#and he eventually realised it was taking longer and longer for his roots to grow out

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter | 13 |

PART THIRTEEN 💖 Dad!Price & Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader. 3k+ words

Previous parts -> [series masterlist]

TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

| Please be aware that manipulative people are really good at twisting the narrative to look good and make others look bad! They know their targets, can be two completely different people that you wouldn’t realise what goes on behind closed doors. Trigger warning: LENA!! |

Lena’s POV:

Vodka lemonade. Lena Marston’s drink of choice, a companion she’d kept since her teen years. Where John had whisky, she had vodka and a kid, you. She likes to think that she’s a decent mother, enough to prepare you for the bad people in this world. You’re resourceful, a tad hopeful but it always works in her favour. So desperate for love that you believe every word she coats with sugar and when she does snap, you’re reminded of the harsh reality. Lena’s a realist, taking things for what they are. Whereas you’re an idealist, hoping that those around you will change for the better. That your mother will stop drinking and choosing men over you. That your father will come back and make everything right. As if taking her youth wasn’t enough, you’re still causing trouble for her now.

She thought she raised you better, maybe you are your father’s daughter. Someone who thinks they can change the world. Nobody changes, it’s laughable to imagine John any different, but as he sits opposite her with a non-alcoholic drink she can’t help, but laugh.

It’s been years since Lena’s seen John, a few phone calls here and there to lay the foundations. To complain about you, ask John when he’s going to pick his daughter up and have a word. Such an ungrateful girl. John’s age hasn’t ruined his looks, a head full of thick hair and beard. Doesn’t have to cover the grey hairs, dye his roots every month to appear younger. He’s not the one carrying stretch marks on his stomach or a scar from birthing you.

“Well how’s the wife, John? The boy…you always wanted a boy,” Lena asks, swirling the vodka around in her glass, ice cubes clinking together. She can’t remember the kids age or name and doesn’t care much to be honest. She’s thankful that she never had another.

John nods, “yep, all good. A three year old girl too.” His fingers drum against the table, sipping his beer without breaking eye connect with Lena.

Oh, that must ruin you. No longer daddy’s little girl and now you see John being the present dad that you’d only dreamt of growing up with. Another fantasy Lena told you to let go of years ago. Dreams don’t come true for girls like you.

He's not bothered to shred his jacket or remove the knitted scarf around his neck. Still the same man, gaze trailing Lena's features for any tells. John always reading too much into things or people and getting lost in the tiny details. Trying to connect them, losing the bigger picture completely. Not everything has to be so complex.

"You took money from our kid?"

And there it is…

Lena scoffs, “my kid, John. Ain’t seen you raising her.” She slams the glass to the table and points to her chest, sharp red nails jabbing herself and reminding him that she was there, not him. He’s always been too proud, wanting to be seen as a good and decent man. And in some ways maybe he is.

John leans back in his chair, gaze on his beer as if he wondering if it’s half full or half empty. There’s no way you’ve told him, he’d probably be less calm now than if you had. No, he doesn’t know everything and as per usual you’ve made it too easy for Lena. She’d thank you, but she doesn’t want to ruin the surprise. That or let you craft an excuse or hint at the truth.

“She didn’t tell ya? Of course she wouldn’t,” Lena chuckles, chasing the last remnants of her drink, vodka and lemon not as strong with the melting ice. “That ungrateful little shit stole that money from me, the last time she went back to him.” She sniffs, back of her hand swiping her nose. Her eyes sting, lashes clumping with tears and she feels the weight of John’s hand on top of hers. A heaviness she hasn’t had in years, but she’s laying the foundations. Dropping little pieces for John to pick up, make him overthink and draw his own conclusions. Anything to get him off her back.

His thumb brushes over her knuckles, light and soothing. “I didn’t know,” John says and Lena dares to glance up at him, his hand retreating back to his lap.

Phase one, plant a seed of doubt. Turn a bad thing sour. The moneys technically hers anyways, for all those years she had to raise you on her own. It’s not easy bringing a kid up without a father or the usual bricks and mortar. Half the time you were the reason Lena had to pack up her life again and search for the next place to settle. And as you grew older she noticed the way men’s eyes lingered on you instead of her. You were the one picking her up off the floor though, dragging her into the shower and sobering her up. You looked after her better than any man had and she wondered where you’d learnt that from. It wasn’t her, maybe that’s why Lena can’t stand you. She’s never been cut out to be a mother, didn’t have one like that either. So, how can you care for her better than she can?

Sometimes she sees her younger self in you and it twists her insides. A poison that coats the back of her throat, weighing on her tongue that she resorts to unleashing that venom on you. Lena tries not to think of being a teen with a toddler, lying on a mattress as you scream a fever. She can still hear those cries in the depths of a night terror, because to her you were a terror. No life and isolated from everything she once knew. The week days merging together till John called on a Saturday or Sunday, offering Lena a piece of her old self. His money the one thing giving her life.

Your teen years are what she loathed most. Lena refused to get you certain clothes, bought you a size too big so it swamped your body and said it would save her money in the long run. You are your mother’s daughter after all, she doesn’t want to compliment or encourage you in fear you’ll do better than her. There’s that spec of your father though, the spark of fire you strike back whenever one of her boyfriends tried to lay down the law. Never did learn.

“Fancy a smoke?” Lena asks, pulling a pack menthol cigarettes from her handbag. She slings her coat over her shoulders and smiles as John nods.

Another distraction, a break between the forced conversation and Lena wonders if you’d smell the lingering scent when John gets home. It’s distinct, something you despised.

The rain pelts on the awning outside the pub, wind whipping through the patio and Lena wades through the tables to heater. A warm orange glow illuminating above johns head as he stands in front of her and lights her cigarette, he reluctantly accepts one of her menthol ones, sparking the end alight with hers. He hates the smell of mint and tobacco merged, but Lena knows he’s too stressed not to smoke. His fingers have been twitching against his pint glass since he sat down an hour ago.

If he wasn’t married and loyal like a dog, she’d probably sleep with him. Anything to get him off her back. You’d definitely leave if you knew she’d had her claws back in him. The one scrap of hope you hold onto, John.

John exhales a cloud of smoke, head tilted as he watches the wind carry the fog away. “How much?” He asks, turning the cigarette in his hold.

“Don’t matter, we sorted it out. She’s an adult now John, needs to learn there’s consequences. Lord knows she should’ve learnt ‘em six bloody years ago,” Lena says, flicking her ash into the nearest tray on the table. She glances to John out of the corner of her eye, the muscle in his jaw flexing at the mention of six years ago. A testy subject for all involved, especially you. A turning point that solidified your hatred for John.

“Spit it out Lena,” he snaps, never one to beat around the bush with her. Hook-line and sinker. “You and her are always dangling that in my face, but I’m yet to be told what actually happened.” His nose wrinkles as he takes another drag of his cigarette, eyes narrowed at Lena.

His gaze doesn’t waver from her face, she’s not even sure he’s breathing as he waits for the verbal blow. Ash burning his fingers. He doesn’t want to miss anything.

“You really wanna know your kid?” Lena cocks her to the side, arched brow rising. He nods, crushing the cigarette under his boot. “She was arrested for the possession of drugs at fifteen, John. Went to a young offenders institute for months until I managed to get the charges dropped.”

John opens his mouth, but she waves him off. She relays the details, telling him of that night and the months that followed, answering his questions in between. Exaggerating certain parts to prove a point, that you’re not the good kid he thinks you are.

“That boyfriend of hers, you can thank him. She gave me hell for years John, I don’t blame you. I know you were working that huge case and couldn’t be home, but I did my best,” she says, wiping the salty tears rolling down her cheeks and leaning into john’s embrace as he wraps an arm around her. Too easy.

"I'm here now, let me help," he says, palm smoothing up and down her arm. She tucks her head under his chin and wraps her arms around his torso. It’s like she’s a teen again, clinging to John for warmth.

Lena releases a trembling breath. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still using. You know those mood swings and lashing out,” she mumbles into his chest. He tenses, slipping out of her hold and stepping back.

“What really happened between the two of you?” He asks, leaning down to try and catch her wandering gaze. “Kid, can’t even talk about ya’ without…”

“She’ll bleed you dry John and be gone before you realise,” Lena’s voice muffled, cigarette balancing between her lips as she dug through her handbag. “Your kids actual phone number, she’s got two.” She hands him a faded receipt, blue ink smeared on the crumpled paper.

John’s POV:

John thought if he saw Lena face to face he’d know, some sort of gut instinct to untangle the mess in his head. Dad intuition or whatever it’s called, but he doesn’t have that with you not yet. If anything, all he’s sees in Lena is you. You can’t be doing drugs, he checked your bag whilst you were in the hospital and if you had Toff would have added it to your medical notes. The mood swings, John knows are more trauma related. If Lena is lying what does she gain from doing so?

The smudged ink of your second phone number burns a hole in his pocket. Already stored in his contacts list just incase. He’s not going to bring it up with you either, knowing you’ll get rid of it and he won’t be able to reach you one day.

The mist of rain blurs John’s surroundings outside his truck. Window cracked open a fraction as he tries to get rid of the fogged up glass, old heater ticking away. Your bedroom light is still on, but John doesn’t want to enter the res house, not till he’s got his head sorted and he’s prepared. The last thing he wants it to scare or push you away. He knows if he reaches out too fast and close, you’ll withdraw. Maybe even leave him and never look back. Part of him doesn’t want to dig up that police report, it’s probably been cleared off your record by now as you were a minor and the charges were dropped. Doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about it though. His stomach twisting as he realises how alone you must have felt and he now understands why you think he wasn’t there for you. He knows he wasn’t there.

Lena’s minty scent clings to his clothes, he can smell it on his moustache and fingertips. The alcohol gel in his car not giving him much help, if anything he doesn’t even think it has a particular aroma to it. He curses himself for leaving his cigars back in his office, locked away in the top drawer. Meeting Lena wasn’t planned, the whole evening throwing him off as he sat in his truck at three in the morning. The missed calls on his phones unanswered, he’d warned Angie of that though and wasn’t expecting her to ring anytime soon. No, Simon’s number appears in the chain of notifications, on and off for the past two hours. A text of his return soon, always giving him an estimated arrival.

The next op isn’t his main worry though, but it should be. He hates to think it. There’s a niggling feeling that if John goes away now, you might not be home when he returns. The thought alone making him not want to have the have the talk. He has to though. A light tap against the glass draws him out of his thoughts and he rolls the window down. One skeleton gloved hand rests against the truck as Simon leans down to greet John.

“Work or the kid?” Simon asks, his gaze flitting to the line settling between johns brows as if he already knows. He wrinkles his nose, swaying in his spot as if the stench of minted tobacco has just invaded the thin layer of his mask. The cheapest cigarettes that are supposed to be left on the shelves, well that’s what Simon says.

John nudges his head to the passenger seat, watching Simon circle the truck and open the door. The old vehicle rocking as he fell into the seat and closed the door lightly. John’s lost count of how many times he’s had to fit the handle back on whenever Simon slams the door. The engine sputters to life and they don’t say anything till they’re out of the military base. Nothing but the open road and the darkness wrapping around them.

“Went to see Lena,” John says, the red light glaring at him and he slams the brakes, both of them lurching forward in their seats.

“And you came back with more questions than answers?” Simon replies, raising a blond brow at the captain. He’s never been a fan of John’s ex.

John fills him on the evening and everything Lena told him. Simon silent, nodding along as he listened. John can’t help, but see you in another light now and he tells Simon so. His mind wandering back to the shattered lamp, did you knock it off or break it? He knows you’re lying about your mum and he hopes you’ll pluck up the courage to confide in him. He doesn’t even want to go into the whole Johnny and you situation with Simon, he’s not ready for that yet. The one thing he definitely has to pull you up on.

“I just don’t know what to think,” John mumbles, fingers pressing against his temple and the dull pulsating ache. The past few weeks were weighing on him, work escalating and your unpredictable moods around him made him try ten times harder to accommodate your needs. Lowering his voice, stepping back and offering you more space in hopes you’ll come to him. He can’t keep saying later with you. He’s running out of time.

“She’s gotta have a reason to lie,” Simon pauses, holding a hand up and silencing John before he can offer his thoughts. “Think about it, she’s not had a stable upbringing and well, you don’t know the full story. You need to talk to the kid before you jump to conclusions.”

John nods, looping back round the streets and driving to the military base. The back of his throat burns, mouth dry as Simon’s words sink in. He doesn’t have all the information and you deserve to be heard. He owes you that much.

The truck rolls to a stop outside the res house, the light from your bedroom off. John removes the keys and holds them in his palm, elbow on the door panel. Simon exits the truck, walking round to johns side and he reaches over the door and pops the handle down opening it for him.

“Take a breather, then talk to her. It’s all fresh and amplified mate, just don’t interrogate the kid. With the right questions you’ll be able to figure out the situation.” Simon nods, advice given and he disappears down the gravel path to the main building without another glance.

John's lucky to get two hours sleep, giving up as soon as the sunlight filters through the blinds. He makes his bed as usual, tucking the sheets under the mattress and sits on the edge. His suitcase stares at him beside the chest of drawers, his fingers turning his wedding band deep in thought. He glances to the clock reading seven forty and he rises from the bed, pulling his door open.

He walks into your room, expecting the the door handle to rattle and the lock to click, but it swept wide open.

“Come on, up you get Kiddo,” John says, tugging the duvet off you. “You’re coming home with me, no discussion.” He tosses the flimsy duffle on your bed, pulling your clothes from the hangers in the wardrobe.

You catch the hoody he throws at you, mumbling under your breath as you shove it over your head and accept your fate. He thought you'd fight him on it, but he doesn't give you the chance to.

Lena stirring things up 🥴 johns going to have the talk with kiddo in the next part 🫡 please note I am dyslexic so there may be errors/mistakes. I do edit multiple times but miss out things - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie @elegancefr @jesskidding3 @thepowers-kat-be @frangiipanii @ye-olde-trash-panda @sleep101 @bluebarrybubblez @shitaaba @muraaaaaa @vajjaa @rafaelacallinybbay @jeannieboys @poetoflawed @idleviewer @darling006 @itsleeq

[marsbotz]

quickly redid my addison designs + a tenna height reference. WAOW

my stupid freaks who i hate (love)

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Platonic Yandere Ghost x Reader Headcanons

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, unhealthy behaviour, implications of murder, vague implications/spoilers of Ghost's past, etc.

This man is one of the most possessive yandere candidates in all of MW2.

He's just lost so much already (if you've read the comics, you know).

After your initial meeting, he saw little reason to interact with you; after all, you were just another colleague - just another face at work.

But you were persistent.

Or, rather, you were just doing your job -- looking out for him, interacting with the rest of the 141, showing your personality to them -- and, eventually, Ghost couldn't keep you out.

It would be too obvious that he was trying to remain indifferent to you, to push you away.

So he allowed himself to listen in on your jokes, let you laugh at his, allowed you to bear witness to his rare anecdotes.

You'd trade some of your own, revealing more and more of yourself and your past to Ghost. As well as the rest of the 141.

Over time, the longer Ghost spent in your presence, the more he felt as if your dialogue was meant for him.

Sure, the others were around to listen, but he felt like you were speaking in another voice, one that only he could hear.

An underlying tone which said to him, in a gentle whisper: "Protect me. Watch out for me as I have done for you."

He tried to shake off this delusion at first, believing it to be some sick power fantasy rooted in the insecurity he'd felt as a child - the lack of safety he'd had then compared to the security you made him feel now.

It took him a while to realise, but he managed, somehow, through his own resistance and reluctance, to understand that what he was feeling for you was trust.

And though he trusted the rest of the 141 to look out for him, to make sure he didn't get killed by a stray bullet or an enemy, he trusted you in a way that was personal.

And this feeling only worsened - grew - during the moments where it was just the two of you in the common room in the late hours of the evening, isolated from the others not just by distance, but by experience.

Sleep - or a lack thereof - could make Ghost a little loose-lipped, and he'd end up recounting quiet tales about missions that, looking back, someone like you wouldn't have survived (in his opinion).

Thoughts of you asking him, pleading with him to protect you flooded his mind whenever that happened.

So when he realises that he appreciates -- nay, loves you -- as a friend, it's all over for you.

He lives for your cuddles, your gentle touches, your words of praise and affirmation.

They make him feel loved, wanted - something he's never felt before.

Will kill anyone who speaks, or even thinks, ill of you.

I'm not joking; people who used to bully you when you were a recruit have all but vanished, claimed to be M.I.A.

Nobody but Ghost knows what really happened, and he'll take those secrets to the grave.

He's stuck by your side during missions as if you were glued together.

All the while, he's thinking of ways to get you omitted from the 141.

False accusation, injury (he couldn't bear to hurt you), trauma...they were all viable (but not necessarily preferable) options.

And with each day that passes, his adoration for you only grows, swelling to proportions that both frighten and enthrall him.

He was convinced that he couldn't love - couldn't feel anything - after everything he's been through.

But you, you've managed to prove him wrong.

And for that, he will lay his life on the line to protect yours - to stow you away where no-one will ever hurt you or even know you.

It's just a matter of time. He's a ticking time bomb with something to lose, and he'll protect you regardless of the cost.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[toxiclxki]

I wasn’t going to post this anywhere, it wasn’t long enough and I don’t think it fits anywhere, but then I realised that the only person who has read it is my old (in both senses of the word), shitty therapist and we can’t have that. 

~~~

It is a summer’s night like those remembered from childhood, when long, sunny days transformed into nights of endless sunsets, the darkness never quite getting a hold of the world.

As his feet follow a half-remembered, long since overgrown path, he can just about see them; two boys, rushing along the path in front of him, hands outstretched to feel the tops of the barley against the palms of their hands as they run through it, the stems swaying as they force their way through them.

He follows the two boys, the drying barley whispering as he wades through it, his muscles shifting under what he’s carrying. As he walks, he hears the shrieks of birds off in the distance behind him, no doubt descending on the feast left for them.

The boys ahead of him crest the small hill on which the barley grows, the rays of the setting sun hitting them as they do, shining on them.

Shining through them.

They disappear out of sight, running down the other side of the hill now. At this point, they’re racing in earnest. He knows this, despite no longer being able to see them, just as he knows that the older of the two will lose the race, will be left behind as his brother bolts away towards the water.

 His feet follow the familiar path, stepping automatically over roots that no one has ever bothered to remove, even now. Once he reaches the top of the hill he comes to a halt, stopping in the same spot as the brothers moments, years, before, adjusting the burden he’s carrying in his arms. In front of him, far out beyond the field of barley and a row of tall, windswept birch trees, the sea glitters in the rays of the setting sun.

He can no longer see the brothers, but when he closes his eyes he can just about hear them over the whispering barley and the distant sound of the aftermath behind him. The sound of children, laughing and shouting as they play in the calm water, shielded from the currents and the waves by a crescent of rocks stands in fantastic contrast to the harsh sounds still ringing in his ears.

Slowly, as if in a dream, he crosses the remainder of the field, his path through the barley disappearing behind him as he steps into the shade under the trees. From where he is now standing, he can see the still, glimmering water of the shielded pool where they used to spend long, warm summer days.

A sudden gust of wind causes the surface of the water to ripple, bringing the smell of salt and seaweed to his nose, pulling him forward, onwards.

 The earth beneath his feet become rocky as he moves closer to the sea, eventually giving way entirely to cliffs, and as the slope steepens, he stumbles a bit, almost falling.

He feels unbalanced, uneven, as he moves closer to the water. Not so much in the physical sense, although his left arm feels oddly numb in front of him, as much as in the emotional one. It is as if although his brain is yet to understand what has happened, his soul knows, and it is hurting. They have won the battle, the number of dead enemies on the battlefield he has left behind is evidence of that, but he has lost the war. The limp body in his arms, the almost unbearable weight of it bringing him down, how could anything be worse than this?

“Isn’t this fantastic Brother? Fighting side by side just like in the old days!” Over the clanging of metal against metal, the neighing of horses and screams of the dying, he can hear his brother’s delighted voice as the younger of the two moves with ease through the carnage, ducking and twisting to avoid the enemy’s blades.

Gently placing his burden on the sand, he pauses, looking out towards the horizon. The sun is setting in earnest now, part of the glowing orb already swallowed by the sea, and soon it will be dark.

Slowly, every movement taking a tremendous effort, he begins to remove his armour. Piece after piece falls from his body, sand sticking to the blood coating the metal as they land. By the time it’s all off, the sun has set almost completely, painting the sky and the sea a brilliant red.

He wants to stop right there, wants to remain where he is, frozen in time when he’s still able to deny everything that has happened today. If he never turns around, perhaps he can still pretend that things are the way they’re supposed to be.

The enemy, coming at them from all sides, have forced them together, standing with their backs to each other as they fight. He can feel his brother’s warmth, hear his laboured breathing as he fights off opponent after opponent. It feels natural, as if there’s never been any animosity between them, as if all they’ve ever done is fight side by side, fight for the same cause, fight the same enemy. That, of course, could not be further from the truth, but all that matters is now, here.

Despite it being the last thing he really wants to do, he turns his back to the sea, knowing what he has to do but being unwilling to do it.

“Brother.” The voice is so familiar, yet so very different when he hears it next, seeming to drown out all other sounds in an instance. Fighting off the nearest opponents, he turns, and as he does so, his entire world crumbles. His brother stands there, dagger still in hand, pressing one hand to his chest, where a broken sword sticks out.

“No.” He refuses to believe what he sees, refusing to even begin to understand what it means. “No, keep fighting. We’ll win this.”

They did win, but he would have lost a million times over if it would bring his brother back. If it meant he didn’t have to carry his brother’s limp body out into the ocean, he would lose every war to come. If it meant he got to look into those green eyes once more, if it meant he got to be the victim of one more stupid prank, if he got to have another stupid argument with his brother, he would give the world.

But he can’t, and no amount of praying to any god is going to change that. So he picks up his brother’s body, feeling his head come to rest against his shoulder, matted, bloodied hair tickling his cheek, and takes a deep breath. As he walks into the sea, allowing the salty water to wash the blood from his broken, bruised skin, welcoming the stinging pain. Once he has gotten beyond the protective stone crescent, the currents start tugging at his body, at his brother’s body, eager to drag them both under.

And despite it being the last thing he ever wants to do, as he releases the grip of his brother, feeling the strong current pull him away from him for the very last time, he prays to gods he knows does not exist that it will take him away too.

 ~

[fontegagrilledcheese]

Dumbasses in Quarantine

This is my Bog Exchange fic! I finally finished! This is for the lovely @herostag I hope they like it!

Special thanks to Dani and Doug for beating my grammar with a stick. Ily <3

This is 2.9K words of idiots being idiots during the plague. Just pure fluff, no CW here. Modern Au.

1. Geralt had finally had enough of Jaskier complaining about all the takeout they had been consuming since everything had gone on lockdown, so here he was, watching a pot of noodles cook while Jaskier was in the living room weeding his island in Animal Crossing for the third time that week. He stirs the spaghetti around before grabbing a second pot and the jar of pasta sauce that he had bought at some point in the last few years. Geralt pours the sauce into the pot, throws some Italian seasoning in and hmms at the consistency before ladling some pasta water into the sauce to thin it out slightly. “Dinner’s almost ready” Geralt softly calls to Jaskier before going back to his noodles, fishing one out to check the doneness. Geralt bites into it and makes a face at the sweetness as Jaskier walks into the kitchen.

 “Everything all right there?” Jaskier inquires, coming over to look into the pots on the stove. 

“Hmmm, I think so. Taste this?” Geralt fishes another noodle out to hand over to Jaskier, who eats it with a hum. 

“That doesn’t taste right,” Jaskier says thoughtfully. “But I don't know enough about cooking to dispute it.” 

Geralt hums again, “Think it will be fine?” 

Jaskier just shrugs and goes to set the table, leaving Geralt to finish putting the meal together. Geralt tilts his head at the pots on the stove before pulling out his phone to text  Eskel ‘is pasta supposed to be sweet when cooking?’

While waiting for a reply, Geralt drains the noodles and dumps them into the sauce to stir them in before his phone rings with a call from Eskel. 

“You tried a noodle and it tasted sweet?”

“Yeah, is it supposed to be like that?”

There is a moment of silence where Lambert can be heard laughing in the background before Eskel replies, “Are you sure you put salt in the water?”

“Yeah, poured a bunch of salt in there like you said to.”

Eskel hums, “Are you sure it wasn't sugar? Did you make sure to taste it first?”

The silence on Geralt's side is telling, and Lambert can be heard dying in the background. 

“Thanks Eskel,” Geralt says before hanging up and staring down at the pot of sugared spaghetti. 

“Hey Jask, how do you feel about getting takeout again?”

Jaskier sighs, “What happened?”

Geralt blushes “I… I may have put sugar in the water instead of salt…”

“Oh… but the sauce?” 

“I put some of the pasta water in the sauce to thin it.”

Jaskier starts giggling, “G-Geralt... noooo.”

Geralt sighs, wearily turning off the stove. “So takeout?” 

“Yeah, takeout is fine. Whatever you feel like.”

Geralt hums and pulls up the delivery app, “Sorry, Jask.”

Jaskier sidles up to him, giving him a half hug, “Thanks for trying.” He leans fully into him so he can see Geralt's phone as they order.

2. A while into quarantine, Jaskier decided he needed some greenery in his life, since he couldn’t leave the house. This led Jaskier to order himself a cute little cactus from a local nursery for the next time they order a grocery pick up. Talking Geralt into stopping by the shop on the way back from the store proved easier than Jaskier had anticipated. Geralt had begrudgingly agreed after hours of Jaskier’s pouting and puppy eyes wearing him down. 

Jaskier dances around the apartment with his new treasure before placing it on the sunny windowsill in their living room. Geralt rolls his eyes but smiles at his roommates' antics, “You do know how to take care of it don’t you?”

Jaksier pouts at him, “It’s a cactus, how hard can it be! I just water it every so often and bam, beautiful thriving mini Geralt!”

Geralt huffs at him, grabbing a controller for their gaming console, “You promised I could destroy you at Mortal Combat if we picked up the plant.”

“Yes, yes Geralt I’m coming, just let me water my precious child.”

Weeks later, Little Geralt starts looking a bit droopy, causing Jaskier to water him, but unfortunately Jaskier does not account for his ADHD and lack of calendar filling out, and proceeds to water the poor cactus every day for the next two weeks, water logging and eventually killing poor Little Geralt.

Once Jaskier realizes, he cries to Geralt only a little and has a funeral for the cactus as he throws it away, being the absolute most dramatic about it as possible. Geralt just rolls his eyes at the antics and adds a new plant to the order list to pick up the next time they have their outing to go get groceries.

Jaskier gives Geralt the biggest hug when he realises they’re heading to the plant store and talks excitedly about how determined he is to to not kill Little Geralt the Second; Geralt just rolls his eyes half heartedly but helps Jaskier set up a calendar to keep track of when he’s watered the cactus. This works for about a month before Jaskier gets busy and forgets about his little plant, frying on the windowsill, until Geralt notices about three months later.

“Hey Jask, your cactus is looking a bit… shriveled.”

Jaskier rushes into the living room “NO!” He yells as he slides to a stop on his knees before the  dried up little plant “Noooooooo, Little Geralt the Second, nooooo!” he shakes his fists at the ceiling.

Geralt pats his shoulder comfortingly, “At least it lived longer this time.”

Jaskier shakes his head with a sigh. “I’m a terrible plant parent.”

Geralt hmms consolingly, “We can get you another. I’ll try to help you keep better track of it this time.” 

Jaskier nods, “Thanks Geralt,” and picks up his dead plant to go throw it out. 

Geralt just hmms and pulls up the pick-up list on his phone to add a new little cactus.

Three months later, Little Geralt the Third is thriving in its place on the windowsill, happily soaking up the sun on a bright spring day as a breeze comes through the window. Jaskier dances around the living room, vacuuming and dusting as Geralt cleans the kitchen of the previous night’s actually decent attempt at cooking. Jaskier sings along to ABBA, twirling with his duster mic when disaster strikes poor Little Geralt the Third. Jaskier swirls too close to the window and pops his hip at just the wrong time and the plant wobbles before being pushed off the edge and falls three stories down to the concrete sidewalk down below. Jaskier freezes at the crashing sound and turns to look out the window, staring down at his poor, broken plant.

“Nooooooo, Geralt!” Jaskier yells, and Geralt comes running in from the kitchen, startled by Jaskier’s cry. 

“Jask?!” 

Jaskier just points down at the sidewalk, falling to his knees “Geralt, I killed him! I killed our son! To ABBA!” 

Jaskier sprawls out on the floor dramatically, mourning the fate of poor Little Geralt the Third, who had been thriving wonderfully before going splat on the pavement. 

Geralt sits down next to his dramatic roommate and pats his leg, “That one was actually doing pretty well. Maybe we could get another and just find a better place for it to sit?”

Jaskier sniffles and looks through his lashes at Geralt, “Really?” 

Geralt nods before being tackled to the ground in a tight hug. 

“Thanks Geralt.” Jaskier whispers, nuzzling into his friend.

3. Geralt stood staring into the mirror at the red roots growing into his perfect silver platinum hair. He pouts at it, looking at his hair and then back down at his phone at the pictures of his past beautiful silver hair. 

“I can do it, how hard can it be?” he grumbles, glaring back at his roots. He nods to himself before searching different bleaches, toners, and silver dyes that are available at their local beauty shop.

A week and two trips to the store later, Geralt is once again standing in the bathroom and glaring at his roots in the mirror. “How hard can it be...”

Five hours later, Jaskier comes home from the park to Geralt sitting on the couch in a hoodie with the hood on and scrunched up around his face, pouting.

“So how did it go?” he asks.

Geralt grunts in response.

“Oh it can’t be that bad,” comes Jaskier’s exasperated reply, reaching for the hood over the back of the couch.

Geralt growls and catches his hand, yanking and pulling Jaskier over the couch and partially into his lap.

Jaskier laughs and reaches up again with both hands, trying to use one as a distraction. Geralt growls again and tackles him to the floor to pin him, where they tussle around before Jaskier gets an upper hand and pulls the hood off. Geralt freezes as Jaskier stares at him with wide eyes and a growing smile.

 “Don’t,” he growls.

Jaskier’s grin turns into giggles, then into full on laughter. “Geralt! Your hair!” 

Geralt sits back with a pout, still sitting on Jaskier. “I know, it's horrible.”

“It's bright purple! What did you do!?”

Geralt flushes, “I forgot to set a timer and left the toner in too long. It should wash out and wear off in a few weeks,” he grumbles.

Jaskier continues to giggle. “Well at least it's not permanent, and you bleached the roots pretty well.”

Geralt sighs and nods before laying down on Jaskier for a consolation cuddle. “Yeah, at least there's that.”

4. Geralt’s birthday was coming up and Jaskier was determined to celebrate it, even if they couldn’t go on their customary birthday bar crawl that they had gone on for both of their birthdays since they had been roommates in college. Jaskier wanted to go the extra mile for his bestest friend in the whole world and decided that he was going to make Geralt a homemade cake, icing drizzle and all. Jaskier had scoured the internet for weeks trying to find a cake he thought geralt would like and that he thought he could make with his limited baking abilities. He finally found the perfect recipe for a simple strawberry pound cake that he only had to buy a minimal amount of extra ingredients for. 

The day of Geralt's birthday, Jaskier sets up in the kitchen and banishes Geralt to the living room to play his new Witcher game while Jaskier makes the cake. 

He starts by setting out everything he needs and getting the beaters set up and his recipe out. He preheats the oven and then gets to work measuring everything out carefully, looking back at his recipe often, so often he doesn’t quite notice that he’s grabbed the salt container instead of the sugar and measures out the three cups the recipe calls for before adding it into the wet ingredients bowl to cream together as stated by the recipe. Jaskier goes about making his cake and mixing it up, carefully pouring it into the disposable cake tin they had bought specially for the event before putting it in the oven and carefully setting a timer on his phone.

He takes a break for a moment to make a cup of tea before cleaning up the mess from the cake and mixing up the simple drizzle icing for the cake.

The timer goes off and Jaskier pokes the cake with a toothpick as he has been directed, frowning at the lopsided cake. 

“Is that how it should look?” he mutters to himself, looking at the clean toothpick. “Guess it’s done.”

He pulls the cake out of the oven and  sets it on the rack to cool, poking little holes in it with the toothpick to help it cool and absorb some of the icing later.

After 30 minutes, he drizzles the icing over the cake, humming happily to himself. 

“Geralt, do you want to do cake now or later?” he calls into the living room. Geralt hmms and stands before replying, “Now.”

Jaskier grins and grabs them plates, forks, and a knife to cut the cake with.

Geralt stands beside him at the counter, smiling softly at the cake Jaskier has made him. 

“Thanks Jask,” he says softly. 

Jaskier grins fully at him. “Happy birthday, Geralt!”

They cut into the cake and serve themselves. Geralt happily eats his, reaching out to get seconds while Jaskier frowns at his slice. “Does this taste right to you?” he takes another bite while Geralt shrugs.

“Tastes fine to me,” he replies, happy to continue eating what his Jaskier has made him. 

Jaskier frowns more and looks at his recipe, “I dunno, doesn’t it taste salty?” 

Geralt hmms in thought before continuing to eat, “Suppose so, but it’s not too bad.”

Jaskier gasps. “Geralt! No Geralt, stop eating that! I must have mixed up the salt and sugar when I was measuring, oh! It's terrible, I’m so sorry, Geralt,” he whines, looking almost at the verge of tears. 

This causes Geralt to pause his gremlin-like cake eating, setting the plate down before pulling his best friend into a tight hug, resting his head against the others. “So maybe you had a booboo with it and it’s a little salty. You know I’m not picky, and it tastes fine and vaguely like strawberries. I’ll eat it anyway, Jask.” he grumbles out.

Jaskier sniffles. “But you deserve a good cake that’s made correctly.”

Geralt hums, “Maybe, but this is something you’ve made for me with all your heart, and I think it tastes alright, and I will keep eating it, because you made it for me and that makes it taste all the sweeter.”

Jaskier sniffles again, squeezing the man in his arms tightly “Oh, you big softy! You don’t have to eat it.” 

“But I want to.”

“Fine.” Jaskier sighs, nuzzling the broad chest he’s pressed against. “Love you”

Geralt smiles softly, pressing a kiss to Jaskiers temple. “Love you too, you disaster.” 

Jaskier gasps and smacks his chest “You!”

Geralt laughs and grabs his cake before dragging Jaskier to the couch. “Come on, I demand my birthday cuddles.”

Jaskier puffs his cheeks but settles against Geralt on the couch, holding the controller for him “If this is my penance.”

5. Usually Jaskier did the laundry while Geralt did dishes. This was because Jaskier had many a delicate piece in his wardrobe and he did not trust Geralt to treat his clothes the right way if he were to do the laundry. Geralt didn’t care much either way who did the dishes and who did the laundry, as long as the chores ended up done in the end. This was how their kitchen, laundry nook, and part of their living room ended up absolutely covered in bubbles.

They had decided to switch up the chore rotation for the week because the dishes weren’t too bad and Jaskier hadn’t worn any of his ‘delicate’ pieces in the past week and a half, meaning there was nothing of his Geralt could mess up. The switching of chores had unforeseen consequences however, in that neither remembers exactly how to do the new chore, as they hadn’t had to in at least a year. Rather than ask the other for help, both Jaskier and Geralt decided to wing it and try their best. 

Jaskier stares down at Geralt, slav squatting, staring at the bubbles that were slowly invading their apartment via the laundry and kitchen. 

“So, I couldn’t remember which dish liquid was the one for the dishwasher and put the red one in, which was apparently the wrong choice…… What did you do to create the bubbles in the washer?” 

Geralt grunts. “That was the dawn dish soap that we hand wash the alcohol glasses with,” he sighs. “I may have put a full cup of laundry detergent in the washing machine”

Jaskier gasps “A full- Geralt! The entire cup!? That’s at least double the amount you’re supposed to use!” 

Geralt pouts. “I couldn’t remember how much,” he grumbles

“You could have asked me!”

This earns Jaskier a raised eyebrow and the stink eye.

“Fair enough,” he giggles. “We should have asked each other when we were confused.”

Geralt nods before standing. “Well I guess we should turn the appliances off before the bubbles get worse… wish me luck”

Jaskier nods and jokingly salutes him. “I’ll remember you dearly.”

Geralt chuckles and shakes his head before wading into the bubbles to stop the dishwasher and washing machine cycles.

A minute later he reappears, covered in bubbles from head to toe, looking like some sort of grumpy snowman. Jaskier laughs at him before Geralt smirks and captures him in a bear hug, causing the man to shriek. “Nooo! Geralt my clothes! Ackkkk!”

Geralt swings him, picking him up slightly. “I think if we let the bubbles settle we can clean up in a little, but we should change first.”

Jaskier pouts “The point of you doing it was so only one of us had to change.”

Geralt gives him a toothy grin, carrying him towards their bedrooms to change. “But you laughed at me, that demands retribution.”

Jaskier just sticks his tongue out at him before being set down in front of his room. “Wanna play Smash while we wait?”

Geralt grins, “What, wanna get wrecked that badly?” he winks to Jaskiers affronted gasp before going in his room to change.

guess I’ll add my tag list huh

@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @jaskiersvalley @jaskierswolf @dani-dandelino @wherethewordsare @softnerdypeter @thecomfortofoldstorries @dapandapod @lindianaj0nes @kuripon​ @elliestormfound @veritasrose

Hope y’all enjoyed it >///<

[saphirered]

Lovely Caleb fic! Could I get a confession of love fix that involved Caleb kissing the hands of a bewildered reader?

Thank you for the request! I hope this is to your liking!

It’s rather late. Well, you think it is. It’s kind of difficult to tell in Rosohna’s eternal darkness. At least you were sure it’s been a long day. You find yourself wandering the halls of the Xhorhaus. The last few months have been crazy, hectic and you’d have to admit your life has been turned upside down but you wouldn’t change if for the world. You found friends, family even. Reminiscing you find your mind gravitate towards fond memories of your favourite wizard. Dragging him along on a little shopping spree for spell components, the excited rants he goes on when you ask for his advise on this new spell you found, the talks about nothing when you shared a watch, holding his hand while Yasha shaved his beard with her sword, giggling about a little prank you played on a very grumpy looking halfling shopkeeper in Zadash, drunken nights sharing a bottle after a successful job completed, him falling asleep with his head on your shoulder, caring for each other’s injuries, the rare dance in the tavern…

Not as insightful as Caduceus may be but you weren’t blind either. It’s clear Caleb seems more comfortable around you than anyone save for Nott maybe, a different kind of comfort still. You’ve been consciously picking up on a shift in his behaviour for a while now. Your favorite wizard has been getting closer and more affectionate towards you but you’ve known him for a while now and you can’t help but pick up on this. His recent shift in behavior gave you butterflies in your stomach, something more than friendship but you didn’t feel it was the right time to tell him how you feel. Besides, what his feelings don’t extend beyond care right? This is no different than his relationship with Beau or Nott. Love is a strong term and one you may not hand out so freely but you know yourself well enough these feelings you’re experiencing are love. You just don’t want to ruin your friendship because he’s not ready, not comfortable or doesn’t reciprocate your feelings in the same way after all. Caleb has come out of his shell and made so much progress, growing more comfortable and open around you and that’s extending to those around him too. You don’t want him to crawl back into that shell again. You value him more than that.

Quietly you get some dried herbs from a sleeping Caduceus’ stash and wander into the kitchen to make some tea. You’re pretty sure you’re the only one still awake as everyone was quite exhausted after your return. Trying to start a flame to boil the water proved more difficult than you had hoped. Growing frustrated with the flint and steel you slam them on the counter a little too hard. You cringe squeezing your eyes tight shut and listen. Okay… seems like no one woke up from that. You glare at the kettle half the mind to toss it out of the window. Stupid tea. Stupid fire. You take a breather leaning your head against one of the shelves above the counter.

“It looks like we had the same idea.” You almost jump out of your skin quickly covering your mouth to prevent a scream to escape from your lips. You see a bleary eyed Caleb looking about as disheveled as expected standing in the doorway of the kitchen. 

“Don’t scare me like that you idiot!” You toss a towel at him. It hits, draping over one shoulder and he just gives you a ‘really?’ expression as you feel the blood rush from the scare fade. 

“You’re having trouble, ja?” He says more than asks referring to the still cold kettle. 

“You have to make me feel worse about not being able to get a flame going to brew some tea?” You say in jest as you grab another cup for him. Caleb walks over taking your spot and with a snap of the fingers the flame is lit. 

“It is not that difficult.” He jokes back fully aware that your expertise lays not with fire magic. You have many other talents, he’s told you so himself many times praising you for them. You grab the towel draped over his shoulder, fold it neatly and put it back on the counter. 

“Your help is appreciated oh grand master magician.” You give him a side hug which he returns wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you wait for the water to boil. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” You ask watching drops of condensation build up on the outside of the kettle. 

“Ah, no. Uh, wandering thoughts.” Caleb sounds like he’s only half paying attention. Wandering thoughts indeed. 

“Wanna talk about it?” You offer as the kettle starts whistling and you remove it from the heat before it gets too loud and begin preparing the teapot. You take a step closer to the counter, Caleb’s hand falling from your shoulder to your lower back. 

“I… uh-“ He hesitates and you swear when you look over your shoulder for just a second you can see a slight blush creep up his cheeks. 

“Caleb, you know you can tell me anything, right?” He manages to get out a ‘yes’ under his breath so you grab a tray, put the teacups and saucers, the teapot and grab some biscuits from a jar hidden behind the vast array of herbs and spices to avoid a certain Tiefling from claiming them all. Balancing the tray on one hand you turn around and grab his hand, guiding him along into the living room. You put the tray on the table and make Caleb sit down on the couch as you sit down next to him. You can see him take a deep breath and he refuses to meet your eye. Though, that’s not entirely out of character for the wizard so you give him time and space as you pour the tea in each of your cups. With a wave of your hand you cool the hot water to a less scalding but still warm level. 

“I know. But in this case I don’t know if that makes this any easier.” You frown and grab his hands in yours. Almost absentmindedly he begins drawing circles on the back of your palms with this thumbs. While he won’t look at you you can see he’s trying to find the words.

“Should I be worried?” Many questions rush through your head. Was everything alright? Did something happen? 

“No. No. No need to worry.” He musters a quick half smile before it disappears. You hated seeing him like this. So much conflict and inner turmoil. You give his hands a soft squeeze. Whatever this is it must bother him a lot if he’s so affected by it!

“It’s alright. Take however long you need. I’m here for you no matter what.” He takes a deep breath as you finish your sentence. 

“I’ve had some revelations lately and I’ve tried so hard to push them away, deny them or hoping that maybe I was interpreting them wrong but I can no longer just brush them aside. I don’t think it’s fair…” Another deep breath.

“What’s not fair to who?” 

“This. All of it. What I’m doing. It’s not fair to you.” He has trouble forming a sentence. 

“Slowly. Just keep breathing.” You try to calm him down.

“It’s not fair that I freely take your comfort, affection, kindness and even companionship. I’m afraid my actions in return, they do not come from friendship but selfish motives instead. I don’t want this to end but I cannot treat my own actions as rooted from friendship when they are not.” He scrambles on stumbling every few words and you try to make sense of his words but you’ve known him longer than today so you get where he’s going. 

“Caleb…” You begin but he cuts you off.

“No, no I need you to hear this before I cower back and lose the courage to do this. You are heaven sent. You are patient and kind and every time you smile at me I feel my heart skip a beat. Every hug, touch or kiss feels like the warmth of the sun after endless winter. I thought perhaps I felt this way because this is who you are and what you do; making the lives of those you care about brighter where you can. I know you care about me as you’ve reminded me many a time, and I care about you a lot, but I do not think it ends with just care. My realisation showed me that you’ve brought about a feeling I thought myself no longer capable off; love.” He pulls your hands close to his chest. You’re bewilder, confused at this open confession but above all surprised he so openly confides in you. You think hard taking in every word.

“So I think it’s unfair to you when for me this kindness and affection from my side will always be out of love and I cannot in good conscious give you my love when you do not want it. I cannot ask you to feel the same but I also don’t think me returning your kindness and affection can ever be anything other than love. So please, I don’t want what we have, our friendship to end but I don’t want to take what you don’t have to give me…” 

“Caleb, I need you to listen to me very carefully.” You watch as his shoulders slump. So insecure when it comes to other’s feelings and opinions of him it hurts you every time he sells himself short. You look for the right words yourself. If he can muster up the courage then so can you!

“You can be so blinded by your own thoughts and insecurities you don’t even consider the fact that I feel the same.” He finally looks at you wide eyed freezing in place for a second.

“You underestimate your ability to be loved and if I can prove you different, if you will let me prove you different I will.” Caleb scans your face for any sense of insincerity, deceit or even jest but he finds none. He takes a minute but eventually pulls your hands to his lips pressing a long soft kiss to the backs. 

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this but you truly are a light in the darkness.” He kisses the backs of your hands again. 

“You were you; all you ever need to be.” You shift leaning into his side, head against his shoulder and his arm wrapping around you. Intertwining your fingers with his at your waist you grasp his other hand and bring it to your lips. That small kiss right where his wrist meets his palm makes him melt. He leans back on the couch pulling you with in a slouched relaxed position. If only the rest of the Nein could see you now. They’d go crazy… 

[liddolwhynot2000]

Unprecedented Reactions: Part 2

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Summary: He likes you, scratch that, he's more then half way in love with you. And if you keep this up, he's not sure he can control himself and keep these feeling bottled up for much longer.

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Pairings: Levi/Reader

Genre: Romance, longing, Soldier!Reader, Levi deserves happiness

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Please read part 1 to understand this better => Unprecedented Reactions

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Growing up in the underground, Levi had learned a very different way to navigate life then normal people did. If you stole a loaf of bread and got caught, you got beat up and starved. If you pick pocketed and didn't get much, you should have picked your target better. If you played nice and thought for anyone but yourself, be prepared to be used and discarded.

When Kenny had left him to fend for himself, Levi had survived on his own just fine. In order to not get caught stealing food, he ran faster. To pick pocket well, his sharp eyes picked out whose pockets had more in them. He didn't make any friends, didn't let anyone join him, so there was never any need to worry about getting stabbed in the back.

Until he met Farlan.

Farlan had been an exception to all his rules, an addition to his life that he hadn't anticipated. Levi had been nervous of course, and not very trusting at the start. But the man had won him over, and secured a soft spot that Levi didn't think his heart even had.

Farlan had not just been his friend, but his brother. The man he only had to look at to ask for a solution to their problems, the man who made jokes that had him hiding smiles, who didn't hesitate a second in defending him from everyone in that hell hole.

He had accepted their brotherhood, feeling a little anxious, but mostly at peace with his decision. And then he had met Isabel.

Sweet, kind Isabel. She had just been a starved, homeless kid when he had found her. His heart hadn't been able to accept the idea of just leaving her there, of walking past her and ignoring her like he forced himself to with all the others. Farlan had only smiled at him when he brought her home and had given her some bread. It had been his way of saying he agreed with Levi's decision.

Since then, they had been a trio. They'd wreak havoc in the underground together, working hard to sustain themselves. Levi, knowing his superior strength, took up more work. He didn't mind it, feeling more safe ensuring their well being with his own hands.

It eventually became a pattern, of leaving it all to him. Sometimes it made him feel pressured, most of the time he pressured them to keep it up. He was too nervous, too scared that he would lose his self made family if he didn't protect them.

His worries hadn't been for nothing, his fears of losing them hadn't been unfounded. Unfortunately, his own actions had been the root cause of it.

If only he hadn't insisted that they believe in him. If only he had kept them close and hadn't gone off on his own. Farlan would be alive right now, and so would Isabel. Had Levi not pushed them to pick, his family would be safe and sound, with him.

Instead, here he was, lying in bed, covered in blankets, and unable to to do anything but mourn.

He would never be the same again, for he would never have his family back. All the positive emotions he had accessed in the years of being with them, had died, leaving behind a shell of a man.

It was like the candle lighting up the room had been shut off by wind. One strong breeze cut off the entire light source, leaving all the darkness in the room what it needed to thrive and spread. Levi didn't think that candle could ever be lit up again, that he could ever experience care for another human being again.

It felt like his heart had been effectively killed.

And that's when he heard the door open.

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He heard you put down the tray, but could tell you hadn't immediately left after. You were still there, staring at him perhaps. Probably ridiculing him for his depression, like he could tell everyone else was.

It ignited a fury in him, an anger he had felt leave his body once he had butchered that titan to pieces. He suddenly wanted to be violent, to destroy everything that crossed his path. Anything that could serve as outlet for his grief. Just as he thought to get out of the blankets and confront whoever had dared to enter his room-he heard the door shut.

Levi sits up, frowning. His hair is all over the place and his uniform direly needed to be cleaned. But he didn't care, he wanted to know why you had dared to enter his room. What gave you the right. He didn't care that you had come to give him food, he just wanted to pick a fight.

Throwing the covers off of him, he ignored the voice in his head that chimed at him to clean his shit up. But he would do that later. Right now, his hands were itching to unleash violence on something. Or rather, someone.

He followed you out, noting that you were a female. His stealth abilities were top notch-a novice like you couldn't even hope to notice him, walking along like nothing was happening.

You paused, and Levi stopped short, thinking he had been found out. He didn't bother to hide himself, after all, he was here to face you. His eyebrows furrowed as he distinctly heard a few male voices chattering.

‘H-Hey did you see that midget from the underground?’

Levi tensed, having a good idea of where this was going. He couldn't help noticing the way you had done the same.

'Yeah. You see the nerve he has, locking himself up in that room like he’s actually mourning. That fucker didn’t even join for the cause.'

He frowned, so what if he hadn't joined the suicidal corps for their cause. Isabel and Farlan had been alive, just like any other person. They had loved and cared for him, and he had done the same for them. Only ungrateful surface dwellers would think he had no right to mourn his friends.

It made his fist clench. You were the furthest thing from his mind now, these men would be the fight he needed ot sate his blood lust.

'Let’s.. Let’s teach that midget a lesson. I bet he’s putting it on. He’s just scum from the underground, he doesn’t even belong here.’

Levi was long accustomed to being called words like that. He fucking hoped they would approach him to 'teach a lesson.' As they all decided they would 'counsel' him on the death of his friends, Levi wanted to laugh. The underground and the surface really did have the same type of scum on it.

Their voices got louder as they approached, and Levi prpeared himself to kick their asses to hell and back-

--Only for you to grab one of the mens arms and smash him against the wall.

Confused, he kept himself out of sight, watching as you took on all three of them. He couldn't understand why you were doing this. Were you like him, frustrated and needing a way to let loose? It made sense, those drunk ass men were good target practice. But he couldn't help feeling that there was more to this.

'Have a little compassion you jerks! He just lost his friends!'

You were defending him? Him? The scum of the underground? Against your precious cormades? Levi could feel the fight in him dying out, being replaced by emotions he had thought that he would never feel again.

'If anyone of you dares to approach him, I swear I'll get the Commander on your asses!'

You were holding one of them in a choke hold, confident that they couldn't overwhelm you.

Levi was in awe of you, watching you lecture and beat up the men that planned on attacking him. The last time someone had defended him like this was Farl-

His breath seized, and he closed his eyes, feeling an abundance of emotions he just couldn't identify. He couldn't word them out, not today.

But he knew he felt grateful to you.

Once he was sure you wouldn't get hurt, he went back to his room. He took the soup and the bread from the tray you had left, and began to eat, allowing himself to not think about anything.

Unbeknownst to him, the candle flickered back on.

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He takes note of you after that, his eyes seeking you out whenever you were in vicinity. He's accepted his role in the corps, his responsibility as a soldier, but he can't help gravitating towards you.

You remind him of Farlan, but it's different. Farlan had wanted to be his friend, but you? You came to his defense, solely out of the kindness of your heart. You want nothing in exchange.

You don't boast about it, don't flaunt it, not to him or anyone else. If Levi hadn't seen you defend him with his own eyes, he would have never found out about it. Those men don't even look in his direction, not after what you did to them.

He feels curious about you, and allows himself to keep you in his radar.

He settles into his job well, climbing the ranks quicker then he thought he would. But Levi is quick to realise why--there just aren't enough people in the Corps. They need him, and if it means having to put aside their reservations about his origins, then so be it.

It makes his day a little better to watch Erwin sweat over keeping him around. He doesn't plan to leave, but it's nice getting a little special treatment. Especially all the free tea he gets.

He doesn't know how to approach you, and even if he did, he has no idea of what to say. Should he tell you he knows what you did? Thank you for it?

He's not used to making friends, so he doesn't know how to be friends with you. Rather, he contends himself with watching you from afar, keeping an eye out for you just in case.

You're a strong, capable soldier, and it brings him a little relief to know that. As his time in the survey Corps piles up, Levi notices how easily some of his comrades get slaughtered. How helpless he is to stop it all.

He selfishly celebrates your safe return from each expedition in his mind.

He can't help noticing you, how kind you are. You put everyone around you at ease, making jokes. He remembers the first time you talked to him, how flustered he had felt afterwards.

'Levi I'm beginning to think the walls were built to protect the titans from you. Not us from them.'

Everyone had laughed, and Levi had felt heat creep up his cheeks at it. It had launched an entire debacle of comrades lauding his strength, one he hadn't been able to shut down. Everyone had been too drunk to be scared of him, and he had been too lost in his thoughts about you to be terrifying enough.

____________________________________

His following interactions with you are cordial and meaningful at the same time. Ranging from drinking tea together, to practicing with your gear at the same time.

Even though he can't quite explain it, he finds himself making exceptions for you. You're not that good at cleaning, just average, but he doesn't have the heart to scold you for it like with everyone else. He finds himself turning a blind eye to it, blaming your mess on others and letting you off the hook.

It doesn't make much sense on his part, but it happens without him even planning it. There's just something about you that makes him automatically nicer. Levi doesn't question it much, instead opting to simply follow his gut instincts without regrets.

He's too tired of having to think on the battle field, feeling exhausted in his efforts to keep everyone alive. Being around you has a powerful effect on him- for just being your vicinity makes him feel at peace.

Maybe it's because he just misses his friends, and has latched on to you. Or maybe he's too worried about the others still judging his background, thus making him cling to you, the only person he knows doesn't give a damn.

Or maybe it's just that he's very much interested in you- and it's so foreign that he can tell it's not just friendship.

Friendship was when he wanted to help Farlan not die carrying crates that are too heavy for him. He's sure it's not him snatching them away before you even look at them.

Friendship is being okay with his friends talking to other people, not feeling possessive about the low lives who flirt with you. It's certainly not imagining different ways to teach them how to keep their hands to themselves.

Friendship should be being okay with the bare minimum physical affection, not day dreaming being wrapped up in your arms, wondering about how soft they would feel.

He's got a good idea of what he's feeling, but he doesn't have enough nerve to verbalise it. Doesn't have the required courage needed to look you in the eye and say it.

He needs a push, and not the literal one Hange tries to give him everytime she catches him staring at you. He knows he should at least admit what he feels about you in his own mind, but he just can't.

Until he does.

____________________________________

Ever since he's accepted his position in the survey corps, Levi has made it mission to give it his all. Every order is carried out swiftly, every action is conducted with purpose. He's devoted himself to his job-- no one could link the brash underground thug to the man he is now.

And he likes it that way.

The job isn't easy, of course, especially with all the losses incurred on every expedition. He feels grief for every life lost outside the walls, inwardly chastising himself for not being there, even though he knows its out of his hands.

His hands itch with the urge to do something for his fallen cormades, who gave up their lives to help them succeed. Their young, bright expressions flash in mind, because he was fond of them. He wonders what he can do to honour them, and comes up with two methods.

One, he begins to take their wings of freedom insignia off their dead bodies, keeping them safe and sound for their loved ones. To him, it's proof that they were alive.

Two, he starts making them special graves. It's a laborious task, especially on his own, but he wants to do it. He has to do it, if only to give himself and everyone a way to talk to them, to tell them that they're remembered, even in their deaths.

It's one day he's in the midst of his self assigned mission that you stumble upon him.

He notices you from the corner of his eye, wondering what you think of what's upto. He pretends not to notice the smile you flash his way, knowing that it'll be harder to hold back his blush if he dwells on you too long.

You walk away, and he finds himself slightly dissapointed. He figured you'd at least try to talk to him a little, but shoves his thoughts aside. However he finds himself pleasantly surprised when you return just a few moments later, with a shovel in your hand.

As you flash him a grin and begin to dig as well, he barely manages to take his eyes off of you. Returning to his own task, he finally admits it to himself.

He likes you, scratch that, he's more then half way in love with you. And if you keep this up, he's not sure he can control himself and keep these feeling bottled up for much longer.

He's not sure he can stay away from you for much longer, and a part of him is aching for that time to come.

Now that's he's admitted it to himself, he wonders if he can admit it you.

____________________________________

The most notable moment he has with you is, unfortunately, when he saves you from a titan. He had hoped that he would never have to see you in this situation, but when has he ever gotten what he hopes for?

He manages to save you in the nick of time, and he's sure he's going to have nightmares about it. You almost falling into a titans mouth, your expression frozen in terror. It's something he'll remember in his darkest moments, a scene right out of his worst fears.

He can't bring himself to keep his distance after saving you, wanting to ensure that you're not injured in anyway. He knows his grip is more delicate then usual, his eyes are more worried then expressionless. But he can't help it.

You mean more to Levi then you think, more then he can even comprehend himself.

He's a little giddy, like a cadet with a crush on his senior, when he finds out your horse isn't there. It means you have to ride on his horse with him, the idea of which makes him feel shy and a little more excited then it should.

You fall asleep on the way back, your head resting on his chest. He doesn't have the heart to wake you up, to the point he sneaks you past everyone in the formation and gently lays you down in the cart. He covers you with his cloak and eyes your peaceful expression, heart sorely wishing for things he's never known he wanted.

There's an urge to brush the strands of hair on your face, he tries to resist it at first but ultimately gives in. His hands are stiff, and he's alert, worried you might wake up. But the moment he manages to brush them aside, he hurriedly moves away from you.

His heart is beating too fast, and he doesn't know how to calm it down.

He's doesn't think he even wants to.

____________________________________

Dream do come true-especially in Levi's case. He's dreamt of all of his friends dying, and life has served accordingly. Every worst case scenerio that has ever invaded his mind, has the tendency to be brought to life.

It stings really, the injustice of it all. But he knows better then to complain-like always, he makes peace with the situation, and moves on. He refuses to look back and cry, knowing he'll end up in drowning in regrets if he does. He braces himself for the future--likely to be a very dark and bleak one.

He never, in hold widest dreams, expected one of his deeply desired dreams to come true.

He's been digging deep inside himself, trying to find the needed courage to approach you with romantic intentions. To let you know his hearts desires. But so far he's achieved nothing.

So when you approach him one night, eyes unable to look into his own, he's on the edge. He overthinks, expects you to reject him. You probably noticed him pathetically staring at you, and no doubt decided that he needs to be put in his place. He knows he deserves it, after all, what right does a man like him have to even think about someone as pure as you?

He braces himself to be brutally turned down, what he doesn't expect is the words that tumble out of your mouth.

'I.. I'm in l-love with you.'

The words are stuttered, with a red blush spread across your cheeks. He stares at you for a few seconds, mentally commanding your eyes to meet his. When they don't, he takes action with such confidence that he surprises himself.

His hands move to grasp your wrists, and he pulls you closer to him. He rests his forehead against yours, finally managing to get you to look him in the eyes.

Levi smiles, a sight that only you would have the pleasure of seeing for the rest of your life. He chuckles a little, moving even closer to you.

Dreams really do come true in his case. Sometimes, even the good ones.

____________________________________

A/N: Ta dah! Heyooo here's the part 2! I hope y'all enjoyed this. My asks are open so ask awayyy. Till next time 💕

[bloodybigwardrobe]

there is a galman footman with moss green eyes who keeps making eye contact with peter. peter has a panic attack when he realises why his heart keeps racing whenever their eyes meet and the other boy’s lips twitch into a smile. he allows himself half an hour to freak out, then decides to simply shove it all far down and never think about it again. it doesn’t work, of course. it almost feels as though his decision to ignore it makes it only harder. it doesn’t stop him from trying with growing desperation and increasing self-hatred. he is absolutely terrified.

one of the attendants of an archenlandish visitor is a young woman with a dimpled smile. she compliments susan's hair and susan blushes so fiercely that she has to excuse herself to get fresh air. it keeps happening and susan finds herself suffocating under the thought that she would really like to spend all her time with the other girl. it all comes to a head when the attendant catches her when she slips and susan flees the banquet to break down in her room. when peter comes and begs her to tell him what's wrong, susan throws caution to the wind in a desperation to get it out of her head. she doesn't know what she expects, disgust, confusion, denial, perhaps screaming. instead, peter gets quiet and holds her tighter. when he tells her about the galman footman and his own thoughts, susan cries again, but this time with relief. they cling to each other and sob through more confessions, more shared thoughts and fears. they don’t quite come to terms with it, but they feel lighter. 

peter finds edmund in the library on a rainy day. edmund slams his book close and tries to play it off. peter is ready to tease when he sees genuine fear in his brother’s face. it takes careful reassurance and promises on peter’s side for edmund to reveal a sketch of the revel in the history book, more precisely two fauns kissing. a dam breaks and edmund rambles, begging peter not to get angry. peter doesn’t know how to handle it. eventually he grabs his shaking brother and hugs him. edmund doesn’t quite break down, but eventually talks about one of the archenland knights who edmund can’t stop thinking about. his voice cracks when he asks peter if he understand, and peter’s hands shake on edmund’s back when he says that he does. that night, peter and susan sit down and decide that narnia isn’t the other place, and that it can’t be wrong. it takes a bit longer for it to sink in, but they try.

lucy falls into the parlour with a flushed face and embarassed smile and asks susan how to know when you like someone. she is full of giggles and rocks back and forth as she waits for susan’s answer. she nods excitedly at everything susan says, then covers her face with her hands and laughs. before susan has time to ask, lucy starts talking about one of the girls from the lone island delegation who she has been spending time at the beach with. susan swallows down the ball of emotion surging up inside her and encourages lucy to spend more time with her crush. she sends a breathless lucy back out to have fun. she keeps it together until she finds peter and then her tears are accompanied by unbridled joy. because lucy wasn’t worried, didn’t pause in fear or apprehension when she told susan. and neither of them remembers the other place much these days, if at all. they only remember the self-loathing and terror rooted deeply in them even now, and the thought that lucy would be unburdened by it all throws another weight off their chests.

[besanii]

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I promise" - wangxian

[from here]

A lifetime goes by before Lan Wangji walks through that door again.

There is less recognition in his eyes this time, but Wei Wuxian had expected it. With every lifetime, every reincarnation he goes through without Wei Wuxian, he will remember a little less. The time in which he remains tethered to this world in search of him will shorten; the chances of his memories returning will grow slimmer and slimmer, until eventually he won’t remember him at all.

He tells himself it’s fine, it’s better this way.

This way, he will hurt a little less, and pass on a little quicker. After a few lifetimes, he’ll take the offered bowl without hesitation and pass on without lingering. He’ll forget the burden of his regrets, forget Wei Wuxian and that first lifetime they’d spent together, until he is just another soul passing through this little shop on his way to the next life, and Wei Wuxian is just the shopkeeper who greets him.

It’s fine. It’s better this way.

He had spent decades after his first death alone, lingering on and on and on until the memories of his life had been buried under dust and cobwebs and nothingness. It is his punishment for the crimes he had committed in life, to help those who linger pass on while he himself remains tethered to this world by regrets he can’t undo. By the time Lan Wangji had first walked into his shop, he no longer remembered him, and they’d spent centuries side-by-side as customer and shopkeeper, cordial strangers and nothing more.

Except.

Now that Wei Wuxian remembers, he cannot forget.

He doesn’t count on how much his newly reawakened heart would ache at the sight of Lan Wangji, hadn’t realised how much it would hurt when he looks into that most beloved face and finds no trace of recognition. But it’s worse when he does remember, and he has to endure the look of hurt and betrayal and horror in those amber eyes in those moments before the broth takes effect, so he is careful never to do anything that would remind him.

It goes on like this, lifetime and after lifetime, until he loses count.

The pain doesn’t fade.

Lan Wangji’s memory does.

He tells himself it’s fine, it’s better this way.

One thousand lifetimes later, the door opens again.

The pain never lessens, but it does get easier. He’s had hundreds of lifetimes to practice, after all. Wei Wuxian steels himself, plasters a smile to his face—

“Wei Ying.”

He freezes.

That can’t be right.

He must have misheard.

“Wei Ying.” Again. Followed by a sigh. “Turn around, please.”

But his feet are rooted to the floor. The world around him swims in and out of focus, until he realises he’s not breathing; the first gasp of air burns in his lungs. That can’t be right. He is not newly dead—he has not felt physical sensations for centuries, before his body learned it couldn’t—

What is happening?

“Wei Ying.” A hitched breath. "Please.”

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I can’t,” he whispers. His voice wavers, breaks. “I can’t.”

Footsteps circle around the counter before he realises what’s happening, and he starts when the weight of a hand lands on his shoulder, guiding him around. 

“Wei Ying, look at me,” Lan Wangji says softly, “please.”

If he opens his eyes and Lan Wangji isn’t there—if he doesn’t recognise him—if this is all a lie—

—he doesn’t know if he can survive it, this time.

He stifles a sob and shakes his head.

“This isn’t real,” he says. “This isn’t real. This isn’t—”

“It is.” Hands cup his face, tilt his head up until he feels a warm breath ghosting over the bridge of his nose. “It is. Wei Ying, I promise you. Open your eyes. I’m here.”

He opens his eyes.

Lan Wangji is smiling, his amber eyes warm and soft and fond—he stifles another sob and clutches at the hands on his face desperately. 

“Lan Zhan,” he chokes through the lump in his throat. “How is—how did you—what’s going on?”

Thumbs brush away the tears on his cheeks gently.

“It’s done,” Lan Wangji tells him. “It’s over.”

“What—oh,” he trails off, eyes wide. “The punishment—?”

Lan Wangji nods and presses their foreheads together with a shuddering sigh.

“Yes,” he murmurs into the scant space between them. “One thousand lifetimes. That was what they had decreed. This was the final one.”

Strong arms come around him as his legs crumple, catching him, crushing him tight to Lan Wangji’s chest. He buries his face in Lan Wangji’s shoulder, his hands twisting in his shirt as he sobs, and sobs, and sobs—

It’s over.

It’s over.

“I’m sorry,” he cries, “Lan Zhan, I—”

Lan Wangji kisses him.

His lips are soft, but the kiss is not—Wei Wuxian gasps, surprised, and Lan Wangji takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his mouth hot and insistent against his. It is unlike anything Wei Wuxian has ever experienced before, and he surrenders himself to it, kissing him back, matching his passion and desperation with equal fervour. His body sings beneath Lan Wangji’s hands. He feels alive.

It lasts only seconds before Lan Wangji pulls away again, pressing his face into Wei Wuxian’s neck.

“That first time,” he whispers. “You tricked me into drinking the Mengpo-tang, made me think that you would be coming with me—“

“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian says again. “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry—”

Lan Wangji’s breath hitches against his ear; the arms around him tighten, squeezing the air from his lungs.

“No,” he whispers fiercely. “No, you don’t need to—Wei Ying—! You have nothing—nothing to apologise for. I’m the one who should apologise. I left you—”

“No.” He pulls back and takes Lan Wangji’s face between his hands—still hiccuping, sniffling, weeping—but he looks determinedly into his eyes. “It was my fault. All of it. You shouldn’t have had to bear any of it. It was my fault. I’m—”

Lan Wangji kisses him again. It’s softer this time, lingering, tender.

“Don’t,” he murmurs against his lips. “No more apologies.”

“Alright,” Wei Wuxian agrees, chuckling wetly. “No more apologies.”

He allows Lan Wangji to help him to his feet, and turns to the counter. Two bowls sit there now, the broth still hot, ready to drink. They share a long look before Lan Wangji takes both, and hands one to him. Wei Wuxian looks down at the bowl and hesitates.

“I’ve watched so many people drink this and didn’t really think much of it,” he muses. “I don’t think I really understood the significance of it until now.”

Lan Wangji hums.

“Are you afraid?” he asks. Wei Wuxian chuckles.

“Terrified,” he admits. He smiles up at Lan Wangji, who smiles back softly. “At least this time, we’ll finally get our second chance.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji agrees, caressing his cheek with his free hand. “Together.”

Wei Wuxian leans in to press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“I promise I will come and find you in our next life,” he murmurs. Lan Wangji’s breath catches. “Are you ready?”

—

He looks up, startled, when the door slams open.

There is a boy standing in the doorway, panting as if he had just run a marathon, his uniform askew and long hair falling out of its red ribbon. He stares. Something stirs deep within his chest—a sense of familiarity, like he’s seen him somewhere before.

“Hi, sorry I’m late! This is the student council room, right?” The boy hurries forward, trying in vain to fix his uniform and smooth down his hair. He holds out a hand with a grin. “I’m Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian! Nice to meet you!”

His smiling is blindingly bright. It sears itself into his soul.

He takes the hand.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji,” he replies. “Nice to meet you, Wei Ying.”

Notes:

Mengpo-tang (孟婆汤) - Mengpo (孟婆) is the gatekeeper to the underworld, who takes the form of an elderly lady (usually). She brews the soup that dead people drink to forget their past life so they can reincarnate again.

[READ ON AO3]

// buy me a ko-fi //

[zukoscomet]

I realised recently that I never actually collated all the ideas I had about my Zutara kids so here, have some steambabies! Idk I just really like the idea of Katara and Zuko having a big family after all they’ve lost when they were young, and as an only child, I guess I kind of romanticise the idea of having siblings. 

TW: I hc that Katara would have had a miscarriage, so if that is a trigger for you then maybe don’t read on.

Shameless plug but if you wanna read more about this, my series on AO3 is roots and wings.

Their firstborn is a boy who they name Kai after Kya. His full name is Kaito but nobody who knows him ever calls him that, not even when he’s in trouble. I’m not going to go into too much context about like the pregnancy bc you can already find that stuff here. He turns out very much like Zuko physically - tall, golden irises, straight black hair, narrow angular face - but he has mixed tawny skin and his eyes are shaped round and wide like Katara. He’s born on the last day of summer in 109 AG, so because of superstition that firebenders are born in peak summer, there’s some uncertainty about what he’ll bend - if at all - but then when he’s three and a half, he makes a flame. Iroh trains him to firebend until he’s about 16, then he goes off to the Sun Warriors for a year to finish off, and he ends up a very spiritual firebender. Kai is like the dream first child - the softest boy ever to live - and when Katara and Zuko go on to have more children, he’s a really great big brother, like wholeheartedly adores his little sibs even if they drive him completely nuts about 95% of the time. He’s quite a conflicted and confused kid growing up. He’s never quite sure of what he wants in life but finally, when he’s 17, he decides that he realises that he doesn’t want to be Fire Lord and passes along the heir status to his sister. After that he joins the Sun Warriors and eventually marries the chief’s daughter, Himari, and they have two firebender girls, Aiko and Sol. 

Izumi arrives not long after her brother in 110 AG. Katara and Zuko planned to wait but it ends up that there’s barely a year between Kai and Izumi and it comes as an extra shock as Katara didn’t figure out she was pregnant again till like 18 weeks in. Katara goes into labour early at 35 weeks and Izumi is born really small - she never completely catches up either and it’s hilarious because after successive generations of tall male Fire Lords, they get Izumi who’s barely 5 feet - but she’s otherwise fine. She’s physically a mish-mash so overall she resembles nobody especially - Katara’s hair, complexion and big round eyes, Zuko’s irises, Azula’s heart-shaped face and highly arched brow line, Hakoda’s facial features. The superstition about summer births for firebenders peters out real quick when Izumi, born in the autumn, bends blue fire at two and a half and, taught by Jeong Jeong, she grows into a prodigal master. When she’s young, Izumi is the polar opposite of her brother - feisty, stubborn, determined and whip smart - and she’s a heathen teenager but by about 15 she mellows and matures, and part of Kai’s reasoning for abdicating is that Izumi seems a better fit for Fire Lord. Izumi was always kinda apathetic to kids but at 19, she accidentally gets pregnant and has her son, Kazuo, then her daughter, Kira, eleven years later. Izumi becomes Fire Lord at 37 but she only rules for about 14 years before retiring. Since she had Kaz so young, if she stayed on the throne much longer, Kaz would also be an older man when it came time for him to inherit, so she decides to step aside and Kaz is coronated just after his 33rd birthday. 

(Kazuo takes after his Gran Gran in more ways than just his blue eyes; he’s a waterbender so Kaz is the first waterbender Fire Lord)

After a break, Katara and Zuko decide to try for a third addition and Katara gives birth - in the Southern Water Tribe, for the first time - to Bashira, four years after Izumi. Shira looks probably the most like Zuko out of all the children, even more than her elder brother does. They share the same tall and lean physique, the same long black hair, Shira is mixed but still the palest of all the steambabies and their faces are practically identical. They’re characteristically very similar, too - serious, intense and reserved. The only differences is that her hair is curly, her eyes are blue and finally, Katara gets her waterbending child. Both of them suspected that Shira was going to be a waterbender even at the early stages of the pregnancy, but it’s still super exciting when Shira tosses a wave at her elder siblings when she’s two. Katara is teaching her as soon as she possibly can but over time some tension develops between them when Shira turns out to be quite different from her mom in terms of natural bending style. Shira is very fight-oriented, she learns dao swords from Zuko and never shows as much of an interest in the healing arts, but when things blow up and eventually Shira is able to explain that she wants to be able fight like her mom did during the war, things straighten out and Katara guides Shira all the way through to mastery. She eventually moves to the South in her late teens to lead the tribe’s warriors. There, she has three children - waterbender twins Kenzo and Kenji, then a daughter named Kanna who’s a firebender like Grandpa - but the marriage to their father doesn’t last and in her 50s, she ends up in a relationship with Aang and Toph’s daughter, Lin.

Katara gets pregnant for a fourth time - planned - just after Shira turns two, but this time she has a miscarriage. Zuko was overseas when it happened so she went through it alone. Katara is devastated and resents Zuko for not being there. She knows it’s not his fault but she can’t help her emotions and that makes her feel even worse so she just shuts down - stops doing her Fire Lady work, stops spending any more time with Zuko and their children than necessary, won’t let the rest of the family visit them and spends most of the day lying in bed. Zuko doesn’t know how to help her so initially he decides to give her space to grieve however she feels she needs to, but it just deteriorates until one day Zuko suggests that maybe they should both go to therapy or marriage counselling or something because it can’t go on like this. Katara just completely loses it at that and ends up yelling at him all the things that she’d been bottling up over the last couple of months. Katara says some awful things and she’s expecting Zuko to take it poorly, hence why she kept it all inside up till now, but Zuko just accepts every bit of it and after that, she’s finally able to grieve properly and mend.

About six months after they come back together, they decide to try again and Katara eventually falls pregnant. The pregnancy itself goes smoothly but both of them are so stressed about something going wrong like last time and the effect that might have on both of them, then Gran Gran passes away when Katara is in her thirtieth week, so the full ten months were incredibly hard-going. 

It’s a big relief when the baby is finally born on Ember Island, three years after Shira in 117 AG. They name her Lili in honour of their recent losses, since lilies can ease scars and Iroh once referred to them as lights in darkness. From the beginning, Lili is the image of Katara in every way physically and characteristically - kind, patient, gentle, but does have quite a temper if she’s pushed too far. She’s also a waterbender, though it takes her a little longer to manifest her abilities than any of her siblings, first gaining control of the water at the age of six. Lili is incredibly endearing, as both a child and an adult, and she becomes so particularly popular with the Fire Nation public that the firebending qualification to be considered an heir to the throne is reversed, so Shira and Lili are inducted into the succession. Born in the same year, Lili had a long-term relationship with Tenzin, Aang and Toph’s thirdborn, but as they grew older, Tenzin was concerned that if he married her, their children would have heritage of all four elements and degrade the chances of Tenzin producing airbenders and continuing the Air Nation. That concern resulted in a kind of on-again-off-again thing but eventually Lili sent him off with an "I don’t want to be with someone that isn’t even sure he wants me" and went travelling the world for a few years. When they’re both in their thirties though, Lili and Tenzin reconnect and get back together, eventually marrying and producing five children - Jinora, Aya, Hiro, Rohan and Kano, the elder four airbenders and the youngest a waterbender.

A few months after Lili is born, Sokka and Suki have a baby girl and when Katara and Zuko go to visit their new niece, they agree that night on a spur-of-the-moment that they want one more child. The morning after, they talk about it properly and decide it’d be better to wait till Lili was a bit older, but Katara found out six weeks later that that one time had been successful. About halfway through, they find out that they’re expecting a boy and Katara is especially excited since their son had always been more closely attached to her whereas their girls were very firmly Daddy’s girls. Sure enough, when Kallik arrives in 118 AG, he’s a big Mama’s boy and remains so his entire life. Apart from his curly black hair, Kallik is the spitting image of his uncle, to the point that Hakoda says that seeing Lili and Kallik together is like seeing young Katara and Sokka. Kallik is the hardest to handle out of their children - loud, playful, mischievous and an exhausting troublemaker. All of the siblings fight like cat and dog but Kallik and Izumi are by far the worst, on the level of one walks into a room and the other is like “And I took that personally” and they never seem to grow out of it even when they’re both old and grey. Kallik is the only nonbender in the family and initially he struggles with this a bit but he spends a lot of time hanging out with Uncle Sokka, learns dao swords with Shira and Zuko, and by the time he hits his teens, he comes to view it more as something that sets him apart from his siblings. When he’s 18, he goes to join the United Forces and he stays in service till his late thirties, when he meets Ren, another serviceman from the Northern Water Tribe. After beginning a relationship with him, the pair settle in Republic City and end up adopting two daughters, Kirima and Alasie.

About a decade after Kallik is born, it seems like things are kind of slowly drawing to a close as the kids are getting older - Kai is 19 and has left home, Izumi is 18 and living away in Republic City while she studies at university, Shira is 14 and already talking about moving South the first chance she gets, Lili is 11 and wanting to go Northern Water Tribe to train with the healers there, and Kallik is 10 and dreaming of being a great military commander like Grandpa Koda and Uncle Sokka - when suddenly Katara starts to get really, really sick. Zuko is absolutely terrified, thinking that there’s something seriously wrong with his wife, but after some deduction, it turns out that Katara is actually pregnant again. The relief at realising she’s not dying is short-lived and the reaction from both of them is basically holy shit holy fuck we are too old for this our other kids are practically all grown up now we are done with babies we can't seriously have six children what are we going to do. There’s a lot of discussion, especially since Katara is 43 by then and the risks for her to be carrying another child are higher, but they ultimately decide to go through with it. Ironically, it’s the easiest of all her pregnancies and when Katara delivers a baby girl in Republic City in 128 AG, there hadn’t been a single complication to speak of. Iroh had passed away two years earlier, devastating the whole family but Zuko in particular, but the baby is born with his irises - a darker gold - so they name her Ilah. Her eyes are big and round like Katara’s but other than that, Ilah resembles her Grandma Ursa most strongly, with her thick chestnut-coloured hair and slight, delicate facial features. Naturally, Katara and Zuko think all their babies were the cutest baby but Ilah is probably objectively the cutest, with her big honey-coloured eyes, chubby cheeks and soft little curls.

Inevitably, since Kai, Shira, Lili and Kallik had all either left home before she was born or did so when she was still a little girl, Ilah gets a lot more concentrated attention from Katara and Zuko. She’s completely spoiled and doted upon by the whole family, including her elder brothers and sisters who visit her as often as they can manage. Since Izumi still lives in the palace permanently as the Crown Princess, she and Ilah are close, but Ilah ultimately ends up being closest with Izumi’s son, Kaz, who is only a year younger than his aunt. Ilah was even in the room when Kaz was born, though it wasn't an intentional move. Zuko was supposed to be watching Ilah when things got intense with Izumi’s labour but things escalated from 0-100 real fast and Katara didn't have time to hand Ilah off, so she stayed tucked in a sling on her mother’s back as Katara helped her eldest daughter to deliver her own baby, somehow sleeping through all the noise and commotion. Ilah and Kaz end up more like a brother and sister or best friends than an aunt and nephew, though Kaz always calls her Auntie Ilah when he’s teasing her. Ilah is perhaps the shyest around strangers of her siblings, uninterested in celebrity and attention, but she’s the most adventurous, determined and creative, interested in science and invention from an early age. Growing up, Ilah felt a little pressured by the renown of her family, especially when her firebending turned out to be just about average in power, but when she’s 12, Ilah figures out that she can combustionbend. From there, she applies her bending abilities to science and when she leaves home for university, she invents the combustion engine at age 20. The rest of her adult life is spent travelling virtually non-stop, working on innovation projects for the different nations. She never has children, on the account that it would be unfair to expect a kid to move around as much as she does and she’s happy enough with her numerous nieces and nephews, but she eventually marries her long-time girlfriend Li-Mei, an Air Nomad tasked with searching the world for new airbenders. 

[i-ntrmission]

Nine (Van McCann)

Just a silly little fic where Van is sporadic regular at a coffee shop.

Part 1

Part 2 

Saturday morning.

You’ve already baked cinnamon buns and the peacan pie by time Carly officially opens up the café at 8. The smell of freshly baked goods circling the shop, Carly hums in appreciation, hovering in the kitchen to see what she can rob for breakfast.

Toby arrives at half 8, Carly all too gladly standing back from the coffee machine. He hovers by the kitchen door a few minutes later, thanking you again for last night while you’re pulling a tray of breakfast muffins out of the oven.

“Sure you didn’t lose something?” You ask him, he only blinks, a questioning ‘no?’, and you tug his keys from your pocket.

“Are they my- shit, where’d you find them?!”

Fragmented story telling about last night, about Van, between serving customers. You still feel a rush of lightheadedness when you think about last night, think about Van. Heartbeat kicking up in a weird little pitter-patter rhythm - something you only associate with kittens and Hugh Grant films. Toby listens with a knowing smile, which you choose to ignore.

“Oh, and guess who Julia got off with last night?” You say, maybe to change the subject off Van, after he’s handed a takeaway cup to the last of the customers. He raises a how eyebrows, looking at you with interest. Toby liked to act like he wasn’t interested in the gossip, stories swapped between you and Julia on long shifts - but you always caught him half listening, weighing in with his own comments if asked.

But before you can dish out the gossip on who you had walked in on in your kitchen this morning, Julia herself stomps through the door.

“Speak of the devil,” you mumble with a smirk while Toby playfully hisses at her as she walks past “Ey, what time do you call this then?”

It’s 9, she’s an hour late. She had told you this morning she’d cleared it with Carly, when you had brought her water and painkillers. More as a front to question her on who you had found in the kitchen than being concerned for her head. She’d seen through it and buried herself under her duvet when you entered her room.

“Piss off,” she hisses back, taking off her sunglasses. No makeup and too much perfume, the telltale signs of a rough night. “And don’t even start you!” Pointing her sunglasses at you, your smug smile. You only hold your hands up to with a lingering smirk. Toby’s eyes flickering between you both.

The bell hanging from the door rings, drawing your attention back to the till as two mums with buggies and toddlers make their way in, the screeches of excited children make Julia shudder.

“Jesus Christ, kids shouldn’t be allowed out in public until at least midday on weekends,” she huffs under her breath and makes a beeline for the staff room. A chuckle - calling after her, telling her you had left breakfast muffins in the oven. The perfect combination of savory and sweet - the best hangover cure. Apart from more alcohol that is.

You’re loading up a tray with hot chocolates and coffees for the mums and kids when Julia re-emerges from the back room, taking a bite out of the muffin in her hand with a groan of your name, telling you that you were a lifesaver.

“Sure you can manage these? No more bad luck leftover? Need a side of salt?” Toby teases while handing you the tray over the counter, you roll your eyes - telling him not to remind you of yesterday’s disasters.

“So, wild night at the pub quiz I hear,” you hear Toby turning back to Julia while you walk away, biting down on the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile. Recalling her texts.

You make your way out front to the terrace where the noisy kids have taken up residence at one of the tables, except now their shrieks seem to be in despair rather than delight. One of the women standing out on the path while the other is desperately trying to calm the boys, one already in tears. Inconsolable.

“Oh, what’s happened?!” You ask, a frown while setting the tray on their table.

“Pebbles ran away!” The older of the boys wail while pointing down the road. It’s then that you notice the abandoned dog leash on the ground beside your foot, one end under the seat of the chair, the other end clipped onto a collar.

“He must have wriggled out, a lad’s gone running after him - I hope-“ the woman is cut off by the younger boy’s screech of “There! Pebbles!!”

You follow his gaze, almost shaking your head and laughing - it’s Van, of course it’s fucking Van to the rescue. Sauntering back down the path with the runaway Yorkshire terrier in his arms, licking at his face.

You watch the look of adoration in the women’s eyes as he carries the dog back up to the table, the gleeful sounds of the kids. His smile widens once he spots you, hovering.

“Alright lids, see he’s fine! Just a little messer ain’t he?!” Van eases, dropping down on his haunches to hold the dog while the mum fiddles with adjusting the collar.

Ducking back inside while the chorus of ‘thank yous’ surround Van, grabbing a couple of chocolate chip cookies and pain au chocolats, sugar for the shock.

Once you set the treats down on the table, the boys wipe the end of their tears from their eyes. Sounds of delight resurface, something their mothers echo when you tell them not to worry, that the cookies and crossiants are on the house.

Van follows you back inside after high fiving the boys, winking at the women and blowing a kiss at the dog - who seemed rather taken with him. Holding the door open for you.

“You’re in early, thought rockstars didn’t get up ‘til noon,” you say as he follows you in. Eyes a little bloodshot, voice a little husky - but other than that he didn’t share any of Julia’s hangover symptoms. You wonder what kind of drinker he is.

“Eh, never been good at the whole rockstar thing me.” A lazy grin, reaching the counter where Julia stops mid rant about how bacon absolutely belongs in muffins. Their eyes lock, mirrored smirks - sharing the same secrets.

“Think you have someone that belongs to me, love.” He chuckles.

Julia hums in response, “think I’ll hang onto him a bit longer.”

You bite back a smile. This morning, walking into your kitchen at sunrise only to be greeted with a scruffy, bearded man. Vaguely familiar, from the countless interviews and live performances you had binged on YouTube. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, unbuttoned shirt and undone jeans, hand buried in his hair, staring blankly at the floor tiles. Clearly in the midst of a hangover from hell, possibly going through the fear. You could smell the stale alcohol.

“Er, morning?” You said quietly, blue eyes flickering up, a crooked smile, and a rasped “Mornin’, love.”

Like it was the most natural thing for him to be standing in your kitchen, like it was his kitchen even.

“Are you looking for sommat or?” You opened the fridge, glancing back over him. Hoping he wasn’t about to puke all over the place. He had that look.

“Yeah, just the last shreds of me dignity.. and anything.. cold, please... fuck,” he grumbles, pressing his head into his hands. You almost felt sorry for him, then you remembered the videos and messages from Julia last night and hide a smile by looking back into the fridge. Jug of iced water and a pint glass, handing him the full glass before rooting through the medicine drawer, painkillers.

“Aye, you’re a fuckin’ godsent, thanks angel.” Taking the painkillers and water from you. “Can see why Van’s so fond of you, coffee girl.”

There’s a lot of unpack in that sentence, and it was way too early. So you simply blink and watch him take the pills.

“Coffee girl?” You question eventually, arms crossing.

His eyes drift back over to you, grimacing while he sips on the water. “Aye, you work down the café, wi’ Julia, reet?”

You knew you shouldn’t have, but when opportunity arises, you can’t help it. Winding him up. It’s a rare morning you’re in a good mood, able to communicate in more that one syllable words.

“No? Dunno what you’re on about mate, Julia works down the cafè.. heard her mentioned someone called Van a few times, seemed like they had a thing, yeah?”

A flash of panic in his eyes, practically hearing the flurry of curse words going through his head. The prospect of the fact he’s probably shagged someone his best mate is ‘fond of’. Quirking a brow while he stared.

“Nah, she said.. You.. fuck.. fuck me,” a string of grumbles, clearly trying and failing to get his head straight - remember what had happened last night, what Julia had told him. Hands patting down his jeans, pulling out his phone with a heavy sigh. He curses at the screen. “Fuck, Van’s gon-“

“Hey,” you decide to put him out of his misery. He was growing paler by the second, and you were getting more and more worried about the prospect of cleaning up puke. “I’m just messin’ with ya.”

Realisation hitting - eye narrowing at you, telling him your name, confirming that you were indeed the coffee girl who worked with Julia. He shakes his head, a gruff noise and crooked smirk.

“Jesus, threw me for a loop there... well played, my dear... I like you already,” holding out his first, “Am Johnny,” he says while you knock your knuckles against his. You refrain from telling him you knew that already.

“Well, he’s kinda crucial in our band and that, so afraid I get first dibs, darlin’” Van’s voice drags you back to the present.

“So you’re saying you’re going on tour again soon, eh?” Julia tilts her head.

A breathy little laugh - “Bands do more than just tour, yanno?”

“You do realise the internet is a thing, Van - we could literally google your tour dates right now and find out. So your mysterious bullshit ain’t flying anymore.” She rolls her eyes, another bite of her muffin.

Since finding out he was in Catfish, neither of you had ever thought about checking on the tour dates, when he came he came and when he left he left, and that’s that. No wondering if he’d show up when the tour was up. Simple, no attachments. You and Julia even named a local stray cat after Van who you fed from time to time when he came snooping around the bins outside, the easiness of coming and going.

So why were your fingers suddenly itching for your phone.

“Ah, love! Why ruin the little mystery that’s left then? Like I said - we do other stuff too, could have label stuff to do, graftin the next album... cheers, mate.” Trailing off once Toby slides his caramel latte over the counter, something he had got him hooked on a year or so ago. “Fuckin missed this.” He says as if every other coffee shop has yet to discover caramel.

“So yous are doing a new album then, that it?” Julia persists, rolling your eyes at her blatant attempts at winding him up. But he catches on, a lazy grin, licking his lips.

“Ain’t ya too hungover to be fuckin’ with us like this?” He calls her out, a smirk.

She shrugs while her eyes slide over to the elderly couple that come in every morning, sitting in their usual spot. Calling over to them that their tea and scones are on the way, fond calls back of ‘take your time, pet.’ telling Van she’s not finished with him before heading into the back to get a teapot.

“What happened last night anyways?” Toby interjects, bemused look across his features. Completely left out of the loop, obviously not getting anything out of Julia when you left them a while ago.

Taking the opportunity to pull up Julia’s messages - putting you phone down on the counter between the three of you. The video is obviously taken at the time of the night where all rational thoughts are lost to drinks. Loud music, girls screams - background static, Johnny Bond stood at the bar, downing three consecutive shots of what you assume is tequila, Julia’s giggles soundtrack while following him out the smoking area, turning back to the camera and taking off his cap with slur of ‘mind this for me, love’ before he proceeds to do a handstand against a wall for 15 seconds. Confused onlookers as Julia counts it out.

Amused sounds - Toby and Van, Julia passing back around the counter in search of scones for the couple, she glances over your shoulder at the video.

“Ey, anyone who does a handstand after 3 shots of tequila without vomming earns their space in my bed.”

There’s another video from about 20 minutes later of Larry stood on a table, Kylie Minogue blaring, and he’s doing an enthused rendition of the Can’t Get You Outta my Head dance mixed with a bit of the Macarena. Cheers erupting around him, wolf whistles.

Van - a rasped cackle, “send that one onto me, that’s too good! Never gon let him live that one down!”

You watch him while he watches the video again a few times over. His eyelashes nearly brushing his cheeks when he looks down, fingers restlessly tapping against his coffee mug, soft chuckles. Feeling Toby give you a nudge, a wink when you look up. Letting you know he caught you, shaking your head with your best ‘fuck off’ eyes.

“So why were you making the lads humiliate themselves for your entertainment then?” Toby asks Julia once she circles back around the counter

“‘Cause, the lads bet me that they’d beat us at the pub quiz,” she explains, helping herself to another muffin. “Johnny spent half the time outside smoking, and Van and Larry fuckin’ argued over every question and ended up writing down bullshit made up answers.”

Toby asks where Van’s forfeit video is, you’re only half listening now - taking orders of the few people who just came in, but you zone back in once you hear your name mentioned.

“-and after I told him she was workin’ late closing up, never seen anyone down their pint so quickly, what was the excuse again, Van? Jet lag was it?”

Glancing up at that to find him already looking at you, catching his eye, his lips tilt making his dimple pop out. It lasts less than a second, your eyes darting back down to the pecan pie you’re cutting. Feeling your cheeks warm up. He never mentioned that he had run into Julia at the pub last night, remembering how he just said he was on his way home. Although, you were half sure it did have nothing do with you, more likely he was just sick of Julia’s drunken bullshit.

“Nah, just quite like that pub and want to be able to show me face in there again, innit.” He tells her, a laugh.

You grab a basin and walk away to start to clear tables, not really wanting to hear anymore of Julia’s torments. You’re happier zoning out, getting lost in your own thoughts, smiling and small talk with a few regulars. On you’re way back to the kitchen when you hear Van again as you walk past, catching your elbow.

“You in then too, Glasvegas?”

“Sorry, what?” Turning back to him, you had been thinking if Julia would be up for getting chipper on the way home after the pub tonight. You were already craving garlic cheese chips.

“Coming down Cassidy’s tonight? Van’s buying first round for being a pussy last night.” Julia quips, and you look from him to her. Fuck, remembering Van’s confession about wanting to buy you a drink last night. Julia’s looking at with you a smug expression, knowing you can’t get out of this one. You and her always went out on Saturday night’s - either just the two of you, or a group of friends. But going to the pub with Van and his mates, your heart skips a few beats, uneasiness. You give her a look before letting your eyes slide back to Van, an expectant look, finishing off his cinnamon bun.

“Er, I dunno..”

“Dunno if you’re up for going to the pub? Like we don’t go out every Saturday night?” Julia tilts her head, feigning mock innocence. You knew what she was doing, and you glare. A non-verbal ‘you’re being a dick.”

“Well, er, it’s been a long week.. yanno. I’m kinda tired.. was thinkin’ of staying in and having a quiet one,” you’re backing slowly into the kitchen as you say this, feeble excuses. “And I’m.. I’m trying to save some and that.”

“So me and you will do pre-drinks at ours,” Julia pushes, entertaining your excuses to a certain extent, but not letting you get out of it.

“And I’m buying first round,” Van adds.

“So, it’s just one drink really.” Julia confirms.

“Jus’ one drink.” Van reaffirms.

“Just one drink?” You say, somewhat defeated.

Toby glances up from the coffee machine, a chuckle. “Now when’s the last time anyone went out and actually had just one drink?”

Van leaves a little while later, Toby giving him a tray of coffees for Larry and Bondy if he’d yet ventured back from your place, you sending him off with a bag of hangover cures in form of pastries and cakes.

He came back in a few minutes later, forgetting his stamp on his loyalty card.

“2 down, eight to go. Cheers, see yas later.” He walked back out, a spring in his step. You turned to Julia.

“What the fuck, Jules?! Will you leave us alone and stop tryin’ to setup me up with Van fuckin’ McCann!” Exasperated tone, she only shook her head and giggled. “S’not funny! He probably already has a girlfriend and you’re here makin’ us look desperate!”

“Dunno what you’re on about, babe!” She says while heading out to clean up the terrace, humming matchmaker matchmaker under her breath. She turns back to you as she reaches the door “Oh, and he deffo doesn’t have a girlfriend, found that out last night for ya. You’re welcome!” She beams, all but skipping out the door.

You somehow resist the urge to chuck the tea towel in your hands at her head.

[worldwidemochiguy]

Moonlight (PJM x Reader)

➵ Your mother has always warned you against entering the forest. Two years ago, your friend Jimin was lost to the trees, with no one brave enough to search after him. But, when you find yourself unable to resist the tug of adventure, you run into Jimin, rumpled, but alive. Can you and Jimin escape the clutches of the forest? And can you discover what- or who- is behind the disappearances that plague your village?

➵ Pairing: Jimin x Reader x ???

➵ Word Count: 3K

➵ Masterlist

Your mother is wrong about a lot of things. 

She was wrong about how many yards of fabric it takes to weave a skirt; the village girls don’t want a skirt that goes all the way down to their ankles, it’ll only trail on the ground and make the hem all muddied. She was wrong about the correct method of planting flowers; you often had to replant them all after she had gone to bed to ensure the roots took hold properly. She was even wrong about your father. In the end, he hadn’t been able to overcome the fever. 

But one thing she was definitely not wrong about is the importance of not getting lost in the woods. 

These woods are home to many folktales. Silly rumours and fancies housewives tell to keep themselves amused, of course, but that doesn’t stop the villagers from drawing their curtains a little tighter at night. Doesn’t explain the two men, four women, and one child who vanished, one by one, moments after venturing into the thicket of trees.

You tug your cloak around you, as if it can protect you from the looming shadows cast by the sun, who’s light can no longer reach you. Blocked by gnarled branches and browned leaves. From the safety of the village outskirts, the forest seemed like a teeming haven of life, brightly coloured flowers you had never seen before bursting from the banks of the grass, swaying lightly in a summer-scented breeze. 

You knew your mother — everyone’s mothers, really — warned people explicitly against wandering into the forest, but the berries growing at the foot of that willow tree were just the perfect shade for the scarf that girl, Jeongyeon, if you’re remembering correctly, had requested. And then, when you crouched down to pick them, you saw a cluster of dandelions more rich in colour than any you had ever seen before, and so you willingly went, step by step, deeper into the forest. 

And now you find the path you took has somehow become overgrown by brambles. 

“Okay,” You whisper to yourself, turning slowly on the spot, trying to catch sight of a clear path to take, “It’s alright, you’re alright, you’ll be back home in time for dinner and mother will be pleased with all the dyes you’ll be able to make.” 

Your words, though soft-spoken, are not exactly comforting. The forest, which had sounded so full of life, the shifting of the breeze and rustling plants and birdsong, is now deadly silent. The air seems to absorb every syllable your mouth forms, hollowing it out and spitting it onto the dead leaves blanketing the forest floor.

You decide to retrace your footsteps, sunken into the dry mud and twigs like an embossment. It’s strange, you could have sworn you had come from the other direction, but you guess that your sense of orientation is less than perfect since you can’t make out the sun and your only surroundings are an army of eerily similar trees. 

As you move further from the heart of the forest, it almost seems to get darker. You worry the sun has begun to set. Mother must be looking for you. The full-basket swings against your legs, the rustle of the plants within as they shift over each other comforting you somewhat. You’d rather be loud, than be reminded of that heart-wrenching silence at the centre of the forest. 

You’re glad you’ve escaped it, certainly. With any luck, you’ll be at home before your mother can use the excuse of anger over your actions to make you scrub the floors of the cottage. Sugar, your grumpy cat, has the unfortunate habit of leaving little presents tucked under rugs and furniture, a not-so-pleasant surprise for whoever’s turn it is to clean. 

A whisper. A laugh. Suddenly, the snap of twigs crushed underfoot is not the only sound you can detect. You wonder excitedly if this means the village is just out of sight, beyond the thick gathering of trees and branches. Maybe you’re overhearing the village children playing? You prepare yourself to scold them for wandering this far out. Hopefully they won’t realise that you’re too far out as well, and therefore in no position to criticise. 

However, as you grow closer, you realise that it isn’t laughter you can hear. It is the sound of someone weeping.

You break into a run without a second thought. What if they’re hurt? What if they’re scared? What if they’re lost, like you? Except you aren’t lost, you remind yourself firmly, you’re making your way out. It’s just… taking a while. 

You stumble into a clearing, which you must have managed to circumvent on your way into the forest, and in the centre… is a boy. A man? You can’t really tell, with the way he’s hunched over himself, strands of dirty blonde hair covering his face. 

His shoulders are shaking with the force of his quiet sobs, he doesn’t seem to notice your presence at all as you inch further into the clearing, towards the ray of light that breaks through the forest canopy, bathing him in an almost ethereal glow. 

Once you are close enough, you reach out a hand to touch him. He stills, but does not look up. 

“Hello,” You say tentatively, brushing over the surprisingly soft fabric of his shirt, “Are you alright?” 

You receive no response, and a curl of sympathy tugs in your gut. This could have been you, if you hadn’t the sense to retrace your steps. 

“What’s your name?” You try again, and the boy murmurs something inaudible. “Sorry?” 

“My name’s Jimin.” He says, and as he finally looks up, you gasp. 

Jimin. The first boy that went missing, almost two years ago; his bride-to-be was inconsolable for months. He used to come to you for dye to treat his hair. Your first crush. 

“And yours?” 

“Huh?” 

Jimin’s insistent gaze pulls you out of your memories, his hand outstretched and open. Expectant. 

“Your name?”

“You don’t remember me?” You reply, slightly hurt, before hurriedly composing yourself and helping him up. His hands grip tightly around yours, warming slightly as you give him your name. You wonder how long it has been since he touched another person. You squeeze his hand back. 

“Remember me?” You try again, “From the village? My mother’s the seamstress?” 

“Oh… yes,” Jimin says, a slight smile of reminiscence curving around his full lips, “I remember you.”  

“I’m glad.” You smile, swinging his hand between yours. “Come on, follow me.”

You tug him through the forest, following the path you are sure leads back to the village. You don’t know how, exactly, but you can just feel it. Your steps are practically taken for you, the grass cushioning your every move and pushing you onwards.

“So… how have you… survived these past few years?” You ask cautiously, at odds with the curiosity burning on the tip of your tongue. Jimin smiles at you, and you smile back encouragingly. 

“It wasn’t very hard, really. The forest is full of things to eat, and natural springs to bathe in. It was… an escape.” He sighs, almost wistful. 

Confusion digs a crevice in between your brows — why was Jimin crying when you found him if he was happy here? And… how could anyone be happy, isolated from everyone they’ve grown up around? 

But, it isn’t your place to judge him, you remind yourself. After nearly two years on his own, it’s remarkable Jimin is still pleasant to look at, let alone talk to. 

“Everyone will be so happy to see you!” You say, to change the subject. “I’m sure you’re glad to know Areum never married anyone else.” 

At the mention of his former fiancée, his face darkens abruptly. He stops, forcing you to halt as well since your hands are still tightly intwined.

“I… My fiancée was actually part of the reason why I left.” 

For perhaps the fifth time in the past few hours, you are shocked. 

“You- You left… voluntarily?”

“I did not wish to marry her.” Jimin replies simply, and you gape at him. 

“So you’d rather live in the wild? Areum is the prettiest girl in the village!” 

“She is not.” Jimin states, looking you dead in the eye, “Besides, I do not want to marry the prettiest girl, or the girl my parents picked out for me so I would give them grandchildren. I wanted…”

Jimin trails off, his dark eyes flashing as the sun catches them. Under the light, they reflect it back as pure snow, the bright shade almost hard to look at. Your gaze drops to the ground. 

“…I want to marry my one true love.” Jimin finishes, quietly but no less fervent. 

“But, if your one true love wasn’t Areum, then who…” 

Jimin simply stares at you, and you blanch. 

“It- it isn’t…it can’t be…” You flounder, but his gaze refuses to waver. “Me?” 

“Who else?” He says, and you splutter. You try to drop his hand, but he merely tightens his grip, and you have to remind yourself that Jimin has been on his own for the past two years, and you should be patient with him.

“I- Jimin. I am sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.” 

Though his expression doesn’t alter, something changes in his eyes. He becomes a little less open, and a little more guarded. The guilt doesn’t waste any time before flooding into you with sadistic relish. 

“Just…let’s just get back to the village, and everything will be okay.” 

“…Okay.” He eventually replies, and you give him a gentle smile. He does not return it.

You can’t tell how much time passes. Neither sunlight nor moonlight can break through the leaves, and with Jimin everything seems to pass by much slower. The guilt you feel over turning him down — god, you’re the first person he sees in two years and almost the first thing you do is reject him — weighs down your every step, until you are almost trudging. 

You don’t even notice the branch leaning down overhead, directly in your path, until Jimin holds it up as you pass beneath with a strength you didn’t know he possessed. You guess living in the forest must have hardened him, even though his cheeks have that familiar, soft curve, and his light hair looks as silky as it always did. 

“Thank you,” You murmur, and he laughs quietly behind you. Perhaps because of your voice, which sounds as tired as your muscles feel. 

“It’s my pleasure.” He replies, squeezing your hand a little tighter. You grip it back, happy that he seems to have forgiven you for earlier, or at least forgotten. 

You come across a flight of steps carved into the mud, edged with boards of carved wood. They trail off out of the forest, and you take the opportunity to rest, sitting down on the first step and dangling your legs over the ledge. 

Jimin sits beside you, and you’re too exhausted to stop yourself from leaning against his side. He kindly wraps an arm around you to steady you. You had forgotten how nice Jimin was, before he left. You’re very lucky you found him, you decide, otherwise you really might have gotten lost.

You trail a finger over the whorled design carved into the wood beneath you, trying to decipher what looks like an entirely different alphabet. There are etchings too, small figures dancing and drinking and… procreating — you move your finger away from that panel with a blush — and you are struck with a realisation. 

“These steps… they’re manmade, of course, they have to be. That means… we must be getting close to the edge of the forest!” 

Jimin chuckles as your fatigued, slurring voice gives a weak attempt at excitement, stroking his hand over the curve of your waist. 

“I guess it does. Do you want me to carry you? You must be getting quite tired now.”

“No… ‘m strong,” You insist, but don’t protest as he kneels in front of you, scooping your bent legs and securing them at either side of his thighs, looping your arms around his neck as he stands with you plastered along his back.

“Of course you are, dearest.” He breathes, not winded at all as he begins running down the steps. 

His footfalls are light, you notice, like he’s prancing down the steep incline. You remember he always used to dance at the maypole festival, and how magical, ethereal he appeared to you back then. You had begged your mother for weeks afterwards for dancing lessons, but she had told you there simply wasn’t the money.

Your weight does not seem to be any added burden for him as he practically flies down the steps. Your eyes are drooping closed, but you stubbornly wrench them open each time, wanting to see the outskirts of the village appear once you finally reach the end of the stairs. You don’t remember using them to enter the forest, but- well. This must be a different way out. 

Except, the village does not appear at the end of the steps. Jimin sets you down by the roots of a colossal tree, which you can’t believe you haven’t noticed before. The clean white bark stretches a mile into the sky. The thick roots form a sort of seat around you, and the grass beneath you is soft, comforting. Under the shade, it almost appears blue.

“Jimin, w-why are we stopping? Do you… do you need a rest?”

Jimin laughs, but this time, it sounds more high-pitched. Less controlled. A shiver trips down your spine uncomfortably, rung by rung, like it’s being held back at every step. Like he wants you to remain calm. 

“That’s very considerate of you, my dearest, but I’m alright.” 

“T-then-” You struggle to say, wondering if you’re really this out of shape, that a day’s walk can wind you so much. But, to be honest, you don’t know if it’s been a day. Time seems to trickle by like honey. “Then… why are w-we, uhm… stopping?” 

“Because we’re here.” Jimin smiles unsettlingly. 

“Here?”

“Well,” He deliberates, “We aren’t there yet, but this is where we have to be. As soon as the moonlight comes out, we’ll get there.” 

“J-Jimin, what’s…um, what’s going on?” You ask, feeling an edge of hysteria come into your voice, “When are we going home?” 

His laugh this time feels like a scream. Not his scream. Yours. It warms in your mouth, but before it can spill out, something tugs it back. An invisible hand wraps itself lovingly around your throat, and you realise you can no longer speak. 

“Oh, you’re just as naïve as he was.” 

…what?

Jimin reads the question in your eyes, or does he? Can he hear it rattling around your head? Can he taste the word on your useless, unspeaking lips?

“When he first came to this forest… oh, he was desperate. They say love makes fools of us all, but, it really possessed him mind and soul.” Jimin laughs again. He seems to be much more comfortable now, happy as you lie against the roots of the tree, unmoving. “You don’t understand why that’s funny yet, but don’t worry, dearest, I’ll explain. I love seeing that look in your eye.” 

“Jimin loved you more than I’ve ever seen anyone love anything, but his love didn’t make him strong. It made him into a coward. He could barely look at you before he was running away again. Don’t you wonder why he bought all that dye from you?”

Jimin paces along the ground as he talks, but- 

He isn’t pacing, he’s floating. The air prevents Jimin from crushing the grass under his bare feet, buoyed along the invisible currents of the jasmine-scented breeze wafting around the base of the tree. 

 “He heard talk of the Faeries, and he came to us, begged us to make him strong. He promised to lure in tributes for us, bring us other things to play with, as long as we promised never to harm you.” 

If you had control over your own breath, it would have stopped cold. The other missing boy. The missing women, all regular attendants of Jimin’s dance class. The little girl, who’s mother had cried for weeks after her disappearance. Who had been found dead in her cottage two days after she was told to give up looking. 

“And so, we fulfilled our side of the bargain accordingly. We made him strong, brave, worthy… by making him one of our own.” The thing wearing Jimin’s face smiles, and it’s the ugliest sight you’ve ever seen. “I became him, and he became me. Hello.”

“You… you killed him.” You groan, and Jimin coos. 

He crouches in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke the side of your face. If you had the energy, you would bite him. 

“Don’t worry, my love, he’s still here. You talked to him earlier, actually. As soon as we realised you were lurking on the outside of the forest, he became very excited. Insisted that he should be the one to talk to you first. It’s only after you turned him down that I took over.” 

Jimi- the faerie���s eyes glow white, and you realise that it wasn’t sunlight reflecting in Jimin’s eyes back then. It was madness. 

“After all this time living inside of his head, I have grown rather… fond of you. I love you as he does, and we’ve decided to share you.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want you…” You mumble, and Jimin smirks, gathering you in his arms again and standing up. 

“It doesn’t matter what you want anymore, beloved. You’re ours, remember? You gave us your name.”

A bolt of light strikes a leaf. A flash of memory, shoved from his mind to yours. 

“My name’s Jimin. And yours?”

A hand outstretched, expectant, waiting impatiently for an offering. 

A smile as you give him your name. 

Your mother had always told you not to go into the forest, and you had never thought to ask why, blissfully ignorant as you fell headfirst into a faerie’s trap. 

“That’s…not…” You try to struggle, and find that you can’t, “I… I didn’t k-know-”

“Oh, I know you didn’t, my love.” Jimin coos as his stranglehold on your mind tightens, “It’s okay, don’t fuss, it’ll be alright. I’m taking you home.” 

“The… the village?” You ask hopefully, and Jimin snickers, delicate and so heartbreakingly cruel. 

“No, my home. Our new home.” 

The moonlight shatters through the forest canopy like glass, and Jimin pulls you down into the faerie realm, never to return to the warmth of sunlight again. 

[syms-things-5]

CLEAR THE AREA - Chapter Twenty

Previous Chapter here

Warnings: language and the usual angst

Summary: I made it! My first story at an end. Thanks for stopping by and sticking by me over the last few months. I'm strangely quite proud of myself for sticking with this even when I had zero idea of how things were going to go. I have plans for a sequel of sorts and I hope you come back for that (when I get my ass in gear to write it!).

Tags: Thanks to @kelbabyblue @jennmurawski13

Chapter Twenty

The hot shower was a welcome relief when she finally stepped inside. It had been a hell of a long day. Far longer than she could recall and she had battled plenty. 

 Sarah had been back at work for a week or so and trying her hardest to deflect questions. Audrey had, she realised, kind of figured most things out without having to awkwardly impose the third degree on her pal. She knew everyone in the family knew and while at first she was happy and possibly even a little excited by that knowledge, her enthusiasm soon turned to concern when Sarah informed her that Shanna had been ignoring all of her messages and calls ever since. None of Audrey’s queries beyond that were met with much more than a non-committal shrug. How could Sarah be expected to answer any of Audrey’s questions when she didn’t have any of the answers to her own? 

 “She’ll come around. She has to.” Audrey said, in her soothing tone that always seemed to work no matter what news she was giving. “She won’t want to lose you. You’ve been friends for years.” 

 A few people had said variations of the same thing to her lately. That Shanna will come around, that she was just shocked but she’ll eventually understand, and that things will get better. Carly said Shanna had a wicked stubborn streak in her that even she struggled with at times but she also knew she loved Sarah very, very much. It was just a tough time but she’ll learn to understand. It would absolutely be OK, she would bet money on it Sarah wasn’t so sure. 

She already knew Shanna was as stubborn as they come - she’d lived with her long enough - so when exactly was she expected to “learn how to understand”? More importantly, why did she even have to? They had been best friends for years but Sarah had betrayed her trust and flat-out lied to her face. Multiple times. “White lies” Scott called them, shrugging them off as though they were a big pile of nothing and just something people do when they need to get out of awkward situations. Sarah wasn’t sure sleeping with her best friend’s brother counted as an “awkward situation” or something that could be casually brushed aside with a sweep of the hand but nevertheless, she appreciated his efforts. 

 These were the conversations that kept circling around her mind as she stood under the shower head. Normally, she wasn’t one for wasting water but she allowed herself to enjoy it a little more this time. The soapy lather and fragrances of lavender and sandalwood surrounded her senses and was very soothing to her brain. 

She barely noticed the fog steaming up the bathroom and focussed on the feel of the hot water cascading over her tired, worn-out body instead. If she died right here, right now, they could say she was probably the most relaxed she had been in months. 

 “Shall we pick you up from the airport? It’s no trouble.” Jocelyn fussed on the end of the line. There was a loud scraping sound somewhere in the near-background so Sarah figured she was back on the DIY again. That, or she had given the pottery classes another go. Recollections of Shanna laughing herself silly at Jocelyn “doing pot” flooded back into her memory all of a sudden and only served to leave her feeling sad in the pit of her stomach. 

“No, Mom, it’s fine. It’ll be late. I’ll just get a cab.” Sarah calmly affirmed, one hand holding the phone to her ear and the other shoving yet more clothes into her suitcase. She’d given up on folding like an adult. “The flight could be delayed so I don’t want you hanging around the airport any longer than necessary.” 

 “But you’ll have bags, Sarah. Heavy bags and that’s no good. You don’t want to give yourself an injury.” 

 “Mom, I have one suitcase. Don’t be so over-dramatic.” She eye-rolled. 

 That was the…fourth lie? Perhaps the fifth since this conversation had started? Who knew. Sarah glanced down at the suitcase on her bed currently lying next to a smaller, overnight suitcase. There was also a backpack and a laptop bag sitting ready by her bedroom door. It was just easier this way. If she had to explain her real intentions, she would never finish packing and her parents would be on the red-eye to Boston. 

 “OK, well, keep us posted when you leave and when you land and I suppose we can go from there.” Jocelyn sighed. Whatever she had been doing had now stopped and Sarah could imagine the look of concern on her face. She was momentarily consoled by the fact that her Dad would at least see things from her point of view and hopefully Jocelyn would learn to just drop it. 

 Sarah hung up the phone and went back into the bathroom to finish drying her hair currently wrapped up in a towel. Shanna had shown her a trick with a towel and an old cotton t-shirt some years earlier after she had eventually agreed to stop cutting her hair. “It’s so beautiful and curly but, like, it’s a nice curl? A gentle curl. Honestly, girls would pay so much money every day to have waves like yours.” enthused Shanna at the time. It was a sweet thing to say. Jocelyn had said much the same thing as she was growing up but Sarah always preferred shorter cuts because she couldn’t be bothered to spend time styling it every day. And it would always take time. Too much time. 

 Her longer hair felt so lifeless and dull by comparison, she thought, except when Audrey would blow-dry it during one of their all-too-rare girls’ afternoons and rub this coconut concoction into her roots so it smelled delicious for days afterwards. Or when Chris would gently comb his fingers through it when he thought she was asleep. She didn’t mind it so much then. 

 She finished the last brush-through and switched off the dryer, wrapping the cord around the handle ready for it to be packed. A dab of foundation under her eyes and she looked reasonably well-rested now; well enough so as not to draw attention to any stresses or worries. Jocelyn always had a knack for sussing them out and it was frustrating and unwelcome at the best of times. That she was usually right was beside the point. 

 She mentally ticked off a list of items she made a point of packing; some comfy sweatpants, a couple of books, her particular brand of coffee because her folks now apparently hated the stuff. She located her passport and boarding pass for the tenth time, making sure they were safely zipped in the side pocket of her backpack. She was pretty much done. If it wasn’t for the looming feeling of regret, she would call a cab to take her to the station right that minute. 

 Looking down at her phone, she decided to call Shanna one last time. It rang a few times before a groggy voice appeared on the end of the line. 

 “Hey….” Shanna offered, cold but not totally unhappy to hear her, Sarah thought. The last few times she had tried calling Shanna, it would ring for a lot longer. The shortness here was a small step in the right direction. 

 “Hey, how are you feeling?” Sarah asked with some trepidation, trying not to sound overly familiar and casual. She was trying to follow Shanna’s lead with regards to friendly small talk. 

 “Better. Mom’s been making soup every day. Sick and tired of the stuff to be honest.” Shanna had come down with a small cold and had used it as an opportunity to stay in the relative ease and comfort of her mother’s house. Sarah would much rather have seen her in person before she left but speaking on the phone without one of them, or both of them, ending up in tears was also good. 

 “Well, at least you’re in the best place. Your Mom always makes me feel better when I’m unwell.” Sarah smiled down the line. 

 “I’m not unwell, Sarah.” she said, defensively. “It’s just a cold. I’m just tired.” 

 Sarah feared she’d overstepped the mark. “OK, well, still, it’s good that you’re there. ‘Cos…Lisa would just worry otherwise. Probably.” She was babbling now and she knew it but she couldn’t think of anything to say. Shanna had put up something of a wall between them now and while she was talking to her and not completing freezing her out, it felt different and not altogether pleasant.

 “Yeh, that’s true.” Shanna responded after a brief pause. “But you’re a nurse so you would think I would be better in my own home.” 

 “Nah, I’d just be bringing back all kinds of infectious things.” Sarah joked and was relieved to hear a laugh on the end of the line, a laugh that very quickly turned into a harsh cough. But it had definitely started out as a laugh so she’d take that as a win, too. 

 “So, have you been really busy?” Shanna asked after she managed to clear her throat. 

 “Same old. We have a new intern and she’s pretty eager to get stuck in which is great. Audrey is impressed so that should tell you how amazing she is.” Sarah offered. It had in fact been busier than most days but now wasn’t the time to relay the usual information she wouldn’t normally think twice about offering to Shanna when she had asked. 

 “That’s cool.” Shanna coughed again and cleared her throat. “Have you been working all the time or, um, have you had much of a break?” 

 “Pretty much all the time, yeh. I did those double shifts I was meant to do last month so I’ve cleared my flexi-time now which is good. I’m back on track.”

 “That’s cool.” Shanna said. 

 “Yeh and I built up some more which is good, too. It’ll come in handy at Christmas perhaps.” Sarah was trying to keep the conversation going as best as she could. 

 “Cool. Do you just come home and crash, then?” 

 “Most of the time, yeh.” 

 “You don’t go out anywhere or anything?” 

 “Um,” Sarah had a vague idea of what she was getting at. “I don’t really have time to do anything else. I wanted to get my hours back up to a healthy point. You know what O’Brien can be like.” 

 There was silence on the end of the line. Sarah could hear her shuffle about in what she assumed was her bed. Shanna coughed again, gentler this time, and sighed as she tried to think of what to come back with. She knew she was probably being a little obvious now. 

 “Well,” Shanna started. “I hope you’re getting through it all OK. Y’know, the work and stuff. I hope you’re doing alright.” 

 “Thanks. Yeh I’m…I’m alright.” Sarah replied, touched by the slight concern she could hear her speak. “I hope you feel better soon, too. It’s not fun having a cold particularly at this time of the year.” 

 “I’m sure Mom has been crushing aspirin and vitamins into my food so I’ll be Wonder Woman before you know it.” 

 Sarah laughed. “Absolutely you will. I’ll, er, let you get back to resting. Are you up to much?” 

 “No, I’m just watching Netflix.” 

 “Ah right. That’s cool. Lots of new murder shows from what Audrey tells me.” Sarah nodded. She knew Shanna wasn’t about to launch into a description of what programme she had been binging the last few days so they both vocalised their goodbyes and hung up. It was the first call that had ended on a mutual note and not Shanna making a lame excuse to cut off Sarah’s equally lame attempts at small talk. Again, Sarah took it as a positive. 

 Sarah looked down at her phone, a photo of them both in their graduation gowns on her home screen. She hadn’t changed it since she’d gotten the upgrade a year earlier and she had no intention of doing so now. It was a nice day, a nice memory. The hangover she suffered for days afterwards was more than worth it. 

 She was unsure why Shanna had felt the need to ask her what she’d been up to. She had seemed very specific, more so than about anything else they talked about lately. Naturally, Shanna knew Sarah well enough now to know she relied on work whenever she was dealing with something upsetting and difficult so surely it would have been obvious that she had had zero contact with Chris. He probably would have said as much to her in person. Or he would have talked with Scott or Lisa, and Shanna would have eventually found out by default. 

 The more she thought about it, the more anxious she felt. Knowing how she and Chris had left things, it was almost entirely likely that he hadn’t spoken to Shanna too much. Perhaps he had holed himself up in his apartment like he did following a tiring shoot, trying to sleep and rest and eat whatever carbs he could get his hands on. Maybe the opposite and he’d thrown himself into some training again. Maybe he’d gone back to Los Angeles for work, that he’d finally given in to Matt’s nudges and agreed to accept one of the many lucrative endorsement deals brands would throw his way every so often. Maybe he had been entertaining himself with the boys. Or with someone else. Someone… 

 No. This had been Sarah’s fault. There was no point trying to find justification for his absence. She had created a rift between a brother and sister where one should not have existed. He should have talked to Shanna but from Shanna’s probing and what little information she could gleam from Scott, evidently that didn’t appear to have taken place. She briefly considered googling his name to see if any news outlets had a scoop before deciding against it. She almost made it to her kitchen before giving in and bringing up a search on her phone. No. Nothing. He’d gone radio-silent as per usual. As she suspected. Normally, it was quite impressive of him to go under the radar with such precision but now it was just inconsiderate. How dare he not make his whereabouts publicly known so Sarah could come up with a half-convenient lie as to why he and Shanna hadn’t seen each other. A comforting lie that could make herself feel better about the mess. 

 It would have made her feel so much better to know they were getting along again. Selfishly, it would have made it easier for her to leave knowing that they were finding their own way of getting back on track with one another. Sarah could imagine Lisa fretting to Scott and Carly at night, wondering how she could help her two most stubborn children become pals again. Sarah would rather she had been forgotten completely in favour of them piecing their relationship back together, for everyone’s sake. If there was one thing Sarah hated more than drama, it was knowing she was the root cause of the drama. Separating herself from the family now would be preferable than being made increasingly aware of the glaring hole setting up home in their house. A meteoric hole that she had been responsible for. A hole inside a family unit that had gotten through a lot in their forty-plus years together. A wonderful, loving, generous family that had taken Sarah in without question and had accepted her as one of their own just because Shanna had once said she was “pretty cool”. 

 No, Shanna did not deserve to be frozen out by her brother. Chris didn’t deserve to feel like he couldn’t speak to his baby sister. 

 * 

 Another day passed and Sarah didn’t feel much better. She did, however, feel momentarily relieved by Audrey’s personal admission that she had googled Chris a couple of times as well. Another sip of steaming hot coffee and she further admitted to having set him up on her Google Alerts “just in case”. 

 “For safety. I’m just looking out for you.” Audrey declared before smirking at her across the table. “I didn’t want you waking up one morning to photos of him draped over some starlet or whoever. And don’t think for one second that I will not come for anyone who dares to speak ill of you online. You are beautiful and kind and funny and sweet and absolutely good enough for him. I swear to God and he can quote me on this. Think of me as your own personal hype-woman.” 

 “Wow. Thank you. That’s a lot to take in but it’s very kind.” Sarah laughed nervously. “I think.” 

 “All I ask in return is dibs on designer dresses for the wedding.” Audrey winked at her as she left the staffroom. She didn’t catch neither the eye roll nor the middle finger Sarah proffered in return. 

 A few moments of quiet passed and Sarah pulled up Scott’s number on her phone. 

Sarah 10.45am: Is Shanna feeling any better? 

Scott 10.52am: So so. She’s terrible at being an ill person. I don’t know how you manage it xx 

 Sarah texted a laughing emoji back in response followed by a couple of red hearts. She’d give anything to “manage” an ill Shanna right now. 

 Scott 11.04am: But how are you??? We miss you Xx 

 Sarah could feel the tears forming at the back of her eyes. It had been a couple of days since she had last cried but as her departure flight loomed ever closer she was feeling it more and more. 

 Scott 11.08am: Seriously……… 

 Scott 11.09am: Please come see us soon. Mom is super worried about you and threatening to bring you her tiramisu 

 Scott 11.11am: don’t worry, I stopped her xx 

 She bit the inside of her lip a little too hard. 

 Scott 11.13am: but you owe me one. I had to eat half that thing xx 

 Chris loved tiramisu, she remembered. Maybe he was responsible for eating the other half. 

 It was no good. She was going to have to call him soon. Against the promise she’d made to herself about not thinking about him, it only served to keep her worrying about him more and more. 

 Sarah 11.20am: I know, I’m sorry. Tell her I’ll call her soon, I pormise xx 

 Sarah 11.21am: *promise 

 Scott 11.24am: not sure that’ll do much honeybun. You know what she’s like. Love you xx 

 She texted him a kiss emoji and felt relieved that he didn’t respond again. She pulled up Chris’ number and contemplated sending him a message. How would she even start? A simple “hey” was not going to cut it at this point, nor was a “how are you?”. Time was running out and as Ryan peered his head round the door to check on her, she shoved her phone back in her locker and left to finish off her day. 

 Sarah 15.58pm: Are you still alive? 

 She stayed staring at her phone for what felt like an eternity. Just before she resigned in disgust at her pitiful attempt at casual humour, she saw the tell-tale three dots appear at the bottom of her screen. They flickered for some time before stopping then starting again. She wasn’t sure if it was because he was composing some irate response at her pathetic joke or if he was deleting a message in favour of ignoring her altogether. She wasn’t sure which option she would prefer had she had the choice. 

 No response came through. She pulled a cup from the cupboard and set about making a small pot of coffee for herself. She still had a little time yet before she was due to leave for the airport and she had made plans to clean the place up a little before Shanna returned home, presumably a day or so later when she figured Sarah was safely out of the picture. 

 She picked up some daffodils and daisies on the way home from the hospital and separated the bunches between the living room, the kitchen and the hallway. She had visited two different grocery stores to find Shanna’s favourite flavour of ice cream and the fridge was stocked with some healthy veggies and yoghurt so she could make her breakfast smoothies in the morning. She also set about steam-mopping the hard floors so the clean, floral smell could spread through the entire apartment. It was a nice welcome home, she thought. She would appreciate it if someone had done the same for her. 

 Her phone started vibrating in the back pocket of her jeans as she folded the bedding that was fresh out of the dryer. She wasn’t altogether able to name the feeling she experienced at seeing Chris’ name flash on her screen alongside a photo of him smiling like the goof he was. A beautiful, sweet picture taken from Shanna’s birthday party three years previous. There was a time recently when she’d let it ring a little longer than was necessary just to allow herself the chance to stare at it for a few seconds more. But now was not one of those times. 

 “I genuinely didn’t think you were gonna answer me.” He said, his voice displaying the disbelief he was feeling. 

 “You would have kept ringing me otherwise.” It wasn’t an accusation as such, and he knew it. 

 “Yeh, probably. But I would have tried not to.” He said, matter-of-factly. “I’m not great with sussing women out but I figured you didn’t want to talk to me that much.” 

 She felt sad to hear him say it out loud even though it was true to an extent. He seemed submissive in some way. “Really?” She asked, more beseeching than she had intended. 

 He paused and she could hear him sigh. “Yeh, I would have. It would have been tough but I’ve thought about it a lot recently and I do have a little pride left, believe it or not.” She heard him straighten up and realised he’d been either lying on his couch or on his bed. “But you messaged me first. I’m kinda surprised to be honest.” 

 He wouldn’t be as surprised or impressed if she said it was just to check he hadn’t died in his sleep. She decided to keep that little tid-bit to herself. 

 “You’ve been quiet lately.” She said. “I mean, I thought...I don’t…” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t actually know what I meant to be honest. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t haven’t contacted you out of the blue like this.” 

 “It’s fine. I’m glad you did.” Chris was feeling generous and decided to help her put out the fire. He knew she was panicking a little and no matter what else he was thinking right now, hearing her sound apprehensive wasn’t going to make him feel any better. 

 “I just wondered how you were doing, I suppose. I’ve been talking to Shan a little bit. Not a lot, not like we’re back to normal or anything but I wanted to check you were OK as well.” She tugged at the end of her sweater sleeve currently stretched between her fingers. “I haven’t really asked you that.” 

 He thought for a second. How was he feeling? He wasn’t sure he could give her an answer. He didn’t really know and he couldn’t make it sound half-positive even if he did. He had thrown himself into his work a lot more, much to the joy of Matt and some producers who had been trying to get his attention. When he wasn’t working out, he was reading scripts and when he wasn’t reading scripts, he was watching his diet. He had been very quiet on social media to an extent that someone in his PR team had taken to posting a couple of things on his behalf. Just two or three charity posts and something NASA-related to let his fans know he hadn’t completely disappeared. The team had notified him earlier that day that a cute dog video they had posted just 24 hours previous had gone viral and he had received more marriage proposals than usual as a result. 

 By now, he had learned how to fend off his mother and his brother. To be fair, it wasn’t all that hard to do with Scott. Scott had been understanding enough recently and he had the benefit of knowing when to shut up and let Chris go at his own pace. Pushing him was only going to have the opposite effect. More than once, he found himself wondering if Scott had spoken to Sarah. When he tried to hint around the situation to see if that had in fact been true, Scott had shut him down just as quickly. He didn’t mind that all too much. He appreciated Scott’s discretion and no doubt Sarah needed him just as much as he did. 

 “I’m alright, Bernette.” He said. “You know, fine.” 

 “Fine?” 

 “Yeh. Just fine. Nothing more.” He said. He didn’t much care about sugar-coating things but maybe that was out of a little tiredness and boredom. They were way past protecting each other from the other person’s feelings at this point. 

 “Anyway,” he shook his head. “What about you? How’s things with O’Brien?” 

 “Oh y’know. Yeh, fine, I guess.” She replied. “How did you know there was any issue with O’Brien?” 

 “You gotta love that Audrey.” He chuckled. 

 O’Brien had come under fire last week for yelling at a couple of interns and one of them, unbeknown to anyone else, happened to be the niece of a local congressman. Rumours were circling but Sarah and in fact most of her team had no time to pay attention to anything going on above their heads. That’s the thing with medical emergencies, you see: they never stop just because somebody’s job is on the line. 

 “Right.” She said. “What else has she said?” 

 “Nothing much.” He said. “She said you were worried about me.” There was a smugness that she decided to gloss over. Why was Sarah so surprised they had been talking about her behind her back? Why was she surprised that they had each other’s phone numbers? 

 “And you didn’t think to get in touch?” 

 “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.” 

 Sarah chewed her bottom lip. If he could only see her now. He’d get a kick out of it for sure. 

 “Alright. Fair enough.” She sighed. “You’re OK. Good to know. I’ll let you get on with whatever you’re up to.” 

 “Is that it? That’s all you wanted to say to me?” 

 “Apparently Audrey has been filling you in.” 

 “Oh fucking-” He stopped himself. “You cannot be mad about this, surely. Listen, all she said was that you weren’t sure if I was OK because you thought I hadn’t been in touch with the guys. That’s all. She was doing the very thing you should have done yourself.” 

 She paused and swallowed. “Right.” 

 “Come on, Sarah. She thought she was helping. She’s just being a good friend.” He pinched the skin on his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. “And it was like yesterday or whenever. It’s not like we’ve been in touch constantly and talking about you all the time. She hasn’t said anything about how much you’re in love with me or how you can’t sleep for thinking about me.” 

 “What?!” 

 “It was a joke.” He deadpanned. 

 “Oh.” She said. 

 His heart sank – it wasn’t that much of a joke, he had hoped. He slid his hand down his face in frustration, pinching his nose slightly before leaning back on his sofa and staring up at the ceiling. He held his phone tightly to his ear and waited for her to speak. 

 “It’s OK.” She finally spoke. “I get it. I shouldn’t have been so distant these past few days. I’m sorry, Chris.” 

 He certainly wasn’t expecting that apology but he could roll with it. “This isn’t all on you, Sarah. I could have been in touch more, too. With everybody, I guess. I had a couple of meetings I had to prepare for so I think I just took that as an excuse not to be more present.” 

 “Anything fun?” She asked, taking the opportunity to change the subject. 

 “Kind of. Nothing massive. It’s an ensemble piece that a director wanted to talk to me about. It actually sounds pretty cool.” He scratched the side of his beard in contemplation. “It’s your cup of tea for sure. You like those murder-mystery-type films, right?” 

 “Oh yeh! Like Agatha Christie and Poirot? Love them.” 

 “I thought so. It’s a great script and I get some funny lines for a change. It’s something a little different and Matt keeps telling me that I need to think outside of the Marvel box, so…we’ll see how it goes.” He could feel himself growing a little more enthusiastic at the prospect of doing the movie. He should probably call Matt and tell him the same thing. He sounded like he was having a rough day so a contrite and grateful actor would cheer him up no end. 

“Anyway, that’s about it. I’m kinda bored to be honest. Have you eaten yet today?” 

 She had all but emptied the fridge last night to remove anything that might go off in the next couple of days. Now it was filled with some of Shanna’s favourite things and there wasn’t anything in it that really appealed to her at this moment in time. She hadn’t thought much about food all day to tell the truth. She figured she’d grab a bagel while waiting for her flight. 

 “Um, no.” She said. “But I’m not that hungry either.” 

 “You don’t want waffles? With white chocolate? Raspberries?” 

 She did want that now he mentioned it. “No, I’m good.” 

 “That’s a lie.” 

 “It is not a lie.” Even she knew she wasn’t being convincing. 

 “Everybody wants waffles.” He implored. “It’s God’s way of saying he wants you to be happy. Come on, it’s my treat.” 

 “I just think…we probably shouldn’t see each other for a while.” She looked down the hall at the packed bags currently leaning against her bedroom door. 

 “It’s waffles, Sarah. I think I can control myself.” 

 “Um…” 

 “That’s good enough for me. See you in twenty.” 

 He hung up before she could respond. With no opportunity to persuade him otherwise, she stayed put in her kitchen, waiting for waffles. 

 * 

 “Hi.” 

 “Hi,” She smiled at him openly and saw his shoulders relax. Without prompting, he walked in past her and placed the take-out boxes on the counter. They were the size of pizza boxes and she felt her tummy rumble in anticipation. 

 “So, I’ve been thinking.” He started as he turned to face her again. 

 “In the few minutes since we last talked?” She spoke in jest. 

 “Hush, Bernette.” He eye-rolled. “I’ll have you know, I’ve been thinking very seriously these past few days and I know it’s tough right now but just hear me out, OK? Because I think I know a way to make things a little easier. Maybe if you get some time off from work, get some time away from everything, from Boston perhaps, it could actually make things a little better for the both of us. For everyone. I’ve been trying to think about things in a different way and not in my usual blinkered view or whatever the fuck Scott says I have, and I honestly think I’m seeing things a little clearer now, and…” 

 He glanced away from her face for only a split second but it was enough for him to visibly shrink a little in his stance before her eyes. Sarah followed his eyeline to the bags currently resting down the hall. The angle of the suitcase was hiding the other bags behind it but if he shifted a mere foot forward, he could possibly get the full picture. 

 Turning back to look at her, he furrowed his brow in confusion. “What’s going on?” 

 Sarah visibly swallowed and he knew the answer before she even opened her mouth. He became all too aware of her hands and arms hanging limply at her sides. 

 “I’m going to see my parents for a few days.” 

 “A few days? That’s a lot for a few days, Sarah. You normally travel light.” 

 “I just packed for a little longer ‘cos I wasn’t sure what I was going to-” 

 Chris didn’t give her time to bend the truth. He turned and walked back into the kitchen. She watched him move to the window before looking down at his feet and shaking his head in frustration. He rubbed a hand solidly over his beard. “You’re leaving.” 

 “Well, yeh, I’m going to see my parents and the two usually go hand in hand.” 

 “Oh, fuck off, Sarah.” He spat. “Don’t get smart with me. You’re doing a runner. This looks like a fucking cop-out.” 

 “No, you’re wrong. It’s not a cop-out and I don’t appreciate that tone either. If I was doing a runner, do you think I would do it in broad daylight and tell everyone what I was doing? I literally just told you where I was going.” She retorted. 

 She grabbed the last bottle of water from the fridge. She wasn’t particularly thirsty at that moment in time but she knew that he would eventually want it and she didn’t much feel like being accommodating right now especially not to a man who was calling her out in her own home. That he was entirely accurate in his assumptions was, well, irrelevant. 

 “How long are you really going for?” He asked as he watched her disappear from view and back down the hall to her bedroom. 

 “I just told you. A few days, maybe a week or so, and then I’ll figure it out from there.” 

 “Figure what out?” 

 “Just…” She turned back to face him, waving her hand vaguely in front of her in the vain hope he would suddenly understand everything she was trying to say. Either he did and didn’t want to give her an easy “out” or, most likely, he had zero clue because neither did she. Giving up, her shoulders slumped from their squared-off position just seconds ago when she was trying to give the impression of strength. “It’s just a lot, all of this, and I need some time out.” 

 He took another couple of small steps towards her before stopping by her bags. Looking down, he could see her intentions as clear as day now but as he looked back into her eyes, he could see her exhaustion ever clearer. They should be on the same side. He shouldn’t be picking on her this way. 

 “You just said I could do with a break, right?” She shrugged. “So, this is what I’m doing. You should be pleased. You could even say I’m taking your advice if you wanted to.” 

 “Yeh, but I actually meant taking a break together.” He conceded. “I came here to say I thought we could go to L.A. for a little while. I need to check on a couple of work things and I thought you could come with me. Nothing funny, I promise. Some proper sunshine might be cool, right?” 

 Sarah was struck by the kind gesture and the glint of hope now showing in his eyes. Despite what they had both said, he clearly hadn’t lost the small possibility that maybe they could try and forge something out of the ruins and, under different circumstances, she might have been tempted. 

 “Thanks for thinking of me.” She offered, merely giving him a small smile. It didn’t seem like there was much else to say. The bags were packed and now that he could take in his surroundings, it felt a little emptier somehow and like it had all been wiped clean. Except he didn’t feel so clean. He could feel her on him, on his skin and in his head, and he doubted he could remove her as easily as she was clearly hoping she could remove him. 

 “Do you think you’ll let us know when you come back?” he asked. 

 She looked passed him and down the hall, focussing on nothing in particular. “Yes, of course I’ll let you guys know. I’m not going forever.” 

She tried her best to convince him but she knew it wasn’t going to do much. 

 “I know that,” he sighed. “but it’ll be weird not seeing you every day. It’ll be sad. I’ll be sad about it.” 

 He let out a deep breath and shuffled his feet awkwardly as he tried to think of something to say that might drag things out a little more, that might cause her to rethink her plans. It was one of the more frustrating things about her, that she could keep a secret so well. He briefly wondered if he could think of some more frustrating things about her that might help him cope with the current situation but no. Who was he kidding? 

 “I like this apartment.” He finally offered. “Some good memories.” 

 “You know that Shanna will still be here, right?” She chuckled. 

 “But you won’t be.” He said. “And between you and me? You’re kind of my favourite.” 

 “I won’t tell Scott you just said that.” 

 “He knows already. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He said. “Hey, do you think I could come and visit you?” 

 “Um-” 

 “-Just think about it. You don’t need to answer right now. It’s been ages since I’ve been to Maine and I hear they have amazing seafood.” 

 Sarah laughed again and regarded him like the small puppy he so obviously was. A small puppy that she realised she had been kicking ever-so-slowly over the past few weeks and it made her feel like shit. As much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew she was running away and she knew she was a coward. 

 “I am sorry, Chris. For everything. I can’t really explain it in a way that means anything right now but I just wanted to say it clearly one more time to you in case I hadn’t really said it before.” 

 Chris held his hand up to stop her from saying anything more. He didn’t need an apology from her. Hearing her apologise only made him feel worse. Of the multiple times she had been caught under his gaze, nothing was quite like the way he was looking at her now. 

 “Sarah,” he started. “I need you to know that whatever it is you want from me, I’ll never say no.” 

 “Chris, I-” 

 “-Honestly, that’s….that’s the only thing I really wanted to say.” He held his hand up again to stop her if she was thinking of interrupting him again. “I’m gonna go and I hope you have a safe trip, OK? Enjoy your waffle. Maybe send me a text or something, let me know you made it there in one piece. If you want to. Maybe we’ll see each other again sooner rather than later.” 

 She saw his eyes glance behind her and into her bedroom. He turned and glanced once more into the bathroom like he was taking a mental picture of the place which seemed crazy to her until she remembered that he wasn’t strictly talking to Shanna and it was unlikely he’d be back here anytime soon. God, she hoped they’d fix things. She needed to at least believe her leaving would make things a little better for them. Otherwise, what would be the point? 

 * 

 They didn’t say goodbye in the typical sense or any kind of sense, really. She was almost relieved to watch him walk away quietly without looking back and equally as relieved to have made it to the airport without much more fuss. 

 Like it was said, she was a coward. 

 Audrey had called her to wish her a safe journey and then spent fifteen minutes complaining about O’Brien and a patient who had taken to calling her “princess”. Sarah was glad of the distraction as she made her way through the airport towards the waiting lounge. It was pretty busy for the time of evening but she was glad to feel invisible once again as she moved through the heavy criss-crossing crowds of people, each with their own issues to deal with. Something about strength in numbers perhaps. A couple more hours and she’d be home again. A couple more hours and Jocelyn could stop texting her messages that made little sense. 

 Oh God. 

 Living with her mother again was going to try her patience. Maybe this was the price she had to bear? It wasn’t too late to change her mind, Audrey had said before pleading in a half-joking, half-serious manner that surely, she wasn’t going to leave her to handle the hospital by herself? It was almost like she was expecting never to see Sarah again. A few weeks. That was all it was going to be. Then she’d figure out what to do from there, with a break and some fresh Maine-air to clear the cobwebs. Chris was right about the seafood and the closer she got to her departure time, the more she started looking forward to it. She was sure she was making the right decision. 

 Chris 19.46pm: Don’t forget about us xx 

 She was sure she was making the right decision. 

 It was 100% the right decision. 

 Right?

*

[sardinesandhumbugs]

If you're still doing the musical writing prompts, could you do 45, maybe with Mole?

Of course I can! 45 was “Home. I've heard heard the word before, but it never meant much more than just a thing I've never had” from a Very Potter Sequel. Sorry for the long delay, nonny, but hopefully it was worth the wait! It certainly turned out longer than expected.

x

"The important thing about having lots of things to remember is that you’ve got to go somewhere afterwards where you can remember them, you see? You’ve got to stop. You haven’t really been anywhere until you’ve got back home."

The Light Fantastic, Terry Pratchett

x

If someone had asked Mole what home was before that fateful spring morn, his answer would have been easy.

Home was the cosy, still air of beneath-ground. It was the door jamb that stuck and the window that leaked. It was the carols that alighted his porch each winter, the smell of jams being prepared in the autumn, and the dust that made him sneeze every spring cleaning. It was found in solid things that marked the passage of time as surely as clockwork in the sunless tunnels. (Clockwork marked the hours, and seasons marked the year, and everything else between was of little consequence.)

Several months on, and his answer is no longer so sure.

The first hint – at least, the first hint he takes notice of – that it is no longer the clear-cut divide of holiday verses home comes in the fright of the Wild Wood, so far from either.

(If he had been taking notice, he perhaps would have seen the spare glasses that now live at Ratty's riverside residence, the household chores that are shared without comment, or the divide in the larder that Ratty has made for Mole's more species-specific snacks. But he hasn't been taking notice, and such things have passed him by in the comfort of a new normality.)

So Mole is far from home (either, both) when Ratty finds him. They are both scared and shaken, but there is no doubt in Ratty's voice with the question, "Wouldn't you rather just go home?" as if home couldn't be anywhere but the river. Maybe (probably) for Ratty it's true (he had certainly once proclaimed it to be his food, his drink, his company – his world) but for Mole, the word is an altogether more complicated affair.

In that moment, however, he longs for the sunlit riverbank.

It is only later, when they settle into the familiar underground air of Badger's sett, that Mole remembers Mole End at all. It lasts only briefly – they have so many other issues at hand, namely that of the disastrous Toad – but it is enough to give him pause. It leaves him stranded between betrayal and mutiny. Betrayal, for his hasty abandonment of his home, and mutiny as he realises he does not want to give up his newfound riverbank life.

But when it comes to it, it doesn't really matter – not in Badger's sett, nor in his brief yuletide return to Mole End – because in the end, at Mole End, he looks to Ratty and knows that he'll follow wherever his friend goes.

(The feeling, though Mole does not realise it at the time, is mutual. Although in Ratty's case, the stubborn loyalty had made itself known months ago, back when he chose the open road over his river – if only for a passing season. Even so, he has never had cause to doubt (not even on the open road, not really) that his river might not be enough to tempt even the most stalwart undergrounder to linger a while longer – but Ratty looks to his friend, surrounded by his titular home, and realises Mole is as much of the earth as he is of the river and that one day it may reclaim him.)

x

It is the week following Toad's grand party that life eventually settles back to the point that Mole can finally turn his mind to more homeward bound matters. For as life has calmed – as adventures and escapes and daring retakings have made way for the more mundane reality of day-to-day living – he realises another spring is on its way out, a year has passed, and he is in danger of becoming rooted to the riverbank. There is the scent of summer on the horizon, thick and heady, and a strange sensation he hesitates to call homesickness lingers in him. It whispers of dirt and earth and it makes his claws itch until he can stand it no longer and he knows – he knows he must return.

He attempts to casually bring up the subject as they clear away dinner.

"I'm thinking," he says, "of returning to Mole End." Ratty's step falters, if only for a moment. "Just for a few days," Mole adds. "I thought I might get some of that spring cleaning done that I never finished from last year."

"We'll make a trip of it then," Ratty suggests brightly, and if Mole knew him just a little less well, he might believe the forced cheer – but he does know him that well and he reads past the façade. "I've never picnicked underground before, but there's a first for everything–"

"Just me, I think," Mole interrupts. "It's just a little tidy up; there's no reason to drag both of us there."

"Oh." Ratty falters again. There's some unease at the sure exclusion, but there's a trace of relief too; underground is still a discomfort to the riverbank-born animal although, if Mole is being brutally honest with himself, his reason for returning alone is more to do with his own needs than Ratty's.

He is not brutally honest. At least not this time. But he suspects Ratty has him figured all the same, for he lingers by the door, watching as Mole packs up a few choice belongings to accompany him to Mole End. Ratty's stance is nonchalant, but the way he talks of their plans after Mole's return feels like he is eking out a promise he isn't sure Mole will keep.

Mole senses enough of this to hold his tongue when it comes to the strange homesickness that has stolen over him. He has learnt enough of his friend to know the comment, however innocuous, however true his intent to return to the riverbank, will do little to help. And it will recede, if only he can ground himself in the underground existence that has served him well all the years previous – but for that, he must go alone. Ratty would bring with him the reminder of the sunny shore above, of rivers and boats that turned his head in the first place.

And the strange homesickness does settle back in Mole End – momentarily. Beneath the ground, the muggy summer loses its grip and the air is steady, constant. It is a refuge from the humidity that stifles Mole – Mole, who has never considered claustrophobia, but when the air grows heavy and airless in the sway of summer, it is all he can do to retreat to north-facing rooms and wait out the heat. But in the bowels of the earth, the seasons are muted and he sleeps sounder for it.

He oversleeps. He assures himself that it is the comfort of a long-familiar bed, but part of him wonders if he has grown too accustomed to the wake-up call of the morning chorus and the sunrise – if he is not so much an undergrounder as he was a year ago.

His underground instincts sated, he turns his attention to more practical considerations. The door jamb that sticks and the window that leaks is all well and good through the lens of nostalgia, but it is quite another kettle of fish when it comes to tending to them. And as he adds yet another chore to the list (a home neglected, he realises, continues to decay with, or perhaps because of, its owner's absence) Mole End seems to shift from cosy to tired. He knows it not to be as grand as Toad Hall, nor as chronicled in history as Badger's sett, and certainly not as comfortably ship-shape as Ratty's place, but the reality settles in about him as he stands, frozen, with the chore list in paw.

What Mole End is, is dark and dim and shabby.

And, worst of all, that homesickness has returned.

He is an underground animal – or was, once upon a time. Now he is not so sure, for while his burrow calls, so does the bright sun-filled air above... and he doesn't think there is a word for an animal that holds both worlds in their soul.

Home. this place is home, he tells himself, but the definition has shifted, expanded, grown in his year's absence, and he doesn't know what to do with that.

His reverie is broken by a knocking at his door, and he finds his porch crowded by four very familiar animals. Mole gapes for a moment until Toad bounces in.

"So this is Mole End, eh? Naturally, it's not as grand as Toad Hall but then, of course, what is?"

"Toad, be civil," Badger warns.

Mole squeezes out of the way as the large mammal enters. "It's only a small home," he says, apologetic. "I'm afraid it's going to be a little snug with everyone here–"

"Don't you worry about that, pet," Mrs Otter assures as she follows after the others. "Snug is my home with the pups on a regular day."

Mole turns to the last animal yet to enter. Ratty stands at the threshold, hesitant as if wary of a boundary overstepped. "I know you said you wanted to attend to this alone," Ratty says – he shifts the trusty luncheon basket between his paws – "but it's been three days and, well" – a wan smile – "I've seen your attempts at spring cleaning. I figured you might appreciate the help if you were still at it."

"So you brought Toad along?"

Mole's humour seems to mollify Ratty's nerves, for the water rat's smile turns rueful. "Toad brought himself along."

Mole leans in with a conspiring whisper. "Do you think he even knows what a broom is?"

There is an almighty sneeze from Badger as Toad unsettles a layer of dust from the kitchen cupboards.

Ratty grins. "Do you?" The humour, however, is as quick to go as it was to arrive, and as he watches the other animals descend upon Mole End he glances back to his usual housemate with unease. "Of course, if you'd rather we left you to it, naturally we can–"

Mole commandeers the basket. "Stay." He doesn't mean it to sound such like an order, but for all his previous bluster, he suddenly doesn't want the newcomers to leave. For despite the extra shadows they cast, Mole End somehow feels brighter than before in a manner not quite tangible. "And, just between you and me," he adds as he ushers his friend inside, "I hadn't got that far with the cleaning."

There's another sneeze from Badger that sets the lanterns swinging, and a fresh falling of dust scatters down from above.

Another grin from Ratty. "You don't say?"

Badger wastes no time in assessing the undertaking ahead. He settles back into that same role as in the retaking of Toad Hall, distributing the chores with little fuss, and quietly Mole is glad for it, because the task of Mole End has become overwhelming in the past few days.

Regardless of the nature of the housework, it is humour, not tedium, that springs up. And at some point in this collective effort – between the idle conversations and the laughter and the "Where's the duster – I swear I left it here just a moment ago" – Mole End sheds its overcrowded air. Nothing palpable changes, for the occupants continue to fall over one another and Badger still has to duck his head through doorways, but somewhere in the midst of all this it has become cosy, not cramped.

Somewhere in that space, that strange homesickness has quelled.

Mole realises this midway through restoring the peeling wallpaper back to its proper place, teetering on a stepladder while Ratty applies paste to the paper's underside. He falters in his task to take note – to truly take note – of his friends. To listen to the bustle of Mrs Otter as she strips the beds, and the jabbering of Toad as he regales her with some loosely-related story. (Mole believes it is his experiences from the open road; a period in which Toad categorically did not take to the chores like a duck to water, whatever he is emphatically telling Mrs Otter.) Further off, there is something that sounds suspiciously like humming, coming from Badger as he inspects the tunnels for natural wear-and-tear, partnered with his sure steps and the tap of his cane.

Mole lingers too long in thought, and his balance flounders. Ratty catches the ladder before it can tip and his laughter is both familiar and new as it bounces across the earthen walls in an echoing reprise.

Home. this place is home, Mole realises, and the definition has shifted, expanded, grown in his year's absence.

And he's okay with that.

[babygirlgalitzine]

hearts will be glowing (ao3)

for @heaintscum , ‘tis i, your secret santa for @ballumsecretsanta! i hope you really enjoy this fic and i hope you have a wonderful festive period too🎅🎄

So it goes like this: Ben hates Callum, and equally, Callum hates Ben. But as the age old proverb goes, there’s a fine line between love and hate.

It’s the build up to Christmas, and like seemingly everywhere else in the world, The Queen Vic is full of decorations, the collection of them somehow growing right throughout the month of December. It’s borderline garish as well, subtlety not a word in the landlord and lady’s vocabulary. A large pine tree sits in the corner of the pub, towering above everyone and it’s practically overbearing the whole room. To call it a tree is slightly insulting though, because it’s more red tinsel and flickering lights of technicolour than the actual tree itself. Baubles perch on the ends of some branches, bold and brash and spinning around and around in slow circles. Some have fallen off, resting on the floor alongside the fallen pine needles and broken off shards of sparkly tinsel. The bust of Queen Victoria sits on the bar, pride of place as usual - except now she’s got a red and white Christmas hat on, with the bobbling pom pom of it hitting against her face. Above the bar, a common tradition of pub Christmases of the past. Mistletoe hangs down, directly above the bar, right where the staff meet the public. Every year, they remain there, practically forgotten throughout the month of December, until it’s finally time to take them down again come the turn of the new year.

Ben walks in with his usual scowl on his face. The collar of his coat pops up, covering his neck from the blustering wind outside, though it’s probably more of a fashion statement than it is protection. The door to the pub slams to a shut behind him, the baubles on the tree spinning around quicker now in the artificial breeze it creates. A few people turn to look at him, the pub somewhat busy for this time of day, but absolutely nothing comes of it. He steps towards the bar, somehow finding a small gap in amongst the crowd of people that swarm it, waiting for a drink. He leans his body weight against the woodwork and looks down to see which of the bar staff are free.

Callum’s standing there like a spare part after putting cash in the till and Ben would be lying if he said the smirk that appears across his lips wasn’t at the sigh of the Callum standing there in his tight jeans and red Christmas jumper.

There’s a nod of a head towards Ben, and Callum notices it and sighs, knowing that he has to go and take his order. 

They avoid each other most of the time, aware of each other’s existence but blissfully ignoring it all the same. For some unknown reason, they just really dislike one another. Nobody really knows why, and to be perfectly honest neither Ben nor Callum seems to know why the other one hates them so much. Really, they’ve barely even spoken one or two words to each other, much less have a conversation.

Before Callum’s even managed to breathe a word out, Ben interrupts him, his fingers interlocking with one another as he rests his hands together on the bar in front of him. “Lager.” Ben says. Just that. No please, nor a thank you.

Callum shuts his eyes for just a second, metaphorically biting his tongue to refrain from making a snarky comment - though he’s not certain a clamp on his tongue could stop him from doing such a thing. It’s one drink, whilst the bar is busy. That’s all he needs to do. When he opens his eyes again, it’s like a whole new moment and he has a facade about him...that is, until he looks at Ben and finds him grinning at him, his eyes all dark and for some reason, it makes Callum’s nervous. He shakes it off, counting down the hours in his head until his shift is over, silently praying that Ben doesn’t stay here for the rest of his shift. “That’ll be three pound fifty.” He says, voice void of any emotion. Ben hands it over to him, a silent exchange between the two of them.

It’s when Ben turns and walks away, pint in his hand, that Callum speaks again. “You’re very welcome!” He shouts sarcastically, not caring one bit if people turn to look at them, watching their interaction. 

Ben turns back to face Callum, the natural scowl is starting to form on his face, furrowing his eyebrows as his eyes glare darkly at Callum. The pint glass in his hand is beginning to slip, the condensation of it leaking onto his hand, threatening to slide out of his grasp and onto the floor. Instead of starting an argument, he simply ignores Callum and sits down on his own. It’s not unusual for him to sit alone though. It’s not as if Ben’s a loner, because he’s certainly not. He’s actually quite popular, though his popularity mainly lies with his family, the ever expanding family tree seemingly taking over the majority of Walford. Despite that though, he’s often found sitting alone in the Queen Vic, keeping himself to himself.

The pub remains busy, possibly gaining more and more customers as time ticks by and people finish work. It gets to the point where people are standing up through different rounds, completely unable to get seats at any tables. Christmas music blares over the speakers, the same songs and rotation, and as more drinks are flowing, the louder people start to get.

Callum’s walking around the outside of the bar now, collecting all of the empty glasses and bottles, delicately throwing them into the box. He doesn’t particularly care if they get smashed or not, because Ben’s eyes have been on him all night now and he’s getting more and more fed up the longer his shift goes on. He’s collecting glasses in twos and sometimes even three at a time and he’s genuinely fearful that they’ll run out of clean glasses by the time for last orders rolls around. Some people move out of his way as he walks past them, though he still has to manoeuvre his way around most of the time. Either way, everyone makes way for him eventually, when they see the overflowing box in his left hand and his right still picking up glasses. Everyone, that is, except Ben, who’s walking towards the toilets. Ben, who deliberately goes out of his way to move closer and closer to Callum, just to get their shoulders to barge into one another. Callum completely ignores him though, thinking better of starting something that would probably end up in a brawl, knowing the rumours of Ben. Only two hours left of his shift. 

Ben eventually makes it back to his table, almost alone in his thoughts and that’s when Callum realises, if he was at all empathetic towards Ben Mitchell, he would think he looks almost sad, behind the stereotypical Mitchell mask he puts on. People are surrounding him now, maybe. His family, his friends. Yet he seems distant, like he’s not really following any of the conversations that surround him. He stands, holding his empty pint glass in his hands, streaks from the drink staining the inside of the glass. He puts it down on the bar, directly in front of Callum. “Same again.” He inquires, looking straight at Callum, and then back to the glass. Callum takes it, and refills it, passing it over to Ben without so much as a word.

Callum holds his hand out, waiting for the change to hit his hand. Ben takes the pint glass though, and lifts it to his mouth without paying. He raises his eyebrows, watching as Callum’s annoyance grows, bubbling away underneath the surface. He knows he’s got him then, hook, line and sinker. Ben pulls the glass away from his mouth, his face contorting and twisting in disgust. “That’s flat!” He exclaims, wiping at his mouth, though he’s really just trying to hide the smirk that’s threatening to form on his lips. 

People look around at them, intrigued by the continuous back and forth between them all night, some customers still around from their first initial exchange. Callum rolls his eyes, shrugging his shoulders as he steps forward, leaning against his side of the bar with a knowing smirk. He grabs the glass from Ben’s hand and lifts it to his mouth, taking a gulp himself. “Tastes fine to me mate.” He responds, narrowing his eyes to Ben, practically glaring at him.

Low chuckles erupt from the people around them, turning away to fall easily back into their own conversations. That infuriates Ben though, because he definitely does not like people laughing at him. Anger seeps through his body and the only thing he can think to do to get it all out is to lean over the bar and grab at Callum’s shirt, pulling them closer together. There’s a snarl on his face and he can hear the entire pub explode in jeers and cheers at the prospect of a fight. “If I say it’s flat.” Ben says venomously. “It’s flat.

He just about manages to get his words out, when shrill, loud whistles burst out from all different directions and suddenly neither of them really know what’s going on, except for the fact that the whole pub now seems to be staring at them. There’s a moment where there’s a silence of anticipation and trepidation and then an unrecognisable voice comes from the other side of the room, a loud “Go on then, kiss!” booms over them and suddenly everything just makes sense.

Ben looks up and sees the mistletoe hanging directly above them, and when he looks down at Callum again, his hold on Callum’s shirt loosens just a little bit, though it still remains as a bundle in his fist. He looks at Callum, and the tension between them is palpable. A grin grows on Callum’s face, knowing in his heart of hearts that there’s no chance of Ben even thinking about going there. 

Except. He does.

And it knocks Callum for six. 

Ben kisses Callum as if his life depends on it, all heat and passion and it’s fueled by hatred and annoyance and for some unknown reason - it’s the best kiss of Callum’s life. The scent of Ben’s aftershave is intoxicating and the touch of Ben’s lips against Callum’s is everything and more. Callum falls back, his feet firmly rooted to the ground in shock and he’s got a tingly sensation in his stomach, one that matches the tingling numbness of his lips. His eyes are still shut, trying to control his thoughts, and when he eventually manages to open them again, Ben’s nowhere to be seen. His cheeks are bright red and most people have reignited their own conversations, completely ignoring what’s just happened. It’s weird. Life goes on for everyone else, yet Callum just keeps replaying the kiss around and around in his mind, the feel of Ben’s lips still so prominent on his own.

He’s still thinking about it an hour or so later when he’s walking home, the street lamps lighting up his way, frost building in the darkness. Swirls of his breath are visible in front of him and his hands are numb from the cold. Snowflakes fall around him, creating a white sheet on the floor that his feet break up, creating an aimless pattern in the settling snow. He doesn’t think about his steps, just letting his feet guide his way, because his head is just full of Ben. Callum can’t stop thinking about Ben, Ben and his silly little smirk, Ben and his deep blue eyes that somehow changes from light to dark like the flick of a switch, Ben and how he kisses so perfectly, so mind blowingly.

He notices something when he gets closer to home though, someone sitting on Callum’s doorstep, face hidden in the darkness. It scares him for a moment, a chill falling down his spine, until he cautiously gets closer and realises who it actually is.

“Ben?” He calls out carefully, trying not to disturb him. 

Callum steps towards his house, standing barely metres away from Ben now. Ben looks up, and there’s a shy smile on his face, one that Callum’s certain he’s never seen before. He stands up, softly groaning at the crack of his knees and then steps to the side, allowing Callum to move closer to the door to unlock it. There’s a momentary pause when the lock on the door clicks open, Callum opening the door just the tiniest bit. It’s almost enough to make Ben walk away without another word spoken, but then Callum breaks the silence. “Coming in?” He asks quietly. 

Ben nods softly and steps inside after Callum.

“It’s freezing out there.” Callum says, taking his coat off and putting it on the coat stand in his hallway. “Do you want a hot chocolate? Or a tea? I think I’ve got some teabags somewhere.” 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Ben inquires, hooking his hands into his pockets as a way of trying to combat the awkwardness he’s feeling inside.

Callum chuckles and flicks the kettle on, even without an answer from Ben because he wants a hot chocolate himself. “Because I don’t hate you. I never have done. You just like to make my life completely difficult, but I’ve learnt to deal with that.” He explains, and for some reason, it feels nice to finally get this out in the open. They’re finally having a conversation, after so long of ignoring each other, after so long of never communicating. “Why are you here Ben? I thought it was you that hated me?” 

There’s silence between them for a moment as Ben sighs and takes in Callum’s words, playing them over and over in his mind as he tries to think of what to say. How can he admit he doesn’t hate Callum, but in fact he feels the complete opposite? In the end, he just decides to shrug by way of trying to explain. “Don’t know.” He says. “There’s just something about you, that makes me want to get to know you more. I don’t hate you Callum.”

Ben looks all shy when he finishes speaking. He doesn’t know where to stand or where to put his hands. Callum smiles, understanding Ben’s words to him, because he feels that exact way too. He feels the pull towards Ben, like a magnetic force is bringing them together. Callum walks forward, slowly, and Ben moves too, in time with Callum. His back reaches the wall, and suddenly there’s nowhere else to move. Callum’s cornering him, and Ben’s not at all mad about it. Callum towers above him, and Ben can’t help but watch him with intrigue and lust, all thoughts of trying to breathe normally long forgotten. There’s a blush on his cheeks, a redness that’s creeping up to the tips of his ears, gradually getting more and more flame like until his ears are bright red. Ben notices the freckles that litter his cheeks, right across the bridge of his nose, and his eyes - God, his eyes - they’ve got flecks of green mixing in so swimmingly with the blue, all bright and perfect and his long and fluttery eyelashes just add to it. 

Callum grins, and hooks his index finger under Ben’s chin, lifting his head up so that they’re both perfectly aligned together. He leans down and kisses him, soft and gentle and it really is perfect. Ben’s hands fly out of his pockets, letting his fingers grab at Callum’s waist, holding their bodies together, warmth against warmth. They kiss for longer this time, comfortable without the eyes of a million strangers watching them. Ben’s lips tingle at the pressure, but that leaves him begging for more. He pulls away for just a second, though they don’t entirely part, with their top lips still touching and their breaths hitting against one another. “Maybe it’ll be a good Christmas after all.” Ben comments, twirling Callum’s shirt around his fingers, finally touching Callum’s skin.

“Shut up.” Callum says, but there’s no heat to it at all, just complete and utter joy, and they soon go back to kissing.

[jaepies]

𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙣 - haikyuu!!

oikawa x fem!reader

mafia au

chapter 3 : a storm is brewing

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

the bell rang.

your heart thumped so loudly, you thought that your fellow peers would stop and stare; they never did. your next destination lay within a few metres within your peripheral vision.

if only you were able to will your rock of feet to move.

the thought of what could be laying behind the simple push of the stone-cold bars was enough to keep your eager body at bay. a storm threatening to grow and brew within your numb body. the storm twisting your insides, making you feel sick to the stomach.

there were two ways to go about this;

either to run as far as physically possible from this place, change your name and your identity. completely reinvent yourself along with that, marry yourself off to some wealthy businessman who could make you forget about that one time you were ever to close to becoming involved with the likes of the gangster crowd. if you could even call it a crowd; it was more like an angry mob of men whose intentions were fuelled by rage and hatred-

the timider and probably more rational optional was to just simply oblige to the request of the captain. however, you were afraid of the consequences that came with treading the blood-stained steps of the gymnasium in disguise.

once you walked into the sports hall, there was no going. it would not be as easy as clicking a reverse button on a computer or taking a rubber to erase the mistakes made in an essay. in life, you are accountable for your actions and sadly life would make you feel the after-effects of whatever path you took. the higher beings, those who wielded the power of a double-edged sword would make sure of it.

in no way was there a win-win option. no side could win at the same time and any path you took ended up with you in a dangerous position with a high probability of death.

neither routes were preferable.

one was just as damaging as the other and risked you and your life which you wished to live to its fullest even this there was no chance of this occurring. you could not win, the eventual path you choose to take always ends with you in a dangerous environment and a high probability of death.

the thought of death made you turn a ghostly pale like your soul left your carcass. it was one of those things where uneasiness crept into you, felt as though millions of creepy crawlies had been released onto you when you were not looking. you tried shaking them all off but death and its eventuality stuck with you, the crawlies were persistent in clinging onto you.

the concrete of the steps lay there. untouched and as beige as they always have been. yesterday, they seemed so normal; now they held a considerable heftiness and would lead you to a whole world. one that did not deem attractive, if you had the option you would love to forget about its existence.

taking one step at a time without sending your body into overdrive, the gymnasium became closer. each breath seemed louder than the last and suddenly you were hyper-aware of the world surrounding you.

almost like you were seeing it and taking it in for the last time.

before you knew it, the bright beams of light were blinding you.

unconsciously you rose your hand in an attempt to shield yourself, protecting your already dithering eyesight from the electromagnetic waves being projected. through the cracks of your fingers, twelve sets of piercing eyes were staring at you as if you were a deer caught in headlights.

the familiar brown-haired boy started to take strides towards you as the unwanted stares became more noticeable,

"took you a while to get here. you couldn't have gotten lost?"

oikawa realised that you may have felt discomfort, understandably so. this was a gang after all and any normal human would most likely be petrified. you seemed reasonably calm but what he did not know was that on the inside there was a hurricane and you were being tossed like a salad.

"m-my teacher let me out late. what sort of incompetent human do you take me for, i do have a sense of direction."

you did not want to admit to having second thoughts, in fear of how they might react and things they could do to you. you tried holding a strong front and show no signs of nervousness even though it seemed like everyone could see right through you.

"good, that's what i like to hear. for a minute i thought you had bailed on us. now that would have been disastrous."

"what would have happened if i didn't?"

feeling relieved that you had in fact chose to come, you could not help but question.

"nothing too much. we would have had to track you down and you would have most likely paid the price for disobeying us."

the nonchalance in his voice put you off.

"well uh, i came so no need for punishment."

you laughed uneasily, staying rooted in your place despite oikawa trying to push you to the rest of the team.

until he stopped trying.

"if you are a good girl then there is no need for punishment,"

you could hear a hint of flirtation in his voice followed by a roar of laughter. red rose to your cheeks at the innuendo. please could the sweet lord make you deaf?

"shittykawa please stop being a try-hard and please bring (y/n) over here otherwise i will not hesitate to personally come and give you a well-deserved slap."

a rather raspy and deep voice had entered the chat and you could not help but notice that the owner of the voice had some rather beefy arms. you were not drooling ;)

"iwa-chan you wound me, i was simply making her feel at ease."

you felt the large hands of the captain wrap around your petite arm and pull you into the huddle of males who had been in conversation before your disturbance of an arrival.

you remained mute as you were unsure as to what to say. it did not seem to matter as quickly oikawa filled the silence.

"everyone, we have a manager for the first time! many may know her, it is (y/n). however, we can have introductions later as we have an important deal at hand."

oikawa paused in order to gain the whole team's attention before continuing with his debrief,

you had never heard speak so seriously, a smile nearly made its way onto your stoic face before catching yourself as you realised that this was no time for smiles.

"many of you may have heard the news that the fallen crows of karasuno have started to rise again. they were once quite a powerful gang with many connections, they even had close ties with our own school however they slowly started to lose out on deals. before we knew it, they lost their power. this no longer seems to be the case and they seem to be stronger than before"

the member who oikawa called 'iwa-chan' then took over from oikawa and started to speak with everyone's attention, including yours, intact.

"we are going to be taking advantage of our history with them by proceeding with a transaction of important goods. this will ensure an alliance with them which will be useful in the long run. they are in the same prefecture as us and we need some protection against other rival gangs. oikawa and i will oversee the transaction as we are acquainted with the leader of Karasuno. mad dog will be taken as the lookout as well as back up and few of you will be taken to secure the school and prevent any outsiders from disrupting this transaction."

discussion brushed across the team at the announcement of the plan, many seemed to be in favour of it however there was a sense of anxiety. there was not much information on karasuno so no one knew how reliable or trustworthy they were. the gang was going into this transaction blindly.

"sorry to interrupt but what is my role in this?"

you did not want to impose and frankly, you were afraid to speak however you needed to know what you were getting into so you could mentally prepare.

oikawa gave an unsettling smirk before answering,

"why, you are going to be doing the most important job of all. you will be entering their gymnasium alone and handing over the parcel to karasuno themselves."

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·