#important to mention that out of the said nine other people only one is an actual child

[thisisvoided]

okay but like genuinely. like for a moment im gonna be completely genuine here. rid15 is legitimately so fucking amazing.

its hilarious, it canNOT take itself seriously 90% of the time, just like. EVERYTHING that is going on all at the same time. like everything is so. its. i cant even explain it. its batshit insane, its beautiful, it gets weirdly serious in a good way at points you dont expect, its just fucking BIZARRE sometimes and like. i love it so fucking much.

like, the rivalry-turned-friendship between denny and fixit??? that wolf guy and his gang of furries/scalies???? that fuckin. porcupine guy who drugs people with his quills and its a random drug each time?????? the time grimlock befriends a monk guy who makes bread and teaches him the art of patience or whatever the fuck through breadmaking???????? like what the fuck is this show on. what is happening. its perfect.

EDIT: the monk guy taught grimlock patience through pretzel making

[sunnami]

❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society. 

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black. 

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun. 

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways. 

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun. 

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused. 

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.” 

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt. 

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?” 

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?” 

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.” 

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.” 

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—” 

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society. 

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly. 

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.” 

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?” 

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it. 

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!” 

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity. 

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give. 

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress. 

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry. 

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight. 

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat. 

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period. 

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then— 

“That’s Sirius.” 

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit. 

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.” 

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!” 

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.” 

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either. 

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.) 

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.” 

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.” 

You grimace. “Which cousin?” 

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.” 

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.” 

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.” 

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.” 

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.” 

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice. 

You nod. 

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.” 

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe. 

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.) 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.” 

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you. 

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.” 

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?” 

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?” 

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.” 

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.” 

“Oh, Harry. . .” 

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?” 

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath. 

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly. 

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?” 

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.” 

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?” 

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes. 

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.” 

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be. 

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”  

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.” 

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space. 

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered. 

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved. 

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease. 

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open. 

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision. 

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.” 

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears. 

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!” 

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.” 

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.” 

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked. 

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?” 

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations. 

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?” 

Were you? 

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend! 

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize. 

Then, you find it. 

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face. 

It’s a space on that wall just for you. 

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.” 

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much. 

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.” 

That’s all you say before you run out of the door. 

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.) 

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe. 

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.” 

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.” 

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well. 

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.” 

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes. 

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.” 

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!” 

You don’t look back. 

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.” 

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair. 

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.” 

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you. 

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?” 

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks. 

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!” 

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?” 

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.” 

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.” 

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater. 

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra. 

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.” 

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more. 

“Certain,” You respond, yawning. 

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones. 

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!” 

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out. 

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came. 

“I know,” You say defeatedly. 

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.” 

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.” 

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?” 

“I don’t know,” You say honestly. 

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora. 

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—” 

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well. 

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.) 

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.” 

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.” 

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home. 

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order. 

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips. 

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.” 

“I’m always right.” You pout. 

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.” 

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back. 

How lucky you are. 

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen. 

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly. 

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.” 

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!” 

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.” 

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.” 

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway. 

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.” 

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.” 

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will. 

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!” 

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.” 

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?” 

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.” 

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.” 

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.” 

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.” 

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?” 

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror. 

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?” 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.” 

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll. 

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.” 

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them. 

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.” 

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?” 

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.” 

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.” 

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness. 

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters. 

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement. 

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue. 

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead. 

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.” 

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?” 

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast. 

“Avada Kedavra!” 

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor. 

“No!” 

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice. 

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh. 

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?” 

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need. 

“Expulso!” 

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down. 

“Accio wand!” 

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense. 

“Peter?” You call out. 

“Crucio!” 

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt. 

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!” 

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.” 

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.” 

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat. 

“Defodio!” 

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground. 

That just leaves one more problem. 

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M��Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.” 

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.” 

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.” 

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.” 

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die,  s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.” 

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow. 

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work. 

You just wanted to rest now. 

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words. 

“Avada Kedavra.” 

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms. 

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man. 

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.” 

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely. 

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?” 

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?” 

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?” 

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.” 

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?” 

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors. 

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you—” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!” 

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.” 

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.) 

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus. 

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains. 

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.) 

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by. 

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for. 

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

[astarionancuntnin]

Remember Me

summary: you cant make sense of where you are or even how you ended up in this cell, hells, you're not even sure of who you are at this point; any memories of your past are a blur. its all the more confusing when a group of adventurers come rescue you, and a particularly worried pale elf takes it upon himself to help you remember who you are.

rating: E

word count: 7k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader, reader is tav)

cw: 18+. angst, act 3 spoilers related to astarion's side quest, mentions of kidnaping and torture, memory loss, blood feeding, vampire bites, smut, oral (f!receiving), p in v, The Leg Thing followed by mating press, sweet love making, love confession. full list on ao3

a/n: loosely based on this audio (18+) from OGY.

read on ao3

my masterlist

or keep reading down below~

Pain.

It’s the first thing that hit you when your consciousness came back to you.

How much everything fucking hurt.

Your entire body felt as if it had gone through the nine Hells, all at once; you could barely find the strength in yourself to get to your feet, let alone push yourself off the ground.

Then it was the disarray when you couldn’t place what had happened for you to feel so awful.

It was as if you had woken up from a long sleep; distant voices in your head, blurry faces merging together when you closed your eyes, and an awful feeling of emptiness, as if you had forgotten something extremely important but you couldn’t put your finger on it, no matter how much you thought about it.

Nothing but endless darkness.

As much as you tried to remember your life, anything before this moment, you were met with a dark fog clouding your vision. Your family, your friends — if you even had any — had all vanished from your memory. You think you remember yourself, for the most part, but even that was a stretch; you couldn’t even remember your own bloody name.

You look around you, realising for the first time that you were in a prison cell. The course of events after waking up in this dark cell hadn’t helped; the sudden cold inhabiting you, followed by this man — this monster — barging in without as much as a warning before pushing you face first against the ground and ripping open your shirt, to then torture you as he carved your back with his knife, only to leave as suddenly as he had appeared. Barely a few words exchanged, aside from some mumbling about teaching “him” a lesson, whoever that was, and you were alone once again.

Alone, with nothing but this seething pain in your back from the butchery you had gone through, the hunger digging into your belly, and your blood leaking from your shivering form, pooling around you on the cold, hard floor.

You barely had the time to gather your thoughts when the same man came back barely minutes later to carry you out of your cell and into a larger room — keeping you restrained with some magic that visibly came from his staff — where more people waited.

By the looks of it, you had been right on one thing: this was indeed a dungeon, and you were located in the deepest part of them; this room contained only a round, rock platform, located above an endless, foggy pit.

In the state you were in, you couldn’t catch everything he said as he went on a monologue. Something about powers, freedom; whatever it was, they needed you to achieve it, that was the only thing that was clear from his speech. You couldn’t understand how any of them would follow a maniac like him, but in their eyes you noticed how they listened to his words with as much fear as awe.

Your form was shivering from the cold; you wanted to cover up your top which had been previously ripped off from your body, but it was all in vain: the restraints of his magic kept you in place, and right after his speech, you were sent flying over a designated spot floating above the ground, just like all the six other people that had surrounded you previously.

Your arms remained bound to your sides by whatever spell this monster had cast on you, leaving your chest exposed to the damp, cool air of this dungeon, and your fresh wound stinging evermore at your back.

You remember the panic tightening in your chest when you realised you couldn't escape. You remember the brief relief, hope even, at the sight of a group of adventurers approaching — one of the figures shouting at the man in the middle of the room — followed by explosions and screams. Then the fear settled in when you saw them execute one of the other unfortunate souls magically held floating around this room, one new truth forming in your mind.

They weren’t here to save you.

You would be next. They would kill you. You would die here.

The pressure in your chest grew tighter as you closed your eyes and mourned your life, one you didn’t even remember experiencing, one that — you hope — had been full of adventures, of acquaintances… of love.

This last one must’ve been true. You remember being loved — more so how it felt, even if the feeling seemed so far and long ago. You remember the butterflies in your belly, the fluster in your heart, the heat between your legs; you remember just enough to know that if you died today, at least, you would’ve died as someone who had been loved.

You didn’t expect your feet to touch the cold hard ground once more. You remember falling to your knees, your body exhausted by the abuse it had gone through in just the last few hours. You remember your dry throat when you noticed the butchered corpse in the middle of the room, barely recognizable anymore.

“Gods… what has he done to you?”

But you couldn’t seem to place the face of your saviour. The bloodied, silver curled elf who had rushed to kneel next to you after defeating your captor, who approached you and held your face so carefully.

How those crimson eyes of his had widened in horror when you flinched at his touch and backed away.

Him and his group had killed one of you who stood in this circle, who’s to say he wasn’t here to finish the job? Lure you in with a sweet touch only to snap your head off; you knew better than to let yourself fall for the first man to approach you.

“Darling, it’s over now.” He had said with his voice low, getting back on his feet to approach you as if you were an injured beast, “Just take my hand, we’re getting out of here.”

You didn’t know whether to feel insulted or reassured by his assertiveness, but you remained frozen in place, your eyes switching from the hand extended out to you and his severe look that you reciprocated with a frown to hide your terror.

“Look,” he sneered, “you can either take my hand, come with me out of this hellhole, or rot away in this godsforsaken—”

From behind him, someone from his group called out a name which stopped him mid-sentence just as his tone was rising.

“Astarion.”

A name that felt oddly familiar, despite the void in your memories. It danced beautifully as it echoed across the room and around your mind; there was something about it that just sounded right.

Astarion. A name worthy of being written in the stars, you find yourself thinking, the sound of it bringing you a familiar sense of peace, of security.

Astarion. Maybe if you repeated it enough in your head, something clearer would come up. Maybe, just maybe, then you would remember.

He took a deep breath and continued, which brought you back from your reverie, “I’m quite certain you went through the Hells and back, but for now, I’ll have to ask you to trust me, just as you’ve done in the past. Can you do that for me?”

He extended out his hand once more, this time a request rather than a command, his voice carrying out his concerns, “Can you trust me?”

“Why would I trust someone I’ve just met?” You wanted to ask, but something about the way he asked struck a chord, as if you did know him. As if you knew he spoke true when he said you used to trust him, and you finally accepted the hand he held out to you.

A hand that pulled you to your feet, and guided you out of this dreadful place.

You were given a cloak to cover your shivering form, and you walked along with them back to their camp. Back to this intriguing, yet charming man’s tent, where they all agreed you should rest for the night.

The first thing that hit you when you stepped in was the smell.

You didn’t know what it was exactly, you couldn’t recognize it, but it was intoxicating; it only made your stomach churn more. As the adrenaline of the previous hour settled down, you fell to your knees, grabbing onto your waist as the pain that had been muted came back screaming through your guts.

“Shit—” He rushed down to check on you, with one hand down your back, holding onto you, “Darling, talk to me, what’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?! I was tortured, starved off, almost sacrificed for all I know, and I can’t even remember who I fucking am!” Is what you wanted to say, but all you could manage out is a groan in the middle of your sobs.

When you lifted your head, your eyes fell onto the set of messily arranged bottles from where the strong smell came from, and a quick exchange of glances told him everything he needed to know.

“Of course, you’re hungry,” He sighed heavily, "Look, I’ll gladly offer you some from my own reserves — after I’ve taken a look at your wounds.”

You had almost forgotten about them.

You averted your eyes from his gaze, your mind now racing as you expected the worst. You had no way to see what had been done to your back, but the pain you had gone through was a good indicator of how bad it would look.

Met with your silence, he continued, “I need… to see what he’s done to you. Please.”

Your eyes went back and forth between him and the dark bottles briefly considering pouncing on them to get a taste as your mouth watered in anticipation, but you reluctantly turned your back to him as you sat with your legs pressed back into your stomach, barely helping mitigate the pain in your stomach.

As you let the cloak fall from your shoulders, you heard nothing but a shaky, deflated sigh behind you. Seconds of silence passed before you considered turning around, but a part of you was terrified of the look you would find on his face.

You finally found the strength to utter your first words.

“Is it… that bad?” Your voice was rough from neglect, as the last time you had used it had been to scream when you received this torture.

You heard him take a deep breath, shaking away the shock that had previously rendered him speechless, “You must’ve already known what he carved away in your back. Hells, I knew before even looking, but seeing it…” he pauses, his tone quieting, “seeing it is another story completely.”

“I… I don’t know,” you muster with a weak voice. It's true, you had no idea, he had carved your damn back, you had no way to see the extent of his torture.

He took a deep breath, shaking away the feelings that had sneaked their way into his voice, “It’s no matter, it’s over now; Cazador is dead. He won’t hurt—” he paused, as if processing the information himself, “Anyone, ever again.”

You turned around to face him this time, “Who’s Cazador?”

He huffed, “I’m glad it was that easy for you to forget about him, but when you’ve suffered under his hand for nearly two centuries, the memories tend to linger.”

You remained silent as you stared at him, just as shocked as you were confused by his words. When he noticed your stare, his face twisted in concern, “Oh shit, you’re serious.”

You nodded silently.

He continued, tentatively, “He was my master, he’s the one we killed back in the dungeons — the one who abducted you, who did this to you. Do you not remember any of this?”

You shook your head slightly, never leaving his gaze.

“Oh dear.” His voice dropped as his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened all at once, “Do you remember anything at all — the absolute, our adventure… Do you remember… me?”

His eyes went back and forth between yours, as if he was searching them for any sign of recognition, looking for you, whoever you were behind those confused, teary eyes. You gave him another shy shake of your head, followed by a single tear coming down your cheek, a tear you weren’t sure why it was shed; whether it was from the loss of yourself, or the mourning of something you didn’t even remember having.

“Gods…” He breathed out heavily as his sight left you, his mind visibly ruminating. “He can’t… He couldn’t have… He…”

His tone suddenly changed as he growled, “That monster.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head before looking back at you, “You were with us just yesterday. You were — are this group’s leader. If… If you have no memories of your mortal life then it means…” he looked away, frowning, “He rushed your transformation to replace me in the ritual.”

None of the words he had said made any sense to you, “Transformation?”

He turned back to you to be met with your visible confusion, and he explained further, “Normally, when you’re turned, you need to be drained of your blood and buried six feet underground, before you can crawl out of your tomb to be reborn. This process takes a day, usually, and when you awaken, you are still you, but immortal and bound to your master,” he spat out the last word like it left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

“Now you,” he continues, “you were turned within twelve hours, which would explain why your eyes are only half red, why your fangs haven’t come out yet, and…” his voice quieted down, “why you have no memories of your past. As if the rushed transformation had actually killed this part of you along with your humanity.”

You remained focused on the first thing he had said: your eyes had changed colour?

You hadn’t had the chance to look at yourself since your awakening and if not remembering your name wasn’t anxiety inducing enough, you realised you couldn’t even recall what you looked like.

All of a sudden, panic rushed its way into your heart; you needed to see yourself. You frantically looked around the tent to find anything that could send back your reflection and practically jumped on the pocket mirror when you spotted it nearby Astarion.

Only the mirror was broken. It must’ve been; it reflected nothing.

“If that wasn’t obvious by now, this should’ve clarified things a bit,” he said.

He lowered the mirror you still held in front of you, expecting your image to be reflected eventually, maybe at a different angle, maybe with more light. Maybe another one would, maybe you were just delirious from everything that had happened only today.

“You’re a vampire now. No matter the angle, you’ll never see your reflection come out of this mirror. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Vampire.

The word didn’t make sense; nothing made sense.

Yet, when you parted your lips to let your tongue run against your teeth; you found your canines the same size they were, that they should’ve been, but they were much sharper than what would be considered normal and you almost pierced your tongue from the gesture.

“Maybe…” he carried on, lost in thought, “there’s even a chance that the tadpole has been messing around with more of the changes your body is going through.”

“Tadpole?” You interjected, your head shaking of its own in disbelief. “What?”

He huffed in astonishment, “So you really do remember nothing.”

You sighed, “I— I don’t… As much as I try, I’m met with a void of memories. The only thing remotely familiar since I woke up has been… you.” His eyes had gone soft and bright with hope, but also melancholy. “I don’t know who you were to me, and I don’t know why, but some part of me knew I could trust you.”

He chuckled, a sad smile finding its way over his lips, “Even with your memories gone, it seems I can’t leave your mind, can I?”

You gave him a smile of your own, “Would you mind… reminding me of my life? Of us?”

“Gods, where to start, darling. Would you believe me if I told you our story began with me holding a knife to your throat?”

You found yourself smiling unconsciously, “With everything that's happened to me in the last few hours, I find that easy to believe.”

“And strangely enough it's probably the least odd part of our story.” He tilted his head, giving you a genuine smile before carrying on.

“It’s all tedious, really, but… There’s one memory I want to tell you about: The night of the tiefling party. Ugh, it was dreadful for the most part; the wine tasted like vinegar, the music was too loud, and there were too many of those bloody tieflings at our camp, to be quite sincere— “

“Not a people’s person I take it?”

“My dear, after years of being forced on and by people, the last thing you want is to be surrounded by more of them.” The sight of you parting your lips and raising your eyebrows told him you had also forgotten about this and he quickly caught onto it, changing the direction of the discussion back to the topic at hand. “But, there was one good thing that came out from this night: when we met in the woods. I had high hopes of you joining me there — although no doubts, of course — I was the most suitable option among our group after all.”

“Most suitable? Someone else wanted to spend the night with… me?”

“Darling, the whole world and their mother wanted a special moment with you. But only one of us got that honour. A chance to steal away with everyone’s new favourite leader.”

The faint sounds of the party fading: music echoing through the forest, people laughing, the cool air of a summer’s night breezing through, and good company throughout the night.

“I have been waiting for you. Waiting since the moment I first saw you. Waiting… to have you.”

You blinked, “You… were waiting for me in the woods, I’m— I’m remembering.”

“I did put a lot of effort into my entrance, I would be upset if you didn't remember it quite honestly.” You laughed softly. “Do you remember what happened afterwards?”

Your eyes roamed as you pushed the memory further, before you lifted your head to meet his gaze, “You… kissed me.”

“After you had the audacity to say I didn't have you yet while you had come to me of your own volition, yes, and then?”

You chuckled, but your smile quickly faded as your memory unlocked the next part of this puzzle. He looked at you with a knowing glint in his eyes; he was simply waiting for you to say it yourself.

“We made love.”

He sighed dramatically, “Love is such a big word for what happened back then, but…” his tongue clicked, accentuating the end of the word, “That was certainly the start of it. The start of a series of feelings that came and complicated everything. It’s what pushed me, soon after, to confess to you that it was all part of a silly plan I had to keep you in my favour. I was terrified, honestly, especially considering it was all because I initially manipulated you to fall for me…”

He paused, searching your expression before carrying on, and continued when he found nothing but soft eyes looking back. “But then — despite everything — there you were, holding me tight.”

He let go of a deep breath.

“For so long I had nothing — no one. And all of a sudden, there’s you, who held onto me, who cared so much more than anyone ever did. And I found myself not wanting to let go. I couldn't.”

He frowned, turning his gaze away, “And Cazador used that against me. As soon as he had word of my whereabouts in Baldur’s Gate and the crowd I was hanging out with, he jumped at the first chance to torture me once more. He probably thought I was unaffected by any physical pain he could impose on me by now, so he did the next worst thing: take it out on the one person I cared about in this wretched world.” He shook his head, “If we hadn’t gotten there in time—”

“But you did.” You interrupt. “You saved me and yourself in the process. This ritual wouldn’t have given you the freedom you think it carried.”

His eyes lit up, “You talk as if you knew what it entailed.”

You nodded, “It’s coming back to me, bit by bit. I remember what you told me about him. I remember the purpose of the ritual, and your plan to replace him and take his power instead.”

He sighed, “Gale thought brilliant to kill one of my brothers to stop Cazador from carrying on with the ritual. Bloody wizard didn’t realise it meant I couldn’t continue it myself then.

“Maybe he did.” His gaze flickered back to you in confusion before you continued, “You don’t need satanic powers to carry on, Astarion. You’re free now.”

He huffed, “And all it cost was my life in the sun.”

“Well,” you tilted your head, “It did cost me mine too. Once the tadpoles are gone, we’ll both be banished to the shadows once again. But we’ll be together, and that’s something at least.”

He rolled his eyes before landing them on you, “At least the transformation didn’t take away from your heartbleeding optimism, dear.”

You chuckled, “Thank the Gods for that— ugh!”

You clutched at your stomach, your body tilting forward in pain, and Astarion instantly knew the cause of your suffering; it’s something he recognized all too well.

“Hells, you must be starving. Gods know Cazador wouldn’t waste a single drop on a lowly spawn — no offence, dear.”

“None taken,” you forced a humourless laugh. “I shouldn’t have expected much considering I was to be cattle for a satanic ritual.”

He turned around and you kept a close eye on him as he handled the bottles beside him, pulling out a silver cup out of his bag of holding to pour you a portion.

“Here,” he sat back down, parting his legs open, extending one arm to you, “Come on love, sit back against me, would you?”

You stared unsure for a few seconds but obliged him. You scooted back until your back was fully resting against his chest, leaving no space lost between the two of you.

When he brought the cup forward you reached for it but he pulled back, clicking his tongue, “Oh no, my sweet, I will be the one to feed you tonight. This is your first time, we wouldn't want your primal instincts to take over now, would we?”

You turned around to stare at him for some time with incertitude and he simply tilted his head, with a sly smile, “Humour me, darling. You’ll be glad you did, hm?”

You pressed your lips together almost pouting, but acquiesced as you nestled yourself between his legs, your tense body laying against his chest once again.

He brought the cup to your mouth at long last, while his other hand held onto your chin. You gasped at his touch — while not unwelcome, it was a surprise — and you parted your lips to welcome your drink.

His hands were rough against your skin, yet there was a softness to it that made you melt under his touch. Made you want to push further into his hand to know how it would feel around your throat. It was almost enough to make you forget about the drink against your lips. Almost.

While the mere closeness of it had been invigorating, drinking it was ecstatic. It felt like your first meal in weeks, and it might as well have been with the pit that had replaced your stomach.

You took big gulps of the delectable nectar, barely pausing for air as you rushed to empty the cup’s content, eager to have your fill with this delicious substance.

“Slowly now darling,” he pulled the cup away from your lips and you gasped at the loss of your feeding source, “This is your first time feeding; I wouldn’t rush things.”

You frowned, but complied; even if you were starving, he had over two hundred years of experience with this form — you barely had a few hours. Your mind wasn’t all there yet either, and it's true that you couldn’t trust those new primal instincts to be civil enough to drink responsibly.

You held onto the one truth you knew, one that was clear ever since the start: you trust him.

You eased back into him, letting him hold you and guide you throughout your meal. The cup rested at a slightly down angle against your lips to allow you good mouthfuls of blood without overfeeding you all at once.

“There, good girl,” he purred. “You are doing so well for me, love. Small sips now, let your body recuperate from the shock.”

There was something about his voice that soothed you, brought you a peace of mind, a calm after this storm that had been your last few hours.

A shiver down your spine, that travelled all the way down between your legs.

You finished the content of the cup at a slower pace than you had started, soothed by his soft approach and the new blood filling your stomach, and he took this chance to explain more about your condition while pouring you another serving.

“Considering this is your first feeding, you’ll need a bit more to carry on until your next meal. Mind you, it’s normal if you don’t feel full; this is a curse, after all. The real challenge is to learn to live with your hunger.” He cleared his throat as he brought the cup back up to your lips, full again, “Alright now, open up, love.”

You hungrily parted your bloodied lips to welcome another serving.

“There, there, just like that.” A soft whimper left your throat between sips, and he caressed your cheek with his thumb, “Shhh, you're okay, you're doing just fine.” He leaned next to your head to whisper, “You’re perfect, my sweet.”

For a moment, you could swear you felt your heart beat anew.

You drank with his help until you finished one full bottle from his reserve, and with the pain in your stomach settling down, you allowed your body to relax against him. That’s when you felt something poking against your back, something you wanted to taste as much as the blood that had blessed your tongue just moments ago.

And he must’ve known, too.

“So, as you must’ve realised, your hunger was a side effect of the transformation. But what you’re feeling now, which I can very much smell on you, is a result of your feeding.”

If any of the blood you had ingested had made it in your veins by now, they must’ve all rushed to your cheeks at this very moment.

“Blood,” he continued, “Brings us back alive temporarily; it warms us, allows our hearts a few shy beating of their own, but it also reawakens other mortal pleasures. The first time it can be… a tad overwhelming.”

“It’s…” You hadn’t realised how quiet your heart had been until it started beating away once more in your chest; your cheeks felt warm, your breathing had accelerated, and your core was aching. You breathed out your reply, “It really is.”

As you turned your head aside, resting against his shoulder, and your eyes lingered over his lips, another primal urge awoke in you to devour him, in every way possible. You needed to taste him, his mouth, his blood, his come—

Until you were blessed with another sudden memory, and you turned away from his lips, gazing anywhere that wasn’t on him to stop yourself from acting irrationally.

“Wait, no, I’m sorry—”

He grabbed your chin and turned you back to him in one fluid movement. “You have nothing to be sorry for, darling, and I would be more than happy to entertain these carnal thoughts I saw in those eyes of yours. Unless you’d rather spend the night with someone else?” he teased.

You held your breath as he brought you closer to him, his hand lingering over your cheek. If you just closed the distance now, you could—

“No, Astarion, I won't force—”

“Stop that right now.” He cut you off without skipping a beat, stunning you once more. “You are not forcing yourself onto me or forcing me. This, right now, right here, is my decision.”

His other hand came up to cup your face, drawing you closer to him, your lips but a whisper apart.

“I want this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice lustful and heavy with need. “I want… you.”

Your eyes locked and the second after, his lips were pressed against yours and you let yourself get lost into this kiss. How his hands held on to your face, how his tongue tasted the blood on your lips, how he whimpered into your mouth at the contact of your own tongue; this memory of love you had remembered earlier, it had been a memory of this.

His kiss, his touch, his voice, him.

Your kiss was engulfing, springing your heart back to life in a sudden rush as you met every of his kisses with the same passion, and soon enough, you were laying back against his bedroll, with him over you and stealing your breath away; one — you didn’t realise yet — you didn't need anymore.

His hands rested next to your head and you allowed yourself to reach up to hold his face, trace the lines of his age over his cheeks and down his neck, and trailing along the opening of his shirt before he broke apart from your lips.

“I’ve been thinking about this for many nights now.”

“What would I be like as a vampire?” You asked semi-jokingly.

“No, silly — Although, the question did flit into my mind once or twice, but no. I was thinking of how I would have you, the next time I would bed you. I’ve touched myself at the thought of having you again, the sounds you would make, how your cunt would feel wrapped around my cock instead of my hand—”

He took your hand from where it was resting and guided it down between his legs, and a short gasp escaped you when you felt how hard he was.

“ —but tonight, after spending a lifetime looking for it, I finally know what I want.” His half-lidded eyes seemed darker than they had been, and you lost yourself in them, "And Gods help me if I can't have you—”

“I’m yours,” you answered back in a heartbeat, your voice but a whisper, “I’ve always been, and I’ll always be, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Your words broke the remaining chains of control Astarion had over himself, as he pulled your pants off from you and removed his own shirt while your hands fumbled with his trousers. A moment later, you both laid against one another, as bare as you were on your first days on this plane of existence, your lips back on each other.

“Mmh, I wonder…” Astarion let his kisses trail down from your mouth to your jaw, then your neck.

“Hm?”

“Now that you’re a vampire,” he left small kisses alongside your neck and down your shoulder, “your blood will taste different.”

“You’ll still drink from me?”

“Well of course, dear,” he lingered in the crook of your neck, before licking his way up to your ear where he whispered, “And I can’t wait to know how you taste after you’ve tasted me.”

You shivered against his breath, fully expecting him to bite you following those words, and when he didn’t you were almost disappointed. He, on the other hand, seemed extremely satisfied with himself.

“Eager already? And here I thought I was the most depraved between the two of us.” You sighed heavily as he came back up to face you, “Maybe I will be tasting you tonight, after all. Is this something that you want?”

You smiled softly, your hand finding his cheek again, “Yes.”

When your lips met this time, it was soft, pure, communicating words you hadn’t exchanged yet despite your longing for one another. It only made you want him more.

“Speaking of tasting you,” he said against your lips, “I wonder if something else has changed.”

You barely had time to process what he had said when he made his way down your chest, briefly sucking on one of your nipples.

“Mh,” he released it with a pop, “this one still tastes the same.”

He moved to your other breast to give it the same attention, teasing it with his teeth and earning him a moan from you before releasing it, “This one as well.”

He left a path of kisses as he trailed down your navel, until he was resting between your legs with a hungry look in his eyes, “Now, for the main course—”

You weren’t prepared for his fangs to dig in the inside of your thighs, making you scream in surprise as your hands grabbed onto the sheet of his bedroll. The pain quickly turned into pleasure as he nibbled and kissed the softness of your thigh, before making his way to your wet slit, which begged for attention.

The smell of you invaded his senses and you could feel his breath over your core as he breathed you in, his arms now wrapped under your thighs as he laid on his stomach and between your legs, “Darling, you smell divine.”

A soft whimper escaped your lips as his tongue pressed against your entrance and he slowly licked all the way up to your clit, “And you taste— Gods, you taste even better than before.” He smiled up to you, his mouth covered by a cocktail of your blood and juices. “I didn’t think it could be possible.”

You were past words by now, but even if you had come up with something, you don’t think you would’ve been able to utter anything with the way his tongue worked between your legs, devouring you of your essence.

“I would forsake blood for the rest of my days if it meant I could nourish myself only of your essence, my love,” he said between licks of you. “The Gods truly made you to ruin me; I could never move on from your taste, even if I wanted to.”

His hands surrounding your thighs and his nails digging in your flesh kept you in place as he continued to worship you, and no matter how much you wiggled, his hold on you held on, as if you were the first meal he was having in days and he wouldn’t let you go until he was sated.

Astarion recognized the signs of your unbecoming as your breathing started shaking and your legs tensed around his head, pushing him to tease you further.

“Are you gonna come for me now?” He smiled between your legs, “Come on, love. Come for me. Come on my tongue.”

The vibration of his humming as he continued to savour you only added to the feeling of his tongue, lapping at your entrance and sucking over your sensitive bud, and his nails digging deeper into your thighs added a delicious hint of pain. After weeks without any sex, you were sensitive to the slightest touch, and now there he was: tasting you, devouring you, wanting you; it was all too much.

“Ah… Astarion!”

Your head fell back against the rough floor of his tent as your back arched and stars clouded your vision. You knew how ironic it was to think so, but you had never felt more alive than you did at this very moment, with your devoted lover worshipping you like the goddess who had finally answered his prayers from all those years ago.

Your legs collapsed as he let go of them to move back up to face you, and he took this chance to hook your leg with his, pushing it upwards to create the perfect angle for him to place himself against your entrance.

Your half-lidded eyes met his, delirious with lust, and you wanted to express the feeling that had been weighing on you for too long now, but when his lips collided with yours and you tasted yourself, all those words got lost on his tongue exploring your mouth.

“I’ve waited so long to finally have you,” he said breathlessly against your lips. “I kept pushing back, thinking it was never the right time.”

He licked his lips, wiping off the string of saliva that connected your mouths. “When you disappeared… I thought I had lost my only chance. I’m done waiting around.”

He slowly pushed himself into you with a low groan as he felt your slickness wrap around him, and you threw your arms around his neck as you moaned into his ear.

“Fuck, you’re so wet. So tight and warm, all for me. I would stay here inside of you for a decade if I could. You feel exquisite, my love.”

He retracted himself slowly, and plunged back in with the same agonising pace, taking in the feeling of your inside. “I’ll enjoy taking my time with you; discovering what makes you tick, tease every one of your sensitive spots. But tonight — I just want this: feeling you wrapped around me and to know that I’m the reason for your unbecoming.”

His pace accelerated, each thrust of his hips brushing against your clit as your bodies almost fused as one, pushing you closer to another edge already.

A particularly well placed thrust had you dig your nails into his back and he hissed into your ear, “Darling,” he panted, “Remind me to trim your nails when we’re done.”

You quickly realised what he meant when a poignant smell, stronger than the bergamot, brandy, and rosemary you smelled on him previously, invaded your nostrils and your mouth watered in response. What you didn’t realise was how you ended up breathing down his neck, just against the popping vein conveniently displayed for you to bite down on. Just one bite away from ecstasy.

“Still hungry, little love?”

You were snapped out from your daze by his voice purring into your ear, pulling away from his neck and blinking as you gained back control of your thoughts.

“I’m— It’s just— Your blood smells really, really good.”

He chuckled, “I tend to have that effect on people. Would you like a taste?”

You forced yourself to look into his eyes, “I… Are you sure?”

He smiled, “There’s nothing I’d like more, my love.”

His gaze reflected sincerity and you gulped as you found your way back in the crook of his neck, your lips brushing against his sensitive skin. You licked the vein you had sensed earlier but didn’t push further. That’s when you felt the vibration of his chuckle, “Go on, darling. I can take it, I promise.”

With his permission, you pushed your small fangs right over the vein in his neck, relishing in the sudden flood of his crimson in your mouth.

Whatever you drank a few minutes ago was nothing compared to his blood. He was the source in a desert you had been roaming for days, one you couldn’t believe wasn't an illusion, and you drank, and drank, losing yourself in his neck, in his taste, the very essence that fueled him.

You couldn’t tell how much you had drank or how much time had passed when he growled and pinned your arms next to your head. His hips thrusting once, deeper into you and hitting your cervix is what makes you unlatch from his neck with a moan.

“I believe that’s enough, love. Now, let me taste you.”

His lips collided with yours hungrily as he increased his pace between your legs, and he groaned at the taste of himself on your lips, running his tongue across your small fangs.

“Fuck, I need you, I need to make you mine. I need—”

Something snapped within him, a side of him you couldn’t recall ever seeing — one that he could finally let go as he pushed your legs up, pinning them down across your chest and pounded deeper into you.

He growled into your ear as he desperately rutted into you, nearing the edge of his climax at the same time as yours, “I want you, I want you for the rest of our lives, please be mine, be mine, be mine!”

“I’m yours, I'm yours, I— I love you!”

You screamed as you came, his own orgasm following closely after yours, the wave of emotions clashing with the sparks of pleasure coursing throughout your body, and for a moment, you think you died and came back to life within the same minute. It was stronger than anything you remember feeling — even with your memories still scattered, you think you’d remember something as powerful.

It’s only when you came back to your senses and was met with Astarion’s soft, dumbfounded expression, that you realised what you had just said. Panic slowly made its way into your heart and you struggled to find the right words to correct yourself.

“I’m sorry— I—”

He didn’t allow you to finish that sentence, kissing you once more to steal away those thoughts of regret that faded instantly as he pulled back to speak.

“I love you too, darling.”

Your future was paved with incertitude; your memory wasn’t all there yet, but you remembered what was important for now, and if forgetting your past was the price to create new memories with him, it was a price you were willing to pay.

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: This week is killing me.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday sees your second day in your new position. As you send off your letter of resignation to the agency, you can't help the coil that winds tight in your stomach. There's no going back now.

You close out of the several templates you Googled in your efforts. It's the one thing you know how to do. Willa, the friendly librarian who checked out the PC for you, always said, if you can Google, you can figure it out. Still, you feel like there's so much you don't know that you're not sure a search engine can answer.

You close the laptop and take both your phones with you into the hallway. You have to go check out that gazebo and figure out if you need to make a call about it. Oh, and the fridge was beeping when you filled your bottle, you have to call the maintenance number that flashed up too.

That makes you even more anxious. You've never really been the sort for phone calls. You never had anyone to talk to and everything else was easier done in person. Well, you'll have to muddle through. Work isn't supposed to be fun or easy.

As you near the staircase, your flip chimes. You juggle to answer the right phone. The slim touchscreen is set only to buzz, an option not available on the clumsy burner. You answer the call as you stop on the top stair.

The woman on the other end asks for you by name. You confirm your identity as you hear familiar noises in the background. She's a nurse from the downtown hospital.

“I'm calling to confirm your father's discharge tomorrow at noon,” she says over the rustle of paper and clack of keys, “we'll need the bed so if there is any delay, another day would be added to the invoice.”

“I understand, I'll be there, erm… noon. Tomorrow,” you don't have your notebook so you key a reminder into the other phone. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, miss, we would recommend you arrive earlier. We have some resources and counseling available on what you can expect getting the patient settled at home,” she continues, “nine would be ideal. I'll be able to add a note for the doctor to check in as well.”

“Oh, yes, I can do that,” you squeak, “thank you.”

“Alright then, I have all that logged. You have a good day.”

“You too,” you utter before the line dies.

Phone calls weren't too bad. You think you did okay with that one. Then again, you didn't think! You're supposed to work tomorrow. Mr. Laufeyson said you could take Wednesday off, and tomorrow is only Monday.

You close the flip phone and stare at it. Oh boy. You really don't want to spoil this. Just the mention of the coming invoice underlines your desperation. You need the money. Your dad needs it.

“Are you finished?” Mr. Laufeyson's timbre drawls from down the hall. You glance over as he stands just in the doorway of his study. You gulp.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson. I didn't mean to disturb–”

“Yet you did,” he insists.

“I was only going to check–”

“Not my concern so long as it's done,” he waves you off, “an important call, I assume, to make such a racket.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, um,” you shove the phones away, one in each of your pockets. “I… could I have the day tomorrow? Instead of Wednesday. My father is getting out of the hospital and–”

“The day? What time?” He snips as he approaches with decisive steps.

“Well, I'm supposed to go at nine,” you explain, “I'll come in Wednesday still.”

“You will come in tomorrow, after all that,” he says. “You can work later then.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, but my father will need help getting settled–”

“Figure it out. You agreed to this schedule–”

“I did but–” you stop yourself as his eyes flare, “I will be here in the afternoon, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“You will be. In the appropriate attire, I expect,” he snarls and spins to strut back to his office, swinging the door shut sharply.

You waver at the hard slam. You didn't mean to anger him. You can't help that your father needs you. You thought Mr. Laufeyson would be more understanding, after all, he's the one who pointed out how much you needed the money.

🧹

Your father shoos you away as you try to help him sit. He lets go of the walker and flops back with a grunt, his oxygen tank clinking against the aid’s metal leg. He coughs and snatches around blindly on the cushion for the remote. You retrieve it from the folding table beside him and put it in his hand.

That agitates him further as he growls and jams down the button to turn on the television. You yawn and back away. You still have a full day left ahead of you, and what feels like one behind you. You spent the night doing some last minute tidying to make sure everything is read for your father.

“Smokes,” he snaps his fingers and hacks.

“Er,” you hesitate. You go to find the half-crushed pack you found with him on the floor. You knew better than to throw it out. You return to him, clutching the package nervously, “Dr. Shearer said–”

“Give it to me,” he demands.

You relent and obey. He’s been doubly miserable than before. You feel like an annoying gnat buzzing around his head as he tries to swat you away.

“I made you meals for the weak. They’re all labeled in the fridge–”

“I’m not a goddamn kid,” he scowls and takes the lighter from the folding table.

“I know, but–”

“But I’m home. You probably hate that,” he sneers, “you’d be happy if I died in that hospital.”

You’re taken aback by the accusation. You gasp and shake your head, “of course not, I’m happy you’re here. That you’re alive–”

“Painfully,” he snorts darkly, “the fuck you keep me here for?”

You take a breath and frown. Your eyes tinge and your cheeks pinch, “because you're my dad… and I love you,” you croak.

He doesn’t reply as he pulls out a cigarette and moves the tube from below his nose. You watch him, waiting. He lights the smoke and sucks on it eagerly. You drop your head and give a shrug.

“I gotta go to work,” you say, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Don’t be slamming around when you come in,” he dusts ash over the freshly vacuumed carpet, “doctor said I needa sleep.”

“I won’t,” you promise and back away.

As you leave the room, your chest plummets in dread. You think of coming home, of finding him like you did before, laying on the floor, lifeless. You sniff and swipe away the speckling of tears. More than you want him to love you, you want him to love himself. You don’t just want him to want you around, you want him to be around.

🧹

You hurry up to Mr. Laufeyson’s gate with your kit and water bottle jostling. You fumble around until you find the smartphone and bring up the digits to punch into the code box. You buzz through and shuffle inside. You set off on your usual path around the back.

You stop at the rear door and try to untangle the strap of the water bottle from your kit. Your hand lingers on the front of the ballooning shirt. You still haven’t gone to look for clothes so you did your best with what you had. One of your father’s forgotten button-ups and a pair of pants that could pass in an office. It’s ill-fitting and scratch but better than jeans.

You get inside and leave your kit in the closet. Today’s a cleaning day but you have a few things to check off the schedule first. With your water bottle bouncing on your hip, you go upstairs and scurry down to the library.

As you enter, you’re surprised to discover the space less than empty. You apologise aloud and choke on the word, ‘mister’. It isn’t the house’s single resident as you expect, no, this figure could not be more different than Mr. Laufeyson. You recognise them, from the dinner.

The blond man faces you as he stands by the window, the drapes open to add the peculiarity of the situation. Like the man, the space is golden with sunlight. You lean back on your heel as you clutch the door handle.

“Hello,” he grins as he greets you in a playful demeanour. You can’t answer. You don’t know if you should. 

Is it rule one; don’t speak unless permitted; or the other rule, do not disturb my guests. You can’t figure out the riddle so you languish in perplexity.

“Aren’t you a sweet little lamb,” he muses as he steps away from the window, placing his hands on the back of the dimpled leather chair. His large hands. If you thought Mr. Laufeyson was tall, this man is even taller and twice as wide. “I remember you. The sweet maid.”

You blink. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? You can’t speak. You’re too terrified; not just of the strange man but of the one you know by name. Your employer would be unhappy to know you spoke out of turn.

“Have you seen my brother at all?” He prompts disregarding your stagnant silence. “Has he spoken of me? His brother? I'm Thor.”

You look down at your hand on the door handle.

“And what is your name?” He asks.

You don’t answer. You know it’s not right but you have no other choice. You pull the door shut and close the man in. You retreat in a half-sprint and barrel back down the stairs. You trip at the bottom and barely save yourself from stumbling to your knees.

You latch onto the banister post to keep your balance and catch your breath. You hear the door above. Oh no, would he follow you? Another door clicks and you look up to find a shadow on the other side of the frosted glass framed in the front entrance.

Mr. Laufeyson steps inside coolly, unbothered as swings the door shut and tugs on the lapel of his suit jacket. His eyes fall on you and he scuffs on his sole, tilting his head in curiosity. You didn’t realise he hadn’t even been there. You look at the ceiling with wide eyes; so how was the other man inside?

“Well, there you are,” he says matter-of-factly, “this place is sore in need of a dusting–”

Laufeyson is interrupted by a clamour of footsteps above. You let go of the banister and sidle away as his green eyes flick to the top to the staircase. You shy away and listen as the man descends in a series of thunder thumps. You turn to peek down the hall, wanting to hide in your chores.

“Stay,” Laufeyson commands. You turn back to him as he points at your feet. You stop in place and sway. He faces his visitor as he comes to the bottom stair, “brother, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Can I not come see my baby brother?” The other man; the stranger; his brother, called Thor, booms.

“You may, when you warn me of it,” Laufeyson rebuffs.

“Ah, don’t be so grim,” Thor claps his shoulders and is swiftly shrugged off, “this place is always so dark. I hope you don’t mind, I opened a few windows.”

“I do mind,” Laufeyson says, “you do always presume.”

“And you are always offer such a warm welcome,” he tries to tap Laufeyson’s cheek but is batted away. The dark of the brothers backs up with a scoff. “Ah, and there she is. I was only just coming to find the little maid. She rushed off so suddenly–”

“You don’t need to bother with her,” Laufeyson dismissed with a slice of his hand through the air, “maid,” he points at you again, “back to work.”

You lean back on your heel, ready to disappear.

“Ah, don’t be so rude, brother. She is sweet. You get more bees with honey–”

“Do not tell me how to run my house,” Laufeyson growls, an edge in his voice you’ve never heard before. Dangerous and dark.

“Is she not doing you a service? A please would be appropriate–”

“You are not mother. I don’t need you to mind my manners,” Laufeyson girds and nears his brother, unflinching even as he comes up a few inches short of chest to chest, “nor do you need to worry for my staff. She does not take orders from you.”

“And I suppose that’s all she gets from you,” Thor chuckles.

You furrow your brow, stunned by their spat. You’re not quite sure what that last bit meant. You work for Mr. Laufeyson so of course he would tell you what to do. And why are they so volatile? They’re brothers. You don’t have any siblings but you always wanted one. So that you had a friend. So you weren’t alone. 

“Maid, go,” Laufeyson repeats, “now.”

Your eyes widen and you nod. You quickly turn and rush down the hall to the closet. You’re shaking as you try to sort out one phone from the other and find the old list of tasks. You can hardly steady your hands to get a pair of gloves on.

You take your time in the back of the house as you hear the men’s footfalls climb the staircase. You let your nerves settle just a little. You’re alone, for now, and your mission is simple. Clean and stay unseen.

[richeeduvie]

Begging for a one shot or Drabble about baby and Roman’s yearly trip to the restaurant where they tell the waiter they’re siblings and make out? 🙏🧎‍♀️

Too Little Birthday

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Roman Roy x Reader Drabble Roman clings onto this girl like a damn life-raft.

-- Roman's a bit too invested in how his yearly birthday present goes when it has to come a little early. --

Warnings: a motivated make-out session, obvious mentions of false-incest, whiny Roman Roy what's new. Jealously, slight angst. The f slur. This draft is from a long, long time ago.

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.

"Happy birthday, Roman. You're gonna be eighty-nine and five years old!"

Roman straightens his back out against the booth chair with a jump in his seat. More like a shimmy.

"Yeah, tomorrow - let's just hurry up to the sissy brothy kissy kissy section of this."

You want to sigh. Roman's frustrated. His birthday present is one day early. It's due to a long, very important event Tom will have with you, him, and Greg tomorrow. With that and Roman's business intermingling with yours tomorrow when you're all traveling to Pennsylvania, there's not a lot of room to give him his birthday present on his birthday.

Roman knows that, but that's not going to stop him from whining about it. Not in direct words, just eyes and jabby-voiced demands.

"Let's have fun with it, it's your present. We've got time to turn people red-"

"It's my present and I'm asking you to tongue me like a twin would."

You smile. Sure, you'll indulge quicker than you planned. It is his birthday present after all.

"You're gonna have to move closer if you want that, Rome."

The first time Roman asked for this, it made you concerned - not in a confrontational manner, that'd put you in a situation where Roman would "never forgive you" for judging him on his birthday. Although you know the things Roman says are just things Roman say, that if Kendall or...anything said them, you'd be greatly disturbed, there was the question of if Roman wanted you to roleplay as his sister. Shiv. Your friend. That would've been too much.

But Roman put it in words that soothed you enough to be more than happy to go along with his favor.

"Ew. No. I mean, I can and will still spitball a good sexed-up joke with her...and hell, maybe with Ken too during pride month for the fags but this...you're pretending to be a different sister. Duh. You are my sister and we are going to make out. Though - he’d probably rip bits of me off if I ever tried it, that’s why Shiv is chill.” 

“...Don’t say fags.” 

“You just did.”

So, he kisses you, lathers your lips with his tongues and fitting to his descriptions, Roman tongues you. Your heads and mouths move against each other, bucking up before your hand takes up his cheek. Your heart beats in your head and it's only moments before the vein of his forehead begins to throb.

"...Sir, Ma'am, are you ready to...Sir?"

Roman takes five seconds more of the make out before he slowly pulls away. Knowingly slowly - like he's a fucking asshole. You smile slight. He straightens his spine with a thin, smug mouth. His head tilts off to the side.

"Sorry to make you wait, even though that's kind of your whole thing. Me and my sis just get too excited celebrating our birthday."

You cover your mouth with your intertwined hands, elbows on the table. This has happened every year for the past five years and it just...it never gets easier. It's why Roman does most of the talking, just until his eyes are whining for you to be into it. It only matters if you like it as much as him, if his present is yours too. The point of presents is that they're not for the gifters, but Roman's insecurities say otherwise.

But you'll never admit that it's a little too easy for you to play pretend, revel in the squirm of poor waiters who deserve more pay and days better than yours and Roman's pseudo-incest roleplay.

It's not easy at all, actually. When you think of it. 

“...I-I…mm. Okay…” 

The waiter blinks. There’s nothing but silence between the three of you. Roman’s a champ, really. His smugness, the snark of his face is only noticeable to you because you’ve loved and loved him since the beginning. This poor waiter couldn’t possibly know Roman’s just fucked in his yearly prank. 

“I-I I can read you the special-” 

“Aren’t you going to say happy birthday?” 

“Rome-”

“Don’t. See? In the womb, she took all of the generosity, the morality. The bitch. But I love her, still,” Roman takes your hands from your mouth. “…if we mention it’s our day of popping out into the womb, your hourly wage pay should be telling you to say happy birthday.” 

“Roman. Don’t.” 

You’ll play twin, but going after someone’s job - need for money, not today. Not even on his not-birthday. Pre-birthday day. 

“...Fine, sorry, sis.” Roman smacks his hand on the table, then points a finger gun towards the waiter. “You’ve been doing great in the two minutes I’ve known you. I guess that’s what I’m supposed to say.” 

He looks to your hand in his other hand and of course, with low-lidded eyes, you know he’d take the skin - what he would say is bait even though he was the one to take your hands in the first place. 

Roman sucks your fingers before he sniffs them. 

You all forget what the three of you are here for. A bead of sweat drips down the waiter’s forehead. 

“...Do you two want to skip to the desert? Our patrons highly-” 

The waiter chokes. 

“They like the piss.” The waiter’s hand deathgrip her notepad. “Pie! Fuck me.”

“Mm. No thanks, I’m taken. Your wage doesn’t even need to tell you that, social awareness does all the talking there.

“That sounds delicious, thank you.” 

“She didn’t even name the flavor-” 

“We’ll take the pie for now. And just water as well.” 

You straighten out your back, smiling up at the poor waiter before pressing your nose against Roman’s knuckles. 

“Did you get the birthday text from Dad yet?” 

Ordering Roman around is as much of a birthday gift as the incest thing is. He doesn’t push on the pie for the first course. But, of course, the waiter leaves as fast as she can. 

“Happy?” 

Roman slouches against the booth, scrunching his face up as if to say so-so. 

“She was acting as if she wasn’t about to squirt.” 

“I think she was genuinely terrified, but not as much as the last waiter we had last year. I think that’s why her horror appeared clement.” 

“I think incest is becoming more socially acceptable, that’s the tiktok era for you.” 

You blink against his knuckle. 

“...I think it’s the exact opposite. Like…actually, it’s the exact opposite.” 

“Superior bloodlines took to fucking, we could do it.” 

“I’m not your actual sibling.” 

“Did we ever ball out which one of us is the oldest?” 

“Me.” 

Roman’s smiley, stupidly with his thick-lidded eyes and he’s handsome, despite the fact he’s your brother for the day. It’s an easy gift for him, at least this year considering it’s already ruined for him - it being a day early already being too much. So, unlike the birthdays before, your boy doesn’t have to take to pretending he’s your brother the entire lunch date. Only when the waiter is present to watch in terror. 

“But your dad, Roman - tomorrow we need to find a way to coo-” 

And you two were talking about other things, but Roman took to watching other things.

“Roman?” 

When you turn to see where his furrowed brows point to, it’s when you realize it’s someone else he’s watching. You turn behind you, seeing the light of the sun hit a man across the restaurant. He looks to be your and Roman’s age. Wavy hair, a creepy-fucked sort of smile.  

He wears his own smug look, but when it’s not Rome’s…it strikes you wrong. Confusingly. You turn back. 

You watch Roman’s mouth and brows waver. 

“Hey, just ignore him. Just a guy.” 

“Why the fuck is he gawking? The fucker is about to lick his chops and shove his hand down his slacks and choke it.” 

Roman’s eyes go wide and jolt his head forward. A physical ‘what the fuck?’ to the man across the room. When you turn again, you see how it does nothing for him. He’s got his arms crossed. 

“Oh, what the fuck?” 

It’s what you want to say when both of you see the man come up and make his way towards you. 

 “I’m gonna drop my pants to scare him.” 

“Let’s say that as your father’s company is bombarded with sexual assault allegations. Let’s. Calm down-” 

“Hey. Just want to say - if she was my sister, I wouldn’t be able to resist either.”

Roman blinks. You blink. 

….Oh. 

“Sorry, I just heard a bit of it when I was walking in. And even if you’re just fucking around…just gotta say.”

The man sniffs before he laughs. And you know your eyes only portray horror when he puts up a fist of solidarity. 

“Sibling love.” 

Then, he smiles wide at you with a clicked tongue. Roman can’t do anything and you don’t want him to, to cause a scene, it won’t be a result of his gift, just pure and sudden anger. Loud, punchy words. But for now, as the man walks away, it’s just brutal eyes - perfect daggers that’d be even more handsome if you were able to think about it, but you can’t in how fucking confused you are. 

What the fuck? 

“What the fuck?” You turn to face Roman. “What the fuck was that? Should I…” 

You put your hands together, mouth parted in a pause as you lean forward. “Should I call someone?” 

The man across the table doesn’t look at you, but his brown eyes just focus on one spot on the table. The daggers pierce the wood there. 

And you already know. So, you sigh. You try to come into frame. 

“Roman, that was just a fucking freak.” 

What you always call him. That was a mistake in your wording and you know it when Roman’s eyes flicker up in fire. 

“Not a perfect freak. Not something I’d want in my bed or…ten feet away from me. What the fuck was that?” 

“...You didn’t-” 

“I didn’t do anything.” 

“On my not-birthday…you just…he’s your type.” Roman scratches his head and inhales sharply before his eyes shut tightly. “Wow. I fucking hated that. I wanna go home. I think we just met an actual sib-molester and he was your type.”

Okay, what the fuck?

“What the fuck? What are you talking about?” 

“It’s not your fault. But that was Stewy. And a freak. Your type. On my not-birthday. What the fuck is wrong with today? I wann-” 

“How did Stewy come into this conversation? You’re my type. That was weird and I feel like I need to call the cops but it’s nothing to get jealous over-” 

Roman looks down in his heavy and tense stare. He blinks fast with scratches to his face. He picks at his ear, it’s all the signs that he’s breaking a bit. 

“M’ not jealous. Not jealous. I just-” Roman pulls a hair or two out of his brown. “I just forgot other people can see you’re hot sometimes. It’s jilting. M’ sorry.”

Another sign is a lack of finished words and eye contact. 

“Normies do that, but someone who’s more of-I kinda thrive off of being the worst possible fuck…you like that and someone just took a shit on me like it was nothing. Another worst possible fuck with long legs saw you’re fuckable…lovable. Fine. Fine, it’s whatever. I wanna go home.” 

It’s all too much for you to know what to say. Too much to say much, but it’s your instinct to soothe, even if your heart throbs and flips with a bloodrush at how Roman insecurely wears his jealousy and how you’re the only one that can bring him down from the roof. 

“I just forgot…and my brain chemicals just losing regulation at the sight of him. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, hey. Look at me.” 

And it takes a minute, but he listens to you. Roman looks up, eyes big and blinking. 

You kiss his knuckles. 

“You’re the only fucked person I know. I don’t think it’s possible to show much interest in…anything else. But seriously…what the fuck was that?” 

“What the fuck was that?” 

“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” 

You don’t know if there’s anything you have to make up for, but you sure Roman will find the reason tomorrow. An excuse for another birthday gift where you’re at his feet - or he’s at yours. 

He sniffles hard. 

“You’d get scratchy too if you were me.” 

…If you were him. That’s the truth, no one could ever get like this unless they were Roman. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[sh4wty18]

heyyyyy i was wondering if you could make a johnnie angst fic where he forgets your bday🫶🏼

you forgot my birthday.

pairing: johnnie guilbert x reader

summary: same as request with some bestie!jake moments

cw: angst, hurt no comfort, language

word count: 1.2k + edited

---

12:00 am. A text from Jake immediately lights up your screen:

jakey: HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!!!! i hope you have the best day ever! im so glad ur dating my bsf so WE could become bsfs!! ilysm go slay queen 💅

You smile and type out a response:

y/n: THANK U SO MUCH JAKE I <3 U!!!!! 

You put your phone on do not disturb for the night and roll over in bed, Johnnie hadn’t texted you for your birthday yet, but that was to be expected. He was a slow texter as it is, but he was usually busy streaming or playing music at this time anyway. There was still plenty of time for him to reach out.

10:36 am. You wake up and immediately check your texts. You’d received birthday messages from Carrington, Tara, your friends from home, been tagged in hundreds of posts on tiktok and instagram, even Matt texted you (and you’d only met him once!). But nothing from Johnnie. That’s okay. He was probably still asleep. Nothing to be worried about. 

1:48 pm. Nothing. What the fuck? All you wanted for your birthday was to spend a quiet day with your boyfriend. Unlike the other friends you’d made since moving to LA, you were less likely to choose partying over spending quality time with your loved ones. Not that there was anything wrong with partying, you just happened to be more reserved. Johnnie was more quiet and anxious as well, it was something that drew you to him in the first place. You always had someone to ditch social events with. You’d figured by this point he would have texted or called and wished you a happy birthday, then you’d hang out, watch a couple movies, order food in, birthday sex– the whole nine. But no. He'd said not a single word. You tried not to bring up your birthday often in the weeks leading up to it, so as to not annoy anyone, but you know for sure you’d mentioned your birth date at least twice since you’d been dating. He had zero excuse not to know. All the other important people in your life seemed to remember, so where was he?

5:24 pm. Nothing. 

7:58 pm. Nothing. You decide to call Jake and see if he has any insight into the situation. He picks up on the second ring.

“What’s up, birthday girl?” He asks sweetly. 

“Johnnie still hasn’t told me happy birthday. I think he forgot,” you say. Speaking the words out loud suddenly makes the situation feel way more real, and you feel a familiar lump forming in your throat.

“There’s no way. He couldn’t have. He’s been out all day, I haven’t really seen him. I think he’s doing a shoot for his next music video or something. So maybe he’ll text you when he’s done? I’m sorry, y/n, I wish I could help. If you need to be with someone, you know I’m always here.”

“Thanks, Jake, you’re a great friend. Love you.”

“Love you too, I’ll text you when he gets back.”

“Thanks. And Jake… don’t remind him when he gets back. It won’t be real unless he does it himself.” 

10:15 pm. Nothing. 

12:00 am. You type out a text to Johnnie:

y/n: you forgot my birthday

johnnie <3: It’s literally next month isn’t it?

johnnie <3: Y/n…plz tell me its next month 

y/n: i think i know my own birthday

johnnie <3: No no no no no

johnnie <3: Y/n im so sorry

johnnie <3: I know how u wanted to spend all day together on your birthday. I'm such an idiot. I promise it was an honest mistake. I really thought it was next month.

You don’t answer. At 12:43 am, you hear a knock at your door. He was the last person you wanted to see right now, but you knew he wouldn’t leave until you answered, so you reluctantly opened the door.

“Johnnie, I don’t want to see you–”

“Y/n, please. Please listen to me. I’m so so so sorry. I was busy with music video stuff and I spaced. I wasn’t on my phone all day so I swear, I didn’t see anyone’s birthday posts or anything until after you texted. You can ask Jake and Carrington, they were texting me all day and I never answered.”

“I believe you, Johnnie. And I get being busy, but… it’s just like… how do you forget your own girlfriend’s birthday? Do you know how embarrassing it is? To have all my friends, fans, and even acquaintances wish me a happy birthday, but the one person I really want to hear from doesn’t? It sucks. I felt like shit all day.” 

“I know. And being busy isn’t an excuse. There isn’t an excuse. I don’t know what else to say other than I’m so fucking sorry. If I could take it all back I would. I love you so much, y/n. I- I’m so fucking sorry,” Johnnie pleads, and his eyes start to well. 

You start to tear up as well, but you don’t want him to see you cry, don’t want to make him feel worse. You’re not angry with him, and you obviously still love him, you’re just sad. You can tell he means what he’s saying, it was definitely an honest mistake, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re hurt, and embarrassed, and had the worst birthday ever. 

“I know you are. And I love you, too. I just… I think I need some space for tonight. I’m sorry, Johnnie,” you say.

“Don’t apologize, baby. I’ll call you in the morning. I love you.” He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and turns to leave. 

You close the door behind him and sink to the floor. You pull your knees to your chest and bury your face in them, finally letting out your soft sobs after holding back tears all day. You pull your phone out of your back pocket and tap the call button under Jake’s name. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks immediately, knowing you’d never call this late unless there was an emergency.

“I need you,” you say, choking on your words between tears. 

“I’m coming over.” He hangs up.

—

Fifteen minutes later, he’s at your apartment. You’re sitting on the couch together, with you leaning your head against his shoulder and crying softly as he rubs your back.

“I saw Johnnie on my way out… he didn’t look so hot. I’m assuming this is about him?”

You sniffle, “He forgot. I can’t believe he really forgot. Sorry I'm crying, this is so stupid, I’m just… really fucking sad about it. I know he didn’t mean to, and he’s super sorry and stuff but–”

“Y/n, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. Your emotions are completely valid. He’s your boyfriend, of course you’re gonna be upset that he forgot your birthday! It doesn’t mean he’s a bad person, we still love Johnnie! But… he made a mistake and unfortunately it made you sad.” 

“I knew you’d understand,” you give him a weak smile, and he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into a tight side hug, resting his head on top of yours. 

“Of course. I’m here for you, y/n. Always.”

---

first hurt/no comfort fic in the books! (i'm sad)

[itonashi]

YOU are YOU

SUMMARY : Known around the world — a genius scientist named [Name][Last Name]. Everyone sought to be her as she was deemed perfect. A young prodigy that managed to climb up the ranks alongside her friends. She met her demise at the age of 35. It shook the world. Tears fall because of her. Will there be another her?

PAIRING : aquamarine hoshino x fem!reader

WARNINGS : implied deaths, stalking, drugs, slow burn romance, more will be added.

A/N : finished chp 1! even though i was in misery because of hsr. it's okay hehe. haha. i want gepard so bad. chp 1 is kind short even though it's like 1.4k words lol. i hope you love it my staggie ! (my followers name is staggie)

"Goro, don't you miss me?"

"Why should I?" Goro glance at you with eyes that could be interpret as 'in love'. Despite his replies to you, he knew that he misses you deeply. You changed him. Your existence gave hope to him.

Before knowing the world of idols and drowning himself in work as a doctor, you were the reason he kept on living. It was like a miracle. Meeting you on his last year of middle school, someone that's 2 years older than him. He never thought he was the guy to like older women.

Your hair that flow along the wind breeze of the countryside fresh air. The usual spot of your meeting place, the hospital rooftop. "Look at you being snarky..." You make a shock face. "Don't you have work to do?" He questioned the free time you have been having these days. You have too much free time for a genius scientist that's known around the world. A prominent figure in the science world that will go through history.

One of the people who had change the world through technology. Despite being a figure in the science world, you too have made it in the entertainment industry. Just what were you doing? Trying to live nine lives? You had appear in model shoot, even become a brand's ambassador. "You really are carefree.." He added with a slight chuckle and fix his glasses. You tilt your head "Well... I'm still young after all! A young woman have to make the best of her life." You gave an eyes closed smile.

He crosses his arms together and sigh "Whatever makes you happy [Nickname]." You lightly laugh and look towards the night sky. He stare at your figure. Even when you're only standing, he could feel the aura you let out. The strong aura that just screams 'Hey! I'm an important person in this industry.' He could never compare to you.

You went close to the railing and face him — leaning onto the railing. "Gorou, do I shine like a star right now?" He widen his eyes at the sudden change of atmosphere. The words didn't come out of his mouth, instead he probably look like a gapping fish. How could he forget how your eyes look like?

It was your eyes that made him attracted to you. It shine like the stars. Your eyes twinkle and had actual stars in it. Everyone agreed that the unique things about you is your eyes. They said that your eyes were like the stars dancing around the ocean waves.

"You do shine. You shine more than other people." He responded to your question with a smile. He wish that this moment last forever but the world isn't fair.

If only he could go back to this moment and make you stay this time. Would you and him become a family? Would the smile you always hold be in his mind forever? Can he still see your smile even after death?

Even after two years of your passing, he still hasn't move on from you. Your smile was engraved in his mind. The lovely smile you had. It will always be in his heart — like you always said to him "Well, I have always been in your heart." With the little laugh you did. Your soothing voice will always be his favorite.

They will never be another you because YOU are YOU. The world will always remember you. His genius scientist.

It breaks his heart how you have mentioned about a teen girl named AI Hoshino. The girl he would help to deliver her babies. He never thought he would ever met his patient's favorite idol. He never thought he would ever met the random teen girl he has heard about from you. 

Oh right, he haven't read the letter that was given to him the day of your funeral from one of your friends. He didn't read it yet because the condition was to read it after 3 years. Were you playing with him? It has been 2 years now... Only one year left.

Funny story, he didn't have the chances to read your letter because well he's dead! Duh!

'It has been two years that I have been in this body' You frown. I guess, you're finally accustomed with this body of yours. [Name] Yoshino, that was your name in this new body, new life. Such a coincidence that you will still be using the same name as your previous life.

Reincarnation? It was such a bizarre things to happened to you. You don't believe in it but she does. How are all off your friends doing? You can only see them on the TV but it was rare to do so. In your past life, you were a genius scientist that was in a world organization. Each of your friends are from another country. They were the people that managed to top the world alongside with you.

Only some of your friends appears in the TV as half of them prefer to work behind the scenes. Well, you hope they're doing fine even after your death. Did they read the letters yet? Did Goro read the letter yet?

How is the love of your life doing? Did he move on? Did he finally have a family? How sad. If only... You weren't killed two years ago.

What's this weird feeling in your stomach? Why do you feel like something bad is going to happen? You need to keep your guard up. You walked faster and stay clear from the crowd. It was night time.

'This is bad. Something is going to happen.' You furrowed your eyebrows in frustration. You felt sick but you can't drop your guard even in the slightest. Being a prominent figure means you're prone to assassination attempt. After all, you have always been unlucky in situations.

You have steered away from the crowd. A quiet place that's still within the city of Tokyo. A woman cannot be alone, you learned that the hard way but you felt like this time you need to be alone. Is it a feeling of death? Is someone watching you?

You saw a tiny flash and glanced towards it. "A sniper... He must've known I noticed him now..." You muttered under your breath. You took a deep breath. 'I can't avoid this anymore. I'm sorry, my little brother. I'm sorry, Goro. I'm sorry to everyone that I have lied too. I was always dirty but I will forever be thankful to him for saving me. Even in my death, I want to smile for everyone. After all, I just love these people the most. Will there be a person to avenge me?' You smiled towards the sniper and mouthed 'Do your best. I have done enough in this world, probably.'

Bang!

Blood splattered everywhere. A shot on the head is bound to be messy. The sniper gritted his teeth. 'I love you' was the last words you mouthed the moment you were shot on the head. The bloods on your clothes, hair, floor. Everything is messy. The messy life you have been living as a genius scientist. Do you actually want to live as a genius again? You can't keep lying to yourself.

You remembered your last moments very clearly. It can't never be erase from your memories. The date of your death. The time of your death. The place of your death. You can never forget about it.

Will you be lucky in this new life?

Or

Will you be miserable again?

You shake of the negative thoughts. At least you have parents in this life but they're weird, in your opinion. Well, who knows what will happen in the future. You're not some kind of god. Just a genius. A 'lucky genius' that's what they call you in your past life but no one knew of your past except for your uncle. Your past life's uncle. The man who took care of you after the death of your parents. Where is he now?

"[Name]! There you are!" Oh, it's your mom. Akemi Yoshino, the woman who hold you for nine months. She's a beauty to say the least. She held you in her arms and kiss your cheek. You make a gibberish sounds to pretend. Your father, Kazuo Yoshino watch by the sidelines and only smiled. What a weirdo. Either way, you don't know if you will get close with your own father.

Your mother was a actress that quit due to being pregnant. Was she popular? Kinda. She have made an appearance in a commercial ad. Your father is a film director that's famous. Means, you came from a rich family now. Not that you weren't rich in your past life. To be born into a family on the entertainment industry is a stress though.

Expectations will come for you.

TAGLISTS : @glitch-karma @kult-o @miyakoa (if you ever change your use pls inform. i couldn't tag some of you.)

[NEXT] [PREV] [SERIES LIST]

itonashi © // don't plagiarize, copy or edit my works.

[nyc3]

@bibibbon I was reading your post and thinking when you mentioned Mummy, and certainly is sad and disappointing that out of Nine's crew he was the one to get the short stick in terms of screentime and interactions with his own leader.

Such a cool looking villain with an awesome power shouldn't be treated like fooder.

But eh... I guess they really need give Bakugo an easy victory to show how badass he can be compared to the other loosers from the class.

Anyway, before getting absorbed by my hater side I can share my ideas about rewrite Mummy, because like his friends is fun write about him and fill the empty space left by the author.

Starting for his backstory:

This idea isn't entirely mine, but I love the concept of Mummy and Edgeshot being related.

Interesting to think because they share same birthdays, both their quirks have the aesthetic of red tape, they have grey hair and the names "Kamihara" and "Makihara" sound strangely similar.

I've seen people write them as twins, but I like more the idea of them having a big age gap in case of being brothers which fits more with Shinya being in his 30s in canon.

And so both Hoyo and Shinya being brothers born in a very traditional japanese family would make room for some family drama, as is more than probably that Shinya being the first born and with a quirk like foldabody would probably be seen as the pride of the family.

While Hoyo is seen as lesser and never able to live up to the level of his older brother, especially after Shinya got accepted at UA and started pay less attention to Hoyo.

While during his early childhood Hoyo only support was Shinya when he left the family state to focus on his studies Hoyo was alone with a family that never supported him and constantly remembered him how inferior he was.

Hoyo will reach a break point when his parents tried to get rid of him when he was entering on his teenage years, and he discovered they sold him to a mysterious organization that was looking for young low tier soldiers (which for some reason still happens in MHA world and nobody seem to care about it).

Note: This organizagion will be no other than the MLA but isn't really important for the story for now.

And so, without anything to lose since Shinya was long gone at that point, Hoyo escaped the family state and never came back. He also invented the false surname Makihara, as he didn't want anything to do with his family.

That would be the beginning of some rough years living in the streets for Hoyo.

Without proper studies (since he only got the basics at home instead of going to an actual school) and technically being a fugitive of his own family, Hoyo only could resort of stealing and other minor crimes for try to survive being homeless.

I imagine he also tried to gain some money doing dirty jobs for other criminals, which might be why we see him beating thugs in the street during the flashbacks.

That being said, this empty life style wasn't something Hoyo was happy about.

He still feel the necessity of prove himself and try to became something better, he was angry at the world and his family, and he also missed Shinya despite he didn't want to admit and prove his brother his worth.

Despite Hoyo's quirk still seemed to be quite useless as he couldn't do much with his puppets and give up at some point.

That was until he meet Nine...

My idea of how they meet is that Hoyo was hired to expulse Nine from the territory of a criminal gang that didn't like a homeless man like him was wandering in there.

Expecting just another quick job for a bit of cash Hoyo used his quirk with and old scarf to create a puppet out a vending machine, with he would use to intimidate the white haired man described by the gang.

Worse case scenario would be him having to beat the man in case he resists but isn't like he cared.

What Hoyo didn't expect is that when he meet the white haired man this one would have an aura of calm around him and rather than look intimidated by him or his puppet, he only got a glaze of interest coming from him.

"That... looks like a very powerful ability you got there" Nine commented very calmly looking at Hoyo like if he already knew everything from him.

Hoyo was a bit confused by the statement (and internally a bit intimidated by the way the white haired man seem look through him) but he only wanted to finish the job quickly as he was hungry and needed the money the gang offered.

So he tried to attack the white haired man with his puppet, but in the blink on an eye a small lightning bolt hit the puppet and make it explode.

Hoyo was pushed back by the explosion and the white haired man was still there with an unfazed expression.

"Not that powerful yet but..." Nine said looking at Hoyo "I can make it stronger" He said like it was a promise.

Nine then walk away and Hoyo tried to follow him without understand anything of what was happen, until they were almost in front of the gang hideout.

Hoyo observed how the white haired man rising one of his hands at the sky, and he didn't realize how suddlenly the dark clouds covered what until some moments was a very clear night.

A lightning bolt came from the sky and impacted the buildings Hoyo knew the gang used to hide, making the ground vibrate as they explode illuminating the night with the fire and the white haired man was stading there with the same bored expression as he that act of destruction was nothing for him.

Hoyo was totally speechless by that demonstration of power.

"I assume they won't represent a problem for you from now, I understand they wanted you to get me out of here so you don't have to worry for not get the job done" the white haired man said with the same calm Hoyo was used at that point.

For some reason it reminded him to someone else...

"Huh... and what do you want from me?" Hoyo replied rising his eyebrown tried to show more confidence that he actually felt "This kind of "favors" can't be for free"

"From you? Nothing..." Nine said plain and simple "Maybe offer you something, but first we should get out of here, he police and heroes can be annoying and they probably were alerted by my little spectacle" He said before walking out of the scene.

Hoyo didn't know why but he started walking behind the white haired man. There wasn't much to lose anyway...

"Are you hungry? Personally I am, so maybe we can get some food" Nine said after notice the young boy was following him.

Hoyo agreed on that, he really could get something to eat.

...

After all that happened Nine started to explain to Hoyo what his ideals and dream to change the world, a dream he really wanted to share with Hoyo for some reason.

Even if he didn't believe he meet the standards of power the white haired man claim to have, but Nine keep insisting on the potential of his quirk and how Hoyo was stronger than he realize and how wrong society was for overlook his true potential.

Not much time later Hoyo meet a friend of Nine, a really intimidating mutant who called himself Chimera and that name was fitting considering he was a mix of countless animals.

Hoyo found the guy to be quite charismatic and funny regardless of his loon however, and he was also very compromised to follow Nine's vision for the ideal world he evisioned.

And one day Nine also surprised Hoyo with a gift: a lot of red bandages that he notice were more resistant and powerful than anything he previously used to activate his quirk.

"Your power is greater than you think Hoyo, don't believe what the weakelings tried to make you think all your life. You can be better than them, you can fight for the world we deserve" Nine said in the most genuine way Hoyo ever heaf from someone.

And Hoyo really felt weak but also strong for equal reasons that moment, as never during his whole life he felt supported the way Nine made him to feel. Not his own blood family, not even Shinya, but this man who only wanted to give him and Chimera a better world to live.

Hoyo knew that moment that his life and heart belong to Nine and his cause forever, he give him a real family and home without even expect anything from Hoyo other than fight together like a team.

It motivated Hoyo to push himself and his quirk over the boundaries, training endlessly with the help of Nine and Chimera, so what once was the ability of control a single puppet quickly became the power of create armies of puppet soldiers thanks to the gift Nine give to him.

He even discovered an inhate talent with the sword, a gift courtesy of Chimera by the way.

Hoyo was poweful indeed, just like his friends believed.

But he also wanted a new identity as well, as his born name no longer felt something that represented who he was.

Then Hoyo became Mummy, and he used the bandages gifted by his leader to cover his body.

He felt safe and powerful like that.

Mummy finally meet himself that moment and knew who he really was.

...

P.S:

-Despite I make Shinya look like a careless and selfish brother in the backstory, I actually think later when he found what his parents did to Hoyo he resents them and felt totally guilty for not being there for his little brother. Edgeshot look for Hoyo during years hoping to find him someday and be a family again, he also keep his parents out of his life after what they did to Hoyo.

-I don't mention Slice here because I think she was the last one to join the team some time later than Mummy.

-While their age difference isn't actually that big, I like the idea of Mummy considering Nine a big brother figure and somehow filling the empty space left by Shinya.

[bunni-v1]

(Twenty) Nine Lives for Love

Chapter 1: Goodbyes

\\Next Chapter m.list

Tw: Reader literally is dead at the start lol; A lil angsty, in a good way!

Info: Kenma x Reader (eventually lol); Platonic Tanaka and Noya x Reader; Soulmate AU

Word count: 5k

🍓It's my spin on a soulmate AU! I apologize if the beginning is tedious, it's necessary to understand the AU though! Love you all! Eat up!

The first thing you notice when waking up is the sound of water. It’s a steady, gentle sound you could easily miss if you weren’t looking for it. The second thing is that you feel the soft tickling of just too long grass on your exposed skin, the light breeze caressing your face kindly. It was all so calming. So relaxing. It could put you right back to sleep… only, you knew in the back of your mind you did not fall asleep outside, and it was most definitely still winter where you lived.

The panic kicked in all at once, and you were shooting up from your spot without a second thought, groaning as the world around you spun painfully. You gripped your head, rubbing at your temples to ease the pain you’d caused in your panic. Taking a few deep breaths, you finally opened your eyes. The sun above was bright enough that it stung to look around. The breeze tossed your hair around, almost playful. Ahead of you, just as expected, was a river flowing steady and strong. 

Relief kicked in as you recalled exactly where you were. Textbooks called this place “The In-between,” a simple way of saying the place between life and death. Your transfer from your last life to your next. You were quite familiar with the concept. How many lives have you been through now? Twenty-five? Or was it closer to Thirty? They begin to blend together after so long.

You spent your most recent gamble at life trying to study this damn place – you were achieved too! Plenty of awards for your research. Books, journals, experiments, interviews, and so on. Fifty long years of passion and drive, you would say it was a good life you’d lived. It meant nothing in the long run, though, your research was thrown out as more and more of the public decided this place was just a fairytale. Too romantic to be true. 

A place between life and death meant to guide you to your soulmate – the person your eternity was destined to? No one had ever seen it and lived to tell the tale. Ironic isn’t it? Your research found that the average person only caught glimpses through “deja vu”, though there were a few rare cases where others could see their past lives. By and large, it was usually little glimpses, which obviously would cause doubt in the average person. Nothing was provable, truly, which is why people stopped taking you seriously as technology advanced. 

Disappointing, but you couldn’t blame the public. It was ridiculous sounding, not to mention overly confusing, and most of all horrifying to think about. But here you were. In it. If you were alive (which was obviously not possible) you would be cackling at the idiots who threw your life's work out the window.

You looked around again, trying to take in as much detail as possible. It was important, after all. Any little thing could be a hint to who your eternity was. Standing, you brushed yourself off before making your way down to the ever-sturdy river that had been flowing since this place showed up. Since you showed up. You crouched over the side of it, reaching down to let it flow between your fingers.

“Hi,” you said, and it bubbled in response. You laughed, removing your hand and wiping it off on your leg draping it over your other knee, “Are you going to help me out, or should I just wander around until something hits me in the face.”

The river splashed up at your bare feet, scolding you for your sass. You chuckle at it, splashing it back with a swift smack.

“I know, I know,” you sigh, standing up again, “I’ll take a little walk, that usually works.”

You walk close to the riverbed, making idle chatter with the mysterious entity meant to reflect your inner self. Its responses only came in rushes and bubbles, but you understood it all the same. Along your walk you come across several animals of varying types, peculiar, as you’d never really had other living things here – other than the river, which you weren’t sure could be declared as a ‘living’ thing. Still, it was a welcome change, making the place feel less lonely. Each animal was particularly drawn to you, rubbing their little bodies excitedly against your legs. You made sure to give each of them as much attention as they’d allow, delighting in the attention they gave you.

There was one odd little creature, though.

It was a little calico cat, body lithe and eyes sharp as it watched you from a distance on the stump of a long-gone tree. It had a strange pattern of yellow and black on the top of its head that almost looked like hair. It hadn’t approached you, but it seemed to… watch. Not in the way an animal would, but the way a conscious being might. Like it was considering you as a fellow intelligent lifeform. 

It shouldn’t have been possible, of course. Everyone had one ‘guide’, yours had always been the river. This cat was an outlier in the statistics, which made the scientist of your past life buzz in excitement. A new set of data to analyze, what does this mean? How could this affect your previous research?

You shook your head. Truly, deeply, within your very core, all you wanted to do was to pet its cute little head. The logic and statistics didn’t matter to you, because the you – the next you, or the person you were going to become; the person you are – just wanted to cuddle up to the little thing.

A splash of water at your feet caught your attention, and you turned a glare at your old friend. In return, it gave you a series of urging rushes.

“What?” It did the same thing, stubbornly, “Do you want me to go… talk to it?”

It slowed all at once, a sign of affirmation, and you sighed. You turned on your heels and made your way across the grassy field, heading for the cat straight on. It stared at you, blinking in a way that was far too human, before hopping off of its perch and trotting down a dirt path just a few feet next to its wooden seating. You groaned, not wanting to chase after this cat's affections, but it paused at the sound of your voice. It looked back expectantly, tail curling up happily in the air. You couldn’t say no to such a happy little kitty, could you?

No, of course not. So you followed it, grumbling as dirt caked your wet feet, but the cat did not seem to care. It only looked back occasionally to ensure you were still following it. At some point, the pretty open fields turned into walls of city buildings, and the gentle rush of your river friend became the sounds of city life. The sun began setting, its rays casting shadows of towering buildings across the sidewalks. Eerie, how such an empty place felt so full of life.

It was… odd. A complete and total shake of what you knew to be true. You never heard about such extreme physical changes in the In-between. Consistency, consistency, consistency. That was the way of the universe that you had studied. To change so dramatically so… suddenly… You didn’t have much time to dwell on it, as the little kitty turned into a rather well-off neighborhood, its pace picking up rapidly.

You couldn’t take anything in, too busy running after the suddenly very athletic cat. It passed several large buildings before hopping over the gate of a compact little home. You sighed, slowing your pace a bit as its beady little eyes peered at you through the bars of a gate.

“You are a pain, you know that little kitty,” you complain.

The cat just tilts its head, and walks toward the front of the house, looking back expectantly. You give a final sigh and push open the gate with little to no resistance. Then, the front door of the house. You feel like an intruder, despite knowing there is no one around here other than you and the little kitty. Who has not stopped its pursuit, expertly moving through the house until it hops into a room, which you quickly realize is someone’s bedroom as you step in.

The cat hops up on the bed and has the nerve to meow at you. You glare at it, approaching to give it a few harsh pets from its head to its tail. That’ll teach it! You're successful in your lesson, as it lazily flops onto its side and bats at your hands. You settle down next to it, laughing as it harmlessly bites at your fingers.

“You sure are pretty, though,” you coo absentmindedly, and it gives a meow in response.

You’re sure to give the kitty plenty of loving and attention, a reward for your efforts before you make the executive decision to take in the room around you. It must be important if this is where the cat wants you to be. It better be, the ache in your legs insists.

The room was compact, only made worse by the fact that there were so many things in it. A bed, of course, but this person had a full gaming PC set up on their desk. It wasn’t cheap either – at least… it didn’t look it. You didn’t know much about games and the like, but you could tell what a nice piece of technology looked like. On the other side of the room, in front of the bed, was a medium-sized TV with an assortment of gaming consoles. Most of which were either Sony or Nintendo and new-ish. The controllers were well-loved, joysticks worn smooth from years of use.

A bump from your side catches your attention, and you look to see the kitty rubbing its side against a shelf. You walk over, scooping the cat up in your arms, chuckling as it goes limp in your cradle. The shelf itself was full, absolutely full, of video games and collectible figures of what you could only assume were characters from these games. On the top shelf were several different textbooks: English, Science, Math, and one on Volleyball techniques. 

You move to set the cat down to get a better look at some of the shelves, bumping a rather beat-up volleyball in the process you hadn’t noticed before. The cat nudges it toward you, tail flicking around in… delight, you think. So, you crouch and pick it up, turning it in your hands. It’s got several chunks taken out of it, and it’s covered in dirt, but you can just barely make out the initials written in black Sharpie. ‘K.K.’ it read. The cat presses itself into your leg, and you give it a good ruffle on the top of its head.

“Are these… hints?” you gamble, asking the cat.

It gives you a meow, purring out its affirmative response. You give it a little scratch on the bottom of his chin as thanks. In return, it bites at your fingers lovingly, licking after itself to soothe the spot. As the cat loves on you, you think long and hard about everything that happened to you in such a short amount of time. In the many lives you’ve lived, the many times you’ve been here, none of this has ever happened before… it’s an entirely undocumented phenomenon. The little thread of hope in your stomach strums an excited song. Maybe, just maybe, this is a sign that this life – this time, you’ll get it right.

The sun settles itself below the horizon, bathing the room in darkness. You let out a sigh, rubbing the cat’s head for good luck.

“Let's hope this is the one, right little guy?” The cat meows, golden eyes watching you in the dark.

You can only hope that the universe isn’t playing tricks on you.

.·:*˚¨¨ ≈★≈ ¨¨˚*:·.

You sit on the floor of your room – what used to be your room, at least – flipping through the pages of a textbook you’d snuck from the boxes of your mother's old stuff. Written in the early seventies by some Professor of the Sciences in the UK, it details the concepts of soulmates. While most of their work was regarded as illogical and ridiculous, your mother had kept all of their textbooks from when she was in college – ever the hopeless romantic she was. Since discovering them in the basement while moving, skimming through the books, and reading all the evidence compiled in favor of the existence of soulmates has become your favorite pastime.

It was silly for someone your age to be considering the idea of ‘soulmates’, most people abandon the thought in middle school, but not you. You had to believe in soulmates. If you didn’t, your mom leaving wouldn’t make any sense. Nothing in your life would make sense. (A bit dramatic, but at 17 years old, everything feels that big).

You sigh, thumbing the edge of a page that your mother had written in. A paragraph defining the ‘spark’ that two soulmates feel when seeing each other was underlined three times in blue pen. Your Mom noted it as important for some exam she’d taken. Her handwriting was pretty, a lot like yours. You missed her a lot. Sure you still got to visit once every few months, and of course, she sent you letters, but you couldn’t help the ache in your chest when you thought of her.

You blinked back the tears building up in your eyes. You hated crying over stupid stuff like this. You were happy for your mom, you were. She found her soulmate and was living in the lap of luxury with her new family… You just wished that you and Dad could’ve been part of that happy life she has now.

Something soft brushes against your leg, and a tentative ‘meow’ comes from below you. Glancing down, you see your cat you’ve had since you were eight, Maki. She was a calico you picked up off the street and domesticated with nothing but a cat’s for dummies book and a whole lot of patience. You’d owned numerous animals throughout your life – most of which were rodents bought at pet stores who couldn’t have lived longer no matter how much you tried – but Maki was your favorite. She just… understood you in a way that no other living creature could’ve, as crazy as that sounded. 

You give her a careful scratch behind her ears, grinning as she purrs in delight. She has no idea she’s going in a crate in a few hours, poor thing. You close up the book, carefully hiding it away beneath several of your textbooks, and tape up the box aptly labeled ‘textbooks’. Satisfied, you pull Maki into your lap and give her cuddles, which she begrudgingly accepts.

Your room and all of your items were packed up – including the air mattress you’d been sleeping on for the past few days while your actual bed was transported all the way to Tokyo. All you had to do was put the last few boxes in the car, and you and your father would leave later that day after lunch. Which meant if you wanted to meet with your friends, you had to get your butt moving. You scooped Maki up in your arms and quickly headed downstairs, smiling a little to yourself as you saw your dad fighting to zip up his suitcase in the barren living room.

“You all good old man?” You called, trying hard not to laugh at him.

“I had more clothes than I thought,” he huffed, “help your old man out, come sit on it while I zip.”

You hop down the remaining stairs and settle yourself squarely in the middle of the giant thing, Maki taking the chance to hop out of your arms and wander off into the empty kitchen. Your father gives a big grunt, and finally manages to zip his suitcase closed.

He leans back, wiping his brow of the sweat he accumulated from moving boxes all day, “I thought your clothes were bad! I’m no better!”

You laugh, “That’s cause you refuse to get rid of anything, even the stuff you never wear.”

“I’m keeping them because they have–”

“‘Sentimental value.’ Yeah, Dad, I know the speech.” You drawl.

He smiles at you and ruffles the top of your head. Something like pride shines in his eyes, and you almost feel like a normal family for a second. 

“You all packed up sweetheart?” he asks, and you give him a nod, “I know you’re going to see your friends, so I’ll put the last of your things in the car.”

You step up and give him a big, warm hug, which he returns happily. “Thanks, Dad. I love you.”

“I love you too pumpkin’,” he pulled away, straightening out your jacket, “be safe, and don’t let those two idiots get you in trouble on your last day here.”

You laugh, shaking your head at the idea. Sure, Noya and Tanaka were a bit rough around the edges, but they were good people. Speaking of, the two of them were already waiting outside of your gate when you stepped out of the house. Noya was holding a volleyball under his arm, and Tanaka was flushed and panting.

“Did you two play a whole set while you were waiting,” you laughed, stepping around and closing your gate.

“Nah, Tanaka just ran here 'cause he was late,” Noya explains simply.

Tanaka groans, and you pat his back awkwardly, hoping he won’t double over and die the last time you get to see him for a while. He gives a final gruff gasp for air before he straightens up and gives you a bright grin as if he hadn’t almost died at your feet. You shake your head at him, used to the behavior.

“You didn’t have to run all the way here, you moron.” You scold, giving him a firm smack on the head.

He grumbles, rubbing at the spot you hit, “We both wanted to be here at the same time… and Saeko was holdin’ me up.”

“Mhm, whatever you say. Still, no excuse to try and kill yourself before I even leave.” 

The three of you begin your usual walk to the convenience store nearby, on the mission to get some delicious meat buns, then pass the volleyball around for a couple of hours while you talk about life and things like that. Simple stuff so you don’t have to think too hard about the fact that you won’t be seeing your best friends for at least a few months after today. As you walk, you reflect on the people you hold dear from here. Feeling more sentimental than you usually let yourself be.

You had known Nishinoya since you were in diapers, having lived close to him and his family your whole life. You were practically raised by his grandpa who taught you all the most important life lessons, like riding a bike or how to play rough with the boys at school. Your favorite thing about being Noya’s friend, though, was his grandpa's stories about soulmates. He would sit the two of you down at night and tell stories of how he met his precious soulmate, and how precious each life lived with her has been – though he doesn’t remember any of them. He was the main reason you didn’t resent your mother, stepping in where your father couldn’t soothe you when she left in middle school.

Not to mention, being Noya’s friend was just fun. When you were little he was always taking you on ‘adventures in the wild’, which was just the two of you terrorizing the rice farmers in the surrounding area. You would swim in the river with him during the hottest days of summer, having epic water gun battles for the ages until you inevitably hit an adult and got a stern scolding. During winters you’d curl up in front of your TV and play with the console your father bought for your tenth birthday – usually Mario Kart or party games that always ended in an argument between the two of you, and an inevitable week ban on the console. Where Noya was, you were sure to be close behind, and the same applied in reverse.

Being friends with Noya, inevitably, led to you befriending his closest friend from Karasuno: Tanaka. As well as every other member of the volleyball team – like Daichi and Sugawara, who were the most ‘senpai’ senpai you might’ve ever met. Asahi, who looked at least ten years older than he was, was just a sweetheart. Unfortunately, he and Noya weren’t on speaking terms, so neither were you.  And, of course, the ever-lovely Kiyoko Shimizu, who was trying to get you to manage the volleyball team with her before she found out you were leaving this year. Tanaka was convinced they were soulmates, like real actual soulmates, but she hardly glanced his way. You kinda felt bad for him, but he couldn’t be convinced otherwise. (It didn’t help that Noya fed into his fantasies so much).

Long story short, you had a life here. A good one that you loved with friends that you wanted to keep… but life hasn’t been fair to you for a long time. Your dad got a good promotion, and that meant you had to move to Tokyo. So, instead of continuing high school here, you would be uprooted and moved to Tokyo Metropolis – specifically, you’d be going to Nekoma High School. A much larger high school than Karasuno with people you’ve never met in a city you’ve only visited a handful of times.

Buying the meat buns was quick, and the three of you ended up at a park doing exactly what you figured you would. Mostly, it was Noya and Tanaka messing around with the ball, which you would have to dodge occasionally to keep your head on your shoulders. There was a sense of peace at the moment, just watching them try and best each other as the sun rose high in the sky. You wished you could freeze this moment and live in it forever. You wished you didn’t have to leave. You wished you fought your Dad harder on moving. You wished and wished, but wishes don’t change the past, and they certainly won’t affect the future. 

The ball whizzed right past your face – an intentional shot from your shorter friend. You barely managed to duck out of the way, sending a glare his way. Your balder friend laughs at you as he runs to grab the ball. 

“What the hell was that for?” You shout, smoothing over your frazzled hair.

“You’re doing too much thinking and not enough playing.” He states simply, “Get out of your head and enjoy the moment you have now, or else you’ll miss out on it.” 

Ever the poet Noya (accidentally) was, you acquiesced holding your hands up in surrender. You were here to spend time with your friends, not mourn the fact that you wouldn’t be able to do it anymore.

“Alright, toss me the ball,” you sigh, standing from your spot.

Tanaka bumps the ball to you, an easy toss since you rarely ever played volleyball outside of this ritual the three of you formed. Your mind is so busy trying to keep up with your much more talented friends, that you hardly have time to think about how sad you were. As you dive after the ball and scrape up your chin, you don’t even remember what had you so upset in the first place. It was just you and your friends like the world had intended. 

By the time you had finished, the three of you were covered head to toe in scratches and dirt – like you were three little kids who played too rough. You were sweating and breathing hard by the end of it, though you could tell he and Tanaka still had plenty of energy to spare – unlike you. Perks of being athletes, you guessed. Downing what Noya had left of his water, you checked your phone and cursed. 12:30 and two missed calls from your dad. He’s gonna be so pissed.

“What’s wrong?” Tanaka pants out, leaning over your shoulder, “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, shit is right. I’m gonna get such a lecture when I get back.” You groan, dramatically slinging your arm over your eyes.

“Oh please, all your old man’s gonna worry about is your scraped-up knees.” Noya corrected snarkily.

“Whatever loser, I gotta get back regardless.” you sigh, brushing as much dirt off your clothes as you can manage.

You begin your pursuit toward your house, and the two boys follow behind without any arguing. Eventually, the three of you fall into step next to each other, sandwiched between them as you talk about various things. Video games, exams (that they passed by a hair), the next volleyball season (even though Noya is adamant he won’t participate without Asahi), and so on. No one wants to breach the topic at hand: you leaving. It’s depressing, but someone has to bring it up, or else it’ll stick to your skin like summer heat and leave you feeling hot with regret.

“I’m gonna miss you guys a lot.” You announce, looking up to the sky to avoid crying.

The two of them are quiet as they exchange a look across you. You can feel the mental battle between the two of them – a metaphorical game of rock, paper, scissors happens in their eyes. Tanaka loses, it seems, as he’s the first to speak.

“I mean, it’s not like we’ll never see each other again…” he pauses, “right? You’re going to visit for sure.”

You nod eagerly, “Of course I am, I just… I dunno how often I’ll be able to. It’s gonna be hard without you guys.”

Noya punches your shoulder, “Don’t be depressing about it, dummy! This is a new opportunity – you could even-” he pauses, looking around and lowering his voice, “you could meet your soulmate.”

“Ohhh, like Tanaka totally met his.” You snark.

“Kiyoko is my soulmate!” He retaliates, voice breaking in the middle.

“Come on!” Noya groans, hopping in your path and halting all movement, “This is a change you need! It’s like I always say, there's never a bad change 'cause everything’s part of the universe’s great plan for us.”

“Alright Noya, I get it. Can’t a girl just be a little melancholic sometimes?” 

“No. Now let's get you home before your old man has a reason to yell at us too.” He shouts, suddenly breaking into a sprint.

“Hey, you little bastard, get back here!” You shout back, quickly taking after him.

“Come on guys!” Came Tanaka as he picked up his pace to keep up with you.

.·:*˚¨¨ ≈★≈ ¨¨˚*:·.

Noya was correct, your Dad’s only concern when he saw you was how messy you had become. You gave your two friends a big hug with the promise that you’d keep each other up to date on everything, and then they left for Noya’s to do god knows what. You had a hearty lunch that your Dad picked up from a Chinese place while you were gone, tried and failed to crate Maki who ended up in your lap in the front seat, and then you were off to Tokyo. A nearly five-hour drive that your father thought would be good bonding time.

If by bonding he meant two hours of shitty music you didn’t like and off-key singing, you two were practically chemically bonded at this point. You couldn’t bring yourself to be anything more than mildly annoyed, huffing out an amused laugh as your old man struggled through another verse of a song you didn’t know. He nudged you, laughing at your face.

“What? Not enjoying your old man’s musical talent?” He jokes.

You roll your eyes at him, and he laughs, leaning over to finally turn down the music. He holds his hand up in surrender as he pulls back, apologizing lightheartedly, and you can’t stop the smile from growing on your face. He reaches over and squeezes your knee gently.

“You doing okay kiddo?” He asks, softly, as if you might break if he spoke any louder.

You nod, “Just a little… sad… you know.”

He sighs, nodding back at you. He looked tired, and this was the first time you considered that… maybe the move was as hard on him as it was on you.

“I grew up in that house, and all my friends are in Miyagi… it just feels like such a shame to leave it all behind.”

“I know honey. But… I think this move is gonna be good for us. I’ll make more money to support us, and you’ll have more opportunities in the big city.” He says excitedly.

“Yeah… I know.” you sigh, and there’s a tense lull in the conversation. 

Your Dad has a hard time comforting you, that was always your mom's job, and he never figured out how to do it by himself. You always ended up having to pick up the pieces for both of you.

“I, Uhm, I saw that there was a shelter near where we live that lets high schoolers volunteer on weekends – sometimes they even give long-time helpers permanent positions through college.” You offer up.

“Now that is exactly something that you would love doing, isn’t it?” He responds with a smile.

“Yeah, I already applied for it.” You laugh, “I was excited, but they haven’t gotten back to me yet.”

“Wow! Look at you, already so responsible! Where’s my little girl, I want her back,” he teases, pinching your cheek.

“Dad! It’s nothing serious, just an application!”

“But I’m still so proud of you. You’re already taking steps to adjust, that's real maturity, honey.”

You flush, nervously running your fingers through Maki’s fur. It didn’t feel like it was such a big deal, but you were happy that you were making your Dad proud of you.

“I’m gonna miss all my friends, but I’m excited to go to Nekoma. I mean, a bigger school means a much wider curriculum, so maybe I can take some classes focused on animals and stuff.” You say hopefully.

“You for sure could, I think I saw some of those classes when I was looking into the school.” He encourages.

“Yeah, and I can make some new friends who like the same stuff I do! Noya even said that I could find my soulmate!” You exclaim, before you can even realize what you’re saying, and when you catch yourself it's already too late.

“Hon… you know how I feel about that… soulmate stuff.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… exciting, and… I guess I’m hopeful.”

He sighs, frustration clear on his face, “You’re a little too old to be hopeful about something like that.”

“I-it’s just a nice thought, that there's someone out there who’s made for me. My other half…”

“Sweetheart…”

“I know you don’t like it because of what happened with Mom, but there's evidence–”

“Just stop!” He shouts, then bites his lip, “Please, honey, just don’t.”

You nod, “I’m sorry Dad.”

He doesn’t respond, instead turning up the music. You don’t talk to each other unless you have to. You focus your attention on Maki, giving her attention until she hops off your lap and you have to focus on your phone. It’s about eight o’clock when you get to the new house. It’s… nice, much bigger than your old one, and much nicer. 

The two of you grab your suitcases and a few assorted boxes to bring in (Maki following after you like a trained dog), too tired to unpack the whole car. You trudge your way across the house to your room – already furnished with bed made, thanks to the moving service your dad booked. You set your things down and collapse into your familiar sheets. They still smell like home, and that brings you more comfort than you thought you needed.

Maki, ever the mind reader, hops up and nudges her way under your arm. You tug her close, pressing a thankful kiss to her forehead. The house was nice, and so was the neighborhood from what you saw outside of your window. You hoped the school was too, you wouldn’t see it until you went to register for classes later this week. You didn’t have much room to feel anything but depressed after you argued with your Dad. You shouldn’t have pushed it so much, but it frustrated you to no end that he was so in denial of what happened. 

You were exhausted, and thinking was taking up way too much brain power. You snuggled up to your cat, sighing at the familiar smell of her healthy coat.

“Tomorrow’s another day,” you mumbled, “let's hope it’s easier than today.”

[shinsources]

Roleplaying on Pillowfort

So I made a post in the BetaUsers community on Pillowfort pertaining to reblogging posts, a possible Trim Reblogs add-on, and if there's a word/character count. Needless to say that I've learned quite a bit.

ADDING CONTENT TO A REBLOGGED POST IS A NO-GO.  Long story, short? Pillowfort is against this to prevent toxicity from ever happening. They want to prevent as much toxicity, drama, etc. as possible. This makes sense considering how problematic some people can be (especially those who troll for the sake of trolling). This leads to my next post.

ROLEPLAYING VIA COMMENTS SECTION. I know, I know. Weird, right? Well, yes and no. Doing this really isn't much different than how people roleplay in, say, forums. And, from what I understand, it's not that different from how people roleplay on Discord, even. The biggest (and I mean BIGGEST) difference between Pillowfort and Tumblr, however, is that Pillowfort allows images in the comments section and there justs so happens to be no word count limit. Which actually leads to my next point.

NO WORD/CHARACTER LIMIT. This might sound crazy — and even a bit Farfetch'd if I do say so, myself — but I made a post checking to see if there was even a word/character limit. From what I've seen, there's no word/character limit?? Not even kidding. There doesn't even seem to be a character/word limit in the tags, either, so that's definitely something. Because I legit put 1,001 words (6,051 characters) into one tag and it went through.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Now, of course, there are some features that are still missing on here but I'm sure they'll come in due time. In fact, I have already made a post talking about this. And some of the features include (but aren't limited to):

ASK BOX.  This is mostly for the people who enjoy sending/receiving meta questions, memes, and just random questions in general. A lot of people heavily rely on the askbox — especially social media icons, celebrities, authors, etc.

A MENTIONING @'ING SYSTEM.   Hey, sometimes we overlook things and miss posts that are meant specifically for ... well ... us. So being able to tag people via @'ing them would be extremely beneficial for everyone in their entirety.

A MORE ADVANCED TEXT EDITOR.   Not being able to edit our stuff via HTML is a bit of a downside right now but that's something that I'm sure will come later on down the road. And being able to change the font size, font color, etc. would be an awesome addition to this website for everyone.

A LIMIT CHECKER.   Statistics. Are. Important! A lot of us rely heavily on statistics so that we know what to expect for the rest of the day.  Because some of us really don't like to spam post and like to span things out.

TAG TRACKING.   I didn't have this in the initial post linked above but being able to track tags and seeing what's new in said tag would be great. Because a lot of us rely on these tags to meet new people, reblog things we're interested in, and the whole nine yards.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I know there are a lot of other features that would be super beneficial on here that some might consider "necessities" but these were the only ones I can really think of that I, myself, consider to be pretty  important off the top of my head. However, I also know that it takes time to implement new things — especially features that are complex and can very much alter the entire website's layout. For instance, I do think having the ability to make polls would be great but that can wait a little bit IMHO. The same is equally true for a music embedder. Essentially all of my thoughts, opinions, and suggestions are nothing more than "food for thought", so to speak.

[insolemi]

Cate x wheelchair user au when

—👁️‍🗨️

hii !! right now 👀??

i did this in the style of how i did my gf!cate headcanons so i hope that's what you wanted

also, i seriously hope that i did this justice, but if i didn't please let me know and i'll adjust/change it immediately

shoulder massage, shoulder massage, shoulder massage

please let her massage your shoulders if you're up for it bc she loves to do it

if you like to read, read to her !! she loves it, loves listening to your voice, loves laying in bed with you and being close to you

loves being able to trace her fingers over any freckles or moles or any feature of yours and will do it while you're sleeping bc she can't help herself, this goes well with the staring problem i mentioned in this post bc she HAS ONE

it's canon sorry not sorry (canon is what i make it)

if you like to decorate your wheelchair and/or other mobility aids in any way, please look absolutely no further than directly at your side

cate LOVES decorating anything she can get her hand on (including you, so I hope you like jewelry and clothes) and she’s got an eye for decorating (at least she thinks she does) and she has more scattered decorative items like scarves and various stickers and decorative tape rolls than she knows what to do with

will also spend a lot of time with you looking for seasonal decorations or functional ones! cupholders, bags, covers for the back of your chair

like I said in my gf!cate post, she is touchy, hand on you at all points in time

hand on your shoulder or arm or knee or hands everywhere you go bc she cannot contain the affection she has for you in her body and she must express it all times

she’s a forehead kisser too, I’m sorry I don’t make the rules but it’s the truth

don’t call her clingy unless you want to see the personification of puppy dog eyes

it kind of boils down to you being the only person she ever wants to freely touch, sans gloves, so you are always the main focus of her attention/affection

she is incredibly attentive, knows everything you like and don’t like and how you prefer to do everything bc she just pays attention to you and what you say to her and the things you don’t say

facial expressions or soft noises of disagreement are all cataloged into her mind immediately and filed away under “very important”

cate knows what it’s like to not want people touching you or your things, but if you’re okay with other people pushing your wheelchair for you (and only then), then again, look no further

cate is more than happy to help you out if your arms or tired or you straight up just don’t wanna push yourself anymore 

at first, she is sometimes worried that she’s overstepping or making you uncomfortable doing that and she will always be cognizant of wanting to respect you and your boundaries bc you don’t need her help and she knows that, she just loves making things easier for you if she can

as such, she is always making sure everywhere you two have plans to go to is accessible, she wants both of you to have as much fun as you want with zero concern and she is incredibly happy that she can do that for you

following the theme of wanting to help, she will absolutely learn any new skills that might help you out

if that’s adjusting parts of your chair when you need it done or helping you transition between spaces to make it easier on you, anything along those lines

she's there

her whole entire face lights up when she sees you bc it’s YOU !! i'm talking bright smile, wide eyes, the whole nine, you literally derail her train of thought

if there’s ever anything bothering you, she is sat

she wants to know what’s going on and why it bothers you bc she wants to know if she can help, and even if she can’t, she just wants to listen to you and hug you afterwards

she can’t cook, so i hope you can bc if you can’t, you both better have doordash on your phones bc she will set the kitchen on fire

she’s very mindful of things like your pace when you two are out and about together, she matches speed and loves using the chance to talk about anything and everything 

she is very chatty, loves to talk about random topics like time zones or space travel or the monsters inc. cinematic universe

however, she does not tolerate stupid questions from people who aren’t you and especially not about you or the both of you

not to say she’s confrontational bc she isn’t (at least overly so) but she does deflect unwanted attention easily and if a person is being rather persistent in bothering you or the both of you, she can and will use her power on them to get them to fuck off 

again, referring back to my gf post, cate loves you so much that sometimes it’s overwhelming and there is not anything in the world that could change that bc half of the time she’s doing anything, you are all she can think about and she would never have it any other way

[ele-sme]

Jake and Neytiri have adopted Spider when he was a baby, now they had Neteyam. and Neytiri doesn't know how human and na'vi biology is different

tw: only mention of breastfeeding

Neytiri has two sons close i age, but only one, the youngest, was hers by womb.

Her sons had only nine months of difference between eachother, that meant that her older son still needed her for everything especially food.

So when Neytri saw the occasion,she lost no time to give him her milk instead of the one the lab gave to her.

He always eated good and until he was full, which was not a na'vi baby size but was still something.

And Neytiri needs to admit it, she enojed giving the child milk, it was a different way to bond with him, a more natural way that she couldn't have because they didn't spent those important nine months together.

And everything was great, until it wasn't

The kid had developed a bad stomach ache, that meant, trip to the lab, dippers of the lab and wake up in the middle of the night to find, one dirty baby who was crying and the other who was crying for the bed smell.

"We are stopping it today" Jake said picking up Neteyam.

"What do you mean Ma Jake?" She asked him, the dirty baby in her arms crying for what he had done.

"I'm taking Neteyam to your mother, we meet at the lab" he said to Neytiri making her shiver a bit.

She already had to spend all day long with the sky people, once she was home, she wanted to be only with her mate and their kids.

So, a surprise visit wasn't really on her list, and she tried to much to persuade Jake to come back to bed, that she would have change Spider dipper, and that they would be okay for t night.

But once he was determined even, she couldn't persuade him, and when something was about the kids? That was automatically happening.

it was in this way that she was now in a lab surrounded by sky people at two in the morning.

"Max, can you please say what does he have?" Jake asked Max; he was a doctor, and that was all she knew and needed to know when it comes to her boy.

"Do you want me to be honest? this is the most horrible tummy ache i ever saw, did his diet change?" he asked

"no, he didn't change diet, right 'Tiri?" Jake now asked her.

"no i always feed him milk and we are starting on the fruits" she responded back

"Then i don't really know" Max responded "Better if he stays with us for some time guys"

Neytiri's heart felt like it was begging stab, over and over again.

Her baby couldn't stay with her, and for what? She couldn't understand it, she must have been the worst mother ever.

"wait" a female doctor next to Max said "you didn't come to get the milk in the last few weeks, what milk have you gave him?" she asked Neytiri.

"mine" he responded quickly, and all the room felled into silent.

Jake eyes were open to their extremes, his tail was also still.

everyone in the room looked at Neytiri "what?" she asked.

"Neytiri, you can't give him your milk, is bad for him." Max told her.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

it took her all night to understand that Na'vi milk was bad for humans, it was maybe the most embarrassing conversation of her life, next to the one when her father and mother explained her how mating worked.

in the end, they got home, but without Spider that needed to do a gastric lavage or something like that, she didn't catch the name well. What she caught was the laugh Jake did when they got out of the lab.

[topguncortez]

The Professor | Chapter 13

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: You follow your dream to the golden coast, leaving behind a lot more than your childhood, friends, and family.

word count: 3k

warnings: age gap, power imbalance, mentions of smut, heartbreak, happy ending

Six months later - June

            The ocean breeze was cold as it rolled off the waves crashing on the beach. You closed your eyes, basking in the morning sun, listening to the seagulls above you. You had found out that the beach was nearly deserted in the mornings, and it was the best time for you to come and clear your mind. You’d wake up, feed the cat that you had adopted (you named him Tybalt, the prince of cats), then lace up your sneaks and run for the beach. You had been living in California for the past several months, working at the writing center on campus before you started Doctor Hoffman’s program in the coming fall. 

            You missed Boston dearly, but you needed to get out. You had spent your whole life in Boston, and though you had good memories, nothing will ever be able to replace the bad ones. Losing your parents was the worst thing you had ever gone through, and you wouldn’t wish anything like that on your worst enemy. Lucy and Zeke had helped you pack up all your things. Zeke volunteered to drive across the country in the U-Haul while you and Lucy flew. They helped you unpack most things, and then shared a very tearful goodbye as you stood in the airport and watched the two most important people in your life head back to start their own lives. Lucy had promised you to include you in all wedding details. 

            Tybalt was waiting by the door when you arrived home. He was a cute little tabby that had an extra toe in each paw. His ear was a bit tattered and the woman at the shelter said that he had survived a house fire. You knew that he was the right one for you. You had asked your parents for a sign that you made the right choice to move, and they gave you Tybalt. 

            You scratched his ears as you walked towards the kitchen. He jumped up on the counter and meowed as you reached for the cupboard where his food was. 

            “What would you have with me?” You asked the cat, quoting Shakespeare, and filled his dish with food. The cat happily walked over to the dish and began eating, “Good King of Cats, only one of your nine lives!” 

            Your apartment in California was a simple studio apartment. You didn’t need a lot of space since it was just you and Tybalt. It was also one of the cheaper ones near campus. You decided to sell your car to help afford the move across the country. Zeke was sad to see the old honda civic leave, quoting all the memories that were shared from the times he hotboxed it with your brother. You sighed as you sat down at your small kitchen table and began checking emails. 

            Some days, you regret moving so soon after graduating. Sometimes the silence in the apartment was often too quiet for you to focus, and you’d end up playing music or staring blankly at your computer. Other times, your heart longed to be back in Boston. Back in the presence of the people who have become your family. In the presence of him. 

            — — — 

            Jake groaned as he sipped his overpriced cup of coffee as he walked through the cold campus with Bob. Bob had made a pact that Tuesday mornings where coffee mornings with himself and Rooster, trying to cheer Jake up out of his sour mood. Except this morning Rooster couldn’t make it, so Jake was left listening to Bob talk about black holes and space dust by himself. Jake was half listening trying to focus on not slipping and falling on the ice. 

“If it’s a boy I’m going to name it after you,” Bob blurted out and Jake snapped his head towards him. 

“What?” 

“Wow, you really haven’t been listening to me,” Bob rolled his eyes as he opened the door for the english building, “I said, Miranda and I are expecting. Found out about three weeks ago.” 

“Wow, Bob, that’s amazing,” Jake hugged his friend, “How is everything? How is she feeling?” 

“Well, morning sickness is a bitch,” Bob chuckled, “She’s doing okay. She’s telling her kids at school today. And I wonder how they’ll take it. This one kid, Jimmy, always gives me the evil eye when I visit her sometimes.”  

            “You got competition, Bobby,” Jake laughed. 

            “Who’s got competition?” 

            Jake’s blood ran cold at the sound of her voice. He hadn’t heard it in over a year, and he was beyond thankful for that. He used to love the sound of her voice, but now it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Bob had a look of complete shock on his face as he looked at the woman standing before him. Like Jake, Bob hadn’t seen Allison since she was kicked out of his house and showed up on Bob’s doorstep in the pouring rain. 

            “Oh don’t be speechless now,” Allison said, her heels clicking on the floor as she walked right up to Bob and hugged him. Bob looked at Jake with a confused expression on his face, “How are you, Bobby? It’s been a while.” 

            “Good, Allison,” Bob nodded, “Uh, I was telling Jake that Miranda is pregnant.”

            “Wonderful!” Allison smiled and then looked at her ex-husband, “Jacob.” 

            “Why are you here?” Jake asked and Bob glared at him, “What do you want?” 

            Allison gave him a tight lipped smile and sighed, “I came back to give you this,” Jake watched as she opened her purse and pulled out a ring box, “My mother heard from yours that you are considering marriage again.” 

            “Really?” Bob asked and now it was Jake’s turn to give him a glare. Bob held his hands up in defense and walked down to his friend’s office. 

            Jake sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was unsure why Allison kept the ring or didn’t just give it to his mother in Texas. He knew that she was living on her parents ranch, something he had learned during his fall break visit. Allison licked her lips and looked down at the box. 

            “I guess your mother thinks one thing and you think another,” Allison said. 

            “No, she’s right, I am thinking about marriage again,” Jake said. 

            “Oh! Well, can I meet her? Your mother says she’s a real sweet girl. Cute, young, a writer. You really have a type don’t you.” 

            “She’s not here.” 

            “No?” Allison asked, cocking her head to the side. Jake hated when she did that. Allison was a smart woman, graduating Magna Cum Laude from the college of Business at Boston. She didn’t need to play dumb to get her way, but she did it anyway. And it irritated the hell out of Jake. 

            “She’s in LA, studying under Doctor Hoffman.” 

            “So it is true. . .  Nancy had said something but I didn’t think you’d be that dumb to risk your career,” Allison shook her head, “Does she know about our rendezvous?” 

            “No, and she never fucking will,” Jake snapped, “Give me the ring and go home. You have no more business here in Boston. And whatever shit of mine you find in the future, just send it to me. I don’t want to see your face again.” 

            Allison clenched her jaw and set the ring box in his hand. He snatched his hand back and turned towards his office. 

            “She won’t be enough for you!” Allison yelled. Jake stopped in his tracks and turned to face her, “She’s too young and you know that. You can say all you want that you are okay with the way things are right now, but you are lying to yourself. You want things that she won’t give to you.” 

            Jake shook his head with a laugh, “And that’s where you are wrong, Allison. She gives me everything that I need. . . She gives me love.” 

            When Jake got to his office, Bob scrambled away from the door, as if he was not watching out the large window at the interaction between exes. Bob busied himself looking at the bookshelf as Jake slammed the door shut and walked over to his desk. He sat down with a loud sigh and Bob looked over at his friend. 

            “So you are proposing to Y/N?” Bob asked gently. 

            “Remember back in November when I went home?” Jake asked and Bob nodded, “My mom gave me my grandmother’s ring. . . to give to Y/N. And I totally freaked the fuck out. We got into a fight and I said things to her that I should’ve never said. And she ended up just leaving the next day.” 

            “Jesus,” Bob rubbed his head, “That’s why Zeke left the lab so quickly. I thought maybe the house was on fire or something, he left so quickly. So, then what did you do?” 

            Jake scratched the back of his head, and let out a sigh, “Hooked up with Allison.” 

            “No, Jake, what the hell?” 

            Jake shook his head, “I was drunk, a-and I know that’s not an excuse.” 

            It was the wrong place at the wrong time. Allison was sitting in the dimly lit bar, her skin glowing under the harsh red neon lights of the bar sign. Jake had every intention of ignoring the sight of her, drinking his bourbon in silence, but she sat down next to him. He was cold, and brash, not trying to engage in conversation with her. But she placed a perfectly manicured hand on his arm, and ran her heeled foot up his calf. She knew how to make him crumble and she did it so perfectly. Jake grabbed her wrist and dragged her to her out front of the bar. The sex was rough, it was nothing compared to the passion and intimacy Jake had with you a night prior. Jake didn’t even cum, he pushed Allison off of himself and went into the bathroom of her childhood bedroom. He hung his head in shame and cried. 

            “I intended to fix things when I came home, but she had that fucking kid over,” Jake rolled his eyes. 

            “Derek?” Bob asked and Jake nodded. 

            “How did you know?” 

            “He’d come into the lab when Zeke was there. I never quite liked him. Thought he was a pompous ass.” 

            “He is,” Jake agreed, “And then graduation, I went, like you suggested and she ignored me. So I went over that night and wanted to apologize for everything but Derek was there.” 

            “Did you punch him?” 

            “No, but Zeke did. Kid’s got a killer right hook.” 

            “Of course he does,” Bob puffed his chest out in pride, “So what happened next?” 

            “You know what happened next. She left for Berkeley.” 

            That wasn’t entirely true, and Jake knew it as he looked at the photo booth picture strip of the two of you. You had an identical one hanging up on your bulletin board above your desk. For nearly two months, you and Jake dated like a normal couple. He took you for dates or cooked for you. He had finally come over to your house for a date (which was a bit weird with Lucy and Zeke). The two of you were nearly inseparable during that time, but like always, it was destined to fail. Jake knew that there was a looming deadline on the relationship, with you moving to California. He tried to shake it, every single time he held you in his arms or kissed you, but it was like his heart couldn’t just forget. 

            “I know she’s in California, but what happened? Are you two-” 

            “No,” Jake said, his green eyes shifting over to the letter you had sent him when you first moved out there. He was yet to read it, so it sat on his desk, unopened, “We did what we do best. Break each other's hearts.” 

            You tried not to focus on the polaroid picture that you had framed on your desk. You should’ve been looking over a list of pre-course reading material, but instead your eyes were locked on that photo. It was your last night in Boston. Jake took you out to eat at a very fancy restaurant, one that you had only dreamed of going to, he even invited Lucy and Zeke to come with. He had bought you a new dress to wear, wanting you to feel special on your last night. It was special, you were spending it with the three people who meant the most to you. You thought everything was going well. Jake invited everyone back to his house for drinks that night. The picture of you and Jake was taken in his backyard, next to a fire pit as you sat on his lap, his arms wrapped around you, two bright smiles on your faces. 

            It was after Zeke and Lucy left that everything seemed to hit the fan. You laid your head on Jake’s chest, still covered in a thin layer of sweat from rolling in the sheets. He ran his hand lazily down your spin. The thought had been playing in his head all week as you were verifying things for your move. 

            “You know, Boston has a nice grad program,” Jake said and you nodded, “Really good actually. It’s right here at home, you wouldn’t have to move across the country. You could be here with Lucy and help her-” 

            “What are you doing?” You asked, lifting yourself up and looking at him, “I know Boston has a good program. I looked at it. But Berkeley is my dream.” 

            “Couldn’t your dream be here?” 

            You raised your eyebrows in shock, “You want me to stay?” 

            “Well yeah, I do. I love you, why wouldn’t I want you to be here with me.” You shook your head and pulled back the covers, “Where are you going?” 

            “To Berkeley, Jake,” You said, grabbing your underwear, “Jake, this. . . Doctor Hoffman’s program has been my dream for as long as I can remember.” 

            “Dreams change.” 

            “Not this one,” You said, finishing putting your clothes back on, “This one will never change. And you know that. I can’t believe you’d even suggest that I stay here and pass up on my dream.” 

            “Well shit, I didn’t think staying with me was so fucking horrible.” 

            “Oh don’t even start,” You pointed at him, “Jake, this time I have spent with you has been the best time of my life. But I have worked too hard on this to let it go.” 

Jake stood up from the bed, walking to you. He grabbed your face in his hands, lifting it slightly to look at you. He had tears in your eyes, as you had tears in yours. 

“Please, think about it. If I can promise you a job-” 

“No Jake,” You shook your head, and grabbed his hands, “I have thought about it. And I am going to California. I am going to Berkeley. Whether that’s with your support or not. I’m going.” 

“So this is it. You’re going to get on that plane tomorrow and leave.”

“I am, Jake,” You said. 

 Jake sniffled, “I love you.” 

“And I love you too,” You said and ran your thumb over his hand. You leaned up on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek, “Goodbye, Jacob.” 

— — — 

AUGUST

The summer went by quickly, and before you knew it, you were picking up your textbooks and getting to meet some of the students in the grad program. You hadn’t quite met anyone who was like Lucy and Zeke, and you stopped trying to find someone like that. Lucy was busy getting ready for her first job at the Boston Post and Zeke was working full time in Bob’s lab. You haven't heard from Jake since you left for California. There was no text, no calls, no nothing. You knew the phone worked both ways, but you were too stubborn to make the first move. 

Campus was busy. There was a certain excitement in the air as the incoming freshmen were moving into dorms, various clubs and activities flooded central campus to promote themselves. You walked around central campus, just trying to find something to do. You couldn’t sit and stare at the computer screen or go over your schedule anymore. Lucy had called you this morning to see if you were excited for classes to get started, and you were. You were also sad, you were about to embark on a new journey, all by yourself. 

You let out a sigh as you looked around, seeing tearful parents drop off their children. You could remember when Ethan and Zeke helped move you in your freshman year. There were no tears, just an awkward hug from your brother. You wondered if your mother would’ve cried. You know she would’ve, she was always the crier.

Shaking your head, you started the trek back to your apartment. You couldn’t stand all the cheer on campus, and wanted to dwell in the comfort of your apartment with Tybalt. You rolled your eyes as your phone started to ring, knowing it was probably Zeke for the fifth time today. Without looking, you swiped the accept button and held it to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey,” You froze as you heard his voice. You hadn’t heard it in over seven months. You almost started to forget what it sounded like. 

“Jake?” 

“Yeah,” Jake answered, “How are you? Settling in?” 

“I’m good. I’ve been busy. Still unpacking some things.” 

“Really? Cause it looks like you are standing in the middle of central campus.” You felt your heart stop, and tears welled up in your eyes, “Turn around, baby.” 

You dropped your phone from your ear and turned around. There he was, standing there amongst the crowd. His green eyes were locked on you. Jake held orange roses in his hand. You took off running towards him, moving through the crowd. Jake caught you in his arms, holding you tightly in his arms. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, pulling away from him. 

“Did you really think I was going to let my girl move across the country by herself?” 

taglist: @zetasaturno99 @tallrock35 @bioodforbiood @mak-32 @cherrycola27 @drunkangels @fuckyeahhangman @the-winter-marvel33 @oldnatgwenaccount @cm27078 @xoxabs88xox @paige-alexandra-may @ereardon @marantha @callsign-phoenix @bradleybeachbabe @manunitedgotbruno @mulletmcghee @moonvr @nagygreta @cherryobx @callsign-joyride @blue-aconite @books-for-summer @violyn20 @lilylilyyyyyy @p1nkbarbi3 @princessofglitterland @hallway5 @thedroneranger @chaoticweirdogeek @abaker74 @auroraboreallisfine @materialgirl01 @fandom-princess-forevermore @averyhotchner @thedaredevilsgirl @shelbycillian @currentlybradshaw @mavesiceroo @emptyloverofmine @lovingjakeseresin @thegoddessc @techni-coloured @shawnsblue @captainmarvels-blog

Note: I'm not sure if I'm 100% over this series yet, cause I can't end things to save my damn life. . . so be on the look out for blurbs possibly an epilogue.

But here's the tag list for 'What to Expect'

[teddy-bear-baby]

Their Deadly Flower - Twelve

(A/n: Been putting off finishing this story for a while now because I've poured so much time and love into it, but I think it's time to put it to rest. Sadly, I will be finishing this story with around 15 chapters and maybe an epilogue. Hope you all have enjoyed this story as much as I have. As always enjoy this chapter, my Lovelies and don't forget to leave feedback.)

Pairings: Ghost X GN!Reader, König X GN!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence and torture, angst, slightly crazed reader

Prolog - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven - Here - Thirteen

     Ghost and König agreed on only two things. One, you meant far too much to both of them for this stupid fighting to continue. And two, they were completely and utterly fucked in their current situation.

     Both men sat facing each other, bound to chairs and gagged. Their masks had been removed a few hours ago when they were placed into these godforsaken seats. The lack of facial coverings allowed both men a good look at each other’s features as they silently communicated. Using only their eyes and minimal facial expressions they’d begun to slowly devise a plan of escape.

~~~~~

     Two days. It’s been two fucking days since anyone has seen Ghost or König and you are in an absolute downward spiral. Your thoughts are consumed with worry and fear. Dreadful images flooding every corner of your mind as the endless possibilities recount themselves to you, for what feels like, the millionth time today.

     “Iris?” Soap’s wary voice cuts through the thoughts swirling around your brain. Concern evident in his features as he stares at you. “It’s going to be alright.” He attempts to reassure you as your eyes finally meet across the bare living room of the old house. “They’re going to be alright.”

     Gaz nods in agreement with the same cautious concern in his eyes. “We’ll find them and bring them back safely.” 

     All three of the men standing with you had been trying to calm your nervousness and worry for the past two days. Though they should be a calming force, having been like family to you for so long, nothing they said or did had helped much at all. Not since Price had admitted that Alice had said something odd the night before your two men had been stolen away from you. “I might be here with you, but believe that there are people planning in the background, just waiting for their chance.” You were sure in that moment that Alice’s people had taken something important to you either to prove a point, or to draw you out. To get you to do something reckless, like run headlong into danger to keep those around you safe from wraith that was aimed toward you.

     At first Alice’s anger was on the 141 in general for all the trouble we’d given her and her people. But after everything she’d gone through trying to get information out of you for two years, you’re almost certain it’s personal now. A vendetta against you specifically for not only wasting two years of her time but also playing a part in her capture.

     “Iris?” Fingers snapping in front of your face cause you to once again jolt from your dreadful thoughts. Price’s fingers to be specific. He stares at you with an understanding glint in his eyes. He’s worried too, though he’s better at keeping calm in most situations. “Come on,” His hand rests flat against your shoulder blade, applying a little pressure as he begins leading you toward the front door. “We’ll get you a drink, calm your mind a bit and go over what we know again. I need you focused if we’re going to get them back.” His voice trails off slightly as though he wanted to add something to the end of that statement but decided not to.

     Price’s words have the opposite effect of what they were meant to. If we’re going to get them back? You’d at least expected him to say something like “By the end of the week” or “Anytime soon”. You understand though. In a situation like this, when there’s no clear evidence of where they’ve gone or who had been responsible, there is no guarantee that they’ll return alive. If they return at all. 

     A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you step out of the house for the first time in almost four days. The light of the early evening sun burns your retinas and causes you to squint in order to see your surroundings. “Do you really think drinking is a good idea at a time like this?” Your voice comes out strained from the incessant crying you’d done over the past 48 hours. “Ghost and König are out there somewhere, likely being tortured or killed, and here we are going out for drinks.” It felt wrong even if it wasn’t for enjoyment purposes.

     “If it gets you to calm down enough for a proper conversation, I’d say it’s more than worth it.” Soap comments from behind you as he closes and locks the rickety door. 

     You let out another sigh as you climb into the passenger seat of the car they’d come in. You weren’t going to enjoy this one bit. You’d gotten so used to drinking with Ghost sitting across from you, you’re sure you’ll break down more than once.

~~~~~

     It doesn’t take long to get to the local pub, which seems more like a nightclub with the music booming in your ears before you even enter the building. The inside is dimly lit, the music getting exponentially louder as you and your three companions push past a few people lingering around the entrance. Your eyes rove over the crowd of bodies bumping and grinding in the center of the large room. A migraine begins to form in your temples as Soap grabs your arm and tugs you behind him through the crowd. 

     Groaning you allow him to pull you toward a small table in the back corner away from the rest of the patrons. You find it hard to pull your eyes away from the group of people dancing and having a good time, feeling almost envious of how joyful and carefree they are. You wish more than anything that you could be out there dancing and laughing with König while Ghost sits in the corner watching over you. Images of your fantasy flash behind your eyes; König’s bright eyes crinkled at the corners as you dance together a large grin on your own face as you look over to Simon whose eyes have been on you the whole time.

     A harsh shaking of your shoulder pulls you from your blissful daydream. Price stares down at you intently with furrowed brows. “Welcome back to reality, care to stay for a while?” His mouth twists into a small sarcastic smile, his mustache curving with his lips as he attempts to lighten the mood a little.

     You take a deep inhale, allowing the air to stretch out your tired chest before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.” Taking in your surroundings once more you realize you’re already sat at the corner table, Soap and Gaz are sitting across from you sipping on pints of amber liquid. “Sorry, I’m trying to separate my emotions from work, I really am but-”

     Gaz cuts in and finishes your thought. “But you’ve made a mess of that whole philosophy. We know.” He takes another sip from his glass as he glances around the room.

     You grumble a bit as you pick up the pint that had been set in front of you at some point, draining half the glass in seconds. You can only hope it’ll help numb the emotions enough for you to focus on the present moment. You needed to know exactly what the plan was to get your men back. “How the hell are we going to find them?” Your question is followed by silence and brief glances among the four of you as you look for the others to answer. 

     After a few moments Price speaks up. “Well, the plan was to look for any evidence in the house and hope it’d point us somewhere.” He cocks his head slightly as he idly fiddles with the rim of his glass. “But whoever did it was more prepared than we hoped, left nothing but that handprint. Only thing we can go off of is what Alice said, but that’s not proof of anything.” He sighs and takes a large gulp from his glass, his stress and worry over the situation showing more than before. His composure only slips further the longer you all go without any answers.

     You all go over the events of that morning multiple times, each of you proposing different ideas of what could have happened. None of them end up making any sense or giving way to new leads. The only thing that made sense in your mind was that Alice’s people were out for blood or her return, neither of which were comforting thoughts. Either outcome could and would leave good people injured and dead. Ghost and König likely being among the first to succumb to those afflictions.

     Your stomach turns, whether from the alcohol, the thoughts, or both, you're not sure. Not that it really matters. What matters is making it to the bathroom before your drink comes rocketing from your throat and all over the table. You jump up from your seat clutching your stomach before rushing toward the restroom. You ignore the concerned looks from your companions as you race through the room, pushing through crowds of people. Bile stings the back of your throat, a sour taste forcing its way onto your taste buds as you slam the restroom door open.

~~~~~

     A growl escapes your throat as you deliver another harsh blow to the man’s gut, watching with demented glee as his body tries to fold in on itself. A wheezed breath follows his pained grunt as he tugs against the bindings that hold his wrist to the arms of the old wood chair. “I’m getting tired of the games, Ezekiel.” Your voice flows through the room, bouncing off the cement walls of the basement with a bone chilling sweetness. Your eye twitches slightly as he glares at you through swollen eyelids, that same glare he’d given you just before you’d knocked him unconscious a few hours ago.

     Letting out a shaky breath you tear your eyes away from the reflection in the mirror, unable to stare at your tired face any longer. It’s a clear visual of how badly Ghost and König’s disappearance has affected you and it only served to make your mind spiral further.

     You make your way quickly out of the restroom and back into the loud, crowded pub. You’re about to move toward the table where your companions are seated when your gaze lands on a pair of eyes that seem all too familiar. One orb is a bright emerald green and the other is a dark, almost black, shade of brown. You don’t recognise the rest of the man’s face. Those eyes, however, they’d be recognisable anywhere. Your mind races as the pieces of this terrible puzzle fall into place. 

     This man standing only a few paces away from you was present at many of your negotiations with Alice. His all-too-unique eyes give him away even if he’d worn a face covering to every meeting that he’d accompanied her on. You’d done some research into her and the team she worked with to better equip yourself just in case a negotiation went sideways. His name is Ezekiel and he’s known to be one of the more dangerous members of the group.

     The only question now is what the hell is he doing here? Not that you had to think too much about it after the thoughts that had plagued you for the past two days. It was glaringly obvious to you now that the theory you’d come up with about Alice was almost certainly true. She’d most likely had this as a backup plan if she was found out. But there was no way for her to have known how important Ghost and König were to you. Unless she had someone, a mole of sorts, watching you and your team. 

     Before you can think through your actions you’ve stepped up to the man. He’s large, not as large as König, or even Ghost, but he could definitely be lethal based solely on his build. You could handle him though, especially if he’s not as well trained as the members of 141.

     His eyes move to your form as you step into his space, a quizzical and almost flirtatious look crossing his features. “Something I can do for you?” His voice is like satin, caressing your eardrums in the most spine tingling way. If he weren’t the enemy, and someone who is more than likely involved in the disappearance of König and Ghost, he’d be a nice catch.

     Your mind whirls with visions of ripping his throat out with your teeth before beating him into a mass of blood and bones. You want to tell him off right there, scream at him to give back the two men you hold so precious. You don’t though, knowing it would only cause a scene and give away who you are if he hadn’t put that together already. “You’re eyes,” You manage to force the words out slowly with a small flirtatious smile. “They’re gorgeous.” The words taste like battery acid on your tongue and guilt begins to form in your chest. If you’re lucky you might be able to smooth-talk this guy into leaving with you so you can get some answers out of him.

     It really was that easy. You sweet talked your way past the sour taste in your mouth and managed to get into his head. Ezekiel was all-too-desperate to be taking someone home and you were all-too-happy to follow him out to his car. 

     Wasting no time once the two of you were secluded in his car, you give him a sweet smile. “I would apologize for what comes next, but I have no empathy for scum like you.” You watch his brows furrow as he glares over at you just before your fist makes contact with his temple. He slouches forward against the steering wheel with a soft thump. The only thing left to do now was figure out how to tell your three companions about the reckless move you’d just pulled.

     “So tell me, where are my men?” Your voice comes out low, your harsh tone accompanied by a dangerous glare. You stare him down as you slowly circle around him, a predator studying their prey.

     Ezekiel lets out a low chuckle, something he’d done multiple times since you started questioning him three hours ago. It was different this time, a hint of nervousness seeping into what was meant to be a sound of mocking. “I’m not tellin’ you shit.” His voice is gruff and strained from the number of blows he’d taken to the abdomen. 

     It was an answer, not the one you were looking for, but he’d indirectly confirmed that he knows something about Ghost and König. Whether he was directly involved or not, you now know he has some sort of information that could be useful. A relieved feeling settles low in your belly, knowing now that you’re not wasting precious time with this unconventional interrogation.

     You grin widely at him as you lean down and look him directly in the eyes, certain you look completely insane at this point. “So you do know something about it.” Excitement and intrigue lace your words as you grip his face hard in your left hand. You watch closely as his expression shifts, his brows furrowing as he realizes he slipped up. “Let’s try this again, hmm?” You straighten yourself to stand at full height as you pull out the switchblade König had given you a few weeks ago. “Perhaps I can persuade you to tell me the truth.” Your eyes linger on the knife in your grasp as you flip it open, admiring the way the blade shines in the dim fluorescent light of the musty basement.

      You feel absolutely crazed, finding enjoyment in tormenting this man more than you should. You wanted answers, wanted to find your men and this insect, this pest was keeping you from that. You’re breaking, becoming unstable from the emotional distress of the whole situation. Your mind is slipping, the want to find them giving way to dark thoughts. Thoughts of all the ways you’d enjoy tearing the information from this man’s lips. All the rage you’ve held in over the years is creeping up under your skin, flowing straight to your fingertips as you play with the knife, like lightning to a rod.

     Ezekiel’s eyes stare intently at the blade as he appears to consider his options. "So what, either I tell you what I know or you'll kill me?" He asks incredulously, eyes still focused on the sharp blade. "Isn't that against your code of conduct or something?" He's desperately trying to remain calm but the smallest hint of panic has worked its way into his voice, and that sends a thrilled shiver down your spine. “You’ll go to prison for this.”

     A small laugh burst from between your lips. "Oh, darling Ezekiel," You coo at him as you place the tip of the blade against the underside of his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes once more. "Do you see a uniform? A badge? Any symbol that would represent a professional bound by some such code?" Your grin widens, a maniacal glint flashing in your eyes as you watch his panic become visible. "No," You shake your head a little while pressing the knife more firmly into his chin. "Not here, not now. You see, right now I am someone looking for something important to me. And you," You pull the knife from his chin and point it directly at his face, enjoying the way his eyes widen as it nearly touches his nose. "You are simply an obstacle standing in my way. Believe me when I say I will dismantle you piece by piece until you give me the information I'm asking for."

     Ezekiel's eyes flit rapidly between the blade and your face, a look of contemplation gracing his features. "You won't do it." His voice is shaky and quiet, filled with uncertainty. Whether he’s uncertain of his own words or your willingness to follow through, you’re not sure.

     Your head cocks to one side as you move the blade to his cheek, swiping the sharp edge swiftly across the flesh. "Are you willing to bet your life on that?" You ask in a low, menacing tone as you force your eyes away from the streak of red on his cheek, looking to his eyes instead. You find your answer there, in his mismatched orbs. A look of pure horror echoed by the way he flinches away from your gaze. "Good. Now then," You slowly pull the knife away from his blood streaked face, wiping it clean against the leg of your pants. "You have three choices here. I can start with your fingers, I can start with your toes, or you can give me the information I'm asking for."

(Don’t forget to ask about joining the tag-list: @josieguts @strangepuppynightmare @theredviolets @poohkie90 @giulia2372 @fillechatoyante @buckysjuicyplums @running-writing @darkravenqueen98 @bigman101 @birdiiiiiiiiiii)

[fantastic-nonsense]

If Inej were the “main lead”, why does Leigh’s acknowledgement at the end of SoC specially call out Kaz as the protagonist + say they (Leigh and kaz) limped along the road together. Why does the back descriptions of both CK and SoC only mention kaz by name. Why does Kaz’s name appear 1112 times in CK and 1139 in SoC via inej’s 660 in CK and 622 in SoC. She gets more pov chapters but a lot of are also focused on kaz (kaz breaker didn’t need a reason is literally her first line) and kaz’s pov is often hidden for reveals too. The stories revolve around him so much more than inej as he’s the leader, assembles the team, has 4+ narrative foils, etc. Leigh even said she came up with SoC because she envisioned a character named “dirty hands”. idk why you’d think it’s disrespectful that people recognize kaz is given far more weight than the other 5 crows in SoC duology. Also audience surrogate isn’t the same as main character.

So. This was an unnecessarily aggressive ask. You could have just ignored my fairly lighthearted post and moved on with your life. But to answer your questions and elaborate on why I think Inej is pretty clearly the 'main lead' of the SoC ensemble cast:

Kaz is called out as a protagonist because he is one. The duology has six co-protagonists; all of the Crows share that status. That's why the book is called Six of Crows, because it's an ensemble cast. And Leigh called him out because she self-admittedly poured a lot of herself into Kaz, particularly his perspective on and handling of his physical disability.

The back descriptions call out Kaz because he's the "leader" of the Crows and it's a heist plot; the marketing team is trying to sell the books by appealing to existing fans of heist plots like Ocean's 11 and Lies of Locke Lamora. However, the book's marketing has no actual impact, necessarily, on how much weight is given to any one particular perspective or story throughout the actual narrative relative to the other Crows. That's not a Leigh Bardugo decision; that's a MacMillan Marketing Team decision.

Likewise, how often a character's name is mentioned does not necessarily reflect their presence or narrative impact in a story. For example, Inej's name is only sparingly mentioned in the first nine chapters of Crooked Kingdom despite Inej getting two POVs and that entire subplot completely revolving around her, largely because Kaz is lashing out at the rest of them whenever she's mentioned. Inej is also referred to as "Wraith" on multiple occasions instead of her name, while Kaz is rarely only referred to as Dirtyhands in place of his name; usually the story will refer to him as both in the same sentence, upping the name mention numbers. Inej has less name mentions largely because she talks less, not because she's treated as a "less important" character. The two Pekka chapters at the end of each book also up Kaz's name mentions and several characters full name Kaz a lot; it's an interesting quirk of the story.

Also, if "how many times a character's name is said" indicates character importance, Nina would be seen as the secondary principal Crow in SOC and Jesper in CK, as their name mentions come secondary to Kaz in both books. Unfortunately for both Nina and Jesper, I don't think anyone would particularly argue for either one. Name mention numbers don't mean anything on their own because again, largely they indicate which characters talk the most and not which characters are given the most narrative importance.

Inej also has 5 narrative foils (Kaz, Nina, Matthias, Adem Bajan, and Dunyasha) and 3 major antagonists (Heleen, Dunyasha, and Van Eck) throughout the duology, the same number as Kaz, so I'm not sure why that's supposed to be particularly compelling evidence that Kaz is the "main" character. If anything, that's indicative of Kaz and Inej getting equal narrative status.

Inej gets the most POV chapters AND the most page time in both books:

Inej is our POV character for 22.6% of the duology. Kaz is second with 18.2%. And even though Kaz is the first Crow to be mentioned (first page of Ch. 2), Inej is the first Crow to actually appear (also the first page of Ch. 2). She gets both the first and last 'main' POV chapter (Ch. 2 of SOC and Ch. 44 of CK) and is also the last Crow to physically appear (in Pekka's epilogue chapter).

Sure. Kaz is the leader and the orchestrator of the heist and auction plots. But the narrative puts much more emphasis on Inej's thoughts, actions, wants, and desires than it does Kaz's. She gets more and longer chapters. We spend much more time in her head, examining her understanding of the world around her and her relationships to the other major characters. And if it comes down to a choice of choosing Kaz or Inej as the duology's "main" lead? Inej is the primary instigator of quite a lot of Kaz's character development but Kaz is not the primary instigator of Inej's; while Kaz is a significant factor in her journey, her development is much more linked to her own trauma, her desire to reunite with her family, and her desire to end the slave trade. His story revolves a lot more around her than hers does around him.

She is also the one to narrate the first main chapter (SOC Ch. 2) and the last main chapter (CK Ch. 44): the books open and close with her story. The parley exchange is a flash-bang introduction to each one of the core Dregs trio with an emphasis on Kaz, but it's still Inej's story that we get first:

She’d joined up with the Dregs less than two years ago, just days after her fifteenth birthday. It had been a matter of survival, but it gratified her to know that, in such a short time, she’d become someone to take precautions against. Though, if the Black Tips thought tricks like this would keep the Wraith from her goal, they were sadly mistaken. ..................... The thought rattled noisily around in Inej’s head. If Kaz was gone, would I stay? Or would I skip out on my debt? Take my chances with Per Haskell’s enforcers? If she didn't move faster, she might well find out.

We see Kaz through her eyes because that chapter revolves around introducing what Kaz is to her: someone she cares about, someone she stays in Ketterdam for, someone who infuriates her, someone who saved her.

And the final main chapter of Crooked Kingdom, likewise, ends with Inej and her story. Her boat, her mission, her boy, her future, and her parents:

Had she really thought the world didn’t change? She was a fool. The world was made of miracles, unexpected earthquakes, storms that came from nowhere and might reshape a continent. The boy beside her. The future before her. Anything was possible.

Ultimately I think you misunderstood what I was trying to say. The point I was trying to make is that while the heist (and thus everyone's primary motivation for going on the job in the first place) revolves around Kaz, the story often revolves around Inej: her thoughts and reactions to what happens, everyone else's relationship to her, her decisions regarding her backstory and trauma (it's her decision to face Heleen and her past in the Menagerie that saves the Ice Court job, for example), and her determination to get her share of the money and leave Ketterdam.

Leigh bookending both each individual book and the duology as a whole with Inej contributes to this. SOC starts with Inej thinking about Kaz and ends with Kaz thinking about Inej. CK starts with the Crows planning to rescue a kidnapped Inej (and getting info from Smeet that will help them do that) and ends with Inej making plans to rescue other kidnapped people (and getting a boat from Kaz that will help her do that). SOC and CK are both narratively bookended by the question/answer "Where is Inej and what is she doing/what's happening to her?" while the duology as a whole is bookended by "Who is Inej and what does she want?"

So no, actually. Kaz isn't given more narrative weight than all of the other Crows. A lot of the duology's technical plot revolves around Kaz and his plans, but Inej is the story's central character and emotional heart...as the books themselves note ("If Kaz was their leader, then Inej had been their lodestone, pulling them together when they seemed most likely to drift apart"). And it really is high time the fandom recognized that.

[publius-library]

Can you tell me everything you know about Martha Jefferson?

I would love to. In my opinion, Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson is one of the most tragic figures of the 18th century, and her life shows the many challenges a woman would face in this time period, due to the incredible expectations put on them. I'd like to open by saying that the importance of discussing women in history not only gives us a more full perspective on any and every historical event, but it also gives light to less commonly discussed historical figures that were equally important that we don't know as much about. Martha Jefferson is undoubtably one of those people.

Martha Wayles was born on October 30, 1748 to her wealthy father. Her father was an English immigrant who moved to America and accumulated a decent fortune through slave trading, planting, and his law practice.

Content warning: mention of sexual assault within slavery, skip next paragraph if this may be distressing

Her father is a very interesting figure. In his law practice, he specialized in debt collections, which made him very unpopular among the locals. Additionally, he raped an enslaved woman on his property several times, Elizabeth Hemmings, after the death of his third wife. She would have several children by him, including Sally Hemmings, who would later be raped and have several children by Thomas Jefferson. It is disgusting, but crucial to mention that because of the slave system in America, and the violation of African American women, Martha Jefferson was the half sister of Sally Hemmings.

Martha married Bathurst Skelton when she was 18. They would have one child, John, who died in infancy. Her first husband died six months before Jefferson married Martha, and her first child with Jefferson, Martha aka Patsy, would come nine months after Martha's first child. Her almost constant pregnancy and troubles in maternity would eventually lead to her death.

She married the very eligible bachelor Thomas Jefferson on New Years Day, 1772 at her plantation home, "The Forest". There was a five year age gap between them, as she was 22 going on 23, and he was 28. Jefferson would actually scarcely mention her first husband, and would even report false information that he did not exist, that Martha was a spinster when he married her. The motivations for this are not confirmed.

The young couple arrived at Jefferson's home, Monticello, during a snowstorm, where all the servants were asleep and the house was cold. They toasted their marriage with a leftover bottle of wine, and entered into a period of domestic happiness.

Martha and Thomas had complimentary personalities, balancing out each other's characteristics. They shared an interest in music, as Jefferson played the violin or the cello, and Martha played the piano or the harpsicord. She was said to be very talented.

While there is no known portraits of her, she was described as very beautiful and accomplished. She was slim with hazel eyes and auburn hair. She was the subject of frequent praise from all that knew her.

The Jeffersons had five children in ten years, but only two would survive to adulthood, Martha (Patsy) and Mary (Polly or Mary). Martha was under such strain from her frequent pregnancies that she fell very ill in 1781. The British had invaded Richmond, which forced her away from her husband back to Monticello, but Jefferson often left his political career to stay with her during her sickness. The British would raid Monticello, forcing her to travel in her poor condition yet again.

Her condition continued to worsen, until she died on September 6, 1782, at 11:45 AM at the age of 33. Jefferson would never record his relationship with her, so her life remains mostly a mystery among historians.

Martha Jefferson was far more than the deceased wife of the third president. During her life, she was the mother of several children, who frequently had to grieve their deaths. She was the mistress of a fashionable household, and the wife of an energetic, young politician who was making strides in the cause of liberty and American independence. Her life was riddled with tragedy and mourning, but she was a lively, creative woman who had an untimely death at a cruel age.