#Good night jaan

[walking-circles]

huys i think im a shoegaze fan…. hhxhhxb

#THE CONCERTY WAS SO FUN #MOSHPITS R SO FUN I GOT HIT IN THE FACE LIKE THREE TIMES #i wanna check out some od the other artists that played bc i mainly went for quannnic and jane remover #we talked to them also!!! jaane said safe travels :-) #my ribs hurt so muxh though :( #good night :-) #⛄️

[castielmacleod]

To be clear

#Meri—and I can’t stress this enough—jaan #Latika Dar #Latika Desai #My posts #Prequel momence #Latikaposting #Again I refuse to watch this show but I will be adopting Lata thank you and good night

[hauntedpearl]

ok I'm going to bed good night 👍🏾

#will rb fic before i go don't get mad #good night my jaans <333

[firstluvlatespring]

nothing can or will top this

#KAHIN TOH HAI NASHA TERI MERI HAR MULAQAT MEIN #🤠🔫 #jaane na kaha wo duniya hai...jaane na woh hai bhi ya nahi...jahan meri zindagi mujhse itni khafaa nahi #so true #good night

[discokicks]

THE KIDS AIN'T FINE, FINE - ROY KENT.

PART THREE of ACES AT THE WATER'S EDGE.

(series masterlist!) (AO3!) (series playlist!)

pairing: roy kent x fem!reader (no use of y/n!)

summary: in 2012, roy’s summer olympic training camp is going (surprisingly) well. the same can’t be said for your new and current arrangement at richmond. and while you two think you’re doing a good job at keeping your bickering discreet, certain people are starting to notice that something’s up. and some are handling it better than others.

word count & rating: 11.8k (holy shit), R (typical roy kent fruity language)

chapter warnings: swearing, minor allusions to sexual assault and harassment, a sprinkling of sexual tension (we'll get there y'all), talk of alcohol and alcohol use, ploooot, lots of football/soccer/coaching talk, major angst, typical bickering, slight fluff.

author's note: i’m baaaaaaack and we're in it now, folks! we're covering A LOT of ground in this part. whole lotta relationship building and exposition. we're getting to the fun stuff soon, promise. and for the sake of my plot/pacing, we're pretending there was a week of time between last chapter and this one, despite them both taking place within the 3x02 timeframe. thank you for the love on the last chapter, i'm truly having so much fun writing this, so it's so exciting to see that people are enjoying it. ok, shutting up now, love u all tons, let's goooo! - mags

PRESENT DAY. (MID-AUGUST, 2023)

There are two days until Richmond’s first game of the season and you think you’ve slept approximately four and a half hours this entire week.

Despite the fact that your days weren’t too intense (pre-season practices were typically a little more involved and could stretch longer, and your Coaches' meetings never kept you past an unreasonable hour), your nights were rather rough. They seemed to be endless while also never offering quite enough time.

This was all self-inflicted, though. From the second you returned home from Nelson Road, you dove back into work, studying game film and your new players, attempting to figure out exactly what made this team tick. You thought about potential plays and formations in the shower, nearly slipping and cracking your head open each time you raced out to draw something up. You rehearsed things you wanted to say during practices, making sure each line was insightful and understandable, without overstepping any sort of boundaries.

Boundaries were key, here. You were hyper-aware of those now.

However, it wasn’t like you were saying the majority of these things. For the first time in almost a decade, you’d found yourself biting your tongue more often than not. You were friendly and encouraging like any good coach was, but you were agreeable. Quiet. Hesitant.

Those were issues and you knew that. That’s not what a coach was supposed to be, especially the coach of an AFC team. But that stupid fucking anxiety that you couldn’t shake had muzzled you. The fear made you weak. And while you hated it, you couldn’t rid yourself of it. That only made you feel more pathetic. 

And it wasn’t like the Richmond team hadn’t done everything in their power to make you feel welcome. The ‘primary school-level art’ Roy had spoken of on your first day had been a large ‘Welcome to Richmond’ banner held by the team in the locker room, each of the players greeting you with a wide smile on their faces. While, yes, it did look like it’d been put together by a couple of third-graders (with the exception of a wildly intricate sunflower in the corner done by Dani Rojas), the thought behind it nearly made you cry. 

All of the players had personally introduced themselves to you throughout the week, some keeping it short and sweet like Jaan Maas, others, such as Sam, approaching with lists of questions; not just about your professional life, but personal life, too.

They each were respectful and kind, listening to the few things you did work up the courage to say and seemed to take them to heart. They listened to you. They wanted to hear from you. They wanted to get to know you.

And you couldn’t fucking allow yourself to do it.

Your distant and rather closed-off behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed. While you thought you were keeping it cool and polite, certain players and people (AKA your entire coaching staff and boss) couldn’t help but see through what you’re doing. 

This becomes evident early one morning, approximately five days after you begin. You’re the first one at the Richmond facilities, having stayed up for so long that night that you figured you might as well just stay awake for training. You’re only the slightest bit delirious and are trying not to vibrate due to the three cups of coffee that are currently coursing through your system.

You’re about to take a sip of your fourth when you hear a knock on your office door. The sound makes you pause— nobody’s supposed to be here until eight, at least. 

The voice behind the knock reveals the identity immediately. “You’re here early, Coach.”

Unconsciously, your body goes rigid. You thought you’d be alone. You’ve only been here for a couple days, but nobody seemed to come in this early. Especially not Jamie Tartt.

What was he doing here? Why was he here so early? Was it just him? Or were there others with him? Anxiety floods through your veins at the idea of being alone in your office with this team’s star player. It creeps along your spine and into your mind and taunts you with ‘what ifs’, It’s stupid and it makes no sense and you hate yourself for it, but you can’t find a way to stop it. 

And it’s not even his fault. It has nothing to do with him. But you can’t seem to convince yourself of that.

Without turning around, you greet him. “C-Could say the same for you, Jamie.”

Jamie Tartt chuckles from your doorframe. “Having trouble sleepin’ lately,” he tells you, sounding slightly confused by your refusal to face him. “Thought I’d show up early.”

You force yourself to turn, crossing your arms over your chest. You ignore how clammy your palms are as your hands ball to fists. “Is that… typical for you?” you ask. “To show up at this time?”

“Not at all,” he replies with a shake of his head. The smile on his face is easy. Polite. Comfortable. “Just got a lot on me mind lately. Makes me sleep shitty.”

“Sorry to hear that.” You attempt the same politeness but your words come out clipped. You can’t tell if he notices. 

Jamie nods. “Oh, it’s whatever. I’ll get over it.”

The dead air you’re met with is almost painful. You know you should be better at this. You know you should be engaging in this type of small talk, trying to get to know your team. You’re their coach, for fuck’s sake. You know what you need to do.

But as you stare at Jamie, you can’t get anything to come out. You don’t want to say the wrong thing. You don’t want to overstep your boundaries or his. You don’t want to screw this up too. One wrong move and it could be over for you.

The hesitation clearly reads on your face and this time, you can tell Jamie notices. However, what you notice is the way he lingers at your door.

Finally, you muster up the courage to ask, “Is there something I can help you with?”

That seems to be what he was looking for. His shoulders sag as he nods, glancing behind him to see if there’s anyone around. “I was just…” He enters your office, plopping himself down into Roy’s desk chair with a lazy spin, and the action makes your throat tighten. “Is, uh… Is Zava really coming to Richmond?”

You don’t know what you were expecting from him, but it certainly wasn’t that. The question catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say. You shrug, arms uncrossing. “Uh, I mean… it’s being talked about. I’m still kind of new, but it seems like every team’s kinda trying to get him. I know West Ham was trying hard for sure, so… not sure if we’ll win him over.”

Jamie nods. “But it’s on the table?”

His tone doesn’t match the question. Everyone else— each player, coach, fan, everyone has the same type of excitement when talking about the prospect of Zava. And you get it. 

But Jamie doesn’t seem to be in the same boat. And immediately, you get that too.

The realization makes you part your lips, something like sympathy rising up inside you. Jamie’s the star. The Ace. He’s Richmond’s playmaker and he thinks he’s going to be sidelined because of it. And honestly, he may just be right.

“Yeah,” you reply. “It’s still on the table.” He nods once more, like he’s confirming a reality he didn’t want to face. In an attempt to reassure him, you awkwardly try, “But there’s still a lot of ‘what-ifs’ that have to happen before that does. The probability of it happening is like, super low.” Jamie looks at you. “So, I wouldn’t worry about it until it does.”

That makes Jamie shake his head. “I’m not worried about it,” he nearly scoffs. You can’t help the way you look at him, eyebrows raised and calling him out on his bullshit. “I’m not!”

“Good,” you say, backing off from this type of conversation before it can start. The idea of getting into any type of argument makes you tense. “You don’t have to be.”

That seems to satisfy him. Momentarily. Because then he asks, “But if he does…” As he trails off, he meets your expectant eyes. “Could we… Could you help me out?”

The question gives you pause. “In what way? Giving you updates on where we are with Zava?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I mean, like… training me. One on one? Or even just giving me more notes in practice?”

The second he says training, your entire body freezes. He wanted to do one-on-one training sessions with you? Just the two of you? Alone? The last time someone you’d coached had asked you that…

Jamie’s expression contorts in confusion as he sees the look on your face. “I just thought that, like, we played the same position? And y’know, I’ve seen your film and I know what you do and… I think you’d be able to help me.”

You try to answer him but the words don’t come out. Your throat’s dry, jaw tight. However, luckily, before Jamie has time to fully panic about his questions, you crush them. “Uh, I’m—” Your voice cracks. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that just yet.”

Your answer seems to surprise him, but you’re surprised by how quickly he backs off. He physically takes a step back, throwing his hands up. “Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says. “You just got here. Don’t really know us yet. Totally get it.”

You hadn’t expected that. The last time, you’d been fought. Begged. Coerced. You’re the only one who seems to get me, Coach. You just know how to teach me. C’mon.

But Jamie doesn’t do that. And you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I-I’m sorry,” you manage to get out. “Nothing against you, but I’m just—” You interrupt yourself with a new offer. “Maybe ask Roy?”

That Jamie actually scoffs at. “Right.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “He’s actually a pretty good trainer.”

“No, he’s uh…” Jamie swipes at his mouth as he laughs. “He’s not my biggest fan.”

His admission makes you laugh and relax for a moment. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common, Tartt.”

Jamie’s gaze snaps to yours at that, but his oncoming question is interrupted by a voice from the hallway. “The fuck are you two doing here so early?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Roy’s voice is a welcome one for the first time in eight years. Your eyes flash to him as he stands outside your shared office, glancing between the two of you in confusion. 

“We both had trouble sleeping,” you respond. “Felt like being early for once.”

Jamie nods in agreement. “Was shootin’ a bit outside. Saw the light was on and wanted to say hi to Coach.”

Roy nods but says nothing to that. He just continues to stare at Jamie in that vaguely intimidating, wildly annoying way. Jamie’s brows raise before Roy says, “You’re in my fucking chair.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Because you weren’t here. I was gonna get out when you got in.”

“Well, I’m in now,” Roy says. “So get out of my fucking chair.”

Jamie glances at you with a cheeky smile. “Grandad doesn’t like people in his chair.”

The corners of your lips twitch up. “Grandad doesn’t like a lot of things,” you reply, a strange sense of pride rising within you as Jamie’s grin widens.

“Grandad’s about to go out back out into the car park and drive through the facility if my chair’s not empty in three fucking seconds,” Roy grits.

You bite back a smile at the empty threat, watching as Jamie shakes his head and stands. “Easy there, geezer. I’m out. Going back to the pitch,” he tells you two, making his way out of the office. Before he leaves, he glances back at you. “And Coach? Don’t worry about what I said.”

You can feel Roy’s eyes on the side of your face as you give Jamie a small, grateful smile. But when he exits, it drops and you fail to hold back a heavy, shaky sigh. God, why the fuck can’t you do your fucking job? Why does this have to be so hard?

Less than a second of silence passes between you and Roy before he asks, “What did he say?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Nothing important.”

Roy doesn’t take the hint. He’s never been good at that. “What did he say?” he repeats.

“He—” You slump into your desk chair, running a hand down your face. You know avoiding this is no use. He’ll ask until he gets it out of you, so you might as well get it over with. “He asked me for extra training.”

Roy’s brows shoot up. “You?”

You glare at him from behind your fingers. “I’m a fantastic coach.”

“I know you are. But there’s no way he could have known.”

Your glare only gets more intense as you drop your hands. The implication of his statement isn’t lost on you. No one knows anything about you because of how little you’ve spoken. You get that. But he doesn’t need to be a dick about it.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I said no, so.”

“You said no?” He sounds incredulous. “Since when do you say no?”

“Since—” The words get caught in your throat again, and it tightens horribly. Since West Ham. Since you said no more times than you could count and it went ignored.

You shake your head like it’ll clear your thoughts. “I’m just not comfortable with it.”

Roy’s suspicious. In your experience, a suspicious Roy Kent is just about as bad as a deceitful Roy Kent. Every fucking move you make for the next week will be under scrutiny until he can pinpoint whatever he thinks is happening. The idea makes you want to take him up on his offer to drive through the facility.

His eyes stay on you, calculating stare never breaking. “Why?” he asks, as if he’s expecting a simple answer.

But it’s not simple. It’s so unbelievably, wildly, completely the opposite of simple. 

But you give him a simple answer in return. It’s a bullshit answer, but it’s simple. “Boundaries,” you say. You’re out of your chair before he can respond to that. “I’m going to get more coffee.”

He says nothing as you exit, but you can feel his eyes on you. 

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

As it turns out, Roy Kent’s Olympic Boot Camp is wildly more effective and insanely more fun than you thought it ever could be.

The two of you had met up twice since the night of the Opening Ceremony, at the same field, typically at the late-night same time. Roy had continued to send Roger the Driver for you, something you’d taken gladly advantage of, especially with your limited knowledge of the London area. You’d actually grown to love Roger despite his rather talkative nature, and he’d clearly taken a liking to you. 

(“Be kind to this one, Roy!” he’d yelled from the window as you’d exited his car. “The States need her much more than England needs you!”

“Fuck off, you old twat!”)

However, while these trainings had been way better than you’d expected, it’s also way fucking harder than you anticipated. 

You knew Roy was good. He was an AFC star. A Chelsea legend in the making. He was as well known as he was for a reason, and it wasn’t just because he frequented a tabloid cover. Roy was good.

But you think you may have underestimated just how good he was.

And it wasn’t like you weren’t keeping up with him. You could go shot for shot with him, run the same length and duration, and score on him with the same type of precision. Of course, he had his things that he was better at than you were (as a midfielder, he was a smart, fucking brick wall of a defender and wasn’t afraid to push you around) and you had your strengths over him (you were quicker than he was and your striker nature made you better at anticipating him). But there were certain things he’d do in the midst of a 1v1 drill that you would have never thought of, or he’d stop a play to give you a direction that had never occurred to you.

(Or, it would have occurred to you, but just not as quickly.)

That, coupled with the fact that he liked to run these practices until your lungs gave out, made for an intensely more challenging but rewarding experience.

But you didn’t think of them as rewarding until they were over. Case in point, your current and third meeting with him. It was 1:30 in the morning at Mabley Green on the 2nd of August and here you were, growing more and more frustrated with the fact that you couldn’t get around Roy despite the aggressive amount of fakes and footwork you were throwing around. He’d been in your ear the entire time, somehow encouraging you while still being a shit, and when you thought you had him, he stuck out a leg to stop the ball, effectively tripping you in the process.

You hit the ground with an ‘oof,’ taking advantage of your new horizontal position to lie for a minute and catch your breath. Your chest heaved up and down and you stared up at the huge lights illuminating the field. You could hear Roy walking toward you as you threw your arm over your eyes in exhaustion.

“You’re a dick,” you told him. “That fucking hurt.”

Roy’s scoff was loud. “That was a fucking dive.”

“You tripped me!”

“Bit dramatic.”

An affronted sound left your lips and you put your other hand up in a way that resembled a phone. “I’ve got the kettle on the line right now if you’d like to tell it it’s black.” 

You were surprised to hear him chuckle at this. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Your eyes roll from behind your arm. “I’m serious,” you say. “All you boys act like you were shot the second someone marks you. It’s pathetic.”

“Refs miss shit. You gotta put on a show.”

“Is that show The O.C? Because I’m always expecting an auto-tuned ‘mmm, whatcha say’ to sound off each time one of you losers hits the ground.”

Roy’s standing above you now, looking down with a half-amused expression. “I don’t know what the fuck that means.” He’s talking again before you can explain. “Get up. We’re not finished yet.”

A loud, ugly groan escapes you. You still haven’t completely caught your breath. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re fine. Get up.”

“I’m serious,” you say again. You finally remove your arm from over your eyes, squinting up at him. He’s as unamused as ever. “I think I’m dying and you killed me. I think if you tried to get me up right now, I’d collapse and stroke out or something.”

“And it would be a fucking loss for us all,” he replies dryly, earning a scowl from you. “I’ve got you for another thirty. We’re wasting time.”

You release another groan and squeeze your eyes shut once more. “Can I please just have, like, five minutes?” you plead. “Not all of us have this military-regimented training style that you seem to. I haven’t been this dialed in since college. Still trying to adjust here.”

(You’ve also never trained like this with someone as good as him before, but you keep that one to yourself. He doesn’t need the ego boost.)

You don’t hear anything in response for a moment. Confused, you open your eyes, expecting to find him still staring down at you with a frown, but he’s not there. Before you can rise to find him, a plastic water bottle lands right next to your head. You flinch in surprise, shooting up to glare at him.

Roy sits down across from you before you can complain. “Five minutes,” he agrees. 

“Oh, thank God,” you mutter, opening up your water to take a long gulp. You glance at him. “Are all of your Boot Camps as intense as this?”

Roy rolls his eyes at your question. “I’m sure you’ve been to worse.”

“I have. But in like, high school. This shit’s got nothing on my two-week sleep-away soccer camp in Western Massachusetts.” You pause for a moment. “Or the one in North Carolina. That one sucked.”

He looks over at you. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Six A.M. early training sessions into all-day drills and tournament game play? Followed by a lovely nine P.M. late-night training?” You shake your head. “Insane. And that early and late-night stuff? Totally optional.”

“But you still chose to do it,” he states, brows raised.

“I still chose to do it,” you repeat. “That, and my psycho coach would keep tabs on me to make sure I was going.” You chuckle despite yourself and shrug. “But I did it. Without complaint.”

“I see you picked up the complaining later in life.”

You make a face at the way he smirks. “I’d be a masochist if I didn’t complain about this,” you tell him, biting back a smile. “I assume you were born with that trait?”

“Just fucking about,” he mutters. At your inquisitive look, he shrugs. “Sunderland scouted me when I was nine. Training was pretty fucking rough until I went into the AFC.”

“I forgot you guys could start that stuff that young over here,” you say, taking another sip of your water. “Was that tough?”

“I kept up,” he answers. “They were hard on us but—”

“No,” you interrupt. “I meant like, doing that shit at nine. Being away from your family. Being on your own that young. Was that hard?”

With every reason you listed, you could see him stiffening. His expression became harder and you figured if he could push a button to put a wall between you two, he would. Your stomach sank as you tried to figure out if you’d said the wrong thing or pushed too far. Maybe that was a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross. Despite the amount you’d spoken these past three sessions, maybe you weren’t yet friendly enough to ask about his upbringing. 

But then again, he barely talked about himself in any capacity, so maybe it wasn’t just that. Maybe it was everything.

He was quiet for a moment before he shook his head. “No,” he finally said, though the one word alone let you know the answer was the opposite. He glanced down at his watch. “Five minutes are up.”

And that conversation is over. Got it. No questions about his childhood. Understood.

Still, the dismissal catches you slightly off guard. “O-Oh,” you stammer. “Right. Okay.”

Roy said nothing else as he stood, making his way back to the end of the pitch. You suppose you should have expected that from someone like him. While he’d gotten better as a conversationalist as the days had passed, you still led the majority of the talking. And you were fine with that. You were a pretty open book yourself and often forgot that most people weren’t the same way. Maybe that was on you.

You sit for a moment, allowing him some distance before you stand. You throw your water bottle to the sideline and follow behind him, feeling a bit like a dog that just got scolded. But you quickly shake that feeling away as he stops where he left the ball and turns to you, kicking it in your direction.

You put your foot on it as you receive it and look at him expectantly. “I’m setting a timer for thirty seconds,” he tells you, starting to fiddle with his watch. “We’re staying in the box. If you don’t score on me within that time, you run a lap.”

Well, that just sounds like your own personal hell. You frown. “And if I do score?”

“You won’t,” Roy replies quickly, and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him sound more sure.

“No, but when I do score?” you repeat, emphasizing the word to see him roll his eyes. “What happens? We subtract a lap?”

Roy shrugs. “Sure. But—”

“No,” you say, eyes lighting up. “You have to run.”

“I’m not the one being trained here.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a match tomorrow. And if my legs like, give out on the field I’m totally blaming you.” You roll the ball against your cleat. “‘I’m sure that ‘Roy Kent being the reason America loses’ isn’t exactly the headline your PR team’s gonna want.”

“I don’t give a fuck about PR,” he replies.

Images of rather negative tabloid covers and online gossip articles starring the man before you start flashing through your head. “Clearly.”

“I just don’t want anyone knowing I’m fraternizing with a fucking Yank,” he finishes, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

An overly fake and affronted gasp leaves your lips. “Fraternizing?” you parrot. “Is that what we’re doing?”

“Guess not,” he says. The smug expression intensifies. “Suppose I could tell them we’re training. Because the girl who’s supposed to be America’s fucking Ace needs it.”

That sparks a fire in you that you haven’t felt in a while. You can’t remember the last time someone challenged you like this. Sure, the women you played against would talk a fair amount of shit to you on and off the field, especially during a tight game when tensions were running high. But this was different. It was different hearing it from someone like him.

You’d never liked having to prove yourself. You knew it came with the territory of your chosen career path. You’d been doing it all your life. For every team you joined, every game you played, and every interview you gave, you’d been given an opportunity to prove yourself. And each time, you did. You were good at showing people up. But that didn’t mean you liked it.

You figured at some point people would just get the message. But unfortunately, that had never been the case.

So, as you look at Roy (who, by this point, knew he’d hit a nerve and had gotten the exact response he’d wanted), you know exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to prove yourself and show him up like the rest.

With that settled, you nod at him. “Start the clock,” you say.

And as soon as he does, you’re on.

You attack without caution this time around. You’d never held back when practicing with Roy (mainly because he’d reprimand you if he felt you weren’t trying hard enough), but you also rarely had an edge to you like this. It’s new and aggressive and just a bit exciting.

Roy’s fucking ecstatic to see it. His chest meets your back as you attempt to pass him and you can feel him chuckling against it. “That’s it,” he says lowly. “Get around me. I fucking dare you.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, attempting a fake before moving to go the other way.

Said attempt ends up being less than successful as Roy fails to fall for it and kicks the ball out from beneath your foot. You swear under your breath, watching as it sails out of the box.

You’re close enough to him to still feel his chest moving up and down against your back, and his breath tickles your neck when he asks, “Is that seriously the best you’ve got?”

Your jaw clenches, but you refuse to look at him. “I’m gonna fucking destroy you.”

The certainty in your voice makes Roy grin, something you don’t see as you jog to retrieve the ball. The remnants of the smile stick around as you whip around to face him, commanding that he start the clock once more. The moment he does as he’s told, you’re coming at him again, nothing but determination to be seen in your expression.

This time, you’re quick. You anticipate his classic defensive stance, knowing that he’ll block your first shot. As soon as the ball bounces off his foot, you’re there for the rebound. You stop short, pulling back the moment he makes yet another move to take it from you, and he slips. 

You easily score on him not a second later.

After watching the ball fly into the net, you glance over at Roy. While he doesn’t look thrilled to have been bested, he doesn’t look sad either. Again, it’s like there are remnants of a smile left to be seen. 

“So,” you say. “Are we at zeroes for laps? Or one for one?”

Roy shakes his head. “One for one. Let’s keep fucking going.”

PRESENT DAY. (MID AUGUST, 2023)

It isn’t until the end of practice that you can feel it. How much Roy wants to fight with you.

It sounds stupid to phrase it like that, but it’s the only way. He’s pent up, a week into your ‘no fighting’ deal, and ready to burst. And while it’s worked (only because you two strictly talk about work and nothing else), now that he’s got something more personal to say, it’s like you’re waiting for an active volcano.

To be fair, your deal has worked in terms of not making a scene and not raising most people’s suspicions. But every other level, it’s been torturous. And right now? Roy’s ready to kill you.

He can’t, for the life of him, understand why you’re acting like this. 

He knows you. You’re warm. You’re friendly. You have this innate ability to make everyone around you comfortable in your presence, an ability to talk to anyone and everyone and actually get through. All of these things, coupled with the fact that he could never shut you up, made you who you were; a great teammate and an even better coach. 

(They were also all qualities Roy wished he had himself, which is why he was so fucking drawn to you in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there.)

He doesn’t know who this is. But he knows for a fact that these changes aren’t just because of time.

Roy’s breaking point, however, occurs toward the end of your Thursday practice. It’d been a good day, the boys showing more promise than ever. End-of-pre-season jitters (as Ted called them) were in full force and it was clear that the team couldn’t be more excited to get started with the season.

In your return back into the facility, Sam Obisanya trails back to fall into step with you with a wide smile on his face. He doesn’t miss the look of surprise you give him as he says, “I really liked what you said about passing around the box. I’ve been thinking that for all of pre-season, but did not know how to get it through to everyone.”

The point he’s referring to was one of the only things you’d said all afternoon. It was a quiet direction on your part, told more as a recommendation than an instruction. But Sam, Jamie, Colin, and Dani had taken it in stride, and it worked. Cleanly, too. You straight-up almost cried out of relief.

“Oh,” you say to him lamely, offering a small smile. “Thank you. You guys did great with it.”

Sam’s grin gets wider. “We all are going to eat after we’re done here,” he tells you. “You should join us.”

You can feel your stomach drop at the offer. You don’t want to turn him down. Poor Sam was trying so hard to make an effort with you and you feel completely awful giving him nothing in return. 

But you just… can’t. Boundaries. Boundaries.

Sam gets his answer from the way your smile turns apologetic. “I wish I could,” you say, knowing that it’s the truth. “But, I, uh— I’ve actually got plans tonight.”

“You could just come for a drink?” he offers. “I’m only going for a little while myself. I have some things at the restaurant I need to do.”

Your heart clenches. “I really wish I could.”

Thankfully, Sam takes the hint. He nods at you, still smiling. You don’t think he’s ever stopped. “That’s alright,” he says. “Another time.”

You nod back. “Yeah. Another time.”

With that, Sam goes to catch up with his teammates and leaves you with an overwhelming amount of guilt on your shoulders. 

He’s trying, you tell yourself. They all are. It’s different than West Ham. They’re not the same. Nobody on this team is like him—

You can feel yourself getting nauseous at the mere thought of him. It completely takes you out of the moment and your hands begin to shake back and forth as you attempt to continue walking, clenching your teeth as if that’ll rid your mind of him.

How strange it is to be haunted by someone who’s still living.

You’re already disoriented enough when you feel a hand grab your arm and yank you to the side. Your world spins for a moment and when it stabilizes, you realize you’re in the Boot Room staring at Roy Kent.

He slams the door shut and whirls around on you. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You do a full, cartoon-like double-blink at him. “What am I doing?” you ask him incredulously. “What are you doing? Why the hell did you pull me in here like that?”

“You don’t have plans tonight,” is what he replies with, like that’s a reasonable answer to your question.

“And how would you know that?” you question. 

He gives you a look. “Because you fucking don’t.”

“I do,” you say, crossing your arms. Your mind scrambles to find some excuse that’s suitable. For whatever reason, you decide on, “I have a date.”

Roy’s brows rocket up. “Do you?”

You know he can see right through you, so you don’t even bother trying. “No,” you admit, watching him roll his eyes. “But I could have. You don’t know my schedule.”

Roy doesn’t seem to want to linger on this. “That’s the third fucking time one of them has invited you out since you got here,” he tells you, ignoring the way your eyes widen. “Why do you keep turning them down?”

“Why are you keeping track of that?” you shoot back.

“Because you’re being a fucking hermit.” As if he knows exactly what you’re going to say next, he holds out a hand. “And that’s my fucking job. That’s not who you are.”

His words make you deflate, and your arms get tighter over your chest. “I’m not being a hermit,” you mutter, looking away from him. “I’m just not trying to take work home with me. I don’t see anything wrong with keeping the two separate.”

Roy isn’t having it. “No, you’re not,” he says. “You’re not keeping the two separate. You’re shutting out every fucking person around you when you’re at work too.” 

“That’s not true—”

“Did you or did you not refuse to train Jamie yesterday morning?” he snaps. Your silence answers his question for him. “It is fucking true. And even if it weren’t, unfortunately, that whole keeping-work-separate fucking bullshit doesn’t work here. Trust me. I tried.”

You scoff. “Well, that sounds like an HR issue.”

“Well, when Ted stops leaving fucking flowers for the HR women every week, I’m sure they’ll start to take your complaints seriously,” he tells you, and you sigh. Heavy. “Now, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

This question earns him a glare. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” you bite. “And if there were, it surely wouldn’t concern you.”

“Yes, it fucking does. You know why?” he asks. You stare at him expectantly. “Because last week, I remember someone telling me that if this was going to work, we have to tell each other things.”

Your own words come back to bite you in the ass and it makes your chest tighten. You scoff in an attempt to play it off, but that panic starts rising inside of you and throws everything off course. You know that it’s stupid, and you know that it’s Roy, and that despite it all, deep down, nothing bad would come from telling him… it’s still scary.

You didn’t want to talk about it and he didn’t deserve to know. Not yet, at least.

“Not this,” you say after a beat. Your voice sounds meek and it makes Roy’s brow scrunch. “I’ll talk to you about anything else you want, but not…” You interrupt yourself with a breath. “Not this.” Then, you utter a word you haven't said in eight years. "Foxtrot."

It’s then that Roy’s expression turns from confused to shocked. His lips part in surprise, like he can’t believe that just left your mouth. And then he looks at you. Like, really looks at you. It almost intimidates you in a way, and it would intimidate you more if you didn’t know this look of his. Not only is he evaluating you, you can tell he’s holding something back.

You’d said the word. Pulled that thing out of the trenches and threw it in his face. But he's still staring at you, determined to figure out exactly how to approach this situation. Attempting to figure out if he should say something.

Because, unfortunately, as well as you know Roy, he knows you better. And he knows how to get through to you. 

(And it’s fucking irritating.)

He, in fact, does choose to say something. And it’s not what you’re expecting. Because before he says in, he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, filing through it. 

Your mouth parts in question. “Are you trying to bribe me into—”

“Shut up,” he mutters, and you do so until he seems to find what he’s looking for. He holds out a slip of paper-- something that appears to be a newspaper clipping from ages ago. “Here.”

You blink at it. “What is that?”

“Just fucking—” Roy sighs, adjusting his grip on the page. “Read it.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to grab it. Your fingers brush his when you take it, and the action alone makes the two of you glance at each other. You look away as you unfold the paper, quickly scanning it.

Newcomer Roy Kent is an over-hyped, so-called prodigy whose unbridled rage and mediocre talent rendered his Premier League debut a profound disappointment.

Your gaze shifts up at him knowingly. Roy can’t help but notice that most of the anger has slipped from your face. “Crimm?”

Roy nods once. “Crimm.”

“Was this your first game?” you ask, and when he nods again, things start to make a little more sense. You sigh, shoulders slumping. “You were seventeen.”

“I was seventeen,” he repeats, reaching out to take the clipping back from you. He only seems marginally surprised that you remembered that. “I was fucking seventeen years old and fucking debilitated by how nervous I was. I didn’t sleep for days before the game and then I went out there, I fucking survived it, and then read that shit. Didn’t sleep for days after it.” He shakes his head. “And then that prick fucking waltzes in here with his notepad and his stupid fucking hair like he didn’t fucking destroy me and wants to write a book about my team? Not a fucking chance.”

The outburst makes you stare at Roy in shock. He’d never mentioned anything like this to you. By the way he spoke of his earlier AFC days at Sunderland, you’d always assumed that it was smooth sailing. That while his career didn’t really take off until he joined Chelsea, he didn’t hold any resentment for anything that had happened. And while this may have seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things, especially looking back at his career and other things people had said about him, this was Roy. Of course, he’d hold on to something like this.

“So, yeah,” he says, shifting uncomfortably under your gaze. “That’s why I won’t talk to Crimm. I don’t give a shit if you don’t get it, but that’s why.” He motions to you. “I showed you mine, so you show me yours, or whatever the fuck. That's how the counter-Foxtrot works, right?”

You do get it. You understand it better than anyone. But more importantly, you understand why he’d hold on to that. Roy, who could hold a grudge almost as well as you could. Roy, who hated the media and press and the world knowing shit about him more than anyone you knew. Roy, who felt and internalized things so deeply that he didn’t even realize he was doing it. 

It’s the first thing he’s clued you in on in years. Even if it was vague and minimal, he told you. And you know how much he didn’t want to. That’s good enough for you to allow yourself to clue him in too.

(God, he really does know how to get through, huh?)

You blink away from him, gaze focused on the door. “I just…” You clear your throat, throwing a hand up pathetically. “I don’t get why they want to get to know me so bad.”

“Because they’re good fucking lads,” he responds.

“I know. And it’s pissing me off,” you mutter. Your arms are still crossed and right now, that feels like the only thing that’s protecting you. The weight is comforting. “I know it sounds ungrateful and dumb and it doesn’t make sense, but I just wish they’d…”

“...Fuck off?”

“Yeah,” you huff. “That.”

Roy’s head tilts. “Why?”

You don’t want to tell him. You know how stupid he’ll think it is, you know you’ll get told you’re an idiot. But he’s already told you something. In your world of deals, that means something. And your words return again to taunt you.

If this is gonna work, you have to tell me things, okay?

Your eyes shut and a shaky breath escapes your lips. It all comes out at once, like you’re trying to exterminate them. “Because the last time I got to know the team, I got fired,” you tell him, and his entire demeanor shifts. “And I can’t do that again. That can’t happen again. So, if that means I have to be distant and a bit unfriendly, then so be it.”

The inquisitive look he wore vanished entirely, replaced with something harder and much more serious. “What do you mean?”

You can feel your skin start to crawl. Your shirt suddenly doesn’t feel right on your body. It’s too hot in this small Boot Room and it’s all suddenly too much. “N-Nothing,” you say, chest tightening. “It doesn’t matter. You asked for the reason, and I gave it to you. That’s why I’m being weird.”

Roy’s not buying it. He’s seen all your signs and he knows there’s more to this than you’re letting on. You can tell he’s battling whether or not to press forward, and if so, how to do so. Your eyes are pleading for him to drop it. 

“It wasn’t leadership differences,” he decides to land on. He says it like he’s always known. Like it may be confirming another suspicion. But it’s vague enough that you’re okay with it.

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “No,” you say. “Not exactly.”

Roy nods, silence filling the room. He’s still staring at you and you’re starting to think he won’t ever stop. You notice the sliver of anger in his eyes but see it’s more subdued than usual. It’s not directed at you. It’s like he’s filing it away for later.

He speaks a moment later. “Whatever happened there,” he begins, voice low. “It won’t happen here. It would never happen here.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m starting to get that,” you answer honestly. “But it’s still hard.”

“I know.” Roy says, and the way he nods tells you that he does know. His mouth opens, wanting to say more, but it doesn’t come out immediately. “Just…” His eyes cast up to the ceiling. “If anything, just fucking… speak up in practice more. You’re their coach now. If you don’t want to get fucking personal with them, at least get to know them on the field.”

“I know them on the field,” you reply, because you do. You know your new players inside and out. You’ve studied them. You know their strengths, their weaknesses, what makes them tick. You know what works. “I do.”

“I know that,” is Roy’s immediate response, just like this morning. He points to the door. “But they fucking don’t. And they won’t know it until you fucking show them.”

This time, you look away from him because you know he’s right. A decade ago, Roy was just about fifty-fifty when it came to right and wrong, but now? He was consistently on target. You’re not sure which switch flipped in him or when, but goddamn, was it maddening.

You ask him such as you huff in annoyance. “Since when are you right all the fucking time?”

Roy’s clearly not expecting that, and it’s evident by the way he barks out a laugh. But, he figures, if you’re going to be nice, he supposes he will too. 

“You were gone,” he replies with a chuckle. “Figured I had to pick up the slack.”

Involuntarily, your eyes go soft at his words. They’re kind and truthful and genuinely civil. It’s only for a moment, but Roy picks up on it in an instant. It makes the tiny, less resentful piece of him want to make it happen again, but he tells that piece of him to shut the fuck up.

He watches you as you sigh, shutting your eyes as if you’re readjusting. “Okay,” you finally say. “I’ll be better. I’ll… actually do my job, I guess.”

“About fucking time,” Roy mutters, though it’s slightly encouraging.

“But,” you continue, “I can’t… I can’t train Jamie. I can’t do one-on-one. That’s my non-negotiable.”

Roy wants to ask why. He wants to understand. He knows he’d be shit at helping you through it, but he just wants to get it. However, the look on your face keeps him from saying what he wants to. So, instead, he simply nods. “Okay.”

The relief you feel is written across your face. “Okay,” you agree. Then, you add, “I, uh, did tell him to ask you, though.”

Roy’s expression goes blanker than usual. “You fucking what?”

“You’re a good one-on-one trainer,” you offer, voice going up an octave. “I’m, like, your top reference.”

“Yeah, but you’re you,” Roy responds. “I can work with you. Not Jamie Tartt.”

You shrug. “What’s the difference?”

“Jamie Tartt is a fucking prick,” he states, as if it’s obvious. “You’re infuriating. And annoying. And a fucking headache. But he’s all those things on top of being a fucking prick.”

Your lips part at this, squinting at Roy. “I’m sorry, and you wanted me to train him?”

Roy doesn’t acknowledge your comment. “I’m not fucking training him.”

“I’m not saying you have to,” you respond, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m just letting you know that I passed him off to you.”

“Appreciate it. I’ll tell him to fuck off.”

“Glad you have a game plan.” While those words were lilted with annoyance, your next are a bit softer. “He… seemed a bit worried about Zava.”

Roy’s brow draws slightly. “Zava?”

“He tried to play it off,” you explain, “but he wasn’t subtle. Jamie’s obviously used to being the best on the team. I’m not sure he’s loving the competition.”

“The twat will get over it,” Roy says. “Sometimes you’re the best on the field, sometimes you’re not. That’s fucking life.”

You shoot him a look. “I don’t think he shakes things off like that. He’s not like you and me where we either don’t care or immediately use that type of shit for motivation.” Your eyes cast up to the ceiling as you speak, spilling out every thought you’ve had since Jamie came to you. “Guys like him, they need that reassurance. That ego needs to be healed when it’s been shot down, and then they’re finally ready to get motivated…” You trail off as soon as you see the way Roy’s looking at you. Head-tilted and slightly satisfied. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replies with a shrug. There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “It’s just nice to get to see you finally fucking coaching.”

Warmth rises up your neck. It’s a mixture of embarrassment, being called out, and something else. The feeling makes you itch and in an attempt to shake it off, you shrug. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” 

There’s a brief moment of silence and for a second, you think he’s going to make you sit in this air. However, he seems to take pity on you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a soft agreement, one that you weren’t sure you were going to get. But it takes a bit of the weight off nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“He’s still a prick,” he adds, like he can’t help himself. 

You nod in faux assurance. “Sure, Grandad.”

Roy casts his eyes to the ceiling. “Fuck’s sake, not you too.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. For the first time in eight years, Roy sees you laugh. It’s quiet. Light, even. But it’s lovely. It’s sweet. Roy can’t believe he’d allowed himself to go so long without hearing it. 

Yet another silence passes between you two. Maybe it’s to savor the moment. Maybe it’s to remember. Perhaps it’s both. Perhaps it’s neither. 

Whatever it is, it suddenly feels way too comfortable. There’s a split second where you’re back in 2015, just before everything went to shit. And that can’t happen. You can’t allow that to happen.

However, before you can move past that, Roy just has to catch you off guard. “So, you’ll start fucking coaching and I’ll… consider training with him.” He says the words like they take effort. And then, he looks at you and completely throws you off. “Should we shake on it?”

The words are hesitant and you know why. You have to refrain from taking a step back from him simply because of the weight that they carry. All you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say his hands were shaking.

But, you snap yourself out of it, and when you meet him in the middle, you’re certain yours are.

He holds eye contact with you as you make the agreement, hands grasped around each others with the intention of a promise. It’s too real. Too familiar. Too… much.

So, before you can freak out in front of him, you cut it short with a nod and remove your hand from his. You glance out the window of the Boot Room door to see the team pass by, all packed up and ready for their outing. One you know you should be joining, but just aren’t there yet.

When you turn back to him, the small smile on your face is tight. But you’re truthful when you say, “Thank you.”

Roy doesn’t need to ask what for. He knows. Of course he does. 

But luckily for you, he seems to be on the same page, blinking at you like he’s pulling himself out of some self-induced trance. “Right.” He awkwardly returns your nod, avoiding eye contact as he heads for the door. “Don’t make me say any of that shit again.”

And, as soon as the door shuts behind him, you’re finally left with more answers than questions about your place at Richmond for the first time all week.

(The same can’t be said for your questions about Roy. But, you figure, what else is new?)

PRESENT DAY. (MID-BOOT ROOM FIGHT WITH ROY KENT, 2023)

If you hadn’t been so consumed by your conversation with one of your fellow coaches, you would have noticed the other two watching you from the window. And as for questions, they had many.

The first is asked by Ted, approximately one minute after he and Beard had stationed themselves outside of the door. “Should we break it up?”

Beard shook his head slowly. “They’ve been tiptoeing around this one since she started,” he replied. “We break this up now, you might lose an arm.”

Ted shifted back on his heels. “You don’t think we can get them to hug it out, do you?”

“That’d be the reason you lose the arm, pal.”

“Yeah, Roy’s not much of a hugger, is he?” The silence that passed between them spoke as an agreement. The two watched as you crossed your arms over your chest, rolling your eyes as Roy seemed to reprimand you. “Do you think this thing between them goes deeper than he let on?”

Beard’s response was immediate. “Oh, yeah. Way deeper.”

“Did we sign ourselves up for something crazy? Something we can’t handle?”

“Oh, yeah,” Beard repeated. Then, he shook his head. “But nothing we can’t handle.”

“Well, then, what do we do?” Ted asked. “Because we can’t have them ‘fine, fine’-ing each other like they’re Sam and Diane all season. The kids ain’t fine, fine, Coach.”

Ted turned to his friend, who’d gone quiet. He followed his sightline to the corner of the Boot Room where Will was hiding, looking as though he were praying to any God who would listen that the two of you wouldn’t notice him.

Pity overtook both of their expressions. “I…” Beard drew out, brow furrowing as he watches Roy pull out his wallet. “...may have an idea.”

When Beard did look over at Ted, there was an excited look in his eye and a wide smile threatening to break out. “I know that voice,” he said. “Am I thinkin’ what you’re thinking?”

“Parent Trap ‘em?” he asked.

Ted grinned. “We really should go on The Newlywed Game.”

“It wouldn’t be fair. We’d sweep.”

LONDON OLYMPICS. (LATE JULY, 2012)

It’s nearly three in the morning when Roy tells you that your next rally will be your last for the night.

To say you’re thankful would be an understatement. Your lungs are screaming at you and have been for the last fifteen minutes. You can feel the early signs of shin splints with every move you make, and you already know you’re going to wake up tomorrow morning with a ridiculous amount of pain in your hamstrings. 

But you didn’t care. That didn’t matter. What mattered was getting your newfound training companion to shut the fuck up. And the only way to do that was to beat him in this little game he created to a pulp.

It was tragically ironic to find that Roy Kent, a man who was typically of so few words, couldn’t seem to keep quiet when he was playing against you. He had a special sort of talent for getting under your skin, somehow saying the exact thing that would press a specific button that you didn’t even know you had. He was frustrating. Infuriating, even. And there was no shot in hell you were losing to this jackass, especially when you’d managed to tie the score.

(But you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t having at least a little bit of fun.)

However, the relief on your face at his declaration is palpable, and your expression makes Roy raise his brows. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking tired,” he says. “We’ve still got laps to run.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated groan. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I know,” you say. “Can we just go so I can beat you and leave?”

Roy’s head tilts. “You’re confident for someone who looks like she’s gonna drop fucking dead.”

“Like you look any better,” you shoot back, eying the grass and dirt that had stained his legs. 

To be fair, you hadn’t lied. Roy didn’t look any better than you did. He was just as roughed up, if not more. There was a sense of pride in that, knowing that he’d had to try as hard to beat you as you did for him. You felt equal. This game had never been equal before.

He seems to know this too. “Well, fucking get on with it then.”

The ball’s at your feet, and you stare down at it as you try to plan how you’re going to attack. What haven’t you done yet? What won’t he be expecting? How can you ensure that--

“Don’t fucking think about it,” you hear him say. When you look up at him in annoyance, he shakes his head. “Just fucking do it.”

But you can’t not think about it. Thinking is what you do. It’s how you stay ahead, it’s how you’ve beaten him in this little game before, it’s how you’re going to beat him now. 

But now you’re frustrated. You wanted to get this over with and prove him wrong and show him up. You’re so sick of hearing him say that and you kick the ball out in front of you to shut him up. And suddenly, you’re playing.

He’s guarding you before you know it. You cut the ball to your left, kicking it through his legs as he tries to meet you. You push your elbow against his chest as you chase down the ball, gritting your teeth when you feel him whip around to recover from his misstep. His chest presses against your shoulder, repeatedly bumping into you each time he works to get the ball from you.

“Come on, Fourteen,” he chides in your ear. “Finish me off like you said you would.”

You shove your shoulder into him again. It’s more forceful this time and the soft sound he makes in response feels like a victory. He drops back to follow you to the goal, which gives you the space you need to maneuver your body into a more comfortable position. 

You’re just outside the box, but you know that whatever move you make next, he’s going to be there to block it. You know his tricks. You’re on track to figuring out how his mind works on the field. Maybe you can outsmart him. Rely on your footwork to psych him out and—

Roy then seems to see you thinking. And he chooses that time to attack. So, footwork it is.

As he nears you, you roll the ball in the opposite direction, keeping an eye on him in your peripheral. Your foot pulls the ball back in a V, then you move it forward to creep into the box. 

He’s still in front of you. While you were quicker, Roy was never one to give up. It was what made him so great on the pitch and so annoying to play against. An idea then sparks: if you can get him to bite, get him close enough to you, you can chop the ball to get him off balance, then spin to get a better angle on the goal.

So, you do exactly that. Or, at least try to.

You swear he can see in your head. That he can read your mind and every thought that crosses it. Because while you do catch him slightly off guard, he recovers the second you try to spin. He’s behind you and before you know it, you’re the one caught off balance. He kicks the ball away from you and out of the box, leaving you to fall on your ass and stain the backs of your thighs.

Fuck. Fuck.

You’re on your back again for the second time today, eyes screwed shut in frustration and disappointment. How had he done it? You swore that was going to work. It’d worked millions of times before, how could it possibly have gone wrong now?

There’s a piece of you that wants to cry. That frustration, that exhaustion, that need to prove yourself had all come crashing down onto your chest, and here you were, in the same place you were before the drill had started.

You don’t even want to look at him. You’re almost too embarrassed to do so. You know that it’s all a part of your deal, that you’re supposed to fail and get better with him, but it’s still a kick in the teeth to end a session like this with a loss. 

You’re able to feel Roy’s presence before you hear him. “Get up,” he tells you.

A loud, shaky sigh escapes you. “I need a second before you run me into the ground, Coach.”

If he notices how your voice wavers, he doesn’t say anything. “Not your coach,” he replies, though he’s speaking softer. “But I’m not running you either.”

You crack an eye open. “Really?”

“C’mon,” he says, holding his hand out for you to take. “Up.”

You stare at his hand for a moment, then cast your eyes up to the starless sky with another heavy sigh. Then, you begrudgingly take his hand, allowing him to yank you up with a strength you’re not expecting.

His hand lingers in yours as you get your bearings. It’s rough and just a bit clammy, but you can’t imagine yours are any better. You’re not looking at him when you remove your hand from his, but find his eyes when he taps your shoulder.

“C’mon,” Roy repeats. He nods over to the track around the field. “Let’s go.”

“I thought we weren’t running,” you mutter.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “We’re not fucking running,” he responds. “But you need a cool down. Stop your fucking whining and walk with me.”

A scowl appears on your lips at his words, but you relent and follow him. “Fine.”

It’s quiet between you two, giving you a moment to catch your breath and think about what just happened. While you’re thankful that you don’t have to do your laps, so still can’t believe you lost. Yes, it’s just practice, and yes, it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s still… it’s the principal of it. You’ve never been a good loser. You’ve never—

“We need to work on your footwork,” Roy says abruptly, interrupting your train of thought. You glance over at him. “It’s your biggest weakness besides your overthinking.”

A frown pulls at your lips. “My footwork is fine.”

“Yeah. Exactly. It’s fine,” he agrees. “And that’s the fucking problem. Nobody out there can fucking catch you, so you’ve never had to worry about it. But the second you get tighter and more concise…” He shakes his head. “Pair all that with your unpredictability and fucking annoying defense, you’ll blow them all out of the fucking water.”

Pride bubbles in your stomach and rises to your chest. You know that you’re good. And you know that he thinks you’re good. He wouldn’t have taken a chance on you if he hadn’t. But it’s still validating to hear. Especially from him.

But still, you can’t help yourself; “I’m not annoying.”

Roy scoffs, but you can tell he’s biting back a smile. “You are. You’re like a fucking gnat.”

“I am not a gnat,” you gasp. 

“You are. Fucking buzzing in my ear and shit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being aggressive. You’d know something about that, hypocrite.” When Roy huffs a laugh and shakes his head, you bat him on the arm. “I’m serious. When I crossed you up and hit that corner goal toward the end?” You blow an exaggerated breath and raise your brows at him. “I haven’t seen you that mad since that Arsenal game in like, 2007.”

His response to your jab isn’t what you expected. While you’d anticipated a classic eye roll, a reaction of his that you’d become very familiar with, you get a look of intrigue. “You watched that game?”

“Of course I did,” you respond. Your lips tug into a smile. “I’m a huge Arsenal fan.”

Then you get the eye roll. “You must have been fucking distraught to see your team lose.”

“It was heartbreaking,” you say. “It was fun to see you get thrown out, though.”

“That was a fucking bullshit call,” he scoffs.

“You almost broke Lewis Fox’s leg. And then tried to fight him from the ground.”

“Exactly. Fucking bullshit,” he says. “It shouldn’t count when he’s a prick.”

You allow for a beat of reflection before you respond. “Yeah, he really is a prick, isn’t he?”

That gets you something you haven’t seen from him yet. A smile. A real one, where you can see teeth and all. It’s jarring. And suddenly the pride you felt from his compliments is nothing compared to the feeling you get from this.

It grows as Roy carries on. “The fucking King of them.”

“Prince,” you say in disagreement. “He’s too much of a jackass to honor with a King title. Prince Prick. Duke of Prickland. Court Jester. Whatever.”

“Court Jester?”

“Absolutely,” you reply. “He’d look good in the stupid little hat, too. Would hide the fact that he’s balding.”

Roy barks out a laugh. “He’s going fucking mental over that.”

“I can imagine.” Teasingly, you add, “I guess that’s the one thing you’ve got over him.”

“My hair?”

“Yeah. You’ve got enough to share with him.”

Roy shakes his head again, smile refusing to fade. “Well, thank fucking God it’s something important.”

“Hey, football skills are forever. Hair starts to fade when you hit twenty-five.” You shrug and return his grin. “I’d say you’re winning this one, Kent.”

A labored sigh leaves Roy, like he can’t believe he’s having this type of conversation with you. Frankly, you can’t believe you’re talking like this with him. You’re talking like… friends. It’s strange. Especially after he completely shut you down when talking before.

That thought sinks deep into your mind and you know it won’t go away until you address it. Huh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you do overthink.

Before you can question that further, you’re speaking. “Hey. I—” You awkwardly cut yourself off as his gaze returns to you. “I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry if I like, overstepped a boundary back there.” He continues to look at you in response, cueing you to elaborate. “Asking about Sunderland. Leaving your family. That.”

The second you say ‘Sunderland,’ he looks away from you. You grit your teeth as you refrain from cringing, hoping you didn’t ruin what was almost a normal, nice, and friendly moment. That anxiety makes you talk more. 

“You don’t owe me any answers, or anything. We can keep this professional and talk about soccer and how much we both hate Lewis Fox only.” Roy still hasn’t looked at you. “You don’t have to talk to me at all, if you don’t want to. I’m just… pretty open. And I forget that other people aren’t the same way. So…” You trail off, fiddling with your fingers. “I’m sorry.”

He’s quiet for approximately ten seconds. Each feels like agony as you rot in the awkwardness of the silence. Then, he says, “Don’t… fucking apologize for trying to get to know me.”

Well, that’s not what you were expecting at all. “O-Oh.”

“I’m fucking obviously going to talk to you,” he continues, in a way that makes it sound like he’s choosing his words carefully. “But there’s just certain things that I… really fucking hate talking about. And that was one of them.”

You’re nodding before he’ss finished speaking. “Completely understandable.”

Roy looks over at you cautiously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Like I said, I’m not entitled to anything. You just let me know when I’ve crossed a line or something.” Your eyes light up in a way that Roy refuses to find endearing. “We can have a codeword or something.”

“A codeword?” he asks wearily.

“Yes, Roy. A codeword.” You stop him in the middle of the track. “Okay, Kent Rule number one. If either of us—”

“What the fuck is a Kent Rule?”

“If either of us,” you repeat, “don’t want to talk about something, we say…” Your eyes scan the field. “Goalpost.”

Roy blinks at you. “That’s a stupid fucking codeword.”

“Okay, you don’t get to shit on my idea and then shit on my codeword, dick,” you say, ignoring the tiny smile that’s growing on his face. “Let me hear yours.”

His eyes scan you up and down. “Gnat.”

“Oh, look who’s fucking annoying now.”

“I think that’s a great one.”

“I think I’m back on Lewis Fox’s side now,” you mutter. Before Roy can roll his eyes, you point at him in excitement. “Fox! That’s our codeword.” Then, you interrupt yourself, by throwing both your hands out. “Wait. Foxtrot. That sounds so much more legit.”

Roy’s had only gotten blanker as you spoke. “I think you should be institutionalized.”

“Kent Rule number one,” you say, ignoring him. “If you don’t want to talk about something, say Foxtrot. We move on, no questions asked.”

“Great.”

“But,” you continue, “you only get one Foxtrot a day.”

“Only fucking one?” he asks.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

“Because you ask a lot of fucking questions.”

You huff. “Fine. No one-a-day rule. But use them sparingly.”

“Can I Foxtrot this conversation?” Roy questions.

You don’t give him the reaction he clearly desires. “Look at you, you’re getting the hang of it!” you cheer, clapping him on the shoulder. “So, does Kent agree to the Kent Rule?”

You receive yet another exasperated shake of the head. “Fucking fine. Yeah. I agree.”

“Wonderful,” you reply, sticking your hand out to him. When he looks down at it, you wiggle your fingers. “We have to shake on it.”

“What?”

“Because it’s not a real agreement if we don’t shake on it,” you answer, as if it’s obvious. “Duh.”

Roy stares at your hand, then at you, and then back at your hand. After a ridiculous amount of time, his shoulders slump in defeat. His hand meets yours and when it does, you beam.

“Institutionalized,” he tells you as you two shake. “I’m fucking serious.”

“And risk your life being way less exciting without me in it?” You put a hand over your heart. “You’d miss me too much.”

And when you grin at him, there’s a piece of Roy that already knows that there might just be a sliver of truth in that.

(mini!) TAGLIST: @tegan8314, @csigeoblue, @confessionsofatotaldramaslut, @thatonedogwithablog, @hawkeyeharrington

#roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent x you #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #aatwe #aces #the one who can't walk up stairs

[cassiachales]

Love You To The ִ ֶ֢࣪⋆ 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷 (And To *ੈ✩‧₊˚𝓢𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷)

so i saw this post by @never-enough-novels, and aneesha was looking over my shoulder like "cass, you should totally write for that) so obviously, i did. aneesha, ye aapke lie hai (don't judge i used google translate) also, i know i have fics left. but no one said i can't write a oneshot for my best friend <33

Grayson Hawthorne x Desi!reader (but can also be read as just a reader)

"Do you really have to go?" Grayson asks you, his hands around your waist. You blow a stray lock of your hair off your face, looking at his silver-gray eyes in the mirror.

"I don't really have a choice, jaan."

He scoffs. "They advanced your meeting, love. You don't have to bow to them, or be a people pleaser."

He shifts, and while he keeps one arm on your waist, his body is next to yours instead of behind.

Your kohl-lined eyes widen as your look at him in the eyes. His hair is still ruffled from last night and you can see his (previously neatly pressed) shirt now all ruffled.

Then you raise your hand, filled with bracelets and promise rings, and lay it on his cheek.

He leans into your touch as though it is the only thing grounding him.

He has ways of making you feel special.

"As much as I would like to deny being a people pleaser, I was raised like that. To be the least comfortable person in the room. Best to make everyone happy before I'm happy, right? And Gray," you laugh, a small laugh that lasted all of two seconds, "that's my company. I can't show up late for my own meeting, can I?"

"No one will say anything if you're late for your own meeting, jaan."

Your breath catches.

It's not like it's the first time he's ever used that endearment with you. He's used countless others, too.

But every single time he calls you jaan, you melt. Oh, he loves you, and you love him.

"Only because you'd pull some strings, Gray."

"How good of a fiancé would I be if I didn't want to spend time with my future bride?"

Your lips near his ears, and you whisper, "we spent enough time together last night. Enough that my ancestors are rolling in their graves at the amount of" you gasp, a small, theatrical gasp "time we spent."

Then you pull away, and pretend to ignore his blushing face.

That man was stuck in the regency.

You adjust your scarf, and make sure your earrings are straight before you walk to the dressing table and collect your bag.

Another gift.

He walks to you, and his arms are around your waist again.

You'd noticed that physical touch was his love language. And you liked touch.

"At least give me a kiss before you leave." He says.

Years ago, this wasn't the Grayson Hawthorne you'd met. That man was cold and closed off and never seemed to care.

Then he met you, and you met him. What started as a fake arrangement led to something oh so real that you couldn't even fathom not meeting him in his office to repay that loan your father had taken from his grandfather.

His lips are now near yours, and right before they touch, he stops.

Another thing he always did was ask before he kissed you. Even after years, he asked.

He always asked.

"May I?" He whispered.

"Always." You whisper back, and your lips meet in the middle in a perfect fit.

Like you were always meant to be together.

Like the two of you were two parts of one heart. The two of you'd met with your hearts broken, but they'd broken in perfect pieces.

The broken, shattered piece of his heart fit flawlessly with your torn and splintered one.

The two of you pulled away, and a bit of your lipstick was on his lips, and smudged on yours.

"I love you, you know that, right?" He whispers when your foreheads touch. This moment was tailored just for the two of you.

"Yes. And I love you more."

"Impossible."

"I love you to the moon and back."

You can practically hear his lips quirk up. "I love you to the moon and to Saturn."

"Do you, now?"

"You dare to question the amount of love I have for you?"

You laugh, and you see how his face lights up. "Oh, I don't dare to question you. You're almost always right."

"Almost?"

"Fine, fine, jaan. You're always right."

#grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x reader #au #fanfic #the inheritance games #x reader #desi!reader

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Grief - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

A half remembered promise broken...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

It was only afterward, when dawn's light slanted through the shutters, that the tears came.

"Fuck." Sevika's breath jittered. "Not again."

Silco said nothing. Just held her, awkwardly, as the sobs began. By now, he understood. She wasn't crying for him. Wasn't even crying for herself. It was an ache so far down, words couldn't give it shape. The best he could do was listen.

He'd learned how, with Nandi.

"I'm sorry," Sevika breathed. "This was a shit idea."

"You think so?"

"Fuck, no."

She fitted herself against the sinewy curvature of his body. Watery sunrays slid across the bedspread, nearly touching their twined legs. His fingertips traced the smooth dip above her hipbone. She had none of her sister's softness. But she had her strength. Silco liked strong bodies: the muscles, the scars. Proof of a lifetime's work, and the toll it takes.

Sevika's was young in those days. But the marks were already indelible. There’d be many more before the end. 

And he'd be the cause of most.

"I miss her," she said. "I miss her, and she'd hate it."

"Hate what?"

"Seeing me like this." She wiped her webbed lashes. "Seeing me with you."

"She's past seeing." He felt a tremor, and circled her close. "What? It’s true."

"It’s not, Sil. The dead, they're always with us." Her head tipped back, eyes on the ceiling. "Sometimes, I hear her footsteps in the kitchen. I'll be in bed, just waking up. Still rubbing the grit from my eyes. And she'll come floating in, with that glide of hers, holding a cup of tea." Her throat worked. "That's what she’d make me every morning: a cup of tea. She'd put it on the bedside table, nudge me awake, and then go off to the Temple. And I'd lay there, listening to her footsteps in the hall. Waiting for the door to shut, so I could sneak a smoke with the window cracked."

"She knew you smoked in here?"

"She was deaf, not blind. But she let me do it. Said it kept the bugs out." She exhaled a too-wet laugh. "Now the whole place is crawling with roaches. There's stacks of dishes in the sink. Dust on everything. Nothing in the pantry. It's a shithole, and I can't stand to sleep here alone. But… I don’t want to move anywhere else, either. I always thought we'd grow old here. We'd die together. In this flat. On this bed."

"Like invalids?"

"Like sisters." She lay a palm against his chest, learning the cadence of his heart. "You’ve never had any, have you?"

"No." Silco was quiet a moment. "Just brothers."

"Vander."

"Before. Long ago."  His fingertips stroked, lightly, up the vertebra of her spine. "I barely remember anymore.  Except for the dirt. The hunger. The cold. I never gave a damn about dying in a bed. All I wanted was not to die at all."

"You haven't changed much."

His palm found the nape of her neck, and rested there. "I’ve no plans to."

"Hope so." She smiled, crescent-shaped, against the damp crook of his neck. "Hope you’ll always stay the same hard-driving bastard from the mines. With a bergamot in his pocket and a big speech for everything." Her eyes met his, darkly sheened. "Don't change, Sil."

"If death's the alternative, I'll do my best." He cupped her chin. "What about you?"

"Same." She bit the hollow of his palm. "Just a good-time girl from Oldtown. No money, but a mean right hook."

"Meanest in the Lanes."

"It's all my old man left me." Her eyes slid to the window. Daylight was cutting through the slats: the night was slipping away. "He was a piece of shit. Not always, mind. When Amma was alive, he was decent.  Couldn't help himself. She was like Nandi, you see. Soft. Shining. Brought out the best in everybody."

"He loved her?"

"More than life. That was his endearment for her. Jaan. It's from the old country. Means life. He'd sit there at the fighting pits, the big brute, with bloody knuckles and a split lip. But the minute she floated into the stands, he'd be all mush. Like a little kid. You should've seen him." Her laugh vibrated against Silco's skin. "She spoke the language of the mystics. Same as Nandi. When she'd go to the Temple, he'd wait outside on the steps. All respectful, like a foot soldier. When she came out, he'd have little gifts for her from the market. Offerings, almost. Jasmine buds to braid into her hair. Cheap stone rings. Little sachets of perfumed incense. Sometimes, a book, so she could read to him. Her folk were lettered. She had a calligrapher's hand, and a scholar's fluency. Evenings, she'd teach us all: me, Rohan, Nandi. My old man, too. He couldn't pen more than his name, but he'd hang on her every word. Like the rest of us did. It's what she deserved." Sevika shut her eyes. "Then she died birthing Raakesh. And everything decent in my old man died too."

Silco thought of Mother, and her slow unspooling into madness after Daddy's drowning.

"Grief does that," he murmured. "It finds the cracks—and splits them wide." His palm smoothed a soothing path: her shoulderblades, her spine, the small of her back. "You were young when your father turned."

"Old enough to remember the difference." She nestled closer, her knees curling. "You couldn't unsee it. Nobody could. It was like an open wound. It bled all over. He bled all over too. With his brawls, and his bottles, and his fists. In the streets, he'd take it out on whoever crossed his path. At home, he'd take it out on us. Me and Nandi. Rohan. Sometimes even Raakesh, and he wasn't more than a tot." Her jaw gritted. "That was the worst. Seeing the fear in his eyes when our old man shambled home. The same eyes Amma had. She passed 'em down to all her children—and he couldn't look at them without losing his mind. Every day, we were a reminder of who was missing. A slap in the face. So he'd dish one out in kind."

"Nandi protected you."

"In more ways than I can count."

"And now, you're trying to do the same."

"Huh?"

Silco's thumb found the notch of her chin, and tipped her head up. Her eyes were a bloodshot well.  "You think I'm on a self-destructive tear. Same as your father."

Her lips parted, quivering. Then: a sigh. "I know what grief does, too. Especially when it's not just grief."

"Meaning?"

"I told you. There's too much rage in you, and no place to put it." She lay her palm over his heart. "Nandi knew. She could tell right off.  She tried to keep the worst of it at bay. She'd soothe you, and talk to you, and hold you. That was her gift, seeing into the hearts of people. Knowing what they needed. But her gift couldn't fix this. Couldn't fix you. She could only stanch the bleeding." Her fingers curled, as if capturing his heartbeat. "Now she's gone. And you've got nothing to hold you back. No one."

Silco said nothing. He only took her hand, and held it.

"I know," Sevika goes on, "what everyone says. How she was better than me, and all the rest. The good one. The pretty one. The patient one. But that didn't get her anywhere, did it? I'm the one still here."

"So you are."

"You are too." She blinked hard. But a tear slipped loose against her will. "You're all that's left. Of her. Of any of it."

His thumb traced the teardrop's path. "You've got it backwards, love."

"No. It's true. You're more like her than I'll ever be. You both had that specialness, that—I don't know. That grace. Like you were from a different world. Like you could change ours, with just a whisper. Vander's got it too. Only his burns bright as the sun. Yours… it's something else. Something down deep." Her lips were dry. They caught against his, like the words. "Don't lose it, Sil."

He gave her nape a firm squeeze. "I won't if you won't."

"I'm serious. When we take the fight Uppside, you've got to keep it wired. Don't go off the rails." She gripped him fiercely. "I'm no good with words, but I've got two fists. They're yours, as long as you don’t lose your head." Her voice cracked. "Don’t lose it. Promise me."

#arcane #arcane league of legends #silco #arcane silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #forward but never forget/xoxo #nandi #arcane zaun #arcane piltover #sevilco #silco x sevika

[mccnstruck]

your wishes marked on my skin (your vision blurred with mine)

characters: kazuha x gn!reader, tomo, mentions of beidou, gorou, raiden shogun, and traveller

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, good ending, headcanons included, major character death, 5k words (ZEE GONE INSANE NOT CLICKBAIT), long fic, curse word, not focused on relationship, reader has a vision and weapon of choice, not proofread, op has gone insane and now is short-circuited to only thinking of kazuha, op has gone bonkers in tags, traveller uses they/them pronouns, unspecified traveler, canon semi-complient

a/n: holy SHIIHDBFJDSFFSFDS. Um. I kinda. Yea this was 5k words what the hell zee DO SOMETHING ELSE YOU HAVE 3 TESTS TOMORROW- anyways i REALLLLY HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS cuz i sure enjoyed writing and imagining this at school. Reblogs and tags are much appreciated yea i hope you have a ASTRONOMICALLY GREAT DAY / NIGHT !!!!! (Zee is hyper because he is going insane) (p.s. i had 168 premium grammarly errors on this piece thats how you know this about to go crazy. crazy i was crazy once they-) (P.S.S. EARLY BIRTHDAY GIFT FOR KAZUHA BECAUSE I AM BUSY ANYWAYS HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAZUHA I LOVE YOU MERA CHAANDA MERA JAAN)

What if there were tattoos in teyvat...but with a twist?

If you are a vision wielder, you can infuse elemental power into your tattoo. Whenever you get into battle, your tattoo glows and it stays glowing until the battle is over.

But, you could also have other vision wielders infuse your tattoo as well.

When you, kazuha, and tomo used to travel together, you proposed of the idea.

"Hey... we should get matching tattoos! You know, the ones with each other visions infused. That would be cool."

Kazuha hummed in response. “Don’t they hurt though?”

Tomo brightened at your suggestion. “Oh yeah! Some methods of inking hurt, but some are less painful and take longer. I think the method they use to infuse elemental power does take longer, considering the person has to wield their vision AND bear the pain.”

Kazuha hummed again but in disagreement. “Why would you make yourself go through all that pain once more?”

The companion to Kazuha’s left let out a huff. “Pssh, in comparison to the result! We can have permanent matching tattoos to remind us of the amazing friendship we have!”

You nodded excitedly. “See Kazuha, even Tomo thinks it’s a great idea! However…”

Tomo and Kazuha both turn to face you with curiosity.

“...I fail to agree with how Tomo views one part of our bond…”

“Hm? [ name ], what do you mean,” Tomo questioned.

You took a deep breath before sending a prayer to any archon who would answer in time. for you were about to make what you believed was the riskiest choice of your life.

You brought Kazuha’s closest hand and let your thumb stroke his rough, calloused skin, before lifting it to your lips. Letting your lips linger on his skin, you ignored both Kazuha’s and Tomo’s widened eyes and whispered your confession. “I would like to turn it into something more. If… If you would allow me.”

When you looked to see him, Kazuha’s face was burning. For once, the calm, collected wanderer was not calm and collected at all. To your side, Tomo let out a whistle which caused Kazuha’s face to become undoubtedly more flustered.

Tomo smirked before saying, “Well, well, well. looks like [ name ] learned from the best,” before patting himself on the back, smug and prideful of himself.

You copied his words mockingly. You let go of Kazuha's hands, instead focusing on making sure Tomo ate dust. Both of these duties were equally important to you, but sometimes you have to fight for dignity, and if anyone could make sure Tomo didn’t leave with your pride, it would be you.

You two bickered for what seemed like ages before Kazuha finally spoke up. “You guys…”

Both you and Tomo immediately shut up and held your breaths at the sudden change of tone.

“Sorry Kazuha…”

“No worries…”

Kazuha looked at you two for what seemed like ages. He realized that, out of all the times and out of all the people he would even dare to get a tattoo, you two were the most reasonable choice. You three have explored, laughed, and eaten together. As wanderers, you’ve slept under the same stars and ran through the same quick-tempered storms. So as much as he didn’t want to deal with more pain for the sake of it, he would want to have both of you engraved into his skin, both of your souls running through his blood. When he is separated from you two (archons forbid), all he would have to do is look at his forearms to remind him of the bond you’ve tightened with one another. It would remind him that “distance makes the heart grow fonder”.

“I would like them. The tattoos.”

Tomo scoffed and shot a disapproving look at you. “See, now that you have Kazuha wrapped around your finger, he’ll agree to anything now!”

“Hey! He’s doing it out of free will. And oh please, you’re just whiny that you’re gonna be third wheeling now!”

“Who said I was gonna be third wheeling?!”

Kazuha smiled, as the bickering sprang back into life. You three reached the city to search for a tattoo, a symbol of the bond you have made with them. Nothing will break it apart.

And you did get the tattoos! For all three of you, each of your forearms was covered in traditional Inazuman artworks, symbolizing each person.

Kazuha chose the maple tree, Tomo chose the koi fish, and you chose the rising sun. Each has its symbolism, having its own way of reminding you of each other.

Kazuha wouldn’t be Kazuha without representing the calm, peaceful maple tree, standing over to make sure all under the shade is rested.

As his perseverance and his courage make him a good traveling companion, Tomo represents the koi fish.

As for you… You found yourself closest to the rising sun. Ever so optimistic, ever so hopeful for the new day. The darkness may have clung to you; trying to slowly hack into your mind to give up, trying to belittle your efforts. But when dawn breaks and the sun rises, the newfound warmth comforts your shivering body. The sun is there to say all will be alright.

…

Except when it isn’t.

For as soon as it seemed like everything would be okay, that hope was crushed by reality as quickly.

The Vision Hunt Degree had been ordered by the Shogun to kill anyone who possessed one.

The day it was enforced to all of Inazuma was the day the two closest people in your life were separated from you. In the heat of the moment, you shouted for them to run; for you would distract the soldiers. Tomo and Kazuha both tried to ignore your order and keep on fighting but were soon met with a sting on their arm. The rising sun drawn on their arms practically shone with the color of your vision, and it was hard to ignore how much of your vision you were using.

“I said, GO!”

They had no time to disagree with you, for another soldier swung the sword at both of them. You saw them running in the corner of your eyes, assumably heading in different directions before focusing on the battle in front of you.

Your anger manifested into your attacks, your arms glowing.

How… How could the Shogun be so cruel..? How could she just determine that Inazuma's hopes and ambitions were useless? How could she take the people closest to you away…?

The soldiers fell to the ground one by one as they tried to get back up. With the last of them wounded temporarily, you ran as quickly as you could. Trying to find Kazuha and Tomo, you lifted your hand to block the light and search far and wide…

Only to find nothing.

Your heart felt as if it stopped and a new sense of fear rushed through. What if they were hurt? What if they were lost, or found by the soldiers? Or worse…What if they were lying dead?

What if what if what if what if what if what if WHAT IF-

You look down and see the maple tree and the koi fish glowing; purple and teal were coloring your arms. The glow didn’t sting, so you knew they weren’t out in battle, but they were out there. They were alive.

You sighed in relief, but it didn’t last long when you heard soldiers yelling to find you. You quickly hid under the trees and took one last look at the view ahead of you. The distance grows the heart fonder, and in this situation, much, much more disquieted.

And for the first time in what seemed like forever, you were alone. And you felt it in your soul.

Before you met Kazuha and Tomo, you were alone. You wandered around, knowing you were to be by yourself. You were just “yourself”.

But now that you know you were separated from them, it was terrifying.

Now, if someone asked “how are you”, the word “you” was Tomo, you, and Kazuha laughing along the trails leading to the city. “You” included the times you watched the stars, pointing to different constellations.

“You” included you, Kazuha, and Tomo.

And now that two-thirds of yourself were lost, you felt as if you would never relieve this pain in your heart.

Every day, you looked at your arms and were met with how dull they looked without the familiar purple and teal glow.

But still, you didn’t stop.

Wandering through a small town, you sat down on the grass to take a rest. There weren’t any soldiers around, and your face was hidden by a hat.

“Did you hear?!”

Your ears perked up at the stranger’s sudden shock.

“What happened? You seem so shocked.”

The stranger closest to you took a deep breath as if what he witnessed was a burden to his soul.

“Someone is challenging Kujou Sara in Tenshukaku, and the loser will face the Shogun's punishment… Last time I saw him, he had an electro vision…”

Your eyes widened. Please don’t be….he couldn’t have…

“Did you see him in person?”

“Yeah, I think he has some tattoos on his arms. I saw a tattoo of a koi fish and a maple tree on his arm-“

“Did you hear that?!”

The two strangers looked towards where you were but found nothing but a straw hat gently falling onto the grass.

Up ahead, your legs ran faster than your mind trying to make sense of it all.

Tomo.

Tomo.

You ran, and you ran, and when you felt like your heart was going to burst, you remembered Tomo, and you ran faster. Your legs felt like they were merely connected to your body, running to a place of its own. But what could you do, when your mind still couldn't find an explanation for all of this?

Tomo… why would he stand before Raiden's Musou no Hitomachi? He knew Kujou Sara was a potent individual, so why…

Thoughts lingered through your mind as you caught sight of Inazuma City. The thunder roared, and you realized it didn't have the spark it used to have.

Your hands shook as the Inazuma City you once knew was not your Inazuma City.

It felt too stiff. Too suffocating. You couldn't feel the cool air breeze through your hair, as the humidity made you want to turn back.

You force yourself to run down to the entrance of the city and Tenshukaku.

You were scared. More than scared. Your shaking hands held your vision close.

Would you see Tomo smiling in victory? Or would you see your vision go white from her strike? Would you regain your vision to see one of your closest friends lying in his blood?

Your pace grew faster and faster.

And faster.

And faster and faster and faster-

But when you stopped in front of the stairs where Tomo was supposed to be, you instead saw Kazuha run to you, panicked. And in his burnt hands, was a gray vision, with the markings of an electro holder.

You were too late.

You almost didn't hear Kazuha's desperate pleas as he grabbed your hand.

"[ Name ], we have to go."

You both ran down the stairs as soldiers ran after; their shouts ringing through your ears.

“You can't resist the Shogun's punishment, criminals!"

Ignoring their threats, you ran past Inazuma City’s entrance and soon past Konda Village. You couldn’t tell if the soldiers were still behind you, but it didn’t matter when all you could hear was their voices running through your head. You and Kazuha ran for what felt like hours. No matter how hard you tried to slow your pacing heart, Kazuha tugged your hand as he ran. You wanted to tell him to slow down, but you didn’t have the heart to.

You didn’t have the heart after you were too slow to save Tomo.

The rain poured as thunder roared in your ears. You and Kazuha ran into a cave and leaned against the wall to catch your breath.

Kazuha, sitting opposite of you, pulled out the gray, lifeless vision. His hands were burned, yet they gripped the vision painfully.

Your breath hitched. Your throat closed in on itself, and your memories of Tomo flashed through your eyes.

Tomo.

Tomo.

Tomo.

Before you could stop yourself, the tears matched the rain out of the cave, and you shakily held Kazuha’s hands. Your tears fell on the vision that once shined with the pride of an electro holder, and your agony couldn’t be held in you anymore.

A gut-wrenching cry of his name left your throat, and you let the cold, gray vision touch your forehead. Kazuha didn’t have the energy to wince; his tears hitting the ground.

The sun never shone that day. And the sun in your soul didn’t either.

After that day, both you and Kazuha stayed by each other’s side, graciously taking the help of the Kamisato clan to board the Crux.

Beidou’s crew were extremely generous to both of you, making sure you got used to life above seas. Yet, they always wondered why you and Kauzha were so quiet. You only talked to each other, and your interactions were short and dry.

As months passed, Kazuha grew to be much more chatty with the crew, even letting you hear his poems underneath the moonlight.

You were genuinely happy for him. Kazuha deserved to let the world guide his spirits without any hesitation. You never wanted the shine in Kazuha’s eyes to stop shining, unlike the fateful day you both witnessed.

But you…you never let it go. You couldn’t let yourself forget.

Too slow.

You were too slow to save him.

Working on the ship, you made sure your hands swiftly moved through your chores; making sure your lack of speed didn’t burden any of the crew. When you had time to yourself, your hands gripped your weapon and your steps were swift and sneaky. Your body ached to rest, but your heart disagreed. You were to make sure that this would never happen again. You were to make sure no one would lose their life because of you.

Kazuha watched your eyes struggle to open daily, your fingers bruised and sore, and the hours spent training without a minute to rest. Captain Beidou seemed to notice as well.

“Kazuha?”

His head turned to the side as his legs dangled over the side of the boat.

“Yes, Captain Beidou?”

She sighed, and she looked to make sure you weren’t near.

“It’s about your partner.”

Kazuha frowned.

“I am aware.”

“Please talk to them. They look like death is at their door. Does this have to do with going back to Inazuma?”

Kazuha nodded and turned his head back to the sea.

“The wind tells me of their concerns. I hear the fears that crawl through their mind. The sun doesn’t shine in their soul like it used to.”

He looked down at his arms as the color of your vision glowed on his arms.

Beidou patted Kazuha’s shoulder in solace.

“I understand. Just…please get a chance to talk to them. I wouldn’t want a part of my crew working themselves to death. As a part of the Crux, you guys have a support system behind you. If you ever need us, you know where.”

Kazuha smiled and whispered a “thank you”, as Beidou returned to help the crew navigate the ship. He looked over at you, who came back from training, and smiled. You gave a tired but soft smile back, before leaving to finish up chores.

The sun was no longer visible as the crew finished their tasks and headed to their cabins. Instead of resting, Kazuha watched over the seas. The moonlight hit his face, and the black ink swiftly glided over his journal.

“I was wondering where you could’ve been. You weren’t in the cabin.”

Kazuha turned to see you walking up to him. Your eyes pleaded to shut, and for a moment you were about to fall asleep standing up. Yet, you still went to make sure Kauzha was okay.

Kazuha cupped your face, and you leaned into his touch.

“Kazu…”

“Do you wish to hear something I wrote?”

You slowly nodded. Kazuha looked at his journal and whispered.

“Rising sun hidden,

the world’s horror blinding you,

my sun stays fearful.”

When Kazuha looked back at you, he almost giggled at your sleep-deprived state. Your eyes were closed, and you leaned into his hand like a pillow.

“Mmm…? That’s nice, Kazuha…”

He smiled at your attempt to stay awake. “Let’s get you to bed, sleepy.”

Your head landed on his shoulder as you shuffled your feet. Kazuha sighed in relief that everyone was in their cabins. He wouldn’t be able to take the crew’s teasing if they ever saw the comical sight of you two.

As soon as you caught sight of your bed, you fell into it and brought the soft blankets up to your chin.

You were dead asleep, it seemed.

Kazuha climbed into bed and laid his head next to yours. With his eyes drooping, Kazuha whispered one more thing before falling into slumber.

“My rising sun. Please don’t hide yourself away from everyone. We’re always here for you. I’m here. Always.”

When Kazuha fell asleep soon after, he never noticed the tears on your skin.

You whispered back. “Thank you.”

After that night, Kazuha was thrilled to see you walking around the boat with more energy, even taking the time to sit with Kazuha as he mused over his poems.

Kazuha recently had started to see if he could somehow ignite the purple glow into the vision, while you had no hope for it.

“Kazuha… are you sure?”

“I want to at least try once. After all, it couldn’t hurt, would it?”

“I guess…”

You both meet a blonde traveler with fiery gold eyes. As the Traveler competed throughout the contest hosted by Beidou, you couldn’t help but notice Kazuha’s keen interest in the traveler.

“You’ve been staring at the Traveler for quite a while. What’s up with that?”

Kazuha hummed. “The wind tells me that this humble traveler is going to be more important to our journey than it seems.”

He paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Just wondering, that's all.”

You both stayed silent as you watched the duels unfold.

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

You gasped and almost choked on your spit. You turn your head to Kazuha who grinned mischievously.

“Huh?! Where did you get that?!”

Kazuha pretended to act bewildered at your reaction. “Your reaction is quite defensive, dear. That says quite a lot, doesn’t it?”

“You…you! I never thought of you being so cunning and devious!”

Kazuha giggled, and you smiled back. “I’m just teasing. Although, I wasn’t necessarily wrong.”

You scoffed with faux anger. “Focus on the duels, Kazu…”

As expected, the Traveler was victorious in the duels, since the last challenger was nowhere to be found.

Suspicious of the no-show, Kazuha checked to see the award to find nothing in the chest. Kazuha’s eyes widened and his tone lost its playfulness.

“Someone stole the vision.”

You quickly stood up to check yourself and were also greeted by a visionless chest.

Beidou’s voice echoed to the crew. “Everyone start searching!”

You soon found the vision to be with a treasure hoarder. The hoarder begging for his life, Kazuha sighed and confiscated the vision. You and Kazuha were quite impressed with the Traveler’s ability to wield elemental power without a vision.

All that the Traveler asked was to be taken to Inazuma. With final warnings and hesitations from you, the Traveler was to board the ship with you to the land of eternity.

When the ship did reach the docks, the Traveler and Paimon immediately hopped off and looked at the beauty of Inazuma.

With hesitation you walk to the wooden dock, the Inazuman breeze flowing past you.

The Traveler looked back and smiled at you and Kazuha. “Thank you so much, you two.”

You smiled back, shaking your head. “No worries. Just make sure to remember what I said. Don’t want you to get hurt, ok?”

Kazuha snickered next to you. “You sound like a parent. But please do heed caution. May you meet us again, Traveler.”

Paimon laughed, “Alright, alright, we’ll see you later!”

Paimon and the Traveler waved before they headed to Ritou.

Beidou suddenly walked past both of you, before saying she wanted to take the Traveler to Thoma. You both nodded, promising to watch over the ship.

As you returned to the ship, Kazuha looked over the horizon into Ritou.

“Worried?”

Kazuha hummed.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Will the Traveler be alright? I understand the incredible ability to have elemental power without a vision, but…”

“But…?”

He looked down at his arms and stared at the koi fish. “Tomo.”

You looked down onto your arms and stared into the grey koi fish. "Tomo…"

You willed yourself not to shed a tear and squeezed Kazuha's shoulder. "We're not going to let anyone else lose their life and their vision. Not even the Traveler. The dreams of Inazuma will not be stuck to rot in eternity. You got it?'"

Kazuha looked back at you and smiled, wiping a tear from his eye. "Yes, we will."

You took his hand and pulled him towards you, wrapping your arms around his back. He buried his head in the crook of your neck and you pressed your lips to the top of his head.

You quickly lowered your voice before continuing. "I think the Traveler has a major role in the freedom of Inazuma. The Traveler has a lot of power with no vision."

Kazuha hummed in agreement.

"Yet… I fear the Shogun will be displeased with the Traveler’s ability to change her view of eternity."

"The shogun wouldn't be pleased with anything, Kazuha. But in retaliation, do years of anger ask whether anyone's feelings would be hurt?"

A moment of silence, before Kazuha whispered, "You're right. Thank you, dear."

You loosened your embrace to kiss him on the forehead. "Let's go eat something. I'm sure I saw the chef cooking the fish well."

Kazuha laughed, and you swore to the Shogun that nothing, not even her, could take Kazuha from you.

You both walked to the kitchen to fulfill your stomach's desire, and you made your heart promise to you that day to never stop fighting for Inazuma. For your heart desired to love Inazuma, and in turn, Inazuma would always welcome you home.

Months of preparation and months of aiding the resistance, you and Kazuha finally step foot in Inazuma, fighting with Kokomi and her resistance to let the Kujou army retreat.

The Traveler and Paimon were very happy to see both of you, telling you of their journey and the fight with the Shogun herself. Kazuha’s and your eyes widened at the tales they told.

“Like… fighting the Shogun?”

“Technically? Thoma and I ran out as soon as possible and I came to the resistance.”

You were awed by the Traveler’s skill and wit to not be killed by the Shogun. You knew that they were extraordinary, and the Traveler did not disappoint, soon finding out about the delusions being handed out.

You couldn't be surprised at the Fatui's inhumane crimes. But the severity of the damage. The lives lost to their carelessness. The dreams which no longer thrived.

Your fingers and arms shook with anger. You tapped your fingers on your leg to resist pulling out your sword and stabbing the wall.

The Traveler gave you a joyless smile, understanding your pain.

The Traveler went off to fight Raiden Shogun, and Kazuha, the resistance, and you stood outside Tenshukaku. You were discussing tactics to negotiate when the Traveler came back out smiling.

You all watched the Traveler and Paimon walk out of Tenshukaku with a triumphant smile. You were about to run to the Traveler to praise them when a flash of electro appeared behind them. Your eyes widened and you swore you almost saw flashbacks running through your head.

The shogun emerged behind the Traveler and raised her sword.

You couldn't do anything. She was going to kill another person.

The adrenaline ran through Kazuha's body, and he ran towards the Shogun with his sword out.

You saw a flash of purple overwhelm your vision, and you already prepared yourself to see the Shogun's purple glow kill Kazuha.

What you didn't expect was to see your arms glowing in purple and teal. Looking up, you saw Kazuha’s vision glowing as his sword clashed with the Shogun's. Close to his vision, Tomo's vision glowed a vivid purple. The vision glowed brighter and brighter, and as your arms glowed an insane purple, Kazuha struck the Shogun back.

Tomo.

Tomo.

The vision.

The vision lit up.

You whispered.

"Holy shit."

Kazuha was knocked back by her sword and fell backward. His sword stabbed itself into the ground, and he kneeled in pain.

You and Gorou rushed to him to make sure he was alright. You looked at the visions on his belt, before looking back at the Shogun.

Anger bubbled in your throat, and adrenaline ran through your veins. Your vision revealed itself and glowed profusely. The tattoos on Kazuha's and your skins glowed. Before you could process your own emotions, you stood and let out a gut-wrenching, demanding yell. But it wasn't painful like that fateful day. It was of rebellion and hope.

"Charge!"

You ran towards the Shogun with your weapon in your hand and your heart laid out in plain sight.

Except it wasn’t for the Shogun to shatter. It was for the Inazuman kids who dreamed of going into the world. It was for the Inazuman shopkeepers who always looked at the ocean longingly. It was for the Inazuman vision holders to freely let their vision guide them through their ambitions. It was for future electro-holders to make a difference in their lives. It was for Inazuma to glow its purple light throughout Tevyat. It was for Inazuma. This was for Inazuma and it’s forever changing people.

Gorou soon ordered to attack, and the resistance fighters ran beside you towards the Teyvat.

So this is what Tomo felt, you thought. You were to be insane for fighting, but you would be damned to give in to the Shogun. Because do years of anger ask whether anyone's feelings are hurt?

The shogun seemed unfazed by the army charging at her and opened the Plane of Euthymia. The Traveler fell inside, and she shut the seeming new realm. You tried to grab the Traveler back, but the Shogun was faster. The Plane closed, and you cursed at the winds. You looked to the skies to see gray clouds fill the skies.

Why were you too late every time?

You stopped to catch your breath and looked at the ground where the Shogun stood.

The electro-marked ground darkened from the rigorous and desperate fighting to be free.

You looked back at Kazuha and looked back at the fighters who were paused in their steps. Their eyes widened at the disappearance, and their eyebrows were furrowed from the anger, which turned into confusion.

Your voice echoed down the staircase, and it felt like you were yelling to all of Inazuma.

“To all who have visions! To all who have lost theirs!”

Eyes of fighters watched you with curiosity. Crimson eyes watched you with admiration.

“Our visions are a symbol of life to all! With the Shogun’s order to take them away, our humanity is stripped away from us to fit us into a mold of unattainable eternity! To all who have visions, don’t hide yourself anymore! Our ambitions, our dreams, our emotions, and our humanity shouldn’t be diminished to a name on a gravestone! Everyone, pull out your visions! Channel the overwhelming emotions in your heart to your vision! Let the Shogun hear your wishes no matter how far she is, for she is omnipresent!”

The fighters yelled and made their presence known. Some of them closed their eyes to let their visions glow, and you soon joined them. Your heart raced, and your arms glowed the color of your vision. You felt electro cackle around you as it stroked your skin.

The statue outside Tenshukaku glowed in different colors: dark blue, crimson red, bright teal, light blue, gold, and electrifying purple.

The fighters kept envisioning their power in their visions for as long as they could. They didn’t leave, standing with their hand on their vision for as long as they needed to.

And with every action comes a reaction.

The Plane of Euthymia reemerged, and the Traveler fell out of its opening. Bruised and tired, but alive the Traveler seemed.

Gorou, Kazuha and you rushed to their aid. The fighter stood close in case another attack were to happen.

“Traveler, what happened? Are you okay?!”

The traveler struggled to catch their breath but spoke small words as they recovered.

“The…the Vision Hunt…Vision Hunt Decree…”

Your eyebrows furrowed in worry. What did the Shogun want now?

You spoke in confusion. “The Vision Hunt Decree? What does she want?”

The Traveler raised their head and closed their eyes in bliss. Sweat dripped from their face, and they smiled.

“The Vision Hunt Decree. It’s over. It’s gone. Your pleas and protests got to her.”

Your mind stopped all thoughts.

…What?

Blue and crimson eyes widened at the Traveler’s statement.

Your voice unusually got quiet. “You’re joking, right?”

The Traveler laughed, more out of euphoria. “I got back from almost dying from her sword, and you’re asking me if I’m joking? Tell the entirety of Inazuma. They deserve to know this; this is for them.”

You stood up in a daze and shouted.

“The Vision Hunt Decree is over! The Vision Hunt is over!”

The resistance fighters roared in joy. Their steps, running down the staircase, echoed to the winds, and the winds blew in freedom.

Your body ran down the stairs with them, and your voice cracked with emotion as you shouted down the steps of Inazuma City. People stood outside to check the commotion and were instead met with a new sense of freedom. Visions hidden in homes began to glow, and the cheers and laughter of Inazuma echoed around you.

Overwhelmed with too many emotions, you stopped in your tracks when you felt your vision getting blurry. Behind you, Kazuha shouted for your name repeatedly. You looked behind and were almost tackled into the ground. Kazuha’s shoulders shook as he wrapped his arms around you. You responded in kind and sunk your knees onto the floor.

You both wept in joy. For the people you have lost, and for the people who are given freedom.

Kazuha’s voice cracked as he spoke,” We did it. It’s over.”

You cried even more in his arms. Kazuha held your hand as his endless tears journeyed down his face.

“Do you… Do you think Tomo is happy with us?”

At the mention of his name, Kazuha gritted his teeth and almost let out a sob. He raised your head with his hand on your jaw, and you finally saw Kazuha’s tear-stained face. He quickly tried to rub them away, but you were faster. You gently put your forehead on his and closed his eyes.

Kazuha closed his own and whispered in the abode of two lovers’ embrace. “He would be so proud. He would be watching us right now and grin at his glowing vision.”

“Maybe he’s probably cursing at both of us for the non-stop crying.”

Kazuha let out a watery laugh. “He would, but you would be arguing back. Non-stop bickering between you guys.”

You almost gave a snarky response when you felt the sunlight caress your skin. You looked up to find the gray clouds giving way to the sun, and you were enamored with the blue skies that grazed over Inazuma. Kazuha looked up as well, and as the city of Inazuma saw the sun in its glory, no one noticed the slight glow of purple koi fish on bruised, yet glowing skin.

mccnstruck. do not repost or plagarize my work.

#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #astronetwrk #kazuha x reader #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha kaedehara #kazuha x you #kazuha x y/n #kazuha x gender neutral reader #kazuha x gn reader #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #[ the lost library ] #LORD. #I AM DONE WITH THIS. #PLEASE TELL ME IF THERE ARE ANY ERRORS OR FEEDBACK CUZ I AM TIRED AND MY MY BRAIN IS MELTEDNDJNKS.

[presidentlokis-hornyhelmet]

Home Is Where You Are

🕷MASTERLIST🕷

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Reader Summary: (From This Ask) Reconnecting: You and Pavitr were childhood besties, yet in-between your friendship, you had to move away. You guys were still in touch as well, but little did Pavitr know you decided to surprise him by finally moving back to your hometown where you and Pavitr used to live. Tags: Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers

Also Read on AO3

🎵 🎶 The sight of you lit me up Could not believe my luck Now I know where I need to be Home is where you are 🎵 🎶 Song by Ant Utama A/N: Google says "meri jaan" can be used to refer both your gf/bf and your friends too(?), so if it's not so irl, just assume they're comfy w/ it 😅😅😅 LOL

Pavitr Prabhakar -or Pavi, as you often call him- has been your bff since childhood.

Stuck at the hip, running around doing mischeif and pleading your parents to allow just 5 more minutes playtime.. Oh, those were the days! A chuckle slips your lips when you remember that even as a child, he was proud of his hair.

You remember vividly, back when you guys first met. Pavitr's hair was wild and curly and all over the place, bouncing with his every step. It was physically untamable for him. He was fussing with it and you, having watched him for quite a while, offered to help him keep it in place with a messy pigtail and putting all your hairclips on him. It didn't help much but little Pavitr had been very grateful, a big smile pulled across his face.

That was in kindergarten.

Growing up, you became the closest of friends -and the most chaotic. There was no one in school who hadn't heard of the infamous micheif-makers, the prankster pair. Prank wars 24/7 and very concerning to the school board.  It was even more hectic when they tried to put you guys in different sections to discipline you. You threw a tantrum, he spilled food everywhere as all the other kids joined in; it was sort of a mutiny you guys had started. The headmistress then decided it was best for everyone to not separate you two and let you guys be in the same class thereon on the condition that there will be no more horsing around.

Things finally went back to normal and all was going well.. until your parents got a transfer.

You remember that day, when your parents said you were going to move. Initially, you had been over the moon, not knowing that it meant leaving Pavitr for good. God, you were so naive. But when it finally  dawned on you that this is where your friendship will possibly end, you ran to his house and cried to him. Pavitr shared your sentiment; he loved as much as you loved him and separating you guys just was wrong.

Whenever there's something scary at night or if he hears weird sounds that frighten him, Pavitr used to hide under the bed until it goes away. He suggested you do the same. So there you both were, crouching  under his tiny bed and staying there sharing stories and whatever 11 year olds talk about.

Uncle Bhim did find you soon enough and called your worried parents. A lot of kicking and screaming and yelling 'I don't wanna goooooooo!' while your parents dragged your naughty butt to the new home, practically ripping your hand away from Pav's.

It had been a bit too dramatic, now that you think about it, though a little funny too.

Pav had been crying for a week after you left, just like you, and every night for a month, Uncle Bhim would let him call you and speak. Then school began, and you drifted apart.

______

You stepped out of the airport and raised a finger, calling for a taxi.

It's been 10 years now. A decade since you and Pavi last saw each other in person. Sure, you stay in touch via video calls and social media but nothing beats physical connection.

You've graduated and found a new internship at your dream company that requires you to stay in Mumbattan. What else do you need? To say you were happy would be an understatement.

Dropping your things at your own apartment, you take the cab straight to Maya auntie's as he's still staying here to take care of her. (Hope she still likes pranks!)

The elderly woman is the first to greet you, full of joy, her aged eyes shining with tears of sentiment. "Oh, mera beta!"

You let her wrap you in her embrace and hug you close. Maya auntie shares your tears, giving a moment of respectful silence to Uncle Bhim. It's hard to digest his death when you loved him like your own father.

After pleasantries are exchanged, you're about to ask about him when doubt creeps upon you. Sure, you've talked a lot but.. Does he still feel the same way about you, or is it the version of you in his head? Does he still value your friendship like before? Or were you just a passing cloud? A chapter in his book? Just a childhood memory and nothing more?

But most importantly, has he found someone else more worthy of his time?

Maya auntie, always as perceptive as ever, sees the hesitation in your eyes and encourages you to give him a surprise, assuring you that, of course, nothing is more important to him than your friendship.

With renewed confidence, you walk into Pavitr's room. He isn't there but you hear the water running. Assuming he's taking a bath, you take your time to look around the room.

The sky blue wall is a bit faded but it brings you happy memories. Same big old window from which you used to watch the city. Books, books and more books, some kind of gadget and a- is that spandex!? A Halloween costume, perhaps.

A framed picture is sitting on his desk, of your childhood selves holding hands, your front teeth missing, standing before Pavitr's apartment. It was the first time you had come over. Aww!

The cot is certainly larger than last time and you hide a chuckle when you think if you both can fit under��this one.

Actually.... didn't Maya aunty talk about surprise?

Giggling like the mischievous child still inside you, you crawl under the bed. What you expected is to not fit under it, what you didn't expect is a red and blue hand-painted shoe box filled with little trinkets.

The lid is open, so you're not actually intruding on his privacy.. (Right?)

The box is filled with shiny stuff and upon inspecting one, you realise these are the same gifts that you gave Pavitr a decade ago. He.. he still cherishes them? Your heart swells.

A glittery red paper heart catches your eye but you don't remember giving it to him. Sloppy cursive runs in gold glitter:

"I threw my plans all away So that I could hear you say You love me, yes, you want me The sight of you lit me up Could not believe my luck Now I know where I need to be Home is where you are

I miss you meri jaan 💔 "

It takes a moment before you realise it's from him. He'd written it to you before you moved but never actually came around to giving it.

Oh, oh God, Pavitr loves you!

Tears of joy gislten in your eyes. You did have a similar thought once,  but dismissed as soon as it came. You would never believe if someone told you Pav had had feelings for you. And seemingly, still does.

A greeting card falls out, a dried rose attached to it. It was written on last Valentines day:

"A little birdie told me you wished for a Knight in shining armour. Now that I'm here, what are your other two wishes, meri jaan? ;P"

Wet thuds sound and you look up -wincing from the bump to your head- to see Pavitr come out of the bathroom, towel-drying his curly hair and dripping water everywhere.

"Looking swag as always, Pav!", he says, making finger guns to his reflection, flaunting his amazing hair as he runs a hand through his damp curls. And, wow, it's grown longer!

The moment you try to scare him from under the bed, he stiffens and turns around cautiously. Grabbing a cricket bat, he curls his other hand into a mudra. (Is he going to spiritualize you to the death??)

"Who is it? Whoever you are, better come out or else-!"

"Or else, you'll crouch under the bed?"

He drops the cricket bat, frozen in pleasant shock.

You're struck speechless too, lost in his eyes. Wow, Pavitr has.. grown. He's so very handsome, much more than you remember. You gasp softly, mesmerized by his beauty.

"O-Oh my god, N/N?!"

He engulfs you in an embrace, hugging to tight to his chest. His wet cheek rests cool against your warm skin, so close you can smell his shampoo. "Ah, I can't believe it! Meri jaan, is it really you? H-how-?"

"A little birdie told me you wished for a Knight in shining armour. Now that I'm here, what are your other two wishes.. meri jaan?"

It takes him less than a second to realise you'd read his card. "Oh God, you read that!?" He blushes terribly, pressing his face into the crook of your neck as he stumbles over his words. It's cute to see him flustered.

The laughter dies but your smile stays.

"Y/n", his breath is hot in your ear, "may I.."

Your heart beat quickens, stuttering with every stretching moment. Every breath you take is growing heavy.

"Yes..?"

Your noses touch. He's close, so close..

Suddenly, he twirls you around and begins to sing:

"The sight of you lit me up Could not believe my luck Now I know where I need to be Home is where you are!"

Once you recover, you try to hit him in the chest for playing you like that, but he's quicker. You giggle, laughter erupting from your throat as he hugs you from behind, pecking your cheek like he used to do all those years ago as you sing along.

It may be unspoken, but it exists. He's never forgotten, nor have you.

"Now I know where I need to be Home is where you are!"

_____

hope you enjoyed it!

@moraleswithoutmorals I am so sorry for the delay, I think I need some more time for the other prompts (seriously, they're SO GOOD i can't CHOOSE!) and I think of merging a couple prompts, hope that's fine with you 😊

#pavitr prabhakar #atsv pavitr #spiderverse pavitr #pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr prabhakar x you #pavitr xreader #pavitr x you #hing. #pavitrx reader #pavitr prabhakar x female reader #pavitr x fem!reader #pavitr x reader #pavitr x gn reader #pavitr x male reader #pavitr prabhakar x fem reader #pavitr x y/n #pavitr prabhakar x y/n #astv

[desiblr-gapshap]

Gapshap is here again to entertain you.

Good evening everyone, I'm your self proclaimed host तितली (@alhad-titli)

Humans can't endure boredom... Hence we found many things to entertain ourselves with. Plays, music, books, movies, shows, and many more things.

Most of the time, we indians get rid of our boredom by watching bollywood movies (old era ofc. new bollywood is uhh well we all know what am I talking about.) No matter what kind of international web series, show, drama you may watch but you will feel home in only movies which are in your native language. We are separated by states, languages, culture but united by bollywood.

Yes today is bollywood night. There are many masterpiece movies, Mughal-e-azam, umrao jaan (both), woh kaun thi, om shanti om, kabhi khushi kabhi gam, mein hoon na, but our tonight's guest's personal favorite is "Jab we met" can you guess who's that? Keep guessing.

If geet and aditya ever come out of movie and had to say something to us then it would have been this:

Aditya: "In your opinion, what keeps a person going?"

Geet: "Golgappe yaarrrrrrr."

Aditya: "Geet, I am serious, give me an answer, tumhe ek baar me samjh nhi aata?"

Geet: *stares at him with puppy eyes*

Aditya(sighs): let me answer it, it's the love that keep us going, love has the power to change us, rebuild us, love can make a dead person alive and can also kill a living being. love hurts but its important. There are many types of love, platonic, romantic. For example, you dont like your family in many terms but you still love them right?

Geet: *nodding*

Aditya: similarly we love the love things that may hurt us , because those things those people are our people . love is simple and very complex at th esame time its fragile like a bomb but remember in all these ups an downs of life dont forget to love yourself and the people around you .

Geet: *glares at him*

Aditya: so Geet meri sardarni, tell me who do you love the most now ???

Geet: *laughs* golgappeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!

Aditya sighs and takes her on date.

Back to reality everyone.

"Geet is not only person who loves pani puri" I said. Who else love it? We, brown GIRLS idiot.

But but the girl who loves panipuri the most is our own @mainapnifavouritehoon humari desiblr ki professional simple and desi girl.

Vo sab to theek hai but it's golgappeeeeee not pani puri *says chai* (@masalalala-chaii)

*Smacking her head!* Ignore her guys please.

Let us start the interview with rapid fire questions.

So Geet tell us,

About yourself, your blog.

What kind of vibes you want to give by your blog?

how you became simp for him? *ahm ahm*

And you golgappe wali come with me at the backstage for a second, let's have a talk. *Smiling and dragging chai away with her dupatta trying my best to not strangle her with it.*

So Arunima, the stage is all yours now. Do bhangra or whatever you want here.

#gapshap interview 🎊 #gapshap start🎊 #interview of Geet (Arunima)💕

[satureja13]

CrHappy New Year - Part 3 It starts -> here

They went very quiet after Ji Ho's song. And when they were able to clear their thoughts, they started to discuss how amazing it was and what they would be able to achieve - until Saiwa stopped them. This was a party after all. They could ponder about this next year ;) And so he started the movie. 'Happy New Year' with Shah Rukh Khan. They are all crazy for him and happily sang 'India Waale' along with him.

'Yoon toh seedhe bade. Kabhi chahe toh haathon se lete lakeerein chura O humko parwah nahi. Joh bhi kehta hai kehne de jag yeh bhala ya bura Jaisi bhi marzi ho hamari.Karte hai aisi hoshyari Par dil se yaar joh le pukaar toh jaan nisaar kar daale'

'Usually we're very simple But if we want we can steal the lines from one's palms We don't care what the world says about us, good or bad Whatever we desire we attain that by using our smartness But if someone calls from their heart then we'll sacrifice our life for them' Saiwa cuddled with Jeb and Ji Ho moved closer to Vlad. They hadn't touched yet today and the Bond was hungry...

And when the movie was over it was midnight. Good timing! Happy New Year, Boys! It's the first New Year's Eve they spend all together.

Jack went outside to be alone for a while. But Kiyoshi followed him.

We'll never know if Kiyoshi was just mimicking the others or really wanted to embrace Jack. Jack let it happen. Even though his relationship with Kiyoshi drove him into utter madness and he never felt 'this fated mates thing', he loved Kiyoshi. And he misses him.

They didn't last long after midnight. Goats had to be fed and the winery had to be tidied up early next morning... Sai and Jeb went to their room first. Sai will finally ask Jeb what possessed him to wear this outfit today... Jeb: "Don't you remember? I wore this jacket on our first date and you bought me these trousers and then we had our first quarrel because I didn't like them and..." Saiwa: "Of course I remember. But why do you wear it when you don't like it? It's so not you - at all." Jeb: "You said in the library that staid and bland isn't your style...but my style is staid and bland and..." Saiwa: "Oh Jeb! Your style isn't staid and bland. It's your style and I love it. And I love you, no matter what you wear. Do not change because I say stupid stuff. I can't believe it - you yourself said that to me when I was worried you were disgusted by the way I dress." Jeb: "So you don't prefer any of my outfits over the other? And it doesn't matter what I wear?" Saiwa: "Uhm - not so fast. I'd really love to meet my professor again ;)"

Professor: "Here I am. So what was that important you wanted to meet me on New Years Eve?" Student: "I'm still worried about that seminar..." Professor: "Don't you worry. I'll help you prepare for it."

The Room where they celebrated is Vlad and Kiyoshi's room. Jack and Ji Ho share a room on the opposite side. Jack already went over. And Ji Ho hugged Vlad good night. Ji Ho: "I will learn how to love you, I promise." Vlad wanted to reassure him that it is fine if he doesn't love him. That he is fine. But before he could say anything, Ji Ho kissed him.

Ji Ho: "Shhh..."

Ah! I wish a very Happy and Healthy New Year to you! May we get a peaceful, silent 2024. Thank you for reading, following, commenting, liking - and existing <3 You are amazing!

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest 🛺 'Home crappy Home' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: 🌴 'The Expedition' from the beginning ▶️ here 🎤 'Putting the Boys Back together' from the beginning ▶️ here 🥀 'Disbandment of the Group' from the beginning ▶️ here

#home crappy home #simlit #ts4 story #sims 4 #sims 4 story #simblr #ts4 #Crappy New Year #lessons in love #sims 4 vanilla #windenburg #underwater love #old town windenburg #saiwa #giga byte #jeb harris #kiyoshi ito #jack callahan #vladimir tepesz #woo ji ho #escargot winery

[soracities]

!! did i hear hindi movie recs? tis me hindi speaking indian person! i love u and when i saw people reccing bollywood to you i literally gasped out loud. im glad people are sharing taare zameen par, maqbool, omkara, they are my favorites!! if its ok and you're still taking recs, im here to rec you a) pinjar (2003)- a heartbreaking film abt womanhood in times of indian partition, the bloodiest part of our history. its my favorite film nobody talks abt so i hope you like it!

b) thappad (2020) i really like the simple, sticking to realism narrative of thappad, that causes the expose so harshly in contrast, talking abt the casual misogyny even educated societies of india are entrenched into that this film caused people to take sides.

c) pink (2016)

d) veer-zara (a classic lol) (2004)

e) hichki (2018)

f) udaan (2010)

g) garam hawa (transl: scorching winds) (1974)

h) chak de india! if you're into sports movies this one is so close to heart everytime i watch it! (2007)

i) barfi! (2012) truly the movie of all time

j) kahaani (2012)

m) jaane bhi do yaaro (who pays the piper) (1983)

n) mughal-e-azam (1960) and last but not the least

o) devdas! (2002) its my screenwriter best friend's favorite movie!!

totally understand if this list is exhausting, i just meant to give you recs im in love with!! im lacking in watching films, smth i wish to correct soon, but i love these films!! if u like english vinglish, you might also like queen! (2013) i love that movie too!! sorry for the long ask, im not really good at containing myself lol. i hope u have a good day!! happy watching!! (and also would u also be watching non hindi indian movies too bcs 👀 there are amazing recs for those too!)

please do not apologise this is exactly the kind of range i love in films i feel like im about to have the world's best movie night / sleepover!!!

#ALSO YES ON NON-HINDI INDIAN MOVIES TOO #ask #anonymous #bollywood sleepover #<-- its happening !

[cvsmixnaya]

indian!reader x eren yeager headcanons

just letting y’all know: female reader, the reader is indian. don’t wanna put all those details cause i’m lazy af so let’s just get straight to it.

• he immediately found you so attractive. he was like “wow this girl has a different vibe and i like it”

• he took a while to ask you out but y’all became friends so easily. he got to know about the guys you dated in the past which is why he didn’t ask you out immediately

• but when you guys started dating omg it was- i can’t exactly put the words together but i’ll explain.

• he went for all events that you had to attend. weddings, mehndi’s, sangeets, engagement parties, you name it, he showed up with you.

• your parents adored him‼️ sure they were a little disappointed he wasn’t indian but they loved the fact he treated you so well.

• he’s not fully familiar with your culture yet so when he saw you looking absolutely stunning and wearing a crazy but beautiful lehenga, he was worried that you were overdressed.

• you had to remind him that this was a desi event, this is in fact still not enough to overdress. and no matter how much you try, you can’t outshine the bride.

• and yes, while attending these functions he wore a kurta. and lemme tell you how hot he looked. wow. you were drooling girl.

• but that didn’t stop him from going all over you. you were the most beautiful person in his eyes.

• the one thing you dreaded in these events are the aunties who you’ve never seen in your life and they criticise you on every damn thing

• eren could see that you were uncomfortable and he was gonna say something but you stopped him and did it yourself. you put those ladies in their place and walked away

• he was so proud of you and hugged you so tightly.

• one day he was taking you out for a movie and he picked you up in his car. once you got in he literally said “hi meri jaan” (it means “hi my love”)

• the way you melted🥹 his slight german accent make it sound so cute you begged him to say it again. and when he did you were screaming in excitement.

• bollywood movie marathons. no questions asked. you will make him watch the most iconic bollywood movies.

• jab we met, dilwale dulhania le jayenge, khabi khushi khabi gham, basically all the old movies with shah rukh khan cause everyone loves him

• you got eren to start loving him by watching all these movies.

• don’t get me started on all the songs omg

• y’all go on late night drives and play bollywood item songs😭 it’s the best way to spend the night, trust me.

• he treats you so well and he loves everything about your culture and is always willing to learn something new.

• if he gets something wrong, please don’t get mad at him. he’s trying his best i promise

• but overall he’s a good bf and he loves you with his whole heart and will treat you right

#aot x reader #aot imagines #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #eren yeager x reader #snk x reader #aot #eren jaeger #eren fluff #eren x you #eren aot #eren x indian!reader #eren x y/n #eren yeager

[leportraitducadavre]

Help a Pakistani friend

Hello everyone, I am returning to Tumblr because a dearest friend of mine and @dushman-e-jaan needs urgent help in order to escape an abusive situation she (and her family) is living through. We've decided to use our platforms (and also, in the case of Dushman-e-jaan, her Ko-fi user, as our friend doesn't have access to such a website due to her country of origin) to spread her request for help. We beg you to help or at least share her message:

Given my dire present circumstances, it’d be wise of me to ask for donations in regard to my future—and that of my mum and sister. I’m a woman from Pakistan, and I require urgent aid. The reason is my father: he’s unimaginably abusive (he nearly sold me off at the tender age of 10 to a fellow collogue in the military, something which I didn’t even know was wrong till much later in life as he’s seldom let me out of the house; I’ve spent nearly my entire life indoors, save for the time that I used to go out for receiving education; and he used to sexually abuse me as a child, along with the terrifying physical, emotional, and psychological abuse that he’s put me through); he’s cut off most of our finances, keeps us in a posh area for his own reputation, but gives us a pittance (95% of the house we live in is practically empty; and what is there is from my mother’s dowry); and to top it off, he’s sexually harassing us now. I spent my days locked in my room when he comes to the house (he comes and goes as he pleases, really; sometimes, he doesn’t come for weeks, and sometimes, he stays for few months straight); and my mum has seen him masturbating to my younger sister often. She’s in grave danger because of it. Last time, he called her to pick her up from a shop; it was night, and when she reached there, he ran after her (he’d covered his mouth with a cloth). My sister ran from him, weeping. It was when he gathered attention from others that he stopped and told my sister that he was joking; but I know better …

You might ask as to why I haven’t registered a complain, then … well, I live in Pakistan; and my father runs a madrassa (a religious school); and he used to serve as an officer in the army. His reputation is iron-clad, and there are many people who’d vouch for his character whilst me, my mum, and sister are the women “he puts up with”. He rejected good proposals that came for me and my sister. Every single one. Without ever asking us. (In Pakistan, it’s the parents that decide this, not the children, especially not women.) I’m in my thirties now (practically long past the expiration date for marriage in my country); and that’s exactly what my father wanted. Why? I can’t say. It’s just one of the many methods he’s used to abuse us. That brings me to the main point: I can’t stay in this country; I want out; and I want to get out fast with my family (my mum and sister; I’ve got a brother, too, but he’s a complete bum, and he’s made our lives even more miserable). My father is well-off, influential, and dangerous. We’re not safe here, and any attempt to sell the property (what little my mum has) is met with extreme antagonism from my father that I fear for her life at this point. (He already forged my mum’s signatures, sold her pension, and other furniture which was from her dowry; and he invested all of that in his own business venture; he owns a gas station, in which my mum has no share, whilst we struggle to make ends meet.) He’s isolated us from everyone. Last time when my mum stood up for me, he tied her dupatta around her neck and dragged her across the room (he told her that he’d create an example out of her; that was about a decade

I’ve got … so many of these incidents to share, but I can’t keep listing them without a reason. I require solid financial support. (I haven’t decided the amount, but 3000 ought to be fine? I don’t know) $ to be precise, so that I can apply for education in a better country, leave here, and make way for my mum and sister. I’m aware that it’s a lot to ask (maybe too much); but I don’t know how to put this any other way. The sooner we get out of here, the better. I’m disabled and the universities here are hostile to people like me. My sister struggles with her internship job. She can’t keep supporting me forever. My mum’s ill. I want to help them, too. Please, I implore you all to donate as much as you can afford to donate. Any amount would help. I need this—my family needs this! I thank you all for your compassion and generosity.

#help #pakistan #pakistani woman #help needed #kofi #help a friend escape an abusive situation #abuse #trigger warning #emotional abuse #physical abuse #abuse survivor #signal boost

[oh-oh-jaane-jaana]

Aisha, A 27 year old girl from Kolkata with big aspirations who is new to Mumbai. Despite being the new girl in the city she was indeed a fearless woman, quashing all societal norms. Aisha was calm, composed and mature she has her goals and aims set in life which is quite opposite of Sid as shown in the movie. Aisha liked independence, The independence of having your own home, cooking your own meal, exploring a new city all alone soaking everything in her deep striking eyes but she didn't forget her roots Aisha liked harmony for her party was spending a good time and having a cup of tea, She even had the strength to reject her boss's proposal for jazz night and sticking to her Indian classics. As a kid it fascinated me how could a person want to be like that and not sid he is so fun! Yes sure being sid is very fun but as I am getting older I am finally getting What Aisha was trying to say, Being Alone gives you the joy of independence and freedom but not always Mumbai is a fast paced and someway or another you will feel lonely, sid was what connected Aisha to Mumbai, he was what made Aisha fall in love with Mumbai and her home even more. Sid made her experience her first time rain in Mumbai. Aisha taught him how to set an aim in his life and how to achieve it, how to not follow societal norms and do what he loves. Aisha being so independent she still needed sid in somewhat way in her life and sid needed her the same way. People no matter how different they are still need each other,aakhir kar din beet jaane ke baad koi ek toh balcony mei sath baithke chai peene wala chahiye hota hai, Chahe ya toh vo khud tum aur tumhare khyal ho ya phir koi tumhe khayalo mei rakhne wala ho. Now that I am older I find this fascinating.

#desi aesthetic #desi dark academia #desi girl #desi tumblr #being desi #bollywood

[harrysmaison]

Vi's 2022 Follow Forever!

It's 2023 for me now and I wanna say thank you to all the lovely lovely people that I befriended so far who made my dash (and in case of some, my life) so much more beautiful.

Under the cut bc there messages I want to give you 💞

Unhinged gc: @dragmedown @lovelikealandslide @cowboylarries @purplepantsniall @coffeehotcoffee @surroundedbylightt @holyshit @loubbies @greeneyesfriedrice @louishandkink You people bring so much brightness and happiness to my life. Talking with you all was like, a stress reliever, you made me feel okay with being weird and unhinged and I can't thank you enough. You all were the support system I didn't know I needed in 2022. Thank you beloveds. I hope we'll stay as weird and chaotic forever as we are now ❤️

Therapy gc: @thedevilinmybrain, @larrysballetslippers @walkinginsunflowers @thechavier @finexbright @medicinelarrie @summercherrylou @amateurd18 @kadd-kadd you all have been so supportive and helpful and understanding and comforting to me in these past couple of months. Why would I need therapy when I have you all? Everyday is healing when I talk to you guys. I can't be thankful enough for all that love and support. Hope all of your year is filled with a lot more happiness than the previous one ❤️❤️

@anxiouslarrie. Cata, my love. What can I say to you. You're my bug sis. My candle in the terrifying darkness. The elder sister I never knew I needed. You're so pretty and smart and wise and understanding. All that you've done for me till now, not even my close irls could do it. Being there for me, helping me out, keeping me sane, giving me advices. I don't know what I did to deserve you. You're so nice and sweet and just amazing. I love you loads and more. Thank you so much for being ❤️❤️

@decemberries dheera meri jaan, meri dharampartner. I can't believe I have a Tumblr mutual who I had the blessing to meet IRL. It was an extremely fun experience. And I love you even more now that I know you personally. You're funny and pretty and so so lovely, but along with that, you're so talented and wise and no I'm not going to hear another word of denial. You're someone who understands me, knows me from up close, and I'm glad that I have you for real in my life now. You're just awesome. I love you so muchhh 💖

@hlkings mari, you're one of the few people on here that I trust and open up with. You're so sweet and wise. Always there for everyone, willing to help them deal with their problems, guiding them, advising them. I can't appreciate you enough. Thank you for being there for me too. I love you a lot you know that? I do. And I admire you too. Your gifs are one of my most fav things on here. Never stop being creative and fun and of course, horny as usual, my favourite whore 💞

@moonknowshome Angie my most beloved, you adorable,.sweet soul. I wish I could hug you right now. You're like a soft plushie on a hard night. Always brightening my day with your sweet messages and cute stickers. I want to squish you and never let go, will you let me do that? Thank you so much for making my days better and tolerable. I love you tons💜

Everybody else: @otbnaga @writtenalloveryourface28 @agape-28 @ladychlo @pop-punklouis @complictedfreak @itsnotreal @persephoneflouwers @perksofbeingasunflowerblog @stood-onthecliffside @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk @bluewinnerangel @loulovehome @saturdaystakethepainaway-fitf @thosefookinvacados @nauticallyrics @tiredeyeslouis @mostardently @anapologethicc @kiwikiwiandkiwi @awesomefringey @louistomlinsun @harryslonecurl @itmustbefireproof @throughthedarklive @sarcastic-sue @thetriangletattoo @curlyhairedprince and all the others (bc of Tumblrs shitty url limit) thank you for making my Tumblr experience so blissful and fun, I never had a bad post on my dash because you lit it up with all the good content and happiness. Some of you who are talented creators, some who have such beautiful and wise thoughts, some who are just incredibly funny, some who are my really good friends, you all make being on Tumblr worth it. Thank you. Have a pleasant new year full of happiness and success and keep doing what you do. I love it 💞

#happy new year everyone!! #in advance to those behind time <333 #mere premi #I'm sorry if I forgot anyone it's really late in the night djfhdh