#why are there only seven anyways? no one understands my vision

[colorful-bees]

Feel so proud to have been the first person to have posted a fic with the Autistic Pepper | Arven tag on AO3. I really feel like I got ahead of things and the other six people who also wrote fics with that tag.

[ja3yun]

Please Be Real | P.JS

ex!jongseong x fem!reader warnings: angst, smut(mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, begging, hurt w comfort, petnames (baby, princess), mentions of intoxication, alcohol, heavy conversation around wanting children, badly written, reupload, anything else lmk! w.c: 9.7k synopsis: you never thought you would hear the name park jongseong again until you get a call from one of his friends begging for your help a/n: hi! this is a reupload!! so if you think you've read it, that's because you have <3 i didn't edit this one and i think you will be able to tell since my writing is a little sloppy compared to now but i love this fic a lot. i was actually planning a new one today (sub jake) but i fear that one isn't finished yet! so please enjoy. as always, comments, feedback and reblogs are all welcome! love u <33

A sharp, jarring noise pierces your ears, the peaceful sleep you were in rudely disrupted. You groan out loud, covering your face with your covers but it does nothing to stop the ringing from your phone, it doesn’t even dull it a little, the little black device only echoing around the room louder.

Disoriented and groggy, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, clumsily searching for it in the darkness. It isn’t your alarm, the usual peaceful tones of the birds chirping would be a welcomed sound, one that eases you into the day; no this was a phone call.

Finally grasping your phone, your eyes fight themselves open as you blink away any remnants of sleep, trying to find any sort of centre from your dizzy awakening. You look at the name on your phone but your vision is so blurred you can’t make it out but answer it anyway, knowing that whoever is phoning at this ungodly hour is clearly in need of your help.

“Hello?” you ask quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the quiet of the night, unlike the person on the other end of the call.

“Uh, Y/N? It’s Jake.” His soft Australian accent drifts from your phone speaker into your ears. He sounds unsure whether he is supposed to be making the call, which to be fair, you understand because you haven’t heard from him in months, not after…

Letting out a sigh, you rub your forehead with the base of your palm tiredly, “Jake, why the fuck are you calling me at…” you pull the phone away, inspecting the time now that you’re more alert, “3.36am?” you ask with a hint of disdain. Normally, you would welcome the boy’s surprise call, after all, you did miss him. But considering he woke you up from a good dream involving you, Jeongin from Stray Kids, and a happily ever after; he wasn’t exactly your favourite person right now.

You can faintly hear some music in the background as he stays silent and you swear to yourself if this is to give him a ride home from a concert turned party, you’ll have his head.

“Listen, I hate to ask you this but can you come to Haven?”

“The nightclub? Why?” Your earlier suspicions are proving to be right, he does want a lift home. That would be an acceptable request if you guys were actively talking every day and the best of buddies but he isn’t even your friend, not really. 

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, his voice can be heard trying to calm someone down but his words are obscured as if the phone is wrested away from his mouth, leaving only disjointed fragments of speech drifting through the receiver. 

This sounds like more than just a simple ride home and it causes you to snap to attention, your senses heightened with concern. 

Jake finally brings his attention back to you, letting out a sigh of discontentment, “It’s Jay, he’s a mess and he’s calling out for you.”

Jay. Park Jongseong.

It’s been so long since anyone has dared to mention his name to you that it almost sounds like a foreign word.

Seven months ago, you and Jongseong had decided to call off your six-year relationship, both of you reaching the understanding that it was for the best considering your battling differences and needs within the relationship.

It wasn’t easy, the furthest thing from it actually. You and him had been inseparable since high school and once you both got together in year 12, it was always you and him against the world. He was the love of your life, that once-in-a-lifetime kind of love that only happens in fairytales. Your souls were both painted from the same brush stroke.

But he wanted a peaceful, routine life - a classic white picket fence dream. Evenings would be spent with friends, savouring white wine and casual conversations over dinner. His heart was set on imagining the echoes of your future children's laughter filling your home, family trips to the seaside, and comforting them with kisses and band-aids when they got hurt.

And you craved spontaneity, to embrace life with vigour, travelling the world together was your dream, free from the responsibilities of parenting, cherishing moments just for yourselves. You longed for random midnight trips to Tesco for birthday cake simply because you could. All you wished for was to be with him, just the two of you.

Suddenly, your brain clicks into an important detail and you hurriedly check the calendar on your phone and the date makes you slump in your bed.

Today is Jongseong’s birthday, well technically not anymore given the time, but that means he has lived his first birthday without you by his side in so long. You would always celebrate his big day by doing something from his handwritten bucket list he has had since he was a child. Over the years he has added more to the list, each birthday scoring one out to add another.

The list wasn't extravagant; it was filled with simple yet heartfelt desires. You bought him a bundle of guitar lessons and a Taylor 114e electric guitar to fulfil his wish of learning to play. When you noticed the Download Festival marked with gold stars on his list, you surprised him with tickets for the year Metallica was headlining. And when he expressed a desire to cook a meal from scratch for his mum, you gifted him a kitchen knife engraved with his name and took the time to teach him how to prepare her favourite dish.

His birthdays were the most precious when you were in them, and you weren’t there with him.

“Y/N?” Jake’s sweet voice draws you back to his attention and out of the memory lane swirl your brain has put you in. He knows this is a tough call for you to take considering you and Jongseong said to cut ties completely; it’s better to act like you both didn’t exist than keep a thread tethered to one another that would only hurt you more.

As Jake and Sunghoon whisked Jay away for his birthday celebration, their intention was simple: to help him let loose and have a good time. Jay had been buried in overtime work lately, leaving little room for socialising. Since the breakup, the idea of going out without you - dancing together, stealing kisses in the taxi ride home - seemed unappealing.

Waking up that morning, Jay realised it marked the first birthday in six years without ticking something off his bucket list. The familiar, worn paper lay dormant on his desk, a stark reminder of your absence. He had no desire to celebrate today without you by his side. If he could fast-forward through the day to escape the weight of his birthday, he would eagerly do so.

Yet, with two very persuading friends and a whole lot of whiskey later, here he was, curled up outside Haven, yearning out for you.

“Y/N please, at least come and convince him to get up and come home with us,” Jake pleads. You can hear the cries of your ex-lover more clearly now as Jake kneels beside his friend, checking in on him.

With a resigned sigh, you nod, “Okay. Keep him warm, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, you quickly put a brush through your hair and change into a baggy top, one you bought for Jongseong before breaking up, and a pair of grey sweatpants. This is a bad idea, you know it is, but you also can’t leave him to wallow in the middle of the street. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you didn’t help and Jake wouldn’t call unless it was something he couldn’t handle. 

You don’t want to see the state Jongseong is in, his wailing cries that you could slightly hear over the phone already made your heart clench in hurt.

As you drive to Haven, your heart races in anticipation with each mile that passes. Is your heart ready to face him after all these months? Staring into the love of your life’s eyes once again might break you even more. You’ve done a good job in keeping yourself together, at putting on a facade that everything is okay, when deep down you know that if one person asked you about Jongseong you would crumble and fall apart. 

He wasn’t the only one throwing himself into work to forget. You’ve worked hours and hours trying to keep your mind off the heartbreak, you thought that if you just focused and kept your head down, the phrase time heals all wounds would kick in and you’d be free of the torment of losing your first love. But it hasn’t worked out that way, you know that now as you speed down the empty roads to console the one person you are trying to forget.

As you reach Haven, you can vaguely see three boys under the illuminating sign, almost as if shining a spotlight on them to add to the spectacle that Jongseong is making. Onlookers are watching as your ex-boyfriend cries on the pavement, wishing you would come home.

With a quick exhale, you step out of the car before doubts can creep in, determined to be there for him. Jake and Sunghoon's voices float to you, attempting to soothe him and inject some sense into the moment. Bracing yourself, you approach, ready to offer whatever comfort you can, despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

Sinking onto the balls of your feet, you lower yourself to Jongseong's level, meeting his strained figure. Instantly, the sight of his distress instantly shatters your heart into a million pieces.

An abundance of tears cascades down Jongseong's reddened face, obscuring his features like a relentless waterfall. His clenched jaw and the prominent vein on his forehead portray the intensity of his distress as he struggles to draw each laboured breath. Curled into himself, his body seems to contort with the weight of physical agony, mirroring the emotional pain that ripples through his trembling form. He’s been keeping this in for so long that his body doesn’t know how to cope with it.

Reaching out to grab his clenched fist, you shuffle forward carefully, “Jjongie?” you say calmly, trying to pull him out of his dispaired state and avoid startling him. “It’s me, baby, look at me,” 

Jongseong's body tenses at your voice and he slowly lifts his head, his eyes bloodshot and filled with an overwhelming mixture of sorrow and longing. For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before they cloud over again with anguish.

He doesn’t believe you’re actually here, considering the long nights where he has conjured up the idea of you, clinging to his imagination on the lonely nights he wishes for your touch. But as you squeeze his hand, he realises this isn’t a dream-induced sighting, you’re really here in front of him.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. Tears stream down his face in torrents, some landing on your hand that holds his. His cries reverberate through the air, each wail a sharp stab to your chest.

Cupping his cheek, you settle yourself between his legs, ignoring the stinging discomfort of the rocks beneath your knees, your focus solely on him. With a sad smile, you attempt to mask your own hurt, your touch a gentle reassurance amidst his storm of emotions.

"Hey, hey, enough of that now," you hush him softly, your voice a soothing melody in the tumultuous night. Using the pad of your thumb, you tenderly wipe away his tears, though they continue to flow unabated.

Jongseong leans into your touch, “I miss you so much, Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads as you feel his warm breath against your skin. He desperately nuzzles into your palm, seeking solace in the familiar sensation of your touch, the very thing he has been yearning for.

It’s hurting you just seeing him like this, the man you once knew to be strong-willed and resilient, keeping his emotions under control unless he’s sharing sweet vulnerable moments with you under the covers, is now a shell of himself, stripped bare by the weight of grief.

Turning to look at Jake, you offer him a small smile, “I’ll take him home.”

“You sure?” Jake asks with a raised brow, knowing that it’s a dangerous game for you both if you do.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to move unless I do,” you chuckle sympathetically but there’s a bubble in your throat as Jongseong’s whimpers flow into your ear from beside you, pathetic and distressed.

Nodding, Jake gestures to Sunghoon, silently enlisting his help in the task of ferrying the drunk man to your car. The weight of Jongseong's limp form proves difficult as you all struggle to navigate his dead weight, his limbs hanging heavily without offering any assistance.

"Let's get you home," you murmur softly, your hands pressing gently against Jongseong's chest to steady him, aided by his friends who lift him onto their shoulders.

His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity burning within them. "Please be real," he whispers, his voice trembling with desperation. Despite feeling your touch and catching hints of your scent, doubt gnaws at him. If this is merely a figment of his imagination, he knows he'll never forgive himself. You're so close, so tangible - it has to be you.

With much struggle, the three of you get him to your car, putting him gently in the backseat so he can lie down, but he wraps his arms around your waist as his legs stay situated outside of the vehicle, holding you close to him.

"Come on, Jjongie, lie down for a minute," you coax gently, guiding him to stretch out along the seats. But he remains unmoving, clutching onto you as if fearing you'll slip away if he lets go. With a soft sigh, you stroke the back of his head, your hands moving in a soothing rhythm. "I promise, I am not going anywhere," you whisper, your words a tender vow to him.

Yet, your attempts to reassure him seem to go unheard. His face burrows deeper into your stomach, his words muffled by the fabric of your t-shirt and the weight of his tears.

You exchange a worried glance with Jake and Sunghoon, “How much did he have to drink?” you ask, scared of the answer they will give. Your ex-boyfriend has always been so good at holding his liquor that it must have been a hefty amount if he’s this bad..

“Like…two weeks' wage worth,” Sunghoon winces as he says it, his neck tightening as he looks at his best friend. It was hard to watch him, pound spirit after spirit, and be helpless in telling him to stop. He’s not exaggerating either, he must have spent at least £600 in there. Each round was a triple, accompanied by a few shots to wash the Jack and Coke down.

"Oh, baby," you sigh softly, returning your attention to Jongseong. You press a tender kiss to the crown of his head, hoping to offer some comfort amidst his distress. In some way, the scent of his shampoo also gives you some ease within the chaos. His response to your affection is to cling to you even tighter, his sobs echoing against your chest as he seeks solace in your embrace. There’s a crushing wave of empathy that you feel wash over you right at this moment. It hurts, seeing him like this and hearing of his struggles - ex or not - you care about him, and you also understand his pain.

You need to get him home. He’s a fucking mess and the longer he stays like this, the more it’s going to wear all four of you out. So, with a gentle hand, you pull him back and lift his jaw up to look at you. It was probably the worst decision you could have ever made. He looks…broken.

"I've got you, Jjongie," you whisper softly, squeezing his chin as almost a gentle pinch, to prove you’re not letting him go. This instantly relaxes Jongseong, though, his hands still grip onto you for dear life. His friends go to help you, break him away and buckle him in the backseat, but you halt them with a firm gesture, "You guys can go, I've got it from here."

Sunghoon shakes his head, heavy concern etched on his face. "No way. He's too heavy, Y/N. You won't be able to manage him into the apartment without us.”

But you stand your ground. This is your and Jongseong's mess, and you can’t let others help you clean it up. "It's okay. You guys have done your shift for tonight. Go home," you insist, your voice resolute and brooking no argument.

Reluctantly, Sunghoon and Jake nod, still teetering on the edge of arguing with you. But, they know better and bid you goodnight before going their separate ways home, leaving you alone with Jongseong and the weight of your shared history.

Taking a deep breath, you hoist him in, his body listening to you a little more now that you’ve reassured him you aren’t leaving him. He sprawls over the backseats and lays still, the alcohol consuming him into some form of comatose. You’ve been in this state before too, so you can recognise the blackout glaze that he’s trying to fight away as he keeps his eyes on you. He’s so scared you’ll just vanish into thin air. “I’m right here. Go to sleep.”

Surprisingly, he listens to your reassurance, closing his eyes and drifting off, allowing you to slide into the driver's seat. You turn the keys as the engine begins humming to life beneath you. Glancing at Jongseong's slumbering form in the rearview mirror, you steel yourself for the journey ahead.

_____

Arriving at his house fills you with a nervous energy that tightens in your chest. This wasn’t just his flat—it used to be your shared home. For two and a half years, this place held countless, irreplaceable memories, moments you thought you’d cherish forever.

You were the one who left, finding a new place closer to work and convincing yourself it was the practical choice. But deep down, you knew the real reason: you couldn’t bear the constant reminders of him that lingered in every room, every piece of furniture, every shadow of your life together.

Looking back now, it feels selfish. You left him here, surrounded by the remnants of your relationship, without considering how he might feel. While you escaped to a fresh start, he was left to live among the echoes of what you once had.

Lugging him into the flat, his legs are working in tandem with you now unlike before but he still isn’t proving to be the easiest person to carry. The last time you had to hold his weight like this was when he got drunk at your prom after taking sneaky shots in the hotel garden with his friends. It was funny, but you blame him for some of your back pain that you’ve endured in your early twenties.

As you push open the door and step into the living room, a wave of nostalgia washes over you like a tsunami. Though only seven months have passed, it feels like a lifetime since you last stood in this space with him by your side. Everything remains unchanged, frozen in time since the day you left. 

The same couch sits in its familiar spot, adorned with throw pillows and blankets you bought for last season. Photographs of you both, captured during Christmases and holidays, adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of happier times when life seemed so simple and easy. Even the vase that his mum had gotten you both for your housewarming gift, one that you loved and he hated, remains in its pride of place on the mantlepiece.

You shake the thoughts away and guide Jongseong toward the bedroom. Each step feels heavy, as you’re encompassed with memories that surround you. He’s been living in a time capsule, and while you’re struggling to look at it all now, you wonder how he has managed to endure it for all these months.

His arm is slung over your shoulder as his weight presses down on you, however, it’s the feeling of his nose brushing against your hair that nearly stops you in your tracks. He breathes in deeply, and for a brief moment, it feels like he’s trying to ground himself in the familiarity of you.

You help Jongseong onto the bed, propping him up carefully. “I’m going to grab you some clean boxers, okay?” you say softly. He doesn’t respond, lost in his own haze, so you move toward the drawers on the other side of the room.

Walking over, you spot a familiar t-shirt lying crumpled on your old side of the bed. You make a b-line to investigate it and as you pick up the crumpled t-shirt, a flood of memories washes over you, transporting you back to simpler times. Your fingers trace the familiar fabric, still faintly carrying the scent of you, now mingled with his cologne. You piece it all together pretty quickly, the way it still smells faintly of you but is not starting to be overpowered by his cologne. He hugs it at night to find peace of mind.

“Oh, Jjongie,” you sigh, heart reaching out to him. You’re no better, you have one of his hoodies that you snuck into your luggage as you packed and wear it when you’re at home. Just like your t-shirt, his hoodie is starting to lose its scent from the amount of times you’ve hugged yourself to sleep in it.

You’re no better, though. You think of the hoodie you tucked into your suitcase before you left, the one you’ve worn so many times on nights when the loneliness felt unbearable. Its scent is fading too, just like this shirt, but you still cling to it, just as he clings to this. Both of you, in your own quiet ways, are holding onto the fragments of a love neither of you has been able to let go of.

Jongseong has always been reserved, his emotions carefully guarded behind a facade of reason and rationale. To see him like this, vulnerable and raw, strikes a chord deep within you. If he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, perhaps it would be easier to understand. But the complexity of his emotions only serves to deepen the ache in your chest.

You place the t-shirt back on the pillow before opening the dresser drawer and retrieve a clean pair of boxers, his favourite ones with the faded Hello Kitty print that you've always teased him about.

Gently, you begin to undress him while he rambles incoherent nonsense that you can’t understand between the mix of tears and drunk slurring. The top half is easy but the bottom half proves difficult as he only looks up at you, whispering pleas as he stares at you, keeping his bum firmly sat on the edge of the bed.

As you finally manage to remove Jongseong's jeans and boxers, leaving him naked, a new layer of vulnerability settles over the room. He sits before you bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, his silhouette outlined in the darkness.

"Stay with me," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea as his hands begin to roam your sides, tracing the contours of your body beneath your shirt. Each touch ignites a flurry of sensations within you, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

His beauty, illuminated by the faint light, is both captivating and heartbreaking. The familiarity of his form, once etched in your memory, now lays before you in the flesh, a tangible reminder of the love you still harbour for him. How could you not still love him? He was perfect in every way possible.

He pulls you onto his lap, your sweatpants becoming the barrier between his cock and your pussy. Yet, none of you are really thinking about that right now, all you both want is to hold one another again.

“Jongseong, we broke up, and for good reason,” you rationalise with not only him but yourself as you find yourself sinking into his touch as his hands roam your back.

Nuzzling his nose against yours, he begins to cry softly again, his face rubbing itself against yours as his tears transfer from his cheeks to yours, “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he 

mumbles as his lips ghost over yours. 

He doesn’t just mean tonight, he means forever. A tear from your eye cascades down your face, getting lost in the mixture of his, your empathy for him overwhelming you because you feel the same way he does. You need him in every way, you need to be close to him, to feel his heart beating in synch with yours once again.

But you know better than this. You’re both just prolonging heartache if you succumb to being with him again. You can’t give each other what you need.

“Baby, don’t do this,” you beg him, knowing that he has the power to pull you back into his life with the click of his fingers, that resolve you have worked so hard to build up now hangs in the balance, “Let me get you changed and then into bed, yeah?”

Reasoning with him is a lost cause, his arms now hugging you tightly like before as he ignores your suggestion. The last thing he wants is to put on those boxers because he knows when he does that you’ll leave. 

"Please, baby," his voice is raw with emotion, his desperation palpable in the air between you. And as you look into his eyes, you see the depth of his longing mirrored in your own. 

His plea hangs in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on your already burdened heart. You feel torn between the overwhelming desire to give in to his request and the harsh reality of the situation.

With a deep breath, you summon the strength to gently extricate yourself from his embrace, feeling the weight of his disappointment lingering in the air. His hurt expression tugs at your heartstrings, but you shake your head firmly, "Just tonight, okay?" you assure him, your voice soft but resolute.

Curse you and your heart that caves into his pleas so easily.

You disregard getting him dressed and instead, remove your sweatpants and replace them with those very boxers you planned to adorn him with and swap out your t-shirt for the one on your old pillow. Jongseong clumsily climbs into his covers, getting comfortable and finding some happiness in the fact that you’ll be in his arms at least for a little while. 

Once you climb into your side of the bed, he instinctively hugs you from behind, the comfort of your body pressed against his. He spoons you from behind, tucking his face in your neck as he exhales in contentment. This is all he has been craving since that night you left and he couldn’t be happier. All the turmoil and anguish from earlier slowly depletes as he finds himself sinking into a much-needed sleep.

You can’t deny you feel the same, his arms wrapped around you feel like home, like you’ve been on a seven-month business trip and you’re now finally back where you belong. You sink into him further, relishing his skin against yours.

“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you whisper, bringing his hand up to kiss it before intertwining your fingers with his.

_____

Waking up, Jongseong feels like his whole body has crashed into a brick wall. His bones ache and his head feels tight, but there is a weight that feels so familiar yet foreign, his legs tangled around something and his arms holding it close. This feels different from the t-shirt of yours he clings to every night, this has more substance.

Please don’t be some random girl he thinks to himself, scared to open his eyes. 

Even if he wanted to open his eyes, he couldn’t - they were sealed shut, held together by something stubborn. Had he been crying last night? Wait, what did happen last night?

Fragments of the evening begin to resurface as he sifts through the haze: Jake and Sunghoon dragging him to Haven, the chaotic vibe of the bar, and the questionable decision to ride the mechanical bull. After that? A blank.

As he struggles to piece it all together, you watch him futilely attempt to pry his eyes open. Deciding to help, you gently swipe your thumb across his lids, clearing away the dried remnants of tears and sleep. His body tenses at your touch, his expression clouded with confusion.

Was he hallucinating? The sensation felt so real - too real. Or maybe the girl he brought home last night had a touch uncannily like yours. God, he hoped it was the first one.

Opening his eyes with your help, he blinks away the blur and sets his eyes on your face, his expression reading one of relief that quickly turns into astonishment.

“Y/N? Baby?” he whispers, his hands instinctively reaching for your cheek, “Please be real.” The same words he pleaded out last night leave his lips again. Jongseong has spent so many nights dreaming of you, wishing in an alternative universe that he can hold you again, so much so that this doesn’t feel real.

You don’t know what to say but obviously, you have to say something. It was one thing to confront drunk Jongseong who didn’t have a wit about him but now it feels like there’s a boulder on your chest as you try to conjure up the courage to speak to a sober, semi-alert Jongseong. 

All you can do is nod, no words escaping your dried lips. You look down to see you and his limbs mangled together just like they used to be, the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against yours almost feels like heaven.

He takes in the sight of you, the lines of disbelief on his features soften, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Slowly, almost tentatively, he reaches out to you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if to confirm your presence.

The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, he’s caressing your cheek so tenderly it reminds you of the time you had the shift from hell and Jongseong held you the whole night, whispering sweet words into your ear and stroking your tears away, just like this.

Except there are no tears this time, you’re all cried out - months of mourning the loss of your relationship will do that to you.

As Jongseong's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passes through them, followed by a wave of embarrassment. His voice is soft as he speaks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words, "What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone laden with confusion.

"You got pretty drunk last night," understatement "And Jake asked me to come pick you up."

You can feel the tension in the air as Jongseong processes your words, his expression a mixture of shame and regret, "Sorry, I don't usually drink that much," he murmurs, his voice tinged with remorse.

The explanation stings, not because Jongseong has been drinking more, but because of the distance it creates between you. It's as if he's explaining himself to a stranger, rather than to the person who once knew him better than anyone else. The past six years you’ve known how he knows his limit and that he doesn’t tend to breach it, not subconsciously. 

All you do is nod, accepting his explanation as you slowly start to detangle yourself from him, “I better get going.”

“Y/N, please let's talk,” he pleads as his voice wavers, his grip tightening around your waist, and his desperation palpable as he pleads for your attention. But you've made up your mind, and no amount of persuasion can sway you from the path you've chosen.

"Jongseong, please, let's not do this," you implore, your voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and resolve, "We're only going to hurt ourselves again."

You both know the reasons behind your breakup are deeply rooted, immutable truths that cannot be changed. It's not a matter of cheating or petty disagreements - this is about fundamental differences in desires and aspirations for the future.

But Jongseong refuses to accept defeat, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he breathes his love out, "Princess, we can work it out, I know we can," he insists, his words heavy with sincerity.

You steel yourself against the onslaught of his love, knowing that to give in would only prolong the inevitable pain, "We want different things, Jjongie," you remind him gently, your voice tinged with regret.

“I can do without them. It’s you I can’t live without…I can’t breathe without you here by my side.” His words are sincere and you know it, but you can’t accept it. When you both discussed your future, he looked so excited at the prospect of kids that your heart broke instantly. You knew right away that you couldn’t give him what he wanted most.

Closing your eyes and sucking in the bottom of your cheeks, you steady yourself to have this conversation yet again, “You can’t give up the idea of having kids. Having the life you want is much more important than me. You can find someone who can give you that.”

It hurts to say but you need to rip the bandaid off quickly. 

“You think I want that life with anyone but you?” His voice raises lightly, hinting at the anger rising into his chest. He needs you to listen to him, to understand him, “Y/N, if it’s not with you then I don’t want that life.”

Shaking your head determinedly, you sit up, “But I can’t give you that life, it’s not what I want.” You feel like you’re reliving the argument that ended it all those months ago.

“That’s okay-”

“No, It’s not,” It’s your turn to get angry and interrupt him, your eyebrows lacing together as you try to read him. How can he say all of this so easily? Like he wasn’t trying to promise you that he would change his entire life plan just to be with you. Is it romantic? Sure, but it’s also fucking stupid. No one should change just to keep someone they love because if they were meant to be, then their values would align…right?

"It's not that simple, Jongseong," you argue through the silence, your voice tinged with frustration, "You can't just sweep aside your dreams for the sake of our relationship. What about what you want? What about your own happiness?"

Jongseong sits up, the covers hiding his naked lower half; he hadn’t realised he was naked and it only adds a new layer to his vulnerability. He is truly laying himself bare to you.

But Jongseong's gaze remains unwavering, his determination evident in the set of his jaw, "Since we broke up, I've realised that you are the life I want," he declares, his words carrying the weight of his conviction, "Whatever that looks like for you, I want it."

You feel his words like a pickaxe, slowly breaking away at the wall you’ve spent months building around your heart and reason. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions sweeps over you. On one hand, his declaration of love sparks a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of your fractured relationship. Yet, on the other hand, doubt claws at your insides, gnawing away at any semblance of certainty, the pure love that you have for him only wishes to make sure he’s happy and gets everything he wants in life.

"Jongseong, I..." you start, your voice wavering as you grapple with the turmoil inside. How do you express the depth of your feelings?

Grabbing your face with his large hands, he kisses you, his soft lips now coating yours. You’ve missed him so much that you become overwhelmed by his actions, a soft tear leaking from your ducts.

So much for being all cried out, you think to yourself.

"It's you, Y/N, I only need you," Jongseong whispers against your lips, his urgency evident as he seeks solace in the warmth of your embrace, stealing kisses with a hunger born from longing.

In spite of yourself, you find your lips responding to his touch, drawn in by the familiar sensation of his mouth against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, fingers grazing lightly over the muscles of his back as you hold him close; your brain is telling you to push him away but your heart is pulling him tighter to you. 

"It's not fair to you, Jjongie," you murmur, the words weighted with a sense of guilt and remorse.

"I'd rather be with you happily than with kids and someone else miserably," Jongseong confesses, his words carrying the weight of his heart's deepest desires.

Jongseong wishes you could see it from his point of view; of course, he has wanted kids and a comfortable life for so long but the idea of achieving that when you are not his wife seems fucking ridiculous. There is no one in this world he wants to be with other than you and if that means he has to be an uncle rather than a dad, so be it.

You are all he has ever wanted. To grow old with you, to experience each of your accomplishments together and have you close to him. He wants to protect you and look after you the way he knows he should and that is his new life goal. This isn’t a decision he has made lightly but a decision he wanted to make.

His hands glide down your sides, trailing over your thighs as his kisses continue, each touch a manifestation of the craving that has consumed him. His need for you is overwhelming, every fibre of his being yearning for you in every possible way. Another moment without you feels unbearable, as if he might die.

You surrender to his touch, sinking back onto the bed as he hovers above you, his grip on your thighs firm yet tender. The intensity of his desire leaves marks, but in this moment, you welcome anything he offers.

It's astonishing how the feel of his lips on yours dismantles your resolve, scattering your apprehensions like leaves in the wind.

Slowly, he removes from you the t-shirt that has absorbed his tears on countless nights and the boxers you borrowed from him, leaving you exposed beneath him. As he looks upon your naked figure, his eyes drink in every curve and contour, offering silent gratitude to the heavens for letting him have you like this. You are everything he wants and more.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers into your mouth as he presses his body hard against yours, his member rubbing itself against your folds. 

The feeling of him rubbing against you is enough to elicit a moan. No amount of toys was enough to satisfy you, not the way Jongseong could. Over the years you learned about one another’s bodies so intimately that no one could ever know you the way he does, not even yourself. 

You couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with someone else, even if you and Jongseong had broken up, your heart couldn’t do it. You never even considered a one night stand because deep down you knew that your body belonged to Jongseong and no one else.

He moves his hips, slowly rubbing himself against you, the bell of his cock grazing your clit teasingly. It feels like a dream for him to touch you this way again, and the fact that you were coating his cock with your wetness was enough to tell him that you need this too.

Kissing you desperately, his tongue darts into your mouth and swirls with yours as he seeks to taste you, his buds dancing along with yours. He moans into your mouth and acts as an echo of his love for you.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers as his hips continue to move slowly, teasing your hole with his tip each time he draws back. It’s becoming increasingly obvious how much it’s starting to irritate you, your need to have him inside you is evident in your whines of frustration.

"I missed you too, baby. More than anything," you confess, your hand finding his cock as you press against him, seeking to create greater friction between you. With each movement, the pressure builds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

With each synchronised movement, the tension between you mounts, the desire for one another lingering in the warm air. His hips continue their slow, teasing rhythm, each brush against your core sending sparks of want up your heat and into your chest.

Feeling the urgency building within you, you guide his cock with precision, pressing it against your eager entrance. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the head of his length dip into you only slightly, the anticipation of being filled with him heightening your senses.

"Please," you whisper, your voice laden with need and longing, a plea for him to take you.

With a teasing grin, Jongseong relents to your plea, but not in the way you expected. Instead of thrusting into you the way you want him to, he trails his fingertips along the curves of your body, igniting a trail of fire in his wake. His touch is light and tantalising, tracing patterns across your skin as he savours every moment. He wants to take his time with you, no matter how much his dick longs to be surrounded by your walls.

You like to be teased even for a little bit, the payoff at the end always hits the right spot.

You squirm beneath his touch, aching for more, but he continues with deliberate slowness. His fingers dance over your heated flesh, exploring every inch of your body with an intimacy that leaves you breathless. Each caress sends shivers down your spine, building the anticipation to unbearable heights. God, you missed his hands all over you.

As his right hand dips lower, he begins tracing circles around your sensitive clit and you can't help but arch your back in pleasure, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is electrifying, sending waves coursing through your body as he expertly teases you.

Feeling your body tremble with anticipation, his touch becomes more urgent as he presses his fingers against your throbbing clit h and with practised skill, he begins to move faster, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you writhing beneath him.

“You look so fucking perfect, all desperate and whiney like this, Princess,” he says as he leans down to kiss you, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tries to fill each of his senses with you. It wasn’t just enough to feel you, he wanted to taste you, to inhale your scent, to hear you cry out for him, to see you unravel beneath him.

Your breath catches in your throat as the intensity of his touch sends you spiralling towards the edge of bliss. Each stroke of his fingers drives you closer to the brink, your body humming with the need to let go.

But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, Jongseong suddenly slows his movements, drawing out the pleasure with agonising slowness. It's a torturous tease, the brief moments of intensity followed by long, drawn-out strokes that leave you gasping for more.

“Please, please, please, Jjongie,” you whimper in frustration, your body aching for release as Jongseong continues to play you like a symphony, alternating between fast and slow, building the tension to unbearable levels. Just when you think you can't take it anymore, he finally gives in, his fingers dipping into your heat and thrusting into you at a rough pace, your pussy soaking his digits as he coaxes out your orgasm.

“You’re clamping down on my fingers so hard, Baby, you gonna cum?” he asks arrogantly, knowing that with each curl of his finger, he is watching your body lose control and surrender to him.

Nodding quickly, you pull him down for a long, searing kiss as his thumb joins the party and flicks your clit rapidly, “Oh my god,” you moan out into his mouth through bated breaths, “I’m gonna cum, Jongseong, please can I cum?”

“You never have to ask baby,” he moves his mouth to your ear and lightly nibbles your lobe, “Cum for me, Princess,” he gently commands.

Jongseong continues to work his magic, his fingers moving with expert precision as he guides you through the throes of ecstasy. Your vision blurs and every nerve in your body hums with pleasure as you reach the pinnacle of bliss.

With a final, desperate cry, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You arch your back and cry out his name as pleasure consumes you, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

His fingers remain still inside you, but his thumb maintains its relentless pace, each swipe sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hips instinctively twitch in response, your nub throbbing with sensitivity and yearning for a respite. Yet, Jongseong shows no signs of letting up, his determined flicking only intensifying.

"You like that, baby?" Jongseong's voice is hoarse with desire as he intently watches your reactions. His eyes are dark with need as he continues to work you with wild desire. 

Your senses are overwhelmed by sensations pouring through you, so you can only respond with a gasping nod. Every single nerve in your body is buzzing with ecstasy, and all you can think of is the delicious agony of his thumb against your delicate clit.

"Tell me what you want, Princess," he asks, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear, "Do you want more?"

You can only make a frantic plea, your words barely comprehensible in the middle of intense pleasure. "Yes, please, Jongseong... More..."

Jongseong's lips curl into a wicked grin as he hears your plea, his confidence growing with each breathless gasp that escapes your lips. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he moves his fingers again, pressing them against your contracting walls, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

"What do you want, Y/N?" he whispers, his voice dripping with anticipation, "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

Your mind is a haze of desire, but amidst the fog, one thought stands out clear and demanding. You need him inside you, filling you completely with his presence. With trembling hands, you reach for him, your fingers curling around his cock, guiding him to where you need him most, pushing his hand out of the way.

"I want you," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I want all of you, Jongseong." When you utter the words, there’s a deeper meaning to them, a meaning that Jongseong is clinging to.

The way your fingers wrap around his rock-hard member elicits a hiss from him, your touch mixed with your words only fuels him to give you everything you need. 

Jongseong lets out a guttural groan, entirely surrendering to your touch and words. His eyes darken with want as he watches you take control, and his breath quickens with anticipation as you guide him inside you. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he looks into your eyes with a mixture of desire and adoration, "God, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, “You feel so fucking incredible. I’ve missed how you just suck me in like this.”

You look down and watch as his entire length gets lost in your heat, his cock’s head hitting deep within you. You’ve missed how he fills you up so much but you hadn’t realised just how badly until right now as he shallowly thrusts into you.

You respond with a low moan of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer, urging him to go deeper. "Yes, Jongseong," you whisper, your voice laced with longing, "just like that. I need this so much, I need you."

With each thrust, he grunts in response, his movements becoming more desperate as he seeks to satisfy your every desire, "I'm yours, Y/N," he declares, his voice filled with raw emotion, "completely and utterly yours."

As he lifts your legs and closes them, gently draping them over his left shoulder, your warmth envelops his shaft, drawing him in closer. Jongseong relishes the sensation of your tightness, revelling in the snug embrace of your canal around him. And you too find delight in the pressure of his girth, relishing the way he stretches you further with every powerful thrust.

Each movement of his hips is deliberate, each one designed to bring you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. As his hands stroke your legs tenderly, contrasting with the intensity of his thrusts, you find yourself lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His jerks grow more intense, the pace quickening as he drives deeper into you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, "You feel so good," he groans, his voice filled with unrestrained passion, "so fucking perfect for me, Princess."

In response, you curve your back and meet his thrusts with equal conviction, the heat between you building to an almost euphoric level. "Jongseong," you exclaim, your voice a symphony of fulfilment, "don't stop, please don't stop."

Jongseong intensifies his efforts with a wild growl, each movement driven by a burning need to push you to the edge of satisfaction and beyond. At this moment, there is only you and him, burned by the fires of passion.

With a swift motion, your lover bends you in half, positioning your legs by your head as he quickens his already rapid pace. Lost in a whirlwind of desire, your eyes roll back and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, your chest heaving with each forceful thrust of his cock. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his shoulder blades as you cling to him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Feeling the sting of your nails, he grits his teeth and strains his neck, the veins in his temples pulsating as he fights the overwhelming urge to release inside you right then and there.

“Fuck, claw my back, Baby,” he growls, his voice thick with desire, “make me yours again.” With determination, he continues to pound into you, each movement bringing you closer to your shared orgasm.

After hearing Jongseong’s go-ahead, you dig into his back, dragging your nails across his skin, leaving fiery red lines in their wake, just like he wants. It burns him in the most delectable way, making his cock throb inside of you.

Your breaths combine in the air, creating an ensemble of desire as you both reach the edge. The tension between you grows with each thrust, a crescendo of want reaching its peak.

As he slams into you furiously, his voice fills the room with urgency, "You gonna cum again, Princess? You want it?" His words are a mixture of want and domination, starting a fire inside you that threatens to consume everything in its path.

With a firm nod, you meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with want. "Yes, Jongseong, please," you beg, your voice a frantic appeal for release once again.

In response, he increases his efforts, his motions growing more frenzied as he propels you both to your orgasms. And then, with a final, strong thrust, you shatter, your body convulsing from the ferocity of your release. Jongseong follows closely behind, his own climax mirroring yours as he finds release within you, “Fuck!” 

His body stills as he shoots his seed into you, the tremble of both your bodies vibrates the bed beneath you. Finding it hard to keep himself up, he falls onto you, moving his cock into you further, only drawing out a final moan from your lips.

After a couple of minutes, Jongseong rolls over, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. God, he missed the way you feel under him, he could go another ten rounds if you asked. 

But that would mean you would stay, and is that even something you want? He doesn’t want to ask, your answer being the deciding factor of whether he goes on his life with misery or happiness.

He knows he can’t force you into this relationship but he hopes he has done enough to convince you that you are all he wants.

“Please be with me again, Y/N. I can’t live without you,” he whispers into the air, not daring to look at you.

You on the other hand only want to look at him, to see if you can really try this again, “Even if it means no kids? No playdates with other parents? No family trips to Jeju?”

“Even without all that.” He does look sincere, his eyes now burning into yours with a new lease of determination.

The truth is, you’ve missed him so much that it hurts. Behind the strong facade is just a girl who misses her lover. Being without him is like being in a fire with no escape, constantly fighting your way out of a blaze while your lungs collapse. He’s the clear path to fresh air you desperately need, there is no denying it. And clearly, he thinks the same about you. 

Seeing him last night so fragile and broken engulfed you in the flames, burning you alive because you know that you feel every ounce of hurt that he is. It was a mirror to how you were feeling and you don’t think you knew how badly you needed him until that moment. You were trying to be so strong about it all, giving yourself only a short amount of time to grieve that as you looked at Jongseong last night, you know he has done the same.

You need one another to extinguish the fire.

“Jongseong, truly think about this, this isn’t me saying no to letting you go on a lads holiday, I’m denying you the opportunity to be a father,” you plead with him one last time, giving him an out to all of this as you lay it all on the table.

“Princess, I have had seven months to think about it. I am not compromising or altering my needs for you, this is a decision that I have made on my own. If I truly wanted the life I thought I did, I wouldn’t be begging you to be with me right now. I know this isn’t an easy choice but I have never been more sure about anything in my life.” 

Jongseong kisses all over your face, each one a receipt of his sincerity.

His words strike straight into your heart. He’s serious. A part of you wants to still feel guilty like you’re forcing him into this but on the other hand, he’s right. You’ve given him a multitude of opportunities to leave and find a girl who will cater to him, but he hasn’t. 

He doesn’t need to because all he needs is you and your love, to Jongseong, that is all he needs in his life.

“Okay, but if you ever change your min-”

He interjects with a kiss, one filled with so much happiness and love that it’s almost intoxicating; either that or all the booze in his system has transferred its way into your bloodstream. 

You giggle as he rolls over on top of you again, peppering loud and wet kisses all over your face and neck akin to a dog licking you from utter joy. Your hands try to fight him off playfully, your laugh growing louder as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Oh, wait!” Your lover's sudden pause catches your attention, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he swiftly rolls off the bed and rushes over to the messy pile on the chair by his dresser.

Curious, you crane your neck to see what he's up to, watching as he retrieves something from the floor.

“What is it?” you inquire, intrigued by his enthusiasm.

Turning back to you, Jongseong holds up the familiar torn sheet of paper that you recognise instantly, his smile lighting up his face. He grabs a pen from the desk and returns to your side, handing you both items.

“Tick it off,” he urges, pointing to the bottom of the page where a new addition was made yesterday morning. Despite his internal conflict about the list, he couldn't bring himself to tear it up. If he never saw you again, this would be a precious memory to hold onto.

So he added a new aspiration at the bottom.

Taking the pen from his hand, you read it slowly, “Make Y/N mine again..”

You gaze up at him in awe, understanding the significance of this gesture and how much the list means to him, “You wished for this?” you ask, to which he simply nods at your question, “Then you need to tick it off.” You push the pen and paper back to him but he stops you.

“No, you made the wish come true, so you need to tick it off,” he replies, the corners of his lips upturning slightly.

So, with the pen, you draw a line over the words, scoring it off once and for all as you beam proudly, happy that both of your souls are now joined together again. You pull him in for a long, deep kiss, the bucket list discarded as you lose yourselves in the moment once again.

“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you say, even if you are a day late.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Paint Me

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!inexperienced!American!reader

summary: An unfortunate funeral causes you and Benedict come face to face and he is your surprising shoulder to lean on. And after a secret moment in the garden, you become closer than ever before.

word count: 4k

taglist: @syraxnyra @turtle-cant-communicate @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @intothesoul

part one part two part four part five part six part seven

February 13, 1817

There was a knock on your door after you had gotten home from the gallery. You had embarrassed yourself enough when you had insulted Benedict's painting and weren't in the mood to speak to anyone, especially not who you knew was on the other side of the door.

You had already felt like a disappointment to your father and you didn't need to hear him tell you as such. But he entered the room anyway and sat on the edge of your bed next to you. He went to wrap his arm around you, but you pulled away, moving closer to the other side.

"I am afraid that I have not been there for you when you needed me most," he went to reach for your hand, but you pulled it away, fully turning your back to him.

"I am afraid that is true and I do not wish to speak to you at this moment."

"Bunny," he went to use his beloved nickname for you which caused you to stand from the bed, turning to face with a kind of anger you didn't even know was possible.

"You do not deserve to call me that. I understand that you are my father, but you were also my best friend. So where have you been?" You asked, your voice getting louder. "Where have you been when your wife, my mother betrayed me? If you love me as much as you claim to, then why have you never defended me when you saw the two of them treating me so horribly? I know why. It is because you are nothing but a coward and I do not wish to speak to you any longer."

With that, your father left the room, leaving you alone again. All of your anger was getting the best of you, everything that had happened throughout your whole life, weighing on you. You went under your bed where you hid away your art supplies and began to sketch, the pressure of your hand pressing the charcoal to the page, causing it to break, both it and the tears that were falling from your eyes, ruining the picture completely.

It seemed that not even your form of therapy was working. The one thing that made you feel better in fact did not. As your anger reached its peak, you threw everything across the room in a loud clatter and changed into your nightgown, getting into your bed, pulling the covers over you and crying until sleep claimed you.

But your sleep did not bring you any rest whatsoever, the only thing happening behind your eyes was your father. You saw his carriage crashing into a tree, the ship he was on going down, him falling off his horse, all leading to his demise.

The guilt was eating at you for the way you spoke to him. Even though everyone was asleep, you couldn’t sleep any longer without apologize for the way you spoke to your father. Whether he accepted it or not didn’t matter. You just needed him to know that you didn’t mean a single word.

You snuck out of your room with every intention of heading to your parents’ room at the end of the hall only to your mother sobbing in the foyer. She was on her hands and knees while Lilith held onto her, rubbing her back while he cried tears of her own.

You approached them, looking around for your father only to not see him, and you expected the worst. It seemed that all of your nightmares were in fact not that, but premonitions.

You felt lightheaded, your vision going hazy as your sister told you what had happened. Augustus had gone for a late night horse ride and had experienced a heart attack, causing him to fall off and pass away right there because there had been no one had been around to give him the proper care nor get him to a hospital.

It was all your fault. Or at least, that was what you were telling yourself. He did, however, die in one of the ways you had dreamed about, so you supposed that you had spoken it into existence.

The next few days, the house was quiet, neither you nor your mother or sister uttering a single word, nothing feeling quite right to say as far as the loss was concerned. The funeral was the next week and the three of you stood together, weeping over your father’s grave.

You were approached by Kate and Anthony who pulled you into a group hug as your cried into their shoulders and they held you for as long as you liked. When you pulled away, you saw Benedict standing behind them, his eyes already on you. For once, the flirty look in his eyes was replaced with a look of sorrow. 

For a second, all of your dislike for him dissipated as he pulled you into his arms, his hands rubbing up and down your back as he whispered nothing but nice things into your ear as you cried into his shoulder. 

Kate and Anthony turned away to give you a private moment and whispered to each other about what was possibly going on between the two of you. Kate thought it was sweet, but Anthony was ready to nip it right in the bud. There was no way that he was letting his brother anywhere near you, not even in a friendly way as  Benedict was unable to be friends with women. He only bedded them and there was absolutely no way that could happen. 

You pulled away from Benedict and he was quick to wipe your tears. You hadn’t seen him that soft and gentle since you had moved back to England and you were happy to have your old Benedict back, even if it was just for a moment. 

Benedict didn’t know what had come over him. He wasn’t sure why, but seeing you so heartbroken broke his own heart. When he saw you sobbing when he got to the graveyard, he swore that he could actually hear his heart crack. Usually, he would only comfort a woman going through a loss for the sole reason of getting her into bed, but this time, that wasn’t even a thought. He just wanted to make sure that you were okay. 

He didn’t leave your side the entire day as everyone followed your family to your house to enjoy a meal together in your father’s honor. He kept his distance out of respect, but he wanted nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and let you stay there as long as you wanted. He knew how close you were to your father and just how much it had crushed you to lose him. 

As day turned to night, you could feel your cold shoulder towards Benedict start to thaw. You were beginning to think that maybe you were being too hard on him when he had genuinely been trying to right his wrongs with what he had done to you almost a decade ago. You didn’t think that you should have let it hurt you for so long and that the grudge you were holding against him was really only hurting you in the end.

February 20, 1817

As a way to see your artwork, Lady Danbury had one of her friends host another gallery. You had told her that it wasn’t at all necessary, but of course, she didn’t listen to you. She assured you that everyone would love whatever you decided to submit and that they would all be lining up to purchase commissions from you.

You, however, thought it was a bold claim. Sure, you wanted people to see your work, but now you were nervous that none of them were going to appreciate it the way that you did. It was all very personal and you weren't sure that you wanted it hung for everyone to see.

Despite that, you still submitted your most personal piece. A painting of your father that was your own way of honoring him. A way to forgive him for all he had done to you and to let go of all of the guilt you felt for what had happened to him. It was the best form of therapy you could have ever asked for and easily your best work to date.

Benedict's piece had been coming along great as well. For once, he wasn't thinking about every single brush stroke and just went along with it, letting the brush guide him. He was going off of memory since he didn't have a proper photo of his subject, but he thought it was turning out rather well considering.

Instead of going to the studio, he decided to work in the garden, the sunlight being the best thing to point out all his imperfections if there were any. He was not going to have a repeat of what had happened last time. It was far too embarrassing.

"Ah, there you are, brother," Eloise spoke as she approached him.

"Here I am," he replied and was quick to stand in front of the painting so she couldn't see it, but it was too late. She had already seen it. She pushed him out of the way and let out a gasp as the painting before her.

"It that-"

"No," Benedict cut her off, trying to block her view of it again, a shade of pink apparent on his cheeks. Eloise just laughed and pushed him out of the way again, careful not to knock over the easel.

"It is!" She gasped. "It's the l/n girl that Kate and Anthony have befriended!"

"It is not." He didn't know why he was denying it. All the proof was right there.

"You cannot deny it. It seems that you have befriended her as well." Eloise could see the way that her brother looked at you and it seemed like he was attracted to you. She hadn't had many interactions with you, but according to Kate, you seemed like someone who keep Benedict humble and ground him.

"She doesn't like me, Eloise," he shook his head as dipped his brush into a shade that was the color of your skin tone and did some shading where he thought it would look nice.

"Why not? Did you hurt her, because Anthony will certainly-" Oh, Benedict knew exactly what Anthony would do.

"I did," Benedict nodded. "Eight years ago. When her family lived down the road, we painted a lot together in the study while Francesca played the piano, but one night-"

"What did you do, Benedict?" Eloise wasn't sure he wasn't going to say, but what she did know was that she wasn't going to like it.

"She told me-she told me that she loved." Her eyes widened at that and she wasn't surprised that she didn't know that fact because you would have been too scared to admit it to anyone and Benedict just felt horrible about the whole thing and didn't want to revisit it.

"And what did you say?" Considering the fact that you were ten and Benedict was twenty-one at the time, she could assume what had happened.

"The only thing I could. She was a child and I was certainly not interested in her and so I told her as much. Maybe a little too harshly and she ran."

"Benedict," Eloise gasped. So that was why you always paid almost attention to him. All of the dots were finally connecting. Now she was thinking that she liked you even more. That you were the first woman to not fall for her brother’s charms even though you were the exact one who should have. He definitely had a type.

"I know, and now she's here and beautiful and I'm afraid I've fucked it all up." Eloise was wondering what had gotten into him that he had such a defeatist attitude. He was never that way towards the women he was interested in even if they weren’t interested. In fact, that usually only motivated him even more.

"Maybe this might seem like a foreign concept to you, brother, but have you ever thought about apologizing like a normal person?" Benedict actually had thought about that, but he didn't think that was good enough, so that was why he had done the painting of you. He hoped that would help you see just how much he cared for you.

"I think it might be too late for that." He decided that his work was done and started to clean his brushes.

"It's never too late for an apology," she rested a hand on his shoulder and gave is a squeeze, leaving Benedict with much to think about.

February 21, 1817

You sat in the study with one of your books in your hand, but you couldn't focus on it. Your letter letting you know whether or not your artwork was accepted into the gallery was going to be there any second and you were terrified. There was a lot of riding on it and you were very afraid that they hadn't accepted it.

Kate and Anthony had insisted on being there when you got the good new and Kate clutched your hand as a servant entered the room with the envelopes on a silver platter and you reached for yours, feeling like time had stopped as you ripped into the envelope.

You read the first few words of the letter and let it drop to the floor, feeling your body go cold, collapsing into one of the chairs as you accepted defeat. They didn't want your piece. You should have known since they wouldn't have since you were a woman. They hadn't said as much, but you were able to read the lines.

Despite your sadness, you told the couple that you would join them at the gallery and felt horrible that Lady Danbury went through all that trouble for nothing. You didn't want to have to look her in the eyes, but the only worse thing was not going an accepting defeat. You were going to show everyone just how strong you were.

February 25, 1817

Practically everyone was already at the gallery when you had arrived and you felt dread come over you as you accepted that you were going to have no part in it. You had been rejected from many things like that before, so you weren't sure why it hurt so much.

Lady Danbury had approached immediately when you arrived and you really didn't feel like speaking with her but you plastered on your brightest smile, faking like you had interest in the conversation even though you would have much rather been in the study with your paints.

"Ah, there's the artist," she greeted. "You left last time before we were able to talk about your critique of the Bridgerton boy." Normally you would have felt guilty for something, but this time you couldn't have cared less. Benedict Bridgerton could have stood to be knocked down a few pegs and you were really enjoying being the one to do it.

"And I apologize for that. I was just letting my own issues take over." You were only apologizing because you felt like it, not because you meant it.

"No apologies necessary, dear. I loved it. I wish you would speak your mind more often. More people could benefit from hearing your thoughts. Especially ones like Mr. Bridgerton." Lady Danbury didn't mind Benedict, but often times she felt he had a big head and let his ego get in the way.

"I appreciate that, but unfortunately, I don't think that I'm up for it tonight."

"But what am I to think about the artwork without a lovely artist to give her opinions?" There was something odd about the interaction and you couldn't figure out what.

"You do flatter me, Lady Danbury. I suppose I wouldn't mind joining you."

So, you led her around the gallery and told her what you thought about the pieces, promising her to not hold back this time, suddenly not afraid to speak your mind. And Lady Danbury was loving every second of it, very entertained by the shy wallflower coming out of her shell.

She quite liked your company, amused by your little quips that you had come with on the spot. And she appreciated how you felt like you were able to be your true self around her, not the shy person she had met a few weeks ago. You were growing on her and easily becomg one of her favorite debutants of the season.

"Lady Danbury, who do you think your favorite artist is?" You asked as she got to the second to last piece. All this time you had been talking about the pieces in front of you, but you were curious as to what kind of art she liked since you thought a person's favorite artist said a lot about them.

"You." You were surprised to hear her say that considering that she hadn't even seen any of your work.

"Oh, that's very nice, but-"

"No, dear, it's you!" She cut you off and forced you to turn to the piece on the wall. You let out a gasp as your face stared back at you, feeling something very strange coming over you.

You stepped closer to the painting and turned this way and that, convinced that you were looking into a mirror, but you weren't. You could very clearly see the paint strokes when you got close enough. Who the artist was was a mystery. You had absolutely no idea who could have done it and wanted to know their identity and why you had been their subject.

You couldn't stop staring, wanting to reach out to touch it, but you knew you weren't allowed, even if it was your face on the canvas. It was amazing how well they were able to paint your features and you wondered what they had used for reference.

"I hope this isn't too amateur for you," a voice whispered in your ear and you felt a chill go down your spin as their hot breath hit the back of your neck.

You turned around only to be face to face with the seconds eldest Bridgerton brother. You eyed him, wondering why he would have done something like that and what he would have gotten out of it. That had to be the reason why he would have done it...right?

So many questions were swirling around your mind, your main one being how he was able to make the painting so accurate that it felt like you were looking into a mirror without having you sit for it.

"What is this, Benedict?" You pointed to the painting and he just chuckled. You didn't like how much you enjoyed making hearing the sound and wondering how you would have been able to hear it.

"It's you." He was smiling brightly and you wished he had done it more often. The look was just too pretty on him to hide away all the time. You wondered why he always seemed to always look so serious. In the many times you had seen him, he had only smiled when he was with Eloise.

"I'm aware of that...but why?"

"I think the better question is why not."

"How were you able to do it without me sitting for you to paint me?"

"I will answer all of your questions, but right now, we must see the final painting."

He offered you his arm and you grabbed onto it, letting him lead you through the rest of the gallery.

"But this was the last one." 

"Not quite,” he winked and stopped at the last piece, causing you to let out a loud gasp as your own painting was staring back at you. But it had been rejected. How did he get a hold of it and why was it there? The man was confusing you even more by the second. You were convinced that he had just been trying to get you to forgive him just so he could feel better about himself, but now you weren’t so sure. 

You felt tears well up in your eyes as you turned to him. No one had ever done anything that nice for you before. Something so selfless that they only did because they wanted to and not to make themself look good. Maybe he wasn’t the same Benedict that your remembered. Maybe he was finally turning over a new leaf.

Benedict wiped your tears away and even though it was entirely inappropriate, you threw yourself into his arms and he was quick to catch you, almost falling backwards because of how much force you had used to push yourself in his direction. You squeezed each other tight, avoiding the gasps of the people around you. Lady Danbury shooed them away to give the two of you some privacy as you both pulled away. 

Without a word, you pulled Benedict away from the gallery and you both discreetly made your way through the crowd to get outside for some much needed fresh air. You looked out into the garden and couldn’t help but feel like home there.There was something that was so comforting about it that made it seem like you belonged there. You could see yourself there with Benedict right by your side, the two of you facing each other with your own easels as you painted your own portraits of each other. 

You hadn’t thought about him in that way in a long time and wondered where that had come from. Maybe you were overcome with gratitude to him, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was the fact that you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at his pretty lips, wondering what they felt like between yours. And how you could have taken the chance and it would not have been inappropriate.

Without a word, you grabbed him by his coat and pulled him down so that his face was only inches from yours. You pressed your lips to his with so much force that your teeth clinked together and you both were quick to pull away covering your mouths in pain. You couldn’t believe you had done that. That was exactly why you never acted impulsively. It always just ended in embarrassment. 

You just shook your head as you felt your cheeks heat up and turned back to enter the gallery. Benedict wasn’t going to let you get away this time, though. He lost you once and he wasn’t going to let it happen again. And this time, he was actually attracted to you and he was going to let you know just how beautiful he thought you were. 

He grabbed onto your arm just as you were going to open the door and turned you around to face him. His hazel eyes bored into yours as he grabbed onto your chin, lifting it as he bent down. He slotted his lips between yours and you tried to move along with him, mimicking his actions exactly even though you had absolutely not fucking clue what you were doing. 

Your hands moved to his face and pulled him closer to you so you had more access to his mouth, becoming addicted to the feeling of his lips on yours. You had only gotten a little taste, but already wanted to do that exact thing for the rest of your life. Benedict pulled away to let the both of you breathe, but quickly dove in for more as he grabbed onto your waist and pushed you against the pillar that was behind you. You let him lead, taking exactly what he wanted from you as you were pliant under his touch. 

He pushed your mouth open as he slid his tongue inside, letting it swirl around your own and a sound escaped your mouth that Benedict definitely needed to hear again. And the fact that what you were doing was considered wrong only made him love it more. He continued to kiss you like his life depended on it as his hand moved up to your breast, massaging it the best he could over your dress as you let out another moan, this one louder. You pulled away as you felt a weird sensation between your legs, a lot of wetness collecting there. You began to panic as you pushed Benedict away, embarrassed about what was happening. 

“I had a lovely time tonight, Mr. Bridgerton, but now I must go.” You curtsied and then rushed inside, gathering your dress in your hands as you did so. 

You made a beeline for the restroom and locked yourself inside it before grabbing the nearest towel-like fabric and pulled up your dress before wiping. You pulled the towel away not to find blood like you were expecting but found that whatever was between your legs was almost clear. You were convinced that there was something wrong with you, having never seen anything like that before. 

While you were panicking in the restroom, Benedict was pacing in the garden, debating running after you even though he was sure that you had already left. Had he made you uncomfortable? That must have been it because you looked so scared. He had taken advantage of you and now he was going to beat himself up over it. Not reciprocating your feelings when you were a child was one thing, but taking advantage of you was another and now he had ruined his chances with you because he was selfish. He didn’t think that another painting was going to fix it either. Perhaps it was time to finally let you go for good and let you find a man who was actually worthy enough. A man that was actually able to keep you.

[endless-ineffabilities]

sapphire-hearted (part one)

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

The start to an angst-ridden little story, wherein the reader, Aemond's dearest friend (and clandestine love) learns of his apparent new paramour, Alys.

themes/warnings: angst, jealousy, fwb type situation, Aemond is kind of a clueless twat

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

edit(!): this oneshot seems to have taken a life of its own, like most of my fics, quite unexpectedly! I've changed the title from (sapphire) blue heart to sapphire-hearted, and part two will be out in a few hours! is out now!

"Why do you not look at me?" He gently pries your face towards him with his free hand, as you both lie naked on his sheets, his arm wrapped around you. "Have I done something wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing, Aem." You shake your head, letting his hand fall.

He takes one deep breath. He knows you like the back of his hand; he knows something isn't right.

"You're not fooling me, gevie." Beautiful, he calls you, as you sit up and bring your knees to your chest. You feel the cold air on your back, and then, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin.

Gevie. You wonder if he calls Alys the same. After their rumoured trysts. After she is seen leaving his bedchambers. Has she lain among these very sheets herself, where you are now?

You and Aemond were not together, no. You were not betrothed. Your House was too lowly to allow you to wed a Targaryen prince. But he had said he was yours. Just yours.

How has that changed so quickly?

"Speak to me," he pleads. He sits up behind you, kissing the back of your neck. "You know I have my methods of making you do so. Shall I employ them?" You can hear the amusement in his voice, the assuredness.

You thought you loved it more than anything, but now it feels like some cruel jest.

You turn to face him directly. "Is she better than me?"

He leans back, fully aware of who you mean. "Hmm," he purses his lips. "Jealousy does not become you, it seems."

"I'm glad you think me amusing." You bite back, looking away.

"This is amusing. How can you be jealous of her?"

You aren't sure what to make of that question. Is he mocking you, and the justification of your envy? Who are you to him anyway? Just a friend, no?

"Aemond. I thought... that we..."

"You know what we are. How we are. Isn't it enough?"

"Not if I have to share you with some witch!" you rise from his bed, and wrap your cloak around yourself. "I've turned down the finest suitors, simply because you wished me to. Simply because you were jealous. Don't you think you owe me the same courtesy?"

His voice is colder when he responds, "What do you think I am doing with Alys, hmm? Do you think I enjoy having her grace my bedchambers, and have her clawing at me?" He stands too, towering over your stature. "I have never wanted to bed anyone other than you. What I am doing with her... what I have to do with her... It is for the good of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Spare me, Aemond." You swat his hands away, when he reaches for your arms. "Don't..." He tries again, much quicker this time, and he holds your forearms tightly against his bare chest.

"She has magic." There is a wild look in his eye when he says this, and it makes you uneasy. "She sees things, Alys. She can predict what the enemy's next move is, where they'll be. What I am doing with her, lying with her, is but a small price to pay."

"What if you don't lie with her? You don't have to..."

"She asks me to."

"You don't have to. You're the prince! She answers to you, not the other way around."

"I refused, of course, in the beginning." He holds your face gently in his hands now, trying to make you understand. "That did no good. She gave me nothing. I could have her tortured. But this will only serve to distance her even more from our cause."

"So, to get what you want... to hear her incredible visions and benefit from her magical spells, you have to fuck her? Very astute of you, Aemond."

"Careful, my love." He tilts his head, trying to work through your anger.

You use your palms on his chest to push him away. He only stumbles a little, the faint sound of his low growl reaching your ears.

"You know what I'll do?" you threaten, your cloak falling back to the floor as you wave your arms dramatically. "The next dashing Lord that asks for my hand, I'll take. It could be Lord Manderly's son or... Lord Beesbury's eldest boy has made an offer, too. I'll wed him, whoever he is, why not? Even if I don't love him, it will only be a small price to pay," you sneer, mirroring his words from before. "It is what's expected of me, after all. It is for the good of my House."

Aemond's jaw clenches in his rage. "Then I shall have him captured and quartered to pieces in the dungeons before he can even get the chance to - "

"No," you shake your head at his nonsense. "No, you would not. You would not do something like that to me. How would that be fair? You and I, we'll never marry. As it stands, you'd sooner wed your witch than I."

"I would marry you in a heartbeat." He moves closer now, desperation creeping in his voice. His lips meet yours in a haste. Wet and demanding. When you turn your head, he only continues kissing the side of your face. Then he stops, pressing his forehead to your temple. "You know this, my love. You have to know this. Alys is nothing compared to you. Without her, I might lose the war. But without you... I lose myself."

You nearly cave in at that, as you always do when it comes to Aemond. But now, you remind yourself to stand your ground.

"Then prove it to me," you whisper, and a stray tear falls down your cheek. "Do as I ask. Stop being with her."

Seconds pass. Aemond's mind races at the possible outcomes. His heart aches at the sight of your sadness, but he feels compelled to think of other things too.

The war. Defeating the Blacks. Easily gaining the upper hand through dark magic.

At the end of it all - and if he does what he does, it should all end very soon - he will still have you. He's sure of it.

You will always come back to him. You will understand.

"I cannot," he says, his words striking through your heart.

You feel numb all over, but you force yourself to step away from him, and hurriedly put your dress back on.

"My love, please..." He watches helplessly as you tie the strings of your skirts, preparing to leave.

"My prince," you cursty, when you've managed to put yourself together. "I am not certain when, but you're invited to honour us with your presence at my coming marriage ceremony."

"I'd sooner command Vhagar to burn Westeros to ashes."

"You mean, you'd sooner bask in the pleasures that only your witch can offer?" you laugh mirthlessly. "Of course."

You start walking away, determinedly. Ice has flooded your veins and your heart, turning you cold and blue. But you press on. The pain will have to wait for later.

"You'll come back to me," he calls after you.

"Oh, I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you."

You slam the door behind you.

Angst!!! We all need this sometimes. I swear it riles me up so good, I almost wonder if something's messed up with my romantic ideals ....

.... who are we kidding? Of course there is. Because I would marry our one-eyed Vhagar-riding war terrorist in a heartbeat.

taglist open for an upcoming part!

[sassycheesecake]

Your seven-year-old son Haruto is currently watching 'Bluey' on the carpet in the living room, eating his Lucky Charms cereal, when both you and Tetsurō walk into the living room.

"Bud, put the TV on mute, we need to talk about something." Tetsurō crosses his arms and you stand next to him with a smile on your face.

Haruto frowns and puts his unfinished bowl down, looking at you and your husband.

"Am I in trouble?" The little ravenette asks, looking a little bit scared that he did something wrong.

"You’re not in trouble, Haruto. Your mum and I wanted to… deliver some news." Tetsurō tries to comfort him but it only makes the little ravenette feel worse.

"Okay?…" You can see that your son pales a little bit and you’re scared he’s going to throw up on the carpet on how nervous he looks.

You crouch down to his level, your smile comforting his uneasiness a little bit.

"You’re going to be a big brother Haruto. We're having a baby." Your gentle voice calms him down a little bit more and Haruto understands and begins to frown.

"But I don’t want a sibling."

Kuroo sighs and scratches the side of his neck, looking at you for help.

You gave your husband an annoyed look before looking at your son again with a smile.

"Haru, I know this change may be scary but I am sure that you will be as excited as me and daddy when we welcome your little sibling into the world." You ruffle his black messy hair and when your posture is straight again, Haruto can see a very little bump on the lower part of your stomach. He actually thought that maybe you ate a little bit too much of food from last week but since you’re about to change, the little ravenette feels like his world is going to change as well. And not in a good way.

You and Kuroo leave the room and Haruto tries to focus on his show again, but the thought of having to share everything with another kid in the household is making his stomach twist with jealousy.

The next morning after you left for your ultrasound appointment, Kuroo stays behind to watch your son while also having to work from home.

Haruto walks over to see his dad at the kitchen table, working as it seems.

He holds his penguin plushie close to his chest when he starts talking to his father.

"Dad?" Haruto looks at his father, who is typing a lot down on his laptop with a concentrated face.

"Hm?" Tetsurō keeps his face focused on his laptop, writing something down on his notepad that lays next to it.

"When does my new brother arrive?" Haruto asks curiously.

"Well, we don’t know yet and we don’t know if you get a brother or a sister."

"Why not? I thought you said I will have a sibling?" Haruto‘s face scrunches up a bit.

"I know. But it’s too early for that to know, buddy. Mum has to grow your sibling and until her stomach gets a little bit bigger, we don’t know for sure yet if it’s going to be a girl or a boy." Tetsurō looks at his son from his peripheral vision, seeing that his son's face angers up a bit.

"I don’t want a sister."

"Well, mum can’t influence that either. Why are you against having a sibling anyway? Mum and Dad thought you would be happy about the news."

Haruto looks down at his bare feet, losing the grip on his plushie.

"A brother or sister would mean I have to share my room, my food and you and mommy." Haruto mutters in shame, a hint of hurt and sadness mixed in his words.

Kuroo sighs, turning around so he fully faces his son.

"I know that change can be scary, Haru. But I promise you, once your sibling arrives, you’re going to be happy to have one. Think about uncle Bo, he has four kids. All of them are happy that they have each other." Kuroo says with a little smile.

"But they fight over food and their toys sometimes." Haruto explains while looking up at his father.

"I know but even mum and I fight sometimes. It’s normal to fight with someone sometimes. It would NOT be normal if they never fight or if they fight all the time. When I was your age, my mum, your grandma, and my dad would fight all the time. In the end, it was just me and your grandma. Your dad only had uncle Kenma as a friend in the beginning and back then, I would have done anything to have a sister or a brother."

Haruto looks at his father with a sad expression, tears starting to collect in his eyes as he runs to his father and hugs his legs very tightly.

Kuroo is quite shocked by the action but chuckles heartily as he cards his fingers through Haruto's hair, comforting him.

Haruto calms down and accepts the fact that he will be a big brother.

Over the next few months, Haruto watches the change in his mother, physically and emotionally.

Your stomach begins to grow more and you cry over the silliest things. (At least in Tetsurō‘s opinion)

You cried a full hour because a butterfly hit your windshield, your husband brought you your favorite flowers and you felt nauseous after smelling them, causing you to feel bad because you can’t enjoy them, saying that Tetsurō wasted his money. You’re eating the weirdest and most disgusting food combinations, sometimes having corn dogs and dipping them in Joghurt or other times especially in the mornings, you eat hot flaming Cheetos with mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Right now, Haruto looks in concern with his hazel eyes at you, as you are eating vanilla ice cream with tuna chunks in it.

"Mum, why can you have ice cream for breakfast and I can’t?" Haruto pouts.

Kuroo snorts behind the rim of his coffee mug.

"You’re not concerned about the tuna in the ice cream?" He chuckles as he looks between you and his son.

You continue to savor the food in your mouth when you shot your husband a nasty glare for that comment.

It makes Kuroo gulp in nervousness.

"I am craving this. Now be quiet and let me enjoy my food, Tetsū." You snap at him.

"Yes, ma'am." Kuroo replies with a shaky voice.

Haruto glances between the two of you and giggles at the exchange between his parents.

Exactly four months later, Haruto is sitting in front of the entrance door, anxiously waiting for his parents to come back.

Kenma is watching him, since your water broke in the middle of last night, having to go to the hospital for delivering Haruto's baby sister.

Currently, the dyed blonde is gaming on his Nintendo switch when he looks over at his godchild. Haruto is sitting in front of the door like a dog waiting for its owner to get home. He looks incredibly worried and rightfully so, since last night was pretty hectic and you looked in so much pain that all Haruto wanted to do was comfort you.

Before Haruto knew it though, his father called Kenma in a panic and not even twenty minutes later, the pro gamer showed up at their doorstep. He was never that fast at their house.

With a last quick goodbye, you and Kuroo were out the door and it’s already been over 15 hours.

Haruto did not like this one bit.

You were in pain and it was caused by his stupid sibling that he was actually excited for.

Kenma is very tired after being woken up by the former Middle Blocker at 1 am last night but still, he needed to watch Kuroo’s son.

Nekoma's former Setter is looking at him for a few more minutes until he decides that they should do something, to get Haruto’s mind off a bit.

"Hey little gremlin, want to watch some SpongeBob?" He offers.

Haruto looks at Kenma and gets up from his sitting position to join the former Setter on the couch.

During an episode, Kenma's phone vibrates with a message from the roosterhead.

'Lost count of how many times (Y/N) has threatened to kill me. Bones in my right hand are crushed to death. Say hi to Himari Kuroo. How is Haru?'

A picture follows underneath the text message.

It’s a picture of a newborn in a soft pink cat beanie and it’s swaddled up in a white blanket with cartoon kittens all over them, appearing to be sleeping.

Kenma smiles at the picture, happy that everything went well despite the long labor that you had to go through.

'He is fine. He keeps staring at the door like a little dog, waiting for its owners to get back.' How is (Y/N)? The blonde texts back.

‘She’s good, exhausted af. She’s been sleeping and eating mochis for the most part. Really missing Haru as well.'

'How about I drive Haru to you? That way he can see you and (Y/N) and (Y/N) can see Haru again.' Kenma offers.

'👍🏻😌'

Kenma turns to the little ravenette and sees that he is looking down at his penguin plushie with a sorrow expression.

"Come on little gremlin, let’s go see your parents and your little sister."

Haruto's face snaps up to his godfather and he smiles excitedly.

The two of them are driving to the hospital where you delivered and Haruto keeps swinging his short legs back and forth, excited to see his mama and his papa again.

When Kenma and Haruto walk through the doors of the hospital, people are gushing over the two of them, causing Kenma to feel slightly uncomfortable because they think Haruto is Kenma’s son.

When they reach the labor and delivery unit, Kenma asks for your name and the nurse at the front desk leads them to the room you’re staying in.

Haruto is too hyper to contain his excitement and runs to the room, almost slamming it open.

The sudden opening of the door startles you and Kuroo but quickly changes to happiness to seeing your son.

"Mama!" Haruto climbs on the bed towards you and your raging hormones are making you cry when you finally have your boy back in your arms.

"Haru, be careful! Mum had surgery done on her stomach!" Kuroo scolds his son and tries to pull him off of you.

"It’s okay, Tetsu. He just missed us." You soothe your husband while caressing the little ravenette’s head and back.

Kuroo joins your side on the bed, wrapping his arms around you and his son, feeling at peace.

Kenma watches the scene with a fond look before deciding to give the three of you a little privacy.

Remembering why he came here in the first place, Haruto wiggles out of his mother’s embrace and sees that your stomach has shrunk down.

"Where’s my baby brother?" He asks in curiosity.

"You have a sister, Haru. Her name is Himari and she is currently with the nurses, she needed to be weighed." You explain to him, brushing the messy strands back.

Just as he was about to reply to you, the nurse walks in with Himari and Haruto sits up straight to be able to see his sister.

He scooches back a bit into the arms of his father and watches intensely as a little bundle of wrapped blankets is handed back carefully to you.

"You want to say hi to your little sister?" You whisper in a gentle tone, unwrapping some of the blankets so your son can see his little sister better.

"She looks like a mochi." His amber eyes shine in excitement.

"She does. Make sure you protect your little mochi, okay Haru? She depends on her big brother."

Haruto nods enthusiastically and carefully touches her face and giggles a bit at her scrunched up face.

Later on, Haruto is knocked out from being up for so long and is sleeping soundly against his father while you feed Himari.

"Tetsu, you’re staring." You say while breastfeeding your newborn, not taking your eyes off of Himari.

"Sorry, kitten. Can’t help myself." Kuroo smirks in mischief as he continues to look at you with love and affection while Haru is sleeping soundly against his chest.

Kuroo can’t describe the words how happy he is to have a family with you. He hopes that in the future, Haruto and Himari will grow up close and maybe if he plays his cards right, have another bundle of joy with you in the future.

[tired-truffle]

Before We Lost It All

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt @dedicated2viktor

"We make each other alive. Does it matter if it hurts?" - Ingmar Bergman

A/N: This takes place in chapter 9 of Muj Milacek during the scene where you convince Viktor to take a break from working and get some much-needed rest - in your bed, of course.

Masterlist

He’d let you sucker him into resting with those big, pleading eyes that plucked at his heartstrings. He was worrying you, he knew this, but he’d never been very good at accepting help. With his declining health and your visions of his death hanging over his head, he’d been growing increasingly desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures - like sleeping in the same bed as the girl he’d been in love with for seven whole years.

If only you’d stop laughing at him.

"Is there something you find humorous about my attire, Milá?" He fixed you with what he hoped was a lovingly exasperated glare. At that point, he was too exhausted to tell.

"I'm sorry." You continued to giggle, undercutting your apology, though he found the sound pleasing enough to forgive you. "I'm overtired and I really wasn't expecting them to be that ill-fitting."

Viktor huffed at you, rolling his eyes with a small smile. He was well aware he looked ridiculous, the oversized shirt drowned his thin torso in fabric, but the pants barely reached past his knees. They had to be children’s pants, why you had them was beyond his understanding. To make matters worse, you were standing there in nothing but a large shirt that reached your upper thighs, your legs illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window, and he assumed underwear beneath. You were gorgeous, and he was…feeling rather silly. Though he found it difficult to care all that much when you smiled so sweetly at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled with mirth.

"You can have the bed,” you offered when you’d managed to stop giggling. “I'll take the couch."

"I'm not stealing your bed, Miláček, it is plenty big enough for the both of us." Viktor pulled back the covers, slipping in. "And I will not subject you to that couch for any longer than necessary. I swear they made it with knives instead of springs."

He had insisted this both out of genuine concern for your back after sleeping on such an object, and out of his selfish want to sleep beside you. Could a dying man not be granted this one wish?

You hesitated, and for a moment he worried he’d overstepped your boundaries. But he wasn’t left waiting for long. You made your way to the bedside, shy but not necessarily timid.

"If you insist," you said, turning off the bedside lamp. "But you better not warm up your frigid toes on me."

"No promises."

The mattress dipped as you climbed into bed beside him, laying down with your hands curled tight against your chest. You were facing him, your chin tilted to meet his gaze.

This felt dangerously intimate. He was in bed with the woman he secretly loved - well, secret to you, Viktor was pretty sure everyone else knew. If he asked you to come closer, would you understand then? If he placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head, his hands cradling your back, would he need to say it? But he couldn’t voice his request, couldn’t find the words to ask for that which he longed for most.

He’d been a fool to think he could sleep with you so close yet not within his grasp. To lay beside you like his skin didn’t prickle with the need to be pressed completely against you was its own kind of torture.

"Does it hurt?" You broke the silence, your head turning to face him in the dark.

He was too tired to try to deny it, and you’d see through his lie anyway. "Yes," he answered plainly.

"Can I try something?" you asked, your tone even.

Curious and unable to deny such a simple request, he nodded. You reached forward, placing your hand against his chest and sending a bolt of excitement running through him. Your palm was soft and warm through his shirt, your heart beating quickly in your veins and tapping lightly against him. He lay still, his gaze fixed on you, giving you space to make the next move.

You closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to even out, your nose crinkling adorably in the low moonlight as you concentrated.

Nothing happened.

"Can I get closer?" you asked, and he appreciated your asking for permission - always polite and giving him the agency to choose. 

He opened his arms, motioning for you to snuggle in. Slowly, you scooted closer until the top of your head was just below his chin, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his as you breathed. Your ear rested against his chest, one hand pressed against his chest while you placed the other on his back, over the back brace he’d been too tired to take off. He’d regret that tomorrow when his skin itched and his spine ached, but now he could focus on little else except the feeling of you curled up in his arms. Slipping an arm under your neck, he rested the other over your waist, drawing lazy circles on the small of your back. Viktor didn’t want to think about anything that didn’t involve you, nor how difficult it was going to be to pull himself away when the time came.

This wasn’t the first time you’d insisted he take a much-needed break from his work. Years ago you'd dragged him to a street fair in Piltover when he’d become so worn down by reports that he didn’t know where he ended and the equations began. He'd grumbled at first, but your infectious enthusiasm had won him over. You'd shared sticky cotton candy, the sweetness on your lips making him ache to taste them. When fireworks exploded overhead, he'd been captivated not by the display, but by the light reflected in your eyes.

Viktor's heart swelled with a bittersweet ache. He loved you - wholly, desperately, irrevocably. You were the sun to his withering form, the spark that kept his passion for progress alive even as his body failed him. He longed to confess, to pour out seven years of pent-up devotion. But fear held him back - fear of rejection, of complicating your friendship, of leaving you heartbroken when his time inevitably ran out.

So instead, he held you close in the darkness, committing every detail to memory. The soft whisper of your breath against his neck. The delicate curve of your spine beneath his fingertips. The subtle scent of your shampoo, floral and comforting. He etched it all into his mind, a perfect moment to carry with him always, no matter what the future held.

Viktor felt a sudden warmth emanate from your palm, spreading through his chest like rays of sunlight. A faint blue glow pulsed beneath your skin, illuminating the creases of your hand.

As your magic seeped into him, Viktor was struck by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The sensation was wistfully familiar, like a half-remembered dream or a long-lost memory struggling to surface. It felt like coming home after years away, like slipping into a warm bath after trudging through a blizzard. He couldn't place why it felt so natural, so right, but he found himself sinking into the comfort of it nonetheless.

The magic flowed through him, a soothing current that sought out every ache and pain. It pooled in his joints, easing the constant throbbing in his hip and knee. It traced along his spine, melting away the tension that had become a constant companion. Even the persistent headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes began to recede.

As the pain ebbed away, replaced by a numbing coolness, Viktor felt his body truly relax for the first time in years. His muscles unknotted, his breathing deepened, and the ever-present furrow between his brows smoothed out. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, filled with relief and contentment.

"Miláček," he whispered hoarsely, his voice heavy with sleep, "you truly are a wonder."

You didn't respond, your eyes still closed in concentration, but he felt your magic pulse in response to his voice. The blue glow intensified, casting soft shadows across your features. Viktor found himself enthralled at the sight, overcome by your beauty, wishing he could run his fingers down your jaw before capturing your lips in a kiss.

As the pain receded further, Viktor found his mind clearing. Ideas and solutions that had been just out of reach now crystallized with startling clarity. It was as if your magic had not only soothed his body, but sharpened his intellect as well. He wanted to leap out of bed and rush to his workbench, to capture these fleeting inspirations before they could slip away.

But the warmth of your body against his and the blissful absence of pain kept him rooted in place. For once, Viktor allowed himself to simply exist in the moment, free from the constant drive to work, to improve, to race against his own mortality. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer as you nestled in, pressing your face against his neck.

Viktor fought against the encroaching darkness, desperate to savour every second of this closeness, but exhaustion tugged insistently at the edges of his consciousness.

Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

Viktor drifted slowly into consciousness, his mind still blissfully foggy with sleep. Without thinking, he tightened his arms around the warm body pressed against him, pulling you closer. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in your familiar scent. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Then awareness hit him like a bucket of ice water.

His eyes flew open as he realized where his hands were. One had slipped beneath your shirt during the night, splayed across the bare skin between your shoulder blades. If he moved it even slightly higher, he'd expose…Viktor's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to complete that thought.

"Yeah, I noticed that too," you said, alerting him that you were awake.

He became acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies. Your leg was slotted between his, your thigh pressed dangerously close to his groin. Your breath tickled his collarbone, your lips mere centimetres from his skin.

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the temptation. You trusted him, had opened your home and your bed to him without hesitation. He refused to betray that trust, no matter how much his body screamed for more contact.

But oh, how he ached to explore further. To trace the curve of your spine, to map every inch of your skin with reverent touches. To wake you with gentle kisses and whispered confessions of love.

But that wasn’t for him.

"My apologies, Milá, that was not my intention," he said apologetically, reluctantly pulling his arm away and tugging your shirt down for you. It was the least he could do.

Returning his arm to your now clothed waist, his finger traced smooth patterns along your back. He swallowed his gasp of surprise when you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"It's okay,” your words vibrated against his shoulder, “I don't mind."

He hummed a soft acknowledgement and was pleased when you made no move to disentangle yourself. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the peaceful bubble. Nature's symphony of birdsong and distant traffic provided a gentle soundtrack as he let himself slowly wake up. As the fog of sleep lifted, Viktor became acutely aware of the pain creeping back into his body, the ache in his joints and the tightness of his back. Still, his head felt clearer than it had in months, the persistent headache reduced to a dull throb rather than the usual stabbing agony. He felt…rested. Truly rested, in a way he hadn't experienced in years.

Much too soon, your alarm clock shattered the serene atmosphere and worsened his headache.

You groaned as you slowly peeled yourself off of him and Viktor resisted the urge to grab your hips and pull you back into his arms. With a sigh, you slapped the top of the alarm clock aimlessly, finally hitting the off button and ending its incessant beeping.

Flopping onto your back, you turned to look at him, a soft, warm smile spreading across your face. The morning light caught in your tousled hair, creating a halo effect that made you look almost ethereal. Your eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, held a tenderness that made his heart stutter in his chest.

By the Gods, you were beautiful. Not in the polished, artificial way of Piltover's elite, but in a way that was uniquely, breathtakingly you. It was beyond his ability to describe, so he didn’t try.

Viktor's fingers twitched with the desire to trace the curve of your jaw, to tangle in your hair and draw you close. He imagined pressing his forehead against yours, breathing the same air, whispering all the words he'd kept locked away for so long.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't risk ruining this, whatever this was between you. So instead, he returned your smile with a small one of his own, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of the warmth he felt.

“You look like you slept well,” you teased, your smile tilting into a lopsided grin.

"You say that like it’s a good thing but it seems more like an insult to me." He patted at his hair, an attempt to flatten it that was doomed to fail from the beginning.

You giggled, a wonderous sound he would never tire of hearing, and sat up in bed. Before he had time to avert his gave, you’d stretched your arms over your head and you squeezed your eyes shut. Did you realize how your thin shirt plastered itself against your body, giving him a clear view of all your soft curves?

He cleared his throat, finding great interest in staring at the wall across the room, ignoring the blush that tinted his cheeks. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw your blush match his when you realized exactly what had just happened.

"I'm going to get ready," you announced shakily. With a quick swivel, you got out of bed and picked your clothes out of the closet, all while keeping your back to Viktor. Not that he minded, necessarily, but there was something about your reddened cheeks that captivated him entirely. "I'll meet you in the lab with breakfast?"

"Grab me a sweet milk and carrot muffin if they have it?"

“I’ll do my best!”

As you fled to the bathroom, Viktor found his voice once more. "Thank you, Mila." You turned back around to peek at him from around the door, adorable in your embarrassment. "I feel much better, you were right after all."

You smiled softly at him. "You should come back tonight," you said before hastily adding, "but only if you want to, of course."

He wanted nothing more, but did you? He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sunlight streaming through the window illuminating his soft brown hair. "Are you sure? I don’t wish to impose any more than I already have."

You shook your head. “I don’t like sleeping alone, you’re not the only one who benefits.”

He smiled, bright and unburdened. Why had he doubted you? It seemed silly now when you regarded him with such bashful hope. You cared for him as he cared for you, didn’t you? “Then I suppose we have a deal.”

A/N: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the second Viktor's POV <3 Sadly, the arcane hyperfixation has left me, but when it comes back, I'm sure you'll definitely see more of these two! For now, I must let the writing demons out in my Dragon Age fic - time to terrorize another fandom!

[secondbeatsongs]

Hello, you said in some tags in a poll that Speed Racer (2008) is your favorite film. If you’re okay with it, I’d really like to hear more about why you love it. I love the Wachowskis’ work (they’re among my favorite directors), but I kinda ended up bouncing off Speed Racer (2008). So, hearing that it had a real impact on someone makes me very curious why. I’m not interested in criticizing your opinion or arguing with you, I’d just really like to know why you love it in the hopes I might be able to enjoy that movie more in the future.

oh god this is from seven months ago, I'm so sorry - but I do love almost everything about Speed Racer (2008) and I still think about it nearly every day.

I love that it's so bright and colorful and absurd. I love that it's an anime in live action form. and I love that at its heart, it is a story about love.

it's about the mistakes people make out of love, and the consequences of that. it's about the way children grow to understand why the adults around them make the choices they do, and maybe choose to do the same things. it's about taking risks for the people you love, and the pain of failing to change the world, because everything is capitalism and everything hurts.

(and it's also about being transgender btw. like, that's one of the main things about it - it is very much a movie about being transgender)

what if your father's choices hurt your older brother, and your older brother's choices hurt you, and now it's you and your younger brother staring down a future where you're going to end up hurting him by making the same choice?

and then...what if you can escape that? what if the broken parts put themselves back together, and the hope doesn't run out, and you're not alone with the things that haunt you? what then?

and now you're at the end and mistakes were still made, people were still hurt, but everyone's grown and changed and they're different now. and they've figured out that maybe, just maybe, you can change the world by doing something you love, by creating art and beauty and making people feel things.

maybe you really can defeat capitalism by driving a car really fast. and even if everyone thinks you can't...don't you have to try anyway? shouldn't you fight with the skills you have, the only way you know how?

what if it works?

and I'm not even gonna get into most of the Racer X stuff (because I want people to go watch this movie, and most folks probably won't be spoiled for it), but his whole deal is just...everything. I love him.

(if there's a guy from Speed Racer that I want to put in a jar and shake every so often, or maybe wrap in a blanket so he can have a nice nap, it's Racer X. he's a great character. prime blorbo material)

anyway I've been rotating this movie in my head ever since I saw it for the first time, and I think I've seen it...seven? times now? and I still cry at the final race, and I still get blown away by the intro sequence.

(the beginning of the movie is genuinely one of the best things I've ever seen - it does an amazing job of introducing you to the world and the story of the characters, and gets you emotionally invested in it right from the start. it's fantastic filmmaking)

also like. story stuff aside, from a technical standpoint, the movie is a masterpiece. it's the type of thing that people hated when it first came out, but when you look at it now and see how it was made, how it intentionally looks bizarre and cartoonish, plastic and surreal, you can see the exact vision the Wachowskis were going for, and it's brilliant.

the way they did the visual effects, the way they made the outdoor scenes feel so detailed, the way the driving and the tracks work - they put so much thought into that, and the behind-the-scenes vids show how cool their process was.

also uhhh cars go vroom, crash into each other, flip upside down, explode, maybe have bees and hammers in them sometimes?

(the above is me complimenting the unhinged vibe of the races themselves, which I love very much)

anyway I could make other full posts about the script of the film and how much I love it, or the cool side characters, or the fanfic potential of the amazing world of the film, or how I can prove that it's set in 1991...but I guess if anyone wants those rants, they'll just have to watch the film and then come talk to me. :)

(please. please come talk to me about Speed Racer.)

so, yeah! I kinda lost my mind there and made this post way longer than I intended, but I do feel strongly affected by this movie, and I hope this has helped explain why.

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Fais fanfic rambles: Introduction to my 'Selkies by Starlight' ISaT AU

Note: Not to be confused with @looped-140-and-counting / Soren_793's wonderful Selkie AU oneshot series 'The Northern Islanders are Selkies' which was hugely inspiring for this if potentially VERY different in vibe (we got very into talking about cloaks! XD)

Basic premise/summary:

In an alternate version of the precanon adventure, the party lead by Mirabelle to stop the King freezing Vaugarde in time, recruit Siffrin as per usual.

Thing is, Siffrin is a Selkie.

A very skittish selkie without a cloak of their own, who openly wears the cloak of another, and due to Reasons is under the impression that the party know all both of those things and the Implications about them, and for whatever reason have decided to welcome him into their group anyway.

Which er, he's completely wrong about as the party know absolutely nothing.

Mira and Isa like most Vaugardian humans think 'shifters' are just fairytales, Odile knows shapeshifters are real but is only really familiar with how foxes like her father work, and Bonnie is actually able to sense some pretty major things but is a preteen dealing with a lot and hasn't even joined the party yet, so this pretty major misunderstanding is sustained for quite a while...

Cue the AUs' main focus being on the resulting party dynamic shifts as more and more canon divergence due to Sif's 'selkie stuff' (both cute and serious) comes into play, the party slowly realising something is up, and all of it hitting an eruption point right around the time of the 4th Orb/the loss of Siffrin's eye...

Some key world building notes: (Note: very summarised from my docs. I have like 20k+ words on this stuff XD)

The Island - Probably the most drastically different thing from canon here, the Island was not forgotten or erased here. Rather it is hidden away and permanently shrouded in Wish Craft generated fog from 'those without cloaks'. Side note: Sif is still unable to return home and continues to have some very plot critical memory problems but those are due to unrelated issues, which means yay I get to have Sif talk 'home culture' with the others in this =D Also idk why the King is freezing Vaugarde still. I've got a few ideas I'm not sure about and he's not in focus enough for it to even matter really, but random suggestions -especially those with possible selkie motivations- would be very much appreciated.

Selkie powers in my setting - Went into something of a deep dive regarding selkie folklore for this and did you know they have an absolute ton of seer/oracle based stuff going on?

From selkie being summoned by their human lovers shedding seven tears into the ocean, to a selkie man telling a former lover that he and their child will die at the hands by her genuinely good and loving future husband, to a selkie woman forseeing her fisherman husband about to die out in a storm just in time for her to swim over there and rescue him, etc.

So... Yeah. This AU has a lot of plot relevant sensory/seer stuff going on as well as the standard seal shapeshifter stuff (Islander selkie traditionally believe it to be the Universe talking with them, in the same way Wish Craft is talking to the Universe), and going off all the stuff I read decided it'd be most fitting if the general rule for how it all works is: - Selkie always passively have a bit of it going on (aka Sif's canon 'you sense someone nearby' stuff) which like most things can be enhanced with Craft use a bit. - Near perfect understanding of all 'connected' bodies of water (aka they know EXACTLY where the tasty fish are/will be and can probably get a general sense of location for most people on a boat) - Potentially get strong 'visions of the future' and/or instincts on what they need to do to avert an outcome when it comes to loved ones being in danger/distress.

They also maybe get to pull very fast, high power Wish Craft 'curses'/miracles' at idk, the cost of something major like their cloak or lives (mostly based off of the The Legend of Kópakonan where the whole island of Kalsoy was cursed with death by a selkie in retaliation for her husband and children being murdered) but not super attached to this idea past it being in 'seal shifter' stories in-setting.

Other non humans in setting and regional differences in shifters - Pretty much only selkie and selkie issues are in focus here, but just as a general thing, all non humans in setting are shapeshifters and originated from human ancestors who went crazy with the the Body Craft and/or used Wish Craft in some way.

Ka Bue in particular has a ton of them since yokai, with their origins being various sects/clans back in the warring eras going so nuts with trying to weaponize Body Craft (super soldiers, enhanced life spans, infiltration, exploiting attraction to furries, etc), that after some particularly high profile incidents (for an idea plz see: Kiyohime, Tamamo no Mae, Kachi-kachi Yama) and 'Body Craft misuse leading to shut down of the brain/vital organs' being the most common cause of death for 10+ years once peace time was established, eventually Ka Bue's authorities set their foot down and banned Body Craft altogether.

Currently the shifter population in Ka Bue is around 30% of the population, shifters are required to have ID regarding their forms (or potential forms if they're merely 'half'), and it's considered distasteful for a shifter to be in non human form outside of private settings/necessity and even ruder to ask a shifter about their non human forms if they haven't brought the topic up yet first (kinda like seeing/asking about someone's underwear or something XD).

In contrast the Vaugarde, Mwudu and Porteria region is extremely shifter sparce, with most of its original shifter population being the result of various Universe worshipping peoples (mostly small groups, like greek mystery cults) deciding to use a big Wish Craft ritual as some sort of religious rite and becoming shifters as a side effect of their primary Wish (usually stuff like 'we wish for us and our descendants to be one with You and the sea/air' or 'may we Change with the phases of the holy moon' etc) which granted them some pretty neat skills but also tended to come with some 'potentially nasty' drawbacks attached (see: selkie and swan maidens with their cloaks, werewolves Changing in both body and mind etc) Which er, lead to some issues born of lack of knowledge about this stuff, later some very nasty anti shifter sentiment in the region, and then around... IDK 200 to 300 years ago or so ended up exploding into violence and other very nasty things, with most shifters able to do so fleeing the region, and those that couldn't either enduring horrible conditions until they could escape/died or went deep into hiding, with the Island's Country being founded by the two later groups who used Wish Craft to hide their new home, erase awareness of their existence from their enemies (a short term, fully intentionally 'forgetting' blast centered specifically around shifters), and developed a LOT of culture and traditions regarding when, who and what can be told to 'outsiders' about themselves, Wish Craft, etc in order to keep their people safe.

There are shifters living in present in Vaugarde of course (anti shifter sentiment died back a LOT after most people stopped thinking they were real, and most modern day Change Believers are more likely to view these 'totally fictional/allegorical' beings as children/messengers of the Change God rather than 'evil demons who stole power by tearing apart the Change God's cloak for themselves and thus have to be hunted down and made to repent' propaganda take that was everywhere back then) but numbers actually living outside the Island as opposed to merely visiting remain low, since either the shifters know their history and stick firmly to their 'stay secret' traditions or quickly pick up on how oddly unknown shifters are around these parts and decide to err on the side of caution... Also 'trust worthy' humans who do learn about them (usually northern coastal folk, gee wonder why) tend to help cover them up so... Yeah =D

---

And... Yeah!

This is hella long as is, so will stop here and ramble about the actual 'how this all affects our beloved Sif and Co plot and culture wise' stuff that is the actual meat of the AU in another post later, but hope this made for an interesting/idea provoking read, know that I have no issue with anyone using any of this for their own works (just please, don't use the 'Selkies under starlight' same story name unless it's actually a fanfic/fanart of my 'hopefully soon has a chapter/one shot up' fic/Ao3 series of the same name so people don't get confused), and I would love to chatter with you about any thoughts/questions you might have so...

Wishing you a good day =D

(sighes in relief finally getting this post finished after literal months. Pheeeeww~)

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

wow what a great weekend i wound up having, largely unexpectedly! friday morning zoom with a friend straight to hanging with a friend in town from far away, down to brooklyn for a single tutoring session & then home and back out to a bar 5 minutes from my apartment that i didn't know existed and has shockingly good vibes (to me, known bar hater) because people were hanging out; saturday thrifting & hot chocolate with a friend who talked me into buying a pair of $15 men's wranglers i wasn't sure of but now am obsessed with and feel when i am wearing them like liz lemon in that episode where she gets those jeans that make her butt look amazing and then has to give them up because the company is owned by halliburton, then home to leg day and back out to a slight but very entertaining musical about a robot band because a friend had a last minute extra ticket, then from there to a holiday party downtown where i mostly hung out with the same people i had hung out with on friday; and then today somehow another last minute ticket appeared, this one to a screening of the philadelphia story, which was somehow my first katherine hepburn picture and i do understand now why my friend who has been Like That about her our entire lives is Like That about her... i mean like wow.... anyway and then home for a zoom session and sunday treat korean take-out and, mostly, washing 5 million dishes, resulting in a kitchen that is not quite clean but has crossed the threshold where i no longer open the door to the apartment upon arriving home and think for a second "my kitchen makes me want to kill myself" lol.

anyway! we are in the final two weeks before break, and three students had their final sessions (or final before resuming in january) this week, with one more coming this tuesday, a week earlier than i thought due to some confusion over his test date... we're really winding down now... the week came in at just under twenty seven and a half hours so planning to put in about 25 this week should be fine in terms of stuff getting done. i feel like my surprise streak of fun things happening sort of broke me out of my tunnel vision re: Must Always Be Highlighting and i feel much calmer about the idea of for example prioritizing ending this week with also my room doesn't make me want to die lol. i dooooo want to be prepped at least for my first few sessions back before i go into full Vacation Mode which will require some willpower.... but i think it'll be fine since next week i have like five sessions total.

this week i only worked out 3 times partly due to busyness partly due to soreness but it was a run of HIIT day, upper, & lower, so at least it was a well balanced 3. also it's good to take stock and think about how wild it would be to me a few years ago to think of conceiving of a 3-workout week as an "only." it continues to be annoying that i had to take time off and now have to take body-acclimation time so close to the end of the program but on the bright side i am 3 days away from the end of the program! amnesty got bumped thank goodness and that will definitely get a bigger priority this week especially since my replacement pair of earbuds whose sound quality i don't hate should arrive soooon... it's starting tomorrow and luckily the one song i've blurbed so far is on the roster so i am so far on track for doing at least a blurb a day. that & the room thing are the preoccupations for the week i think!

[missnight0wl]

I wasn't going to complain about Agatha All Along finale, but you know what? I will complain. Because it still bothers me, and I still don't really understand…

What exactly was the point of making The Road Billy's creation?

To be clear, "having cool pop culture references and a surprising twist at the end" is not the answer I'm looking for. What it did for the story? Because I honestly feel like it did nothing. In fact, The Road was kinda unnecessary in general.

Let's start with Billy himself. Billy wanted to go to The Road to find Tommy. Did The Road end up helping him with that? No. Sure, he did give Tommy's soul a body, so you can argue it's even more important because it'll allow him to find him. However, it was possible because of Agatha. And here you can argue that Agatha agreed to help Billy because of their bonding on The Road. But I'm just not convinced it couldn't have happened under different circumstances, y'know?

Moving to Alice, here you can say that The Road allowed her to see her generational curse in physical form and therefore break it. But I think what was really important for Alice was that she finally had her coven by her side. That they were like: "Girl, your generational curse SUCKS, but you're not crazy, and we're gonna help you deal with it". Alice said it herself, that she thought the curse was not real, that she was just a screw-up. Now she finally could face it while having support. This, plus Agatha making her realise the truth about Lorna's protection, of course. So, again, did we really NEED The Road for all of this?

Lilia's story was beautiful, and Lilia herself is perfect. But again, it was the coven that was crucial for her. Sure, her path was very closely connected to The Road, but at the same time, I don't feel her story couldn't have been told without it.

Jen's arc was also great, but once more, was The Road really needed to tell that story? Couldn't she catch Agatha's suspicious behaviour under different circumstances and therefore conclude she was the one who'd bound her?

Imagine this. After the ritual in episode 2, the door doesn't show up, but the coven somehow manages to escape the Salem Seven. The thing is that now it's very clear from the beginning that they're after all of them, not just Agatha. Because remember that after they entered  The Road in the show, they commented on the Salem Seven, and they acknowledged that they're after Agatha. Only later it became clear that no, they wanted to get the whole coven. Anyway, the point is that they escaped somehow. Now somebody wants to leave because screw that, but eventually, they all agree that they'll be somewhat safer if they stay together. Billy of course is still fascinated by The Road, so he wants to find out why the ritual failed. The rest decide that if they’re already in this, they might as well try to investigate it. And Agatha still needs to play along because otherwise, she'd have to reveal her scam. If the show went in this direction, would it really have to be significantly different, story-wise? I honestly think it wouldn't.

Don't get me wrong, I love the practical set they had for The Road, the themed trials and whatnot. But I really don't like the implications connected to the fact that it was created by Billy (or rather Billy's mind). And I'm not even talking here about people actually dying. I appreciate that Billy freaked out about this realisation, but I also have to admit that Agatha kinda had a point that she was the one who killed Alice, and Lilia chose to die. It's a bit different with Sharon, but I'll come back to that a little later. The thing is that, in my opinion, what Billy should actually freak out about are all the visions from Jen's trial – which are not addressed at all, for some reason. Because… how are we even supposed to interpret it? I saw people saying that they were also created by Billy's mind since earlier Jen mentioned the rumours about Nicky, and Billy talked with Alice about her mother (hence Agatha's vision of the Darkhold and Alice's of Lorna being unwell). However, Lilia didn't mention her Maestra at all, and Jen said nothing about the mysterious doctor at that point. So, how would Billy create their visions? It has to mean that:

he subconsciously scanned their minds to get the information, or

he "gave" The Road enough power that it became semi-conscious (and therefore it created the visions on its own).

I assume the second option is closer to the writers' intention, but… it's pretty fucked up. Because it means that Billy basically created a sophisticated torture device that uses very personal and intimate information against you. And unlike Wanda – who created her Hex because of OVERWHELMING GRIEF – Billy kinda did it… just because. To be clear, I'm not saying that Billy wasn't under stress, or that he didn't really care about finding Tommy. But you have to admit it wasn't quite the same level of emotions that Wanda felt when she created the Hex. Interestingly, Billy's emotions matter again when he shows his Wiccan powers after Alice's death. But creating a psychological torture device? I guess being scared of the Salem Seven is enough. Well, to be fair, their appearance was scary as fuck, and I'd probably shit myself in that situation. Still, it somehow doesn't feel comparable to Wanda's grief or Billy's own grief later on.

Also, I think the visions become especially problematic when you look at Sharon. Because while it's the only vision we didn't see, the implication was pretty clear that she's reliving the moment when Mr Davis was choking in Wanda's Hex. Something that Billy's mother put her through. In fact, it's basically the last thing she experienced in her life because she passed out right after that. She kinda woke up for a moment when she drank the antidote (I think?), but then she just died. And Billy had to figure out what she saw, more or less, right? Ralph told him what it was like to be trapped in Wanda's Hex.  And mind you, while it was Agatha who dragged her along, it was the wine created by Billy's mind that directly killed her. With all of that in mind, it almost feels weird to me, that it's all summarised with "Who's Sharon?" joke. I know it's Marvel and whatnot, and I actually don't mind this joke in general. It's kinda funny, really. But it does feel different with the reveal that it was Billy all along.

Also, there was this part in The Wrap interview where Jac Schaeffer said:

The road and our show is practical is because Billy Maximoff is a baby witch. And he can’t be creating thousands and thousands of miles of forest. So he created a backdrop, and he created forced perspective, and he created models, and all of the practicality of our sets is because of him, and because of his limitations of physically creating this world underground, underneath Westview.

(The whole thing can be found here.) And I get what she means in this context. Truth be told, it's a pretty damn cool thought. But at the same time, I feel like you can't really say "Oh, he's a baby witch" and "He can create complex devices that will torture you with your most personal fears, without even trying". I mean, I can't be the only one who feels those ideas are kinda contradicting.

Also, speaking of the visions from episode 3 being ignored, I have to point out something else about Jen's trial. All other trials have quite a lot of references to Billy and his room in particular. In Jen's case, though… we pretty much have just that one picture.

And they're not even that similar. I guess the amazing kitchen in the house can also be seen as a reference to Mr Kaplan who apparently loves to cook, but in comparison to other trials, it still feels... underwhelming. Almost like an afterthought. Now, am I saying that it's proof that Billy creating The Road wasn't the original plan for the show? No, I'm not. But I do find it interesting, and the more I think about it, the more episode 3 feels separated from the rest. I know a lot of people also feel that way about episode 1, because it focuses so much on the Darkhold (which basically leads to nowhere). And I do agree with that, too. I dunno, it just seems that there might've been some changes along the way or something.

Honestly, I probably wouldn't talk about all of that, but my issue is that The Road being created by Billy basically adds nothing to the story. Yes, it shows us that Billy is very powerful, but as I pointed out, it's somewhat inconsistent. They could've at least continued the plot of Billy's identity crisis. Remember his question during Lilia's trial: "Am I William or am I Billy?"? I don’t know about you, but to me, it felt like a pretty damn important question. And I really thought that a part of William might still be in Billy. Yes, I know his death in the accident seemed pretty definite with his heartbeat stopping and all, but I still hoped there's something left. Maybe not a soul, but rather an echo of a soul, or memory. It could explain why Billy left everything in his room and just added new things to it. It was not only out of respect, but also because William was never really gone. Also, if you showed me William and then Billy, without the accident scene, I’d totally buy that it's the same character. They're both just… good geeky eggs. And before the finale, I really thought that the ritual with Agatha might be about joining William Kaplan and Billy Maximoff into one person: Billy Kaplan. Now, the creation of The Road would be a pretty good representation of such an identity crisis. Because it was created with Billy's power, but it was built with things that William loved. And the conclusion of such journey for Billy would be that he's just both, William and Billy. Even Jac's comment becomes quite heartwarming in this context because it could be said that baby witch Billy was just playing with William's toys. On top of that, it could (and should!) lead to the scene where the Kaplans finally learn what really happened. Because they do deserve to know. They're amazing people, and I really don't think it would make them turn against Billy, but they just should know that their son is gone.

But nope, the whole identity crisis was kinda dropped…

That being said, if it was entirely up to me, I'd just say The Road is a real thing. They could even keep all of the references from Billy's room and all. They'd just have to say that there's some kind of mystical connection between WICCAN and The Road. I mean, we know there is a prophecy about the Scarlet Witch in MCU, so why not add another one? Especially that Wiccan's statue was at Wundagore. In fact, it could even still work with Agatha's scam plotline. I see two explanations for that (and they can work together):

Agatha was never able to access The Road because it's accessible only if (future) Wiccan is with you.

Agatha was never able to access The Road because she never cared about gathering the proper coven. Unfortunately for her, this time Lilia forced her to get the proper coven by giving her the list. And jokes on her for trying to cheat again with Sharon because Billy was always meant to be the last member. Also, something caught my attention during the Agatha through the Ages montage. Every time other witches blast Agatha, they use the same colour lighting. I realise that it's just a technical simplification made because it doesn't matter. HOWEVER, when we look at "our" coven, they all use different colours. Agatha obviously has her purple, Alice has orange-y, Billy gets blue, Jen's is pinkish. We don't see much of Lilia, but when Agatha tries to provoke them to blast her in her basement, you can notice that her hands spark with yellow. So, again, I know it's meaningless, but it could be used as an explanation.

Now, what about Nicky in this scenario? Well, I really don't want to erase Nicky creating the song with his mum. I'm not gonna lie, it was touching. But… what if Nicky was showing early signs of divination powers? And by that I don't mean that he knew the song he creates with his mum will eventually open The Road someday etc. But maybe he saw glimpses of The Road in his dreams and that inspired him? The rest could stay all him and Agatha. I don't think it'd take away from it, but I do find it a pretty fun idea, mostly because Agatha seems to be quite sceptical about divination. I mean, she actually says that Tarot is a scam. So, imagine her realising that her little boy could've grown up to be a divination witch. I dunno, it's quite an interesting possibility, in my opinion.

And yes, it'd mean that Agatha accidentally created the ritual to access that real place. Or hell, maybe the song never mattered. I mean, you know how in "Turning Red", Mr Gao says that they have to sing from their hearts during the ritual, but it doesn't matter what? It could work like that!

Anyway, there's one more thing that bothers me. And that is… how the hell Agatha figured out that The Road is Billy's creation? Yes, I know that she knew it's not real, and therefore somebody had to create it, but how she connected it to Billy, exactly? Like, girl… You've been trapped in Wanda's spell for the last three years. Somebody might've physically dug that whole thing under your house as a prank on you, and you wouldn't know it. I realise that Billy's sigil might've made her think of Billy, but… it was more of a lucky guess than a deduction if you ask me. And I really don't like it. Because keep in mind that Agatha didn't see all the things in Billy's room which helped the audience to figure it out in advance. And what bothers me the most is probably the inclusion in the reveal that moment when Billy says: "It's exactly how I imagined it!", to which Agatha replies: "It suits you". Which basically implies that she was suspecting him back then already, as soon as they entered The Road. But like… HOW?? I'm sorry, but if you asked a group of goth teens how they imagine a place called "The Withes' Road", I bet a big part of them would describe a similar image to what we saw at the very beginning of The Road.

I just wish there was something that could give Agatha this idea. But as I said, it feels more like a guess. Like, why she doesn't suspect Rio, for example? I know that Rio most likely knows The Road isn't really, and that Agatha knows that she knows. But there's at least more to support it, in my opinion. I mean, the last time they saw each other, they agreed that Rio would wait until Agatha got her purple back, right? And look at that, how convenient: here's something that IN THEORY can do just that! And why Agatha enters The Road without thinking about it twice? Because of the Salem Seven. And who sent the Salem Seven?

I am very biased about this idea because I actually had a theory that Teen and Rio worked together to get Agatha to The Road – but like I said, there's at least something to support it! And yes, I know Agatha admits she wasn't "sure sure" at first, but at the same time, she doesn't mention any other possibilities. I dunno, it's just… eh. Perhaps it wasn't an afterthought as much as with Jen's trial, but I'd say it's still missing… something.

So, I guess that's it. My main issues with Agatha All Along finale. It's just… underwhelming and quite disappointing. Maybe it's because I genuinely enjoyed the first seven episodes. I really want to appreciate it for what it is, but it still feels more like it was done for the sake of the reveal than because it served an actual purpose.

[fairy-writes]

Hey there :) I hope you’re having a fantastic day :) please could I request action prompt 13 for gojo satoru 💙💙

ANGER AND ANGUISH

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing(s): Gojo Satoru x Gender Neutral!Reader

Prompt: Sharing a kiss after a massive battle (Action Prompt #13)

Notes: Idk if this cursed spirit idea even makes any sense, but we’re rolling with it anyway.

Also, TW for minor descriptions of gore

This is for my 1K followers event! It’s going on between June 8th and June 22nd!

__________________________________________________________________________

The acrid scent of blood and smoke is thick on your tongue, making you gag and dry heave, hunching over as you spit onto the ground. 

Was it over? 

Please let it be over. 

There’s a ringing in your ears and a hand at your back. 

Someone’s saying something. Shouting something. But you can’t hear them. 

You turn, dazed and confused. Who is talking?

Itadori Yuuji. 

He’s screaming at you, but you can’t understand what he’s trying to say. You can see the flash of a fire alarm going off in the background. You squint, and he seems to realize what’s happening. So instead of saying anything more, he hauls you to your feet, slings your arm over his shoulder, and takes a step forward. You stumble after him. 

Only to freeze when he seemingly hears something. You watch as the blood drains from his face, and you can smell it. 

The scent of something rotting. Something long dead but somehow alive at the same time. 

You know that smell.

So you turn and see the cursed spirit perched on the teacher’s desk, chattering its teeth as it watches the two of you hobble away. It cocks its head to the side like some curious dog. It was almost human-like. If humans stood seven feet tall, hunched on all fours like some deformed hunchback, that is.

That’s right…

You remember now. Why you were even here. 

It was supposed to be easy. That was the whole reason Yuuji had come along—for extra training. It was supposedly a simple grade-two cursed spirit infestation at an elementary school. Kids had gone missing, only for their contorted and mangled bodies to be found days after their disappearance, bellies ripped open to show feasted upon innards. 

You accepted the job almost immediately. 

Except the moment you encountered the beast, you knew there was no way it was a grade-two spirit. It was grade one, at the very least, maybe even a special grade. 

Where was Satoru?

You had texted him just before the fight started, just a simple “I’m worried ‘toru.” He hadn’t responded. But you knew he had seen it.

So where was he? 

That led you to where you are now, being dragged along by Yuuji in an attempt to get away before the cursed spirit could come to eviscerate you both like it had done to victims in the past. 

All the while, you couldn’t look away. Couldn’t look away from the emaciated body. Couldn’t look away from the too many too-sharp teeth. And most of all… couldn’t look away from the blank, milky-white eyes. They were solid orbs of fallen snow, not another color found in the murky depths. 

“Don’t look at it!” Your hearing was coming back. It was still muffled, like someone was talking through cotton, but you could hear it again. 

The tap tap tapping of the claws.

The unnatural clicking.

The chattering of those teeth. 

No mouth should ever be that wide; no smile should ever have that many teeth.

You manage to tear your eyes away from the being, but in the process, you trip over a half-smashed desk and go crashing to the ground. Yuuji tries to keep you both on your feet and tries to keep going. But your cursed energy is depleted, and Yuuji—as superhuman as he was—can only keep going for so long. 

The corner of a desk cracks into the side of your skull, and your vision goes white. There’s something wet and sticky dripping down your face, and when you go to wipe it off, your fingers come away red. 

Yuuji is struggling to his knees, hands trembling and breath coming out in little panicky gasps. 

He’s scared.

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

Except…

Maybe…

You turn on your knees and use the edge of an unfallen desk to pull yourself upright, finding your weapon amongst the rubble and holding it at the ready.

Maybe if the spirit kills you here… maybe then Yuuji could get away…

So there you stand, knees shaking and teeth gritting together as the cursed spirit gets closer and closer. 

“Suck it up, damn it!” You curse yourself. You’re supposed to be a powerful sorcerer. Someone that others can look up to. The one training the next generation. This should have been easy. 

When had it gone so wrong? 

You close your eyes and feel a certain kind of peace. 

You were going to die. 

But that was okay. At least Yuuji would be safe.

Until…

“Playtime’s over, you little goblin!” Comes a familiar voice. Your eyes shoot open, and you see him. 

Satoru.

His sapphire pools are ablaze with an emotion you can’t quite put a finger to. He very near hovers in the air and has a hand extended. He meets your eyes with a sort of boyish charm, and then,

“Did you miss me?” He quips with a grin, and you let out a disbelieving laugh.

You weren’t going to die here. 

The next time you open your eyes, you’re in the hospital.

The stink of the antiseptic and medicine makes you hunch up in bed and retch. It reminded you all too much of the smoke and blood and the smell of rotting flesh. 

You’re dry-heaving into a garbage bin next to your hospital bed when the door slides open and shut. Glancing up, your eyes meet azure eyes still lit with the emotion from before. Abruptly… you realize it’s anger. Mixed with a myriad of other emotions, but that’s the first one you put a name to. The longer you stare at him, the more you realize what Satoru is feeling. 

He’s angry and worried and oh so sad. 

Angry at you. 

Worried about you.

“You were going to die.” His voice is thin and small and so uncharacteristic for someone like him. 

“But I didn’t.” You whisper and watch as he clenches his fists so hard his knuckles turn white.

“You had given up.” His tone is sharp and biting, a stark contrast to the scared man who had been standing before you mere moments before. 

You go to swing your legs over the side of your hospital bed, and despite Satoru’s anger, he’s at your side in an instant. His hands are large and calloused at your wrist and back as he guides you into a more comfortable sitting position. 

But he doesn’t take a seat at your side. Not like he used to when you were teenagers, and you’d get injured doing something reckless. 

He’d sit at your side, showing you some dumb video or photo on his phone while Suguru stood back, watching in amusement. 

Oh, how you missed those simpler times. 

You look into the eyes of the man you loved so much and find him watching you with those deep blue eyes you adored.

“You were going to die.” He reiterates, standing before you with his hands in his pockets. You had known him long enough to know it was an attempt to hide his worry. He had done it since before you had even met.

“I can’t lose you. Not like I—” Satoru doesn’t have to finish the sentence for you to understand what he was going to say. 

“Not like I lost Suguru.”

You reach out with a trembling hand and fist it in the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer so you can lean your forehead against his stomach. You feel a hesitant hand in your hair, gently ruffling the tresses as you bite your lip. 

“I’m sorry.” You croak, and he finally moves. He takes a seat at your side, pulling you close to his side. You rest your head against him and have to ask.

“How’s Yuuji?” You whisper, and he huffs out a laugh,

“He’s fine. A little shaken, maybe. But worry about yourself once in a while, would ya?” He says, and his voice cracks.

And that sound alone breaks your heart.

Scooting yourself onto your knees, you turn to face Satoru and cup his face with soft hands. He lets you readily, looking at you with eyes so filled with anguish that you can barely stand it. So you close your eyes and press your lips to his.

His kiss tastes like unfallen tears. 

[frostgnawd]

File ... Kaeya Alberich

Are you content with your life as it is? Would you change anything about it, and why?

He’s seven, when his father leaves him there. Or is it six? He can’t remember, anymore – not really. Some parts of his past are just like that, fleeting snippets he can only catch glimpses of: trees around him that once seemed to reach the stormy sky above, the frigid rain that soaked through his cloak and into his core, and the look on his father’s face when he said You are our only hope, Kaeya.

He remembers, too, his father’s back, and time passing, passing, passing, shivering and trembling and waiting for death – until something, someone, bright red and warm happened upon him. But his words were foreign, a tongue Kaeya couldn’t hope to understand, and when he returns his own sentiment in his native language, the one before him cannot fathom it, either.

Kaeya did not understand why he took him in, then. He still doesn’t, now. Surely Master Crepus recognized the sound of those words, didn’t he?

And yet, when prompted with a query of what, exactly, he was doing in those woods (in Common, this time), a young Kaeya only tentatively offers–

“ My father.. was supposed to come back for me. “

[ li·ar ] [ noun ] [ a person who tells intentionally false statements. ]

Kaeya does not remember the last time someone looked at him so earnestly sympathetic. But that is fine, because he didn’t deserve it then, and he doesn’t deserve it now.

Do you consider yourself strong? Why?

Diluc looks at him the same way Crepus does, for a while. The sunlight felt brighter then, amongst the grapevines, and their swordfights were amiable – Diluc still smiled unabashedly. When the three of them – Jean, who came along too, slotted herself alongside them in uniform and honor – strode together, little could stop them. Kaeya doesn’t have a Vision, not like the two overachievers he lingers beside, but they leave a space for him anyway.

But good things don’t last. Crepus dies, and Kaeya’s ‘space’ dies along with him.

[ strength ] [ noun ] [ the capacity of an object or substance to withstand great force or pressure. ]

When he looks back on it, he supposes ‘earning’ his Vision started his second life.

He still wonders what his father might think now. He was supposed to be the ‘Hope,’ not this Divine crystal he’s been bestowed – given the truth of his being, isn’t it a little sick for him to have?

He keeps it anyway.

What will you be remembered for?

This is the lesson his lifetime has bestowed him: your lies must always contain truth, and your truth will always be taken for granted.

He’s learned to utilize this to his advantage, and does not think about how it feels anymore.

That is not to say there is no joy. Something like him, charming and affable on the surface, will always earn a pleased response from those he assists. The people of Mond find roles for him – listener, fixer, Captain – and he fits them to a T. He does not veer from the course these roles ought to put him on, and he does not leave room for any to question his tendencies.

People don’t actually want to know. That is a truth that has given him as much reprieve as it has anguish.

[ leg·a·cy ] [ noun ] [ the long-lasting impact of particular events, acti̵o̵n̷s̶,̶ ̶e̷t̴c̸.̷ ̷t̵h̷a̶t̶ ̴t̷o̷o̵k̴ ̷p̵l̴a̶c̴e̶ ̸i̸n̶ ̶t̴h̶e̴ ̶p̵a̷s̴t̶,̵ ̶o̸r̵ ̸o̸f̷ ̷a̸ ̷p̷e̵r̴s̶̥͕̈́̃o̸͓͗̇ṋ̵̓’̵̲͗̐ş̷̪̓ ̴͓͇̋̅l̴͜͝i̸̐̎ͅḟ̶͎͈e̵̦͆.̷̠̣͛ ]

“-- and, there we are.” Even now, he is performing his duties diligently. A note from a frustrated child, claiming they were ‘leaving home for good’; a worried mother, pleading for his assistance; and Kaeya, who knows this neck of the woods like the back of his hand, a familiar stomping ground for a boy who knew too much and too little all at once.

The no-longer-missing child allows him to take him out of the tree after a little bargaining – seems keeping oddities on his person was quite the helpful choice! Take that, Master Diluc.

“Now, let’s get you home, yes?” The child peers up at him from where he’d been so inquisitively studying the Geo Slime hairtie (how did that work? Who knows! Kaeya’s just glad he went through with the purchase back in Liyue), fidgeting with crystal and string as though he’s nervous. Appropriate, given the scolding he’s bound to get upon his arrival home.

“I.. I think your eye is cool.” He says instead, tentatively, which catches Kaeya offguard. “It’s like a star.”

One so young as this will never hear the legends and the legacies of Khaenri’ah, and Kaeya is not about to tell him. That experience will remain in his chest.

“I stole it from the sky.” Instead, he finds his smile again, holding out a hand for the child to take. “But don’t tell anyone about that, alright? Come on. I’ll tell you a story while we head back to Mond.”

[ leg·a·cy ] [ noun ] [ the sin that stains me. ]

[ameliaegschulz]

Stardrifting Risk

Night had fallen once more on day seven since he had arrived at the Holy Temple of Awakening for the task at hand. Jiphoshraton sat at his desk in private, sighing through gritted teeth with head in hand. As with each night before bed, he kept only the desk lamp turned on, its azure-white light shining on a single page of notes.

"Dammit!" he muttered with pained enunciation. "That was my last idea to get anything more out of that damned Terran cor--"

He cut himself off, taking deep breaths.

"Look, it's fine. Remember, you were just spitballing anyway. You didn't think it would actually work in the first place. I mean sure, the readings made it look like he was still active, but even if he was, it's not like he could understand Gelidan anyway, right?? Pointless rabbit hole. We're better off continuing with the gene splice theorycrafting. We're making good progress on that, even if his damn head's... invincibility makes no logical sense."

He leaned back in his chair, left arm dangling to the side. He dropped his pen and looked up.

"...so then why do I feel compelled to go back over to him and try again?" He shook his head. "That's a stupid idea. He speaks foreign tongue, surely. The others'll just chide me for wasting time. The only time it would make sense to try again is around now. Alone. During curfew. When the guards are at their most active."

"There is no way in hell I could get away with that," he concluded, lifting up his left hand to see it empty. He looked off into space for a moment, rolling his eyes with a smile before reaching down to pick up the pen he dropped.

"Nah, they wouldn't buy that, I was jotting things down with it before and after we tried talking to--"

"Wait a minute."

"Where's my notepad?"

"..."

(A few moments later...)

"Ugh, I should've guessed they'd all be posted outside," muttered Jiphoshraton to himself as he slid into the isolated chamber containing the stasis cell containing the weapon, closing the large steel doors to it behind him and quickly grabbing his notepad from next to the vitals monitor.

"There we are." He stepped back and turned to leave, slowing to a stop before his hand reached the button to open the doors. He looked back at the stasis cell. Then at the doors. Then he leaned his back on the doors, staring at the so-far enigmatic foreign invader dubbed "Weapon" in that stasis cell. He spaced out in his gaze, his vision doubling for a flash. He shook himself out of it, tapping one foot on the other.

"It's worth another attempt," he concluded before stepping forward and reaching for the stasis cell's fluid control panel to lower the water in the cell to just below head-level. Soon the weapon's head was wholly above water. Jiphoshraton could hear his heart pound steadily but quickly through his chest even over the humming and whirring of all the room's equipment and contraptions.

He took a deep breath. Then another.

Then another.

He pulled out a translator, selecting an output language.

"Weapon," he stammered, the translator converting Gelidan to mostly grammatical Terran English. "Or... Veno Young, was it?"

He huffed and straightened himself.

"Okay, let me cut the bullshit. I saw you lock eyes with me the day I arrived. I know you function, and I know you have answers. Answers we need to get the most out of our research on you. Only you know why you attacked our planet; you never told your people, and we know they speak truth because they let us keep you. Only you know why your head is as impenetrable as is alleged; the Project MMG files your people sent us make no mention of the skull fortifications currently present. Only you know why the fuck you would think it wise to jam a glowing rock into your damned heart; again, nothing in MMG about that, and frankly you should count yourself lucky it's a Holy Activator™ keeping you alive."

The weapon remained motionless.

"We have far many more questions than those, questions that only you can answer, and if you want any chance of freedom at all after what you did to the great Ga-Korian people, you will answer them in truth and in entirety. There is no other option for you. If you understand, then answer: WHY did you attack our home?!"

He huffed after that performance, turning off the translator and waiting for a response from the weapon.

A minute passed. Nothing.

"Oh well..." he sighed, reaching for the fluid control panel and raising it back to full capacity. "At least I know for sure sure and won't be thinking about it anym--"

"Your 'tough guy' act doesn't work if you start it off by stammering like a limp-wrist."

"Eh--" Jiphoshraton's heart stopped. Jaw-dropped, his eyes slowly went upward toward the stasis cell, and he confirmed that it was, in fact, full of numbing fluid as normal.

And that the weapon was staring back at him, eyes glowing the angriest yellow Jiphoshraton had ever seen on any sentient being, let alone a human.

"That adds two more to your list, doesn't it?" asked the weapon, in Gelidan.

[totkdaily]

Day 80: Visions, and Friends Aplenty

It takes until morning, but I find the tear in the geoglyph on the hill above Lake Hyrule. 

A vision. I see...

Ancient Hylians in darkness. Rauru at Sonia's grave. This is after that moment at the Blood Moon, then. The Demon King has risen, and they are at war.

Zelda visits the King. Her worry is plain on her face.

She mentions Ganondorf - that name. I'm struggling to understand her meaning - she says a secret stone did something to Ganondorf, whoever that is. But… Zelda's words suggest that Ganondorf, the Demon King and the creature below the castle are one and the same. I knew I was right about the Demon King and the creature. But who is Ganondorf? Is that who the Demon King was before? 

I piece the visions together in my mind with difficulty - it's been months. But the man who became the Demon King - I've seen him before. He led the Gerudo when they tried to attack Hyrule. Is that Ganondorf? The name… I can only hope the connection to Calamity Ganon is a cruel accident. 

Zelda is at the point of despair. My heart aches for her. Rauru dismisses her concerns, though he acknowledges that its his hubris that got them here. Why won't he listen to her? My Zelda. 

I need to know more. I think there are four geoglyphs I haven't yet found. Which is easiest to reach? There should be one north east of Lookout Landing, if my map-making is any good. Could I spot it from the tower? 

I land briefly on Hyrule Castle itself - there's a shrine. But no geoglyph I can see. Alright, plan B. I head to Tabantha Bridge Stable  and from there south. 

I scale a flat rock to get a better view - but I suddenly realise it's beneath my feet! And there's a balloon at the far end - Impa's here! She and Cado are right near the tear. 

A vision. I see...

A pagoda by a lakeside. Zelda, Sonia and Rauru are taking tea - tears spring to my eyes as I see Zelda at peace, at rest.

Her eyes sparkle, as she talks of our time, or her powers, of me. Zelda. She wants to be able to have all the powers at her disposal - Sonia encourages her pursuit but points out that her own talents are far from insignificant. I am sorry that Sonia died. I am glad that Zelda knew her kindness for a time. 

Every path I take leads to an empty pool, with Zelda no closer. Still, I must try.

I travel back to Central Hyrule, intending to head south by the towers to the Gerudo region - I think there is a geoglyph in the Highlands there. 

Running across Hyrule Field feels like the old days. But then I hear voices - it's Hoz's crew! Looks like they're going monster hunting - I gear up and join them. 

Hoz is grateful once we clear out the camp - I even get paid! He says they're heading to Fort Hateno next, and wonders about my sword - he's heard something of the Master Sword. 

I'd almost forgotten about it. It's been in only one of my visions. Zelda must not have received it until after the Imprisoning War. What did she do with it then? But it was broken anyway. The time of the sword is over. 

I gather the useful monster parts Hoz and his crew left behind, and look around for the tower I was aiming for - but then I spot the familiar purple light of Kilton's shop - now Koltin's - and before I know it I'm sprinting across the field in the dark to catch him. I must have so many gems since I last saw him. 

Well, I have seven. But it's enough for him to give me a pair of trousers. 

He's parked right outside Lookout Landing, so I run back and fetch a horse from Lester - Pumpkin will do well for this adventure, I think.

[myocsfanfictions]

The Wolf, the Stag and the Snake (Book 2)

A Song of Ice and Fire Fanfiction

After the new King of the Seven Kingdoms had killed Lord Stark many things had happened. Life is no longer how it used to be, with the War of the Five Kings beginning, follow Antea Stark, Cassandra Baratheon and Cyel Sand trying to survive in a world that is becoming everyday more dark and dangerous.

MASTERLIST

《 Previous - Next 》

Chapter 3

Cassandra

Life at the Wall had been busier than usual. Lord Mormont and Lady Eloyse had been spending days organizing the mission behind the Wall to find Benjen and his group. Cassie felt for the man. She knew how strong Benjens Stark was, but being missing for so long was not giving her much hope. And her heart felt queer feelings at the thought of losing Benjen. Not after what had happened to Ned by the command of her brother, the new baby king. Joffrey Baratheon.

She knew that her brother could have been a course in the Seven Kingdoms, especially with her mother, Cersei Lannister, as Queen Regent. But starting a war was something that she would have never thought would have happened.

As she would not have thought of Robb Stark being crowned as King of the North. Or her uncle Renly and Stannis naming themselves as the rightful heir of the Seven Kingdoms.

That's an awful lot of kings these days, she has been thinking.

In any way this war was going to end, many lives would have been lost. And she didn't want to think about it. But she found herself being forced to think about that war constantly.

At the Wall, many people looked at her as if she shared the same vision as her family. As if she had been the one giving command to take Lord Eddard Stark.

I would have never hurt Lord Stark, she thought. Ned was a good man. The very best.

She often found herself thinking about the late Warden of the North. The man had been a more constant presence in her life than her father.

"You do not dance, princess?" He had asked her once. She was eight years old at the time. Her black hair was all tangled as she observed Antea, Sansa, and Cyel dancing in the Hall. They were dining. One of the feasts that lord Stark held with commoners as well. Robb and Jon were running around with Greyjoy. But Cassie had been watching the girls, moving gracefully even if they were just children.

"No, my lord," her younger self had answered with a shake of her head.

"And why is that?" Ned Stark had knelt by her side so that they both could be at the same height.

Cassandra shrugged her shoulders, trying to hide the blush on her cheeks behind her long black hair.

"I don't know how," she had muttered with a little pout. She already knew many things about fighting, but she had no idea how to look as graceful as other noble girls.

"Truly?" Ned asked with a gentle tone. Cassie did not answer, she only turned to look at him. Her expression made him chuckle before he reached out his hand, "Do we want to learn together?"

Cassandra looked at him with big blue eyes, "You do not know how to dance?" She had asked, a strange whistle left her mouth as she talked, due to her missing front tooth.

"Indeed," he answered with a nod. Cassie felt that he was lying, but she didn't care. She had accepted his hand, letting him lead her through the dance floor. And they danced and laughed every time Cassie stepped on the man's foot. She had so much fun looking up at Eddard Stark and wishing for him to be her father.

Those memories hurt her deeply. And she desperately wanted to push them aside, but she didn't manage. Cassie did not want to forget the affection that she held for Ned Stark or the gratitude for having shown her a shadow of what a family should look like.

A shadow was enough.

But it hurt her as well that people thought that she didn't care about what had happened. But she did not have to make them understand. She did not have to explain herself.

"Why are you moving cell, anyway?" He had asked her as he helped her move her few things into another cell. She had decided to move next to Jon's. No one slept on that side of Castle Black. Jon had been sleeping there so that he could take his albino direwolf with him. "We are leaving soon."

"Soon is not now," Cassie had answered, "And I prefer to be alone."

That made him let out a snort, "Next to my cell?"

She looked back at him, "I've got my own," she reminded him, "It's not like I'm sleeping with you."

They kept walking in silence for some more before Jon spoke again. "Things are still tense with Wylliana?"

Cassie lowered her eyes. She had not been speaking with Wylliana since their argument in the Hall. And none of them seemed to be willing to take back their words.

"I could talk to her," Jon proposed as they reached Cassie's new cell.

"I don't need your help, Jon Snow," she answered, putting her Valyrian Steel dagger in an old wooden closet. "She had spoken her mind. I don't care."

"You're so stubborn," he complained, sitting on her bed with a heavy sigh.

Cassie frowned, "She hates me."

"She wants you to talk to her," his answer made her turn to him with crossed arms.

"You've become really close, it seems."

"You're letting your temper talk, it seems," he fired back. His grey eyes observed her.

"Of course," Cassie said, throwing her hands in the air, "She is telling many things about me, and I can't stand it."

"I thought you didn't care what other people think about you," Jon declared, making her glare at him.

"I'm not like my family," she exclaimed with fierce. Jon went silent, "I'm nothing like them. I do not share their thoughts. And if I had been able, I would have done something!" She then took a deep breath, remembering Ned's gentle smile. The memory hurt her. "Everyone thinks this, I know."

"That's not true, Cassie," she scoffed, putting her hands on her hips. "I don't," Jon's words made her look at him.

She knew he didn't. And she was grateful for that even if she didn't know how to show this gratitude to him.

Cassie took a breath, "I've been trying to write to them. To understand. But they do not write back to me."

"Maybe because of the war," Jon said with a bit of bitterness in his tone. But Cassie let out a sarcastic scoff, sitting next to Jon.

"I wish," she said, "But this is not queer on their part."

That made him frown as he observed her. "No one ever writes to me from King's Landing."

"Why?" He asked, confused, and his expression made her chuckle.

"My family is very different from yours, Jon," Cassie admitted, "My father did not know me. Joffrey hates me. As I him. My younger siblings... I feel very little for them, mostly because of my mother."

"Your mother?" He asked gently. The gentle Jon Snow.

"She looks at me as if I'm an abomination. As if she had never seen something more hideous in her life," she scoffed bitterly, "She does not write to me even for my name-day."

Jon looked at her with pain in his eyes, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Cassie took a breath, "I don't care."

He shook his head, "That's not true," he was not attacking her. And the tone he was using was the only reason why she didn't feel rage. He understood her. It had been always like that. In a way or another, Jon Snow was always able to understand her.

"I've pushed it away, Jon," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"You can't do that forever, Cassie," Jon said.

The girl felt like rolling her eyes, "Why not?"

"Because you've got feelings," he said with a firm tone, "You cannot pretend to feel nothing."

"I'm not pretending," she insisted, "I'm stronger than those feelings."

Jon observed her for a moment, "You think it is strong not to feel, but that does not prevent you from feeling."

Cassie lowered her eyes, shaking her head, "I've never trembled, Jon. This means I'm strong. If I get lost in my feelings, it would make me weak."

He searched for her gaze, "Emotions are not something to fear, Cassie," he spoke.

Cassie smiled at him, "To me, they are."

*************

If you enjoyed it please leave a "♥️" and feel free to reblog!

If you want ho be added to the tag list, just write a comment.

[jenuinelycurious]

So, older neurodivergent here. I did not know that this was not a common knowledge thing past the early 00's. So, here're the basics of my story now having lived thru the doctor orders from a young age.

I've suffered eating disorders due to this very thing ever since I was a toddler--would go days without eating just because I wasn't feeling hungry and would only eat when I got yellow tunnel vision (my vision would go from seeing colors to just seeing yellow and red with black edges). And when I ate, I GORGED. And would be so full that I wouldn't feel hungry for the next two-to-three days. Needless to say I quickly started showing signs of malnutrition.

After my toddler years were taken care of with medicine to get my immune system up and running, I had a bit of an appetite but not enough to avoid ✨anemia✨

See, fun fact that I learned the extreme hard way--keep this eating habit up and mix it with food that doesn't provide for your body (empty calorie stuff) that you see as yummy comfort food, you'll start stacking anemia. To this day, I struggle with D, Iron, Magnesium, and B12 deficiencies to where every other year my medical record will be labeled with anemic and this (fighting anemia/immune problems due to diet/rarely eating reasons) also caused me to have severe stomach problems where it's extremely uncomfortable, borderline painful to digest anything with gluten, dairy, and soy. It wasn't until I was in my mid-late teens that my doctor realized what was going on and said "don't let her eat when she wants, and don't let her have full meals; she needs at least 6 handful snacks during the day and a minimum of two small meals a day the size of medium breakfast bowls." I remember this specifically because I remember thinking 'I like the number seven better, and why medium? Why not small?' And changed it to those points, which .. Oddly enough still worked out, cause with the extra snack, the small bowls worth of food as meals were more than enough.

ANYWAY

All that to say; it doesn't change. This is a thing that is part of identifying neurodivergent brain systems. This is the life style. I wasn't seen as neurodivergent until my teens, I was just seen as different and weird cause the 90's. After an extensive talk with my doctor about my diet, energy, mood, and overall health, did they really see what was going on, but even then it was in the early early stages of understanding.

Now, I hate wasting food. So my fridge is practically empty while my pantry is packed full because shelf food lasts longer than most refrigerator food, and I don't like frozen food because of my stomach problems. There are times where I won't have to shop for food for almost a month, while others I have to go four times in two weeks.

Everyone's story is different, this one is just mine. Just know that there are systems out there that will go with what your body needs, or numbers and sizes of snacks and meals that you prefer (like in my case). Play around with different ways of eating, what to eat and how often during the day, until you find something that works best for you. The goal is to not get to the point where you're feeling faint, woozy, and/or sick until you eat. Because I also have artist brain and get lost in my projects, something that's helped me is this:

If I'm going to have an active day, moving around and being outside/on my feet most the time, I will make sure to keep to the 7 snacks-2 small meals (what's worked for me)for at least two days before the active day. If I'm not going to be doing much of anything, fuck it. Water, tea, and simple smoothies are my meals because I can't be bothered past my brain.

For years I would look at posts and questionnaires about neurodivergence that takes about being so focused on something that you forgot to eat and be like, "Couldn't be me. Being hungry is so uncomfortable! Your stomach is growling and cramping? How do you ignore that?"

Then someone informed me that neurotypical people have a whole bunch of "hungry" sensations before they get to that point.....