#tying two hearts together by the red string of fate

[teathattast]

you are my one, you set my world on fire

i know there's Heaven, but we must be higher

i'm gonna love you til my heart retires

forever will last

[shojimezolovemail]

hi! jjk men tearing up when yn kisses their forehead 🤭

A/N: thank you so much for the request!!! if you don't see your fave, feel free to send another ask! request open :-)

A/N pt 2: sorry that some of these are longer than others, i promise i love all these men :”)

warnings: allusion to canon level violence, pet names (sugar, doll, darling & honey), other than that mainly fluff! let me know if i missed anything ^_^

characters included: satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, toji fushiguro, & choso kamo

✰ satoru gojo ✰

A particularly difficult mission was left to the past of the last few hours but it was one Gojo couldn’t shake off of himself. It was one where both of your lives were nearly compromised and that alone was enough to churn his stomach.

“Satoru?” your voice called, breaking him away from a spiral within his mind. “Look at me, honey, please?” Your tone almost desperate as you took in his slumped posture against the seat he was in, legs pressed together as if he were folding himself up.

You got closer to Gojo, standing in front of him and using a hand to cup his face. The gentle touch was enough to begin soothing his racing mind. A sweet kiss pressed to his forehead then to the crown of his head.

Tears pooled along his waterline, breaching containment as they rolled down his cheeks.

As he always kissed away your tears, you returned the favor and pressed a few over where they would begin to stain against his skin.

✰ suguru geto ✰

For so long Geto believed that anything that could go bad would inevitably happen to him. He was spiraling down such a deep, dark depth of his mind until a strong force of light forced itself into to his life. You.

He felt as if divine timing had to play a part in uniting you two but you had other ideas of it.

“We were simply meant to be. Call it fate, or divine timing, whatever you’d like, Sugu,” you’d look over from where you stood in front of the stove, smiling at him and melting his heart.

“You really won’t settle on my divine timing theory?” He asked as he began closing the physical distance between you two.

“I think it’s more fun to pretend that there’s little red strings wrapped around our fingers and that’s what brought us together,” you tried to sound serious but couldn’t help the laugh in your voice at the theory that you spoke of.

Your laughter like the first inkling of spring after a hard winter to Geto, welcoming him into your warmth as it was all consuming. He was a sucker for everything about you though, in truth.

A small smile fell upon his lips, “You’re ridiculous. A red string tying us together? I think that’s a new one.”

You stood on your tip toes to press a quick kiss to his forehead, “You heard me, sugar. Do you mind grabbing the girls for me? I’ll plate up lunch right now.”

Geto stood still for a moment, warmth radiating throughout his body as he processed what you had done. Something within him stirring when he turned to leave the kitchen. His throat tightening at the act of intimacy.

Eyes welling up with tears and a quick cough to cover up the hiccups that followed him beginning to get emotional.

✰ kento nanami ✰

Rarely did you wake up earlier than Nanami but when you did, you tried to make the most of the time you had before he would wake up. He so often spent the hours of the night finishing up paperwork or lulling you to sleep because he had a habit of prioritizing your health over his.

While of course, that was sweet you knew eventually it would catch up and impact his life so when he’d stay up late and sleep in, it was almost a cause for celebration on your end.

You hatched a plan to make breakfast for him as he often would for you when he woke up before you. Nanami slept soundly as you slid out of the bed, careful to leave him with the warmth of the blanket you two shared and little noise as you departed the bedroom.

Soft hums falling past your lips as you gathered all your ingredients, tapping your foot as you awaited for the toast to pop up while you began the eggs.

Truthfully, you weren’t paying much attention to the clock so when you glanced up to see your lover standing in a half-open robe with his chest on display as he leaned against the doorway of the kitchen.

A gasp of surprise leaving your lips, “Good morning honey,” you said with a flushed smile.

“Good morning darling,” he moved to get closer to you but you held up a hand to stop him.

“Ah ah - take a seat at the table, the food’s almost done,” you pointed a spatula toward him, earning a chuckle from his lips.

Nanami took a seat at the small dining table, watching as you moved around the kitchen and finally plated the breakfast you had prepared.

You poured a glass of water and presented the food to Nanami, his hands coming to rest on your hips. A sleepy smile on his lips as he looked up at you.

“Why didn’t you wake me up to help you, darling?” he questioned, thumbs rubbing over your hips through your pajama pants.

One of your hands came to cup his cheeks, “You looked so peaceful, Ken. I didn’t want to disturb you, my love.” You leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, wrapping an arms around his shoulders.

Nanami couldn’t help the warmth that spread all over his body, eyes beginning to burn with tears.

“You’re too good to me, my darling.”

You press another kiss to his cheek now, “I treat you to what you deserve, Kento.”

✰ toji fushiguro ✰

It was another night of patching him up after a particularly bad job he had taken on. The only sound in the bathroom the ripping of gauze and a weak fan that pulled the fumes of rubbing alcohol away from the two of you.

You didn’t bother scolding him now, he knew you were upset but the state he came home in was too bad for you to think of anything else but stopping the blood staining his clothes.

Toji watched you gently clean his wounds, hisses falling past his scarred lips with quick muttered “Sorry, sorry!” from you every time he made noises of discomfort.

He clenched his fist together, the burning of the alcohol never got any easier but one would think that someone of his caliber would not react to something like wounds being treated.

“Doll, would ya look at me?” he questioned with his normally unfriendly tone, quickly adding a “please?” to possibly convince you any further to give him attention.

You met his eyes for the first time since he had come home, worry and fear brimming your waterline.

A kiss to his forehead all you could give, it was quick and sweet. A way of rationalizing that he was in fact right in front of you.

Toji didn’t know what came over him but his throat felt as if it were closing up. One of his hands shot up to grab it, confusion weighing on his brows.

“You okay, Toji? Something hurt?”

He blinked twice then met your eyes again, a small smile on his lips.

“Hm? Yeah, ‘m good, doll. Don’t worry. Just thought about how much I love ya s’all,” he spoke nonchalantly as if his own heart beat wasn’t beating like a drum in his chest.

✰ choso kamo ✰

The love that existed within Choso was overwhelming and all consuming. He was so hopelessly in love with you. Everything you had shown him about being human amazed him and left him hungry for more.

He wasn’t entirely clueless but there were things that he needed coaching on such as kissing or when its appropriate to express love to one another in public. Not to imply you didn’t love when he showed you affection but there was certain things strangers shouldn’t be subjected to.

When he got a better understanding of kissing, he was obsessed with it. Any chance he got, he was pressing a little one to your lips, cheeks or any part of you he could get his hands on.

Choso lived so long only expressing his love to his brothers but now that he had other people to express it towards, he was hooked.

For a while his love and devotion was used as a weapon against himself and others around him, of course not through his full understanding of the situations he was put into.

You two were interlocked in your bed, limbs tangled under a mountain of blankets on a particularly cold night. Would either of you bother to close the cracked window though? Not a chance.

Choso had his head rested against your chest, listening to the thumping of your heartbeat as he often said it soothed his mind. Your body stirred under him, his dark eyebrows furrowing to look up at you - his eyes full of question.

“I’m gonna go grab a snack from the kitchen, you want somethin’?” you questioned as you ran a hand through his hair and began to scoot out from under his head.

He blinked up at you before shaking his head, “I think I’m okay. Thank you though. Love you,” he smiled.

You leaned over the side of the bed he was against now, a kiss presented to his forehead before you disappeared out of the room.

Choso’s pale skin immediately flushed a pink hue, a grin forming on his lips and some tears rolling down his face.

A wet laugh to himself, wiping his fallen tears away before you’d return.

[wonryllis]

𓍼⠀ YOU, MY FATE COME AND KISS ME.

𝒏o𝓉ℯs. park jongseong x fem!reader 𖥔 ݁ fluff-angst, soulmate au LIB? word count `425 for @okwonyo valentine event!

jay thinks he's stuck in a loop.

a never-ending turn of events that cage him beyond the lights of universe. for everyday it feels like he falls in love with you all over again. a trick of heaven, a path weaved so carefully by fate, a red string tying him to you to the ends of his breath.

in a world of destiny, you are his paradox.

since the age of ten, jay has known his soul is bound to another for life, for love, for everything in between and apart. he has spent all his birthdays waiting for the one where the chosen name will etch itself onto his skin, telling him the time has come. but twenty-two and the wheel of cupid is yet to stop. perhaps it's because of you. three seasons spent together, and the guy is smitten. wishing everyday for you to be his other half.

"does this look good on me?" your voice echoes into the silence in the room, an ever quiet jay hoping for things to stay the same every year. to be away from you would be like death to him.

"you look as gorgeous as always, tell me how i got this lucky," his hands wrap around the curve of you waist and he rests his head on your shoulder, eyes locking through the mirror. the scent of your lotion like an ardent addiction. to think maybe someday he could never smell it again would be like stab of grief.

"honestly i am the lucky one, now we only have to wait for this," the words are just above a whisper, a small smile dancing on the tips of your lips, as you stare at your wrist— the place where jay's name is supposed to show up.

"whatever happens i know i'll only love you," jay leaves a fleeting kiss on your lips, arms holding you tight as if you'd slip away.

"now let's go my pretty valentine," you laugh at the way he tries to wink provocatively, and jay feels the arrow struck through his heart hurt for the nth time. a churning in his stomach evoking a desperate yearn for you, for the spot on his wrist he thought to have reserved for you sits another name.

no matter what happens, he knows you're his forever and he'll fight against all odds for that. even if it means fighting his own self.

"this is gonna be the best date ever i promise," his world revolves around you and it always will.

taglist. ( open ) @kangseulgithegreat @s00buwu @luvyev @pockyyasii @nctislifue @ashtxrie @miniature-tragedy @jayujus @brachives @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly

[hogans-heroes]

Clegan soulmate string canonverse

Wow I was not expecting this much of a response! This is actually my newest idea I’ve just started plotting and we can all say thank you to @heretoobsessstuff for their tags on my post about “married at first sight” clegan

#Bucky was like I’ll tie that damn red string of fate around ur ankle myself if I have to

The premise being that red soulmate strings are attached to people’s wrists and are just wrapped there in a bracelet-type thing until they meet their soulmate, at which time the strings will unfurl and attach to each other. People can see their own soul-strings and their soulmate’s but no one else’s.

Bucky loves his soul-string and what it represents. He’s been tending to it his whole life, learning to love and be loved, which makes the cord stronger and more vibrant. He weaves it with his fingers and heart and hope, it sits in a beautiful braided cord around his wrist and he plays with it a lot.

Cue the first day of flight training when he’s getting settled in his room, waiting for his assigned roommate, when the door opens and suddenly Bucky’s soul-string jerks. It uncurls and soars across the room and Bucky’s heart soars with it. He whirls around to see a wide-eyed blond boy disheveled from travel and holding a single duffle bag, staring at Bucky’s cord as it dances toward him, and then Bucky sees it.

The boy’s own cord is ripped off only a few inches from his wrist. It dangles, shredded, unraveling and dull. It twitches toward Bucky’s string and the two pieces flit around each other for a bit before falling away. Bucky’s cord drifts to the floor but it doesn’t return to wind on his wrist, apparently unwilling to leave its other half. Bucky can’t pull his eyes from the destroyed string. He’s had damage to his string before, tiny little worn spots where his heart was broken or he’d been wounded by someone. Even the smallest blow to the cord hurt terribly, and was repaired before long with care by Bucky and loved ones. But this…

The other boy looks shattered, a surge of longing in his eyes before they go blank and he covers his corded wrist with his other hand.

“Sorry,” he rasps, swallowing hard and looking anywhere but Bucky.

Bucky’s head is spinning. He feels like he’s crashing in flames and he’s never been in a plane yet, but soul-strings be damned, these shimmering blue eyes now mean more to him than the whole world, and he fights through the existential panic to hold out his hands.

“Hey, no. It’s ok,” he breathes, trying to smile encouragingly as he guides the other boy to the empty bed.

———

(Going through canonverse a lot of drama happens, not at the least perpetuated by Bucky manually tying their strings together before a mission. (Soulmates can feel each other through the cord when tugged). Gale feeling broken and unworthy of Bucky because his cord was destroyed by his past, but wanting. Both desperately trying to learn how to fix Gale’s soul-string, and the stalag making everything much, much worse.)

@coastiewife465 @kmk1701d @alienoresimagines @amiserableseriesofevents

[asksythe]

Hua Cheng’s Design

Source: 孤世中逢影 Gu Shi Zhong Feng Ying (weibo) on Hua Cheng’s design as based on Miao ethnic group culture - with snippets from a Chinese Documentary on Miao Ethnic People and an interview with Shi sifu, one of the last traditional Miao silversmiths - Sina TV.

 Translator: Sythe / NPD Khanh

Hua Cheng’s character design. As we all know, the image of Hua Cheng was established based on the Miao ethnic group, so let's see the specific origin of things on Hua Cheng’s person.

1. Red umbrella:

The red umbrella in Miao culture is one of the indispensable props at marriage and celebrations. The red umbrella symbolizes great auspiciousness as one’s desires, numerous children and grandchildren, sheltering from the wind and rain, exorcising evil spirits, and shielding people from disasters. All of these together are a perfect fit to represent the blessings of the heavens (Tian Guan Ci Fu, the name of the novel) with no taboos or misfortunes.

At the same time, in the opening episode of Tian Guan Ci Fu, Xie Lian mistook Hua Cheng for a bridegroom ghost. The situation fits perfectly like a miracle as a red umbrella is required for a wedding. 

2. Silver butterfly, maple leaves.

The Miao people have long had an ancient song, "Feng Mu Ge" (Song of the Maple Tree), to praise the beauty of life. The Miao people also consider butterflies as the ancestral mother, who can bless the village to be peaceful, the children to thrive, and the nation to flourish.

Maple leaves and butterflies represent rebirth, and reincarnation. These motifs can be seen in the culture of the Miao people everywhere, from clothes to jewelry to household decorations. The most famous is the Hong He area, located in an autonomous district of the Miao ethnic group in Yunnan. Whether it is nature or people, maple leaves and butterflies are popular, cherished symbols.

ps. The butterfly decoration that the author saw while traveling in Yunnan is also an inspiration.

"When I was traveling in Yunnan, there was a butterfly decoration in front of the hotel elevator,” Mo Xiang looked at it and thought. After a while, she said proudly, "He will raise a kaleidoscope of butterflies." (From MXTX Author’s Notes and Interview) 

3. Silver Jewelry

This goes without saying much, silverware is an important component of Miao culture, "the more beautiful, the better;” "Miao people’s iconic silver jewelry is used to pray for peace and as a token of love or a proposal of marriage.” Speaking of which, Hua Cheng’s character design is based on ethnic Miao people. Of course, the same jewelry is used. The inheritor of the art of Miao silversmithing, Shi sifu, also said, Hua Cheng is steeped in Miao Guang symbolism and aesthetics.

4. Other

If you read the novel, it’s not difficult to figure out:

Huacheng used a red umbrella because when he was young and weak and had nothing. Xie Lian gave him a red umbrella to shield him from the wind and rain.

Hua Cheng uses corral beads because this is one of Xie Lien's lost earrings. In Taoism, coral represents the heart. Taking this into account, Xie Lian in the book had two corral earrings. The implication of this symbolism then becomes quite enticing. 

Hua Cheng strung the red string of fated love because, during the Gentle Fragrance part of the book, Xie Lian gently cut a hair strand and gifted it to him. In our country's traditional culture, tying your hair together represents binding marriage. The red line represents your destined intertwined path.

From the beginning to the end, the author demonstrated the changes in Hua Cheng. "Become a better, stronger person because of him, for him". All of Hua Cheng’s character progressions developed according to the plot, gradually revealing layers of meaning, and not built by forced intention. Therefore, in successfully portraying such a character, the author moved the reader’s heart and created a miracle. 

A Love that is unchanged even in the face of death. 

[lydiacallas]

Waves of Time and Space

Author's note : Hii, if u have seen this on AO3 ( by somehow and ty if you have come pass it ), this is just a repost from there to see if i should post more fanfics on AO3 or Tumblr, also i want to find f1 moots please please please... Anw enjoy please!

1/6/2024.

The sky was heavy with clouds, swirling in strange patterns above the small, secluded beach.

" This is… weird. " Max thinks, holding the usual red and navy blue cap that he wears on his head tight, not wanting it to fly away.

Max had found this place by accident one day — a forgotten stretch of sand, skillfully tucked away from the modern world by the hands of nature, hidden by cliffs and reachable only after a long, winding walk through a forest. He’d been coming here every day since 5 years ago, and he had bought a small house near here for some summer rest.

It was peaceful. He could think, escape, and dream. Escape from the bustling life of the city, escape the stress that clouded him and his dad every time they argued, escape everything.

But today…something was different. Normally this part is very peaceful, not even a shower rain. But now, the air buzzed with an electric charge, and the sea churned as if stirred by an unseen force. His blond hair tousled by the wind and his blue eyes scanning the horizon, felt a pull, something beyond explanation. The storm that gathered in the sky above wasn't just weather; it was something more.

As the wind picked up and the sky darkened, a flash of lightning tore through the air, ripping the sky. The thunder sound ring his eardrums. He whence, and tries to look up where the lightning striked.

And there, through the mist and rain, he saw a figure — someone unfamiliar yet hauntingly captured his eyes - standing on the shore as if he had walked out of a time rift, somewhere not belong to here. His clothes were not from today, with the white ruffle blouse and trousers. His brown hair was damp with rain, his beautiful green eyes wide with the same confusion Max felt when their eyes met.

Max approached cautiously, and so did Charles, both unsure of what had just happened but drawn together by something neither could explain. As if fate just drawn their string together and made a knot.

They spoke, hesitantly at first, piecing together the impossible. Charles was the son of a businessman from 1924, nearly 100 years apart from Max's 2024. He had been taking a stroll along the same beach in his time when the storm hit his time, and somehow, the world had bent and twisted, pulling him into Max's present.

Every day after that, the two returned to the beach each day, hoping to understand the phenomenon, but more than that, simply to be together, out of curiosity. They talked about everything under the sun, sharing stories, dreams, and fears. Max introduced Charles to the wonders of the modern world, and laughed with all his heart when seeing Charles' eyes sparkling with pure amusement, while Charles shared tales of a simpler time. They're slowly but surely, enjoying the gift that fate has gifted them.

The connection between them grew quickly—an understanding, a shared curiosity, and soon, a deeper bond. It was as though time itself had orchestrated their meeting, weaving them together despite the century that should have separated them.

For three months, they met on that same beach, no longer concerned with how or why it had happened. They had found each other, and that was enough. Max fell in love with Charles, the way he smiled, the gentle way he spoke of a time long gone to the waves of time, and how his presence made the modern world seem less overwhelming. Charles, in turn, found himself drawn to Max’s energy, kindness, enthusiasm, and love for the world, even after all that he had been through, and the way he made the future — something Charles would never live to see — feel like a place he would belong.

As summer drew to a close, their love deepened. They knew that their time together was limited, but they cherished every moment. They know all good things must come to an end. They now miss each time their fingers lingered on each other's hair and skin, the brilliant blue they saw in each other's eyes, in the sky, and the waves that lapped at their feet every night, the hearty laughter they shared every day.

They smiled at each other as if forgetting that the time they had left together was very little.

And then, the time comes. On the last day of August, the storm returned. The wind howled, and the sky split open once more. They both knew what was happening.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Charles whispered, his heart breaks and his voice cracked through the tears as the storm surged around them. The sea roared around them, the usually gentle waves now crashing against the sandy shore like hungry beasts.

Max shakingly held him close, his desperate blue eyes filled with sorrow. “I’ll find you,” he promised, pressing a kiss to Charles’s forehead. “In this life or the next.”

The reply had not yet left Charles's mouth, it was swept away by the storm in its turmoil, the raging waves rushing in, swept Charles away back to the past, leaving Max stood on the shore, devastated and alone.

The days that followed were filled with pain, but Max couldn’t let go. He began researching Charles, desperate to learn more about the man he had fallen in love with. Hours of drowning himself in vintage books, resources, and the internet. And what he found shattered him.

Charles had lived the rest of his life in his time. Was he feeling lonely, sad, happy, and fulfilling? Max never knows. But he know he had married a beautiful woman, perhaps a rich lady fitting his status, out of duty or expectation, and then he had gone to war. He had died a soldier, sacrificing himself for his country. His life had been brief and tragic, a life that was a century behind Max’s own.

His tears silently fall, drops of salty tears fall onto the old yellow hue pages of the book he's reading. It has just been a few months passed in this world, but for Charles Leclerc, for the love of his life, a whole lifetime had passed, with all the sadness, with all the loneliness, with all the tears and sleepless nights.

He wondered if, in those nights, Charles remembered the kiss they shared in the storm that separated them that night.

After some time researching, Max visited Charles’ grave, a small, forgotten site in a cemetery up the green hill near the old beach that hadn’t seen visitors in decades.

He walked through the deserted cemetery, his eyes darting around as if searching for something. And then, he found it. A stone tombstone with an elegant cross covered in moss, with engraved words that had faded over time. But he knew for sure what those words said - the name of the unfortunate boy he had fallen in love with.

Standing before the gravestone, Max knelt and whispered, his fingertips trembly running through the now faded name on the stone tombstone.

“I love you, Charles. I always will.”

"If possible, I wish I could find us. In another reality. Perhaps then, we can be together without any obstacles. Maybe then the world would look at us with gentler eyes."

[nvuy]

Wait… reader comparing Jing Yuan’s eyes to the sun in that angst thing when they’re the one holding up the sky… that means he reminds them of the warmth which is not only constantly with them, but which they give up their lifespan to protect…

i love you and your brilliant brilliant mind so bad you don’t even get it. i had a thing where maybe when lan shatters the sky (which is canon and happens in the year 3400) they also shatter the sun, and you therefore are born from the lux arrow and the sun’s energy or whatever.

so now you’re a fragment of the sun, like a puzzle piece, that holds it together. so every time on a sunny sunny day he never feels truly alone, because he knows you’re doing this for the xianzhou, and for him and the hcq, even if you don’t remember any of them.

i also had a thing where that red ribbon in his hair? in one of your visits, he removes it from his hair he ties it to your wrist sort of as a nod to the ‘red string of fate’ as a little fun easter egg, but also so you two can always be tied to each other, and though you don’t remember why you have this ribbon around your wrist.

so every time you visit him, you recognise the ribbon in his hair is the same as the one around your wrist. funnily enough, when he first ties it, he tells you it most likely will burn up as soon as you move too close to the sun, but nope. somehow, it remains intact, even though it’s not a part of you.

BUT ANYWAY. R, WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU…. RICKY WHEN I CATCH YOU RICKY……..

i have never heard of this story, and i’ll check it out asap. the premise of walking the same path and forgetting and forgetting is actually from one of my favourite horror shows by mike flanagan. this clip specifically (nothing spooky happens, but i suppose she does look a bit scary, and there’s implied death and drowning, but it’s not shown explicitly, so content warning for that) where the woman in the video is a ghost, and so she walks the same path from the lake she resides in to her old bedroom and expects to find her daughter in her old bed.

like idk this show stuck with me for so long, and they way the director frames ghosts as lost beings rather than evil entities makes me go… yeouch. and my heart hurts.

i also know next to nothing about chinese mythos so i will take a look!!! ty for the brain worms u awful terrible talented human being /pos (i love u)

[waynes-multiverse]

Everything I Wanted

Summary: For once, Dean Winchester had everything he ever wanted and was convinced he’d found a glitch in the matrix of bad luck and heartbreak – until his dream turned into a nightmare. Alternate ending to On The Beach.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader (past)

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, hurt, death, mentions of a disease, no happy ending

Word Count: 1.1k (painfully curated words you wish I never wrote)

A/N: In hindsight, I’m really glad I didn’t put this into the OG fic, but this is for the ones that love to be tormented with that twinge of pain... 🖤 Inspired by everything i wanted by Billie Eilish. Listen to that song and watch the video for another layer of heartbreak.

Feedback is writer’s fuel, so make sure to fill my tank. Thank you!

Dean Winchester Masterlist || Main Masterlist

It’s cold and dark. There is no moon, no stars in the black and bleak night sky. He can sniff the below-zero temperature in the air, in the wind that howls around him, but he can’t feel it stinging, can’t feel the harsh needle pricks of idle winter. There’s no amount of physical pain that could bother him, not anymore, no awakening jolt that could compete with the ache in his chest – until that last human affliction went away as well.

His skin, his bones, his heart – it’s all numb, lifeless and empty like the body he’s burning on the pyre.

Flakes fall around him, coming down like the snow he has watched so many times on this beach before, hand holding hers in a vice-like grip, hoping the knot is tied firmly enough to keep her boat from floating away from his shore. Anchored to each other forever.

This time, however, the snowflakes are not white flickers of hope. They don’t announce a new beginning, no lighthouse shining its beam to guide her back to him. There is no happy ending in sight. This time, it’s a gray swirl of ash, a storm of forlornness. Death and doldrums.

She came like a dream, a flame that melted the pricking ice, which had slowly crawled through his red-blooded veins and festered in his heart over decades – years of torture, travail, and torment. But she was magic, the truest and purest form he’d ever witnessed. She cast a smile on his face without even trying, and boy, whenever she did try, he was deep in trouble – the good kind and never the bad.

For a moment, the usually unkind stars in the universe aligned. For once, he got everything he ever wanted. A small and cozy house he called a home, a love that warmed his blood and soul, and a tomorrow he was excited to see and experience. Two fated hearts found each other and connected in an impossibly cold world, an invisible string tying them together for eternity, defying improbable odds like defying gravity. No pair of scissors, no knife, no cruel weapon of life could’ve snapped that bond. He thoroughly ensured the knot was tethered firmly. God, he swears he did…

“You know, when I wake up, all I see is you with me,” Dean whispers in the dark as they lie face to face on fluffy clouds of pillows, a reluctant smile twitching on his lips as he softly brushes a few rogue strands of hair behind her ear.

Y/N mirrors his smile and catches his lips in an ever-lasting and reaffirming kiss as she nuzzles impossibly closer. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing. You’re a daydream, Winchester.”

He playfully rolls his green eyes, orbs sparkling with flustered love. “Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

Her teeth sink mischievously into her bottom lip as she shakes her head, giggling. “Never.”

The hunter can’t help but snort at her teasing, his heart warming so much that it’s competing with the burning furnace in the bedroom as the annual winter blizzard ravages outside the bay window. “You know, sometimes I’m not sure I even deserve you…”

“You do,” she tells him without a quiver of hesitation. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. If you did, you wouldn’t wonder for a second why you’re here with me.”

He swallows the anxious lump in his dried throat, a constant reminder that the happiness, the love – it all could be fleeting, disappear and disintegrate with the inhumane snap of someone’s fingers. Gone and dusted in a blink of a distracted eye.

“As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you, sweetheart,” he assures her and, most of all, himself, calloused and beaten fingers caressing her soft and rosy cheek before he locks his promise with a searing kiss that vows to tear worlds apart if someone dares to challenge it.  

She left like a nightmare. It wasn’t a monster, a demon, or a force of evil that took her. It wasn’t something or someone he could fight. There was nothing and no one he could blame, not even himself. There was no weapon, no spell, and no miracle that could save her. There was no potion that could cure her.

It started with harmless coughs, a common winter cold, which suddenly morphed into terrifying sounds and formidable scarlet stains on white tissues during one unsuspecting movie night in front of the fireplace – a calm and quiet night like any other. Soon, however, the calmness and peace were things of the past. All there was left then were only endless scans and prolonged hospital stays and hopeless statistics and experimental medications and helpless attempts to find a way where there was none and silent prayers of desperation in sterile chapels.

No one could ever hear him, though, no matter how loudly he screamed for help. His head was underwater, pleas echoing in empty vastness as his heart capsized and sunk to the bottom of the deepest, darkest sea. His lungs filled with salt water with each despondent breath he took. His flailing arms grew tired the more he struggled against the current, trying to swim back to the surface, trying to pull himself ashore and rescue her with him. He tried till there was nothing left but drowning.

And then, one morning, when the sunbeams filtered through the slats of the bay window like a cosmic joke, his lost emeralds fluttered open and couldn’t see her anymore. All they found was an empty space on the mattress, a cold side of the bed, and an untouched pillow without a head resting upon it.

Y/N wasn’t with him any longer, the knot loose and the string broken.

As the fire burns down and the last flame flickers to stay alive, his knees become so weak he relinquishes the remainder of his strength and sinks into the cold sand, his boots flooding with ocean water as he wishes he could get swallowed by the waves.

“Dean, it’s time,” Sam’s voice tears through the numbness before the green-eyed hunter feels the warmth of small arms around his neck and press against his back.

“I’m still here, Daddy,” his four-year-old daughter reminds him in a soft whisper, and Dean knows then and there that he has to keep fighting. He made a promise.

See? It’s like a partially happy ending... Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m an asshole. Love you guys 😘 *hands out tissues*

Everything Jensen Tags: @extraterrestriali​ @this-is-me19​ @writercole​ @awkward-and-indecisive​ @eevvvaa​ @panicking-outside-the-disco​ @globetrotter28​ @imherefordeanandbones​ @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior​ @xlynnbbyx​ @jassackles​ @maggiegirl17​ @perpetualabsurdity​ @deans-spinster-witch​ @deandreamernp​ @foxyjwls007​ @roseblue373​​ @lyarr24​​ @deanwanddamons​​ @deanwithscissors​​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​​ @justrealizedimmascifygurl​​ @akshi8278​​ @flamencodiva​​ @chriszgirl92​​ @lhymer1995 @wittyboldsoul​​ @djs8891​​ @leigh70​​ @snowlovespie​​ @b3autyfuldisast3r​​ @recoveringpastaaddict @ladysparkles78​​ @muhahaha303​​ @mimaria420​​

Dean Tags: @parinarain​​ @hobby27​​ @fromcaintodean​​

[wakeywakeygrrr]

In Vol. 6 illustration shows the red string attached to Yato leading to Hiyori's shadow

A tale of red string tying you with your true love. According to the Japanese legend, this thread emanating from the heart doesn’t end at the tip of the finger. It continues in the form of an invisible red string, which ’’flows’’ out of your pinkie and goes on to intertwine with the red strings of other people — connecting your heart with theirs.

Two people who are connected in this way are bound together by Fate itself. Sooner or later, they are destined to meet, no matter how far apart they live or how much their life circumstances differ. And, when it happens — that encounter is certain to profoundly affect both of them. The strings can sometimes stretch and become tangled, which could postpone the fateful meeting. But — those ties will never be broken.

The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.

The bond of unspoken love, trust, and hope of happiness. It would be so great to know that there is someone just for you. That person will love you no matter what it may cost.

Love lives in many forms, and one of these forms is your soulmate. The one who will do what’s best for you. Who will love you unconditionally and will desire the same from you. Sure there will be bad times, and sad times.

It’s Strange that at times we don’t know the value of that someone special until we are left alone.

[autumnala]

The dog day are over (so you better run)

summary: As Bella prepares for her wedding, she tries desperately to outrun the memory of Jake and that pesky thing tying them inextricably together.

a/n: Inspired by, and composed to the song Dog Days Are Over by Florence + the Machine (linked in case anyone wants to listen while they read, idk)

(Not usually one to post fanfic here. But this is where the Jake and Bella brain worm truly took me over again, so it seems only appropriate. Much love to all the intrepid Jake and Bells shippers out there. )

———

Jacob where have you run off to?

“What do you think of this one? Bella? Bella?”

I pulled my eyes back to Alice guiltily. She was holding up a mass of pale blue and greens and whites.

“Um flowers?”

“For the bouquet?” Alice laughs and it tinkled, lifting my heart like a hymnal.

“Um… I always liked…” Dark green like the forest, sage like the succulents in Arizona, red like the dirt there, red like his fur. Yellow as the sun…

“These will go so well with the wedding colors. You’ve always looked so great in blue.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I’m focusing everything I can on the wedding now.

I never even wanted a wedding. But it’s what I have to focus on.

In that beautiful meadow, that perfect dream, it felt so right. I would bind myself in every way possible to Edward, because there was nothing else I could do. Our love story is fate, it’s inescapable. It’s destiny.

But now I see Jacob everywhere.

He’s running alongside my old truck, which Edward’s going to replace any day now, as I trundle along the highway.

His long, beautiful hair is disappearing around every corner just at the edge of my sight.

I’m so tired of telling you good-bye.

I love him too much - even if it wasn’t enough.

I let that string tying our two hearts together pull too tight. And now every night I’m running after him in my dreams. I wake up tired.

I can’t hold onto that though. That echoing of emotion and sense of being kindred. I just can’t let it go either. The thought of that thread breaking terrifies me in a way I cannot quite understand.

But Edward is everything. He’s the gravitational force of my life. He’s in my veins and I need him. If nothing else, I’ve learned that, haven’t I?

He’s taken me into his world, his fairytale forever.

How could I ever be sufficiently grateful for the miracle of him choosing me?

It’s all over, with Jacob, with the wolves, with walks on that grey beach, and that shabby- warm house by the sea.

Sometimes, when I’m running in my dreams, I run straight into the sea.

And Edward’s beautiful face is still in front of me, and I’m freezing and sinking.

But I remember now, too. It has to be more than a dream, because I can feel the rightness of it in my bones. Like sunlight.

Jacob’s warm hand, grasping mine. Pulling me upwards into the light. Pushing air back into my lungs.

As easy as breathing.

The dress Alice picks for me is the whitest white I’ve ever seen. Simple, which I like. Clean lines, form fitting. Fashionable, I assume. It doesn’t look like something I would choose at all. But it looks like a good dress for the kind of person Edward should marry.

Edward doesn’t come along with us on the wedding errands, on Alice’s orders, of course. And because that’s the tradition. He wants the magic of this our (first) wedding. For me, of course. I’ll appreciate it later, I know.

Jacob would have gone dress shopping with you, a traitorous voice whispers to me while I’m flipping the idly through a magazine with a hundred glossy photos of wedding things that all blur together. He would have laughed at all the ruffles you hated and told you to get something comfortable. He’d know-

I turn a page sharply, glancing as each car passes by down the street. My cereal is turning to mush next to my magazine.

What am I looking for again?

Oh, right. Hair styles. Charlie hears me sigh and I can feel him looking at me for a long moment.

We had our longest argument ever when I told him I was getting married to Edward.

Now he doesn’t say anything, but I feel him watching me as I try to project happiness.

Edward is everything I want. He’s perfect.

Jacob is in the past.

Edward is kind and understanding. Only he hates my truck, and he’s baffled when I don’t want to listen to music, even his. He wishes I’d let him replace the truck, and all my shabby things with better ones. I should appreciate that.

I forgot that it was Jacob who always knew how I worked without me telling him. Who knew things I never told anyone. I never knew how that would feel (like coming home after a long day).

But Edward loves how I always surprise him, how he doesn’t know what I’m thinking. I’m a mystery to him. The only one in the whole world. A miracle. I’ve never been a miracle before. It seems important.

Will I still be a mystery when I’m not human anymore? If he heard my thoughts, would they live up to the me that he loves?

I’m so so happy, so ready to be perfected. Finally, Edward and I will be on equal footing.

He kisses me so chastely and so sweetly - like I might shatter. And I can feel that feeling, sinking into my bones. I feel fragile and delicate and quiet now.

I glance up quickly when I hear a boisterous laugh in the market, then glance to where Edward’s face is tilted, as he looks at me, just ever so slightly, his expression mild and tender. I can feel my face flushing and a thousand expressions battling on my face. He shakes his head lightly, and guilt flashes through me.

Not Jacob. Did he know I hoped it might be Jacob, just for a second?

How can I stop looking for him though?

He’s everywhere. Around every corner. Every growl of an engine.

He’s every sunrise.

But as long as I keep moving I can forget that he’s gone. I’m moving into the future. With Edward. My perfect forever.

And Jacob and that cozy, ramshackle garage, and warm sodas, and motorcycles, and jokes about getting old are in the past. They have to be.

I’ll run so far and so fast as a vampire that that cord will surely break.

It’s what I should want, of course.

But the thought fills me with dread.

Until your heart stops beating.

“Bella? Bella?” Alice’s voice trills, exasperated.

I realize I am running my finger slowly over the little carved wolf hanging from my wrist. Petting it.

When I open my eyes, light reflecting off the diamond heart blinds me for a second.

“Sorry,” I say. My finger hasn’t moved from the little wooden figure.

I look up and Alice looks concerned, confused, hopeful. She’s only trying to help. I wish I could forget, like her. Forget my human life, forget everything but the perfect, sparkling future.

Rosalie is looking at me too, with pity. I can’t hold her eyes.

I could never be sufficiently grateful to Edward for him choosing me. I could never choose him enough to make up for everything he went through for me.

For the miracle of snatching him back when it seemed hopeless.

Vampires don’t sleep, so soon I won’t have to worry about dreaming anyway.

I wake up gasping, again, and I know immediately that Edward is there.

But he’s not the one I am chasing after in my dreams.

Despite myself I think of the spring, when I told Jacob we could run away together.

Just the two of us, driving toward the sun.

I could have saved him, my Jacob.

One day he won’t be your Jacob anymore.

I can’t bear that thought; I just can’t.

“Bella,” Edward says, still the most beautiful voice in existence, a pleasant, intoxicating anesthetic. “Why are you crying?”

I didn’t notice I was, but it’s true. Soft round teardrops are dropping onto my bedspread.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, honestly. What else can I say?

He comes to my bedside and crouches down, pushing my sleep mussed hair back from my face.

His eyes look dark to me, in my dark room. Despite the darkness, up close he is so beautiful that it makes me feel like my heart will burst, like my brain is short circuiting. I should trust this. Look how he makes (almost) everything disappear.

“Don’t be scared, my love,” he murmurs to me. His hand ghosts across my hair, gentle as a breeze. I wish he would grab me hard enough that I could feel it. Maybe that would wring these feelings from my bones for good. I lean up to kiss his mouth, trying to pull the honeyed sweetness of him into me. He kisses me back, gently and full of love, and for a moment his hands clasp my shoulders more firmly, hard enough that I feel held together. But only for a moment before he is setting me carefully back, breathing just a little harder.

When he’s kissing me everything is clear, it all makes sense, this path I’ve set myself on. My blood rushes in my ears. But when he sets me away it feels like lead is trickling into my heart. Cold molten dragging me down.

And I’ll sink too fast to swim.

Some nights I think about how he isn’t going to come the next time I fall in the dark.

I think it quietly though, hoping Edward thinks I am asleep.

Why did I never know how to love him when he was here?

One night, when Edward is gone hunting, and I can’t quite bring myself to close the window, I hear it.

A howling wolf.

Have they been howling all this time and I just haven’t heard them?

I hold up my bracelet to look at it over my head. There’s barely any moonlight to glint off of the diamond heart and without that dazzling light I look at the little wolf, head tilted back, rough edges smoothed by the stroke of my fingers.

I can see Jacob carving him in my head. His large hands were always so careful and deft, whatever he was handling. It’s a beautiful little wolf. Not flawless and unchanging, but still perfect, even as I imagine how he’ll be worn smooth by the years, how he’ll eventually turn to dust.

I can’t say what I’m thinking next. I’m not thinking anything at all when I get out of bed, throwing on any clothes I can grab.

I look at my truck for a long moment. But no. If I take the truck everyone will know…know something, it will be a decision, so instead I turn the other way and walk into the woods.

There’s no way I can walk far enough.

But I can’t think about that; I can’t decide. I never could. All I have left is this instinct and this yearning I cannot name.

So I run.

I’m not a graceful runner, I’m not fast. But I run and I run and I don’t stop. Even when my chest aches, then screams.

Everytime I hear a wolf howling I turn and run toward the sound.

It’s so dark, with only the moon overhead, and the stars.

I run until I can’t anymore, until I fall, until I see the sun peaking over the edge of the hill ahead.

I smile at that line of sunrise.

My face is wet, with tears and sweat. Probably blood.

I feel like I’ve been scoured, weak and yet relieved as if I’ve emerged from a long fever.

A large shadow looms over me.

It’d be too perfect if it was him, but I laugh up at the sight anyway. It’s Leah and she looks like she wants to bite me. But all I can feel is happiness. Incandescent joy blooming deep in my chest while I lie there laughing weakly into her golden, furry, face.

I shrug at the wolf, what can I say?

I try to stand but collapse. My legs have run as far as they can.

Leah makes a wolfish grumbling sound and sits and watches me. I fall asleep while the sun is rising and don’t dream of anything. Who knows how long.

I can’t quite come fully awake, but I feel warm arms lifting me up. Familiar arms.

I lift my eyelids for the barest moment before the fall again, fluttering against my effort to lift them.

Jacob, backlit by the sun, is more beautiful than I remember. Maybe he always was.

Not like a dream or a vision. He looks like home.

I sigh, eyes still heavy and closed.

Jacob doesn’t say anything at all.

“There you are. I was looking for you, you know.” I tell him weakly.

He snorts.

“Do you know,” I try again, forcing my eyes open to look into his face. My eyes stream at the sight but I don’t blink to clear them. “If I was going to run away with anyone, I think it’d be you too, Jake.” I think about that, watching a stormy dawn break across his face. “Only, not right now. I don’t think I can run anymore right now. Where are we?”

His smile brightens and I feel my tired mouth struggle to tilt up in response. “We’re just across the treaty line. You were looking for me by running, by yourself, at night?”

“It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

He chokes on a laugh. Or maybe a sob. His hands tighten and then loosen again.

“You’re sure? Really sure? Because dammit Bella, I can’t…”

I think, then, for the first time in hours I search the deepest parts of my mind and heart and everything for an answer.

Inside me, where it was all frantic movement and rushing and fever it is calm now. It’s quiet.

I lean over and kiss his chest, bare of course, and blazingly warm, directly over his heart. I feel like light is filling me up. Pouring into me through this cord nothing I did could ever sever, from his heart to mine. Golden and blazing.

Jacob grins at me then, really grins, and his eyes are shining just for me.

“Until my heart stops beating,” I tell him. He starts to frown but I’m smiling so hard at him it feels like my face will crack. I can see him understand what i’m trying to say. He told me so long ago, but now it’s not an end, not a plea, it’s a promise. A beginning. “Could be a long time. And maybe even longer than that?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah that sounds…it’s enough? You said…”

The sun can’t fight an eclipse he told me. But an eclipse can only hide the sun for so long. It’s the sun that remains in the end.

“It’s enough. More than enough.”

[spice-chan]

IDEA. Soulmate AU where Bakugou lashes out at y/n, he goes over the top, and hurts y/n. Through the argument, he’s too caught up in his anger to realize that the string between them has severed in two.

- bumble anon 🐝🍯

Broken dreams and promises.

Soulmate au, where bakugo becomes so accustomed to your unconditional love that he takes it for granted. Word count: 700

Warnings: angst, verbally hurtful things.

Note: Gosh, I haven’t updated in so long. I’m going to try to work on requests and get back to writing again! Thanks for the support despite my inactivity. Heres a lil somethin, sorry if its poorly written

A childish, naive grin marked your face at night as you dreamily moved your pinky, tugging at the string tying you and your soulmate, head fuzzy as though cocooned in cotton candy, hoping the syrupy, yet warm and welcoming feelings could reach your fated one at the end of the string. Sometimes you longingly caressed it, cherished it as if it’s your most prized possession, it was certainly your most precious.

After meeting your fated, however, innocent, unexpectant grins turned to strained smiles. thin, weary, and cautious. You were however persistent enough to maintain them at night, for you were persistent to maintain your soulbond, to one day reach his heart, to sit nestled there comfortably. Hoping his guarded walls would lower to allow you to peek through. To caress the rough ridges and the soft spots, to get to know it all. If only he’d let you.

And eventually, you thought he did.

Like the late-night kitchen runs where you thought you bonded together.

“You like spicy noodles too?” You questioned curiously, somewhat desperate to find a common ground to converse on with your volatile soul mate.

“Tsk, why would I make it if I didn’t like it?” He answered you, arching up a blond brow. You couldn’t help how your heart jackhammered at how pretty he looked even when he was looking at you judgmentally.

“I’m just surprised you got good taste is all. It might be too spicy for you…” you were trying a different approach today.

As if he swallowed a sour plum, he turned to you with a ferocious look, like a threatened bear.

“Haa? You think your soulmate is a loser who can’t handle it?! Dumbass I’ll show you who can’t handle it.”

You two ended using all the chilli in the dorms, unwilling to relent to the other. It was awkward to explain the situation to Kirishima who walked in on you two with flaming faces and snot-filled tissues.

But you let your guard down.

Because you thought this was it.

You didn’t think he’d shred your heart to pieces, not when he had your body close, his arms caging you to him as he cried and shed his pains and sorrows. Not after he let you kiss his tears away and promise to allows be there for him.

Now, here he stood, your other half, with a knife in his hand, stabbing your heart unrelentingly, mercilessly. Did your feelings not reach him? Did he not know that if he were the sun, you’d be willing to burn just to touch him?

“Useless” the word rang in your head like a mantra. Why would such a hurtful thing come from your one true love unprovoked? You didn’t even do anything to warrant such poisonous wrath.

“You keep clinging to me, as if you think I actually want to be with you” all the memories you shared with him became tainted with doubt, did you really mean so little to him? You tried your hardest, so why is it that Bakugou Katsuki is always out of reach? Why is it that he let your fingertips graze him enough that you’d be filled with hope for more?

“I didn’t even want a soulmate, but to be mated to you is humiliating. Go, leave, and don’t speak to me again.” This wasn’t anger. This was bone-chilling, frozen hate. He found it revolting to even be around you. If this is what it means to have a soul mate…then you never want to experience it ever again. You wish you never had a soul mate, never got to know Bakugou Katsuki, only to have him tear your heart like this.

The silky, red ribbon tied at your pinkies slowly strained in the middle, and when you turned away and left, the ribbon no longer stretched infinitely. It tore, and Bakugou looked in horror as the red ribbon that was now more loosely than ever wrapped to his pinky slowly but painfully darkened to pitch black as the end of it laid severed in front of him. Bakugou had single-handedly torn his soul in two, and now there would be a million things left unsaid, even though his mouth never seized its assault on you.

He sank to the floor, red orbs wide in disbelief as they glistened, but Bakugou paid no mind to the tears as he brought the string to him, regretfully caressing what he destroyed. It would be a testament to his hate, but how can that be when he loves you as much as his awkward heart can love?

And for you? Well, childhood filled daydreams of your other half were no more.

[ggomos-maribat]

Petals of You

To one of my most amazing friends, a light of my life and inspiration, Robyn @the-coffee-fandom <3 I wish you a happy birthday and I hope you like this little angsty gift :3

To others, it seemed like a blessing but to her, it was a curse.

Marinette had her powers manifest at the age of five. She began seeing crimson threads, wispy and light, wrapped around everyone's pinkies. The threads would cross over, intertwine, and loop around places, connecting two or more people who were fated to be together.

Soulmates.

That was what she could see.

She wouldn't go around telling people about what she could see, of course, unless she trusted them. She'd only keep everything to herself, thinking that people didn't have to be with their fated to be happy anyway, and she'd hate a life spent on matchmaking.

As Marinette accepted her ability into her life, she started to notice soulmates who were together. She would feel a rush of happiness seeing old fated couples looking fondly at each other, shy teenagers sneaking glances at each other, and fated strangers meeting each other. One way or another, those who were soulmates would find each other in time, even without her influence.

And each passing day, she grew excited about meeting her own, smiling down at her own pinky finger with its thread loosely tied around it. Since she moved to America, the string had gotten tighter, which meant that her soulmate might be close.

Marinette looked up, hearing the bell at the door ring. She beamed, tying up a bunch of white lilies to store away for later.

"Dana! Andrew!" She greeted the middle-aged couple. "The usual hyacinths and roses?"

"Can we have red chrysanthemums for today?" Dana smiled back. "They'll look wonderful in our photos."

"Twelve roses and three red chrysanthemums, coming right up!" Marinette chirped. "How about a white wrapper?"

"That will be lovely, thank you," Andrew replied.

Even without her vision, she could tell that the two were clearly soulmates. They were regulars of hers, buying flowers either separately or together whenever they went out on dates. Apparently, flowers had been important in the beginning of their relationship, so they paid careful attention to the languages and meanings.

"Drew gave me these chrysanthemums during our third date," Dana giggled. "I kept them in a vase next to my bed."

"That's really sweet," Marinette said, plucking a ribbon from the shelves to wrap the whole thing up.

Just as she handed the bouquet to the couple, another customer entered the shop. His hair and clothes were disheveled, and his tie was loose around his neck. There was a subtle stain on the hem of his dress shirt and his shoes were frayed.

But what made Marinette freeze was the thread attached to his finger.

Which led back to hers.

Her breath caught in her throat but she tried her best to maintain her composure. She nearly couldn't hear her own voice over the sound of her beating heart when she said, "Hello, how can I help you?"

"Hi!" Her soulmate gave her a blinding smile, his blue eyes almost glittering. "Uhhh, do you have some flowers for confessing to someone?"

Marinette's smile wavered. Be calm, Mari. It might be a platonic thing right? I can't jump to conclusions. Her traitorous heart welcomed a twinge of pain. But you can't control who your soulmate will be with . . .

"Sure," she breathed out. "Err—sorry sir, I'll need more information before I can put together an arrangement."

The man raked a hand through his hair while Dana and Andrew quietly left, leaving Marinette waves of goodbye. "He doesn't even like flowers in the first place," her soulmate muttered. "Why am I doing this?"

Her hand involuntarily twitched as she glanced briefly at her own pinky. "May I suggest starting off with something light? Or do you plan on confessing right away?"

"I think we should go with that, yeah." The man nodded. "To be honest, I'm still nervous about doing it."

"I take it he doesn't really know about flower languages?"

"Probably doesn't care," he groaned. "I just want a sweet gesture. We have something, but I just wanted to make it official, you know?"

Marinette felt tears at the back of her eyes. She resisted them, refusing to break down in front him. What did I expect? That we'll meet, fall in love, and get together flawlessly?

"Subtle first, then." She shuffled to another corner to pick out the flowers. "What do you value in him? In your relationship?"

He shifted awkwardly. "We started off as friends actually. We were really close. He's . . . reliable. We've gone through a lot together and I treasure our memories." His shoulders rose and fell. "I don't know if that helps but I trust you on that."

He sounds so sincere, she thought inwardly. He must really love him.

"You can call me Marinette." She pointed to her nametag. "And let's see . . . alstroemeria and pink tulips for friendship, daffodils for joy and new beginnings, white carnations for faithfulness and pure love."

As she spoke, she took the flowers one by one, ignoring the string between then fluttering idly.

"Tim. You can call me Tim," said the man. "Thank you so much. Should I come back to get a different bouquet next time?"

She fidgeted with her fingers. "I'm sure he'll appreciate that already. But if you want to express a deeper love, you can come back if you want."

When he held the bouquet close to him, Marinette found the colors striking against him, contrasting against his eyes

"I'll definitely come back," Tim promised, handing her the cash plus a generous tip.

As he walked to the door, Marinette watched their string lengthening, phasing through the walls until it was pulled tightly once more. After checking that no one else was around, she rubbed the wetness from her eyes and went back to work.

---

Marinette gently placed a bouquet of daisies inside a vase. She barely got any sleep in the recent days, with one boy plaguing her mind and all her time devoted to working at the shop. She put a palm on her mouth to cover an incoming cough and found a stray yellow petal wedged between her fingers, probably from the daffodils she worked on earlier.

Was I too busy to notice that it got there?

Sighing, she wiped her hand on her skirt to brush the petal off. How evil, for me to find a daffodil of all flowers. It just had to be a symbol of unrequited love.

The bell at the door chimed and Marinette felt her string being pulled. Her eyes momentarily widened at the sight of Tim, looking tidier than when she last saw him.

"Good morning!" He waved a little, coming up to the counter. "Marinette, right?"

Why did her chest twist painfully when he called her name?

"Hey, Tim," she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "How were the flowers?"

He grinned. "Kon loved them. He won't admit it to my face but he definitely loved them. That's why I'm here to get another bouquet."

"I'm glad to hear that." Am I, really? "What will it be this time? Are you guys officially together?"

"Not just yet, that's why I need to make one more move. Oh by the way, here's something I picked up as an extra thank you for helping me out last time." Tim pulled out a coffee cup from a paper bag, setting it down in front of her. "Sorry, I wasn't sure what you liked so I got something sweet."

Astounded, she stared at the steaming cup in front of her. Why does he have to be so kind?

"Thank you. You didn't have to." She flushed. "And I love coffee in any form."

He put a hand on his chest. "That's a relief. I'm a junkie myself."

"For the next bouquet . . ." Marinette took a sip from her drink. The frothy milk was heavenly, coupled by the sweet caffeine. "What about something more classic? Red roses—twelve of them to be exact. That number is a declaration of love."

He hummed pensively. "I wouldn't want to be too cliched though. Is there anything you can add to the roses?"

"What about three stalks of sunflowers, for adoration and loyalty?" Marinette offered.

"That sounds great! Can I have a really big bouquet?"

Tim came back regularly after that. She'd suggest combinations of different flowers adhering to him and Kon's love and friendship and often, she picked out the freshest and brightest flowers out of her stocks. While she wrapped up his bouquets and attended to other customers, they would chat with each other about themselves and the meanings of flowers.

She would tell him the meanings of each of the flowers she sold him. Lunaria for honesty and sincerity. A protection plant. The reddest of jasmines for romantic love, sprinkled with yellows for optimism and happiness. Delicate carnations for admiration and gratitude.

Tim would remember all of it. He was keen in being fluent in the language of petals, and even picked out a combination of his own as a gift for one of his friends for their birthday.

And Marinette was just as eager to talk to him, nevermind the tugs in her heart and the swaying of their thread in the corner of her eyes. She found him charming. Adorable. Witty. Easy to talk to. She could see them growing close, clicking together perfectly if they had the chance outside of her work.

But in the end, she knew she was only a flower shop worker to him. Every morning, she'd wake up seeing petals next to her on the pillow, not acknowledging where they came from or how they got there. She'd only sweep them away out of sight before coughing a fresh batch.

One day, Tim came to pick up a bouquet he pre-ordered in celebration of one month of being with Kon. As Marinette put the flowers on the counter, she also brought out a smaller bunch, tucked away daintily in a decorative basket.

"What's this?" Tim raised an eyebrow.

"Just a little freebie." Marinette clasped her hands in front of her. "We had some extra flowers lying around and I figured you could use a bouquet of your own."

"It's beautiful," he marveled, carefully picking up the basket. "Does it have flower meanings?"

She laughed nervously. "I just put together random ones, regardless of the meaning."

It was a lie.

She had arranged that basket deliberately, pouring her unspoken emotions into each of those flowers in hopes of easing the dull pain she felt. Yellow acacia and gardenias for my secret love. Forget-me-nots so you could remember me from time to time. Calla lilies for my unreturned devotion. Lily of the valley shaped like tears. Buttercups for my naivety.

"Thank you so much." Tim smiled softly. "No one has ever given me flowers before. Ironic, I know."

Her voice cracked. "Thank you too. Those flowers are better off in your care."

---

A couple weeks after giving her bouquet, Tim brought Kon to the flower shop. He was exactly like how Tim described him: rough-looking, leather jacket, piercings, cropped hair. She stopped watering the potted plants the moment they came in.

"So this is where you get your flowers." Kon looked around, hands buried in his pockets.

"Yup," said Tim. "Hey, Mari, this is Kon."

"It's nice to finally meet you. Tim told me a lot about you." Marinette hoped her smile wasn't stiff when she shook hands with the tall boy. Looking down on their joined hands, she noticed something.

Kon didn't have a red string.

She blinked a few times just in case she was only seeing things. But it wasn't a trick or illusion. Kon wasn't bound to another by fate at all.

This kind of occurrence wasn't the first for her. If a living being wasn't technically born 'human', they wouldn't have a string attached to them. She had observed this in some sentimonsters who paraded as real people during her time as Ladybug. But still, she didn't know what Kon was, and she didn't have any intentions to pry.

"Good things, I hope." Kon eyed Tim, who rolled his eyes.

"I suggested we put together our own bouquet today," Tim told her.

"Sure! We have a selection over there. Feel free to pick out the flowers and I'll put them together for you." Marinette gestured to one of the walls, feeling a lump in her throat again.

"Taking this as a chance to show off your flower language skills?" Kon nudged his partner.

Tim scoffed. "I'm an expert now! Watch me."

Tim interlocked his fingers with his boyfriend's, dragging them over to the array of colorful flowers. Marinette looked away when they started whispering to each other, exchanging teasing but fond gazes.

She busied herself with wiping the counter and thinking. If Kon doesn't have a soulmate  . . . maybe I could . . . ?

She hadn't done it before, but she knew she had the ability to. The thought of taking things to that direction scared her, fear injecting right down to her fingertips. But if I want to make them happy . . . if it will make Tim happy for them to be together in the realest way possible . . .

Marinette glanced at the couple again. They were irrefutably in love, absolutely perfect for each other. It would only bring her grief if she didn't take the step she needed to. Maybe I'd still have a chance to find someone else, right?

She gingerly lifted her hand, looking at the string that connected her and Tim. She pinched a part of it between her thumb and index and pulled, severing the string completely. Her hand went up to her lips to give the thread one last goodbye before she blew it towards Kon's direction.

It worked like magic. The lost thread immediately wrapped around Kon's pinky, giving him a fated one, an eternal connection to Tim.

Meanwhile, tiny flowers began to bloom at the base of Marinette's finger. Flowers only she could see.

---

Tim entered the coffee shop with a skip in his step. He was on this way to work and decided to stop by the flower shop to bring Marinette coffee. But when he slipped through the door and past a small crowd inside the shop, it wasn't Marinette who was manning the counter, but instead it was an elderly lady.

"What can I get for you dear?" The lady asked with a sad smile that couldn't reach her eyes.

Tim scanned the pre-ordered arrangements prepared on the counter and shelves. Lilies. Chrysanthemums. Gladioli. Orchids. Aren't these funeral flowers?

"Sorry, is Marinette around? I brought her some coffee," he said sheepishly.

The lady's smile quickly fell at the mention of the girl. Her eyes locked on the ground. "Marinette is . . . Marinette's not working here anymore," she replied quietly. "She passed away two days ago."

Tim almost dropped the coffee cups. Marinette? Gone? Without a word? Was there an accident? Was she caught up in a Rogue attack? He swallowed. "Can—can I ask what happened to her?"

The old woman's lips pursed together, irises glistening. "We don't know. She passed in her sleep and the doctors found nothing. She wasn't sick at all before that except for a mild cough."

His hands went cold. No, there has to be some explanation. With a hitched breath, he looked at the flowers for mourning decorating the shop. It's all for her.

"Our regular customers ordered lots of flowers. They loved her so much, that sweet girl." The woman dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, touching a branch of a fake plum blossom in a pot next to the register. "Would you like to offer some as well?"

"Ye—yes." Tim cleared his throat, still stunned by the disappearance of his friend. "Some marigolds and pink carnations, please." 

Taglist: @tinybrie

On AO3

[aeipathys]

Once, when she was young, her mother had told her a tale about the red string of fate. Tying two people together, drawing them back together. Sometimes stretching, sometimes tangling, but never broken. When Seojun took his hands back, for a moment, she was suspended in time. Regret was a fickle thing, flickering at the edges of her consciousness in the way her own hands moved in the direction he had taken his, as if an invisible string was tied around them, helpless but to answer to the tug at the other end.

But it was impossible, wasn't it? She'd long ago severed that string, tearing it apart with force, indifferent to the way he had suffered in the process. Feelings were collateral; a means to an end — wasn't that what her father had taught her? Yet somehow, within this dim lighting, under the glare of the one who had once loved her, regret echoed more loudly than the lessons that had been ingrained within her.

"But I had one once, didn't I?" And I gave it to you. "Perhaps I can't miss someone without a heart, but I can miss the heart, itself. Do you know about phantom limbs, Seojun? How you can feel an arm that is no longer there." She smiles without mirth. "How you can mourn a person that's still alive." Even if you had killed them. Maybe especially so.

Ara tugged at the collar of his shirt until they were eye level, studying him thoughtfully. "You say you would pack your bags in this very moment," a tilt of her head, "but you're still here." A taunt, and a reminder. Perhaps a mercy of sorts. You hate me, so leave. Run away where I can't find you. You say I've done nothing but sacrifice you — yet you still stand, building your own altar.

He cocked his head slightly at the mockery of his own words, eyes squinted and knuckles turning white at the tension held in them. Seojun would never retaliate the way he did against other fighters and even the venom he wanted to spit, stuck in his throat, bubbling in boiling rage, but unable to be let out; poisoning him back in the process. She hurt. In the deep of his gut, in his calloused fingers, in a beating heart and in all the migraines and tears caused by her repeated betrayals. He wanted to think that he was so much better than her, that if it was her in his place, she would take advantage of every possible thing to just sink him deeper into misery. But hadn't he gone back every single time she pummeled him down? Wasn't it also his fault to keep going back to receive penance for whatever act that had left him guilty that week—— It took him too long to understand that he had been praying to a false idol; his sins never truly forgiven, but enhanced. "And trust me, if I could pack my bags and move to the other side of the world in this moment, I would", he commented back with a low voice. She was right, though, their meeting was probably not planned and she had the freedom to come and go as she pleased, but Seojun wondered what goddamn karma he was paying for to be dealing with all this.

He let her take his hands, just because he didn't want make more of a scene than he already was — a couple of curious eyes already looking their way. This was not only a fight club, but his work place and he didn't want to risk that. She was gentle in her movements, yet precise; for a split second he almost believed her last words. For a split second he forgot this was a devil in disguise. When she was done, he took his hands back, giving them a quick look to confirm that yes, she had done a way better job than him for sure. He dropped a scoff, dry laughter as he placed his hands on his hips, looking away in disbelief for a moment. "From any other person I would believe that, but from you? You will have to excuse my skepticism, but you see, to miss someone, you first need a heart".

[a-palemoon-sliver]

Concept: A yandere who has the power of the Red String of Fate. He can weave the Threads of Fate into any form he chooses, and when he finds your Cord among the many millions at his grasp, he takes a liking, and makes full use of his powers to snare you. First, he spins a thread of Fate, and then loops it around your finger, tying you two together. Then he shortens the Thread, and reels you in.

You meet each other by chance one day, and you feel a strange energy crackle between you as you trade conversation. Is it fate? Or is it an intentional vibe he’s giving off? He’s attractive enough: tall and lithe, but his hands look strong. He doesn’t work out, it seems like, but he works with his hands. He’s got an easy smile, and a charmed, honeyed tongue, and you find yourself liking him a little despite being strangers. Well, he is quite the weaver, after all.

Well, if that meeting wasn’t enough to trade phone numbers, to catch your heart, if the Thread of Fate snaps that day, then he just weaves more, and throws them around you again, tighter this time. He wants you, he likes what he sees; he sees something different in you, something interesting, and he has to have you. A few more chance meetings are engineered, products of Serendipity in all appearance, and he’s worming his way steadily into your good graces.

Once or twice, you think you imagine a bug crawling on your arms, but you’ve no idea he has a Thread tied around every one of your fingers and your wrists by now, has them tied snugly at your sides, making you harmless, just how he likes. And you’re none the wiser, because you can’t see the threads. No one can, except him. He laughs at how easy his job is, always is. He has you in the bag already!

On a day when the weather is unusually nice, he asks for your phone number, this stranger you keep running into, says he’d like to get to know you better, while giving an obviously-hinting, hopeful expression. He seems quite lovestruck. And for some reason, you say yes, without knowing why. You couldn’t know he’s thrown a Thread around your throat, though it only lasts a moment before snapping.

But that moment is enough, because now he can get closer, can continue roping you in, he, the spider in his web, and you the jewel-beetle in his sights. You trade numbers, he texts you immediately and grins. He says sorry, he has to be somewhere soon, but he’ll be waiting for your text tonight, and makes you promise him you’ll text him. Only once he’s been assured does he turn around and take off down the street, but he blows a kiss back your way before he disappears into the crowd.

That night, doubt gets the better of you, and you decide not to text him, but you’re already in his clutches, and he feels the Threads vibrate when your doubt takes hold. Quickly he texts you first, and gets a conversation going, making you comfortable. Good, he thinks, once the Threads have settled down again, things are back on track. He’ll continue winning your trust, winning your heart, and then soon enough you’ll be his, his forever. He’ll make sure of it.

And he’s quite the talented weaver, this spider in his red, red web, and he can weave anything he wants from the Threads that Bind. He’ll have your hands wound up in sticky scarlet gloves, to prevent you from clawing your way away from him. He’ll have your feet bound up in red woven boots, to prevent you from taking even a step without his say-so. And he sets to work on Weaving for you, his precious jewel beetle, Weaving, saving the best for last, weaving drunk on delight and hunger, for your pretty, captivating eyes, a sticky, glistening scarlet blindfold.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Silent breakup (part 3) | Jess Mariano x Reader

Summary: After some thinking, you drive up to Philadelphia to see Jess

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Taylor Swift bingo square: Invisible string

-

As silly as it sounded, something was tying you to Jess. You could feel it with your heart.

Perhaps it had something to do with this ancient Chinese folklore myth you had read about the other day, the one about a red thread of fate tying two people together. The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.

The weeks following Alexander's proposal, you did a lot of thinking. It brought you back to the same question.

''Do you think Jess and I could have a future together?''

Rory was taken aback by your question. Lane, who was sitting across from you on the couch, was completely lost.

''Since when is Jess back in the picture?'' she asked, looking between you and Rory for explanations. ''Wow, I leave on my honeymoon and when I come back, I feel like I missed a whole year of news. I was only gone for two weeks.''

''You want to try again with Jess?''

It was undeniable that you still had feelings for Jess. Feelings as strong as those never really go away. When your heart healed, it stored them in a box in the corner of your heart, safely kept.

Would re-opening this box be worth the risk of re-opening an old wound?

You slumped your shoulders. ''I don't know.''

You always thought love and relationships would get easier as you get older. What a fool you were! If anything, it got more complicated.

''I think you and Jess were a right-person-wrong-time type of situation,'' Rory said. ''You were both young - and so in love -, but poor decisions caused your downfall.''

''I think 'poor decisions' is small to describe what Jess did to Y/N,'' Lane argued. ''He acted like a coward. He could've talked to you, but no, he packed his bag and left.'' She huffed and stabbed a piece of her food, still holding a grudge against Jess. Looking at her, she was more mad at him than you were.

''What should I do?''

.

You knew it was impulsive and crazy to drive up to Philadelphia this late, but your mind was made and you had to see him. Now.

You arrived at Truncheon Books a little before 9pm, just in time for closure. You walked in, looking around the desks for Jess, but he wasn't there. In fact, there was only one person on the floor, which you recognized as Chris, one of Jess' bosses.

''I'm sorry Miss, but we're about to close-''

''Is Jess here?'' you interrupted with an emergency in your tone. ''I got to talk to him.''

Chris gave you an apologetic look. ''He isn't here at the moment. Are you a client of his?''

''Eh, no. I'm...an old friend.''

An old friend. That was one way to explain your history with Jess. There was so much more between the two of you, but you didn't feel like airing your - and Jess' - past to his boss. Jess was a private person and you doubted he would've wanted Chris to know about his teenage past.

''You're the girl from the book, aren't you?''

A frown creased on your face. ''What?'' you said, not really knowing what he was talking about.

Chris held a finger. He walked over to one of the desks and picked up a copy of The Subsect. ''I dedicate this book to the girl I hurt the most. Without you, this book wouldn't be,'' he read. ''It's you.''

You didn't know what to say. The girl he hurt most was undoubtedly you. But, why? Why had Jess dedicated his book to you? He wrote it long after you broke up.

Behind you, the door opened and there he was, standing in a leather jacket and a load of papers in his hands.

''Next time one of you breaks the printer, I'm gonna kick your ass. The copy shop was closed, but the lady of the library fell for my charm and let me use their printer- What are you doing here.''

This moment felt like deja vu as you turned around and his shoulders stiffened. ''Hi, Jess.''

Chris excused himself, sensing that a private matter had to be discussed between you and Jess. ''I'm gonna go and see if Matthew needs my help upstairs. Can't have that idiot burn the place down.'' He bolted upstairs where the apartment was.

''What are you doing here, Y/N?'' Jess repeated, going over to his desk and putting down the papers he was carrying.

''I came to talk to you.''

He raised an eyebrow. ''At 9pm on a Thursday?''

''Is it wrong timing?'' you asked, suddenly have doubts. Perhaps you shouldn't have come.

Jess shook his head. ''I'm just surprised, that's all. Do you want to sit?''

You nodded, following Jess to a small reading nook with a dark yellow couch and small table. The couch clashed with the vintage carpet, but it somehow worked with the table.

''So, what brought you to Philly?''

''The guy I was dating proposed to me.''

Shock was back on Jess' face. ''Eh, congratulation?'' He faked a smile, trying to be happy for you. If only he had glanced at your left hand, he would've seen the absence of a ring on your ring finger.

''He got down on one knee and proposed to me with this beautiful ring,'' you said with a smile, ''but I said no because he isn't the one that's holding the other end of my string.''

''You know explanations are supposed to make thing clearer?''

''Have you ever heard of the Red String of Fate? The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.'' You searched for his eyes before saying your next words. ''Jess, I think you're the one that's holding the other end of my string.''

His mouth was on yours before he knew what he was doing. Your heart leaped for a second and you kissed him back, pulling Jess by the back of the neck and slipping your tongue into his mouth, tasting familiarity of your ex-lover's lips.

No words could explain how much you had missed this, missed him.

''Jess,'' you breathed, breaking contact.

His eyes opened slowly, a smile curving his lips. ''You drove four hours to tell me this?'' Jess let out a short laugh. ''I can't say if it's crazy or romantic.''

You joined in on the laugh. Looking back, impulsively driving to Philadelphia when classes in the morning was crazy, but don’t we all do crazy things out of love?

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Eight

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: the beginning of the end :,) if u made it this far i think ur cool

***

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Lana asks.

Nesta closes her eyes, letting the picture swirl and take shape in her mind.

This time last year, she would have imagined nothing. Nothing but a desk in a busy law office, and maybe a nice apartment if she was lucky. That would be it. But now she sees…

“Somewhere with good food and good music,” she muses. “Maybe a sea breeze.” The sun-faded buildings of Portofino fade into the foreground of her imagination. “There are lots of people with me,” she hears the sound of children shrieking and Cassian’s rumbling laughter, “but it’s okay, because I love every one of them.” Her eyes open. “Is that a good answer?”

A near invisible smile tugs at the corners of Lana’s lips. “You tell me, Nesta. Do you like what you see?”

“It’s a little too cinematic if you ask me,” Nesta says nonchalantly, picking up her bag from the ground, “but I suppose all dreams are that way.”

“It’s a good dream,” Lana says. “A worthy dream, and one you deserve to chase.”

Nesta shrugs lightly, not too worried about the burden of the future for once. “Maybe I will.”

“In that case, congratulations on completing your final therapy session,” Lana says, setting her notebook aside. “You’ve made some amazing progress this year.”

Nesta gives her therapist her signature what’s-wrong-with-you look. “I’m going on vacation, not firing you for good. I’ll see you again in two months.”

“Two months can be enough to lose all your progress, if you forget everything you went through to get here.”

Nesta isn’t stupid. She knows that she isn’t suddenly desperate to make babies or be maid of honor at her sisters’ weddings or some bullshit. She knows that the image she just dreamed up, with Cassian and kids and her unburdened heart, is likely more than five years away. If it happens at all, it could be ten, even twenty years of hard work away.

She’s not nearly finished growing yet. “I’ll see you in two months, Lana,” she repeats.

Lana smiles at her fully this time. “Enjoy your summer, Nesta.”

***

The air is different in the Smokies.

Nesta rolls the truck windows down so she can inhale it, relish it. Wind whips her hair every which way as they drive down the winding freeway cutting through the lush mountains, and something about the look on her face makes Cassian chuckle and press down on the accelerator.

Nesta watches the red needle on the speedometer cross ninety, then one hundred. She can barely feel the June heat with how fast they’re going.

In the end, it was Feyre and Elain that reached out and invited her to the Tennessee summer home. Cassian had made it obvious that he wouldn’t push her to go if she didn’t want to, and at first she really didn’t want to. But Feyre had looked so hopeful when she asked Nesta to come with them, and even Elain had revealed a glimmer of eagerness that Nesta would say yes.

So against all odds, she agreed to go.

Exchanging one mountain home for another isn’t much of a getaway, but Nesta can’t help but be excited. Even with the unhappy memories of her childhood, she loves these hills more than any other.

The pure exhilaration of being back in Tennessee overcomes her at some point during the drive, knocking her out in the passenger seat where she sits. In her drowsy state, she distantly hears the windows being rolled up, before feeling Cassian’s hand guide her head to rest against the glass. The rest of the drive is warm and sunny, enough to lull her into a deep sleep.

The next thing Nesta’s aware of is the crunch of gravel and the feeling of the truck tires slowing to a stop. Fingers brush against her heated cheek, and then Cassian is murmuring at her to wake up.

Blinking her eyes open, Nesta twists around to see their destination.

For a moment, she thinks she’s still dreaming.

“Welcome to Holly House,” Cassian says with a grin. The house in question is quaint and sprawling at the same time, the way most upper class Southerners like their houses. The whole thing gleams with a fresh coat of white paint under the afternoon sun, complemented by a sky blue wraparound porch. Colonial style windows and proud columns decorating the facade of the building makes it look like the setting of a fairy tale.

Beyond it, Nesta can see cherry blossoms. Pink, fluttering cherry blossoms that fly off their branches and swirl through the air, some of them disappearing into the thick woods behind the house. Woods that Nesta has walked countless times before.

“The rest of the guys won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon,” Cassian is saying to her, “so we have the whole place to our—”

Nesta isn’t listening anymore. She unbuckles her seatbelt and shoves open the truck door, hobbling outside on unsteady feet to make sure she isn’t hallucinating things. But no, this is…

“Cherrywood,” she breathes, eyes wide in disbelief.

Cassian gets out of the truck, coming up beside Nesta to slip his hand into her shorts pocket. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“This is Rhysand’s summer home?” Nesta points at the house. “This place?”

Cassian looks around at the building grounds in confusion. “Has been for the last two decades, yeah.”

It’s been eleven years since she last stepped foot on these grounds.

With wonderment in her voice, she utters to Cassian, “I’ve been here before.”

At his puzzled look, she explains, “I lived just on the other side of those woods.” She points to the trees. “There’s an old cracked road that hasn’t been maintained since it was first paved, and you can follow it straight to the poor side of town. Whenever I wanted to get away, I would come down that road and trek through the woods, and I’d end up here. I stopped coming because…” she trails off.

Because she got caught that one time.

Cassian seems to realize it at the same moment as her. His hand slips out of her pocket. “You…”

Nesta remembers a tall boy with shocked eyes and shaggy hair, and she shakes her head slowly in forceful denial. It can’t be true. It’s too much of a coincidence.

But he points at her, then her feet. “You—with the size six Converse,” he sputters. “It was you.”

Before Nesta can confirm or deny it, he grabs her by the wrist and starts tugging her along, up the porch stairs and inside the house.

Even with Rhysand and Feyre’s renovations, it looks undeniably the same as all those years ago. The living room is to her right and the farmhouse style kitchen and dining area is to the left, though she speeds by it all as Cassian pulls her farther inside the house, to the closet beneath the curving stairs.

He lets go of her hand to search the small closet, muttering, “I know they were here somewhere.” But the closet looks like it was stripped empty for renovations, with only bolts in the walls indicating that shoe racks used to hang there.

Cassian turns and heads for the stairs, and Nesta blindly follows him. She also wants to go upstairs, wants to see if the bay window looking out onto the garden has stayed the same.

Like he read her mind, he leads her straight to the room she used to spend hours reading in. It’s smaller than all the other bedrooms in the house, but it’s always been her favorite because of the view.

As Cassian keeps looking for whatever it is he’s looking for, upturning boxes and checking beneath furniture, Nesta drifts toward the bay window. She looks from the cherry blossom trees outside, to the full-sized bed, to Cassian, and a weight drops even heavier in her gut. She has to reach out and grip the edge of the dresser for support.

Finally, Cassian pops out of the closet victorious. In his hand are a pair of ragged shoes that Nesta hasn’t worn in a long, long time.

He comes over and drops them with a thud at her feet.

“Whose room is this?” she asks with a rough voice, still staring down at the shoes.

“Mine,” he answers simply.

“Oh.” She met him before. She met him before.

When Nesta dares to look up and meet Cassian’s eyes, what she finds there nearly robs her of breath: wonder, astonishment, and unwavering fealty. He breaks into sudden wholehearted laughter, which dazes her even more.

“What’s so funny?” she demands.

Cassian gets out between laughs, “What was it Rhysand said about Feyre? When they found out they were close to crossing paths when they were younger?”

Nesta’s earth-tilting shock slowly slips away, replaced by a stern look. “Don’t say it.”

He pretends to remember. “I think it was fate.” A wicked smirk pulls at his lips at Nesta’s resigned sigh. “But I have another word for it, too.”

“Don’t say that, either.” She pleadingly holds up her hands, only for Cassian to snatch one out of the air and intertwine his fingers with hers.

“Soulmate,” he says quietly, now less amused.

Nesta swallows thickly, not having any words for him. All she knows is that he is never going to let her live this down.

“Imagine if we’d gone to the same high school,” Cassian says to her later that afternoon as they lounge in his old room. “Fuck, I could’ve saved myself so much time with all those random girls.” They’ve been swapping childhood stories for the past hour, as if they might find more instances in their history of a red string tying them together.

Nesta doesn’t need coincidences or fateful run-ins to know that a string has always been wrapped around her ring finger, pulling her to Colorado and to that cabin. But for Cassian’s sake, she’ll gladly amuse him. “I would have been a freshman while you were a senior,” she says matter-of-factly. “It never could have happened.”

He hums in thought, head propped up in his hand, elbow propped up against the bay window seat. “Maybe if you were older. You would have been the smart, quiet girl, and I’d have been the player jock, and as soon as we locked eyes in math class, I’d be head over heels in love with you.”

Nesta cackles from where she sits in the window seat above him. “Now you’re just writing fanfiction.”

Cassian grins up at her but doesn’t send a rebuttal her way. The conversation falls into a lull, until Nesta has to reach out and ask, “What are you thinking?”

His smile turns a little sad. “That I wish we weren’t doing this right before I leave for another country.”

Right. That’s what’s been hanging over them the entire trip to Tennessee: that as soon as they get back to Colorado, Cassian is going to be on a plane to Milan.

Getting Keith O’Connell to quit—how exactly Cassian went about accomplishing it, he still won’t tell Nesta—left Rhysand at square one with his search for a team leader for his overseas venture.

When Cassian brought up the idea of taking the job to Nesta, he sounded like he hoped she would shoot him down, talk him out of it. He both wanted to go and was reluctant to leave, like his very soul was glued to his home and he didn’t want to unstick himself.

So Nesta, being his home, had to do the unsticking for him. She nearly accepted the year-long Milan position herself for Cassian’s sake, and it took weeks of coaxing and convincing to put him at ease about the whole thing.

“But we promised to go together for the first time,” he kept saying.

“We’ll still go together one day, and it’ll still be our first time there with each other,” she reassured him.

Eventually, he relented to her and Rhysand’s pressures with a single condition. “I’ll do six months. Not a year.”

Only Nesta knows deep down how much Cassian needs this opportunity. Though Cassian must know it a little bit too, because he wouldn’t have taken the job if he didn’t.

Nesta might have needed him in order to come out of her shell, but now he needs to get away from her in order to find his own shell. Something he can call his own, unburdened by his loyalties to the people he loves. So he can find who he wants to be for himself, without always being attached to her hip.

Rising to her feet, Nesta raises her arms in the air in a full body stretch. Her back and legs ache with being curled up in that window seat for so long without movement.

Dropping her arms, she holds out a hand to Cassian still sitting on the floor. “Come on,” she urges him. “Let’s go outside. I haven’t seen a Smoky sunset in years.”

“But it’s not evening yet,” he argues while taking her hand.

Outside, they explore the garden that leads into the woods while waiting for the sun to slink down the sky. Cherry blossoms ride the summer breeze wherever it takes them, resulting in Cassian sniffling and scratching at his neck as they walk hand in hand.

“Rhysand wanted to take these trees down and replace them with a flower garden for Elain,” he tells Nesta as they walk. His sinuses sound clogged, but he’s refused to go back inside until he’s explained every inch of the land to Nesta. “I convinced him not to because it would ruin the view from my bedroom window. Didn’t I make the right choice?” He throws a grin in her direction.

Nesta’s swallow is tight at that grin. “The view from your room was always my favorite part about the entire place. So yes, you did good.”

His eyes widen at that tidbit of information, and she can almost see him tucking it away as more Soulmate Evidence.

They stroll through the woods for a while, and Nesta points out the path she would take to get to Cherrywood—she still insists on calling it Cherrywood, even when Cassian argues that the house’s original name has been around since the sixties.

“Show me the rest of the way?” Cassian asks her, face lit up in boyish hope. “Show me where you ran away to that day I found you.”

Nesta almost expects the memory of the rundown apartment complex she grew up in to feel like being shoved into sludge: dirty, cold, and slimy. Instead, she finds she has no problem with looking back at her old home, no matter how many ugly memories she holds from there.

However, the dappled sunlight streaming in through the trees overhead has turned from yellow to dark gold, and she shakes her head in apology to Cassian. “Another day,” she promises him. “It’s almost sunset.”

They walk back to the house, rounding it until they reach the front. At the bottom of the hill that the house is perched on stands a pier that leads all the way out to the lake. Green mountains frame the lake from both sides, creating the perfect cradle for the sun to sink into.

They go all the way out to the edge of the pier, as if they’re trying to get as close to the sunset as physically possible. Dragonflies lazily swoop by as the lake is gradually painted in a hundred different colors.

Once there’s more darkness than light in the sky, Cassian nudges Nesta with one of the arms he has around her. “Look.” He points.

Along the shoreline of the lake, little dots of light have lit up to welcome the evening, their blinking glow so small that Nesta almost doesn’t catch it. Fireflies.

Nesta watches the insects flit in and out of the long grasses of the lake shore, getting tangled in the weeds and wildflowers. In that moment, she remembers something Cassian once confessed to her not long after his birthday.

I want to see more beautiful places with you.

Nesta ticks this beautiful place off the long list in her head—the first place out of many that she plans to see with Cassian.

More beautiful than the scene before her is the man in her arms. The man who was kind enough to understand a woman who barely understood herself, and to be her friend when she had none. The man who is extending his kindness right now by not having made any breaking-and-entering jokes about Nesta so far, though she’s sure he’ll pull them out eventually.

Discovering that she once found Cassian, just to let him slip by running away from him, only to find him again over a decade later—it comforts the tiny part of her that’s loath to say goodbye to him in two weeks.

Like Cassian is thinking the same thing, he murmurs into the dark, “I can’t wait to come back to you.”

Nesta huffs in amusement. “You haven’t even left yet.”

“I know.” After a moment, he adds in a low voice that not even the fireflies can hear, “Thank you for convincing me to go.”

She reaches up to squeeze his bicep. “Always.” And then she adds what she really wants him to hear: “Don’t come back until you find what you’re looking for.”

“I better find it quick then,” he jokes. Still, he nods in promise against the side of her head.

The only sound after that is the chirp of cicadas and the occasional lap of water meeting the pier beams. Nesta and Cassian stay outside in the June heat long after the sky turns ink blue.

***

a/n: next chapter is just some ic bullshit so take all ur bittersweet sentimentality here and go

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