#like young boys and grown up ones do all the time. it does become a very haunting world. and it is.

[missing-sock-misto]

Tuggoffelees for the ship meme

29-one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart.

30-one headcanon about this OTP that mends it.  

THESE WERE GOOD ONES BOY DID THEY UNLOCK SOME THOUGHTS.

29. A headcanon that breaks my heart

If Misto hadn’t become friends with Tugger, he would have fallen prey to Macavity, much like Demeter did.

Now this is based on a particular set of headcanons that I have. But, basically;

After Macavity ‘leaves’ the tribe, young Misto finds himself treated with suspicion, like a ticking time bomb. Macavity had physical magic more powerful than anyone, perhaps that’s what corrupted him? So now people murmur, ‘what if Misto turns out just like him. What if he becomes a monster?’

So Misto hides his magic, makes it less than what it is. “I can only do lights. Nothing else.”

But he still needs to use it. He feels Wrong if he doesn’t. So he practices, alone, far from the tribe.

Eventually, Macavity finds him. He convinces him that the stories about him were inventions, slander. He offers to train him, to help him.

At first, Misto refuses, terrified. But he comes back. The promise of having someone Show him how to do control his magic is too enticing.

He is a good target. Already a bit reclusive, the aftermath of Macavity has made him an outcast. He’s lonely, craving guidance, craving someone like himself. He has a good heart, and is willing to believe Macavity’s stories. He’s naive. He doesn’t understand that people lie.

Macavity shapes himself into everything Misto needs. A friend, a mentor, a companion. But at the same time, he chips away at his supports.

No one else can be trusted. “Look at how they treated me. I lost control once, and they rejected me, exiled me. And I was the honored heir. What do you think they’ll do to you?”

It isn’t hard. Misto is already painfully aware of how the others look at him. Victoria is the only person he can trust.

And then there’s an accident. An accident that he causes. And in the aftermath, he hears the whispers. “Just like Macavity.”

Misto runs. He runs to Macavity, cries that he should have listened to his warnings, that no one could be trusted. He could only trust Macavity. He begs him to take him away, So he does. Macavity spirits Misto away to his own clowder. Waiting are a pair of mischievous calico twins, a beautiful ruby haired queen, and a golden queen with anxious eyes, all ready to be his new family.

But now that he has what he wants, Macavity no longer needs to play nice.

/

30. Something that mends it.

But this isn’t what happens. Instead, Tugger finds Misto in the outlands, practicing his magic.

And so, he’s the one who helps Misto. He too has grown up in the shadow of Macavity. He too has a chip in his shoulder.

He becomes Misto’s friend. He admires his abilities, his talents, encourages him. Though lacking overt magic of his own, his passion and excitement give Misto confidence.

He believes in him. He fosters trust. He thinks the others will accept Misto, and if they don’t, well then he’ll make them see what he sees!

So when Old Deuteronomy is kidnapped, that’s exactly what he does. “I will show them the you that I see. I will make them see you for who you are. And you are going to show them exactly how brilliant you are. I know it.”

/

/

(I did get inspired, I had already wanted to write a fic exploring these dynamics. If I ever get around to finishing them, I’ll reblog this with an Ao3 link. I have 3k of the AU scenario XD)

Thank you for the ask! 😁

#ask and answer #cats the musical #cats headcanons #mr mistoffelees #macavity #rum tum tugger #cats drabble

[sapphic-bats]

Warlock asks Nanny about it once.

She’s cutting apples for him, just the way he likes, and he’s gazing out of the window at the lush, green gardens that his mother so proudly upholds. Among the waxy leaves and spindly saplings, Brother Francis tends to the flora carefully, though Warlock’s quite sure he’s just taking certain leaves between his finger and his thumb, and studying them closely. But what did Warlock know about gardening?

He notices Nanny looking out those windows, too. Though she always gazes and stares with a deep intent, as if she only cares when she does, and it so happens that she never looks upon the garden empty.

What was that funny thing Nanny and Brother Francis had taught him? The thing that Nanny discouraged, to which Brother Francis promoted quite devoutly?

“Nanny, have you ever been married?”

Warlock knows what marriage is. After all, his parents are married, if you can call it that. They married, once, out of love. But it’s since faded. It’s more traditional, now. Out of convenience and a general apathy to trying again.

Nanny’s quick hand stills, blade edge flat against the cutting board. With her back turned to the young boy, he cannot make out her expression. He never can, what with her poised shades she wears pointedly upon her nose. But she speaks soon again.

“No,” she replies, simply.

Warlock considers this. “Do you ever want to be?”

Nanny, who had taken up the cutting again, pauses once more. She sets the knife against the board and tilts her chin towards Warlock. “Wherever have you learned such personal questions, dear?”

She’s not refusing to answer him. She never has. She just asks in true curiosity, and perhaps a slight avoidance. But Warlock’s eight, now, and he knows how to navigate her tricks.

“Where do you think?”

At that, she pauses, lips pursed with their consistent purple tint. The lipstick she wears, that faintly stains Warlock’s forehead when she kisses him goodnight and tucks him in after a bedtime story: often about a garden, or a bird that chirped too loudly, and was cast down to the ground by the other birds. One who became the kind bird of the grounds, and took in other reject birds that had fallen similarly.

She considers his answer a moment more, satisfied with the obvious influence she’s had on him. She turns back to the apple slices.

“Perhaps,” she answers.

There is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t mind, he’s grown up with Nanny at his side, and has become quite fond of the silence. It is where thoughts are made, she said once.

She finishes cutting the apples, and plates the sweet snack to serve to the boy. “What troubles you, dear? You seem awfully curious, all of the sudden.”

Not that she minds. Nanny never rejects curiosity.

“Nothing’s wrong, Nanny, it’s just—” he pauses, considers his next words and how to place them. “You look at Brother Francis a lot, and—”

Nanny interrupts him after an audible, suspicious gulp. “Who?”

He frowns, eyes boring into the back of her head. “You know Brother Francis.”

She seems quite comically nervous, like she’s pressed a wax-seal act over her true thoughts. “Oh, yes,” she decides, too much breath coming with her words. “The gardener.”

“You like him, Nanny.”

She turns, abruptly. “I most certainly do not!” Her voice comes out a tad shrill, though perhaps it’s just outrage and scandal.

Warlock narrows his eyes, perplexed. “But you look at him all of the time.”

“When has that ever had anything to do with- with love?” She struggles with the word.

The boy shrugs. “Mum and Dad don’t look at each other,” Warlock observes. “But Brother Francis looks for you, too.”

Nanny’s mouth, ready with a retort, or perhaps a counter-argument, flicks towards a different shape. One that might be, he does? Or perhaps Warlock is mistaken. She pauses, lips pursed again, and sets her teeth.

“I’m sure he does, love.”

The plate is set before him, and Warlock soon forgets his questions. He never asks Nanny again.

But he’s reminded of it when her eyes, barely visible in the light, flick towards the window into the dazzling garden.

Years later, Warlock is nearly sixteen, and has since let the thoughts from half his lifetime ago fade. They never die, just sort of… wait. Wait to be plucked again, notes of memory leaping from their tinny strings. Like a harp.

His mother takes him into town. Soho, where he has no interest in seeing, but his mother so desperately needs a new vinyl, a coffee, and though she never says it: a moment to get away from the house, or more specifically, her husband within it.

She agrees to let him wander. She trusts him, for all she hasn’t before. And perhaps, she says, the fresh, un-televised air could do him some good.

He’s only taken two steps out of the coffee shop, where his mother remains to await her tea, before he almost runs smack into two pedestrians, arm in arm. He takes a surprised jump back, tongue set with an angry scolding, when he gets a good look at them from behind.

“Nanny?”

They both freeze in unison, as if they both know the name, and the voice that has conjured it forth once more for the first time in five years. Warlock notices something else.

“Brother Francis?” He prods, shocked. “Izzat you?”

Both of the two now turn, and everything around the three fades into blurring colors and churning noises.

Warlock would be a rotten liar if he had said he hadn’t missed them dearly. He would also be a lousy boy if he didn’t recognize them by the backs of their heads alone, he thinks. Because he would know them anywhere. They’d always done a much better job at raising him than his own parents.

They both look different now. Brother Francis seems to have had dental work done, and has cleaned up quite nicely. Nanny, though, appears to have changed her style completely. Her- his? Their? Who knows. But she still sports a fine pair of shades upon the bridge of her nose.

The pair seem to stutter, splutter with a little awestruck surprise. It’s as if they’d never expected to see him again.

“Oh- Warlock,” Nanny Ashtoreth begins, feigning a cool-headed surprise. “How good to see you.”

She sounds different too. Less of a high strain on her voice, more natural.

But Warlock seems to finally feel a gear shift, and a puzzle piece clicks into place. He glances down to the space between the two, where their arms are linked.

In his dumbfounded state, he feels a smile split the trance.

They both see it at the same time, chins tilting to follow his gaze. When they catch where his eyes are, their stares mingle together in concern. It’s a look that wonders aloud whether or not they should be worried, or blatant.

Warlock looks back up to their faces. “I see now why you two left,” he adds, grinning wider.

He can’t help it. He was right all along.

Warlock remembers something, then. It takes all of his power not to burst out into a triumphant laugh.

“I’m sure he does,” he says, slyly.

Nanny’s eyes, illuminated from behind with daylight, widen. She remembers, too. Of course she does.

And she bites back a twinning smile.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens 2 #ineffable idiots #warlock good omens #crowley good omens #aziraphale good omens #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis #good omens fic #good omens ficlet #fic #ficlet #author #ao3 #good omens fan fiction

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ one and two - chapter one (ls2)

Your father, the President of The United States, has decided the only way to keep you ‘tame’ is up have you married off… to a Formula One driver..?

logan sargeant x first daughter!reader, smau and short fic

tws: arranged marriage,

fc: yasmin barbieri (and random other pinterest found photos)

yn.fdotus

liked by logansargeant, luis.fsotus, flotus, and 749k others...

yn.fdotus: taking a break from washington to see my collab with @ amaricarter at @ nyfw !!! aaaa!! geeking out a lil bit <3 all my hard work has finally paid off friends... many tears were shed xx

flotus: so so proud of my little girl!! cannot believe the woman you've grown into <3

user1: yn slaying in and outside of dc fr fr

user2: YESSS SLAY YN!!!

luis.fsotus: no pic credit :(?

⤷ yn.fdotus: this is for eating my panera >:(

⤷ panerabread: girlie dw we can hook u up with more <3

⤷ yn.fdotus: i love u panera <3<3

potus: so proud of you my little star!

user3: not her acc getting recommended to me bc logan sargeant follows her omg.

⤷ user2: no sameeee but i loveeee yn

user5: non-american f1 fans who love yn like this comment actually?

liked by 856 others...

user4: THATS MY FIRST DAUGHTER!!

“This is so stupid.” you grumble a complaint into the air, looking over at your mother as she laughs from where she sits in the William’s VIP room with your father and older brother-- both Santino Colombo, your father going by Santino and your brother going by Santi.

“He’s a nice young man!” Santino defends his actions as if he isn’t asking you to do the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. You have to pretend this guy who you have never met before is your boyfriend. Now, okay, you knew a bit about Logan because you’d been a fan of his for years because of your father’s love of Formula drivers, and Logan was the only American to get points in like… twenty years. You and Logan had followed each other on socials long ago when this first 'arranged marriage' thing was brought up. You'd spoken occasionally since, but nothing too serious. A flirt here or there, a joke, then mostly just formalities.

It wasn't that you didn't like Logan, he was a fine guy and easy on the eyes but it just felt... weird, to be forced into this.

With you being the more rebellious of the two of his kids, you had to be ‘locked up.’ Which was so stupid, your twenty six year old brother was a big party boy in college. Your father having paid off so many people to be hush about his drunken idiocy. But now he was already on his way to becoming a law firm CEO with a pretty wife and two daughters and you were a little fashion student who just had her first ever big break, never having done hard drugs or got the cops called on you like dear old Santi.

But you were a girl, something to be protected, and big breaks meant it was time for you to settle in the eyes of America’s leader.

And thus, your father got in contact with the Sargeants through Dalton somehow during your fathers candidacy. And now a year and two months later you were expected to be visiting your ‘secret boyfriend of two years.’

“He’s a wonderful guy,” Santino huffs at your obvious distaste, “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I thought he was going to be bad for you, you know.”

“You didn’t even ask me! What if I had a boyfriend!”

“You didn’t.” Santi says after a sip of his champagne, “and, if you did, Dad would’ve just had you marry the guy you were dating.”

“If he passed the dad test.” you complain, making your brother laugh while your father just rolls his eyes. You don’t have time to say anything else because he’s standing up to greet James Vowles, the team principal of Williams, and you follow suit.

"So this is the woman Logan's been keeping a secret?" James grins and you realize, yeah, okay now it's time to act.

"Sorry he kept you in the dark for so long, Mr. Vowles!" You smile, glancing over James' shoulder as you speak to see who can only be Logan approaching, "Logan does speak very highly of you."

"As he does you." James nods, stepping back to allow you to happily pull Logan in for a hug. None of this is rehearsed. None of this is planned. Logan's arms slot naturally around yours life he was sculpted from the same marble, and your head fits perfectly under his chin. When you both step back, you let out of a soft giggle with flushed cheeks and try to not see the obvious overjoyed expression on your fathers face.

yn.fdotus added to their story!

Logan's drivers room is neat, tidy, but small. He lets you take up the somewhat comfy couch while he pulls his fireproof over his head with his back to you. You both have sat in silence for the past five minutes, your parents whisking you off to the 'comfort' of Logan's room so you both could bond.

"So." Logan turns around once he's fully changed into his racing gear, and you try your hardest to make sure your eyes don't wander because god damnit did those fireproofs have to be so tight?

"So?" You echo with a tad more curiosity in your tone and Logan pops down next to you.

"I was told we need to have a consistent story to not get caught." His eyes meet yours breifly before he's looking away, almost bashfully as his hand comes to toy with his hair, "but I have no idea what that should be."

"You were born in Fort Lauderdale, right?" You ask, and when Logan nods you grin, "Alright, here it is, we were neighbors growing up. Your brother and my brother were really good friends, since I think they're the same age? We tagged along with the older brothers. When you moved we lost contact, but, when you started racing in Formula I got in contact with you via Instagram and the rest is history."

"Childhood best friends seems American enough," Logan grins and a laugh barks out of you that you aren't expecting. A smile pokes at his face and he looks away, almost like he's shy about making you laugh, which is only solidified by the blush you notice on his cheeks.

"Alrighty then, childhood best friend." You tap his thigh with your heel from where your legs are crossed, eyes peeking up as someone knocks on the door.

"Come in," Logan calls, his hand going to rest on your knee before none other than Alex Albon pops open the door with a very curious Lily behind him.

"Oh! Good." Alex steps in, letting Lily in before the door clicks shut. You can see Logan send Alex a confused look before the Thai driver opens his mouth and just says whatever comes to mind.

Which is, "How the fuck did you rizz her?"

"Alex!" Lily whacks her boyfriends arm and you can't help but burst into laughter, hiding your face in Logan's shoulder as you do. You miss whatever defense Logan throws at Alex because of the feeling of Logan pulling you closer by your thigh. It shocks you how much his touch feels like fire against your skin.

"All her," is what Logan says when he turns to you and the smile that crosses your face is natural as you shrug. Lily comes over to introduce herself, leaving Logan and Alex to bicker as she pulls you into a carefully coordinated hug.

"It's so nice to have another girl in the Williams garage." She says as she steps back, and you stand to continue the conversation a bit further away from whatever argument Alex has undoubtedly pulled Logan into now. Logan's hand squeezes your wrist when you walk away, a small fleeting touch, and it makes your cheeks red.

Shit. Why was he making you so flustered?

yn.fdotus

liked by alexalbon, logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 787k others...

yn.fdotus: hot girls ditch f1 for affogato 🩵

tagged: lilymhe

lilymhe: @ logansargeant can u fight.

⤷ logansargeant: i think alex would kill me if i even breathed wrong next to you, so no.

⤷ alexalbon: i would. i would.

user1: NO FUCKING WAY??

lilymhe: LOML !!!! <3<3<3

⤷ yn.fdotus: UGH I WOULD DIE FOR U STOP <3

⤷ user2: LILY AND YN!!!!! A DUO!!! (yn design something for lily)

liked by yn.fdotus

-

"Are we like soft launching it?" You ask Logan as you wait for him to be called out to race, he's been fiddling with his sleeve for the past five minutes in agonizing silence. So you try and get his mind off the upcoming race.

"What?"

"Us, are we just gonna like... kiss after the race and be caught by cameras? Or try and like... be sneaky with it? Like pretending we're hiding from cameras but letting them catch us and whatnot."

Logan blinks, his hand falling from fiddling with his sleeve to his lap where you've laid your legs over. ("So you can get used to how close we have to be for media," Logan had suggested.) His hand comes to rub small circles just above your knee as you lean back against the back of the couch.

"I... is there one you prefer?" He asks, pulling out his phone to do what looks like texting someone back, "I can do either, I just don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"I think teasing it would be really cute," you smile and he nods, asking for you to explain, so you burst into a long list of ideas. Fleeting touches, hugs that last just a bit too long to be platonic, pictures of gifted bouquets and hidden faces for 'date nights' and early mornings. He smiles at you enthusiasm as you explain every little minute detail, and then he just takes one of your hands in his and presses a kiss to the back of it.

"Just tell me when, and I'm yours." He whispers, and you try to ignore the obvious affection in his eyes that has your cheeks warming up.

yn.fdotus added to their story!

Logan scores points. You're not even sure what place he ends up in, but you just know he scores points by the way Williams is cheering. You can even hear Logan laughing over his radio and your heart is in your throat as you join Lily in jumping up and down in excitement. Both Alex and Logan has gotten points, for the first time this season.

Your feet carry you, Lily pulling you along, your family laughing as you're brought to the garage and away from them. She detaches when Alex is out of his car, happily extending an arm for Lily to attach to his side as he holds his helmet in the other.

You, however, stop dead in your tracks.

Logan's tugging off his balaclava with the biggest smile on his face. The crows feet of his eyes tight with the smile that pulls them in, same with the way his cheeks puff out in happiness. You can't help but feel a blush on your face at the sight of him, sweaty, and yet with that amazing post-race glow your sister had joked about.

Holy shit, it really was a thing.

You feel cameras on you as you slowly make your way over, finding your footing like a fawn until Logan spots you and-- if possible, his grin grows even wider. You smile, quickening your steps until your pressed firm against his chest. His broad shoulder blocking the light as his arms encircle you, protecting you from the world as he dips his lips down to whisper.

"You can't look at me like that if we're soft-launching." He laughs and you follow suit, arms tight around his waist as you quickly reply,

"I'm just so proud of you, you drove really well today."

His arms tighten a bit more and you assume this is the whole, hugs that are a bit more than platonic bit. When you step back, he keeps his eyes on you and one hand on your back as Alex comes over to celebrate with him.

Later that night, a text lights up your phone,

'if you want a full miami day, tomorrow ill pick you up around nine?"

And the giggles that leave you are genuine as you throw yourself out of bed to pick out some clothes for the list of activities that Logan has planned.

yn.fdotus added to their story!

tag list (comment to be added, and thanks for those who are already on it !)

@hiireadstuff @tigerlily789 @minkyungseokie @woozarts @motheraiya @uzisplanet @struggling-with-delia

#logan sargeant fic #logan sargeant fanfic #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargent x reader #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one fic

[iluvzaddies]

So I heard we're talking abt one piece la here, might as well request for my cutie patootie Koby?? pretty please 🥺🫶

˚₊‧꒰ა koby being in love with you ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

— koby, the newly recruited marine, is a very shy and timid boy.

— being held captive by captain alvida of the alvida pirates made him that way.

— but then a young pirate named luffy saved him from the clutches of the wicked woman.

— therefore, has gotten the freedom and the chance to follow his dream, which is to join the marines.

— when he meets you, he feels the need to protect you.

— so he trains harder to become stronger and better with the help of vice-admiral garp.

— each and everyday, he trains.

— in a short period of time, he receives big changes. his scrawny body is no longer scrawny. his chest is broad, his shoulders are wide, his arms are big. he has also grown abnormally taller.

— the training improves not only his physical appearance, but his communication skills as well. rather than shy and timid, he is now outgoing and more sociable. he finds himself making lots of friends and doesn’t stutter while talking anymore.

— even though he’s made friends, he still thinks of you. he still prioritizes you and your safety.

— helmeppo, one of his friends, suspects there is something going on between you two, so he questions koby about it.

— koby says, “i just want to protect them. that’s all.“

— to which helmeppo replies, “yeah, you definitely love them. the way you talk about them says otherwise.”

— koby’s face heats up at that.

— koby does in fact love you. yes, love. the ‘L’ word. he loves you, so he wants to protect you from the scums of the world. scums like alvida.

— “you’re right.” koby admits with a smile. “i do.”

note: koby is such a cutie i wuv him

#koby one piece #op koby #koby x reader #one piece #one piece live action #opla #opla x reader #opla koby #onepieceliveactionxreader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece fanfiction #one piece headcanons #headcanons #one piece strawhats #monkey d luffy #opla luffy #op luffy

[monimccoythings]

Random headcanons of Alastor and his child!reader

This will mix headcanons from both the living and the afterliving times.

Tw: Controlling behavior, implied cannibalism, references to murder.

This is not proof read so I apologize for any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

Your home is always filled with music. Be it the radio, a record player or him singing. There's always someone playing a tune. Even now at the hotel you can always find him in one of the common rooms humming a song or with his cathedral radio on.

Loves dancing with you, you'll be helping him cook and next thing you know he is swirling you around the room, music mixing with your combined laughter.

From a very young age, he will teach you to love the radio. He is immensely proud of his job (the legal one) and wants to share it with you.

Likes to treat your wounds and illness the traditional way, just like he used to when you were alive. You got a scratch? He is cleaning it for you and bandaging it up. You are down with something? He'll wrap you in blankets with a hot water bottle and feed you old family remedies and warm soup. If the wound or illness is way too severe to his liking, he will immediately make it go away with a snap of his fingers, otherwise he just likes to act like your caregiver and mother hen you.

Really loves to pull the 'single hardworking dad' act that makes the mothers and female teachers at your school swoon. He is not really interested in pursuing anything further with them, but boy, does he enjoy the attention.

He likes to check on you while you are sleeping. Sometimes he just stays there, quietly watching you sleep, his ever present smile growing bigger as a sense of pride fills his chest.

Lots of dad jokes, I think he's the only one who could pull it off and have everyone laugh. It goes with his radio host charisma and personality.

He does your hair. This man has singlehandledly researched and become well versed in the art of braiding hair. Braids, pigtails, or just brush it, you call it, you got it.

Alastor loves control and having power over people, he is the kind of dad that will subtly talk you out of doing something he doesn't approve of, just using his inmense charms and smooth talking skills to convince you into thinking this was your decision after doing some critical thinking. "Cher, I don't think you should do X, how about you do Y instead?" "I'm sure your friend is too busy to hang out today, why don't we go to the ice cream shop?" He won't ever put you down or make you feel bad about anything, but if you are deviating for the path that he has already set for you (the safe path) he will immediately persuade you to go back to the right way, his way. In Hell that aspect of him has become a million times worse, since he has already lost you once and has become someone with many dangerous enemies who wouldn't hesitate to use you to get back at him. His overprotectiveness and controlling behavior skyrocket when he becomes a demon, which eventually will come back to bite him in the ass.

Doesn't like having anyone question about your biological parents. He is your parent. You don't need anybody else.

Alastor is not fond of physical affection, unless he is the one initiating it. But, since he has had you since you were a baby, he has mostly grown used to your touch. He has become proficient enough in detecting your moods that he knows exactly when you are going to need a hug, a kiss or some other kind of physical comfort, so he can get ahead and start the contact first. He admits that one of his favorite ways nowadays to show affection to you is ruffling your fluffy hair, lightly tickling your ears, his eyes fill with joy when your ears get all twitchy.

Your room back at the hotel is a carbon copy of the one you had back when you were alive, but bigger, and with a private old timey bathroom. Alastor likes to come in whenever he pleases, he is the unliving embodiment of "I'm respecting your privacy by knocking but asserting my authority as your parent by coming in anyway". He even said so once. Word by word.

You can't stand Mimzy. Sorry, it's a fact, she always gets your name wrong and only comes by if she needs something from your dad. She seems to not be very fond of you either, can't understand why in Hell Alastor would waste his time so willingly just to take care of a snooty brat that ain't even his. But your father seems to like her enough, so you swallow up your critics.

When he was alive, and came back from a 'hunt', he always brought a little memorabilia for you, maybe some old watch, a fancy toy or trinket the victim had on them at that moment. Whatever little thing that wasn't too incriminating and pretty enough to be worthy of you. Now that you know the truth, you can't stop wondering with dread if every little thing he gifts you belonged once to a poor tormented soul that crossed in his path.

Might had fed you human remians in his stews. He utterly denies it, claiming that he would never do that to your delicate stomach. But the suspicious way his eyes quickly dart around the room, makes you think otherwise. It was the Great Depression after all, food was scarce. You'd rather not dwell too much on it or you will never eat anything ever again.

He is a monster, and it pained you to have been so blind all these years, but even after discovering his true nature, the only thing you could say about his parenting before that terrible night of the discovery, was that he was an excellent dad, a tad bit overbearing and overprotective, but a great parent nonetheless.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: controlling behavior #tw: cannibalism #tw: murder

[clockwayswrites]

Danny/Wally, blue, mint

@Luckeykasper

WC: 547

Depending on who and when you asked someone, the Speed Force and Clockwork could be many things to each other: friends, enemies, lovers, brothers, each other, or the very same person. They were both, after all, masters of Time and that had to bring some sort of a connection. On the other hand, they both handled Time very differently from each other which more often brought conflict. Throughout all of their different labels and ever shifting moods one thing was true: the Speed Force and Clockwork were gossiping old biddies about everything and everyone that ever was or would be.

(And, if occasionally, they came together in way that no mortal mind could ever comprehend, well, then that was their business and no one else’s.)

The gossiping old biddies part is what was important in that moment. Not to most people, of course. Most people didn’t have the constitution to be aware of temporal fluctuations, and, even if they had, the current wibbliness of time really only mattered to two people: one Wally West and one Daniel Fenton. Or by other names which might matter more at the moment: Kid Flash and Phantom, the Speed Force’s chosen and Clockwork’s cog, and, most importantly, beloved pseudo-grandsons.

It’s just, the Speed Force sighed, or came as close as a cosmic entity could manage to a sigh, Wally keeps falling instantly for people that he knows are unattainable.

They sounded young right then, like a dramatic teen, and Clockwork unconsciously shifted his form to match. “If they’re unattainable, why does he fall for them?”

Because they’re unattainable. I think he’s afraid to fall for someone he could have because… because of me.

Clockwork snorted. “Isn’t that a bit egotistical?”

The space around them sparked with static. No!

“Really?”

Really! He’s afraid because of what I’ve given him! He’s not simple a person anymore— he’s a cosmic force! The static faded to a sad sputtering and then stopped. All of existence seemed to drag around them. And how often is he going to run into someone who handle that? He’s afraid of trying, my poor boy…

Clockwork nodded in commiseration. His form aged and shifted until he floated hunched over himself. “I see. Danny has become like that as his power has grown. He has pulled away from the living and dead a like. I have concerns about his bonds if it continues.”

The Speed Force jolted, reality spinning in a sudden whirl. That’s it!

“Stop that,” Clockwork ordered, wrenching things back into control with a firm hand. “What are you on about? What silly idea do you have now?”

Danny is cosmic.

“Yes,” Clockwork agreed dryly.

Wally needs someone who understands cosmic! Danny needs someone who has strong ties to the world! Wally’s whole self is saving the world. It’s perfect.

Clockwork actually took a moment to consider the thought.

You know I’m right.

“You’re never right.”

Bitch.

“But,” Clockwork said slowly. The Speed Force buzzed in anticipation. “This might at least be worth a try.”

I told you!

“They can’t suspect it’s a set up though,” Clockwork admonished quickly.

Of course not, too damn stubborn. But… it wouldn’t be too hard to make their paths cross, now would it?

“No,” Clockwork grinned. “No I don’t think that it would.”

---

AN: Okay, so we didn't actually get to Danny/Wally but this idea got in my head and lol. Idk maybe I'll continue this one at some point down the road!

#dp x dc #quick death ship #kinda #also implied speed force/clockwork because what is my life #prompalomp

[princessstevemunson]

All this talk about shovel talks and nothing about Claudia Henderson. Like where’s her giving steddie shovel talks?

Claudia is eternally grateful to Eddie for saving her Dusty’s life, but she sees the pain her boys were both in after his sacrifice. She hears the screams at night from Dustin’s room. She watches as he either radios whoever was sitting with Eddie—usually Steve—or calls if the person doesn’t have a radio. Always asking for updates in the morning. Making sure the other boy is still there. Still alive.

Steve on the other hand is hiding his pain as he always does. She still sees Steve sitting vigil at the young man’s bed when she comes to bring real food and good coffee to Steve, Wanye and occasionally Dustin’s middle school science teacher Mr. Clarke. She sees the way Steve took extra care washing the other’s vest. All under a guise of being a good friend and not wanting Eddie to wake up alone.

When Eddie starts tagging along with Steve to their dinners occasionally she slowly watches as the two go from friends to pining to something else entirely. It’s when she’s certain that Eddie and Steve have become EddieandSteve that she starts doing it.

She would never give a shovel talk to Eddie. Steve’s a grown man, and can protect his own heart, but she’s already seen the pain Eddie had unwilling caused him. She’s seen the way Steve held the metalhead’s vest as it was his anchor to this world. She knew Eddie would never cause him pain like that again, but that doesn’t mean she can’t have a little fun scaring Eddie.

It starts innocently enough, she’s just sharing fun facts.

“Did you know,” she says to Eddie while Steve and Dustin are clearing the table, “that pigs can eat a human body. It can take some time, but sixteen pigs can do it in about eight minutes actually.”

She hides her smile as the younger squirms uncomfortably and replies “um, no I didn’t know that.”

She didn’t think anyone else but Eddie heard her, but she was wrong. Dustin says something about remembering going to Claudia’s cousin’s farm shortly after his dad left them, and thinking it had pigs. She had an even harder hiding her smile after Eddie went as white as a ghost with that information.

She continues to give Eddie little fun facts like that, and one time confirming that Eddie is in fact allergic to cinnamon, because she’d hate to forget that when baking him something.

She’d never ever be the cause of Dustin and Steve’s pain, or give her new found friends Wayne and Scott the panic she had in spring break not knowing where her Dusty was, but she does like seeing Eddie squirm on occasion.

#Claudia henderson absolutely adopted Steve and is far more observant than the kids #she’d never give an actual shovel talk to Eddie but she’d have fun scaring him #eddie thinks she hates him #Steve who’s partially deaf and somehow is never in the room when she drops tidbits is very confused #He’s like ‘what? Ma loves you’ #claudia henderson #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #I’m totally not pushing my Claudia killed her husband hc into this #my writing #blurb #steddie blurb #steddie fanfic #clarkson if you squint

[captainn-hook]

Character analysis on Prince Sidon (BOTW vs TOTK)

One thing I love about totk is how the game addresses Sidon’s trauma.

In botw you see how desperate he is for his father’s approval, it’s like Mipha set an impossible standard for dying not only for her domain and her people but for the whole kingdom of Hyrule. In their father’s eyes, she’s the perfect child, not only in personality but also in the way she’s honoured her family. Sidon sees how his father thinks of her, and although the king doesn’t do it consciously, he always put her on an impossibly high pedestal, and Sidon grew up believing that he HAD to meet that expectation, and that he would never, no matter how hard he tried.

When Link tames Vah Ruta and they both go to see the king, he tells his son:

“As your father, I am proud of you for fighting the Divine Beast alongside Link. You have grown much recently. I know you will be a worthy heir when your time comes.”

Then Sidon bows his head, as if he’s overcome with emotions because his dad tells him he’s proud of what he’s accomplished. King Dorephan isn’t a bad guy, don’t get me wrong, but in his grief of losing his daughter (in this case, he thought she went missing and had been in the DB for 100 years, he didn’t know she died) made him sort of lose sight of Sidon’s achievements in those 100 years because he was so racked with worry and guilt. So although the king isn’t a bad father, he fails to reassure his son that he doesn’t need to do anything to make him proud (even though Sidon had definitely done stuff to make his dad proud over the years).

(Btw im pretty sure tripple digits in age is considered teens or early adulthood for Zora, so he’s still pretty young, I imagine around Link’s age if he were Hylian)

But that’s about all we get in botw.

So now we move on to totk. And oh boy do we get a load of Sidon angst. Some people might disagree with me but having read between the lines of what Lady Yona talked about (and just WHAT she actually said) in the first half of the water temple quest (before we find it, when we’re up in Mipha court), it really is angsty.

She’s aware of the fact that his sister’s death affected him a lot and still does despite knowing that her spirit moved on, and it (at this point) has started to affect their relationship.

Yona and Sidon have a disagreement before/after the battle with the Sludge Like, where they argue about him going with Link to this pillar of light that has suddenly appeared. It starts with Sidon saying: “Lady Yona! It is far too dangerous for you to be here” in reference to the sludge, but she has none of that.

She tells him that she wants him to go to the pillar with Link, and that: “For a long time, I have been concerned that you are holding yourself back and not acting as freely as I would have expected.” This has some credit because it’s mentioned somewhere how they were both childhood friends, and the Zora live long lives so it’s safe to assume their childhood is prolonged, which means that they’ve known each other for a very long time. Yona knows how he acts and behaves, his mannerisms and his fears, and that’s why she wants to push him to face them.

She tells him that if he goes with Link they’ll be able to overcome this problem, but he hesitates. She notices, asking him what is troubling him, and he hesitates again to speak what is on his mind. This is when the Sludge Like comes in, and after the battle, the conversation continues.

Sidon hurries back to Yona and says: “Thank goodness. Lady Yona, if something had happened to you... I...” and there’s where it becomes clear just how terrified he is of losing her. He doesn’t finish the sentence, though, he changes the subject and tells her that she should go back to the domain in case more monsters show up. She tells him that he should focus on what Link said and that he can leave the court to them (Yona and the others that came with her). Sidon replies with: “W-well... Of course it would be best for me to accompany him. However, I cannot leave you alone in this dangerous place!” He’s ignoring what’s best and instead focusing on the safety of his betrothed, because of course he would! A monster just showed up and it took both Link and Sidon to take it down, imagine if neither of them were with her, what would happen? What would he do if she got hurt? And then the following dialogue happens (you dont need to read the whole thing, you can just skip to the bold parts):

Yona: “Did you not entrust this task to us already? We will not be on our own for long. We shall be just fine.”

Sidon: “But…”

Yona: “Sidon, my darling... I truly appreciate that you worry so for my safety. It speaks to the kindness in your heart.

But you are the prince of the Zora. One day, you will lead the people of your beloved domain.

I can see right through you, whether you want me to or not. You are yielding to the fear of losing someone you love again.

You must overcome your past and face whatever the future holds with courage.”

Sidon: “But... I...”

Yona: “Enough is enough! You are not acting like yourself! You must leave this place to me!

Sweet Sidon... Do not get lost in the past. You must keep moving ever onward. Just follow your heart, as you always do!”

Sidon: “Like my old self... Like I always do...”

Yona: “It is all right. I swear it. I am not going anywhere.”

Sidon: “I see... And there it is, clear as day... I was giving in to my fear of once more losing someone I love... I… I…

You are right, Yona! I will not give in to this fear! Nor forsake my trust in you! I leave this place to you, my love.”

[skip]

Yona: “All this time he was clinging to regret over being unable to save his precious sister, Mipha... My poor, tormented Sidon.

And to think he was unknowingly paralyzed from taking action because he feared losing me as well...

Yet he has overcome this trial and placed his faith in me. At last, the Sidon I know and love has come back to me.”

During this conversation, Sidon hesitated more than once and you can see it starting to irritate Yona because she knows the potential he doesn’t see in himself, because it’s not just fear of losing a loved one, but it’s his own insecurity from not being able to save Mipha.

He doesn’t care that he was young and wouldn’t have been able to anyway, he just cares that he couldn’t. In his eyes, he failed to save his sister. And I’m not going to go too deep into this point but it’s clear that she was playing both older sister and mother, because we can assume their mother died a while back (she’s never mentioned and it’s just the two of them and their father even as far back as age of calamity if you want to include that).

What I’m saying is that with technically both the loss of his mother and his sister, it’s safe to assume that he feels some sort of responsibility for not being able to help, even if he was too young to do so, his disregard for the age he was at the time shows how much weight was left on his shoulders after Mipha died.

He never expected to be the heir to the throne, the sole survivor of his family (along with his dad), sure he’s a prince and princes have responsibility, but Mipha was always going to be in the spotlight (not that I’d imagine him jealous of this, it’s simply just a fact, and I think he might have actually even been comfortable with that), she was always going to be the Zora Champion and then Queen one day, so to have all of that suddenly dumped on him after the calamity as a literal kid would’ve undoubtedly had its effect on him.

Yona understands this, she tells Link, knowing he’s probably caught on, how he was “clinging to regret over being unable to save his precious sister, Mipha...”.

She has to reassure her love that she’s okay. “It is all right. I swear it. I am not going anywhere.”, she comforts him because she knows he needs it, he needs her to say it to him because that’s the only way he will believe she is in fact okay.

But his character develops. Sidon realises that in fearing for Yona, he has made her feel as if she isn’t trusted. He recognises the position he’s put them both in, him worrying relentlessly and stressing out about his loved ones because of his trauma, and her having to watch him fall down this never ending rabbit hole and being unable to do much about it because all he tries to do is shelter and protect her, even when it’s unnecessary.

But she does what she can anyway, and it pays off, because he comes back to reality and understands that although there will always be the risk of losing her, he knows that she is more than capable of taking care of herself. He knows of her strength, it was just hard for him to see the situation from her point of view. But she pushes him to do so, and he betters himself for her.

I think he’ll always have some small hint of this trauma response hidden away, but after this discussion, he’s got a firm hold on it, and is willing to control his fears for the love of his life so that they can start to build a life together without the sense of utter doom and despair over his past looming over them both.

I’m glad the writers did this, and didnt just make them seem like this perfect couple with no issues, it shows a real and healthy relationship, and it shows that Sidon isn’t this perfect person and that he indeed has faults of his own.

That’s my take on it, anyway.

#prince sidon #lady yona #princess yona #king sidon #princess mipha #botw mipha #botw sidon #loz totk #totk sidon #loz botw #character development #character analysis #this was so long im so sorry #sidon x yona #I love lady Yona so much 😭 #im not autistic… no im not fixated on Loz… nope… #(I might be a little autistic) #again sorry it’s so fucking long smh #it took me forever to write #botw #totk #botw link #totk link #link #sidon #zora #the legend of zelda

[pochipop]

＃GENSHIN IMPACT !! ♡ — BLOOM WITH YOU (TIGHNARI X READER).

#. synopsis! — the three times tighnari was there to look out for you, and the one time you’re tasked with returning the favor(s) .

#. characters! —tighnari .

#. warnings! — nongraphic depictions of wounds .

#. word count! — 5.1k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @yyolkchi (reblog/spam) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

First impressions die hard.

You met Tighnari a long while ago, back when he was less of a renowned researcher, and more of an awkward young boy who loved to roam the forests in search of nothing in particular and hadn’t quite grown into his ears yet. He was smaller, as were you, and those big, sprouting ears atop his head looked fake if you stared at them for too long. Back then, you’d almost been convinced he was wearing a little costume. . . Until you saw them twitch for the first time, and then all such thoughts were thrown out the window.

Still, they were almost comical. When he, in all his youthful inelegance, all but tumbled over himself to check on your well being after you’d managed to land yourself in a precariously sticky situation, they shivered with worry (even for a stranger.) —A stranger who would become his “assistant” in the future— but a stranger nonetheless.

That was the first time you met Tighnari. Your right foot had been swallowed up by a sopping hole in the earth, which sent you falling directly onto your butt. At your age, panic set it fairly quickly, and you were less hurt by the odd way your ankle had bent, and more startled by the suddenness of it all. Whatever it was inside that hole had you in a deadlock, and the more you struggled, the less it seemed to want to let you go. But you were young and scared, and picking up on the subtle patterns wasn’t exactly going to be your forte in a moment like that. Instead, you found yourself tugging on your own leg, and when that didn’t work, you anchored yourself with your arms and your one viable foot, attempting to use the leverage to pull the other from the hole.

Needless to say, —it didn’t work. Fear set in quickly enough, and you found yourself crying. Though such a reaction certainly wasn’t irrational, it was painfully unhelpful. Or maybe it wasn’t. After all, it was thanks to those sniffles and muffled sobs that you were able to attract the attention of a certain someone with a keen sense of hearing and a (thankfully) kind heart.

Tighnari tracked you down from your whimpers quickly enough, and was somehow able to calm you down through his flustered pleas to stop crying and a jumbled explanation of “I can help!” —And help he certainly did.

“J-Just relax! Flailing around like that will only sink your leg farther in!” He stammered, reaching out to grab at the middle of your calf, but pausing and jerking himself away just before he made contact.

“Can I touch you?”

You all but froze at the ill-worded request, but quickly concluded that he had no malintentions. Sure, maybe it was unwise to judge a book by its cover, but those big, twitching ears paired with his shaky hands and his doe-eyed stare that watched you nervously as he waited for approval told you that he wasn’t planning anything nefarious. Plus, you really did need the help. . .

After an affirmative nod, he took hold of your calf, lithe fingers encircling a part of it with a surprising level of gentleness. His touch was akin to the soft pitter-patter of butterfly wings against fresh, spring air.

“Your muscles are tensed up,” he said, sounding almost clinical about it. “Relax them and let your foot hang limp.”

“A-Alright,” you said.

Somehow, despite your nerves and the anxiety flooding through your veins, you managed to do as he’d requested. From there, the removal process was easy, and if you hadn’t been so elated, you likely would have been more ashamed about the tears stains on your cheeks.

Still, Tighnari didn’t mock you for it. Not back then, anyway. . . Years later, that event would be fair game to poke fun at you for, but at the time, he was kind and gentle, even when his fingers shook as he wiped tears from your undereyes. He asked if you were okay, laughed with you (not at you) about the unfortunate loss of your shoe, and walked you out of the forest safe and sound.

It wasn’t until after you parted that you realized you hadn’t caught his name.

It would be quite a while before you ever saw Tighnari again. He’d grown both several inches, and into his large ears that seemed much less disproportionate by the second meeting. He also seemed to have matured quite a bit, —walking with more confidence, and appearing to be much more comfortable in his own skin. Unfortunately, you didn’t have much of an opportunity to admire said changes.

The forest has always been both undeniably beautiful and horribly intense. Creatures big and small lurk just around the corners, and some of them are painfully easy to aggravate. Even glancing in their direction can set some of them off, and that doesn’t bode well for curious eyes.

You learned that lesson the hard way.

On your way home from a taxing day, you decided that it would be a good idea to take a shortcut through the thick of the forest. It wasn’t the most familiar route, but you’d taken it several times over the years, and figured that you could manage it before late evening. That assumption likely would have panned out just fine if not for a sudden detour.

With time to spare and nothing to lose, the sound of a trickling stream somewhere off in the distance enticed you closer and closer. You thought it would be nice to sit along the land with your feet in the water for a bit, enjoying the natural beauty of Sumeru. Despite having grown up there, it came as no surprise to you that there were many areas you’d left completely unexplored, and though you weren’t much discontent with that, you also didn’t think a little adventure would hurt. After all, it was a straight shot through some thicket and trees to return to the “path” that weaved through the forest, and you made mental markers of the landscape on your way.

Getting lost wasn’t really the issue this go around, though. . .

As you sat along the bank of the stream, shoes off with your toes just barely submerged in the cold water, a sudden splash from somewhere farther up had your shoulders tensing and your head whipping to the side. A trio of Spindocrocodiles were angrily making their way towards you, their tails sputtering up water ferociously as a yelp escaped your lips.

You’d seen them before, but always knew to keep your distance. They were known to be aggressive, but typically wouldn’t cause any troubles if you left them be. Today, however, just your presence within their general vicinity alone was enough to tick them off and rouse them from their places upstream. In spite of their stubby appendages that were clearly ill-equipped to function on land, they were no less frightening as they bounded over one another, bumping into each other to see who could take a chunk out of you first.

Those razor-sharp teeth were truly nothing to sneeze at.

This time, both of your shoes were lost to the forest. You scrambled to your feet, forgetting all about them in your rush to get away. Having heard your little yelp from not-so far away, as well as the commotion in the water, Tighnari rushed to find the source of the sound and was shocked to find you of all people. You may well have changed since he last saw you as well, but he could never forget those eyes.

“This way!” He shouted, and you had little time to process who he was or why it was significant before you were bounding off in his direction.

He wasted no time, reaching out to grab your wrist and promptly leading you through the bushes and branches until the ill-outlined path was in sight.

“You really don’t know how to stay out of trouble, —do you?” Tighnari questioned, sounding a little breathless from the sudden sprint.

“I-It’s not like that!” You insist. “Maybe it’s your fault! You always seem to be around when these things happen!’

His eyes widen and the ears atop his head that now look much more appropriate there twitch a bit in surprise.

“M-Me?” He stammers, “If anything, you should be thanking me! This is the second time I’ve stepped in to save you!”

“You’re giving yourself way too much credit this time,” you say, shaking your wrist free of his grip to cross your arms over your chest stubbornly, “I would have run whether you told me to or not.”

“Knowing you, you would have run through the forest and gotten lost,” Tighnari refutes, mimicking you by crossing his own arms over his chest as well.

“Or maybe you would have gotten your foot stuck in another hole.”

Your jaw slacks a little at his mention of that.

“You don’t know me at all,” you answer, “—even if that did happen, I know how to take care of it myself this time anyway.”

“Are you sure about that?” He cocks his head to the side with a look of disbelief crossing his soft, rounded features.

“Yes,” you reply curtly, “I am.”

Silence reigns for a short while before Tighnari breaks it, returning his arms to their proper places at his sides.

“Seems you’ve lost three shoes to the forest now,” he says pointedly.

You glance down at your bare feet, sighing at the sight of them.

“One really was enough,” you mutter. “I really liked those shoes.”

“In any case, I’m Tighnari,” he says, reaching his hand out for you to shake. “If I’ll be acting as a guide for you again I figure we should get to know one another.”

Somehow, you find it within yourself to not give him a snarky response. Instead, you take his hand in an awkward handshake. His skin is soft and warm, and his eyes all but sparkle in the dying sunlight that filters in through the breaks in the fickle canopy of leaves above.

“Y/n,” you introduce yourself begrudgingly.

But as it turned out, he wasn’t that bad. 

The third time was just plain overkill, in your opinion. By then, you were fairly certain that Tighnari really was some kind of bad luck charm. 

In your defense, whoever thought it was a brilliant idea to set a trap for prey along a forest pathway was both stupid and wrong. Seriously. . . Who does that?

You were innocently walking along, attempting to decompress from a stressful morning with a stroll through nature, only to find yourself trapped in a deep, man-made hole when a stretch of leaf covered dirt ended up being nothing more than a trap. One moment you’d been striding along, minding your own business, and the next you were breathless at the bottom of some ugly little pit.

To add to the annoyance of it all, you didn’t even have time to try and get out yourself. As if he’d been watching from the trees, Tighnari was kneeling down on the ground above you, golden earring dangling in the late afternoon sun as he peered into the hole you’d found yourself in. He knew it was you from the pitch of your sudden scream, and an amused smirk clung to the corners of his stupid lips.

“Your luck is absolutely abysmal,” he laughed.

“I’m aware,” you grumbled in return.

He was amused by the situation you’d found yourself in, but it was clear that he was concerned for you beneath it all. Sure, he didn’t know you all that well, but he felt a sense of responsibility for you. The forest isn’t easy for most to navigate, after all. Heck, it hadn’t been easy for him to get around in for a very long time, and he’d found himself in plenty of unpleasant situations as a result of its vastness. 

“Would you like some help?” He asked.

You didn’t have the nerve to be acerbic, so you folded easily. You just wanted to get out of that dumb hole.

“Yes please.”

Upon seeing your dejected expression, Tighnari began to feel quite bad about teasing you the way he had. It was irrational to think his presence was poison in your well, watering your luck down to nothing the moment you stepped into the thick of the forest, —but a part of him began blaming himself for the unfortunate mishaps you’d been experiencing over time. It was a small part of himself that he could easily stifle with logic, but it gnawed at him nonetheless.

“Can you stand?” He asked.

It took you a moment to contort your body and make your way to your feet, but you managed it easily enough. The hard part had yet to come. Even perched on the tips of your toes, you’d have likely been screwed if not for Tighnari. He reached one hand out to you, the other digging into the dirt in hopes of steadying himself for what was to come.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked, tentatively reaching up to grasp at his palm and fingers.

He held your hand with a firm grip, but it was gentle in many ways in spite of that. In fact, many things about Tighnari had always been undeniably gentle.

“I’m not as fragile as I might look,” he brushed your concerns away swiftly. “Just reach for solid ground as soon as you can and use it to pull your body up, alright?”

There didn’t seem to be another available option, so you nodded in confirmation and let Tighnari count to three before he began yanking at your arm. It wasn’t the most pleasurable experience, but it worked well enough in the end. Though his fingers dug into your skin uncomfortably, you grasped at the overhanging edge of the hole the second it was in reach, using the bulk of your strength to force your body up and over. Even if it didn’t take long, you let out a deep breath the moment you collapsed onto the dirt. That was a lot of energy to expend in such a short period of time.

With a huff, you turned to lay on your back, head resting uncomfortably against the ground. Tighnari could have easily joked about pulling your feet away from the hole a bit more, lest you find yourself tumbling back down in it, but he chose not to, Instead, he laid back beside you, turning his head to look your way.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” he said, reaching out to take your wrist into his tender hold.

His sudden sympathy had your lips pursing together, heart skipping a little beat in the cavern of your chest.

“. . . you didn’t,” you mumble softly. “Thank you for helping me.”

As the old story goes, —the rest was history. Tighnari insisted on taking you back to his little research lab just a ways off to keep an eye on you for a bit, and that day, your perception of him completely changed. As he worked, you found yourself lost in every moment, in every flick of his wrist as he jotted down notes along scraps of parchment.

He found that you weren’t half bad to have around. Despite your limited knowledge of the forest, you were surprisingly adept at keeping up with his ramblings, and he appreciated that. Your interest in his studies was practically everything he could have asked for. You didn’t stop him or cut him off when he began rambling about mushroom temperaments or the medicinal properties of various Sumerian regional specialties. You sat and listened, engaging with every fun fact he threw your way like a kitten pawing at a ball of yarn.

Tighnari definitely wasn’t one to fall easily, —but he was no fool. The way his heart stuttered upon seeing your captivated smile was anything but typical. The warmth that pooled in his stomach the moment you took the initiative to ask him questions was special. It wasn’t just general excitement. It wasn’t something he could write off as an anomaly to check back on in three weeks time.

This was different. 

You were different.

He’d have been a fool to ignore it, —and far be it from Tighnari to ever willingly play the role of court jester. Instead, he sought your presence again, again, and again. Hours passed in what felt like the blink of an eye, and he couldn’t possibly ignore how easy it was to bounce off you, or how simple it was to keep the flow of conversation moving with you. Even the moments of silence were comfortable, and he never felt pressured by your curious gaze as you watched him go about his duties.

Those daylight hours bled into dusk, and he nearly asked you to stay the night before coming to his senses and realizing that such a proposal so soon would likely be misinterpreted and off putting. He didn’t want to scare you off, so he walked you to the edge of the forest, taking you the long way round.

As you walked alongside him, he pointed out various greenery and told you of their origins or of their healing properties.

Tighnari took your departure harder than he thought. He felt ridiculous for mourning the loss of your presence after no more than a day’s worth of light, —but he couldn’t help himself. You’d woven your way into his heart so easily, like it was child’s play. He was putty in your hands the moment he watched you walk away, and you didn’t even know it.

“Tighnari!” You call out, slipping inside his little research lab with the basket of sunsettias he’d requested just a bit before.

Working under him has been an interesting experience, to say the least. Especially because it just sort of happened. It was nothing you’d actively signed up for, but by the time he first referred to you as his “assistant,” you were so attached to his general presence that you hardly cared if he were to have you do small tasks for him here and there. In fact, you’re quite thankful that he chose you to fill the position! It’s given you lots of interesting opportunities to experience sides of Sumeru you didn’t think you’d ever get to partake in so intimately, and by no means did Tighnari skimp on knowledge to offer you.

It also doesn’t hurt that he’s exceptionally adorable. His ears twitch when he’s excited, his tail swishing back and forth until he remembers that it’s there and does his best to quell it to save himself the embarrassment. He’s loveable, even when he’s doing nothing at all. And you. . . Yeah, maybe you’ve come to love him just a little too much.

It was so easy to fall for him, though. One minute he’d been explaining the various sleeping habits of various fauna, and the next, your heart had been in the palm of his gentle hand, —the ones he holds quills with as he scribbles down important (and unimportant) notes.

“Tighnari?” You repeat when you don’t hear his expected response. “Are you here?”

It appears not.

Though Tighnari did mention he’d be stepping out for a bit just before you headed off, it seems strange to you that he hasn’t returned by now. You’d been a bit slow at locating sunsettias this time, so your task had taken a bit longer to complete than usual, and Tighnari knows the forest like the back of his hand. Anything you can get done quickly, he can finish in what feels like the blink of an eye. He’s efficient and fantastic at what he does, so for him to still be gone. . . It’s raising multiple red flags, to say the very least.

You sit the basket of sunsettias down on the floor beside his desk, quickly rushing off to look for him. Even if it’s nothing, you’d much rather be safe than be sorry. When it comes to Tighnari, being safe will always be the superior option.

After all, you know quite well what wrenches the forest can throw your way, and having been on the receiving end of it many times over, you’re not keen on leaving Tighnari to suffer the same fate on his own. He could obviously handle most things that would come his way, but what kind of assistant would you be if you left him high and dry?

Better yet, what kind of friend would you be if you did such a thing?

“Hey, Tighnari!” You cup your hands around your mouth to amplify your voice, calling out to him through the trees in hopes that his keen ears will pick up on your voice.

He hears you, but stays quiet. Crumpled on the ground with a gash across his hand, the flowers he’d collected left scattered all around him, —he’s not exactly keen on letting you see him this way. . . It feels humiliating that he of all people would have found himself in a situation like this. He should have known better! He did know better.

“Tighnari!”

Guilt hits him like an angry Sumpter Beast when he recognizes the worried edge that clings to your call. You care, and he knows that you do, —but with what little humility he has left, he’d rather not be seen like this.

He considers standing up and slipping through the trees, making his way back to the lab to patch himself up in record time before you make your way back there as well, but all hope of that goes out the window when the ears atop his head jerk, alerting him of your sudden approach.

“There you are!” You say, but the relief that floods through you quickly reverts back to worry as you catch sight of the blood on his hands.

“What happened, Tighnari?” Comes the dreaded question, —the one that he’s overwhelmingly tempted to lie in response to.

But it’s you. . . And he just can’t bring himself to be anything less than truthful when it comes to you.

“I was overzealous,” he sighs. “I saw a Rishboland Tiger cub nosing around, and from where I was standing, it seemed to me that it was limping. I approached it slowly, but when it didn’t immediately run away, I assumed I was right about the injury and reached out to let it sniff my hand.”

He glances down at his injured hand, and you can easily infer the rest without him having to say it.

“Why didn’t you answer when I called for you?” You question, gently taking his hand into yours in order to gauge the seriousness of the wound. “With those ears, there’s no way you didn’t hear me.”

“I. . .” He starts, but quickly swallows the words down.

You wait just in case he has anything to say, but when he stays quiet, you think it best to leave it be. If it was something he wanted to reply to, he’d have done it. His hesitance speaks volumes, and you won’t be the one to force an answer out of him. 

“Come on,” you say instead, reaching out to gather the scattered flowers he’d dropped in the scuffle. “Let’s head back to the lab. I can take care of you there.”

You offer him help to aid in standing, and he takes it without complaint (or thanks.) His cheeks are perpetually red, and you know that he’s feeling ashamed of himself for having wound up in this position, so whatever happens from there, you’re more than willing to give him more lenience than you otherwise would have afforded to him.

“I can take care of it myself,” he objects, “—you don’t have to go to any trouble. I brought this on myself.”

“Oh come on Tighnari, aren’t you the one who always says I owe you for the times you’ve helped me?” you remind him.

He parts his lips to insist that this is different, but the words falter on the tip of his tongue. He swallows them down.

“. . . yeah,” he shrugs, “I guess so.”

The tentative way he holds his hand on the trek back is depressing, but it’s also cute. It reminds you of the way he’s held your wrist a few times here and there, as if he were certain of himself, but worried that if he squeezed too hard you’d fall apart at the seams right in front of him. Looking at him now, you can relate to such a worry. He seems so vulnerable, both physically and emotionally, and the last thing you want to do is take advantage of that.

He sits and waits with no complaints as you rifle through the jars around his desk. You know what you’re looking for, but Tighnari is the only person who knows the true methods to all of his madness, and though you’ve watched him work for months now, it’s all too easy to forget what jars house what now that all the options are seemingly staring back at you with eyes of their own. It’s like they’re scrutinizing your performance, and it’s driving you up the wall.

Tighnari, on the other hand, makes no move to assist or offer criticism. There’s a sense of pride welling up within him. You’re not the fastest, but you’re not flailing. It’s just that you’re scanning your options to be certain you’ve obtained the correct ones.

“Can I see your hand?” You inquire.

Wordlessly, he gives his injured hand over to you. His trust in you is immeasurable and unwavering, and it makes your heart swell.

Under the natural light that pours in through the windows, you’re able to assess the wound better. It’s nothing terrible, but you’re certain that it hurts, and when you make the first move to use fresh, clean water to clean it off, you hear Tighnari hiss under his breath. You weren’t too rough by any means, and you were likely more gentle than he would have been with himself, but the area is freshly agitated and just about anything is enough to irritate the nerves.

“Sorry,” you mumble, eyes flickering up to meet his gaze.

“Don’t apologize,” he replies sternly. “You know what you’re doing.”

“This is the paste we made last week,” you continue without missing a beat, urged on by the little nod he offers you in response. “It’ll stop any swelling, numb most of the pain, and kill any bacteria in the wound. It’ll make it easier to wrap it up at the end, as well.”

He already knew that, of course, but he’s proud of your knowledge retention nonetheless. Tighnari doesn’t move a single muscle as you dip your finger into the yellowish paste made of natural ingredients each of you helped to gather. As you apply it as softly as you can whilst still being thorough, he clenches his jaw, but refrains from making any noise.

“You’ve learned a lot,” he says instead, a smile tugging at the corners of his pretty mouth. “I’m proud.”

There’s been many times when he’s felt that way over the months, but this is one of the few times he’s actually said it. Of course, you always feel it, —but there’s no denying that it’s a completely different feeling to hear him actively say it.

Tighnari’s words are so genuine that they make little pin-pricks stab at your waning heart.

“I’ll grab the bandages and that should do it,” you tell him, attempting (and failing to) bite back a happy smile.

You snatch them up from one of his drawers, closing it behind you with a little thud. Turning back to him, it’s obvious that the atmosphere has shifted, although nothing tangible has changed. His gaze meets yours, and your heart sings for him. He’s strong, yet vulnerable and gentle. Stern, but welcoming and tenderhearted. And above all else, Tighnari is warm.

As you take his hand into your own again, little trickles of electricity fire off through your veins. You’re hyper-aware of everything he does, from the way he swallows quietly to the fluttering of his lashes as he blinks.

He watches closely as you wrap the bandages along his hand, but his stare isn’t scrutinizing in the slightest. If anything, he’s admiring your handiwork and the precision you’ve managed to accomplish with every fold.

“That. . .” you pause for a second, tucking a loose end into the previous layers to keep it secure, “should do it. Does it feel okay?”

Tighnari bends his fingers carefully. The bandages don’t budge, nor do they dig uncomfortably into his skin.

“It’s perfect,” he assures you, and you breathe an internal sigh of relief.

You’re perfect, he wants to add, but can’t find the courage to manage it.

But a part of Tighnari knows that now’s as good a time as any. You’re so close, and you smell of flowery medicinal paste and the sunsettias you’d gathered that now sit beside his work desk on the floor. He reaches out to cup your cheek with his newly bandaged hand, matching the curve of your face. You still, muscles tensing a bit, —not because you’re scared, but because you’re worried that you’re getting the wrong idea. Although you're not certain what other ways this could possibly be interpreted.

“T-Tighnari. . .”

“Can I. . .” he pauses, swallowing down the lump that tries to form in the back of his throat, “—can I kiss you?”

For a moment, you’re completely at a loss for words. You know what you want to say, but it takes a few moments to muster up the courage. Tighnari doesn’t rush you, doesn't act before you’ve given him permission, and you know you’re free to say yes or decline.

“Y-Yeah,” you confirm, “please.”

Any worry that you might come across as a bit too desperate have gone out the window, and Tighnari certainly didn’t take it that way. He’s more elated that you said yes than anything else.

He leans in and places his lips over yours. His lips are soft and he tastes of nothing in particular, but there’s an edge of sweetness to his motions that floods through all your senses. Your body relaxes into his, tension dissipating as he soothes you with his kiss. Your heart hammers away loudly, but you’re too caught up in the moment to worry about whether he can feel it against him or not. Tighnari was the one to ignite it, and he’s the one to break it as well. His forehead comes to rest against your own, and he sighs ever so softly in content.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, —and somehow, you doubt he’s just referencing the bandage on his hand.

You say nothing, but when you breathe through the fluster and bury your face in the crook of his neck, he holds you just a little tighter.

#tighnari #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact tighnari #tighnari x reader #tighnari x reader fluff #tighnari x you #genshin impact tighnari x reader #tighnari fluff #genshin tighnari fluff #tighnari fluff x reader #tighnari reader insert #tighnari reader insert fluff #genshin impact reader insert #genshin impact reader insert fluff

[skinnywalker]

Professional protector (Aaron Hotchner x nanny! male reader)

It's become a slight problem. Most nights it Hotch was late. Some he wasn't home at all and babysitters were only so reliable.

"You're really using Garica to get a other new babysitter?"

"I'm not trust random teens with my boy."

Emily rolls her eyes and pulls away the file of potential names.

"Can't you just hire a full time?"

Hotch groans.

"Same problem."

"Well it's either a once time issue or a till-jack-is-grown issue so make up you mind."

She's right of course, he needs to just bite the bullet.

After nearly an hour of barely scrapable options Hotch's attention was caught by a face.

Young, clean cut, handsome and with a bakround in child care. He gives Hocth a strange stomach twist, the kind he felt in high-school when he meet Harley. That same at once connection.

"Is he free?"

"Looks like it. Says on his employee web page he is open for full weekdays."

"Send that to me would you?"

Garcia can't help the small grin that crosses her lips.

"At once my lord."

From his nightstand the buzz of that familiar notification sounds him awake.

Clients.

He checks the profile his boss Diane always sends but this one is different than normal. He is used to business men who don't have time for their children but the man is an FBI agent and high in ranks too.

Doesn't look half bad either.

"How much is the pay?

"60 an hour."

He stops dead in his track.

"60? For one child and house sitting?"

"Ahuh. He asked me if that was too low."

"Too low?!"

She smiled at him with a gleam I her eyes.

"He really wanted you specifically."

Hotch keep glancing at his watch. He wasn't late but Hotch was nervous he might be.

"Excuse are you Mr. Hotchner?"

He's pretty in person Hotch thinks. More real. More warm. He's bright-looking but not cocky. Fair featured but no vain. He could reach out his hand and Hotch would near before him to kiss it without even thinking.

"Yes, you must be the nanny."

"Ahuh. Would you like to go over the details of what you need me to do while your away?"

Hotch smiles. He has no clue why but it feels natural.

"Of course."

Hotch leads him through the house explain everything he needs from the house care side of things.

"-and if you can't try to fold the blankets to fit in properly I'd be really thankful."

"Of course. What about your son?"

"Jack spends most of the day at school. He still in k-8 and does sometimes need homework help. He can make his own food but often prefers it made. He has 2-3 hours of screen time weekdays and 4 on weekends. He'll want to call me when I'm out of town which you can also do if you need anything."

He nods. Simple kid.

"He always wants to come along on grocery trips and basically anytime you leave the house."

Hotch hands him the house keys.

"And most importantly he'll ask for want he wants and his bedtime is 8:30."

"Got it. I call you at night if I have questions."

"Daddy?"

The two turn to see a sleepy toddler standing in door way. His spider-man pj's frumbled from napping.

"Hey Jack buddy, this is your new babysitter. He'll be here all day till I come back in the evenings so you don't have to be alone at home."

Jack looks up. Hotch feels the two smiling at eachother. His heart is aching know Jack is already bonding with the nanny. This have been a good idea.

"I have to go home today Jack but I'll see you again tomorrow ok?"

"Ok! Can we play with my Lego pirates."

"We can play whatever you want to Jack."

Hotch loves that smile on Jack. The innocent love. His boy is safe.

"Hotch? We have an emergency."

"What is it J.J.?"

"Ten victims all male in their 20s and the unsub is moving."

"I'll be there in ten mintues."

Hotch's body knows the routine of his morning work runs so well it work on autopilot.

Lastly he kisses Jack's sleeping head and text his new nanny 8 words.

"Flying for work for at least a week."

He'll get what I mean Hotch thinks before he stops himself. Why is he so sure? He doesn't even know the guy and he is trusting him like an old friend already. That's not good but Hotch can't seem to stop himself. He doesn't trust easily but something about him is so safe. So at home at ease. Hotch hates how his walls are just gone the moment he met a pretty man who takes care of his son. Hotch hopes he'll stay.

"He's targeting men who seem successful in love. Men with kids and partners and well paying jobs. Young man living how he wants to live. And he does it through robbery and hold ups. He is choosing targets on the fly."

"Where do we thinking he is making his way to?"

"Maybe his home or his get away car. I don't think he can keep this up for too long and I know he thinks that too."

At the hotel Hotch picks up his nightly call.

"How's your nanny been buddy?"

"I love daddy! He is super smart and he knew all about the history for my test on Tuesday and he makes such good pasta and he read me all the books I have trouble with!"

Hotch feel his stomach twist again. Just like a dad.

"That's great buddy. I'm glad you like him so much."

"He is gonna be my new best friend."

"I'm sure he will sweets now you need to good to bed."

"Ok, Goodnight daddy."

"Sleepwell Buddy. I love you."

"Love you too!"

He's safe. He's for the first time Hotch feels confident in thinking that Jack is really safe and happy. He sleeps better that night then he has in a while.

"Unsub is now in Virginia and he's getting risky. Going straight for our home now. He might even be there at this moment."

"So we came out here just to go home?"

"No, we came out here to know for certain he is home. Let's go."

Jack had asked to come along to the Cafe. He had followed his nanny to the counter and was rewarded with a small pink lemonade.

"Have you ever tried limeade or just lemon?"

He shakes his head no.

"Never liked lime. Too sour."

He chuckles.

"I like a lot of sour things especially ones that have some sweet in them."

"Everyone get on the floor! This is a hold up and if everyone behaves no one will get hurt."

Jack looks up confused and then frighten.

"Nanny?"

"Comere Jack. Everything will be alright."

"We've tracked him to a Cafe he's holding up. Swat is on their way but we don't time on our side."

"How fast can we get there?"

"20."

"20 is not fast enough."

"You, with the blonde kid. Move up here."

His arms wrap around Jack and gently lead them both to the front.

"Give him to me."

"No."

His breathing hitches.

"I'm not letting you near him. You'll have to take me first."

The click of the handriffle echoed in his ears before he felt the the world go black.

When the room came back into focus he realized he was in the ER. His chest was burning. He could feel the dizziness bringing him in and out of blurry awareness.

"Hey, just rest, you're really injured."

"Jack.. what about Jack?"

"He's safe with his father."

A knock at the door interrupts them.

"Hello Doctor is it OK for me to see him?"

"Mr. Hotch? Is that you?"

Hotch leans over the hospital bed brush some hair.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse."

"Worse than shot?"

He giggled even though it hurt.

"Yeah. I'm better knowing Jack is safe."

"He was really scared for you, so was I. You don't know how much it means to me that you put yourself in such danger for my boy."

"I'd do it again."

Hotch felt strange. On one hand he was deeply relieved that he was safe but such a close call had his nerves in a twist. It was like a weight had been added to his psyche. Hotch couldn't let anything happen to him. He felt protective.

"How is he?"

"Exhausted but ok."

"Hotch I know he is just your nanny but you seem pretty worried."

"I can't help but be. He nearly died keeping Jack safe. I don't know what could've happened if I hired someone less bare. This whole time I've felt so.... connected with him. Like he is someone who I can trust."

"Does Agent Aaron Hotchner have a slight crush."

Oh no.

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x male reader #aaron hotchner x male reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds x male reader #criminal minds x reader

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

Alright everyone, buckle up. My Susan post talks about what happens to her after the story unfolds.

But what about the rest of the Pevensies?

Today, Lucy. ________________________________________

Lucy misses Narnia with every breath she takes.

England holds no magic, nothing as exasperating as the call of the fauns, the thrill of battle, the lightness that comes when she drinks too much meade.

Lucy comes back to an England in the middle of a war, is told to put up and shut up. Gone are the country days; Lucy is prepared for a normal life. And she manages. Mostly.

Because despite the quick wit and the inner light, that has only grown stronger, England can make little sense of the girl. A girl much wilder than the rest of them, much more polite.

Lucy takes to boarding school like a fish takes to dry land. No teacher ever sees the girl watching the board, and yet she never misses a word. Other girls do not understand her, this girl that only speaks in riddles and never wears shoes when it isn't mandatory.

Lucy, full of Aslan's words and eager to make something of herself, tries, really tries, to be friends with her schoolmates.

But her maturity goes far beyond being ahead on the school material. Her sense of morals and silver tongue do not allow for the backstabbing, gossiping girls that every boarding school has to cast her out, but she doesn't really belong, neither.

Everyone knows Lucy always listens. Few stay in her company long enough to figure out she also understands. No 13 year old girl should know that much about the war economy. Or about anything, really.

She's wild. Her books are full of drawings, her speech contains figures of speech no one has ever heard.

At school they take self-defense lessons one day -the war could come to England, after all- and Lucy cleaves a wooden block clean in two.

Her partner doesn't even see her move her leg.

Lucy always lifts her finger when drinking tea, has never broken a promise. She sits straight up in her chair, doesn't make a single error when she speaks. She doesn't get into fights with other girls, no matter how hard they try. It is impossible to outmanouver her verbally.

Everyone wonders if her brothers taught her to curse along with the debate training she has obvioulsy had.

Well-behaved isn't the word; Lucy is peculiar.

The only one who gets it, aside from Susan, is her dancing instructor. The man had taught royalty, ages ago. He moves four times the pace with her as he does with the rest of the class. There is an elegance to her, once you get used to the wandering eyes and the bare feet.

Lucy moves like a hurricane on legs. He teaches her tango, ballroom. Soon he has nothing to offer but better instructors. Lucy never misses a step. When dancing, her eyes are blazing. She is a district champion before the age of 14; on course to be a world champion before 18.

The old man does tell stories, however. Of when he was a young man, when he taught the queen. Lucy only feels alive then.

She moves through the years normally. In time, girls come to respect her maturity, learn not to ask who taught her how to ride horses and dance and throw knives. Lucy is always positive, rarely without a smile. She's not diplomatic like her sister. People come to her nonetheless. It feels impossible to remain somber in her presence. Yet she stays ahead of her peers. She isn't mature earlier, but rather just more.

Like she's lived another life.

The boys take notice, too. She has an inner light that shines very brightly, seems to believe in and embody magic. They try to woo her during gala's and dancing competitions, making bets among themselves who can get her to dance. Rarely do they succeed; Lucy sees through them almost instantly. Only when true and without ulterior motive does she accept invitations for dinner, drinks or dancing. And not without reason; a kiss from her is a nightcap unlike anything else.

Lucy's and the Pevensies' personal history becomes somewhat of an urban legend. Everyone has a theory, no one ever knows. One of the girls gets the bright idea to steal Lucy's diary from her room when she is away, but the stories are in a language none of them can read.

The next day, the girl doesn't show up. She's suddely gotten acne so bad she needs to take medication for it. Lucy's diary remains untouched for the rest of her years in the boarding school.

She has strange friends. Old professors, middleaged women, younger acquitances. They are all wild and like her. Among themselves they speak a language no one understands. Everyone thinks it must be an As(l)ian one.

The bond with her sister deteriorates over the years; at the end of her time there they are not close like they were at the beginning. Every girl in her dorm has a crush on one of the Pevensie brothers, however. They visit often, seem taller than they should.

Lucy smiles and dances and flirts and lives. But she is the one that misses magic the most. She sees the looks, feels the distance. She is the sun, but while everyone feels her warmth, none come too close.

When the spectre appears to warn them of problems in Narnia she finally feels like herself again. A queen of old, called on for aid. She jumps at the chance. She finds the rings, gets on the train.

When it crashes, she is thinking of Narnia.

#narnia meta #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #lucy pevensie #susan pevensie #lucy pevensie fanfic

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Cogito, ergo sum

from Latin "I think, therefore I am"

Basim Ibn Ishaq x GN!reader

Prompt: Basim survives the temple

Warnings: Implied NSFW at the end

Word count: around 4k (big boi)

The cliff is his safe space.

It has been ever since he first arrived at Alamut. You remember meeting the young man he used to be, a clumsy thief with a shy stubble that paled in comparison to the beard he’d grown throughout his training. It made him look wiser, you supposed. And wise he was, for he was educated by none other than the silence of the mountains and the sword of Roshan.

He was a smart man, but going into the temple was not a smart choice at all. Roshan had tried to stop him and failed. She walked out of the temple with a limp, holding her shoulder and her side as her head hung low in shame – defeated by her own student, her son, in a way. She couldn’t bear to look you and the other novices in the eye. 

But that was okay, because you couldn’t look at her either. You couldn’t look away from the mountain that stood tall before you all, the grinning cave that held Basim’s life over your heads.

He wasn’t coming back, Roshan said. You didn’t listen. Didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the novice who tried to pull you away from the cave. You heard your mentor’s footsteps grow distant as the murmurs of the hidden ones mourned a new loss. You’d almost joined in their whispered prayer when you saw it – a wheezing figure stepping out of the cavern, hand pressed against the rock as they kept their gaze low. You rushed to meet them halfway.

It was him. Basim. The matted jet black hair was hard to miss, along with his beige and blue robes. His brown doe eyes flickered and met yours, but before you could reach him, he put his hand up and yelled at you to stay away. His stance had become defensive, a shaky hand resting on the handle of his sword, as his eyes watched you and your friends with wariness.

You frowned; called out his name and watched as the grip on his sword tightened. Those eyes of his didn’t regard you with the same warmth they used to. They were scared, angry, and untrusting. His lips that would smile so often were pulled down into a snarl and his brows were etched into a scowl. His body, once so sure and confident in his walk, trembled under your gaze. 

Before you could say anything, he ran. He climbed up the cliff with the expertise of a man who had endured years of training, or with the velocity of a lizard who feared for his life. The tails of his robes whipped in the wind when he reached the summit and disappeared from your view.

But he hadn’t run away. He lingered in his trusted spot by the cliffside. Rayhan would watch him from his tent and study his behavior. In the mornings, Basim would sit to meditate. It wouldn’t last long before he’d start to pace, hands in his hair before he’d yell up at the sky, fall to his knees, and throw rocks against the floor. After his fit, he’d try to sit still again, fail, and do it all over again.

When night fell, he’d crawl down the cliffside and rummage through the baskets of food you and the other novices had purposely prepared for him. He avoided you like the plague – whatever had happened inside that temple, whatever he’d seen, had shook him to his core. It was enough to haunt his mind even when one of his old friends attempted a conversation with him during one of his nightly visits, and he’d only granted them a glare. You kept your distance, watching from your seat near the fire, when he looked at you, frowned, and left to return to his cliff again.

It broke your heart. He loved that cliff, he’d found peace there during his troubled past, but now it only seemed to isolate him. But that was the point of meditation, wasn’t it? Keeping the world out, silencing your mind? If it worked for him then, why couldn’t it work now?

He needs time, Rayhan told you one day. You both watched from his tent as Basim had finally settled down after pacing for hours – he sat criss-crossed, hands resting on his lap as he breathed out. He lasted 3 hours like that. You found yourself smiling at the sight.

Maybe meditation did work.

Months go by. Winter greets Alamut with a snowstorm that would put the Gods to shame, but the canyon protects your stalls, tents, and beds from the howling wind above. You think the harsh temperatures will lure Basim down from his lair, but you grow concerned when the snow starts to pelt down on you and there is no sign of him anywhere. The spare pelts and blankets in your tent call out to you, and without thinking it much, you strap them to your back and go look for him.

You find him halfway through your climb. He was smart enough to flee from the icy winds in the mountains, and found shelter in a little panhole on the side of the cliff. He’s setting up his own tent when you call out his name. He turns to face you with a bewildered look, like it’s his first time seeing another human in his life, when you give him the folded blankets and pelts.

“You’re going to need these.”

He takes them from you, eyes flickering over your face, and whispers a soft thank you.

You give him a small smile, because those two words are enough to make your heart soar and jump around – but you don’t want to scare him. You’re about to leave when he says your name.

“How are you still here?”

You shrug.

“I never left.”

He frowns at that, although it’s not the same frown he wore when he first came out of the cave. It’s the kind of frown that tells you he’s thinking, mulling over your words, wanting to believe them. You believe them, because you know the Hidden Ones would never leave him behind like that; and without saying much more, you part ways again.

The snow melts and gives way to the blooming flowers. You’re helping Rebekah fix the handle of a sword when someone taps your shoulder – Basim stands behind you, giving you a quick smile that barely peeks out of his blue scarf. It disappears just as quick as it comes, but it leaves you breathless nonetheless.

He asks about Rayhan’s whereabouts, and you can only point him in the right direction as words fail you. It’s the first time you see him talking to others of his own volition; and when he leaves after voicing his gratitude, you turn to look at your blacksmith friend. She’s looking at you slack-jawed.

Basim starts coming down more often since then. Just a month ago, he’d joined you by the campfire while Nur told a story. You’d patted the empty seat next to you, and when his lips stretched into his usual warm smile, your heart squeezed.

You’d missed him.

Speaking of Nur, you saw him talking to Basim on the cliff just this morning. They were rekindling their friendship as Nur showed him the tapestry he’d been working on all winter. If he’d gone up there unannounced, maybe you could try talking to Basim too, right?

That’s exactly what you do. I’m in control of the story.

He’s sitting close to the edge, looking at the setting sun, when you stop behind him. He spares you a glance, as if he’d been expecting you, before patting the empty spot next to him, just like you had done with him. You carefully sit down when he speaks.

“It looks beautiful from here, does it not?”

You hum and nod. “I  can see why you like it so much.”

“It is very freeing to experience life from these heights. Down there, we’re so small.”

Your lips stretch into a smile – he’s starting to sound like himself again, with his wise and philosophical words. It itches at the thorn that’s been stuck in your heart since he grew distant from you all, and you find your words leaving you before you can register them.

“I missed you.”

His expression falters at that, and a saddened tint floods his gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do. I was not myself when I left that cave.” he whispers, grimacing. “I was never myself, it seems.”

You stretch your legs out, nudging his boot with yours. He smiles wryly at your attempt to comfort him.

“What makes you think that?”

“What was revealed to me at the temple…” he gestures with his hand, but no words come out, and he promptly drops it. “My life was not meant for me to live.”

“I do not understand.”

“You must think me mad. Even now, I do not quite believe it myself.” he scoffs, eyes glazing over. “I was just a vessel, a fool fighting against nature.”

There is not much you can do for him, you think. Not much you can understand, either. Until Basim doesn’t fully capture what troubles his mind, you doubt you’ll be able to get through his defenses. But with him, it’s different. Basim sows and reaps, builds and destroys – the walls he’s built around himself stand tall before you, but they’re no match for him. They’re like overgrown weeds he needs to pull out. In his novice years, he used to speak of the power and danger of one’s own mind; and he seemed to be heeding his advice even after all this time, for he continued to speak despite your silence.

“There was this… machinery inside the temple. Nehal told me to open it, and when I did–” he swallows. “It was pain after pain, memories that threatened to claim me, fears that broke my very soul. And then, when I was begging for it all to end, praying to be let out– Nehal wasn’t there anymore.”

You frown. “Your friend?” he nods in response.

“She was never there.”

“She was gone?”

“She wasn’t real.”

He rakes his hand through his hair as he hisses through his teeth, like the revelation itself burdens his heart soul. You watch in awe at the raw display of emotions as he frowns and his hoarse voice speaks up once more.

“I lived a lie. It was all my fault. I killed the Caliph, I dug my own grave, led myself into the very trap fate had woven for me.” 

A tentative hand rests on his forearm, and you squeeze to break him out of his trance. Basim turns to look at you, bearing the look of a man drowning in despair and needing it all without knowing what he yearns for. 

“And yet, you live.” you whisper.

He sighs in return. “I live.”

“I understand why you were so defensive when you left the cave.”

He shakes his head, looking at the setting sun that paints the sky in a purple hue.

“I thought I was imagining you all. Sometimes, I fear I still do.” he looks at you, frowning. “If I believed Nehal was real my entire life, what was stopping me from believing you were real, too?”

“I don’t recall ever meeting your friend.” you think out loud. “Did she ever interact with anyone other than you?”

“She was a very private person.” he speaks like he misses her. “Nehal didn’t like meeting new people.”

You give him a sad smile. Even in the face of reality, it’s hard letting go of a beautiful lie.

“But you see us talking to other people. I talk to you, but also to Fuladh, or the merchants in Baghdad. They’re real - and I’m real too.”

“For the longest time, I thought maybe I was imagining it all. That you were all a fragment of my imagination.” he shakes his head. “I failed to see the line that separated reality from fiction. When I was in that temple, I thought my entire life was a lie. I was trapped in a void, but then I saw this light - and I ran and ran, thinking I could escape from it all.”

Basim is ranting now as the words come more naturally to him. His gestures become more frantic as he turns to look at you, eyes wide like the day you saw him stumble out of the cave.

“But then I saw you, and I thought I was still trapped. Eventually with time, I came to think you would all disappear.” he stops, and his gaze softens. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You whisper. “I’m here.”

His eyes linger on you for a moment, before he nods and looks at the horizon again. The sky is dark by now, and you smile at the memory of Basim teaching you and your friends about astronomy. He’d learnt it all when he taught himself to read in the House of Wisdom, but unlike the scholars that demanded an audience to witness their greatness, Basim taught for the pleasure of teaching. Whatever he’d read during his time in Baghdad or witnessed in his past lives had definitely made him wiser beyond his years. If there is a God, he’s been generous with Basim – all that knowledge has fallen into the right hands.

But his usual passion for the stars is dormant now. You glance at him, taking note of his silence as he resumes his meditation, and take that as your sign to give him some space again. You’re sitting up when you feel his hand grasping your forearm, but when you look at him again, he doesn’t react. But the hand doesn’t relent either, and so, you decide to settle down again.

It’s quiet between you, and it makes his whispered words so much louder. They’re a promise of a better future.

I missed you, too.

Summer comes and goes, and trees start to shed their yellowed cloaks again when Basim decides to move out of the cliff. It’s a misty morning, courtesy of the rainy weather in autumn, when you see him walking down the slope towards your tent. He’s carrying his rolled-up mattress and tent with him, sparing you a smile when you approach him with a big grin of your own. Perhaps your excitement is a bit too palpable, because his brows raise in amusement when you ask to help him carry his things – but you’re too distracted to notice, ranting about an oh-so convenient spot right next to your tent, and he promptly follows after you.

But the muddy slope demands a sacrifice, and your foot slips in front of you. Years of training abandon you as you reach for the slippery boulder next to you, but you miss once more. A hand holds you by your cloak, but it’s too late, you’re falling forward and hoping the mattress in your arms will break your fall, and then – the mattress grunts?

You look up, feeling the familiar fabric of robes under your cheek. Basim has taken the brunt of the fall, cupping the back of your head with his hand as his other arm wraps around you. It’s almost comical when you both look at each other, slowly sliding down the last inches of the slope as your robes get caked with mud. And then, he laughs.

It’s a low chuckle, but it makes his chest shake nonetheless – you can feel it reverberating beneath you, and you find yourself grinning at the sound. You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve heard it in over a year.

So much for a Hidden One, he says. You huff in response, shifting in his embrace when you feel the hoop of your belt digging into you, but not leaning too far away from him either.

His eyes are lidded now, and his smile has softened. You can’t look away. Basim’s hand reaches up and his thumb brushes the corner of your brow, removing dirt from your face, you assume – but all he manages to do is smear it even more.

You don’t really care about the mud, anyway. Something has changed between you two, and you’re sure he can feel it, too. It’s obvious in the way he refuses to let go of you, the way he looks at you. You tell yourself that the mud is heavy on your back, that it weighs you down and pulls you closer to him – and he doesn’t resist it either, especially not when his lips barely brush against yours. You’re about to press closer when Rebekah’s voice speaks behind you two.

“Is the floor comfortable?”

Winter is relentless once more. You’ve all hitched your tents closer to one another to preserve warmth, even knitted some more scarves to protect yourselves from the chilling bite of the wind. The bonfire is bigger than ever, it could easily give your location away to your enemies, but only fools would venture all the way to Alamut during wintertime and expect to survive – both the weather and a clan of trained assassins. 

You’re more than safe, both from outsiders and the elements. Your hidden blade is always strapped to your forearm, and as for the elements? There 's Basim.

He makes sure to save you a spot by the fire, and has a woolen blanket for those particularly colder nights. Sometimes, when he’s feeling extra nice, he offers you a cup of tea, too.

His tent is right next to yours and you always catch him reading a book late at night or early in the morning, swaddled under the bundle of blankets. He can always tell someone is watching him, and when he makes eye contact with you, he never fails to give you a wink.

It’s an ongoing thing. You really don’t know what’s happening – but you get your answers soon enough.

The fire that keeps Alamut warm needs to be fed, and Rayhan refuses to have people venturing out into the snowstorm alone to collect firewood. Thus, he sends you in pairs, for two people can look out for each other and carry more wood back to the tents. 

You’re used to the ruthless weather in Alamut – sandstorms are no match for you, nor the heaviest of rains. But there is something about snow that weakens and tires your body without even trying. You’re shoving the wood into your robes and arms before the cold catches up to you, but your movements become slower with each second, and Basim notices. He grabs your bicep and raises his voice over the hissing gale, signaling that it’s time to go back.

You don’t remember how much time you’ve spent outside, but when you return to the shelter, your damp robes are weighing down on you. The cold has seeped in, stiffening your limbs, and you promptly drop the wood close to the fire to dry for tomorrow.

The warmth in your tent has never been so inviting. The small torch lit by your mattress is the only source of light, bathing the space in a dim orange hue as you change out of your robes and put on some dry ones. It’s still cold, and the goosebumps on your skin make you hiss when the sensation of a hundred needles pricks your skin.

Someone clears their throat outside your tent before the tent flap is lifted – Basim is standing there, now wearing dry robes too. He smiles at you when you greet him and he nods at your damp clothes.

“I put mine by the fire to dry. Do you want to give me yours?”

You nod and he leaves with your robes in hand, but returns soon after with a bronze cauldron in hand and a towel on his shoulder. You eye him, confused, and it’s only when he sets it down before you that you notice the steam coming from the water inside.

“Nur thought we could use it to get warm.” he explains as he sits down next to you. He grabs the towel and dips it into the cauldron before wringing it out, getting rid of the excess water. 

“That’s nice of him.” you smile.

“It certainly is.”

He holds the damp towel out to you, but you frown.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You don’t have a towel?”

He huffs out a laugh at that, shrugging.

“He only gave me one. You take it.”

“No, no – you take it, Basim.”

“I have not come here to argue with you.” he whispers, and presses the towel closer. “Besides, you need to get warm more than I do. You seemed to be struggling out there.”

He 's right. The needles on your skin dig deeper when the hot steam dances before your eyes, so close yet so far away. You’re about to take the towel from him when you feel a soft warmth blooming on your temple.

Basim gently presses the towel onto your skin, eyeing your locks, now damp from the melted snow. Your body immediately reacts to the touch – the needles ease, your fingertips tingle, and against your better judgment, you lean into his touch. 

The cotton moves down your face, where Basim softly caresses your cold cheeks. Warm droplets roll down, but they soothe and feed the bumps on your skin, like flowers craving water after a dry summer day.

This isn’t something that the other paired novices did for each other when they went out looking for wood. 

But Basim isn't like the others, is he? He stands out from them in the way he thinks, speaks, cares for others, looks at you, touches you. 

The heat from the towel tickles your skin, or perhaps it’s your own cheeks burning at the revelation. He moves down to carefully rub the silky cotton around your neck, easing the cold that has nestled there and weakened your voice. His body leans slightly closer to gain better access, and his other hand rests on your knee for support. Without thinking it twice, you nestle his hand between yours.

It’s cold, much colder than you expected, but you feel it relax in your hold when your fingers intertwine with his. He continues to bathe your skin with the warm towel, eyes following every motion as your gaze is trained in your conjoined hands. It’s been minutes now, and you can’t feel him warming up yet, but your body is burning under his touch and attention. Your mind is foggy, your tongue loose, and your words tumble out before you can stop them.

“You should get warm, too.”

The towel pauses, but then you hear him hum. His eyes are on you now, lidded, you notice – and they slowly trail down the peak of your nose, down the cupid’s bow, all the way to your lips. They remain fixed there, fluttering when he notices you lean closer, and he whispers back.

“Maybe I should.”

Your lips brush against each other, just like that day at the muddy slope. But there is no one around to interrupt the two of you, no storm to keep you apart; and with a shaky exhale, Basim’s lips lock with yours.

He is a patient man by nature, but this kiss – it cries of overdue affection. You’re kissing like this is the only thing that can satiate your hunger, a hunger beyond the carnal dimension. It’s the kind of need that has been boiling up to this point for months, years, even – long before he’d stepped foot in that cave. It was always there, dormant.

The towel drops to the ground with a thump. His hands find your hips and cup your cheek as your breathing quickens, and he only spares you a second to breathe before he starts to pepper kisses along your jaw. Your hands find his scalp and you gently massage it with your nails, making him groan against your skin; and when his hand sneaks under your blouse, you smile at the warmth his touch now radiates.

The next time he kisses you, he tastes like glass. Like there are broken shards that cut his tongue and make his words bleed while he sings you praises. The illusion is broken, the mirror destroyed; for his touch is real, he is real, and so are you, and so are the kisses that you keep stealing from each other.

Your arms wrap together and bring you closer to each other as he pushes you back against your mattress. The cauldron is long forgotten, the warm water no longer needed as you both breathe the same hot air and look at each other like you’re drunk on wine. Soon, your clothes come off, strewn somewhere on the floor. You lose yourself in the embrace of love, lips swollen and unrelenting; and in the privacy of a flimsy tent, you and Basim become whole again.

#assassins creed #assassins creed valhalla #assassins creed mirage #basim ibn ishaq #basim ibn ishaq x reader #basim ibn ishaq x you #ac basim #ac mirage #ac mirage x reader #basim x reader #assassins creed loki #assassins creed headcanons #ac headcanons #ac mirage headcanons #assassins creed mirage headcanons

[veintrry]

winter greetings and their departures.

wanderer x gn!reader, sweet & soft fluff, emotional angst, loss, memory loss.

warning! minor spoilers for wanderers backstory and major spoilers for 3.3 sumeru story quest. 4.3k words.

an: hi this is me b4 writing this and i feel like this is gonna ruin me.

edit: I'm ruined. I hate everything. part 2!

There was never much that Winter would bring to Snezhnaya, after all, it was always winter here. From the piping hot delicacies, the layers of clothing, the deep inches of snow. You practically didn't need to wait for Winter to come. However, what it does bring is gifts, and one day you received a puppet at your doorstep, unbeknownst to you that is.

A couple of weeks ago you had found a boy slumped up against the wall of your house. Seeing this as you hummed to yourself planning to spend the day shopping, you obviously were surprised at the figure that donned a large hat and light clothing sat unconscious against the wall. At first you had assumed that maybe it was a drunk who didn't know better, however, after feeling his temperature, you decided to leave the pondering for later.

After a tough struggle of getting him into your home, you laid him on your couch, draping him in multiple blankets. Immediately after doing so you put a hand to feel for his pulse but nothing came through and panic surged through your body. You tried feeling for his heart but nothing beat underneath your palm and there was no sign of his chest ever having been raising up and down, even back when you found him outside. Had he died out in front of your house that long ago? You felt guilty for not being there soon enough but you were wondering just for how long had he been out there? Why did no one help?

You didn't exactly know what to do till you saw him open his eyes, sending your body stumbling backwards as you yelped form the horrifying sight. He's dead. He's meant to be dead. "Who the hell are you?" This doesn't happen to dead people does it? God, please, what possession occurred within your home? "You're alive?" You inched near him. "Of course I'm alive, have you ever seen a dead person before or should I show you one?" Despite his threats you were relieved to know he was well, "Oh my god, you're alive." You say as the weight leaves your shoulders. "I couldn't feel your heartbeat so I thought you had died by now." You don't notice the way his face scrunched at your words.

"Who are you?" You know, he was awfully direct for someone who was drunk prior. "I'm the person who had to drag you out of the freezing cold." You tell him your name as you expect a form of thanks or emotional gratitude but it never comes. "Do you want me to get on my knees and pledge loyalty to you?" Maybe you should've left him to die.

—

But you didn't, that's why you were here now, eating dinner together like you do every day.

You came to find that the young man, who's name you came to find out is Scaramouche, was not as bad as you thought he was despite his horrible personality. In fact, he was good company once you adapted to his way of speaking. He clearly isn't as direct about his emotions as you thought he was.

You would say you two had become good friends since the incident that occurred, although, he's never really told you how he ended up there. You always thought he was too embarrassed to admit what occurred, after all he has a lot of pride, but you've come to realise he doesn't enjoy alcohol, not unless he seems to be in a bad mood. You never wished to pry onto what happened for him to end up in such a state so you let it be.

"It tastes good right?" The question leaves your mouth excitedly as you expect to be praised. It had been the first time you were the one who made dinner because ever since the first time he met you he decided you were too careless and 'might try to poison him' if he lets you do the cooking. But, after some haggling, you managed to persuade him. Most likely because he seems to have grown a soft spot for you. "It's fine."

Your spoon hitting the bottom of the bowl. A silence overcame the room. The dish before you two was goulash, but not just any goulash, no, it was Your Special Goulash recipe. You had mastered this recipe to perfection, no, more than perfection, it is a goulash so good the Archons would be astounded. "Liar." You bitterly said. "What, you seek more praise?" He spoke, his voice was somewhat laced sweetly with honey as though to further taunt you. "Yes. Yes, I do. This is years of work, it is more than fine, it is magnificent!" You take strong pride in your skills when it comes to cooking and it won't be undermined. "I think it's pretty average." "Average?!" You repeated with astoundment.

One could say you were almost this close to jumping over the table at this blasphemy. He was clearly taking much amusement in your behaviour. "Yeah, I bet I could make a better gou-" His sentence is cut short by a spoon being forced into his mouth and he feels the warm liquid seep into his mouth, the seasonings it carries covering his tongue. His gaze stays stuck to your hands and his eyes are wide. You could easily tell he was astounded and you began to smile happily, but his shock didn't come from what you thought it did. He raised his sights onto you, and your stupid face.

Scaramouche felt his face grow warmer, and it wasn't frustration at your actions but something else. You take note of this and your eyes seem to glimmer, at this he pulls your hand away from him, thereby removing the spoon as he swallows. "So you do like it!" You're so dumb. Such an idiot you are. His hand is raised to his face as he mumbles something but you don't hear him, and you ask him to repeat it, repeat what you know will be the praise you deserve. "I said...It's too hot."

"...What." You stand still, disappointed once more. "It's goulash, it's meant to be hot!" And to your surprise, he mimics the same volume as you. "Well, it's too hot!" "You just don't know genius when you see it!" Taking a seat back down harshly. "Ha! I see it in the mirror every day." Crossing his arms as he bites his bottom lip, as though trying to keep his own resistance against something, making himself appear frustrated despite the colour of his ears. "You wish. Just eat up." You huff, biting your own food.

"Whatever." And he does the same as you, but with each bite he takes he stays more and more focused on what you did. You're so careless. Do you ever think prior to acting? He chuckles to himself, and you raise a brow but don't ask anything.

You both continue to eat peacefully.

—

Scaramouche had begun to act oddly. It's small things he does that have changed.

He used to cling onto you, he wouldn't directly ask for it but you'd give him it and he'd welcome it despite his complaints that you're too touchy, "You better not do this with anyone else." He'd say to you. And whenever you tried to leave his grip he'd pull you back in, asking you what you thought you were doing leaving him like that. He used to always keep you in his sights, he'd stay reading a book somewhere in the room just to make sure he can also keep an eye on you. But now, he seems too busy, too worried, with something, you aren't entirely sure what. You've asked him about his behaviour but he brushes it off, acting as though you're imagining things.

You question why he feels more distant nowadays, why even after having known each other for a long time now it feels like you're back to being strangers. Despite always being the more honest one out of the two you didn't want to admit to him that you missed having him there, with you. Yes, you two still lived together, but, although you don't want to admit it, you missed his touch.

It's an odd thing to say that you lost someone when they're always with you, it's kind of like having an anchor tied to you, yet the rope isn't tied around you, it is in you. You are one.

You wanted to figure out what's wrong, to sort things out. So you decided you'd try again, that you would do your best.

"Scara?" You called, peaking your head into his room. His answer was quick and to the point, not bothering to stare back at you. "What is it? I'm working on something." You pranched towards where he was sitting, attempting to peer over his shoulder, glimpsing at what he was working on before he abruptly hid it. You feel your brows furrow as you bite your tongue. Why was it that he suddenly began keeping things from you? You can recount exactly when it started. It wasn't like he shared everything with you, nor did you expect him to, but he didn't go out of his way like this.

You straightened your back. It was better to simply be straightforward with him. "What are you hiding?" Your voice was flat, there is no reason for there to be anything other than suspicion. "Nothing." Quick as always to cover up, but unlike other times he might have lied to you, this time his eyes didn't meet yours, they stayed focused on the ground.

You fisted your hands, annoyance surged through your body, but another part of you felt differently. You felt disappointed, not in him, but yourself. You somehow felt you had done something to cause this, to have him leave you behind. It felt slightly hollow. How can you blame him when you want to so badly just forgive him for whatever it is?

"Scara," You started, and the words threatened to never continue sounding out, to stay confined in your throat, suffocating you. But once he glanced up at you, anticipation in his orbs, you knew he was aware, aware that he had done something. If so, why hasn't he done anything regarding it? Regarding how he neglected you. You barely eat together anymore, he's too busy. "Please, just tell me, what's wrong?"

Truth is, he did wish to tell you, but then your idea of him would shatter. Everything you saw would fall apart. He can't have that, he doesn't want you to hate him, he can't take that. "Is it something I did?" No, no, no. God, no. He finds himself denying it repeatedly in his mind, the guilt seeping into his body, realising that you might have been blaming yourself the entire time. The last thing he'd want is for you to denounce yourself in his stead. He knows what he's doing. He knows what he has been doing to you and he knows it's cruel and awful, but he has to, he has to. He's done worse so why was this most bothersome for him?

"Did I ever say that?"

"No, you didn't. But, what else am I meant to think." You were the one who suffered the consequences of his actions. He expired a heavy breath, before admitting his thoughts, putting aside his usual act. "You're right. No, you didn't do anything. You never did. I'm simply caught up with some stuff."

"What stuff? You keep saying you're busy but you never tell me what. I'm… starting to get worried. I don't know what you're doing but if you have to go out of your way to hide it from me then it mustn't be good."

He didn't respond, only blankly blinking at you. It was hard to figure out what he was thinking till he stood up, his following words cut through not only the tension that had built up but you as well.

"I plan on leaving."

"What, where?! Why?!" You couldn't wrap your head around why he'd make such a plan, or why he would have to, nevertheless want to. "I have something I need to do. It's important to me." Important to him. Important to him? Why had he never mentioned it and why does he only bring it up now. He still continues to be discreet about his actions despite clueing you in with small tiny drops of information. But you didn't want the info, you wanted to know when it would end. "Then is it more important than you and I?"

It was as important on its own as he was. And since they were tied, if he were to say it is then he'd be saying he's worth more than you. He wouldn't want to put you down. No, you meant the world to him, you were so beautiful, you were wonderful and full of life but in a way he felt like he didn't deserve it, he didn't deserve this warmth, your warmth. You were the world but his vision was much bigger, he was a god, this is his birthright. If you'd listen to him, if you could understand, if you could trust him. Trust him blindly without a second thought. That's what he wishes to ask of you, he doesn't want to cause you any more pain but this is necessary for him to achieve. "Yes. It is."

He didn't need to hear your words to know how you felt, every part of your face said it. The misery, the burning, aching misery that swirled within those orbs of yours. How your body tensed, your jaw clenched tighter, and your brows raising higher in astonishment. A laugh leaves your throat, a scratchy bitter chuckle, and he hates it. "I see. Okay, I get it." It was clear he had already decided to dispose of you, that whatever this other thing was is more valuable, it matters most, not you. You feel as though you've been shot, the emptiness filled with disappointment and shame at him and yourself for ever thinking he'd have chosen you. You step away, and move towards the door. He says your name, it sounds almost pitiful, and you are hesitant to glimpse at him. You're weak, at this point what do you have to lose. You both know the end.

So you turn, you face him once more. Now you are the one to observe him, watch the way his face scrunches at your expression, how his fists are clenched. His mouth agape as no words leave his mouth yet you see it in his eyes, how he pleads you to stay, begs you to forgive him. You wish to think it isn't how he said it was. Scaramouche always had a tongue that defied his thoughts. But you wanted to hear him say it was you. It never came. No words came. Nothing but silent mouthing, as though he was whispering to you, knowing that if he spoke his voice would break. 'I love you.' And you see the way his shoulders drop, his orbs following the slightest of movements you make. You can't find it in yourself to say the words back. You only gaze at him as though he was the worst man you had known, and he might've been. To your disdain, you didn't hate him at that moment, you pitied him, and you hated yourself for feeling sympathy for that man.

You left without a word said, but you both knew each other well enough to know what you both were thinking.

After that, everything was quiet. There was no more tension. You didn't bother asking the Archons or a deity for help. What good would it be to ask a higher being for help, does that not only prove how dire your situation is, how pathetic it is? You didn't need the Archons, you will adapt as you always do.

One day, everything became all the more quiet. And you realised how much comfort you took in his company. You were truly alone now. It's just you.

You stare blankly at his door. You sit against it like you have done a thousand times, and you pretend he is just working again.

—

Not once did you enter his room. You didn't want to know what he took, because you feel its empty space in your chest, and you didn't care for what he left because you felt it in the silence as you monitored the items he touched for any traces of him like an owl, never blinking.

You were once again at his door, knocking thrice and awaiting any sound to erupt from the room but you only had the peace of no noise return. And yet you hated it, you felt frustrated. To you it was never placid because you could hear your thoughts echoing throughout the rooms, his name tormenting you, following you. How could one forget him, with a face like that, a personality so annoying like that? And yet you loved it; you loved him.

The day he left the snow had already erased all footprints he might've left behind, you would think that maybe that's why you feel his ghost here constantly. But it's likely your delusions.

Today, you'd enter. You wanted to feel him. To remember what it was like to have him. You didn't wish to forget him. The numbing coldness of the metal on your palm became evermore permanent as your hand seemed to refuse to budge. What had he done to have put me in such a state? You think it's funny.

You turn the knob, and push the door open.

White. So much white. The glacial weather was near enough to numb you, but that was not why you stood paralysed. You felt tears twinkle in your vision, before departing and travelling down your cheeks.

Snow. It's all snow.

He had left the window open. God, he probably never left out the door.

You stayed still as you processed this. Your mouth agape as your eyes stayed glued onto the sight before you.

It always snows in Snezhnaya, so why was this so much more painful?

It's torturous. It's horrible. It's pure torment. Yet it is such a beautiful sight to you, it is home to you and you hate it.

Your eyes wander around to where all the snow particles have fled to: The bed he slept on, the cabinets, his desk. The desk he worked at.

You walk closer, you feel your feet dip into the snow. You study his table, only a match, a bottle of ink, and a letter. He left a doll next to it.

You spent the entire day there, cleaning the snow out, and you left everything else untouched as you shut yourself in there just as he had, reading the letter where he had written it and then, you cried. You cried till your weeps went mute. Your attempts to stop your tears continuously failed. You hate him. Every aspect of him. And you hated how well you knew him.

—

'My dear,

I know it's shameful of me to say goodbye like this. I don't want to see what face you make.

I'm going to Sumeru, I'm going to fulfil what I was meant to be. Then, I'll come for you.

I'll be stronger then, I'll protect you from everyone, so this time let me save you instead. Wait for me, I won't take long.

I love you. Next time I see you I'll seriously say it. Thank you and I'm sorry, for all that I caused you. I'll make sure to repent with the rest of my life.

(I hope you like the puppet. It was made for you.)

Yours Truly,

Scara.'

—

It seemed that the weather only grew colder day by day in Snezhnaya. You had developed a pretty steady routine which was unusual for your normal self and today was your special day, today you got to spend a day treating yourself to all things nice. You've worked hard this week after all.

So, you walked out to the hallway dressed and ready to go, hurrying past the guest room and putting your shoes on, wrapping yourself with a scarf as your gloves turned the knob of your door. You leaped out of the house excitedly, only to catch yourself on your foot as you found someone standing at the right of your door.

A beautiful face was what you were met with, you felt the air knock out of you as you stumbled back. You didn't spot how the man smirked at the sight of this, nor would you know the relief it gave him to see you still the same. "Did I frighten you?" He wanted to test the waters, just out of curiosity, just so maybe, maybe it's fine, maybe you're an exception.

"No- I mean, yes? You did. I'm sorry, who are you?" For a second his face dropped into a sour expression, but he returned himself to his previous composer. "You ought to be ashamed. To think you'd forget me after I told you to wait for me." His words were a whisper but despite their gentle tone their weight laid heavy on him.

"Pardon? I couldn't hear you…"

He resented himself for what he was going to say and he was internally cringing and god he hates you for having him say something so dumb, but if this was a sick joke maybe he should appease you.

"I'm just a wanderer, that's all. Sorry, you wouldn't happen to know where I could find the best goulash?"

"The best goulash in Snezhnaya?! That's a hard thing to decide… Well, there's a diner down far by the town's heart. I'm heading there so you could join me if you'd like?"

Kind-hearted as always. An idiot to the core. But so was he for thinking that you'd offer him, a stranger, your secret recipe. Yeah, he should've cherished it when he had it. It was good, really good, and your face was pretty too, stupidly pretty.

He studied your outfit. Layered and thick as always, a contrast to his. You had yourself packed warm but that wasn't what he was focused on, you had a messenger bag strapped across your chest, and off it he saw the puppet he gave you. It was his.

"Where'd you get that?" He asked, pointing at it and ignoring your offer.

You found everything about this so-called wanderer odd. But when he asked about the puppet you had attached to your bag you couldn't quite recall when you got it. "I'm not sure… maybe it came with the bag? Sorry, is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, nothing else. One thing though," You piped your head up, and he swallowed his pride. He didn't want to lie to you, even if you don't remember it now, he doesn't want to lie to you. But he never realised how much of a difficult thing to say it was, especially when you don't remember. Could he say he loves you, does he have the right anymore?

"Wanderer?"

"I… love you." He could feel that same heat that would always arise within him coming back once fourth. He tilted his ichimegasa down to hide his face, spitting out his next words quickly. "I'll be departing now!" This had been the first time that you knew that you saw him flustered, or that you've met him which made his words more absurd to you, but you felt almost flattered to be told that by someone so pretty. It was such a simplistic way of thinking. Then his words register once more, and you look at the chained puppet, unlocking it as you gaze at it. How alike they were.

How strange, how weird it was, the gaps in your memories, the guest room in your house, the puppet that looks like him, him acting so weird towards you, so casual.

You begin to wonder if this was really a mistake.

—

Despite the flustered emotions he first felt, he quickly let them pass, realising you'd simply think nothing more of him than him being some creep. Ha, to think he'd settle for such a thing so easily.

To think he'd settle for this so easily. What was he meant to do? What should he do? Tears welled within his eyes as he walked, and he hoped that even if the snow covers his trails it never erases what's already beneath.

He made a gigantic mistake. One he has to atone with the rest of his life. Unfortunately, it appears it isn't with you. He was ready to spend the next hundred years being pestered by you. But to be rid of that was an even worse punishment.

The wanderer won't tamper with your life. He wouldn't do such a thing to you. Despite his many wants to, his need to be with you, he won't. Because it is he himself who made himself land in such a position. Maybe rather than having shown up like that he should've recreated everything from the beginning, maybe then you would behave just as your stupid self normally would. Supplying him with warmth, dumb comments, annoyance, affection, care, humanity. Humanity. God, you had already made him a person long ago.

What should he do, what should a lost wanderer do when his home doesn't look at him the same. When those familiar eyes only return an unknowing look, a clueless, foreign stare?

How long does it take to rebuild a home, to rebuild the love you once carried for him?

The snow continues to seep into the room like sand filling up an hourglass. The doors knob has icicles on its insides and the inks long gone solid. All that remains is the opened envelope and the letter it contained, with stained tears. Another tightly sealed letter beside it.

#i rewrote this 2 different times and the first was a totqlly different story i scrapped #wanderer #wanderer genshin #wanderer x reader #wanderer angst #genshin impact #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi angst #scara x reader #scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #genshin scara #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #genshin angst #scaramouche fluff #kunikuzushi fluff #wanderer fluff #i just proofread this and im in misery

[lil13]

pov: you and calum have been best friends for nearly 20 years, feelings for each other arrived about a year ago. so, after not seeing your best friends for over a year, you plan a visit to surprise them.

warnings: some language (that’s literally it, it is all fluff)

•

“Are you sure it’s okay?” You spoke into your phone as you walked down the streets of Sydney.

It was late-afternoon and you’d finished a day of school a couple hours prior, you taught a music class for the older kids at the school you’d once attended. You’d just finished a term for school and about to have an over two week break.

“Of course it is!” Crystal’s perky voice flooded the speaker, “I wouldn’t have planned this with you for the past month or so if it wasn’t, Y/N.”

She was right, there’s no way the plan would’ve gotten this far if it wasn’t plausible for you to join the boys for the last couple stops of tour. You’d grown up with the boys of 5 seconds of summer, attending school with them when you all were young. While they’d gone off to become a world-famous band, you finished your schooling and then went off to America for university.

Luckily for you, you’d chosen a university in Los Angeles, keeping you around the boys when they lived in the city between tours and while they wrote albums. But then, after graduation, you returned to Sydney, knowing that being a music teacher at your school was what you’d always wanted to do. There was no amount of protests from the boys that would stop you, you’d made your mind up.

You were always very sure of every decision you made and once you’d made your mind up there was no changing it. And they knew that.

“The boys are coming off stage at any minute now so we need to make this quick, but when does your flight get in?” Crystal had successfully confused you, then it clicked, you’d forgotten about time zones. It was late-afternoon in Sydney, but nearly midnight the night before in Los Angeles.

You let out a breathy laugh, “11:00 on the 23rd.” Which was tomorrow for you, but two days from now for them.

“Perfect! Love you, thank you.”

And the call was over.

You couldn’t believe it, you were essentially only a plane ride away from seeing your boys.

•

“They’re going to lose their shit.” Crystal laughed as she drove down the interstate.

You were nearly at the venue where the boys were rehearsing for their show that night and couldn’t stop shaking. It had been well over a year since you’d seen any of them in person. Your communication had never lacked though, especially with Calum.

Calum Hood was your best friend in the entire world. It didn’t matter how close you got to any of your friends, Calum would always rank higher. The two of you would do anything for each other.

And maybe that’s why neither of you could keep relationships.

If you called Calum, he’d drop everything to answer? and vice versa.

The two of you had became friends the first day of year 1 when Calum asked for part of your snack and the rest was history. You two had been attached at the hip ever since.

Eventually, you arrived at the arena, Crystal urged you to keep your luggage in her vehicle and you’d think about it later. She was probably more excited about this surprise than anyone. She’d mentioned that Luke’s wife, Sierra, had wanted to come to the airport too, but the boys would’ve gotten too suspicious.

Crystal gripped your hand tightly, “Go wait in the green room and i’ll tell them I brought them a surprise.” She urged and shoved you toward the room.

The next 5 minutes were brutal, dragging on.

But then they entered the room and it was like everything was right in the world again.

“YOU’RE FUCKING KIDDING!” Michael exclaimed, being the first one in the room.

The other three were confused because Michael’s rather large frame had blocked you from their sights. He ran to you, enveloping you in the biggest hug possible.

A sigh of relief, you were so happy to be back in their presence.

“Holy shit, that’s Y/N!” Luke yelled, turning to look at Sierra and Crystal, “Were you two in on this?”

They both smiled and nodded.

Luke was the next to you, his hug lifted you off the ground. Aside from Calum, you were closest to Luke, knowing him longer than you did the other two.

Ashton gave you one of his famous hugs, kissing the top of your head, before moving out of the way. Everyone knew what for.

Calum stood dumbfounded in the doorway.

He was shocked. There was no part of him that could believe that Y/N Y/L/N was standing in front of him and wasn’t an ocean away. He’d clearly forgotten Australia’s school calendar because he forgot you were on break now. It didn’t matter that you had reminded him of your upcoming break on your weekly facetime with him the week before, he couldn’t really remember anything right now.

“Am I gonna get a Calum hug?” you teased, trying to mask how nervous you were to be in the same room as him.

You two were always close, but you hadn’t realized you developed feelings for him until the last time you’d seen him in person, realizing after he got in the uber to the airport that you wished you could’ve kissed him goodbye. And now, you’ve been harboring feelings for over a year.

Your eyes crinkled when you saw the tears welling in his. He finally moved, crossing the last few feet between you. Calum squatted down just barely, enough to wrap his arms around your waist so he could pick you up in your hug.

His presence was overwhelming.

Your arms hooked around his neck, one hand holding the back of his head to keep him near. You even tucked your head in close.

“Holy shit, Y/N/N, I needed this bad.” you wanted to cry at his whispered admission.

Because it was true, you needed this as much as he needed it.

Without you realizing at first, until the door clicked shut, Crystal and Sierra had ushered the other 3 boys out of the room. Everyone knew that this moment deserved to be private.

Everyone knew the feelings the two of you felt for each other, except for the two of you. Neither knew that their feelings were reciprocated.

Calum had come to terms with his feelings for you around the same time you had and he hated that he felt the need to hide this from you. You two never hid anything from each other.

His hands sliding from your waist to your thighs, urging you to wrap your legs around his torso, brought your attention back. You stayed tucked into him while he blindly walked over to where he knew a couch was, sitting down with you on his lap.

Your heartrate skyrocketed when you sat up, allowing yourself to look into his beautiful brown eyes.

“Hi.” you whispered, not trusting your voice to go any louder.

The cutest smile stretched across his face, one he only showed when he was genuinely happy. You knew the difference between all of his smiles.

His hands sat on your hips, thumbs caressing the bare skin of your torso that had only been exposed during your hug. “How long has this been a plan?”

“A couple weeks.” you responded, your normal voice holding strong.

Calum’s eyes never left yours. “Did you somehow telepathically figure out that I really needed my Best Girl here with me?” Your stomach always went wild when he called you that.

Best Girl.

“I’m just that good, Cal.” you faked your confidence because you truly felt like a little girl with the biggest crush on the inside.

He stared at you instead of continuing to speak. Your eyes, your clothes, your lips.

Your stomach continued to run wild.

When you noticed him starting to lean in, you panicked, quickly sliding your hands from around his neck to holding his shoulders tight. His gaze switched to the utmost concern, “What’s wrong, Y/N/N?”

The self-doubt was running wild in your head, feeding you such false information of Calum’s opinion of you. “If you’re not 100% sure of what your intention is in the follow up after what you’re thinking about doing, please… don’t do it.” You’re not sure why you were essentially telling him not to kiss you.

But it kind of made sense. You’d had intense feelings for him for over a year and you didn’t want one kiss to leave you pining for someone who will never give you what you want.

A slight chuckle fell from his lips, the boy smiling as he shook his head. It had just clicked for him that you felt the same.

“I’ve never been so sure of something in my life.”

And then he connected his lips with yours.

Fireworks exploded in your stomach as your eyes fluttered shut. Your hands now sliding back to their original position, pulling him as close to you as possible.

This was not only the best kiss of your life, but the happiest moment of your life thus far.

#5 seconds of summer #5sos #calum hood #calum imagine #calum 5sos #calum hood fluff #calum hood x reader

[yuki2sksksk]

Roleswap AU

-` 𝘛𝘢𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳! ´-

An AU where Tanjirou is the demon and Nezuko is the slayer. In my version, Tanjirou and Nezuko went down the mountain together to sell charcoals and handmade herb medicine that the Kamado family began to produce for a while. Tanjirou had sold all of his charcoals so Nezuko told him to return home first while she went to finish her items. Reluctantly, her older brother did so. Now it was already late, and Nezuko had to crash in Saburo's house for the night.

You guys know the drill; she came home to find only Tanjirou alive and had to drag him down to the town when he transformed into a demon. The Kamado siblings then found themselves facing a slayer goes by the name 𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘰.

Later on, after being given the chance to prove Tanjirou being a good demon, Nezuko set off on an adventure to find cure for her brother.

Kanao and Kaigaku become Nezuko's friends and they became life time trio

Tanjirou grown attached to Kanao, making the young girl rather flustered at such doting

Nezuko possesses very strong kicks! Her first fight with Kaigaku was resolved with her slamming her foot up to his body part where the sun does not rise.

Kaigaku might not be able to have children, rip.

Tanjirou's Blood Demon Art is Fire Manipulation. He can breath fire and heal people too. His berserk form has a horn pops out of his left part of the forehead where his scar is, and there are flame marks on his body.

Hakuji stabbed Tanjirou to see if the demon would attack him -- never happened.

Muichiro and Yuichiro are alive as the youngest kakushi, Mui being a kind but quiet twin while Yuichiro is the loud but anxious one.

The twin have potential to even become Hashiras but Yui keep refusing, only becoming Kakushi because feels indebted to Mitchikatsu who saved them before.

Muichiro wants to become a slayer but doesn't have the courage to say it to his twin.

" Follow your heart! " Nezuko said to Muichiro, resulting the boy to fall for her.

Tanjirou once headbutt Yuichiro for his foul language and harsh treatment to Nezuko

Muzan is still an asshole but he's a tsundere that secretly worries for his slayers

Kagaya is also still gentle and soft spoken but he's very manipulative to his Uppermoons

Giyuu is dead lol, he was the ghost boy that helped Nezuko trained

Sabito and Makomo are both Water Hashiras

Gyomei is Uppermoon One, but there's an Uppermoon Zero, which is Yoriichi.

Yoriichi looks like a porcelain doll with 3 pair of arms.

I might do some changing, but these are what I could come up with so far.

#demon slayer #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #anime #drawing #digital art #kokushibou #akaza #Yoriichi #nezuko #Tanjirou #kny roleswap #demon tanjirou #slayer nezuko #kanao #kaigaku #Muichiro #Yuichiro #Muichiro x Nezuko

[ask-court-genshin]

Not anything related to events whatsoever but imagine growing up with Kaveh and Al Haitham in an orphanage.

The three of you are inseparable. Although none of you had reached the world outside the Akademiya, your close-knit group was more than enough mental stimulation for your young mind.

You don't remember a lot about your childhood enough, but you'll never dare forget these two. You enjoyed playing with the two boys, often teaming up with Al Haitham to assign Kaveh as a family dog or making Al Haitham play lazy roles like "the tree that stands outside a castle". There was never any need to know any other faces than the people you've seen throughout your childhood, and you've never wanted to cross the outside bother.

That was all until third grade when one day, your teacher gloomily walks to class, dropping a few of their papers, sloppily picking them up before sitting down. Every child sees her as a guardian. It was clear to everyone that Miss Rukkha had been having a particularly rough patch that week, and then she asked you all a question:

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Numerous voices– dreams filled the room, bright. Nilou said she wanted to be a dancer– you've heard Dehya speak of becoming an adventurer of sorts that protects her friends– and Kaveh proudly stated that he'll become an architect worthy of expanding the orphanage.

But Miss Rukkha laughed somberly.

"I'm sorry, children, but much like a seed expected to be grown and plucked as a beautiful rose–" she breathed, the pain evident in her voice.

"The truth is, we will see no fruition to those dreams, for you are created and raised to be harvested– with the time for wilting stolen from you." Miss Rukkha sobbed. "You will never see what becoming old is like. We have reared you in for the potential of your organ donations, and to this day, we cannot even tell if you children are human."

Miss Rukkha gazed at Al Haitham specifically.

"Even with my age–" she laughed again, although joking, her chuckle remained hollow. "I still can't tell. I still can't tell if clones are just like us– just like me."

Your teacher slowly skimmed through the papers, seeing Kaveh's crayon drawings. The colors are vibrant and the strokes were masterful: befitting of a genetically enhanced child.

Memories are a fragile thing, but it's not particularly forgiving when it comes to phrases that will haunt you.

"Do any of you have any real souls and dreams at all, or am I fighting for my delusions...?"

You don't have anyone in life anymore. They've all "completed" the goal they were assigned to. Now in your thirties, you've gotten yourself a rather unsurprising occupation as the "carer". You've convinced yourself this was the job for you since it helps you look after the clones who will donate their organs until they inevitably pass.

But it does have it's empty moments. Sometimes, you'd take a good look at the drawings Kaveh had done. You wished you had better momentos to keep Al Haitham in your mind, but perhaps his faulty earphones is enough for you to hold on to.

"Miss Dehya, are you ready?"

She sighed.

"(Y/n), you know this is my last donation..."

"I know, I know..." You nodded politely. "I'm sorry."

"Just– just shut it." This was Dehya, that was by no means impolite. Being blunt was her weapon of choice to protect herself.

...

"Say, (Y/n)," she looked down. "When's your... You know..."

"In October 13th."

Dehya immediately jolted up.

"On the same day?!–"

"On the same day Kaveh and Al Haitham had theirs in 2021 and 2022 respectively, correct."

"These people are demented."

Dehya didn't know you three chose this date.

"At least they're people." You smiled. "We're just clones, after all."

"But it don't feel that way, don't it?"

You didn't say a word.

...

"... Will you be fine?" She asked.

"I'll be fine– and you will be fine." You took her hand. "Because..."

"Why are you crying?" Al Haitham bends down, looking down at you. He was slightly taller, but with you on the ground it seemed as though he was towering you. "Are you sad because we're clones?"

"Of course they're sad about that, you idiot!!!" Kaveh smacked his head. "Who wouldn't?!"

Al Haitham didn't seem to mind as much as anyone else, and perhaps that's precisely why Miss Rukkha gazed at him.

"But what exactly are you sad about?"

"I-I–" you choked out, mid-tears. "I wanted to be with you two!!! I wanted to be with you and Kaveh for much longer!!!"

Kaveh's lips trembled. "(Y/n)..."

Al Haitham frowned. He knelt down to your level.

He hugged you.

"I see."

Al Haitham pulled away. "How about this: why don't we all complete our final donations on the same day?"

"We can't," Kaveh frowned. "I'm older than you guys by two years..."

"If we can't do it in the same year, then let's pick a date." Al Haitham proposed. "This way, we'll still feel a bit closer."

He wiped your cheeks roughly. "How does that sound?"

You sniffled.

Kaveh, knowing that Al Haitham's idea doesn't sound particularly comforting, knelt down beside him and took your hand.

"Hey, hey, you'll be okay– we'll be okay– wanna know why? Because..."

"Because even though we're having a hard time leaving– we're not meant for this world. Our dream life is somewhere up there, on a castle in the sky, where there's a lush green tree that lazily sways and a happy golden retriever waiting for us to come home."

#yes this is inspired by a pretty cool sht i have to consume for grades– look up Never Let Me Go! #... and if you're gonna ask– no i genuinely just had this brainrot over that book and not the promised neverland– i think #that manga/anime is actually based on this book? #kaveh x reader #al haitham x reader #tw: death #tw: sadness #dehya #astronetwrk #this is so low effort but eh hAHAHHA #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x you #alhaitham x reader