#someday i’ll make the full cast trust

[cryptydz]

sigma sigma bookmark sigma bookmark sigma bookmark

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 17

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16

Eddie’s back to school on Tuesday, black eye turning a mottled sort of green, lip scabbed over. From where he’s hemmed in by Robin and Chrissy, Steve watches Eddie catch a glimpse of him and bolt the other way.

Jeff sighs, lets go of his hold on Chrissy’s arm, and says, “sorry, Steve. I’m just gonna—” and then he points toward Eddie and follows after him without another word.

Steve’s gut clenches with guilt. He’d put that look on Eddie’s face, had caused the rift in his and Jeff’s friendship, had split the forming group up with his ridiculous crush. But Chrissy and Robin are still here, standing by his side.

“Are he and Jeff okay?” Steve asks, biting his lip as he glances at Chrissy.

“I think so,” she says, looking after her boyfriend. “They talked on the phone, but Jeff didn’t tell me what about.”

“Forget about them,” Robin replies, reaching out to take his hand even as it makes everyone around them stare. “Come on, Stevie, or we’ll be late to Ms. Clickity Clack’s class.”

Steve passes the rest of the day in a daze, the spot at his side a revolving cast of Chrissy, Robin, and Jeff, like they’d all talked behind his back and decided he couldn’t be trusted with being alone right now. Steve can’t blame them because as soon as he’s left unattended in his big empty house, he gets out his notebook and pen, and begins to write.

   Eddie —

   I’m sorry I never got to read your last letter, but it wasn’t for me anyways. Maybe none of them were, not really. And I’m sorry about that, even sorrier about how your pretty face got caught in the ceasefire. I’m just full of sorries I’m to scared to tell to your face—from the way you ran when you saw me in the hallway this morning, maybe you wouldn’t want me to anyway.

   You’ve always been the brave one, so you must really want to not see me, huh? I hope you and Jeff are friends again. I’m sorry about that too, I’m the one who asked him not to tell you. I was afraid, but that’s no excuse.

   I don’t know how to stop wanting to right write to you. I can’t turn off the part of me that still wants to know everything about you. There’s a whole in my heart, and I keep trying to find people to fill it, but I can never be in love with someone who loves me back. You know?

   I’m sorry, Eddie. Maybe someday, I’ll get to say it to your face.

   Sorry,

   Steve

He closes the notebook on the damning words and shoves it into his nightstand so he doesn’t have to look at it. Sleep doesn’t come—the house is too quiet. He grabs the phone off his dresser and calls the only other person he knows whose parents trust them enough to have a phone in their bedroom.

“H’lo?” Robin mutters sleepily after finally picking up the phone six rings later.

She sounds tired—Steve’s sorry he woke her. “I wrote another letter,” he says.

That seems to perk her up instantly, as she hisses down the line, “Steven James Harrington.”

“Not my name, Robin Steven Bobbington,” he replies, talking right over her shrieked “well, that’s not mine!” to continue, “I’m not going to send it.”

“You better not,” she replies, and Steve can hear some rustling on her end, like she’s settling back down into her bed. He wishes, suddenly, that he was in there with her, clutching her hand as they fall asleep side by side. Instead, he lays down on his own bed and concentrates on the noises coming down the line.

“Is it stupid that I miss him?” he asks.

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Robin!”

She laughs, a quiet sleepy chuckle that warms him straight through. “I’m just saying! He’s been treating you like shit, Stevie.”

Steve sighs, burrowing down under his comforter and taking the phone with him. “He was different in the letters,” he whispers, like someone in his empty house might hear him otherwise. “Sweeter, you know?”

Robin sighs, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

There’s enough sorries to go around for all of them, apparently. They’re quiet for a while, Robin’s breathing keeping him company in his big, lonely bed with his big, lonely thoughts.

“I love you, Robbie,” he whispers. “You know that, right?”

He’s been saying it a lot lately, throwing the words around like they’ll connect this time and get him something real. And they had, with Chrissy, with Robin, hell, even with Jeff. Just, not with Eddie. Maybe someday, he’ll learn to be okay with that.

“Love you, too, Dingus,” Robin replies, like it’s easy.

He falls asleep that night to the sound of Robin’s quiet snoring.

***

Eddie thinks about it—obsessively, compulsively. He dreams about it, jerks off about it, fucking cries about it. He reads the letters, again, and again, and again, wishing desperately that he still had that first one. At school, he checks his locker obsessively, compulsively, hoping there’s another note in his locker—there never is.

“Dude, what’s your problem?” Gareth asks, an elbow into Eddie’s side.

“Ow, ribs!” Eddie cries, curling away from him and into Doug at their usual lunch table.

“Sorry!” Gareth replies, leaning away from him and raising his hands up like that’ll somehow prove he’s harmless.

Jeff snorts around his sandwich, “gotta be careful, Gare-bear. He’s precious cargo now.”

“Oh fuck off,” Eddie replies, rolling his eyes as the rest of Hellfire laugh around him.

“No, but seriously, dude,” Gareth asks, this time without the thrown elbow. “What’s up with you?”

Eddie looks across the cafeteria at Steve and Chrissy’s usual spots, still empty the way they have been for weeks. He worries, sometimes, that they’re not eating, and it’s his fault.

Hopefully, they’re just packing lunches from home and eating somewhere else (he’s been too afraid to check).

“Can’t tell you buddy,” Eddie replies, still looking at the empty spot like that’ll somehow make the duo appear. “I promised.”

Gareth, clearly having followed his line of sight, leans closer and asks in an unsubtle whisper, “but it’s about you know what?”

Doug sits on, oblivious, but Jeff snorts again and asks, “okay, you didn’t tell me jack shit, but you told the freshman?”

“Sophomore, jackass!” Gareth cries, before seeming to realize the implications of Jeff’s sentence. “You told Jeff?”

“I knew before you did,” Jeff says smugly, and Eddie’s starting to get pissed off about that again.

“How!”

“Jeff, dearest?” Eddie grits out. “Do you want me to punch you in the face?”

That shuts the table up catastrophically. But in the end, Jeff sighs and says, “I’m coming over after school,” and the rest of lunch is spent fielding Gareth’s indignant questions.

True to his word, Jeff climbs into Eddie’s passenger seat at the end of the day. Eddie doesn’t take them to the trailer, he just drives around, taking back roads round and round, restlessness making his fingers twitch in the gear shift.

Jeff’s the one who breaks the silence, in the end. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, making Eddie flinch at the sudden noise. “Steve just seemed so scared, and Chrissy was crying so—”

“He was scared?” Eddie interrupts, stuck on the thought. He’d known that, before, but now that Eddie’s afraid, too, it hits like a punch to the chest.

“Of course he was,” Eddie replies to his own question. Suddenly unable to focus, Eddie pulls over to the side of the road. “I’m scared, too.”

Jeff sucks in a breath; Eddie doesn’t look away from his own knees.

“Yeah?”

Eddie bites his lip, knowing that Jeff will be able to read between the lines. “Yeah.” His eyes are watering, and Eddie swipes at them, embarrassed. “And I know we’re supposed to be talking about us, but I just—”

“No, hey,” Jeff replies. Eddie hears the sound of his seatbelt unbuckling, and the rustle of him shifting in his seat, and suddenly, Jeff’s hand is clasping Eddie’s shoulder, shaking him around just a little. “You’re my best friend—we’re fine, dude.”

Eddie swipes at his eyes again, “I think I want to ask him out, but what if I’m wrong?” Eddie asks, tracking Jeff’s expression out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t want to hurt him again.”

“So, what?” Jeff asks, voice deadpan. “You find out he likes you and suddenly he’s not just a jock anymore?”

Eddie looks down at his own knees, bracing for a hit he knows will never come. But, Eddie’s always been good at hurting himself, so he thinks about that yellow nail polish again, the enraptured look in Steve’s eyes during every D&D session, the way he’d glued himself to Robin Buckley, band nerd supreme’s side in recent weeks. The way he’d look at Eddie like he wasn’t the king of the freaks, like he was worth something.

“He was never just a jock,” Eddie murmurs. “I just never let myself think about it.”

Jeff mmmhmms him and Eddie knows him well enough to hear the doubt beneath the agreement.

“I was afraid, okay?” Eddie laments, scrunching his eyes closed tight until that makes his bruised eye ache too much. “You wouldn’t get it.”

At that, Jeff scoffs, and before Eddie can start up another tirade, he replies, “right, the black guy dating a white girl in Po-dunk, Indiana has no idea how scary it can be to make a move on the person you like.”

Okay, fair.

“You know what could happen if the wrong person finds out?” Jeff continues. “I’ll be lucky if they let me get out of town alive.”

“Okay, okay! I get it, sorry!” Eddie cries, throwing his hands up in defeat. And Jeff, being the asshole he is, just laughs at his discomfort. “How’s that going anyway?”

“With Chrissy?” Jeff asks, continuing when Eddie nods. “She’s great, man. I really, really like her.”

He’s smiling all goofy and in love. Eddie waits for the jealousy to hit; it never comes. Even as he’d flirted with her, there’d always been a disconnect for him between the letters and the girl. He knows why, now.

“I’m happy for you.”

Jeff aims that same goofy smile at him and punches his shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

Eddie wants to feel that way about someone. He wants to think of them and smile like he just can’t help himself. And with Steve Harrington of all people, maybe he can.

“If I ask Steve out, do you think he’ll still say yes?”

“Oh, for sure,” Jeff replies without hesitation before he turns to Eddie and eyes him up and down. “But are you sure you want to?”

Eddie bites back the defensive retort rising on his tongue, and grits out, “what do you mean?”

Jeff sighs and leans back in his chair. Eddie waits, three seconds from snapping as he stews in Jeff’s silence, hands clenched so hard against the steering wheel that it feels like one of his nails might pop clean off. 

“Jeff–”

“No one’s ever liked you before!” Jeff cries, and it hits Eddie like a punch to the sternum. “And maybe it’s not fair of me to ask but, are you sure you even really like him?”

“What?” Eddie asks, his mind a record skipping against a bent needle. “What do you–”

“Eddie, man,” Jeff sighs, swiveling his head to finally look Eddie directly in the eyes. “Do you like Steve Harrington, or do you just like that he likes you?”

He drops the wheel, hands almost numb as he shakes them out, no longer able to meet Jeff’s eye. 

How would anyone ever know that for sure? How can he know the origin of a feeling when it’s been there, simmering in the background of his brain, just waiting for him to wake up? How can he separate the feeling for a person and the person’s feeling for them?

That’s like asking him to unbraid his hair, let it fall back together, and still be able to tell which strands made up each component of the braid–it can’t be done.

But, “Gareth said I was obsessed with him,” Eddie replies, barely above a whisper. “Like, before I knew he wrote the letters?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie laughs, but it’s just like Steve said–it sounds different when he doesn’t think it’s funny. “And, he was right, you know? I was flirting with Chrissy, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him.”

Eddie runs a shaking hand through his hair and buries his face into his hands with a shudder. “He’s just–he’s Steve Harrington, right? Everyone knows everything about him, but then he just changes the script!” Eddie’s smiling now, manic, animated. “And I wanted to know everything.”

Eddie drops his hands to look over at Jeff, meeting his eyes once more. Jeff looks patient, ready, hopeful in a way he hadn’t before, so Eddie keeps talking.

“Like, Chrissy was flirting with you and he didn’t even seem to care, and the yellow nail polish, and he came to Hellfire, Jeff. Steve Harrington came and watched us play Dungeons and Dragons.”

“I know,” Jeff replies, grinning now, pearly whites all on full display. 

“And when he came to band practice, he was just like, watching me, and I sort of wanted to die, but in a good way, you know?”

Jeff decidedly does not look like he knows, but he’s still grinning across at Eddie like he’s proud of him. Eddie’s kind of proud, too, that he’s managing to say all of this aloud. It feels somehow new and a long time coming at the same time. 

“Okay, you can ask him out,” Jeff says, turning forward in his seat and buckling his seatbelt once more. 

Eddie laughs. “Oh, because I needed your blessing?”

“Yeah,” Jeff replies, grinning as he turns back to Eddie, looking him up and down like he’s a slab of meat Jeff’s checking for its quality. “Maybe wait until you’re healed up, though. You look like one of those cardboard box kittens that I keep seeing on the news.”

“Shut up!” Eddie squawks, but he’s smiling, helplessly, hopefully.

Eddie Munson with a chance at love, who would’ve thought?

PART 18

[magical-reid]

I HEARD YOU WANT REQUEST WELL LUCKY YOU I HAVE WAY TOO MANY IDEAS👁️👄👁️

So heres the idea

The reader invites Sebastian over to the room of requirements for the first time ever and needs help with taking care of her hippogriff offspring (you can name the hippogriff whatever you want i named him shiro). While taking care of the hippogriffs Sebastian jokingly inquires about when he'll finally be able to have a family like highwing's and have his own child to care for and indirectly suggests his feelings for the reader while saying so.

I HOPE IM NOT PRESSURING AND THANK YOU SO MUCH MWAH LOVE YOUR WORK 💕💕

Someday, Maybe

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Word Count: 900

Summary: In the enchanting glow of the Room of Requirement, you and Sebastian share a quiet moment of connection while tending to your mischievous hippogriff, Shiro. As playful banter gives way to deeper reflections on trust, family, and what the future might hold, an unspoken bond begins to form between you both—one that might just extend beyond the confines of the magical sanctuary.

The Room of Requirement was alive tonight.

The soft glow of enchanted lanterns reflected off the warm, earthy walls, casting dancing shadows on shelves overflowing with herbs, potions, and magical creature manuals. Amidst it all, Shiro, your mischievous hippogriff offspring, was at the center of the chaos.

“Alright, alright, calm down,” you cooed, gently holding out your hand for Shiro to nuzzle. His sleek, silvery feathers gleamed under the light, and his large, golden eyes blinked up at you. “I’m sorry your dinner took so long, but I didn’t exactly plan on you overturning the whole crate of mooncalf feed.”

Behind you, a familiar voice chuckled. “You mean to tell me he’s like this every day?” Sebastian Sallow stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed and his dark eyes glinting with amusement. He looked out of place in such a whimsical setting, but also entirely too comfortable leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s not his fault,” you defended, though you couldn’t help smiling as you wiped grain off your robes. “He’s just a baby. Babies make messes.”

Sebastian stepped closer, his gaze softening as he took in the scene. “Well, I’ll give you credit. I expected… I don’t know, maybe a cozy tea nook or a study corner in your Room of Requirement. Not a full-on sanctuary for a hippogriff chick.”

You laughed lightly. “What can I say? Shiro has specific needs.” Turning your attention back to the young hippogriff, you knelt beside him, carefully grooming his feathers with a charm. “But I could use a second pair of hands if you’re up for it. He’s restless when I clean his wings.”

Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He crouched beside you, his fingers brushing yours as he reached out tentatively toward Shiro. “Restless, huh? Sounds familiar. Kind of like you in our Defense Against the Dark Arts duels.”

You rolled your eyes, though warmth crept to your cheeks at the teasing lilt in his voice. “Keep talking and I’ll have Shiro pounce on you.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t charm him into loving me.” He grinned as Shiro tilted his head at him, inspecting him with cautious curiosity. Slowly, Shiro stared at Sebastian’s outstretched hand for a moment, his golden eyes narrowing as though weighing the boy’s worth. After a tense pause, Shiro finally leaned in, nudging his beak into Sebastian’s palm with a soft chirp.

Sebastian smirked, his confidence growing. “See? He knows a good soul when he meets one.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Good soul? Debatable.”

As you continued grooming Shiro, Sebastian helped by gently smoothing the feathers near his wings. The hippogriff shifted slightly, already more comfortable with the two of you working together.

“You’re a natural,” you admitted, sneaking a glance at Sebastian.

He shrugged. “It’s hard not to be when the company is this charming. And I’m talking about Shiro, of course.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress the faint smile tugging at your lips. There was something disarming about Sebastian when he wasn’t caught up in his usual whirlwind of schemes and determination. Here, in the soft glow of the Room of Requirement, he seemed at ease—genuine, even.

As the minutes passed, the conversation shifted to lighter topics: classes, Hogsmeade trips, and the ever-growing list of Sebastian’s detentions. But then, as Shiro began to settle down, Sebastian’s tone shifted slightly, his words casual yet tinged with something deeper.

“Highwing must be proud,” he mused, his voice softer now. “Raising a little one like this, watching him grow. Must feel nice, having someone to care for. Someone to protect.”

You nodded, your hand pausing mid-stroke along Shiro’s wing. “It’s… rewarding. Hard work, but rewarding. He relies on me, you know? There’s a trust there.”

Sebastian leaned back on his hands, his dark eyes studying you intently. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I get that. Makes me think about what it’d be like to… I don’t know, have that kind of bond with someone someday.”

The way he said it made your heart skip. You glanced over, catching the faintest flicker of vulnerability in his expression before he smirked to cover it.

“Though, knowing my luck, my kid would probably inherit all my bad traits.”

“Probably,” you teased, your voice light despite the fluttering in your chest.

Sebastian laughed, but then his gaze softened again, and his words came slower, more deliberate. “Still, it’d be nice… to have a family. A real one. To build something with someone. You ever think about that?”

Your throat tightened, caught off-guard by the sudden turn in conversation. The way he said it—it wasn’t just hypothetical. There was something unspoken in his question, a careful tiptoe toward something deeper.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to answer. “I suppose… someday. When the time is right.”

Sebastian nodded, his eyes lingering on you. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Someday.”

The air between you grew heavier, the hum of magic in the Room of Requirement fading into the background. Shiro let out a soft coo, breaking the moment as he nudged against your shoulder, clearly seeking attention.

You laughed, breaking the tension. “Looks like someone’s jealous.”

Sebastian smirked, leaning forward to scratch beneath Shiro’s beak. “Jealous? Me? Never.”

But as he looked at you, his eyes betraying something far more genuine than his usual bravado, you couldn’t help but wonder if his words carried more meaning than he let on.

Perhaps someday wasn’t so far away after all.

[philosophicalparadox]

I have no idea how exactly to make my HC into fic canon, so imma plop it here so the brain worms stop eating me:

Taking into consideration that the Infinite Tsukiyomi is a dream world, and Itachi’s Tsukiyomi is called the Nightmare World, I think it is reasonable to assume that they both work basically the same way, I.e. reflecting the subconscious of whomever they’re cast upon.

(This is reinforced for me I suppose by the old fandom theories about how Itachi’s Tsukiyomi worked, and I’ll own that bias lol.)

Anyway, something that came up way back then was an idea I liked, which is that Itachi’s Tsukiyomi works by blending the user’s influence (because Itachi can, sort of, manipulate the content consciously) and the victims deepest (subconscious or unconscious) fears or desires.

How much of each takes precedence I think is something Itachi can control — unless their fear/desire is so overwhelming that he can’t actually impress anything upon it, or if they lack the notion of either entirely.

Anyway, point is, this makes his scene with Kakashi in pt 1 very interesting. 🧐

As we know Itachi crucified him and stabbed him relentlessly in deliberately non-lethal spots for 3 full days.

Except…I’m not actually convinced, from a watsonian perspective, that Itachi was the one making up this hellscape, not on his own.

The following is entirely speculative, so to each their own opinion, but it suits my little fic-bearing heart just fine to presume that:

1. Itachi was trying to go easy on him. His objective was to capture Kakashi alive (…to what end we can only guess; I’ll write an alternate fic for that scenario someday :0) and he clearly holds Kakashi in high esteem, not even mentioning the whole former colleague thing. It’s very possible that Itachi’s actual objective, had he managed to successfully capture Kakashi, was to share intel rather than collect it, and to that end he needed to ensure that he disarmed his senpai without killing OR severely traumatizing him, because he did need Kakashi to have some hope of trusting him if that plan was to succeed.

2. However, Itachi was still figuring out the details of how his power worked; he knew it’d make him go blind eventually, so he tried to minimise how often he used it, at the expense of taking forever and a day to work out the kinks. One of which is the likelihood that, particularly in the absence of other conscious influences from him, the other persons fears/desires would manifest more vividly.

Thus we get a crucified Kakashi…because of how his father died.

Now, from a doylist perspective, obviously, the entire thing is just about the aesthetic aspect of Scarecrow vs Crow.

But the watsonian believer in me says that being crucified literally like that is a reflection of a deep, somewhat neglected fear by Kakashi of becoming just like his dad. After all, he spent so much of his young life trying so hard to be the opposite of him, all rules and no play, until Obito convinced him otherwise.

But trauma like that doesn’t just vanish. Kakashi might be very mature about it, or we can presume so, but the fear never fully left him — he’s just more aware of it and capable of acknowledging it without letting it totally consume him like he did when he was tiny.

Which contributes probably to the utter lack of long term consequences for that Tsukiyomi nightmare; first, physical torture is the easiest to psychologically resist, and second, he was at least subconsciously already aware of that fear, so while seeing it manifested certainly had an effect, it wasn’t enough to really re-traumatize him or anything.

What’s more interesting to me, in the name of catharsis, is how Itachi interpreted all that.

Sadly we don’t get to see that, but I reckon it did answer a few questions he might’ve had and probably gave him a greater sense of grace or respect towards Kakashi; or at least that’s what we are working with for A Fawn in the Grass purposes lol.

Ah the fic bunnies will surely nuzzle me to death about this concept until I actually write something down, but I am determined to finish one fic at a time right now. Otherwise I just spam 6 at a time and none of them ever get done lol.

But I will come back to it some day. Because so much could have changed if Itachi had actually captured Kakashi on that day.

I leave you with that while I go contemplate alternate timelines 🤣

[dujour13]

Caught in a blizzard or cookies for Siavash?

Thank you so much for the ask 🥰 Sorry it took so long. January, you know what I mean.

---

“What have you learned from your people watching?”

“People like cats.”

“Also cookies. Here.”

She took the cookie in both hands like a sacred host. “Thank you.”

He watched her eat it delicately with her sharp, white teeth. “What do you think?”

“I’ve eaten many fine feasts, but this—this makes my heart want to jump like your pet jerboa.” She wiped crumbs from her ruby lips and smiled.

Arueshalae had practically twisted herself in knots with embarrassment when she came up to the Citadel to ask Siavash if he had time to talk. They met at the Half Measure, and found themselves a secluded corner while Aivu “helped” Fye at the bar. It was early evening, before the rush. Still, a couple of crusaders spotted them and came over to salute the Knight-Commander, and he shook their hands warmly even as they cast uneasy glances at his companion. He thought he overheard one of them saying he ought to be wary as they went back to their table, and relished the day she would prove them wrong. He wanted to believe in her.

“People like you,” she said when they were gone. “You’re full of hope and inspiration, like an azata…” Pain flashed across her features so briefly it might have been a trick of the light. “But there’s also something sad, when you think no one’s watching.”

“You’re good at reading people.”

She flinched and looked away. “My demonic nature.”

He started to lay a hand on her arm but drew back, giving her a warm smile instead. “You know, maybe some of the talents from your demonic nature could be used for good. If a succubus senses people’s fears and desires, maybe she can see how to help them.”

“It won’t be easy to… sort the wheat from the cheese? But maybe you’re right. I should learn to use my gifts to help people.” She looked him straight in the eyes with her intense, crimson gaze. “For example, you just deflected.”

Now it was his turn to flinch. Part of him warned that this was really foolish, but another part wanted to confide in her, in all her seemingly guileless curiosity. Which was exactly what a succubus would want him to do. And even if not, even if she was being honest about wanting to change, she could lose control at any moment. Yet how could he help her if he didn’t extend his trust? “All right. Yes, I’m a little lonely sometimes.”

“You’re surrounded by friends. Why do you feel alone?”

“Maybe I think I deserve to be alone.” He fidgeted with the paper cookie wrapping on the table between them. “Not to let people get too close, because I tend to let them down. Maybe I’m not all that different from you. Well—not quite as extreme. But maybe I’m also struggling against part of my nature.”

“You’re not letting people down in the Crusade.”

“Not yet,” he smiled wistfully. “I’ve hurt people before by not keeping my promises. I want to do better.”

“I never thought I could have anything in common with someone like you. It makes me feel so much more hopeful.”

“We’re not as different as you think.”

“Maybe it’s silly and selfish, but sometimes I think Desna sent you to me. When I first saw you in a vision you looked like an azata, beautiful and glowing, and then you freed me from prison. It’s as if She sent you to free me from the prison of being a demon.”

“No, Arue, you have to free yourself. I’ll be here to listen and feed you cookies, but that’s not a door I can unlock for you.”

“You’re right, of course, but eating cookies with you does make me feel stronger. Like maybe I can want to be with you without wanting to… to destroy you. I’ve watched mortals just be happy together, with no violence in their eyes, and someday I want to feel that too. But you’ve been in love before. Tell me what it’s like.”

“Love is a wonderful feeling. It’s like the sun is shining even in the middle of winter. Your beloved’s smile is like the sun in your heart: it lights up everything, fills everything with warmth and joy. And you want desperately to give them the world, to make them happy.”

She leaned forward as she listened, her eyes wide and her lips parted in a wondering smile.

“With time it mellows, so you don’t feel as if you’re walking on clouds all the time, but love grows deep roots. You still have moments of sunshine, but it’s more like your heart has learned to drink from it and grow strong and bloom. When you’re with your beloved you feel whole. At home.”

He was aware his voice wavered as he spoke. Thinking of Kristov didn’t stab him in the heart like it used to, but the old ache was still there. He stopped to gather himself and realized only at that moment what had happened.

Arueshalae’s face had ever so gradually changed while he was speaking, her jaw growing squarer, her brow heavier, a slight hint of stubble on her chin.

“Arue!”

She gasped, instantly melting back to her feminine form. As he watched, helpless with shock, she shoved violently away from the table, leapt up and ducked out of the tavern, leaving him to shakily finish off his wine, fold the paper over the rest of the cookies, and throw his cloak on.

Part of him was aware of the danger. His heart pounded like a rabbit’s that had barely gone to ground in time. But mostly, he wondered if he’d foolishly just undone years of her hard work, so wrapped up in his own musings he hadn’t noticed until it was too late what effect it was having on her. Maybe feeding people cookies and listening to their troubles was all part of what Kristov called his “act.”

He faked a friendly smile for Fye and the crusaders as he left.

Maybe it’s right that people should run when they start getting too close, he thought wistfully as he walked up the dark streets toward the Citadel. She wasn’t the first.

Still… as the Sword of Valor came into view, bright in the dusk with its graceful tree growing even here in the heart of the Worldwound, he drew a deep breath and fished a cookie out of his pocket. There was always hope. When he found her again, he knew already what he would tell her: there’s a little bit of the Abyss in all of us. We have to learn to overpower it. But also to forgive ourselves.

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Do you think you’ll continue with the lawyer Nessian fic. It was so amazingly written I’d love to read more! I love all your writing anyways I’ll be happy with anything❤️

Ok not *technically* a Drabble request BUT I’m not ready to commit to a full lawyer AU that happens in order however I did just drum up a part 2 that we’ll say is several years before the previous lawyer AU. Nessian teasing in a bar and Rhys being a dumbass.

FYI the lawyer Drabble I’m talking about can be found HERE.

“I’m in love,” Rhys slurred. Cassian, a decent bit bigger than his brother and two drinks behind him, had a gentle buzz so he could only surmise that his brother was well passed sober.

“Congratulations,” Cassian grinned, clapping his hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “May I lay eyes upon the future Mrs. Dumbass.”

Rhys stared at him flatly. Blew a laugh out of his nose. “She’s not marrying you, brother.”

Cassian snorted, casting his eyes around the elegantly decorated little lounge they’d stepped into for the night. Lounge, not bar. Because they were mature adults now looking to take the edge off after a long day of work, not college students looking to get fucked up.

It was different.

It was different because the cocktails cost $20 and were served in actual stemware instead of red solo cups. They were evolving. Growing. Cassian was a lawyer now and Rhys was supposed to be doing actual work for his dad’s company so… no more dive bars.

Now they frequented little lounges where accountants and lawyers and bankers sat in tailored suits and discussed… adult things.

It was all very civilized.

And yet here was his brother. Every bit the horny college student they were trying not to be. Oh well, old dogs and all that.

“End of the bar.” Rhys jerked his head to the left and Cassian grinned.

“Might be a little old for you, champ.”

Rhys wrinkled his brow and turned to look at the grandmother doing a crossword puzzle on the far left side of the bar. A martini glass in front of her. Good for grandma.

“Other end of the bar!”

Cassian smirked. He didn’t need to turn his head, since he’s noticed her the second she walked in, but he still did. Just so he could look some more.

“Ah, you mean the deliciously dishevelled leggy brunette with her suit jacket on the chair beside her who just ripped the pins out of her hair like they personally offended her and then laid them in a neat little pile beside her Kobo?

“Mmm,” Rhys grinned, “I’d like her to rip those fingers through my hair.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Go for it, brother.”

Rhys grinned wider. “I think I will.” He straightened up, ran a hair through his artfully mussed hair, and pulled on the lapels of his Gucci suit jacket until they were even again.

Cassian snickered into his Old Fashioned. Rhys could straighten his jacket all he wanted. He could pretend he wasn’t drunk all he wanted. It wouldn’t matter one bit.

Not with Nesta Archeron.

Nesta Archeron who hated men that stunk of trust funds and privilege more than anything else in this world.

This would be fun to watch.

Watch her try to ignore him at first. Eyes glued to the page of her book, hand reaching up to wave through the air like Rhys was an annoying fly she could swat away.

Rhys, to his credit, was a clever little bastard. He asked the bartender for a refill of her drink and set it down in front of her then sat himself one stool down from her.

He didn’t move her jacket to sit next to her, which would have had her going feral. He just sat there, waiting.

After a few moments Nesta let out an exacerbated sigh that Cassian could hear from across the room. There was his girl.

Well, not his girl. Not even a little bit his girl, but… someday.

Cassian decided that he was going to Marry Nesta Archeron the first time she kicked his ass up and down a negotiation meeting. It was a couple years ago now. He’d been young and new at his firm. She was young and new too, but the words learning curve were not in Nesta’s vocabulary. Everything she did, she did with perfection.

Including getting rid of men she didn’t want hitting on her.

She said something to his brother that made Rhys’ half drunk, cocky, smile fall halfway down his face.

Cassian would’ve given his left eye to know what she said in that moment. She had a knack for jumping at the jugular and Rhys… oh Rhys. So obvious.

After a few moments and the continual fall of Rhys’ face, Cassian decided it was time to intervene. He knocked his drink back and straightened out his own suit jacket. Armani, still overpriced and designer but not so obvious or try hard as Mr. Up On The Trends with his Gucci. Nesta appreciated classics.

Simple. Clean lines, solid colours, classic. Which was why it was so fun just how attracted she was to his half wild self.

Unlike Rhys, Cassian plucked Nesta’s light grey suit jacket up off the stool beside her and reached over her head to hang it on a coat hook at the end of the bar. Settling himself into the chair beside her like it was exactly where he belonged. Which it was.

She turned around with an indignant shriek and a fire-breathing snarl that narrowed into just a hard glare when she realized it was him. Touching.

“This guy giving you trouble, Nes?”

Rhys choked on his whiskey and Cassian fought his hardest to keep a straight face.

“I so don’t need your saviour complex right now, Cassian.” Nesta scoffed.

“No,” Rhys rolled his eyes. “She was doing perfectly well scaring off everyone in a 10 mile radius all on her own.”

Nesta smiled sweetly, “I was just playing your game.”

Rhys sputtered again. Looked up at his brother. “This devil woman that you apparently already know,” he glared, “is all yours. I’m going home.”

“Be sure to drink plenty of water!” Nesta sing songed after him. Rhys flipped them both off on his way out.

“What’d you say to him?”

Nesta smiled. A pretty, feline little thing. “He said he wanted to chat. Suggested 20 question, which is the lamest, oldest, crustiest line in the book. So I went first. Asked just how small his dick was that he felt the need to overcompensate with the swagger and the gratuitous displays of wealth. He thought he was quite clever to use his question to ask if I wanted to check for myself how not small his dick was and then I asked if his daddy never loved him and that’s where all of that machismo masking painfully obvious and deep seeded feelings of inadequacy and insecurity came from. I was going to offer him my friend’s number before you showed up. She’s an excellent therapist.”

Cassian laughed. Hard. For a very long time. He loved Rhys, but sometimes the kid could use a nice set down. It was always sweeter when delivered by a beautiful woman. Not to mention, Cassian himself had gotten the same ice cold rejection the first time he met Nesta. When he asked if she wanted to get a coffee and she looked at him like something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. That Rhys was chased off so easily just proved he couldn’t take the heat.

“You know the walking trust fund, I presume?” Nesta boredly sipped the drink Rhys had bought her. And even that was somehow amusing.

“Only for the last couple decades or so,” Cassian grinned. “He’s like a brother to me.”

“Explains a lot.”

“Your insults are more impactful when you clarify which person is being insulted.”

“I was going for the two birds one stone method.”

“In that case, consider me wounded, sweetheart.”

Nesta scoffed, “Unfortunately not mortally.”

“Oh Nesta, if I weren’t here you’d die of boredom and you know it. No one else can run you up and down the courtroom like I can.” Now. Cassian grinned as he watched the word flash across her eyes. He’d never live that first blunder down.

Nesta rose an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume you present any challenge whatsoever.”

Cassian signalled for another drink and leaned forward. “Alright, I’ll bite. Who in this entire city can give you more of a run for your money?”

“Vanserra.” Nesta looked him dead in the eye. And managed to keep a straight face. As if that wasn’t the funniest fucking thing he’d heard all day.

“Oh yes, Nepotism and Nepotism LLP certainly has us all shaking in our boots,” Cassian blew out a breath. “What are you working on now?”

“I’m working on upholding attorney-client privilege.”

“So, the Suncurser merger.”

Nesta looked up. “How did you-”

“Helion and I are old friends. I checked the zoning on the lots he was buying before the merger went ahead to make sure the expansion was even feasible. But, as you know, M&A isn’t my thing. So I may have… given him a referral.”

“Are there any rich playboys in this city that you aren’t friends with?” Nesta finished off her drink and pointedly didn’t signal for another. “And if you think I’m going to be grateful to you for sending this my way you’ve got another thing-“

“Helion is my friend.” Cassian repeated, cutting her off. “He believes in this merger and he wants it done right. You’re the best, Nesta. Why wouldn’t I send him to you?”

“It’s not just to get in my pants?” She narrowed her eyes.

Cassian laughed again. “Oh no, sweetheart. When you invite me into your bed it will have nothing to do with work. It’ll be because you’re tired of denying how much you want me.” Cassian leaned in closer, one hand resting on the back of her chair. “Tired of denying the thrill that shoots through your whole body when we lay into each other. In the court room or out.” His nose brushed against hers, just a little, and Cassian felt Nesta tense up. He smirked, mouth just inches away from hers. “Tired of denying how right this is.”

Nesta’s voice was rough, husky. “So your plan is to wear me down?”

Cassian smirked. “My plan,” his hand came up to stroke the silk covered expanse of her upper arm, “is to marry you, Nesta Archeron. But sure, we can start with wearing you down.”

***Feyre and Nesta look physically similar so you can’t tell me drunk Rhys wouldn’t hit on Nesta in a bar before realizing he’d made a terrible mistake and running away thank you***

Also tags yourself, I’m the grandma doing the crossword puzzle with a martini. She’s an icon and she is the moment.

[mikrowrites]

cottages of constellations

c!wilbur x f!reader

warnings: angst, fluffy flashbacks, arson, character death

summary: there’s a place only known by two people, full of sweet memories and domesticity. but the world isn’t sweet anymore, and sometimes violence is the only universal language. rather, Sophie visits the cottage she and Wilbur shared before the war, and is met by an unlikely guest.

might make a part two w doomsday and revivebur, we shall see...

Y/n sighed, sitting upon her horse as the wind blew across the grassy field. Smoke still rose behind her from fires still not put out long after the destruction, the girl shaking her head to try and absolve the memory from her head.

She gripped the reins, goading the horse to move, Y/n riding across the field. She knew where she needed to go, she knew the coordinates by heart.

No one else knew about the cottage, just two people, and one of them... well, he’s dead. There’s no sugar coating that. It resided far from the server, a little place just for the two of them.

After a few hours, with the sun rising behind, Y/n rode into the woods. She kept going forwards until she reached the river, stopping the horse. She looked forwards, pursing her lips.

The cottage.

“This is the perfect place!”

Wilbur jumped off his horse, pointing to the small clearing along the river.

“You think so?” Y/n asked, walking up beside him to stare at the landscape.

“Of course.” He emphasized. “But of course perfect is wherever you are.”

Y/n scoffed. “Jesus, that was cheesy.”

Wilbur laughed, running down the landscape towards the small clearing. He turned back, smiling.

“Hey, are you coming?”

Y/n tied her horse to a lead, patting it in thanks before moving forwards, approaching the cottage.

It looked frozen in time, from when Y/n had left it to help fight for L’manburg. The flowers still looked kept, the farm out back unharvested. She smiled as she approached the cottage, taking in the blooming flowers.

“It’s a surprise, so no looking.”

“Okay, okay!” Y/n allowed Wilbur to lead her over outside the cottage.

Wilbur stopped. “Okay, you can look.”

Y/n opened her eyes, walking over to peer at several brightly colored flowers planted around the cottage’s exterior. The hues painted the landscape, causing her jaw to drop at the beauty.

“Do you like it?” Wilbur nervously asked, Y/n whipping her head around to cast him a bright smile.

“I love it, Wilbur.”

Y/n pushed the oak door open, the hinges creaking. She let out a few coughs as dust invaded her senses, stepping into the cottage. the lanterns were flickered out, pots of plants and flowers left withered and dead.

She walked past a set of bookshelves, running her fingers across the spines of the books.

Wilbur and Y/n sat together, books in each of their hands as they read and relish each other’s company. A kettle of water was being heated in the kitchen, the sun filtering through the windows.

Y/n flipped a page, not noticing as Wilbur’s eyes lifted from the pages to her face, studying every bit of her. A soft smile crossed his face as he studied her soft green eyes, the bridge of her nose, her eyebrows that were furrowed in concentration.

Suddenly her eyes flicked up, Wilbur’s face going red. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing! Nothing, no, not at all, no, uh—“Wilbur smiled sheepishly. “You’re... you’re just so ethereal right now.”

It was Y/n’s turn to blush as she tried to hide her cheeks behind the book, the boy laughing.

Y/n grasped a rung of the ladder in her hand, sighing for a moment before pulling herself up. Each step up the ladder her heart quickened, her lips trembled.

She climbed into the loft area, her breath catching in her throat.

The bed was still perfectly made from the day she left it. The sunset reflected perfectly into the room from the large glass window, casting the room into a beautiful orange hue. Y/n turned and saw the chest in the corner, the sight bringing her to her knees.

The letters.

“I’ll write you so many letters, Y/n/n!” Wilbur insisted, grasping her hands. “Every day! Until you can join me, we can send those letters.”

Y/n nodded eagerly. “I’ll miss you, Wil.”

The boy pulled her into an embrace, the girl burying her face in his shirt. He smiled, tracing circles into her back comfortingly. “A letter a day for you, until we see each other again.”

And a letter a day she received.

The letters came daily, some recalling the events of the day, some poems, some love letters. Y/n read each letter enthusiastically, hearing of Wilbur’s adventures and the people he encountered. The nation he was creating, L’manburg.

Then, after receiving a letter detailing the start of the war for L’manburg, Y/n packed her bag, took her horse, and left for the server. She fought alongside Wilbur and the others, resisting for independence.

Y/n’s hands trembled as she sifted through and read each letter, the open pieces of parchment cast about the floor in front of her. Her heart ached as she read the words of a man whom she had lost so long ago, so long before his death. The Wilbur that had wrote Y/n songs and poems declaring his love and admiration had died in that war, leaving a man she could hardly recognize.

The orange glow of the sun was fading from the room, darkening the inside of the cottage. Y/n felt tears gather in her eyes as she finished reading the last letter, two teardrops pattering on the wood floor. The letter fluttered from her hand onto the ground with the rest, the girl wiping the tears from her cheeks.

She stood, looking out the window and noting how night was fast approaching. Y/n frowned, reaching into her pocket to produce a box of matches, walking over the the bedside lantern to light it. She struck the match, the flame igniting, lighting the lantern.

Y/n went to shake out the match before freezing, her eyes fixed upon the yellow light of the small flickering flame.

The fire crackled softly as melodic guitar chords filled the night with sweet music. The river rushed by near them, as well as the sounds of the rustling leaves in the wind, creating an orchestra of soothing sounds.

Y/n smiled, closing her eyes and resting her head against Wilbur’s shoulder as he strummed the guitar. They sat on a blanket in front of the fire, one of Wilbur’s coats draped over the girl’s shoulders.

Peace. Both felt total and complete peace.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” Y/n mused, staring up at the stars.

“Maybe, someday, we will. We’ll just lay and chart constellations.” Wilbur responded confidently.

Y/n smiled, closing her eyes and letting the sounds of Wilbur’s guitar and the campfire lull her to sleep.

“I’d like that.”

The lit match felt heavy between Y/n’s fingers, the girl sitting amongst the countless letters once more. Night had fallen, the stars dotting the sky. Y/n stared out at the stars, catching sight of constellations and clouds and the moon.

She reached for a letter, parting her lips.

“You lied to me.”

Y/n stood once more and let the letter meet the match, the paper going up in flames. She dropped it, the flaming parchment falling to the floor and igniting the rest of the precious letters that could have redeemed Wilbur.

She stepped back, watching as flames set to the wood of the room, the bed, the carpet. The girl spared the room one last look before climbing down the ladder, throwing the match onto the bookshelf, and walking out of the cottage. Y/n walked backwards, watching as surely the cottage was caught in a fury of flames.

Y/n finally let herself breathe, exhaling deeply as if a weight had lifted off her chest. She watched her old home burn, finally feeling a sense of finality.

“You sure did a number on that house.”

Her eyes widened, spinning and quickly unsheathing her sword and raising it to the person behind her’s neck. Y/n’s eyes hardened, glaring at the unwanted visitor.

“What the fuck are you doing here.” She spat.

She could almost see Dream’s smile from under his mask. “Wilbur sure did love his secrets. Was will to impart a few to me in exchange for some TNT. I figured you might be here.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “He... he told you about the cottage?”

“Y/n... he told me everything.” Dream responded. She slowly lowered her sword, stepping away from Dream. “I understand everything now. Your blind devotion to him, the loyalty. The server that drove him to betray that trust.”

“You did.” Y/n insisted. “You drove him to his death. You caused all of this.”

“Wilbur made his own decisions.” Dream shrugged. “And as I can see now, so can you.”

Y/n turned to look back at the fire. “So, you’re here to kill me then, yeah?”

“No, I’m not.” Dream quickly replied, Y/n looking back at him. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

“An offer? What the hell does that mean?” She scoffed.

Dream approached her. “They’re rebuilding L’Manburg as we speak. They never learn, they never understand. They call Wilbur insane, yet maybe he was the most sane of us all. He saw and understood the truth, and that scared them. So here’s what I offer you, Y/n. Help me take them down. I’ll pay you a good price.”

“What could you pay me that’s worth my time?” Y/n raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms.

Dream reached into his pocket, throwing a few netherite ingots and several diamonds onto the grass in front of her. Y/n’s eyes widened slightly, looking up at him. “There’s so much more where this came from. And better yet,” Dream tilted his head slightly as he held a bundle of fabric to her, the brown shades and patches so very familiar; Wilbur’s coat. “you can finish what Wilbur started.”

Y/n stared wordlessly at the piece of clothing held out in front of her, before closing her eyes.

“Wil?” Y/n wandered over to where Wilbur sat in the darkness of Pogtopia, the girl kneeling down next to him.

“Hey, Y/n/n.” He smiled tightly, sitting forwards. “What’s up?”

The girl smiled sadly. “I don’t know. I just... everything’s all wrong. I don’t know how to fix it.”

The man pondered her words, considering how the events of the next few days would play out. The heartache and betrayal.

It was no secret Wilbur and Y/n had been drifting apart. The lingering trauma of her torturous life in Manburg and the loss of her first two canon lives, him grieving the loss of his country. They were both hanging on by a thread, and comfort was hard to be sought between the two of them.

Wilbur knew he would die soon. He knew that the end of his story was approaching, but maybe, he could have one more sweet memory with the girl he had fallen helplessly in love with.

“Let’s go look at the stars.”

Y/n perked up, her featured contorted in surprise. “What?”

“Like we used to, by the river. Let’s go stargazing.” Wilbur stood, holding out his hand to help her up. The girl took it, the boy pulling her up to standing and intertwining his fingers in hers, pulling her through the ravine.

They trudged up the stone stairs and through the hidden doorway, out into the open air. Wilbur led Y/n into a clearing, where he shrugged off his jacket, laying it on the ground. He beckoned her over, the two laying on top of the fabric and staring up.

The sky was exceptionally clear that night, the stars glittering beautifully against a dark sky. Wilbur turned to watch Y/n stare up at the stars, noting her lips twitch softly as she began to list constellations under her breath. He took her hand once more, looking up at the stars.

That was the last moment they shared together before he died.

Y/n opened her eyes, looking up at Dream, who held out a hand to shake. She sheathed her sword, nodding slightly before taking the jacket and reaching her hand out, clasping his palm in a firm shake.

The man chuckled from behind his mask, stepping backwards. “You’ll be hearing from me. Goodbye, Y/n.” With that he left, the girl left standing alone on the riverbank. She stood still for a beat before bending down, moving the items to her inventory, shrugging on the trench coat, and turning back to the cottage.

It was nearly burnt to the ground at this rate, the flowers outside catching. Y/n swore for a moment she could see a glimpse of a tall boy in a yellow sweater in the flames, but brushed it off. She made the trek over to her horse, climbing onto the saddle.

She cast one more look at the remains of the cottage before cracking the reins, riding away.

It was time to finish what Wilbur had started.

a/n: i wrote this before the philza lore where wilbur fabricated history in the letters, so just assume that wilbur was truthful in these letters and y/n arrived directly before the duel and the betrayal.

[rhaenyratargayen]

home for the summer // part II // f.w.

read part one

summary: song fic based off of home for the summer by sara kays. Y/N realizes who her heart has always belonged to.

word count: 2.4k 

warnings: none, the fluff you guys deserve :)

Her feet felt frozen beneath her, not due to the cold weather, but the hesitation within her. Suddenly all the warmth she had felt being home with the Weasley’s was ripped away as if a dementor had sucked it out of her. Her fingers and the tip of her nose suddenly felt the sharpness of the breeze, and her stomach dropped.

Joshua kneeled before her, presenting her with the most beautiful ring. He smiled up at her and she noticed the tears that pooled in his dark eyes. The white snowflakes contrasted his dark hair as they fell lightly on top like an angel’s halo. Joshua truly was an angel, sweet and gracious, always putting her first. But even with the heartwarming thoughts of her boyfriend swarming in her mind, Y/N couldn’t bring herself to say yes.

She glanced back at the burrow, spotting the gaggle of redheaded Weasley’s gazing at her through the window. She noticed their expressions falter, probably after noticing the fact that he hadn’t slipped the ring on her finger yet. Molly, Arthur, Ginny, and all the boys, Y/N paused when she didn’t spot Fred, and her heart fell to her stomach.

She quickly turned back to Joshua with the guiltiest look, but how could she grant him a life with her if her heart belonged to another? Deep down, Y/N knew that she always belonged to Fred. It was certain back in Hogwarts, the sparks she felt when he kissed her on the astronomy tower, or let her borrow his jumpers never quite faded.

Joshua was good, he was pure and he would make an extraordinary husband, but it wasn’t fair to him to accept his proposal and Y/N knew that.

She squeezed his hand as he looked up at her, and she pursed her lips.

“I love you, Joshua.”

Joshua sighed, lowering his hand that held the velvet box.

“I do, but I can’t–“ She tried to continue.

“It’s okay.” Joshua stood up, now towering over her.

She felt the wave of guilt wash over her as he stood. She could no longer see the crown of snowflakes on his head, and the pool of tears had finally released, cascading down his flushed cheeks elegantly.

She didn’t expect him to yell, Joshua was rather cool tempered. He was a very generous lover, but he surprised her. He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead, his hand cupped her cheek as he looked down at her.

“I love you, Y/N,” he nodded, “Thank you for giving me the best six months of my life.”

Y/N felt a few wet tears trickle down her face, tears she didn’t even know were forming at his words. Joshua tucked the box back into his pocket, to give to another girl someday, a girl who loved him just as much as he loved her. He deserved that, Y/N knew, but she wasn’t the one to give that to him.

“Still friends, yeah?” Joshua chuckled, contrasting the tears that still fell.

Y/N let herself laugh, feeling the weight lifted off her chest. She laughed, a melodic chuckle that had her curling into Joshua’s chest and hugging him tightly. He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back. They only stayed like that momentarily, before Y/N remembered the huddle of her second family watching from the window.

“Better go break the news then.” She pursed her lips.

Joshua exhaled a breathy laugh and nodded, guiding her back towards the back door with his hand resting on her lower back.

The atmosphere they walked into was awkward, no one spoke, silently waiting for someone else to go first. The Weasley family looked to Y/N almost with guilty eyes, like they didn’t know whether to congratulate her or apologize. She caught the sad smile Charlie threw at Joshua, and she squeezed Joshua’s hand in hers.

“Oh, Y/N.” Ginny broke the silence, pushing past her brothers to engulf the girl in her arms.

The group dispersed at the break of silence, Bill and Charlie came to Joshua’s side, leading him to the kitchen for another drink – one that he definitely needed. Molly scolded the snicker that left Ron’s lips, before smiling at Y/N who caught it and sent a wink Ron’s way.

She pulled back from Ginny’s embrace and found George’s eyes. His hands were shoved in his pocket, and even though Y/N wasn’t his twin it was like they could read each other’s minds.

“He’s upstairs.” George nodded.

Y/N gave him a gracious grin and pulled back from Ginny, rushing up the stairs. The bathroom door was open, the light still on as she reached the top of the stairs. She looked their first, considering everyone else was downstairs.

“Fred–“ She called as she entered, pausing as she walked into the empty bathroom.

She furrowed her brows, stepping back out into the hallway momentarily, and glancing up the stairs to the higher stories to the house, looking for any lights on or any sign of Fred’s presence. She stepped back into the bathroom and chewed on her bottom lip.

Had he left? Her mind wandered to dark places, falling down the rabbit hole of possible thoughts Fred was thinking. She wondered if he was angry with her, or if he ever wanted to see her again. Did he think she didn’t value their time, or value him?

She paced back and forth along the tile floor and paused as her breath hitched. She caught a piece of paper tossed in the bin, one with her name scribbled on it in Fred’s handwriting. As she reached in, she noticed the other half and felt her heart clench in her chest.

Tears pooled in her eyes as she held the two pieces of the letter to her chest. It was only split in two, she could easily piece it back together if it let her. She peeled back the envelope, carefully taking the two pieces of paper with the actual letter written on it. She held them side by side, reading over the messy handwriting.

Dear Y/N,

I don’t know when I’ll give this to you, if I ever do. The thought of you reading this is maddening. I’m not very good with words, you know this, but I figured if I wrote them down maybe they’d stop buzzing in my head all day.

Darling, you’re it for me. There’s truly no one else, you’re one of a kind. I was heartbroken when you left, and I told you I was proud of you, and I am, but the thought of being away from you for so long hurts like hell. You’re coming back soon, at least that’s what you said in your last letter.

Like I said, I don’t know if I’ll ever give this to you, but I love you, Y/N. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone else, I loved you before I even knew what love was, a tiny git on the train to Hogwarts sitting beside a pretty girl with wit. I hope you see this one day, Merlin I do. Whether it’s tomorrow or a century from now, my word still stands, I love you.

Forever yours, Freddie.

All the breath had been taken from her lungs, and the faint droplets that pooled in her eyes were now full blown tears streaming down her cheeks still burning from the cold.

Her heart tugged in her chest, begging to escape. She wanted to be with Fred, she wanted to be with him from the beginning and she cursed herself for not figuring it out sooner. Romania was a dream, an opportunity that filled her chest with light, but nothing was comparable to the feeling of loving Fred Weasley.

She thought back to the night she told Fred she was leaving, she should have noticed the fault in his gaze, she should have given in to the pit in her stomach when the words left her lips. And the night she came back, the night she spent alone with Fred under the stars, she should have noticed that it was the happiest she’d ever been.

Loving Fred Weasley was a high she never wanted to come down from.

It didn’t take long for her to grab her wand from her coat, she quickly repaired the torn letter and clutched it to her chest. She gripped her wand and apparated to the first place her mind told her.

She heard the crunch of dried leaves and dead grass beneath her boots as she carried herself quickly through the clearing before the open field. It was dark out by now, and the moon had rose to illuminate the ground below her.

She had put her heart in the driver’s seat, and her mind in the passenger’s, she trusted her heart to lead her where it desired, to Fred. So she rushed through the field, pulling her wand out and casting lumos to guide the way for her.

Pulling her coat tighter around her, she shivered as the snow fell before her feet, the light from her wand reflecting off the snow. As she continued on, she neared the center of the field, halfway between the trees she came out of and the trees across from her. She froze in her step as she caught the silhouette of a man on his knees.

She picked up her pace, catching the sounds of muffled sobs over the crunch of ice beneath her feet. Her breathing picked up and she felt the nervousness return to the pit in her stomach, as her body led her mindlessly, she called out into the night.

“Fred!”

The sobs stopped and the shadow of the man turned to face her. She exhaled a breath of relief as the moonlight illuminated his features, it was Fred.

She rushed towards him, but stopped in her tracks as she was an arms length away. Patches of blushed skin on his cheeks and nose were a sharp contrast to his usual pale, freckled skin. His hair was a mess, probably from running his hands through it so many times. Again, just like before, she felt her heart tug in her chest.

Fred’s eyes widened as he saw her, the remains of tears leaving streaks down her face. Against her chest she clutched a paper, his eyes scanned the note before his breath hitched as he recognized his own handwriting, the words he read over countless times reciting in his head like a broken record.

He was so caught up in seeing her before him, she looked relieved to see him despite the obvious distress in her appearance. He glanced at her left hand that held the note, there was no sparkly diamond ring on her finger, and his tears ceased.

He stepped forward, cautiously, he yearned to scoop her in his arms but his heart warned him not to jump too quickly. The back of his head spat heartbreaking theories into his thoughts, maybe she was only there to break the news to him first, before she returned to Joshua and kissed him under the mistletoe, showing off her ring to his family while they celebrated with butter beer.

She noticed his hesitation, it broke her heart. She felt the tears pool again at how broken he looked, and hated herself for being the reason for it. She took one long stride and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Fred’s arms instinctively wrapped around her waist, and as she relaxed into his hold, they tightened around her.

She leaned back far enough to look him in the eye while still being in his arms, and she released everything she held in from the years she knew him.

“I’m so sorry, Freddie,” She choked out, “I should’ve told you sooner, I shouldn’t have left! I should’ve stayed, worked at the shop with you and George and told you the minute I knew that I loved you Fred Weasley. I love you.”

His heart skipped a beat at her confession, but she barely gave him the time to rejoice in her feelings before she continued.

“I know you probably hate me now, I unknowingly strung you along this whole time, Godric, I’m an idiot.”

She stopped ranting when she finally looked him in the eyes again. His tears had faded to streaks just like her own, but he didn’t frown or grimace, he smiled down at her. His hand raised to cup her cheek, rubbing away the stray tears with his thumb.

“Why are you smiling?” She choked out a laugh.

“Because,” He leaned his forehead against hers, “You’re not an idiot and I could never, ever hate you, my love.”

She melted at his words, bunching up his shirt in her fists against his chest. She blinked, looking up at him through tear coated eyelashes.

“I have loved you for so long,” Fred continued, “And that is all I have ever wanted to hear you say.”

She laughed, a cheerful, glee giggle that had his body warming despite the cold.

“You’re not mad?” She asked, sheepishly.

“Mad?” Fred scoffed, “How could I be mad when the woman I’m in love with just told me she loves me?”

She smiled and leaned into him, brushing her nose against his. Fred tugged her closer, pressing against her back so that their chests pressed together. Y/N raised herself onto her tip toes, lips brushing Fred’s lightly.

Just the initial feeling of her lips again after so long had Fred’s eyes fluttering closed in bliss. He slowly leaned forward, gently pressing his lips to hers fully. She inhaled a shaky breath and released a calm one. She leaned into him, finding rhythm in their kiss, granting Fred access when his tongue swiped across her bottom lip.

He pulled back, pressing a quick peck to Y/N’s lips when they chased his own. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone and he pressed another kiss to her lips when he caught her gazing up at him so adoringly.

“‘m sorry it took so long.” Y/N giggled.

Fred shrugged, “It was worth the wait.”

He leaned down to kiss her again, finding that even after all this time, she still fit him like a puzzle piece, a perfect match.

————————————————

taglist: @starlightweasley @valwritesx @harrysweasleys @inglourious-imagines @cappsikle @whiz-bangs78 @levylovegood @wand3ringr0s3 @rogueweasleys @gloryekaterina @wolfstarsdaughter20 @charlieswanwhore @loony-loopy-lupinn @gcdric

[freddie-weaselbee]

The Fickle Finger of Fate//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Underaged drinking, slight language, one teeny paragraph of sexual content but no details, sexual references(all characters are legally adults in the wizard world), mentions of nudity, mentions of death (minor character), ANGST

Summary: Soulmate AU, but with a twist. How much can someone test fate, and what are the consequences when that happens?

Prompts: "I can't lose you." "You already did." and "Let me go."

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: @love-peachh's writing challenge!! with above prompts and the soulmates trope, the third fic in Abby's Week of Weasley !

~Abby's Week of Weasley Masterlist~ ~Masterlist~

Message me to be on the taglist!

May 1995

Today was the day. The one you had been waiting for your entire life. The day that would change everything for you. Today was the day you would find your soulmate.

It was your sixth year at Hogwarts, and the last day of school was just around the corner. Which meant it was time for you, and the rest of the Sixth Years at Hogwarts to line up and await for your name to be called. One by one you’d step into Dumbledore’s office and perform some sort of ceremony--what is was you weren’t entirely certain--to determine who your soulmate would be.

You bounced with excitement as you met up with Fred and George Weasley, your best friends since first year. They were much less excited about receiving their soulmates, but they laughed and supported your glee.

Truth be told, you were secretly hoping that Fred would be the one you were spending the rest of your life with. You’d had a crush on him for years but had always been too afraid to say anything. If it was announced that you two were destined to be together, then there would be nothing holding you back anymore.

“Excited, are we?” Fred teased, watching you tap your foot in impatience.

“How could you not be!” you exclaimed. “This is when we find out our soulmate, Fred. The person we’ll love for the rest of our lives! It’s kind of a big deal.”

He only shrugged, not caring in the slightest. “We’re 17. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, why do we need to be tied down so early?”

“I second that,” said George. “I’m all for settling down once I’m older, but knowing who it’s gonna be with? It feels kind of weird.”

“Oh, you two just aren’t romantics,” you said, sighing dreamily. “Trust me, after this everything is going to change,”

And it did.

The second you completed the ceremony where Dumbledore cast a spell that read into your soul, the name of your soulmate was hovering in the air above you. Fred Weasley.

You almost cried with joy and you rushed out of the room, telling Fred that he had to go next and see who he got. You were on the edge of your seat waiting for him to reemerge, for him to say that it was you and always had been, for him to sweep you off your feet and pull you into the first of your many sweet kisses.

When Fred finally exited the office he looked at you and smiled. But it wasn’t at all what you were expecting. He didn’t seem enthusiastic at all. In fact, the smile he sent you was the same one he always did, a friendly teasing grin.

You shook your head, telling yourself not to overthink things. You two were meant to be together, it was fate.

“So,” you prodded, “who was your soulmate?”

Fred’s grin faltered and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “Can we go somewhere to talk? Somewhere private?”

You agreed after a moment of shock, nerves trembling in your stomach. Why wasn’t he happy? What did he have to talk about?

The both of you ended up in a secluded corner of the castle and you sat down next to him, his hands holding yours. “So, I’m assuming that I’m your soulmate?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” you said. “And you’re mine?”

He nodded and you felt your insides burst. You knew everything would work out. Fred Weasley was meant to be with you. Slowly, you leaned in toward him, tilting your head to the side and licking your lips slightly.

Fred moved back.

“Freddie?” you asked, wondering why he was hesitating.

He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, giving you a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Look, Y/N, don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad it’s you. I think that some day the two of us would make a great couple! We already know so much about each other and we’re so comfortable with each other that I’d be surprised if my soulmate was someone else. But…”

There it was. The but. Everything was supposed to be perfect today, it was all supposed to come together. What was going on?

“But…” he continued, “ we’re young. And we’re destined to spend our whole lives together, so, why don’t we just...put a pin in it?”

“Put a pin in it?” you asked unbelievingly.

“Sorry,” he said, “wrong choice of words. What I’m saying is, we have plenty of time. Why rush into things? How about you do your thing and I’ll do mine, and then when we’re older we can see how things are going. Sound good?”

Your mouth suddenly went dry, hands becoming clammy and tears welling up in your eyes. He wanted you, but not now. He wanted other girls now. But he was your soulmate. It would all work out in the end. It had to.

“Y-yeah,” you said, desperately holding back your tears. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Great!” Fred said, pulling you into a hug. “I knew I could count on you, you’re the best.”

“Mhmm,” you muttered. “The best.”

Fred kept holding you for a few seconds before getting up and running to find out who his twin got for his soulmate. You stayed sitting on the corridor floor, wondering how in the world the best day of your life had suddenly turned into the worst.

No, you chided yourself. This was Fred, and he and you were meant to be together. You’d find your way back to each other someday. You sighed a breath of relief and stood up, wiping away the few teardrops that managed to make their way out. It was ok. It would all be ok.

September 1995

“Fred! George! How was your summer?” You were sitting in one of the compartments of the Hogwarts Express, waiting for the twins to join you. They arrived looking exceptionally happy and exceptionally good looking. You assumed they must’ve had a very eventful few months.

“Hey!” said George. “It was great. We moved to a house in London for the summer, long story, but Harry and Hermione were there so it kept Ron out of our hair.”

“Yeah, it was fantastic,” said Fred, plopping down in his usual seat next to you and throwing his legs across your lap. “We got to meet so many new people. And so many new girls.”

George and you both stiffened, but Fred was none the wiser.

“There was this one girl,” he continued, “she was so hot. I swear I shagged her on every piece of furniture in that house. What a summer.”

You remained silent, hands folded and your head gazing down at Fred’s feet below you. A part of you thought that maybe he was joking, that maybe he was saying this to get you all worked up and he would ask you out later that day. But one look at George’s guilt-ridden face and you knew exactly what Fred’s summer had consisted of.

Fred looked around as the silence passed, wondering why everyone had suddenly become so quiet. “How about you, Y/N, anything fun happen?”

“Well umm, nothing too exciting,” you said. “Mostly hung out with some old friends, went swimming a lot.” You looked at Fred, wondering if you could get a reaction out of him. “There...there was this one guy.”

That wasn’t a complete lie. There was this one guy, your best friend's cousin, who you had spent a lot of time with in the last three months. You would drive around late at night and get up early to watch the sunset. But one night when he kissed you, you had to pull away. Your heart belonged to Fred, and it felt like cheating to be making out with someone who wasn’t your soulmate. Apparently Fred didn’t have the same sentiment.

“That’s great!” he exclaimed, the complete opposite reaction you were looking for. You had wanted him to get upset, jealous even. But if anything he looked relieved. “See,” he whispered so only you could hear, “I told you this would work out. We each do our own thing and get together in a long while. This is perfect!”

You didn’t say anything, only smiled and leaned back into your seat. George subtly moved forward and put a comforting hand on your knee, letting you know that he understood and he was with you. You gave him a reassuring look. It would be ok. Fred had probably gotten it out of his system over the summer. You could see how things went this year.

February 1996

Gryffindor parties were always the events of the month, rivaled only by Slytherin’s secret and exclusive gatherings. There was everything any teenager needed: food, firewhisky, and sex.

You and Angelina were taking shots in the corner, laughing and stumbling over yourselves. You scanned the crowded common room, eyes focusing on George dancing like a madman in the middle of the room, knocking over a few girls with how wildly he was moving.

You looked at your friend who was gazing lovingly at the ginger boy. “Hey,” you said, “can I ask you something.”

Angelina took her eyes off of George and gave you her full attention. “Of course.”

“When you and George found out you were each other’s soulmates, what happened? I mean, you weren’t dating before but you got together over the summer. Aren’t you worried you’re missing out on other people?”

Your friend knew where this was really coming from. She grabbed you a drink and took you to sit down. “Thing is,” she said, “at first we didn’t want to date. We both kind of thought that we weren’t ready for anything too serious, so we did our own thing for a few months. But we kept writing over the summer and I realized that he’s my best friend and I didn’t want to go any longer without being with him. As much as the both of us hate the concept of settling down, we realized that we don’t have to suddenly turn around and be married. We’re taking it one day at a time, but constantly talking about our relationship and where we think it’s going.”

You nodded, starting to understand. “Are you guys exclusive? Or are you seeing other people as well?”

“We’re exclusive. Like I said we’re nothing serious, but we don’t want to mess up what we have. So far it’s going great, just taking it slow and getting to know each other even more. Is there a reason you’re asking me this?”

You muttered a “no” but Angelina didn’t believe you for a second.

“How are things with Fred?” she asked. “Have you two been talking about your relationship?”

“Not really,” you said. “He likes to ignore the fact that we’re soulmates. Nothing has changed since we found out. But it’s ok though, we’re just waiting until we’re ready.”

Your friend watched you take another shot of firewhisky, face scrunching up in distaste. You had looked so sad the past few months, and Angelina knew the reason. “But you’re ready now, aren’t you?”

You whipped your head around, groaning as the quick motion made you dizzy. “What…” you said, holding your throbbing head, “what do you mean?”

“You love him. You have for forever, Y/N, and this must be killing you.”

“No!” you argued. “It’s fine. Fred will tell me when he’s ready for a relationship and we can settle down then.”

“And wreck yourself in the process?” Angelina asked. “Y/N, love, I know that you two are soulmates, but you can’t let him treat you like this! He goes out and does what he wants and who he wants, knowing that you’ll always be there when he’s bored of all the other girls. You’re his fallback.”

Angry tears fell from your face. “I am not!” you yelled. “He loves me, he just doesn’t want anything serious, and I’m ok with that.”

“No you’re not!” she yelled back. “It’s tearing you apart. You need to talk to him.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried!”

Angelina went silent at this new information, watching you finally break down.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried talking to him, explaining that if we’re soulmates then maybe we should act like it. It kills me seeing him bring a different girl back to his dorm every night when he’s supposed to be with me.” You hit your head against the wall behind you hard enough that you knew there would be a bruise in the morning, but you didn’t care. “But every time he gets mad at me, saying that he can’t settle down, that he’s too young, that I’m being selfish and impatient.”

Angelina wrapped you up in a warm hug, stroking the back of your head softly. “Then you need to move on Y/N. If he doesn’t care about your feelings, then I’m sorry but you need to find someone else.”

You sniffled, lifting your gaze and seeing a Ravenclaw girl grinding up on Fred. He whispered something in her ear and dragged her out of the common room and up to his dorm. “I can’t,” you said. “He’s my soulmate. It’s destiny. We’re meant to be together, even if that means I have to break a little every time he’s with someone else. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

Angelina continued to hold you tightly, praying that one day you would see what was really happening.

April 1996

Cheers erupted from hundreds of students, all of whom were crowded in the courtyard, watching their new heroes fly away from Umbridge’s reign of terror. You stood silently on the outskirts of the group, disbelief coursing through you.

How could he leave you? You thought that he would at least tell you about it, at least sit you down and explain the future of your relationship. Would you stay in touch? Would you visit his shop often and hang out with him and George? Where was your friendship, and more importantly your relationship, going?

You pushed your way through the crowd, wanting more than ever to be alone right now. Angelina stopped you, a wide grin on her face. “Y/N! Did you see that? Oh I’ve been waiting weeks for them to finally make their escape, it was even better than I imagined.”

“You…” you said slowly, “you knew? They told you?”

“Of course! George told me a while ago. Didn’t Fred tell you?”

“I have to go,” you muttered, ignoring her calls and running back into the abandoned castle. You made it back to your dorm and threw yourself onto your bed, curling up into a ball.

You’d given Fred the benefit of the doubt so many times. You understood that he wanted to fool around for a while and you let him. But you thought that maybe once school was over things would change. Apparently you would never know, because he didn’t bother to even have a conversation about your future.

You should try to get over him. Yes, two months of no Fred would be perfect for you! You could see other people, something you hadn’t done in over a year, and it would be the perfect distraction.

But then you remembered his warm brown eyes and soft ginger hair. How happy he could make you with just one touch. You couldn’t give up on him, you were being foolish. Fate was never wrong. You just needed to keep waiting. Everything would be fine in time.

January 1997

Small snowflakes fluttered to the ground, the cold crisp air whipping your face as you made your weekly trip to Diagon Alley to visit Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. After you had graduated the first thing you did was run off the train and make your way to the shop. Fred and George were delighted to see you and they immediately talked about their success so far with their planning. Neither you nor Fred brought up what happened months ago.

After the first encounter, things seemed to go back to normal. You got a job at The Ministry involving Curse Breaking, which you enjoyed very much. You’d get up every day excited to go to work, and every Sunday afternoon you’d enter your friends’ shop for a day of talking and goofing around.

And just as things had remained the same, that included your relationship with Fred. He’d mention his different hookups, sometimes going into extreme detail that you really didn’t want to know. You asked him to stop talking about that and he did, but he didn’t stop his actions.

Today was the day you were going to talk with him. You couldn’t keep putting yourself through this heartbreak if it wasn’t going to end any time soon. It was the last chance you were giving him.

“Hey Freddie,” you said as you walked through the shop doors.

“Hey, love, how’s it going?”

“Pretty good, I was wondering if we could talk, somewhere private maybe?”

“Of course,” he replied, taking you up to the loft. You entered the familiar place and plopped down on the couch, hearing the shower running in the bathroom.

“Is George here,” you asked as he brought you a cup of coffee.

“Umm, not exactly,” Fred replied sheepishly. “The bathroom’s currently occupied by the person who occupied my time last night, if you know what I mean.”

You did. Your face turned red, whether with embarrassment or anger you didn’t know, hearing that the girl Fred hooked up with was just a room away from you. Gathering up all the strength you could, you finally told him everything you’d been holding back.

“That’s what I wanted to talk about, actually.”

“My hookups?” Fred asked quizzically. “I thought you didn’t want to hear about those.”

“No,” you said shaking your head. “I wanted to talk about us. And where we’re going in the future.”

Fred groaned and threw his head back on the couch, rubbing his temple. “Oh not this again, Y/N. I thought we agreed that we’re too young for anything serious.”

“Well when I said that, I thought you meant that we’d finish out school and see where things went after that. We’re bloody adults now, shouldn’t we be talking about where we want this to go?” You were growing angry, not expecting Fred to be so blunt and rude about your feelings.

“I’m still 18, Y/N! I’m not ready for anything yet.”

“And when will you be? You keep saying you’re not ready and I keep staying by your side, waiting for that moment when you finally decide you love me. So when’s it gonna be, huh? Am I wasting my time?”

“I don’t know!” he exclaimed. “You’re being so annoying right now, why can’t we just be friends and figure it out when we get there?”

“Because I’m tired of giving you every part of me when you give me nothing in return! I...I can’t do this anymore.”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“I--excuse me?”

Fred stood up, gesturing for you to follow him. “How about we spend some time away from each other? You can work out whatever feelings you want to, and when I’m ready to settle down I’ll come find you.”

You were speechless, absolutely dumbfounded. Fred couldn’t be serious, could he? He’d come find you, like you were some lost puppy that belonged to him?

Fred grabbed your shoulders and gave you a peck on the forehead. “We’re soulmates, baby. There’s no rush for anything. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

This was it. This was what Angelina had warned you about. He was so comfortable knowing that you'd have to end up together that he didn’t bother to put in the effort. He knew no matter how many times he messed up, you would always be right around the corner ready to jump into his waiting arms. This was the last chance you had given him, and he blew it.

“I’ll just be going then,” you said, grabbing your things.

You stormed out of the room but Fred didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. Or maybe he did notice and he just didn’t care. You would always come back to him, wouldn’t you?

“Love ya, Y/N,” he called before turning his attention to the wet girl who was exiting his bathroom.

You left the loft in a hurry, not even bothering to say hi to George on the way out of the shop. You used to believe in fate and destiny, and deep down you still did. But you couldn’t keep counting on the universe to provide you with happiness when only one of you was putting in the effort. Almost two years of pining later, you decided it was time to move on.

May 1999

Fred slowly came down from his high, panting heavily and groaning in pleasure. He rolled off of the girl he was with this week, a cute blonde he had met at a bar, and stared up at the ceiling trying to catch his breath.

It was a good ride. It was always good, Fred prided himself in his abilities and the girls he was with were usually just as spectacular. But the past few months he had been growing tired of it.

Sure, he loved going out and meeting hot girls, dancing with them and bringing them back to his place for one night of lust and passion. But even that gets old after a while, and after years of thinking with his body, he was finally ready to think with his head and his heart. He was ready to see you.

The next day, Fred got dressed up, putting on a nice sweater and trousers, buying a bouquet of roses from a nearby flower shop. He hadn’t contacted you to let you know he was coming. He wanted it to be a surprise, and besides, you would definitely be thrilled to see him.

He made his way to your old place, hoping that you still lived there. He hadn’t seen you in over two years, not since the two of you decided to stop seeing each other until Fred was ready. And now, after long last, he was.

He knocked on the door of your apartment, bouncing on his toes in anticipation of seeing you for the first time in so long. He bet you’d gotten even hotter, and were somehow even kinder and funnier than you were before. To his surprise, it wasn’t you who opened the door, but a familiar face from back in his school days.

“Pucey?”

Adrian Pucey, a Slytherin in your year, was standing in the doorway, with ruffled hair and a bear chest with gray sweatpants. He smiled apprehensively at Fred, remembering how the two of them had never gotten along back in school.

“Hey Fred. What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see my soulmate,” Fred said, anger and jealousy evident in his tone.

Adrian paused and his smile vanished. He looked as if he wanted to slam the door in Fred’s face and never see him again. Fred then heard a voice calling from inside, and he peaked around to see you sprawled out on the couch wrapped up in a blanket.

“Adrian? Who’s there?” you asked.

“Babe, you might want to come see for yourself.”

Fred grimaced at the nickname. Any suspicions he had that you were dating Adrian were now confirmed, and he hated seeing you with anyone else.

As you reached the door you looked shocked to see Fred there, holding a large bouquet of flowers for you. “Why don’t you head back in, love,” you said to your boyfriend. “I’ll handle this.”

He smiled and pecked you lips, giving Fred one last glare before letting you shut yourself and Fred out in the hallway.

“It’s been a while,” you said. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Fred said, trying to hand you the roses but you refused, “I was thinking last night. About us, and about how I’m ready. To be with you.”

If he thought you were going to be elated about this news and drop everything, including your boyfriend, to be with him, he was completely wrong. You just stood there, looking if anything sad for him. “Oh Freddie.”

“What?” he asked, heart thumping in his chest. “What does that mean? I said I’m ready to settle down! To be with you. Isn’t that what you want?”

You scoffed, putting your hand on your temple like he did to you so any years before. “Look, I’m flattered, and I’m glad you’re finally ready to have something real. But it’s not going to be with me.”

Fred could physically feel his heart shatter into a million pieces at those words. “Not with you? What does that even mean, Y/N? We’re bloody soulmates!”

“Yeah well you didn’t seem to care about us being soulmates the countless times I wanted to talk to you about it!”

“I wasn’t ready then!”

“But I was! And you didn’t even take my feelings into consideration. I was constantly by your side, waiting for you to confess your feelings and ask me to be yours. Every day I broke a little more, because you treated me like absolute shit. So I’m done waiting Fred. I’ve moved on”

Fred couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to be in love with him! The two of you were soulmates for a reason, how could you just settle down with someone else?

“What about Adrian’s soulmate?” he asked, voicing his thoughts. “Aren’t you depriving him of true love?”

You sighed heavily and looked at the closed door behind you, lowering your voice. “Adrian’s soulmate died a few years ago. She got really sick and didn’t make it. I ran into him while he was trying to get over her loss, and we really connected. We’ve been together for about a year now, and we’re both really happy.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Fred said, pacing up and down the hall. “We’re soulmates Y/N. The universe destined us to be together.”

Shaking your head you replied, telling Fred the conclusion you had come to after years of pain. “I don’t think it works like that. Soulmates aren’t two people who are going to be together no matter what happens. They’re two souls who, if they both contribute and try in the relationship, would make a perfect pair. But you, Fred, never tried. And I finally got over it. I love Adrian, and I’m happy about my decision.”

“No, no no no,” Fred said, growing panicked. “This can’t be it, Y/N, I can’t lose you.”

“You already did.”

Fred’s lip quivered slightly, eyes searching yours for any telltale sign that this was a joke. Some huge, elaborate prank. But it wasn’t. It took you a lot of time and soul searching, but you were at peace. You were fine without your soulmate, because for so many years he had been fine without you.

“Let me go, Freddie. Because I let you go a long time ago.”

The two of you stood there, all feelings out in the open. Fred had never felt so vulnerable around someone, and he never thought once that he would have to let you go.

The door slowly creaked open and Adrian stepped back out, wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing the top of your head. “You alright, darling?”

You kept looking at Fred, imagining all of the things that could’ve been, that never would be. “Yeah, I’m fine. Fred was just leaving.”

You turned around to your apartment, not even bothering to look back. Before you shut the door, Fred could see a beautiful smile grace your lips at something Adrian had said. You were happy. He was making you happy.

In a perfect world, you and Fred would be an ideal match. If both of you put in the effort and tried for the best, you’d have the best relationship possible. It was fate.

But fate is a fickle thing. You can’t try to trick destiny into doing what you want. Fred had thought that no matter what he did, the universe would give him what he believed he deserved. The universe doesn’t work like that.

Maybe, if he had taken some form of responsibility for his actions and actually cared about what was happening in the moment, it could’ve been him cuddling up next to you, falling asleep with his arms around you and hearing how much you loved him. But he didn’t. He tested fate, and he would forever pay the price for his actions.

Tag List: @famdomhideout

[chigasakism]

Okay, so!! I was gonna talk about how I would cast A3! characters as tarot cards someday but I was beaten to the chase by the actual game so! I’m gonna take this time to talk in DEPTH about the choices for each character we saw in the gacha card showcase!! JP card spoilers below, obviously

Homare as the High Priestess

admittedly I have ALWAYS thought that homare is such a good fit for the high priestess card??

the high priestess focuses a lot on the subconscious mind and hidden knowledge, intuition, and divine wisdom, and being able to connect your inner knowledge with your outer knowledge. it focuses a lot on creativity and intuition, and how those can be used in tandem, and that it is important to trust your instincts to guide you. it also talks a lot about self-reflection and understanding yourself via development of your internal insight, and that if you have just begun learning to understand yourself and your emotions, it's a sign to continue

AND THAT TIES A LOT TO HOMARE'S CHARACTER ARC!! he's struggled with emotions an understanding right from the beginning, and it works perfectly as a milestone to show how much he's grown. the last part especially is an encouragement towards his progress and it just works so well for him because of it!!

reversed, the high priestess shows insecurity and the ability to be swayed by other's decisions due to a lack of trust in one's own intuition, which can cause conflict due to an inability to understand the self, and this can cause a disconnect between what one feels and what they think they feel

which ALSO works really well for homare (points directly at winter troupe 2nd play) because homare didn't trust himself enough to be able to understand his characters or troupemates without the help of the loupe of sincerity and it's so so so important that he DID, and that's what the reversed card shows!

Guy as the Hermit

I will also admit here that I never really considered guy for the hermit until now because in my mind I'd kinda of casted itaru as the hermit (which has changed since, though), but the more I think about it, the more guy fits for it because!! it's super symbolic!!

basically, the hermit represents a journey that you can't see the full path of, or a pivotal turning point in life, and also signifies that it's time to do some self-reflection to understand yourself better, and typically involves a journey that you must take with only the people very close to you or if those don't exist, on your own. it also talks a lot about self-discovery and understanding new parts of your life via seclusion from the world at large and instead focusing on yourself and the people you value most

and this is EXACTLY what happened with guy!! leaving along the fact that his act in the main story is LITERALLY titled "the greatest journey" it's so highly representative of the point of change where he had to learn and accept that he's not an android as he'd thought he was, and he literally embarks on a journey with the winter troupe to make sense of it for himself. it's just *chef's kiss* so perfectly symbolic and I am SUCH a sucker for symbolism

reversed, the hermit can also mean cutting oneself away from others completely and self-isolating due to a lack of understanding with one's inner self and that it's time to actually take a moment to come to terms with reality. it also suggests that it's time to start building up connections with people again even if you have chosen to isolate yourself in the past following being hurt because of a bad experience with others

which, if you think about it, is exactly what did happen with guy! his character arc is so reliant on him coming to understand himself and his place in reality that it really does just. fit perfectly!

Kumon as the Wheel of Fortune

now, getting to kumon, I will admit that I didn't really think too hard about kumon as wheel of fortune and I can't remember whom I initially had for it?? but it also DEFINITELY works!

the wheel of fortune is pretty adamant that life is always changing, and that even if things are hard, they can and will get better. even if you're going through hard moments, the wheel of fortune reminds you that good luck and better times are just around the corner, and it asks you to remain optimistic and happy, and find the joys in what you can until then. it also ties in to karma a lot, and encourages kindness and positivity in order to manifest it into your life. additionally, it reminds you to let yourself rely on people because there are people willing to support you. it also hints that there are a lot of external factors that are influencing your situation and those cannot be helped, but that it's important to improvise, adapt, overcome. it also states that despite this, new opportunities that you hadn't considered will open up to you

AND ALL OF THIS JUST. IT WORKS!! a lot of kumon's struggles with his fevers and anxiety is really way beyond his control, and because of it he wasn't able to fulfill his dedication to baseball for it, but because of that, he was able to open the door to theatre as a passion! there's also a lot of emphasis on how optimistic kumon is because despite the fact that he'd felt so lost with his dream, he was able to keep a smile on his face and move forward. there's also a lot of meaning in how he DOES let himself rely on the summer troupe (notable with his fevers and anxiety before the shows!) and that they are always gonna support him.

reversed, the wheel of fortune can represent a sudden streak of bad luck, and that it's important to decide whether you sit there and do nothing, or try and improve things. it also says that it's important to think about why certain situations occur and how you can rechart a course of action to change it. however, it can also imply a resistance to change that may have felt forced and be hard to accept, but it can also mean that you're finally breaking out from a negative cycle in your life and things will finally turn for the better

the first bit is really really interesting especially in the context of lucky god seven, but the latter bits are a lot more hopeful when you think about it! the change resistance does tie in a lot with kumon's initial desire to join autumn with juza, and how he eventually comes to really really love acting with summer instead! there's also the fact that as he grows with mankai, he's able to finally get stronger than the performance anxiety he gets and it shows he IS breaking out of the cycle!!

ANYWAY that’s all from me today, I’ll probably add on to this when we get to see the rest of the event cards!! I can’t wait to see if they align with my ideas of the A3! cast but (keeps my fingers crossed)

[ficsnroses]

Ultrasound; - John Wick x Reader

4.3k words

summary : you’re 4 months pregnant, and your husband john is everything you’ve ever wanted. however, he misses your ultrasound appointment, leading to you being upset with him.

warnings : pregnant reader. angst, but also lots of fluff! x f! reader. 

notes : requested by lovely anon! I really hope you enjoy this, lovie. I know you had asked for a heated argument, however, I just couldn’t bring myself to write John being angry at his s/o. he’s too much of a softie :) as always, please do leave comments and feedback, it means so much! I’m a little nervous for this one aH be kind pls ily xx

At the glass paned, brittle white front door, you stand, a cautious hand placed to the swell of your growing belly, a stray strand of hair falling to your eye as your husband John, kisses a gentle goodbye to your cheek.

“Are you sure you have to go?” You ask, off put, shining eyes with your lip bitten, as if you’d wanted to say more. John had been leaving on early mornings such as today often, far more frequent as of late; you’d be lying if you’d projected it didn’t chip off a small shard of your heart each time he’d leave you for the day.

He’d be back, later. In the evening perhaps, after you’d settled into the cozy depths of the living room couch, a sickly dessert in hand and your preferred 90’s sitcom portrayed in reruns on the blue TV screen, or as you’d retire to bed, awaiting his body to come occupy the vacant spot beside.

“Yeah.” John heavily sighs, briefly announcing his downcast glare to the floor, before reverting those much familiar, chocolate eyes to yours. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But I really do.” Subtle guilt pinched at his darkened features, beard groomed fresh to a handsome trim. His hand smoothes over the small of your back, quietly waiting,

for you to end your farewell.

“It’s just…” You trickle, eyes focusing anywhere, but on his. You didn’t mean to press; you’d reminded him of today’s upcoming events much in the last week. “We have the appointment later this afternoon.” You allow, a final time, blinking back guilt for perhaps, over doing it with the constant reminders. “Are you sure you’ll make it in time?”

-an exchange for the true feelings that had been brewing inside, as of late. On the tip of your tongue they twirled, bubbling, bubbling, boiling, and you’d known, perhaps to the slightest mishap, they’d spill over.

But for now, as your husband holds you, tentatively sure he’d return in time, you bite your tongue, choosing to trust him.

Trust. It was the band that held your marriage together.

John softly smiles, offering a squeeze to your palm. “Promise.” Assuring, his Mustang 69’ keys fish out of his pocket with a jingle, equipped to his stockier fingers. “You’re still okay to meet at the doctor’s office?” With every cell in his being, John would have preferred to stay home, with you, awaiting the appointment time.

Yet, odds never worked in his favour. He’d have to go, he’d have to be reminded of the dark that wouldn’t let its best man go easy, even on the most joyful days, such as today. A day that should have been reserved for his loving wife, who meant the world to him and more, and their baby, who would come into the world in a mere 5 months. When nimble fingers reach for the collar of his brown leather jacket, his love nods, faking her best executed smile in return.

John knew you, well as the back of his hand. He knew you weren’t pleased with the idea of him leaving, wherever he was off to today. Yet, he knew you’d often

bite your tongue,

for him. John knew he’d struck gold when he’d found you, when you’d fell in love with him, and him, immensely with you. In your relationship, there had been much darkness. Much obscurity, much ambiguity to the life John lived separate from the one you shared together. You know about John’s profession, and the hurt he’d caused to many wretched souls. When he was home, with you, your John is a daydream, in human form.

Soft, gentle, caring. Words fall short of the mountain that is your man.

Yet the day he’d told you, of the culpability, the shame that resides within him; claws through each regret ridden seam, each sorrow droned bone in his body,

nothing changed within you.

You didn’t fall out of love. You didn’t fall less. The same hands that held yours, held knives and guns, slaughtered the lives of many. But they’d given life to you. The day your John told you he’d lost count of the souls he’d taken, you’d vowed to love him regardless. To accept him with whatever baggage he came with. He kept the details of his whereabouts, and the deeds he’d succumb to scare.

Mixing you with the life he so desperately wanted to escape was the last thing he’d wanted to do. So you let him, you let him keep mum on scattered details and fine points of who the famed Boogyman was,

You promised to see in him, just John.

John Wick, your husband, who deserves more than anyone the life you’ve built together. A beautiful home in a secure neighbourhood, a house filled with love, a house feels warm, painted with white crisp walls that hold no dark, enveloped in the anticipation of tiny feet sputtering down the open halls someday soon.

“I’ll meet you there, then. Drive safe, and call me if you change your mind, I’ll send a taxi your way.” He quietly reminds, still holding the hand that had painted colour to his black and white guarded walls. You’d opened long drawn curtains that closed to all that came; you were the first to let sunlight in, allow it to kiss his skin for the first time, in a long, long time.

“I love you.” John smiles. “So much. Stay safe, okay? I’ll call you.” He adds, a final time, before instilling a soft kiss to your plump stained lips, your own hand smoothing a wrinkle off his shirt clad chest.

“Love you too.” You quietly smile, holding your bump as you gaze him out the white paned front door, off to somewhere you’d never asked.

You’d bit your tongue, for him,

Yet again.

The doctor’s office air proves cold, chilled to an icy, unsympathetic hail. With a hand to your bump, and a much growing pierce to your now aching temple, your brows frown and an uneased anger surfaces inside.

John promised.

One minute to appointment time.

       ‘He’ll come. He’d walk through the door any second,’ muses your heart.

       ‘He won’t. He hasn’t responded to any calls, or messages.’ Punctuates your mind.

He didn’t forget. Something must have come up. He wanted to be here.

Thoughts, ponderings, half attempted assurances to your own worn out mind.

He shouldn’t have gone. He shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have let anything come up. That was his job as the father of this child.

He needed to be here today. He knew how much this means to you.

It should have meant enough to him to be here.

You, your baby,

       should have meant enough.

“Mrs. Y/N Wick?” The call of your name disrupts your whirlwind of destructive thoughts. Perhaps it was your emotions that had been working overtime as of late, perhaps it was the distance between you and John.

Perhaps it was the scars burned into your tongue. The toxins that burned being bitten down.

Gnawed, bitten,

concealed,

covered.

Sat in the cold leathered office bed chair, your OB-GYN spins you a warm smile, and you smile back best as you can, although reluctantly so. Masquerading joy had proven tough, when the hand that should have been holding yours right now proves absent. You sink further into the bed, hem of your top rolled up just below your breasts to allow the doctor access.

“How are you today, Y/N?” She shines, layering on a pair of blue latex gloves, prior to smearing a cold, frigid gel to your tummy. The chill of the balm had always sent shivers peppering down your spine, you’d clenched John’s hand firmer to the feel at your previous check ups. “I’m doing well.” You lie, you bite the truth. Wispy fingers thread together, placed on your lap.

“John’s not here today?” She wonders, preoccupied with the transducer probe equipped in her left grip, her right still smearing the cold gel to your bump. The sound of the radiology machine powering echoes your ears, and you relieve a soft exhale, sure not to cast your dreary emotions too much.

The last thing you needed right now, was to spill your long shielded, buried emotions to your OB-GYN, who was solely trying to do her job. “No, he’s not.” You dryly return, swallowing thickly in declaration more to yourself, than to anyone else.

Her eyes gloss over your features, eyes focused on the beige office walls, fingers twiddling in your enclosed grip. “Everything alright?” She wonders, to your half lost execution, a noticeable dread on your mind, weighing.

“Of course.” You lie, you smile with an emptiness void of usual warmth, through untruthful teeth. “I would appreciate it if we could get started as soon as possible.” You request, wanting none more than to be left alone.

To sift through long pent up feelings, frustrations and worries that brewed inside; to allow hostage feelings pleading to be let free, overtake your mind.

The couch feels colder than normal; or perhaps it was the room.

A room, that fell cold, longing for someone else to be in it.

John.

The appointment concluded a little over an hour ago, a full pot of mint tea sits brewing on the coffee table as you await his arrival. The clock ticks in the distance, your mind shuffling a million thoughts a minute.

He’s not home. He hasn’t been home.

You’d bit your tongue, far too long.

He’d seared a cut. He’d butchered into a part of you, and you wonder when you’d forgotten the way you used to be.

You ponder; when you’d started to settle for his absence. A fire boils inside, lathers, toils. The scorch of long concealed feelings pent up, brewing in secret. Had the sound of a heavy door closing shut not broke your contemplation, you’d perhaps shed a few warm tears, unannounced. Unwelcomed dew that may have just glided off your cheeks, the weight of a million bricks released.

You’d heard his heavy footsteps on their way in, the sound of Dog’s excited paws trotting along the floor as he runs towards his bestest friend.

John-

the one person you’d thought you could share anything with. Count on for anything, had left you deserted. He’d been building a wall around, leaving you left all alone, in the grey dark. Shackled with dread, the conversation that you knew would follow tonight, is something you’d prayed would never rehearse between you and your John.

Yet, perhaps that was the problem. Your John, seemed to be lost. The man you fell in love with, would leave the world behind if you’d asked him to.

He’d made it clear; you and him against the world.

Nothing was larger, nothing was sweeter than what he’d made with you. He’d been ecstatic when you’d found out you were pregnant, promised to never leave your hand the entire way through.

You yearn for that John again;

Beg.

Hope.

Plead.

Yearn. You yearn for your husband, again. Burn, crash, crumble, the feelings become too much, the anger pounds inside. Indignant, blue, muddled, hurting, hurting, hurting-

“Y/N,”

His voice. A confliction at it’s finest. To fall into his arms and pour out your heart, or to fight. To make him feel the ache he’d doused your heart in.

The toxins on your lips threaten to burn; they’ll sear your cheeks, drip a dark tar with each syllable, each vowel that falls. The sharp edges will only cut further. A faint frown lingers the planes of your face, and you shake your head, gaze downcast when he inches further into the room, stance preparing to kneel in front of you on the hardwooden floor. He smells faintly of the air outside; crisp, winter auburns and sharp wind. Yet there’s that familiar, warmer spice. Something that kisses his skin, reminds you of home.

You don’t remember when you started looking at him, and seeing home. It’s been far too long, and now, it’s all you know.

        It’s tough being angry at someone, who loves so deep;

John loves with his entirety. John feels with each inch of his battered skin; his bones remember the chill of feeling null.

Stare melting into the crackling fireplace, you avoid his gaze, ignore his touch when a heavy hand rests to your thigh. Warm, comforting, a reminder of the way his touch had the ability to stitch each ripping seam inside you; to mend, and adorn flowers all over.

But his touch, holds no triumph today.

The flowers didn’t bloom,

the slits only gushed.

“Baby, I’m sorry-”

It comes in flashes. Bold, like a lightening bolt.

       Boom

               Boom.

“Don’t.” You whisper a grit, jaw tightening with a pounding ache to your temple protruding. “Do not try and explain yourself.”

Firm; like a lightening bolt. Much to your dismay, his cocoa kissed hair falters in hues; long, curtained along the frame of his face. Coffee eyes show repulse, a certain sadness you remember from long, long ago.

A sorrow you hadn’t seen often since you’d given him your heart, for his in return. “You don’t get to explain yourself.” You speak; firm, assertive, tears pricking in watery jewels in the corners of your orbs. Perhaps it was the high of pregnancy hormones, or the dire of the situation. For the first time, with John, today marked the start of something you’d never felt before.

You felt forgotten. Less than.

“I told you how much I wanted you with me. I told you how important today was to me.” Tone dreary, John’s heart practically sliced into a million pieces, at mercy of the dagger that was your wounded voice.

Grim, an aching pound stings his nerves, crinkled lines of stress embroidered to his forehead, and his spine unravels in a lean into your skin, his hands coming to engulf around yours in a tender hold. “Baby, I know and I’m-”

Lightening. Swift; sharp.

“No!” You almost shout, hands pulled out of his larger, rougher ones. “You do not get to explain yourself.” The words had come out harsher than intended, the cuts had been deeper than thought. They pour, and a river streams. A flood of built up emotion, a cry your tears won’t bear hold.

“Baby, don’t yell.” A quiet John speaks lowly, barely heard with a gaze avoidant of yours. “It’s not good for our baby girl.” He seems tense. He feels, he feels with each inch of his bones. Still, his hand never leaves your thigh, resting, reminding you that he’s there now. And he will be.

He will be, for good.

Yet, his words only pierce into you further; the blade twists in your skin. Huffing a sneered chuckle, your eyes blink away unwanted tears, the moment needing your assertion more than a wave of vulnerable grief. “Our baby?” Veins course with something so icy, so frozen; an agonizing burn claws away at your temples, features far from forgiving. You knew the words that threatened to brew up on your tongue were far from the truth. You knew they held far more weight than he deserved to bear.

“Because I feel almost as if she’s just my baby with how absent you’ve been, John.”

After thunder, after lightening, comes rain. Perhaps the worst, of them all. Cold, condescending, long pouring rain; it pelts in darkness, loud, leaving its mark on the drought terrain. It pours quietly, yet stridently all at once. It seeps, and it seeps, and it seeps, until it stops.

       Only, no one knows. When it’ll stop.

“I’ve been alone. I’ve been feeling alone. You’ve made me feel alone.”

Rain. Pelting, and pelting, and pelting.

This stream of misery, these awful words, declarations. You know he’s hurting. You’re hurting him. You’re doing the one thing, you promised you’d never do to him. His breathe remains calm, collected, his eyes seldom avoid yours. His hand leaves your thigh, allowing, respecting your space. Those cocoa kissed eyes hold a weight heavier than the sear of a million burns.

You almost want, plead for him to say something back; to anguish the fire.

       It’s hard getting mad at someone who doesn’t raise their voice. Its tough being angry at someone,

       like your John.

You’ve knew you were lying. You knew your words held zero truth. He hadn’t been making you feel alone. He’d been waking up curled into your skin, holding your hand through the dreadful nights. He’d been sacrificing sleep, putting himself second to make sure you were alright.

To make sure his baby was alright. Yet, his efforts had proved unsuccessful, nonetheless. Because as of late, he had been coming home later. He had been leaving earlier, he had been away. He had left you alone.

Quiet, filled with regret, his voice carries a burden; the burden of hurting the only person that had ever truly mattered to him. Of hurting the women who he loves, adores, more than the stars adore the moon. “I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. I promise.” John speaks, eyes insistent with guilt.

Make it up. He’ll make it up. Another broken promise, your mind threatens, yet your heart whispers. It whispers, that he will. John had a way, John has an inherent kindness. Your lips pursue, the words needing to come out. You needed to be heard today. You needed to know he understood.

Laced with aggravation, your voice flows off your lips in rougher tides than intended. “I don’t need you to make it up, John.” You explain, calmer, collected. Firm. “I just need you to be here. And if that’s something you can’t do, I need you to tell me now.” Twisted with agony, your heart feels heavy in your chest. “My child needs a father who will be there.”

“Our child.” John interrupts, correcting, quietly, respectfully.

He knew better than to argue with his pregnant, hormone loaded wife. Nonetheless, that didn’t mean he would let her abdicate the fact that he is the father of their child. Although they hadn’t met yet, John knew. He could feel it in his bones. She would be the payoff. His baby would hold his entire heart, along with her mommy.

Each part of John yearns for nothing but his wife and child. They are all that matters. They are the payoff; the decades of grim sin that conjure on his fingertips would finally, at last lay to rest because of them. For them.

Quietly, a muffled sigh, heavy, tense, leaves your mauve stained lips. A faint frown lingers the depths of your face, something filled with melancholy confession. A heaviness fills the silent room still, occupied with nothing but your two worn out souls, desperately longing for nothing more, than for this nightmare to be over.

John and you don’t argue. Despite small disputes over shoes left at the front door, or a towel left discarded without care to the bathroom floor, this isn’t something John and you do. It isn’t something small. It isn’t something you can brush off, forget about a minute thereafter.

John and you, complete each other. You compliment each other. You fight for each other.

         His heart and yours, are old, old friends.

The water rises, a river flows from your mouth. Steeping thoughts the stitched seams even, cannot bear hold. With a lingering sadness peppered to your tenor, you sigh heavily, head falling downcast to gaze the floor below. John watches you, in a drown of his own guilt; sadness of his own.

He longs to hold you; it had been far too long without.

“You’re always away in the day as of late, and I hate that the only time I really see you is when you come home to sleep.” You begin, voice cut with sorrow. “Sometimes I lay awake in the late of night, savouring the feeling of you just holding me. Touching me. Because I’ve began to get comfortable with knowing moments like that only happen during the night.” Deeper and deeper, each cut wounds into your skin. “I hate it John.” You confess, longing for those strong, toned arms to scoop you up and assure you everything would be okay. That he would tell you what’s been going on, let you in. “I don’t want to be comfortable in knowing you’re not around.”

A slight chuckle shines through your raspy throat, yet the utter sorrow never fails to paint each feature as the words continue to fall. There’s a certain vulnerability in your tone, a certain weakness you wish you could hide. “My body is changing, and I’ve been feeling low. I’m scared of not being what she deserves when she comes.” You barely whisper, tears pricking, a hand resting on your growing belly. A small drop falls, the pent up weight of a billion timid thoughts. “Feeling like you’re maybe not all in anymore makes me feel,” If a word, could even portray the density, the sheer torment of the thought of life with John being anything less than what you hoped. “..Awful.” You cease, a lip quivering. “I feel so awful, John.”

Downcast, your eyes scan the floor, heart pounding, the stillness killing you. John watches you, eyes doused with remorse. Quietly, he’d barely heard your words, strung together. A pair of beautiful eyes dilate with nothing, but blue, as they search his dark orbs.

“John, are you falling out of love with me?”

       Sharp.

       Shrill.

You swore something inside him broke. Something twisted and turned, left a deep puncture; wounded him for good.

       Like a lightening bolt. You’d sunk the needles where it hurts the most.

Weary of his silence, you continue. Unsure of the outcome, yet allowing the river that falls your lips, to flow free, full, at last. “I just…I miss you so much. I don’t need anything but you right now.” Bitten to your lip, a choked sob threatens to surface, although you manage to keep yourself collected. “I don’t want anything but you; I never have.”

And with those words, John’s weary limbs resist the hold no more. Kneeling in front of you as you sit still on the grey couch, John pulls your frame close, so close, that you hear the steady rhythm of his heart. His body is warm, brimmed with love; you feel the soak of a few strayed tears from his eyes seep into the supple skin of your neck.

       He holds you so close.

       And you hold him; the way it was always meant to be.

With your arms firmly wrapped around his body, you sink into his skin, melting in the touch of the man you love most. Eyes closed, you breathe in his scent, and he threads his fingers in tender strokes to your hair. Honey drenched kisses press to your shoulder, your neck, the side of your head as he quietly finds the right words to surface; nevertheless, feeling as if anything at all would fall short for what he felt in this moment.

John Wick, sees nothing in this world, but you. As a few more moments of silent relish pass, he pulls his head back a mere few inches, still holding your body so close. With his callous thumb brushing a gentle stroke just under your eye, his thin taut lips kiss a tender, soft peck to where a tear had once fell from your cheek, his eyes still soaking in gloom. With his voice, deep, rich as butter, yet rasped, he speaks softly, silked into your ears, never breaking eye contact.

“I’ve been trying to get out.” Velvet. He speaks, as if the finest of velvet. “And I did, I left that part of me behind today.” Swallowing thick, John inches in closer, kissing a soft, gentle kiss to your eye, that had been haven to nothing but drifted tears earlier. “For you, and for our baby girl.”

Close, proximate, he holds you. His touch alone, fixes everything. “You are all I want. Here, is where I want to be. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.” He whispers, his forehead resting to yours as you cup his perfectly groomed, bearded cheek. “I didn’t want you worrying; I needed you to stay happy. You’re carrying our baby, I wanted you to be carefree, and nothing else. I never wanted to hurt you.” His heart pours, his heart sears. “I will never hurt you, or our child.” Looking down at your belly, his hand rests to your bump as his lips press a gentle kiss to the top.

And with his lips, holding the only remedy you’d ever need, he kisses you with all the love he holds, all the love he feels for no one, but you. “You are my everything. Please believe me when I say it. I wanted you then, I want you now, and I will until we take our last breath.” His words hold sincerity, something reserved for no one but you.

“From today on, baby, I’m all in. I’m all yours, and hers. I’ll be here for it all, the sleepless nights, the cravings, the aches, everything.” He pours his heart to you, never letting go, as if he’d been scared you’d disappear. “You are it for me, Y/N. I love you more than I could ever tell. Please believe me when I say it.”

And with your eyes, shining into his, you keep his cheek cupped, and your foreheads locked. You stare, and you stare, and you stare, into the eyes of your world. Into the eyes of the man who you knew would become the best father; perhaps greater of a father to your child than he is a husband, if only it was possible.

Your husband, deserves the stars. And if you could, you’d pick them out of the sky like apple blossoms in summer, and decorate them in his hair. And with every ounce in your being, you smile, and you kiss him tender, you hold him so close, so near.

“I do.” You smile, holding on.

       “I believe you. I trust you.”

➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴

My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)

[engekihaikyuu]

Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu - The View from the Top 2

2.5D Interview Translation with Asuma Kousuke

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Since the show “The Strongest Team,” it’s been about two and a half years since you last played Oikawa. How did you feel when your casting for this show was decided? I really didn’t think the day would come when I’d get to return to Engeki Haikyuu. So when my casting my was set, I was so incredibly happy. This time I will be the only one appearing from Aoba Johsai. So that makes me a little sad, and I also feel some pressure since I’m responsible for representing everyone from Aoba Johsai and I carry the weight of all of their emotions. That’s the main challenge I want to overcome.  

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Full interview and more photos under the Read More! Please do not repost my translations

Asuma-san, your debut was with Engeki Haikyuu. And now this will be your final time portraying Oikawa, so please give us an insight into your state of mind. I’m only here because of Engeki Haikyuu, so I really am very grateful. I’ve never been able to play the same character for this long, so it’s the character I’m most attached to, and I feel like I understand Oikawa better than anyone else. This is going to be the grand culmination of eleven shows, and I want to make it the best production yet, full of all of the emotions of everyone in the cast and crew. That’s the “Summit” that everyone in this company is aiming for, and I will be only one portion of that.  

Asuma-san, you will be the only one appearing from Aoba Johsai, so is there anything in particular you’re conscientious of?   Even with only Oikawa on the stage, I think the atmosphere changes. And because I will be alone, I want to be even more unrestrained in how I present Oikawa. Even at rehearsals, I want to be calling so much attention to Oikawa that even the director will stop me. (laughs) I haven’t been able to join the others at rehearsals yet, but I’ll be the only one there who’s been a part of this from the very beginning, so I think everyone will come to me with their questions. Like, ��Show us how you did this in previous shows” or “Show us an example of how to do that.” Although I’m not sure I even could... (laughs) I’m sure there will be times when people tease me like, “That’s no good!” but if I can make rehearsals lively with that, I’m fine. Also in terms of age, I’m somewhere in the middle of the group, and this is my first time in that situation. Normally I’m always teased by my senpai, but since I’ve been here since the very first show and I’ve been able to see and experience a lot, I hope that I’ll be able to give some advice to others. 

Are there any parts of your personality that you think resemble Oikawa? A lot of people around me say that I'm like him, but I don’t really think so. At first I thought we might be similar, but as I’ve gotten deeper into this role, I’ve become less able to say that. Right now, I can only say that I respect him. Oikawa has this one line that I like, which goes, “Talent is something you make bloom, instinct is something you polish!!!” In this world, there aren’t that many people you can call prodigies. Oikawa rose to the top with hard work, and I think it’s just too cool that I got to say that line! Even when I rewatch that DVD, I often feel like, “Wow I got a really cool line...”   Even Iwa-chan says to him, “Even when you’ve become an old man, you probably won’t be happy. Even if you won some big tournament, you wouldn’t be completely satisfied, because you’re an annoying guy who’s going to chase volleyball for his entire life.” Oikawa loves volleyball, he’s obsessed with it, and I have nothing but respect for that.  

Do you normally rewatch the shows you’ve starred in? It is embarrassing, so I don’t often rewatch things. There are things where if I watched them now, I’d think, “Man I sucked.” But when it comes to “Winners and Losers” or “The Strongest Team,” those are different and I used to rewatch them often even back then. I think to myself, “I haven’t done any other plays that are this rough. So I can do this!” They’re encouraging that way. Also I’m good friends with everyone in those casts. The sense of teamwork and friendship is very strong.  

Speaking of your teammates, you spent a long time together with the Aoba Johsai cast. Please tell us about a time during a past tour when you felt strongly about your connection with them.   There are a lot of things I can only talk about now. Everyone was my senpai, but at the time, we would argue a lot. Because we didn’t want to give in to one another. For the duration of the tour, we agreed that we wouldn’t have that kind of pecking order, and that’s how we were able to create those shows. There’s a scene in “The Strongest Team” when Oikawa says, “Thank you for the past three years!!!”, and when I saw everyone’s faces in that moment, I couldn’t stop myself from bursting into tears. I was just so glad that we really had become such a great team by that point.

Within the entire Engeki Haikyuu series, please tell us what you think is Oikawa’s best scene. The first is the opening sequence for the very first show. Because I was good at the count, I deviated from it to do a little double peace sign. And also that’s my very first scene as an actor. At the time, I was really nervous about even doing that one jump, but I’ll never be able to forget the view while facing the front of that stage. We don’t have any lines there, but it’s a scene that I have a very strong emotional attachment to.   The other one is from “the Strongest Team” when Kyoutani gets over himself and really becomes part of Seijoh. Oikawa has continued to trust in Kyoutani, and he continues to grind that gear into place. The result is a unified Seijoh to oppose Karasuno. When I rewatched that moment on DVD, I have this really great smile on my face. I’d kept such a serious expression up to that point, so I really enjoy that shift in expression.  

Tell us something we should look forward to for this show’s Oikawa. I think fundamentally he’s the same as when he was a high school student, so I think the highlight will be to see the parts of him that have changed with age. There’s a lot that wasn’t portrayed in the manga, so I’m personally looking forward to seeing how I can craft those portions on my own on-stage. I’m going to be fairly conscious of my manner and behavior, not just my lines. It'd be great if I can show his difference in age with how I carry myself. I also want to polish my jump serve more. My jump serve right now is the high school version, so I want people to see the change in form and power.  

Earlier you mentioned the line, “Talent is something you make bloom, instinct is something you polish.” What are the things that you will continue to make bloom or polish from here on? Tell us your vision of yourself as an actor. I honestly don’t know if I have any real talents. But for now I’ve continued to get work in this field, so someday I’d like to be able find my specialties while focusing on the work in front of me. In the future I’d like to go overseas, so right now I’m studying English and Chinese. Haikyuu is very popular all over the world. Every time I’ve gone to some other country, there are many people who tell me, “I’ve seen Engeki Haikyuu!” Because I’ve been able to perform in a production that’s this beloved the world over, I’ve come to think that I need to go out into that world! After this, I would love to become an actor that can work all around the globe.  

And lastly, please give the fans a final, exuberant message   In times like these, I think that entertainment and the arts are absolutely necessary. I know there are many things to be depressed about, but that’s exactly why I want people to watch Engeki Haikyuu and then gain some motivation.  This is a production where you can absolutely feel the passion whether you see it in person or through a screen, so I want people to see it whether through an official stream or on DVD.   At last, we’ve reached the finale. Please support us to the very end!  

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You can read the original Japanese interview here: (x)

Please do not repost my translations!  This includes screenshots of bits and pieces taken out of context, especially if they don’t link back to this full post. If you appreciate the work I do for this blog and want to support my translation efforts please consider donating a ko-fi! (x)

[startanewdream]

Hey can you write a Jily lives AU about the moment Hagrid comes carrying presumably dead Harry. Please include the views of James, Lily and Ginny. And maybe I am asking too much but also a Harry killing Voldemort.

Hi! Thanks for sending an idea! 

This was like the most angst thing ever to write because it’s a hopeless moment for all of them, but here it is Jily view of the Final Battle (no Ginny, sorry, but she does appear in this and Hinny gets a little of love).

____________________________

Summary:  When Harry opens the Snitch and finds the Resurrection Stone, James and Lily don’t show up.

Read on AO3 or below:

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One minute

The Cloak - his father’s gift for his eleventh birthday - allows Harry to walk by unnoticed, protecting him as always from prying eyes. He stops quietly at the Entrance Hall and glimpses inside the Great Hall.

It is full, but it’s easy to find his parents by his father’s messy hair and his mother’s auburn hair; they are talking quietly to each other.

They are grave, but when Harry looks at them, he sees beyond the dirty and the cuts on their faces and the marks of the battle; he even sees beyond the First War heroes that everyone else thinks of them. He sees his parents. 

Mum and Dad.

Somehow, at the end of his journey, it is easy to remember all the good moments. He thinks about his father’s warm grin when he was patiently teaching Harry how to fly, encouraging him to go higher, to never give up, to enjoy some risks now and then; about James’ hazel eyes looking proud and exasperated at him, whenever Harry had been involved in one of his adventures over the years; and about the way James Potter never let him down, always providing comfort and help whenever Harry asked for it.

Looking at a face that is so like his own, Harry just wants his father to mess his hair one more time (‘Dad, come on’, he would complain, even though he always enjoyed how that made his hair look like his father’s), to tell him everything will be okay if he just never gives up, to listen to one of his father’s Marauder tales, because now he thinks of it, he always took him for granted. Even with the death threats and the war, he always thought of his father as invincible, always thought he would have one more moment with him.

He wonders what his father is whispering to his mother right now and knowing he will never hear his father’s calm reasonable words again almost break him.

Even at distance, even amongst chaos and destruction, Harry thinks he can see the way his mother’s eyes seem to shine with a determination that Voldemort could never take away. It’s the eyes Harry inherited and the eyes that made Snape give his life for. He wonders why his mother never talked about being once friends with Snape and he realizes now how many things he never thought of asking her. More about her life at Hogwarts; more about her sister; more about her work, her dreams. There is a world of Lily Potter that he never got to know.

Like with his father, he took his mother for granted too, thinking there would be time later to do all these things he never rushed to. He wishes he had hugged her more, had really shown how much he loves her and how much he is grateful for having her supporting him in every moment of his life.

And he wishes he had one more minute with her, to hear her amused laughter at something his father said, to see that sparkle of mischief in her eyes, to feel her loving arms around him protecting him more effective than any charm could.

But Harry knows he is lying to himself because one minute would not be enough. He could stay there forever watching them and it still would be too short to see his parents together.

Even now, when they are looking tired and worn from the battle, for once looking like their real age, he thinks they still shine together, James and Lily Potter, whose love cast a blood protection and saved Harry so many times before.

But this time, it’s Harry’s love for them that shall save them.

It’s fitting, he thinks, and it’s fair; he already had seventeen wonderful years with them. The only thing that hurts is knowing how much they will suffer when he is gone, how much they won’t understand that Harry did it for them. He is facing Voldemort this one last time because his mother taught him to never stand for bigotry and because his father taught him to always do the right thing.

Harry hopes they will eventually be happy and at peace.

And he knows they will see each other again someday.

They are in each other’s arms, his dad kissing his mum tenderly on the forehead, and Harry records in his mind this last image of his parents, using it as much as a Patronus to walk him through the dementors, to give him the final courage to face Voldemort and to sacrifice himself.

When Harry opens the Snitch and finds the Resurrection Stone, James and Lily don’t show up.

_______________________________

One minute.

Being at war the first time had taught James that sometimes, even in the middle of the chaos of the battle, you need one minute to stop and breath, one minute to let panic take over you until you are able to think straight again and focus on what needs to be done.

Lily is in his arms and he lets himself enjoy this one minute because when it’s over he knows there is work to be done. People need help - so many of them are hurt and there are so many corpses that need to be laid down. It's war and blood and his hearts burns with sorrow for all that has been lost and knowing there is still more loss to come. They haven't won yet.

But Lily is hugging him - he doesn’t know who is supporting who - and he lets her familiar scent fill him, calm him, take him to a place where he remembers why he is fighting for.

It’s for her - it’s always been for her - and it’s for Harry too. Their son.

He takes a deep breath and then his one minute is up. James places a soft kiss on her forehead, like he has done uncountable times before, and ignores his fear that this will be the last kiss he ever gives her.

Despair never helps. Hope is all he has and he will cling to it. Somehow, he knows, this will be over soon. One way or another.

But he concentrates only on one way now, believing that Harry has a plan. He hasn't seen his son since before Voldemort had called for that cease-fire, but he saw Ron and Hermione and if they are fine, Harry is fine too.

It's not easy to accept that so much lies on his seventeen-year-old son, but he trusts Harry. Whatever else James may have done in his life, his greatest achievement will always be how he and Lily raised their son - how he is a fine young man with his heart in the right place.

And when this is over, Harry will get to finally live at peace.

It's easier to think about the possibilities of the future than to think about how many young lives were lost that day, and how much destruction Voldemort has caused, but he vows they will rebuild everything. Their faith, Hogwarts, the belief in something good. They will make a better world.

James lays down a boy that looks young in death enough to be his son, and he tries not to think about how frail the boy seems and how easily it could be Harry.

No, no despair. Like he always tells Harry, good things can come if you just never give up. And while James is breathing, he will fight. He thinks of that Halloween night many years ago, when he thought he would die and was willing to just to give Harry and Lily more time - he would happily exchange his life for them if it meant they would be safe…

'Mr. Potter?', he hears a soft voice calling him, and when he turns, James sees the distressed face of Ginny Weasley. 'Professor McGonagall told me to call you, she needs assistance with reinforcing the barriers outside'.

James nods.

'I'll be right there. And it's James, Ginny'.

She looks at him, her brown eyes for once without any shadow of her usual joyfulness, and James thinks that, like Harry, she had to grow up too fast.

'I think I'll stick with Mr. Potter for a while longer', she says, and James suddenly understands. Ginny always called him formally, just to tease him. If she starts calling him James now, it would look too much like as if this is their last conversation.

They both need to believe there will be more time later.

'Fine, future Mrs. Potter', he says at least and that almost makes her smile.

When they leave the castle and are about to go separate ways in the grounds, she turns to him with a troubled face.

'Have you seen Harry?', Ginny asks, and he can hear a fear in her voice that makes him shiver.

'No, but he must be fine', he says, because he can't think of any other alternative.

'Hermione told me he had something to see', says Ginny, almost to herself. 'And that she thinks he went upstairs, but I could swear I felt…'

She stops herself, shaking her head, and looks in the direction of the forest.

'But?', James presses, even as his instincts tell him he doesn't want to know her feelings.

'Nothing', Ginny says, her tone making it clear that she also doesn't want to think of the worst. 'I am sure he is just planning the next move. Lily's son is actually very smart, you know?'

James accepts her teasing.

'I'll let you know half that smartness is mine'.

'I thought he took from you the part where he is always in trouble'.

'No, he took from me the part where he always gets out of trouble', James says and for a moment they exchange a soft smile.

Then Ginny blinks.

'Good luck with the charms', she says, and with a final nod, she leaves him.

James watches her go briefly and thinks that, when this is over, he and his son will need a serious conversation about ending very good relationships for stupid noble reasons.

For the next fifteen minutes, he works tirelessly, helping reinforce the castle magical barriers and rebuild the entrance door so they can better control the situation. Death Eaters have the numbers, he knows, but as Remus always says, numbers don't win battles. If they can focus the main battle in the Great Hall, then a limited number of Death Eaters will be able to enter and they will have a better chance against Voldemort himself if he fulfils his promise to come...

And then James can watch the last duel between his son and Voldemort, and the mere thought of it fills him with dread. He can't just watch. He has to be there for Harry, he has to be side by side with his son because he would never let Harry alone -

'Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone'.

He doesn't hear any more of what Voldemort is saying, because his mind is screaming in denial. No, no, no.

Voldemort is lying. Harry would never run away, would never die. Harry would never sacrifice himself so they could all get a chance -

Except his noble brave wonderful son would certainly do it.

One minute, he thinks madly. I will believe in it for one minute then I will see it's a lie.

When he sees Hagrid carrying him, that one minute never ends.

_______________________________

There are minutes that seem longer than others.

Sometimes this is good. Lily can remember a minute of pure laughter with Dorcas and Marlene in the girl's dormitory many years ago; the reason for the laughter is long forgotten, gone as her friends, but the memory of that happy silly moment stayed.

Or the first time she woke up next to James, with his arms still around her, his breath slow and soft, and she had seen his sleeping face and thought she really loved him - they had said that to each other the night before, but in that one minute of silence and peace (before James had woken and tickled her and made her giggle and kissed her), she had just basked in that feeling of loving.

Or that one minute she had stayed longer in the bathroom, looking at the pregnancy test that said that despite being unplanned, despite the horrible timing, she and James had created a life together - their love had made him, their son. She had looked at the test, her hand in her still flat belly, and for one minute it was her and her baby only before she left to share the news with James.

There are other bad minutes, but Lily tries not to think of them. She is optimistic, as much as she is realistic. Life is made of good and bad moments; she just chooses to focus more on the good ones than let herself despair with the bad ones.

So she focuses on her task ahead, handling potions as people ask for them, her mind always thinking what ingredients work better for the problems people are facing - cuts and burns and acromantula venom…

When there is a moment of tranquillity (that doesn't fool her - it's just the calm before the storm), Lily lets herself look around. James must be out in the grounds - he always felt better at open spaces -, but she still can't find Harry. He must be busy, her poor hard-working son. He will not rest until -

A shiver runs through her body, inexplicable and cold, and she thinks of that expression her mother used - like if someone walked in her grave.

It's silly, of course, it is probably only that fear and adrenaline before a battle, the one that James always tells her to use in her favour to sharpen her senses.

Except she is not fearing for herself. She thinks of Harry, her little happy baby whose eyes always seems to shine with pure amusement to the fact that he is alive. She thinks of seeing him growing up, coming of age as a beautiful brave man, and just like she used to do when he was a baby in his crib, she thinks she could watch him forever and it would not be enough.

He is her precious son. The one she would die for without hesitation because all she wants is for him to be safe. Harry must be fine.

And still that feeling lingers, threatening to crush her, as if a dementor - the thing she always feared the most - is right next to her, sucking all happiness and hope, and Lily thinks madly that she needs James right now, needs his arms evolving her to make her feel at home. His presence always has a soothing effect on her, with the way he kisses her forehead and he is so warm.

With James, she always feels everything will be ok. Not just for her, but for their family.

But she is alone now and she is cold and Lily swallows a cry that seems to come from her chest. There is no apparent reason for that unfathomable fear, there is nothing different. People are still waking around her, helping where they can or comforting the hurt ones or the people who lost someone or else just finding their loved ones -

Love.

And then, just as suddenly at it came, that feeling is gone as if taken by a light breeze. There is only a shadow of it on her heart, like a scar of a long-healed injury, but that uneasiness is gone, and Lily raises her eyes to the enchanted ceiling almost expecting the dawn to break.

It is still dark outside, but dawn cannot be too far. A new day brings new hope, her mother always said.

But then Lord Voldemort’s voice is ringing through the room and she hears his words, understands them, but she doesn’t believe him.

Harry can’t be dead. Voldemort didn’t kill him sixteen years ago, he won’t kill Harry now. Her love - her and James’ - protected him.

Except the protection ended when he came of age.

Lily walks outside feeling like she is gliding more like a ghost than walking like a human being, and there are people around her but she doesn’t notice them - maybe Molly is gripping her arms, maybe Neville (that amazing young man who would have made Frank and Alice so proud) is calling her name. She doesn’t know, she can’t do anything but oblige to that urge to go outside and see for herself that Voldemort is lying.

‘No!’, someone screams and she thinks it’s Professor McGonagall, who once wrote for her and James to tell them their son had been made the youngest seeker in the century, and they could read the pleasure and pride in her letter.

McGonagall had always favoured James and Lily, and Lily always thought that favouritism had also been extended to Harry, no matter how McGonagall would deny it.

That was a cry of despair. She never thought McGonagall could make such a sound, but Minerva must be mistaken, there is no other -

And then Ron and Hermione are crying too, and Lily thinks of how they are Harry’s family as much as she and James; she thinks how Harry always had loyal friends just as Sirius and Remus were always there for James. She trusts Ron and Hermione - trusts their love - to guide and protect Harry and to be by his side no matter what; Ron was always the heart and Hermione was always the mind and together she knows Harry had the best friends in the world that he could have.

No, not that he had. He has. Still has.

But Ginny is crying for Harry and he is not answering, and somehow that breaks into Lily, because Harry is so in love with that girl that of course he would answer her back. Lily thinks of how Harry’s eyes always shine when Ginny is around, how happy he seemed in those weeks they’ve been together, how worried he was for her while he was away (‘Promise me you will look after her, Mum’, Harry had asked the day before vanishing at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, ‘I can’t - if anything happens to her - please’).

And she knows her son and she knows that what Harry always saw with Ginny was the promise of a normal life - a life where he isn’t the Chosen One, but just a regular boy falling in love with a regular redhead, just as his father once did.

Except Hagrid is carrying him and Harry is limp and still and she thinks of holding that little baby in her arms for the first time, of how he was moving and crying but when he looked at her - with those bright green eyes that she had passed on to him - he seemed to calm.

He will awake, she thinks unreasonably, and she waits for him to jump and laugh, but Harry stays still in the one minute that takes for Voldemort to come closer, and that is the worst minute of her life.

___________________________

Spells and curses are flying around them, but James and Lily don’t take their eyes off Voldemort’s red ones.

It feels a lot like a deja vu, because they had already been there, facing him, standing up for him. Four times. They survived four times and in the fourth one, they managed to protect their son.

Maybe it’s too late for Harry now, but they both know Harry would never want them to give up. And if all they can do is get this final piece of justice, they will.

From the corner of his eyes, James sees Bellatrix Lestrange falling - and that gives him a sinister pleasure -, but then Voldemort is blasting he and Lily of the way, turning his attention to Molly Weasley instead.

‘Protego’, someone yells, casting a shielding charm between Molly and Voldemort, and Lily’s heart beats faster even before her mind registers to whom that voice belongs.

And then Harry is pulling off his Invisibility Cloak and James remembers Harry’s amazement when he gave him the cloak for his eleventh birthday, promising solemnly he would take care of the family’s inheritance. Harry’s eyes had sparkled with all the possibilities; as much responsible his son was, there was a Marauder inside Harry too.

They are circling each other, Voldemort and Harry, and though Lily wants to rush to her son’s side, somehow she knows this is not the moment. For the first time, she truly accepts this is Harry’s fate, this is Harry’s moment. She and James made everything they could - they raised Harry and they loved him and they taught all the things that really matter. Their son is a survivor.

Harry is talking about love (Snape, really?, James thinks) and wand lore and remorse and then Harry is casting the spell he likes most, the one that he defended when James told him he should be more aggressive (he just wants Harry to be safe, no matter what, but Harry refused to blast people out of the way). And then it’s over. Finally.

Dawn is breaking and somehow the first coherent thought in Lily’s mind is that her mother was right, a new day always brings new hope. Then she is screaming - or James is, she doesn’t know - and their arms are wrapping Harry, feeling his heart beating and he is alive. Their son is alive and all will be well. They stay in each other’s arms, the Potter family, for what seems forever - but it’s only a minute because Harry has other people to embrace and to celebrate and to love.

That minute begins a lifetime.

[too-kinky-to-live]

taste

happy vo.re day everyone!!! here’s my cringe fic to commemorate :-) 

(no ao3 link this time im too self conscious) 

this idea came about while talking to the lovely @chili-kinks and they made this in conjunction with my fic so please check them out!!

anyway this fic features pre.game oum.asai and soft, same size vo.re, you have been warned. also bad words

“IIIIT’S PUNISHMENT TIME!!!”

The screen cut to a large Monokuma towering over the latest blackened, a small blonde girl with a long pigtail. The demonic bear picked up the girl and began to lick all over as she struggled in his grasp. Slowly lifting her above his head, Monokuma bent his head back and opened the gates of hell: his half-fanged mouth, with drool beginning to form around it. The girl was screaming and flailing about as she was lowered further down to her demise. Monokuma’s fist released her without effort, the blackened dropping right into his gaping maw. It slammed shut with a metal clang, and the bear gave a loud, deafening gulp. 

Saihara’s eyes were glued to the T.V., in a more intense manner than usual. What a cruel way to go, even for Danganronpa standards. He had many ideas about his own execution someday, but this… this was definitely one to consider. He could only imagine how she felt wriggling around in his large belly, put to an eternal sleep with a comforting blanket of warmth. His shaky hands moved to text his boyfriend Ouma, who sadly couldn’t make it to their weekly Danganronpa viewing because of heaps of school projects. He knew Ouma was more into the mystery aspect of the show than the gruesome killings, but he simply couldn’t resist. 

Saihara: omgomgomg did you see the latest episode???

Ouma: I did. I had it on in the background so I could work. 

Saihara: what did you think of the execution? :D

Ouma: It was… something. Unexpected, definitely. 

It was difficult for the taller boy to contain his fantasizing, to say the least. 

Saihara: i love the way she was screaming for dear life,,, it was soooo satisfying in the end! god i wish i were monokuma… tasting a victim would be so worth ittt

Ouma: Uh, Saihara?

Saihara: yea?

Ouma: I think you should go to bed. You have school tomorrow. And… you’re scaring me a little. 

Saihara: sorry kichi… but fiiiine ill see you tomorrow.

The last thing he wanted was to make Ouma uncomfortable. And he was a man of his word, he’d take his advice and get to bed. However, there was one thing he wanted to try first. Rummaging around in his snack drawer, he found a small bag of Monokuma-themed gummy bears. He couldn’t stop thinking about having something whole run down his throat… and what better way to do it than try on a small candy? He frantically opened the bag and plucked out a red gummy. Dangling it above his drooling maw, he licked his lips. 

“My first victim… down the hatch!” 

He shoved the gummy in his mouth and had to stop himself from chewing. Positioning it for swallowing, he let it slide down his throat with a hard gulp. Saihara traced a hand over his chest to feel it going down to his stomach, shivering slightly. What an amazing feeling… he couldn’t chew these ever again! He happily shoved more in his mouth and gulped them down, pretending they were meek little prey against his predatory might. 

Saihara tossed the bag aside and rubbed his belly blissfully. One day, maybe he could have a person inside him. Despite his affinity for Danganronpa, he could never bring himself to kill someone. He was going to rely on Team Danganronpa’s directors to change that for him. No, he merely wanted someone in his belly for a while, just to feel what it’s like. 

Surely a normal human like him couldn’t achieve that, right? 

Only one way to find out. 

Ouma looked on nervously as Saihara effortlessly swallowed half a sandwich whole. His previous victims included sushi, apple slices, candy, cookies, and brownies. It was almost inhuman how the taller boy could open his mouth to fit a seemingly endless array of food. 

"Saihara, you're gonna make yourself sick."

Saihara simply chuckled. "I'll be fine, 'Kichi." 

The smaller boy knew Saihara had a somewhat unhealthy obsession with Danganronpa, but he never would have imagined it would affect him this much. Despite how unnatural it was, Ouma couldn't help his morbid curiosity. He couldn't deny how interesting the latest execution was (no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise), and a small part of him absolutely loved watching Saihara scarf down food and seeing it travel down his throat. 

Nope, he definitely didn't enjoy this. 

Every so often, the taller boy would lift his food above him and slowly ease it into his mouth, as if to simulate eating a person. Ouma was immensely thankful the other patrons of the cafe were ignoring them. Maybe this sudden fascination would fade once the next Danganronpa episode came out; but with Saihara, anything was possible. 

Saihara: hey could you come over today? i wanna try something. 

Two weeks later, Ouma received a rather unceremonious text from Saihara one night. 

Ouma: Sure. What is it you want to try? 

Saihara: i don't think i can say over text

Ouma furrowed his brow, his mind racing to the absolute worst possible scenarios. Did something happen between him and his uncle again? 

Ouma: ...why not? 

Saihara: i just can't i'm sorry 

Saihara: pls come over asap 

Ouma: Alright.

It was unsettling how vague his friend was being, and that made him all the more worried. He hurriedly packed his things and ran to Saihara's house. 

The two sat across from each other on the floor in Saihara’s room, neither saying a word. The taller boy had his eyes cast down, deep in thought with Ouma left to wonder just what the hell happened to him. The air was unnerving, and Ouma couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you okay, Saihara?”

The boy in question took a second to look up at him, meeting his eyes with an emotionless face Ouma had not seen in him before. 

“Do you remember the episode where the girl got eaten alive?”

Oh.

“I… I want to try it out. I’ve been practicing so I could make it happen.”

Oh.

Saihara couldn’t possibly think this would work, right? Humans aren’t capable of eating each other without… killing the other. Ouma shuddered. 

“Saihara,” he spoke slowly. “Do you really think you can do this? I mean, Danganronpa is just fiction after all… and one of us wouldn’t s-survive,” his voice began to quiver. 

The taller boy sat up slightly and looked at Ouma with soft eyes. “I won’t let that happen. I’ve been looking stuff up. I’ve been training myself. And… you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 

Part of Ouma didn’t want to. That part was constantly pushing the fact that this could end up very bad. However, another part slowly began to rise up - the feeling of being the closest he can to the one he has a crush on. And of course, there was that naughty side of him thrilled at the idea. 

“...I’ll do it.”

Saihara’s eyes lit up. “Really?!”

“I trust you. And, well, I’m kinda curious too.” 

Hearing Ouma have mutual feelings to this weird activity made Saihara’s heart race. The smaller boy began to remove his clothing, too embarrassed to make eye contact with his crush. Saihara finally noticed how bony Ouma was. He’d make sure to get him a proper meal later. Ouma removed everything but his boxers, feeling somewhat self-conscious and looking away with a blush. 

“Could you uh, close your eyes while I do this? I don’t think I could make eye contact with you.”

“S-Sure.”

Ouma complied and Saihara inched his way towards him, shaking slightly. Ouma trusted him. He wasn’t about to let that be for nothing. Raising himself above Ouma’s head, Saihara opened his maw until it became unhinged. He gently bit down on the smaller boy’s head of hair. The flavor was a sweet grape with a bit of lavender, which made Saihara drool slightly. He couldn’t help but smile in bliss as he took more of the boy in. He felt Ouma flinch a bit, so he brought his hands to Ouma’s arms and rubbed for reassurance. The smaller boy calmed down and Saihara reached his shoulders. 

Perhaps it was Ouma’s smaller stature, but this was going a lot easier than Saihara had anticipated. He wanted to lick at him to get more of his sweet flavor, but he didn’t want to gross him out. He also wished he could ask how Ouma was holding up, but, well… he was a bit preoccupied. As Saihara reached the smaller boy’s torso, he realized the boy had entered his stomach. He was already feeling full, but there was no going back now. He took a hand off of Ouma to rub his belly, his hand gliding over the dent created in it. Reaching Ouma’s boxers wasn’t nearly as thrilling of a milestone, since his taste was interrupted by bland fabric. 

He picked up the pace and shoved the covered part of Ouma’s body down his gullet. He mentally apologized for being so rough. Resuming the wonderful taste of Ouma, he slid down his spindly legs. All that remained was below the knees, and those were consumed just as quickly. Saihara could feel Ouma squirming a bit to get comfortable, and that’s when the true euphoria started. 

It felt fucking amazing. 

It was everything he hoped it would be. He leaned back and let an arm support him from behind, using the other to support the massive weight added to him. His stomach stretched past his knees with many bumps protruding from it. Red-faced, Saihara panted heavily with his tongue lavishly hanging out. God, this was so worth it. He rubbed around to feel for Ouma, who was surprisingly calm during the whole ordeal. 

He opened his mouth to ask Ouma how he was doing, but a massive belch burst from his lips instead. The smaller boy, meanwhile, was fumbling around trying to make out his surroundings in the dark. His body was drenched in saliva; but strangely, no stomach acid was present. The world quaked around him as Saihara let out a loud burp, and Ouma found it hard to be grossed out given his current circumstances. 

“Are you *urp* okay, ‘Kichi?” 

Saihara’s hand found Ouma’s head between the fleshy wall separating them, and Ouma couldn’t help but lean into the touch. He never saw himself in the stomach of his crush, yet here he was. 

“I’m okay. It feels… really nice,” he blushed, accentuated with a small rub to the stomach walls. He was amazed at how elastic Saihara’s stomach was, he hoped he wasn’t putting too much strain on it. 

“Haah… I’m great, ‘Kichi! The best I’ve ever felt, actually! You tasted incredible,” he grinned, licking his lips. 

Suddenly, the buttons on his dress shirt holding on for dear life relented and popped right off, exposing his large belly. That was… pretty hot, Saihara realized. Ouma started to rub more of the walls surrounding him, causing Saihara to moan rather loudly. He was a complete mess around his crush, but it was just too difficult to contain his bliss. 

“Saihara, why aren’t there any stomach acids yet?” 

The taller boy gave his belly a gentle pat. “I found recipes online for drinks that *hic* could subdue stomach acids for a bit. It looks *hic* like they worked pretty *hic* well, huh?” 

Ouma smiled and let himself lean back into the warm stomach walls. 

“You’ll let me out when I’m ready, right?” he asked tiredly. 

“Of course,” Saihara whispered, rubbing Ouma’s head.

“Thank you, Saihara.”

[arctic-comet]

Osblaine week 2021, Day 2: Lyrics

Over the last several weeks, I have carefully curated a playlist for Osblaine. The final total length of the playlist is 2 hours and 53 minutes.

The playlist can be found HERE

Click "Keep Reading" if you're interested in the introduction, commentary, more graphics and the full tracklist.

For full disclosure, I have to give some of the credit to my amazing fellow Osblaine fangirls @dystopiandramaqueen, @splitscreen and everyone who participated in a certain conversation for the original inspiration and even bringing up some of the songs.

You should look at the playlist in five parts: one section for each season that's aired and one section for the future (because I like to end things on a hopeful note).

The playlist contains a lot of the following:

Music from movie and TV soundtracks

Instrumental music

Remixes

Classics and covers of classics

Country music. I blame Florida. My sincerest apologies.

Some of the songs were chosen because they reminded me of a certain Osblaine scene, and some of them aren't specific to particular scenes but chosen for the general Osblaine vibe. And most of the movie/TV music I chose have been used for couples that remind me of Nick and June.

Part I- Season 1, first 12 songs of the playlist:

Forbidden Love- Abel Korzeniowski, Jasper Randall, The Hollywood Studio Symphony (Romeo & Juliet)

Fireflies- Owl City

Echoes in Rain- Enya

My Ghost- Glass Pear (Bones)

Daring to Hope- Anne Dudley (Poldark)

Everytime We Touch- Cascada

1000 Times- Sara Bareilles

Too Good At Goodbyes- Sam Smith

In Case You Don't Live Forever- Ben Platt

To Find You- Cast of Sing Street, Brenock O’Connor

She- Elvis Costello (Notting Hill)

Miracle- Instrumental- Cö Shu Nie

Hanging By A Moment- Lifehouse

Commentary:

The first instrumental song IMO works as an intro for their entire love story.

The next two songs are more about having the right vibe. It's a little ambiguous and dark because that's how their life is in Gilead.

Leave my door open just a crack

Please take me away from here

'Cause I feel like such an insomniac

Please take me away from here

Why do I tire of counting sheep?

Please take me away from here

When I'm far too tired to fall asleep

***

Wait for the sun

Watching the sky

Black as a crow

Night passes by

Taking the stars

So far away

Everything flows

Here comes another new day

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah

***

"My Ghost" is June's POV before they sleep together, wondering if she can trust Nick:

Who can you trust, in this place?

And whom can I put my faith?

If you're real, then show me now,

Who you are

The last two songs are for episode 1x10, for both Nick’s reaction to June’s pregnancy and the beginning of her first escape attempt (arranged by Nick).

She may be the face I can't forget The trace of pleasure or regret May be my treasure or the price I have to pay She may be the song that summer sings Maybe the chill that autumn brings Maybe a hundred different things Within the measure of a day

Part II- Season 2, next 10 songs:

Love Will Keep Us Alive- Eagles

So Easy- Phillip Phillips

Incomplete- James Bay

Rewrite the Stars- The Piano Guys (The Greatest Showman)

I’ll Be Your Shelter- Taylor Dayne

Love Never Fails- Brandon Heath

P.S. I Love You- 05:11- John Powell (P.S. I Love You)

It's A Girl- Mychel Danna (The Time Traveler's Wife)

I'll Stand By You- Josh Groban, Helene Fischer

The Miracle of Love- Eurythmics

Commentary:

The first four songs cover June’s escape attempt and the time they share at the Boston Globe.

"Incomplete" is Nick's POV from when she's on the run and he knows she'll be gone from his life soon. He lives in the moment.

I don't wanna look down

I don't want us to break up in the clouds

All I want is to stay us, to stay with you now

"I'll Be Your Shelter" is for when June's mental health is at its lowest point and he goes to Serena to beg for her to get June help.

What you need is a friend to count on

What you got baby you got someone

Who will stay when the rain is fallin'

And won't let it fall on you

P.S. I Love You takes me back to episode 2.09, Nick’s selflessness in the episode and of course the scene where after telling June that Luke loves her, he tells her that he loves her too, despite believing she probably doesn’t feel the same way.

It's A Girl makes me think of the beautiful moment they share during June's false labor when he helps her out of the van and they climb the steps together.

I’ll Stand By You is for 2.10, Nick holding June after she was heartbroken over Hannah and over what the Waterfords did to her and clinging onto him.

Part III- Season 3, next 6 songs:

Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close- Alexandre Desplat (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close)

All I Ask- Adele

Never Enough- Loren Allred (The Greatest Showman)

I Don’t Wanna Live Forever- Taylor Swift, ZAYN (Fifty Shades Darker)

Love is Gone- SLANDER, Dylan Matthew

Constellations- The Oh Hellos

Commentary:

For obvious reasons, it was extremely difficult to pick songs for this season.

The first (instrumental) song is for the beginning of the season with June coming back to the Waterford house and them then saying goodbye to each other on the street.

All I Ask, Never Enough, I Don't Wanna Live Forever and Love Is Gone are for their night together in June’s room at Lawrence’s (the one we didn’t get to see sigh). They know it's possible it's all they'll ever have, and they'll take it, but it'll never be enough.

I will leave my heart at the door I won't say a word They've all been said before, you know So why don't we just play pretend? Like we're not scared of what's coming next Or scared of having nothing left

Look, don't get me wrong I know there is no tomorrow All I ask is

If this is my last night with you Hold me like I'm more than just a friend Give me a memory I can use Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do It matters how this ends 'Cause what if I never love again?

***

All the shine of a thousand spotlights

All the stars we steal from the night sky

Will never be enough

Never be enough

Towers of gold are still too little

These hands could hold the world but it'll

Never be enough

Never be enough

***

I'm sorry, don't leave me, I want you here with me

I know that your love is gone

I can't breathe, I'm so weak, I know this isn't easy

Don't tell me that your love is gone

That your love is gone

"Constellations" is for their long separation and the doubts that I'm sure plagued them both during it. Would they ever see each other again?

Part IV- S4, next 12 songs:

All of Me- John Legend

(Everything I do) I Do It For You- Bryan Adams

Iris- Natalie Taylor (City of Angels)

She Was Like A Bright Light- Hans Zimmer, Rupert Greyson-Williams (Winter’s Tale)

Noah's Last Letter- Aaron Zigman (The Notebook)

What’s In The Middle- the bird and the bee (Bones)

ivy- Taylor Swift

Footprints in the Sand- Leona Lewis

Remember Me (Lullaby)- Gael Garcia Bernal, Gabriella Flores (Coco)

On The Nature Of Daylight- Max Richter

My Heart Will Go On- Basil Jose (Titanic)

The Story- Sara Ramirez (Grey's Anatomy)

Commentary:

There were sooo many songs I wanted to include in part IV, but I controlled myself and ended up with this particular dozen.

"She Was Like A Bright Light" and "Noah’s Last Letter" are an instrumental double punch to the gut for Nick’s time in Gilead during episodes 4.07-4.09. The first one is meant for when he finds out June made it to Canada, and the 2nd for is for when he starts to gather info on Hannah to give to June.

"What’s in the Middle" and "ivy" are June’s POV of episodes 4.07-4.09.

"What's In The Middle" has more of an angry and confused vibe, and June was definitely both in episodes 7 and 8.

Losing your head is such a common theme

All your brains are falling out, falling out the open seams

Where is the heart, is the heart of the matter

I will empty out my skull of all this useless chatter

On the other hand, "ivy" has this haunted vibe, but there's also reverence and acceptance, which she begins to achieve in episode 9.

Oh, goddamn

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Taking mine, but it's been promised to another

Oh, I can't

Stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows

And now I'm covered in you

The next three songs are of course all for their reunion in 4.09, and I couldn’t resist including the song that was actually played in the scene.

"The Story" draws the season to a close nicely, with June understanding that her current needs are different from what they used to be and that there’s someone who understands her completely (and it’s not Luke).

You see the smile that's on my mouth

It's hiding the words that don't come out

And all of my friends who think that I'm blessed

They don't know my head is a mess

No, they don't know who I really am

And they don't know what I've been through like you do

And I was made for you

Part V- Season 5 and Beyond, the last 6 songs

Secret Love Song- Little Mix, Jason Derulo

Burn With You- Lea Michele

The Bones- Maren Morris

Feels Like Home- Auli'i Carvalho, Keegan DeWitt

Love Will Find A Way- Piano Covers (Lion King II)

Like I'll Never Love You Again- Carrie Underwood

“Secret Love Song” is a more angsty tune about a love that’s still kept a secret like June and Nick’s love (as far as most people are concerned). Now that they’ve already made out in front of the man who raped and abused June and made Nick watch him do that, I want to believe they can let go of the secrecy in S5, at least when it comes to a few people.

I'm living for that day Someday Can I hold you in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dancefloor? I wish that we could be like that Why can't we it be like that? Cause I'm yours, I'm yours Why can't you hold me in the street? Why can't I kiss you on the dancefloor? I wish that it could be like that Why can't it be like that? Cause I'm yours Why can't I say that I'm in love? I wanna shout it from the rooftops I wish that it could be like that Why can't we be like that? Cause I'm yours Why can't we be like that? Wish we could be like that

***

“Bones” is about a relationship with a strong foundation, which IMO they do have. It will carry them in the future, too. They’re more into each other now than ever before and especially June is coming to terms with how strong that love is. They’ll weather any storm.

When the bones are good, the rest don't matter

Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter

Let it break 'cause you and I remain the same

When there ain't a crack in the foundation

Baby, I know any storm we're facing

Will blow right over while we stay put

The house don't fall when the bones are good

***

“Feels Like Home” is more hopeful. Their home is with each other and I hope that’s something that will be explored more in the future.

Take me, I'm ready

Go slow but go steady

To a place that we can call our own

I wanna know what feels like home

***

“Like I’ll Never Love You Again” is a good conclusion for the playlist. It’s hopeful and a testament to an epic love.

I wanna love you like the rain on a roof

Stronger than a bottle of a hundred ten proof

I wanna take love to places that love has never been

Yeah, I wanna love you like I'll never love you again

And I'll love you again

Oh, and again

[painted-crow]

Some Discworld Sortings

@missbrunettebarbie​: Monstrous Regiment, The Truth, the first 3 City Watch books, Going Postal, Mort and Unseen Academicals. And I would love to read those sortings :)).

I already have most of Unseen Academicals’ Sorting written out--I just need to tweak it for publishing :) 

The short version of UA

The cast of UA is a pure-House matched set, aside from some models, and the characters each swap models around and interact with each others’ primaries in interesting ways. Glenda is a Hufflepuff/Hufflepuff, Juliette is a Gryffindor, Trev is a Slytherin, and Nutt, of course, is the loudest double Ravenclaw ever (I love him).

Nutt helps Glenda realize her community’s worldview is toxic and stop seeing herself through their lens. Glenda then stops pushing the same worldview on Juliette and starts encouraging her to follow her Gryffindor instead. Nutt doesn’t remotely fit into the class framework Glenda’s used to, and he challenges her assumptions just by existing. (Glenda also picks up a Gryffindor secondary model from Juliette that’s very healthy for her, but that’s getting into a bunch more detail that I’ll save for the full post later.)

Nutt’s system is very Hufflepuffy, but he sees himself as more of a tool than a person, and Glenda consistently argues with him about this until he starts to believe her. Then she’s his champion in the community, where Nutt desperately wants to belong but keeps getting rejected for what he is. It’s such a good ship, they’re so healthy for each other--and if you’re looking for a wholesome, fuzzy romantic subplot with an autistic-coded character, it’s right here.

Trev slowly un-Petrifies as he starts to let himself care about his friends, and they in turn inspire him to contribute and make something of himself. It’s not immediately obvious that Trev is Burned, because he’s so carefree--but he’s carefree because he isn’t letting himself care. He’s an orphan, and he’s felt helpless for a long time.

We know he’s unburned when he finally prioritizes his loyalty to his living friends over the promise he made years ago to his mother (who seems to represent the last loyalty relationship Trev had, and he's still holding on to her; letting her go means Trev has accepted that he has new relationships and those are real). Juliette’s presence in particular reignites his ambition--he wants to do better for her, be better for her, and that gives him direction in a way that his previous goals of leisure and self-preservation didn’t.

(That’s what’s going on with their primaries. Eventually I’ll get off my butt and fix up the full post.)

A quick sampler of main characters from the other books...

Monstrous Regiment

Polly is a Slytherin primary. The whole reason she joins the army is to rescue Paul (and, secondarily, to make sure she has a stable future when her father dies--otherwise some unreliable relative of hers inherits the inn, she’s not allowed to own it because of Nugganite customs). Ravenclaw secondary, I think, for how much her narration criticizes the others for not having a plan. 

Going Postal

Moist is of course a double Slytherin--he's blatantly obvious. He has a Claw secondary model but he tells us through the narration that he doesn't value it quite as much as his Slytherin. He's also very good at performing Puff secondary and seeming like a reliable people person, but the second he's asked to actually be reliable and hardworking he starts to go nuts and look for dangerous, exciting stuff to do.

The only thing that really ties him to Ankh-Morpork, aside from its general entertainment value every time Vetinari tries to give him a job where someone inevitably wants to kill him, is Adorabelle (who is also a threat to his life, just a little, enough to be interesting). She’s a double Slytherin too, but she spends most of her time in neutral state--yet she’s even managed to turn her neutral state into a game to play with Moist. Of course he’s enamored with her, lol.

City Watch series

Vimes is a Ravendor: he has very thoroughly laid out views about the law and its role in choosing the right thing to do. You could argue that he’s a burned Gryff, given how tight of a lid he has on his “inner darkness” (that shows up more later, and he’s not being entirely metaphorical), but he seems pretty stable and content with his system. Vimes doesn’t trust himself without his checks and boundaries, but he seems to be okay with that, even if he’s secretly afraid that the rules and accountability he’s laid out for himself someday won’t be enough.

His system doesn’t always match up with the law, but he uses the law to make sure he doesn’t stray too far off moral ground and into taking his wrath out on the guilty. Vimes actually gains a really useful reputation in later books as being fair and consistent and impossible to corrupt.

As for his secondary... he’s known as “Vetinari’s terrier.” He thinks he should be better at Ravenclaw secondary (putting together clues and so on) but mostly he runs off charge and intuition. There’s a really silly bit in Thud! where he’s constantly arguing with a magical Palm Pilot Sybil got for him, because he doesn’t have the patience to learn to use it. Whether he likes it or not, he’s a Gryff.

Sybil is either a Puff or Gryff primary; I lean towards Gryff for her. She’s got this very certain, intuitive core to her, and while she clearly holds a lot of Hufflepuffy values, she’s also very hard to sway or influence. She’s very solid in her morality, and I think that’s one of the things Vimes loves about her. Vimes has to work at staying moral 24/7, while Sybil just... is.

She’s a Ravenclaw secondary with a REALLY loud Hufflepuff secondary model. Hufflepuff is how she was raised to behave, and she likes it a lot, but she uses Ravenclaw without even thinking about it--the number of times she just pulls the "I happen to be prepared for this very specific situation" card out of her hat is wild, and she doesn’t even seem to think that what she’s doing is unusual.

It’s most obvious in The Fifth Elephant: not only does Sybil speak Dwarvish, but she sings a piece of a Dwarf opera to get them out of a tight corner, and then she semi-accidentally becomes an expert trade negotiator out of sheer curiosity, reading up on the notes left by the previous ambassador.

Also, it’s really cute that Vimes is a Ravendor and Sybil is a Gryffinclaw.

Carrot is hard to Sort. He gives off REALLY strong Hufflepuff vibes, of course, and he knows everyone and can be empathetic toward anyone. But he’s actually really hard to read. Angua certainly keeps expecting that he’s hiding layers of himself, but that’s probably because she’s got a lot of Slytherin to her (either Slytherdor or double Slytherin, her secondary might be a little singed; her primary definitely is).

I want to say that he’s a Hufflepuff secondary who’s really good at adapting to and mirroring other people, and Angua keeps mistaking this for Slytherin secondary. I think he’s a Gryffindor primary with a lot of Hufflepuffy values, like Sybil, and maybe he has a Slytherin model specifically for Angua (he drops everything for her early on in Fifth Elephant, possibly staking his life on the fact that she’ll come and find him when he does) --but I could be persuaded otherwise.

Phew, this is longer than I thought it’d be.