before dinner. I should not like to look countryfied in front of the esteemed company tonight."

"Esteemed?" A rosy blush tints his fair cheeks. It seems she is still able to make his voice falter, after all this time, but the knowledge brings her no joy. "Yes. Esteemed." A gentle smile touches his lips. "The duchess pays me to be discreet, as you know, Miss Daly. I'll say no more on the matter. Very well, I shall send a girl, inasmuch as it matters."

"Arthur, wait." At her use of his given name, Woods turns on his heel in enquiry. "Do not." Look at me as if, as if... She hates the plaintive tone that has entered her voice, like a child.

"Do not what?" he looks down at her fingers on his sleeve, as though he will shake her off. But he knows. He must.

"Look at me with such... Never mind." There it is again. That softening in his eyes. As though the past six years have been swept away, and they are standing beside the side of the road in Grovershire again, a boy and a girl, smiling at one another. Before she ever tasted his lips. Before Mr Marlcaster ever took her maidenhead. Before... "I shall go downstairs with you, and conduct the interview myself."

“No, Briar.” The firm refusal wounds her to the quick. “You are…” his mouth works, keeping the words unspoken. “A--”

Strumpet. Trollop. Whore.. Rosamund had screamed it when she found out about Briar and Edmund, and then she had wept inconsolably, as though she were the one whose heart was breaking, as if she had gone to the marriage bed pure as snow.

“I know what I am, Mr Woods,” Briar says, a little stiffly. “But that does not mean I still do not need help with my hair and -- my woman’s things, Mr Woods.”

Woods tugs on his collar. His color is up again, and she marvels that he can yet be a bachelor, that no girl has snapped him up. He is quite the catch for any serving maid. The thought makes her drop her eyes. But he is not for you, Briar Daly. “I know that I am Ruined…” Briar brushes past Woods, and his fingers trail along her arm, one catching just at the spray of lace at her wrist, as though he would stop her. “But you must know I would never corrupt the household.”

As she passes, she thinks she hears him whisper, “It is too late,” -- but perhaps that is only the sound of her heart, knocking against her ribs like a wild bird in a cage.

•••

Long ago, she thought this world a wondrous thing. It was a world within a world: upstairs, lived Rosamund with her long-lost father, grandmother and step-family, and below stairs... The smell of rosemary and roast quail hits her first, and she freezes upon the stair. And I suppose you'll be her lady’s maid, come up from Grovershire? The housekeeper had inspected Briar from head to toe with a sniff. If it were a test, Briar knew she had been found wanting. Yes, I'm Lady Rosamund’s best friend. Shocked, she took a step back as the woman rubbed the material of her sleeve between her fingers and gave a sniff. Uppity little thing, aren't you? Well, we'll have none of that here, Miss. if you think you're too good for the lot of us downstairs... You'd better come along, then. Look sharp. I'm Mrs Fox, she'd thrown over her shoulder. And you're of a size with the cook's helper, you can borrow one of her dresses until we can have one made for you. The kitchen smelled of rosemary and roast venison, and Briar's stomach had growled. There, at the long counter, a skinny black haired girl with a streak of flour on her cheek laughed at something a footman said, flicking flour at him as she rolled out the pastry dough. As Briar stepped through the doorway to the kitchen with Mrs Fox, the girl looked up, and a hush fell over the kitchen.

"Briar Daly?"

Ava goes rigid, staring at Briar from across the room. Her hands are braced on the board, frozen in the act of rolling out pastry dough. All talk in the kitchen ceases as the servants turn to stare at Briar, who is frozen to the spot, suddenly feeling out of place in her fashionable gown.

Ava blows a wisp of dark hair from her face, and hands the roller to the girl next to her, a skinny little pullet of a thing with pale curls like winter sunlight. An eerie hush has fallen over the company, and their faces, once dear and familiar, are passing strange with the weight of the years. Briar cannot move.

This is Briar. She's come from Grovershire with Lady Rosamund, to be her lady’s maid. She’ll borrow your dress and apron. Show her where she’ll sleep, and you may have the afternoon, if Cook doesn't need you.

I'll need her in an hour, Mrs Fox. The cook had shaken her head with a smile, passing Briar a bread heel with drippings. When you come back, you can tell us all about Lady Rosamund!

Yes, ma’m. Ava looked Briar up and down, head cocked to one side like a cat. Come on, then.

After a long moment, Ava dusts her floury hands on her apron and nods to the kitchen maid, and conversation starts up again, but hushed, as the servants try to catch every snippet of her words.

"You shouldn't be here, Briar -- Miss Daly." Ava crosses her arms. Though never a big woman, the skin and bones orphan from the poorhouse has grown into a woman with green, snapping eyes, dark hair framing her face from under a starched mobcap. "And it's Mrs Walker, now."

Briar swallows. She had feared disdain, but her former friend's pity is worse. "So you married him, then? Your blacksmith?"

Ava's expression softens. "Drake? Aye, and we've a snug cottage, and a wee bairn, haven't we now, Mr Woods?"

Briar has not seen Woods come up behind her, and she jumps a little in surprise.

"Aye, Cook, and a right little terror she is, too! Miss ’Melia is the spitting image of her mama," Arthur turns to Briar with a smile, "and never fails to get her way in the kitchens."

"Oh... You have a child, Ava -- Cook?" The words are like broken glass in her mouth, and Briar can feel her heart twist painfully over. If the baby had lived... If I, if he... But she cannot think of the dank shadows of Red Moon Lane without her guts in a tangle.

Ava and Woods share a look. "Briar, what are you doing down here?" Ava's tone says quite plainly what she thinks, and she pulls on Briar's arm, yanking her into the larder, hung with a brace of pheasants and a haunch of venison that gives off a wild, gamy smell. "What is this really about?"

As Briar looks at her former friend, she feels the gulf open and yawn between them, as though they are standing on either side of the fens, calling out to one another in the shifting mists. She does not belong here, that is plain. This is no longer my world. "I would like to hire one of the girls to be my maid for the next few days." Briar twists her plait in her hands. The truth is, she needs to look the part, if she wants to catch the eye.

A new patron.

The thought makes it hard to breathe for a moment, and she wonders what happened to that bold, saucy girl, back in Grovershire, all those years ago.

She grew up.

•••

"Lady Rosamund." Edmund Marlcaster sweeps a bow before her, and the lady sets down her book. She is all rose and gold and lace, the very picture of an English lady (though no well bred English miss ever had such bold eyes, or such an impudent manner). Marlcaster cannot hide the smile that breaks out upon his face when he sees the gold leaf title on the little red spine. Moll Flanders. "By God, I hope you never change."

Rosamund sticks out her tongue, laying a ribbon between the pages and setting her tiny feet on the floor with a great yawn. "Hello to you too, Ned. How was the road?" Rosamund stands to press her lips against his cheek, she smells of violet water and snow, and he wonders, if he tasted her, if she would melt into him like a snowflake, leaving the pattern of her heart stamped upon his, where no one else can see.

"Rosamund." Marlcaster picks up her hand, his lips ghosting across her inner wrist, his eyes never leaving hers. "You have never looked so fine."

"Flatterer." Rosamund taps him on the chest with her fan. "But I agree, to speak of the weather is so dratted dull. I do hope all of the guests make it." She takes a step back, turning her face to the window as she stares out at the swirling flakes.

I do not. The thought gives him pause. "I saw the Prince in Town, he was looking quite well."

Rosamund smirks. "Oh? I suppose he may very well be. I had a letter from him just last week, delivered by Mr Konevi. He speaks of nothing but the pretty little birds he has seen on his travels, and the way the light looks in the high mountains, beyond the citadel." She sighs, resting her chin for a moment on her fist, and then turns back to him, an impish smile playing on her full lips. "Come and warm your feet by the fire, then, and tell me the news of Town."

Rosamund lays a hand on his arm, and he can feel her touch burning him as though they are flesh to flesh, through all the layers of cotton and twill. She gives him a little tug and he feels his boots moving as he trails after her, his body going where she wants it to go, just as his body did her bidding all those years ago, before she ever wed the Duke, before he ever knew she could undo him with just one look, the embers smoldering in those dark, fine eyes.

"I hope you did not start the party without me." Hamid sweeps into the room without so much as a by-your-leave, and Marlcaster feels a spurt of irrational anger, Rosamund's attention already diverted from him.

"Your Highness!" With a cry of delight, Rosamund allows herself to be pulled into the prince's embrace, and the two make air kisses at one another's cheeks, causing a burning chain to wrap around Marlcaster's innards. "Well met!"

"How was the journey? Did you see any more beautiful birds on your travels?" Rosamund gasps in delight as the prince pulls two shimmering feathers from his cloak, and drops to one knee, presenting them with a theatrical flourish. "My word! Oh, Ned, have you ever seen aught so lovely?"

Marlcaster is prevented from answering by the Prince's deep rumble of amusement, and the rope tightens around his neck, threatening to choke him. He can feel heat racing through his veins, and he busies himself with pouring the wine for the assembled company, Mr Woods appearing with a tray and a look of sympathy.

"None so lovely as you, your grace. Is she not the loveliest songbird you have ever seen, Mr Marlcaster?"

Hamid's booming laugh causes Marlcaster's hand to tighten on the wine glass stem for a moment, and he breathes deeply through his nose, sweet woodruff and wild strawberries. The scent of summer. Unbidden, an image springs to his mind, of chasing a forest lass through a dappled greenwood (far before she was ever called Lady), flowers in her hair, drunk on honey mead and moonlight.

"The loveliest," Edmund manages, turning with a careful smile, trying hard not to focus on the rise of her breasts or the gold flecks in her eyes; especially not when she brushes against him, golden hair falling in her face as she holds the feathers up to the pale light, turning them this way and that.

"I shall wear them tonight, at dinner." Rosamund is still absorbed in the iridescent play of colors, and completely misses the look the men share over her head. "Mrs Sinclaire will be beside herself over these. What bird did you say they came from?"

Hamid steps in smoothly, his hand touching Rosamund's shoulder, lingering as he bends his head to hers. "The ibis, Lady Rosamund. It is a sacred bird. The Ancient Egyptians believed that the ibis represented the god of wisdom, Djehuty, who composed every branch of... knowledge." Hamid's hand moves down, to rest just at the curve of her waist.

Rosamund lets out a little breath, eyes widening as she stares up at Hamid. "Oh!" Her cheeks go quite pink, and Marlcaster's composure slips. The glass breaks in his hand, spilling wine all over his riding jacket. "Ned! Oh dear!" A beat, and then Rosamund is at his side. "I shall ring for a servant, wait --"

"No, I am quite all right." Despite himself, Marlcaster feels a rich sense of satisfaction as all her attention is on him, blotting ineffectually at the wine stain spreading over his shirt. "Lady Rosamund, it is nothing to concern yourself with." He lays a finger under her chin, raising it up, and the flash in her dark eyes makes his head swim. "I will bear it until the time comes to dress for dinner."

"Oh, but your poor hand!" She wraps the handkerchief around his hand, pressing her lips together disapprovingly, and knots it. "There. It will suffice, you damnably stubborn man."

Not without a kiss. But he does not say it. After all, they are not alone, and he would not go so far without a sign from her. Yet, she is still staring up at him, waiting for something.

Hamid claps a hand on his shoulder. "Just a scratch, eh, Marlcaster? We men are hardier creatures than fragile womenfolk, Lady Rosamund. But if you feel faint, Mr Marlcaster, perhaps you should have a lie down, and no one here would fault you."

Marlcaster presses his lips together. "It is nothing." Yet it stings, the same way his heart stung that morning in the church, when she wed the Duke and he watched his mother lead her to the bridal chamber, a veil covering her face, pale and resolute as Death.

"...In fact," Hamid continues, a smile on his face that does not quite reach his eyes, "I shall be having a lie-down before dinner as well. Lady Rosamund?"

The lady in question bites her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. "Yes, full dinner dress tonight, at nine on the gong."

"I shall await your pleasure, your grace." Hamid bends over her hand, turning it over and pressing a kiss upon her palm, and she looks at Marlcaster from under her lashes, as though in challenge.

When Hamid has gone, Marlcaster nods, turning to leave. "Your grace."

"What, no courtly gesture?" she teases him gently. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip, and he lifts her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over her knuckles. Her eyes go wide, pupils expanding, and she steps forward. He leans in, lips a mere hairsbreadth away from hers. "Ned." Rosamund fists her hands in his shirt, closing the distance between their bodies. "I have missed you." She looks up at him from under her lashes, and he knows in an instant that he is going to take her on the floor, right here, right now.

He brushes his thumb over her bottom lip, leaning down. "My Rose-of-the-World." Their lips are nearly touching, and when he breathes in her breath, it makes him feel drunk with desire for the woman in front of him, who he once tumbled in the greenwood, before either of them ever knew the price they would pay for youth's passion.

"Marlcaster! A word?" Hamid pokes his head back through the door, and Marlcaster sees Briar standing there beside the prince, and feels the temperature in the room drop by at least twenty degrees, his ardor cooling.

What else can he do, but make a leg? "Adieu, Rosamund."

Rosamund lifts his hand, and presses a kiss upon the bandage, the white cotton dark with his blood, as though it is the damned spot that will never come out. "Until tonight, Ned."

Somehow, from Rosamund's lips, it sounds like a vow.

••• 

tag list: @breaumonts @hopefulmoonobject @choicesarehard @choiceswreckedme @lizeboredom @walkerismychoice @debramcg1106 @ritachacha @gardeningourmet @tmarie82 @enmchoices @darley1101 @blackcatkita @littlecrookedheart @mrswalkers-blog @drakewalkerfantasy @eileendannie @khakie4 @regina-and-happiness @wughhumans @mfackenthal @choiceslife @princess-geek @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @cora-nova @aspensorcery @naughtydevils @bhavf @indiacater

[barefoot-joker]

Yandere!Jeremiah Valeska X Reader One Shot Pt 4

Hello, guys! And welcome back tot he next installment of Yandere!Jeremiah! Once again this one is a tad bit longer so I do apologize if the story drags a bit. As always feedback is appreciated and I will see you in Part 5!

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182328341418/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182409053588/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-2

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182862984808/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-3

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/183462856853/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-5

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/183601483818/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-6

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184215467078/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184513626468/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184712916978/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/185001873563/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/186623351048/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot

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

Beep.

  Beep.

     Beep.

         Gulp.

I swallowed down my spit and fear as Jeremiah's hand came out of his jacket pocket, my eyes staring down a gun barrel. Bruce put his arm in front of me and I swore I saw the dark greenette's finger twitch on the trigger. "Jeremiah, you don't have to do this."

"Bruce, you don't understand. I need her! I want her! I love her! My life is like a joke without a punchline if she's not there! Y/n is mine!"

"I am not something to be owned, Jeremiah. Look, I care for you, I honestly do but what you're doing isn't right. You need to let me go and get help. I'll even go with you-"

I was interrupted by the gun safety being taken off, my new heart quickening its pace. "Y/n, I don't need help. My eyes are finally open. It's you who needs the assistance."

I gulped as Jeremiah's eyes stared me down, an emotion I couldn't decipher written in them. Out of nervous habit I held onto Bruce, frightened by my old friend's behavior. I heard the villain growl and turn his gun onto my protector, his teeth gritting behind his dark lips. "Think, Jeremiah. Don't do anything rash, please."

The clown before us just chuckled, it bringing a shiver down my spine. "I won't have to if you just hand her over."

"Never!"

"Then you leave me no choice."

Aiming his gun right for Bruce's heart I cried out, blocking us with my heart monitor. I cringed as the sound of glass shattering and hard plastic separating hit my ears, footsteps rushing towards us. "This wouldn't be so difficult if you'd just come with me, Y/n!"

I bit my lip as I could hear the desperation in his voice, it sounding so real. "GCPD! Put your weapon down and hands up, Mr. Valeska!"

"Jim!" I smiled as I realized the police were here, my chance of freedom still there.

"NO!"

I watched in horror as Jeremiah rushed towards me, pushing Bruce out of the way and grabbing me roughly. I struggled against him, Jim appearing before us with his gun raised. "Jeremiah, let go of Y/n!"

"Just leave us alone. Y/n, Ecco and I have so many preparations to finish and I need them to be perfect!"

I cringed as I felt his gun at my side, it cold through the fabric of my shirt. "Jeremiah, listen to them. Please!"

"Shh, dearest~"

"Now, Jeremiah!" Jim yelled.

I screamed when my captor fired a warning shot, his arm wrapping tighter around my waist. "Step any closer and I won't hesitate to shoot you in the head."

By now Bruce was by Jim's side, his face contorted with worry as we gazed at each other. "Drop the gun, Jeremiah. You don't need to to do this."

"Like I said before Bruce, she's mine. She saved me, gave me the chance to redeem myself. And now I'm thanking her for all that she's done."

I cringed as I felt his lips against my temple, the warmth surprising me. "No one will take her from me." He whispered in my ear.

As I tried not to make a bold decision I suddenly felt the two of us flying forwards due to Harvey, Jeremiah's gun sliding across the concrete and to Detective Gordon. Quickly Bruce grabbed me and moved us towards Jim, meanwhile Harvey handcuffed my "lover". The fedora wearing cop hauled the villain up, his lips slightly bleeding as he gazed at me. "Take him to the car, Harv."

Bullock nodded and lead the greenette away, his last words terrifying. "This isn't the last of me. I'll get you back, Y/n! And next time I'll make sure you never leave my side again!"

In fear and happiness I clutched Bruce's heavy black jacket, tears of sadness and joy running down my cheeks. "Shh, Y/n. I've got you. He won't come after you, I promise."

"Bruce, we should get her to the hospital to have a doctor look her over."

I didn't know my best friend's response but I felt his face in my hair as we swayed back and forth, the movement much calmer than any affections the beast gave me. I sobbed as I held Bruce tightly, afraid that this was all a dream. "I missed you so much, B! I was scared you'd never find me, that I'd be trapped with Jeremiah forever!"

"I would never let that happen, (Nickname). Now let's get you out of here and somewhere safe."

Gently he lifted me up bridal style, my heart monitor and fear left behind. Outside, I shivered as the nightly breeze gave me goosebumps while Bruce took me to the ambulance, setting me down carefully. "Please don't leave me, B."

"I won't. I promise."

I gave him a small smile as he sat next to my gurney, our hands holding tightly as if one of us was scared the other would fade away into nothingness. With that the doors slammed shut and my eyes closed from exhaustion of today's events, my mind wandering to dreamland.

Chains.

   Screaming.

        Laughter.

I shrieked as I struggled against the chains that bound me to the wall. The coldness of the metal around my wrists, ankles and neck sent goosebumps across my exposed flesh, tears spilling from my eyes. In front of me Jeremiah was laughing hysterically as he kissed me, his lips leaving acid like burns on my skin. "You're mine, sweetheart! Ha, ha, ha! No one can save you because their all dead!"

I awoke with a start, my chest heaving in air as I looked around. I was in a hospital, my clothes changed to a medical gown and my ears once more picking up beeping. Hands touched my shoulder and I flinched upon instinct, quickly turning to see a concerned Bruce. "Y/n, are you alright?"

I shook my head and curled into a ball. My dark haired friend sat on the edge of the bed, his thumb running lightly across my knuckles in an act of comfort. "Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes it's nice to get things off your chest."

I sighed but nodded.

{Flashback}

I hummed as I walked down the street from the hospital. After my encounter with Jeremiah in my room I hadn't really seen or heard from him which I considered a blessing. Bruce didn't know what had happened because he was already worried about me and I didn't need him stressing over Miah.

Walking along the sidewalk I thought about today's appointment. It wasn't too bad as it was just a bunch of tests to see how my heart was doing with my new medication. Although I was stuck in the hospital all day I didn't receive any results so I was sent home to get some rest. I was nervous about my results as lately I had been feeling weaker and losing weight faster, something everybody seemed to notice. Besides Bruce I usually confided in Jim and Selina but I haven't been able to contact her, which was an odd occurrence.

I just hope she's okay.

Heading inside my apartment building I headed to my abode around the corner, digging into my jacket pocket for my keys. Just as I had fished them out a hand wrapped around my mouth, preventing me from screaming anything above a muffle. Terrified I struggled against the person behind me, my heart racing in my chest.

Prick!

I froze as I felt a syringe leave my neck, my body becoming very sleepy. Slowly my world began to grow black and I fell limp into the person's arms. I tried to get a glimpse of who did this to me but their silhouette was covered by the light hanging from the ceiling and then my eyes closed.

When I woke up my vision was blurry and my head hurt. I grunted as I tried to sit up but found that my wrists and ankles were strapped down. Fearful I thrashed around and screamed, my chest rising up and down rapidly. As I struggled a door opened before me and a silhouette basked in the light. I froze when the person giggled and skipped towards me, my breath catching in my throat when I saw who it was. "E-Ecco?"

"Hiya, puddin!"

"Ecco, where am I? What's going on? Why am I tied up?"

"So many questions. But not to worry dear, you're in good hands!"

I watched as she went to a table next to where I lay, her gloved hands grabbing a washcloth and dipping it in a bucket. In the silence I examined my surroundings, seeing I was strapped to a gurney of sorts and my clothes were changed to a medical gown. Being lost in my thoughts I didn't notice Ecco return to my side but flinched when I felt the cool fabric on my forehead. "The doctor should be in shortly to begin your operation."

"O-operation?!"

"There's nothing to fear, sweetheart. Jeremiah was sure to find the best surgeon for this job!"

She gave me a chilling smile as she continued to wet my head. "Is she awake, Ecco?"

Both of us looked up to see Jeremiah standing there with another gentleman by his side, him being dressed in doctor's scrubs. "Clear as day, boss!"

I thrashed as he drew near, his gloved hand running up my exposed leg. "There's no need to struggle, dearest. I'm going to fix you."

"F-fix me?"

He nodded with a smile on his lips. "You've saved me so many times and now it's my turn to repay you. Ecco, bring in the donor."

She saluted and ran off but returned shortly after with a gurney, a body in black laying on top. My eyes widened when I realized who it was, those brown curls belonging to only one person.

"S-Selina? What's she doing here?"

Jeremiah chuckled and brushed some hair out of my face. "Don't you understand, Y/n? Your dear friend is going to be your heart donor."

Everything seemed to freeze as it all clicked.

I screamed as I kicked around, begging Selina to wake up and save us. I teared up as she didn't move, I realizing she was dead. "It's time."

The trio moved around me, I yelling at them to get away. Jeremiah and Ecco cooed sweet nothings at me as the random doctor placed a mask on my face, sweet gas entering it. I tried my best to not succumb but my lungs demanded air so I was forced to breathe in.

{End Flashback}

"Y/n..."

"Bruce, I-I was so scared. Seeing Selina laying there, her eyes glazed over, it's all my fault!"

My dark haired friend hugged me close. "None of this is your fault, Y/n. Don't blame yourself."

"Then why do I feel so guilty?"

"You're just afraid is all. But don't worry I'll keep you safe, (Nickname)."

I wrapped my arms around Bruce and held him tight, a small smile on my face as I knew his promise would be kept. "The doctor said you'd be able to leave today so I had Alfred go and grab some of your clothes. I thought that you'd want to get out of here as soon as possible."

"That would be nice."

Right on cue Alfred walked through the door with a plastic bag in his hand. "I am glad to see you awake, Miss Y/n. Master Bruce and I were worried."

"It's nice to see you, Alfred. How have you been?"

"Worried about you. We've been looking all over the place for you."

"I appreciate the effort, boys. Now if you wouldn't mind I'd like to change into something of my own."

They both chuckled and left to go into the hallway, allowing me to change in peace. Untying the handles on the bag I smiled when I saw what Alfred had selected.

{Flashback}

I smiled as I sat on the couch with Selina and Bruce at his house, all of my friends surrounding us. It was my 16th birthday and Bruce had decided to host me a surprise party. It was one of the greatest gifts he could ever give me besides his friendship but of course he sat a neatly wrapped package on my lap. "Bruce, you didn't have to! You've already done so much!"

"I know Y/n, but as soon as I saw this I instantly thought of you."

Curious I quickly unwrapped it, gasping at what it was. "Bruce..."

I looked up at him to see he had a smile. "Go on. Take it out."

Taking his suggestion, I gently pulled out the bright yellow dress with a white floral print spread over it. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you, Bruce!”

I embraced him close as the others clapped and cheered.

{End Flashback}

Oh, Alfred. You and your symbolic gestures.

Quickly undressing I was pleased to be in something other than a medical gown or the clothes Jeremiah had me wear, this dress being lightweight and soft to the touch. Gathering the clothes I neatly left them on the bed and went out into the hall to find Bruce and Alfred waiting. “Ready to go?”

I nodded. Bruce took my hand as we walked out of the hospital and towards his car, us kids in the back seat and Alfred driving. The ride back to Wayne Manor was a bit longer than I remembered but I smiled in content once we arrived, happy to be somewhere I recognized. Bruce led me inside as Alfred parked the car, I forgetting how homey the manor felt. “Do you want me to get you anything, Y/n?”

“No I’m fine, Bruce. You’ve done so much for me already.”

“That’s what friends are for!”

I chuckled at his eagerness. He really was a sweet boy. “I can show you to your room if you’d like.”

“I’d like that.”

He gestured for me to follow him as we walked up the stairs and down the hall, stopping about midway. “Here we are! If you need anything I’m right across the hall.”

“Thank you, Bruce. For all that you’ve done. How can I ever repay you?”

“It’s no problem, Y/n. Just seeing you safe and with a natural smile is all the payment I need.”

With that he walked out to leave me to my own devices.

That night after an excellent dinner with Alfred and Bruce I experienced another nightmare. I woke up screaming and clawing in bed, Bruce rushing in worried. “Y/n! Y/n, you’re okay! You’re safe, dear!”

I heaved in a breath as I realized who was holding me, my arms wrapping around his torso in a fearful grip. “It was horrible, Bruce! So horrible! J-Jeremiah came back for m-me and-Oh, Bruce!”

I broke down sobbing. It seemed no matter how hard I tried to get rid of my old friend he always came back in a worst form in my dreams. “(Nickname), I promise you he’s not going to get you. You’re safe here.”

I sniffled and Bruce rocked us back and forth, his movement calming my beating heart and allowing me to breathe through my tube. I was glad that I got to leave every other instrument of torture behind at the hospital but both the doctors and Bruce insisted I keep my breathing tube. “Shh. It’s alright, Y/n. I’m here.”

I know, Bruce. I know.

For the weeks that I spent with Bruce and Alfred I had my ups and downs. Every day my friend took me to do something to make up for lost time and every night he held me close when my demons came to get me. I began to notice that the more time I spent with him my heart would speed up and my stomach would churn, I smiling when I realized that I had fallen for my best friend. Cliche, I know. But it was bound to happen sometime.

One night while I sat in the study Bruce suggested we go out to dinner. I agreed and was told to dress up. I instantly went for the yellow dress he got me, it being one of my favorites to wear ever since I got out of the hospital. Coming down the stairs Bruce smiled at my outfit of choice, holding out his arm for me to take. “Shall we go, milady?”

I giggled. “Indeed, sweet prince.”

We walked outside and hopped in the car, Alfred driving us into town. “Right here is good, Alfred.”

The car slowed to a stop. “Shall I wait outside, Master Bruce?”

“No you can head back to the manor. Y/n and I will be able to get home ourselves.”

“Of course, Master Bruce.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“It’s my job, Miss Y/n.”

I gave him a peck to the cheek and got out, both of us waving as the butler drove off. “He is such a caring man.”

“I don’t know what I would do without him.”

“So...where are we headed?”

“It’s a surprise~”

“You and your surprises!”

He chuckled and we linked arms, walking down the sidewalk silently. I enjoyed this between us: our hearts seemingly beating as one, us just in the moment of bliss. I blushed. “Here we are! Jim took me to this place a while ago and I thought you’d enjoy it.”

I looked through the window to see the restaurant was a small one, a few couples scattered here and there inside. Bruce held open the door for me and then followed in, us taking a table by the front window. We ordered and talked, us laughing and smiling the whole 2 hours we stayed there.

After our delicious dinner Bruce and I walked around the city, him stopping us at a nearby park. “Y/n, I have had the most wonderful time tonight, something I haven’t had in years. When I’m with you the world just fades away and the sky seems to open up.”

“Bruce-”

“Y/n, ever since you’ve come to stay with me I’ve felt content, happy that you’re there. You make my world go round....I love you.”

Silence filled the void between us until I wrapped my arms around his neck and smiled. “I-I love you too, Bruce.”

We both slowly leaned in, our breath mingling before our lips met. My world seemed to melt and I began to see in color, my heart beating like a drum as fireworks went off in my head. Silently we pulled apart and looked each other in the eye, happiness surrounding us. Bruce gave a small laugh before nuzzling his head into my hair, my face in his jacket. His scent of peppermint was great as we rocked back and forth in a style of dance with no music, the moment perfect.

“Ah, don’t you just love romantic outings and young love?”

I froze and felt Bruce’s grip tighten around me as we both recognized that voice. “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in Arkham!”

“So sorry to disappoint. However I need to break up this little “cute” moment.”

Stepping towards us, Jeremiah gave a big grin directed at me when Bruce turned and whispered in my ear to run. I nodded and was about to go but was stopped when I bumped into a chest behind me, the person wrapping their arms around me and holding a gun to my temple. I trembled as Jeremiah closed in on Bruce, smacking him in the face with his fist. I could only watch in horror as the greenette kept attacking my lover, his blue eyes glinting with malicious merriment. About halfway through the beating Bruce collapsed onto the pavement by Jeremiah pushing him, his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he lay there. “BRUCE!”

I tried to run to him but the person restraining me, most likely Ecco, held me in place. Satisfied, the villain turned to me as I glared him down. “Leave me alone, Valeska! I never want to see you again!”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that as it would conflict with my plan, darling.”

He reached his gloved hand up to caress my cheek but I turned away, him grabbing my chin roughly and facing it towards him. He grinned down at me with that god awful smile of his before leaning into whisper in my ear, “Today’s the big day~”

With that Ecco’s gun collided with the side of my head and I fell unconscious.

I groaned as I woke up, my head pounding hard. Looking around the room I was in it seemed deserted and dusty, stained glass windows allowing moonlight to drip in. Slowly standing I went to the door I had spotted but found it locked after I shook the doorknob a few times. Sighing, I put my back to the door and looked across the room to see a full length mirror reflecting what I was wearing, something completely different from what I was wearing before. Curious I stepped towards and froze when my eyes made a full scan of my body.

My yellow dress was gone and instead replaced with a baby blue full length dress, white lace flowers cascading down the skirt and bodice. The sleeves that reached my mid arm were transparent with white flowers near the bottom as well. I realized this was the fabric that Ecco was pleased with and this was the dress she had made. Trembling I touched the long see through white veil and my stomach dropped as I recalled Jeremiah’s words.

                                              Today was a big day.

                                       I was wearing a wedding dress.