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sequinsmile-x · 1 year

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All's Fair - Chapter 5

Emily and Aaron have loved each other since they were children. War might be the thing that finally brings them together, but it could also be the thing that tears them apart forever.

A Hotchniss AU, set in 1917 and beyond.

-x-

Thank you so much for the love for this fic. It means so much more than I can put into words!!

Please let me know what you think of this chapter <3

Special shout out to @cloudlessly-light who, when I said I thought this chapter was going to get away from me, was able to correctly guess how many words it was going to be haha

-x-

Words: 6.5k

A list of warnings and tags can be found on the Series Master List

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily,

I love you. I can’t think of a better way to say after the telegram I just received. I love you, and Mae, so much.

I’m so proud of you, and so relieved you’re ok. If what I’ve felt worrying about you is only a fraction of how you have felt since I left then I think I’ll be apologising for the rest of our lives.

I wish I could be there, I wish I could meet her and hold you both. I only hope that one day, if we’re lucky enough, I can be there with you every step of the way.

All my love,

Aaron

___

Aaron,

I know Mother had Rossi send you a telegram, but I also wanted to write. Mae is right next to me, fast asleep as if she’s the one who’s had a tiring day!! Although I suppose being born isn’t easy.

She looks so much like you. I know she’s only a few hours old, and babies don’t really look like anyone, but all I can think about when I look at her is you.

I do think she’ll end up cursed with my nose though.

I wish you were here. You not being here is familiar to me now, and missing you has become part of my daily life, but I haven’t felt it this sharply in quite some time.

I need you to see her. So that, if the worst ever happens, I can tell her that you met.

Stay safe.

All our love,

Emily and Mae

___

Aaron,

I just received your letter, and I imagine you just got mine. Maybe one day letters will be instant or at least take less time to arrive.

Mae is 4 weeks old now. She’s grown so much already. She only really sleeps if she’s in my arms. She eats constantly, or at least it feels that way. Mother says I spoil her, but I don’t see how it’s possible to love someone too much.

She knows I hate that you can’t see Mae, so Mother organised for a photographer to come to the house. It was nice of her, but of course, in typical Elizabeth fashion, she did manage to comment on the outfit I chose for myself (my old clothes feel like they’ll never fit again!) and for Mae.

I’ve put a photo of the two of us in this letter. I hope it helps remind you of what you have waiting here.

All our Love,

Emily and Mae

___

April 1918

“I don’t understand why I have to go.”

Elizabeth sighs, watching her daughter as she paces back and forth with her own daughter in her arms.

“Because it’s the start of the social season, Emily. Surely you remember what that means.”

Emily smiles politely, her eyes fixed on Mae in her arms, the three-month-old refusing to settle for her nap. Her stubborn streak was obvious already, something she had inherited from both of her parents.

“What I remember is you hiding me away last year so I didn’t embarrass you any more than I already had.”

“Because you’d just eloped, even though your engagement to another man was meant to be announced just a few weeks later.”

Emily sighs, clenching her teeth tightly to stop herself from responding, not wanting to start an argument.

It was hard to believe it had been a year since she and Aaron got married. Life looked so different now, and sometimes it felt like Mae was the only proof it had ever happened. If she didn’t exist, tangible evidence of their love for each other, Emily was sure their night together would feel like a dream. The memory of his touch was just out of reach. She longed to remember how it felt to simply hold his hand.

It had been a little too long since she’d heard from him. Panic tingling through her veins in a way she desperately tries to ignore whenever she thinks about it. She’d re-read the letters she already had from him more times than she could count. The paper worn thin on the first couple, almost torn at the edges from where she had unfolded and refolded them so many times. She knew them by heart. His words now, the things they’d barely had the chance to say to each other's faces, were as familiar to her as he was.

There were days when she felt as fragile as the paper that held their story. Easily fryable, tearing apart at the edges in a way she should have known only Aaron was capable of doing to her. On other days she felt strong, made of steel as she forged her way forward for her and her daughter, determined to make a good life for her little girl, even if she never got to have her father as part of it.

Every day that passed without a letter, a gentle shake of Dave’s head as he brought her mother the mail in the morning, she feels herself get more anxious. More familiar with the thought that maybe he’d never make it back at all.

Emily clears her throat, trying to rid herself of all the things she knew she couldn’t afford to feel.

“And what about Mae, who’s going to look after her whilst I’m downstairs at a party?”

“Well since you refused to hire a nanny,” Elizabeth says, her raised eyebrow the closest she’d come to expressing her feelings on the matter, “I spoke to JJ, and she agreed to sit in here with her whilst you are downstairs.”

Emily looks down at Mae, smiling softly when she sees the baby is now fast asleep. JJ was one of the only people she’d trust her daughter with completely, and Elizabeth knew that.

“Ok,” Emily says, looking up at her mother, “I’ll go.”

___

Emily remembered clearly the first time she’d had to go to one of these events. Her mother had finally deemed her old enough to go, no longer worried that she’d be too young, or cause embarrassment. It was the first time she’d felt like she was on display.

She was eleven.

She had been introduced to people she now saw frequently, members of her mother’s inner circle that had never done anything other than make her feel trapped. She’d spent the whole night wishing she’d been allowed to run around the estate with Aaron and Sean like she used to be able to, staying out until long after the sun had disappeared over the horizon, coming home with grass stains on her clothes that her mother hated.

She finds herself missing Aaron now for completely different reasons. He’d never been to one of her mother’s parties, and part of her wanted to bring him to one. To stand in the corner with him and watch him watch this, a part of her life he’d never fully understood because he was always standing on the edge of it, watching from outside.

She knows if he makes it back, he’d be part of it now. Standing by her side as her husband, the support she’d always needed but had never been sure how to ask for.

She stands at the edge of the party, her back practically against the wall as she nurses a small glass of wine. It felt wrong, watching everyone dance and laugh as if there wasn’t a war raging on elsewhere. She knew she wasn’t the only person who had someone out there. A lot of the men she’d grown up with were in France too, their parents in the room with her, a tightness in their expressions that she could relate to.

It felt like she was being watched. An item of curiosity that she hadn’t felt like the very first time when she was a young girl. People would smile politely at her before turning away, clearly talking about her choices. The husband no one had ever met. The baby who was sleeping soundly upstairs.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, Emily Prentiss.”

She looks up, the accent immediately making her tense. She locks eyes with the man she should have married, the one her mother still made comments about as if she didn’t know exactly what he was like.

“Ian, it has been a long time,” she replies tightly, her society smile spreading across her face, “And it’s Hotchner now. Has been for a little while.”

“Of course,” he says, his smile letting her know that he’d purposely got her name wrong. He looks her up and down, his eyes lingering in a way that makes her feel uncomfortable, but she doesn’t show it. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Didn’t you have a baby recently?”

“I did,” she replies, taking a sip of her wine, “She’s three months old.”

He hums, looking her up and down again before his eyes meet hers, something about the icy blueness of them makes her recoil, her back pressing further into the wall.

“It’s a shame we never got a chance to be together,” he says, smirking, “We could have been great,” he leans in and kisses her cheek, his breath skipping across her skin making her clench her teeth, his hand briefly at her waist, “If you ever get bored of that husband of yours, or if he never makes it back,” he says, pulling back, his smirk wider, “You know where to find me.”

She feels a fire in her belly, her grip on her drink tightening to the point she’s surprised the glass doesn’t break in her hand. Disgust flows through her veins, spreading through her whole body and she knows from how Ian smiles at her she doesn’t hide it either, her face giving away exactly how she feels.

“You are such-”

“Emily.”

She turns, cut off from her insult by her mother, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She blows out a short sharp breath, her fake smile plastered back on her face as she turns to look at her. She doesn’t think she’s ever been more grateful to see her, or for her timing.

“Yes, Mother?”

“I need to borrow you for a moment,” she says, looking between Emily and Ian, “I am so sorry to whisk her away, Ian. It’s important.”

“No problem, Elizabeth,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek too, smiling as he pulls back, “I think we were done here anyway.”

Emily glares at him but lets herself get led away by her mother, away from the ballroom where the party was being held. She feels less tense the further away they get, the sound of the revellers and the music fading as they make it towards her mother’s office.

“God, I cannot believe that is the man you wanted me to marry. He is awful,” she complains, shivering as she thinks of his hand on her waist, his foul breath on her skin. She frowns when she realises they’ve come to a stop, her mother standing outside of her office, an expression on her face that Emily cannot read, “What’s going on?”

“There’s someone here who wants to speak to you,” Elizabeth says, clearing her throat in a poor attempt to hide a smile, “It couldn’t wait until the end of the party.” Emily frowns, her confusion only deepening further as her mother steps away, “I should get back, and leave you to it.”

Emily watches her walk away, her gaze fixed on her mother until she disappears from sight. She looks back at the office door and stares at it for a moment, before opening it.

She freezes, her hand still tight around the door handle as the person in the room turns to look at her.

He was skinnier. Some of the strength she had always admired was gone, obvious even through his green uniform. Their eyes meet and she feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

“Aaron?”

___

It felt like a lifetime had passed since he’d last been here.

The year that had elapsed in between both the shortest and the longest of his life. When he arrives at the front door, the sound of a party echoing outwards from within, he feels a sense of anger he hadn’t anticipated.

Life went on, he knew that. The sun carried on rising despite everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through since he was last here, but it felt wrong. Life was carrying on as normal as if men weren’t dying in droves on another continent. He blows out a steady breath as he knocks on the door. It’s answered immediately, a person he doesn’t recognise looking him up and down.

“This is a private event,” he snaps, eyeing Aaron’s uniform with suspicion.

“I used to work here,” he says, shaking his head at himself for that being the first thing he’d said, “I’m married to the daughter of the lady of the house.”

The man narrows his eyes even further, before closing the door. Aaron sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he thinks of his choices. He knew which room was Emily’s and he wasn’t above trying to sneak into the main house.

The door is opened again and he’s face to face with Elizabeth, her eyes wide with the closest thing to shock he’d ever seen her express. She’s dressed up, and has clearly been pulled from the party she was hosting to confirm his identity.

“Aaron.” She says, looking him up and down, and he doesn’t miss the fact this is the first time they’ve interacted since she became his mother-in-law, “I think you’d better come in. We have a lot to talk about.”

___

Emily can’t take her eyes off him. She can’t move, can’t blink. Worried that the slightest shift will make him disappear.

“What…” she drifts off, unable to formulate her thoughts, the words stuck in her throat as she continues to stare at him. Her vision becomes blurry, tears falling onto her cheeks and she finally releases her grip from the door handle, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Hi sweetheart,” he says, grateful when the door closes behind her, leaving them, for the first time in too long, alone. He takes the opportunity to look at her, to take in how beautiful she is. His memory had done her a disservice, as it always had when he tried to picture her, and the photo he kept in his pocket didn’t come close to showing how captivating she was. She looked tired, something he was sure had to do with their daughter he was yet to meet.

“What are you doing here?” She chokes out. She stops just a couple of paces in front of him, her hand stopping in mid-air as she stops herself from touching him, still not entirely sure this was real. That he wouldn’t disappear in a puff of smoke.

“I had some leave. I spent most of it getting here, and will spend the rest of it getting back,” he explains, his hands twitching to reach out for her, to hold her like he had dreamt of for a year, but he knows he needs to take it at her pace, “I just had to see you. Both of you.”

“How long are you here?” She asks, the sound of the party just down the hall muffled, as if it was miles away, her entire focus on here. On him.

“Two days at most,” he replies, hating the way her face falls, the way he can already see the grief gathering in her eyes.

“It’s a hell of a long way to come for two days,” she says, her eyes searching his face as she takes one step closer, still not touching him.

“You and Mae are worth it.”

She’s not sure if it’s the sentiment, or the fact it’s the first time she’s ever heard him say their daughter’s name, but that’s what breaks her. She closes the gap between them and buries her face in his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around him as he pulls her closer. He smells different, the soap he’s used clearly a cheap one that the army supply on masse, and now she’s hugging him she can feel that he’s skinnier, that whatever he’s eating out there isn’t enough, especially when she considers what he’s doing. She makes a mental note to ask Dave to get the cook to make whatever Aaron wants whilst he’s here.

“I missed you so much,” she says, her face still pressed against his scratchy uniform, not sure how she can let go now she’s holding him.

“I missed you too,” he replies, leaning down and kissing the top of her head, comforted by the familiar scent of her soap, something that he had fallen in love with years ago.

“It’s been so long since I got a letter,” she says, pulling back to look at him but making no attempt to move out of his arms, “I thought…” she can’t put it into words, doesn’t want to say what she’d assumed.

He finally leans down and kisses her, his lips familiar against hers, and she grasps at the lapels of his jacket, holding him close.

“I have a letter for you, I thought I’d hand deliver it,” he mutters, kissing her again and she pulls back, her eyebrows pulled together indignantly as she narrows her eyes at him. She uses one of the hands buried in wool to lightly slap his chest.

“You ass,” she says, kissing him despite her words, her forehead pressing into his before she pulls back, “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies, one of his hands cupping her cheek, holding her in place, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she kisses him once more before she pulls away, one of her hands seeking out his, not wanting to lose their connection even for a moment, “Come on, there’s someone you’ve got to meet.”

___

Emily is, as ever, grateful for JJ’s discretion. She looks shocked as Aaron follows Emily into her room, but doesn’t make any comment apart from explaining Mae had slept since she had gone downstairs before she leaves.

Aaron smiles tightly at the other woman, his usual politeness nowhere to be found, no consideration for the woman who used to be his colleague, as all of his focus is on his wife and daughter. As soon as they are alone, the bedroom door closing softly behind JJ, Aaron finds his voice, once again surprised at the first thing he says.

“I thought your room was on the other side of the house.”

Emily turns to look at him, a soft smile on her face, “It was,” she says squeezing his hand in hers, “Mother moved me here. Said its ‘more fitting for a married woman,’” she says, rolling her eyes, “But it has an adjoining room for Mae,” she adds, tilting her head towards the door that leads to it, “Which is nice when she cries in the middle of the night, it means she’s never too far away.”

She steps towards him and presses her lips to his cheek, desperate to re-familiarise herself with as much of him as possible, all too aware that yet again she had very little time to do so.

“Are you ready?” She asks softly, squeezing his hand as he nods.

“I think so.”

She smiles and gently tugs him towards Mae’s room, pushing the adjoining door open before she flicks on the light. Emily wouldn’t be able to explain her own nervousness even if she wanted to, butterflies in her stomach and her heart pounding in her ears as she prepares to introduce the two people who mean the most to her to each other.

She wonders if she would have felt this way if he’d been here when Mae was born. If the nervous excitement would have been the same, or if the relief she’d felt at Mae’s safe arrival would have overridden it all.

She hopes one day, if they are lucky, that she’d find out.

Emily smiles as she sees Mae shifting around, sharp movements in her limbs as she grunts, a sign that she had only just woken up, probably to the sound of the short conversation they’d had with JJ. She disconnects from Aaron, letting go of his hand for the first time since she’d held it downstairs, and reaches into the bassinet to pick up Mae, the familiar weight of her daughter in her arms a comfort she hadn’t known she’d needed.

“Hi sweet girl,” she says, well aware of Aaron’s gaze fixed on them, the back of her neck burning with it.” She kisses the top of Mae’s head and turns to face Aaron, making sure the baby was facing him too, so he could see them both, “There’s someone here to meet you.”

For once, she doesn’t berate herself for the crack in her voice, for the tears that press at the back of her eyes. The shock of finally seeing Aaron, of having what she’s wanted for so long, finally settling in.

Aaron feels like he’s rooted to the ground. His body not moving as he simply stares at the two of them together, held in place by love and so many things he can’t put a name to. Mae was beautiful. Everything about her reminded him of Emily, as if Mae was a tiny version of her mother, right down to the slope of her nose and the small dimples in her cheeks. The tiny photo Emily had sent hadn’t done her justice, and he knew even if it had she would have changed so much since then anyway.

“Em…she’s…”

She smiles at him and makes the decision to move towards him. She encourages him to put his arms out and places Mae in his embrace. She places one hand on Aaron’s arm and the other supports Mae’s head.

“Aaron, this is Mae,” she says, a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob catching in her throat as she rests her head on Aaron’s shoulder, not able to tear her eyes off of their daughter in his arms. A sight she’d dreamt of for months, “Mae, this is your daddy.”

Emily feels a tear drop onto the top of her head, and looks up to see tracks on Aaron’s cheeks, his eyes shining. She reaches up, wiping at his skin before wrapping both of her arms around one of his, her head back against his shoulder.

“She’s beautiful,” he says, his voice tight, “She looks just like you,” he lifts her up, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s head, “She smells like you.”

“I use my soap on her too,” Emily hums, turning her head just enough to press a kiss against his clothed shoulder, “I’ve always thought she looks just like you.”

“I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one,” he says, looking away from his daughter for just long enough to kiss the top of Emily’s head. He looks back at Mae, desperately trying to remember everything he can about her, smiling as she puts her fist in her mouth, “You did get one thing right though.”

“What’s that?” She asks, reaching out and grabbing Mae’s hand, knowing it was almost time to feed her.

“She definitely has your nose.”

___

She allows herself, for a little while, to believe it was real. That he was back for good. That this was her life now.

She just wanted one day with him that wasn’t tinged with sadness, with the reality that he wasn’t hers to keep, at least not for now, so she gives it to herself.

They wake up early, woken by a cranky Mae demanding her first meal of the day before they head down for breakfast themselves. Elizabeth raises her eyebrow at Aaron but says nothing else about his reappearance. It’s only later, when they are walking the grounds just the two of them and Mae, that he tells her about his conversation with her mother the night before. How she wasn’t as mad as he’d expected, her fury somewhat diminished by her love for her granddaughter.

The day passes too quickly for Emily’s liking. A taste of what could be, what should be, as he helps her with Mae. She doesn’t miss the sadness that crosses his face whenever the baby cries when she’s with him, quietening immediately in Emily’s arms when he passes her over.

After they’ve put her to bed, slowly backing out of her room so they don’t wake her again, Emily kisses him as soon as the adjoining door to their room is closed. She loops her arms around his neck, taking every opportunity to be as close to him as possible.

“She doesn’t cry because she hates you, you know,” Emily says, trying to smile reassuringly at him, “I talk about you all the time,” she strokes her fingers through his hair as he places his hands on her hips, “She just…”

“Doesn’t know me,” he finishes for her, shaking his head at himself, “And I’ve got no one to blame but myself.”

“Aaron-”

“My daughter doesn’t know who I am, Em,” he says, cutting over her, “She’s 12 weeks old, and she’s known me for a day.”

“Honey,” she says, making him look at her, “She’s a baby. She only figured out how to smile a few weeks ago,” she swallows thickly, pushing down her own feelings about it all for now, “When you come back for good, things will be different.”

It’s the closest either of them has come all day to address their reality. They had no idea how long he’d be gone for. It could be months. Another year.

Forever.

She leans forward to kiss him, wanting to change the direction of her thoughts, of their conversation. Wanting nothing more than to end their day as they had lived it - together.

“We don’t have to,” he says as he pulls away, and it makes her smile, makes her think of their wedding night, how she knows he meant it then too. They hadn’t had the chance last night. Both of them far too tired to do anything other than literally sleep together. They’d curled up around each other, and had woken up in the exact same position, their hands still intertwined.

She steps onto her tiptoes, eliminating the height difference between them, and kisses him fiercely. Her hands run up the back of his neck and she digs her fingers into his hair, holding him close as she licks at the seam of his lips, grateful when he responds immediately, pulling her even closer.

She pants as she pulls her lips from his, her forehead against his as she tries to make her breathing even again.

“Aaron, please,” she says, stamping another kiss against his lips, “I want to.”

He nods, his grip on her hips tightening slightly as his forehead knocks against hers.

“I want to too,” he replies, one of his hands stroking up her back, “I just…” he drifts off, unsure how to put it into words, how to explain himself. He sighs, “Last time, I left you here alone, pregnant. And…”

She hears what he hasn’t said, how he doesn’t think it’s fair to do that to her again. She pulls back to look at him, her hands drifting to his cheeks, holding him in place as she makes him look at her.

“I don’t care about that,” she says, her eyes boring into his, “Besides, the doctor said it’s unlikely I can get pregnant whilst I’m still feeding Mae, and even if it does happen…” she swallows thickly, the thought of going through all of that alone, again, almost too much to bear, “If it does happen then it happens,” she shrugs half-heartedly, “I will take of much as you as I can get.”

He stares at her for a second, considering what she’s said, before he nods, surging forward and kissing her as if they had never stopped. They shed their clothes quickly, material falling to the floor without fanfare, their need for each other getting more desperate by the second. It’s only when she’s naked, laying on the bed, that she feels self-conscious, his gaze fixed on her as he looks at her intently.

“I know I look different,” she says, pressing one of her hands to her stomach. Her skin was still looser than it used to be, and her hips were wider. There were thin pink lines that were slowly turning silver across her abdomen, signs of where her skin had been stretched almost to its limit when Mae was still inside of her, “I know it’s not-”

“You’re beautiful,” he says, cutting her off, pressing a kiss to her lips to stop her from saying anything else, before he moves downwards, worshipping her skin bit by bit before he gets to her stomach. His touch becomes even more reverent, his fingers and his lips mapping her out again as he had on their wedding night, re-learning all of her hills and valleys, “I wish I could have seen you,” he mutters against her skin.

“I was massive,” she comments, not missing the breathlessness of her voice.

“You still would have been gorgeous,” he says, travelling further down her body, his hands tracing her thighs, gently pushing them apart as he kneels in front of the bed.

She sits up, her elbows on the bed as she looks at him, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he looks at her, his eyes fixed between her legs.

“What are you doing?” She asks, and he looks up at her, making no move to get up off the floor.

“Do you trust me?” He asks in response, still not giving her an answer, a fire in his eyes that threatens to engulf them both.

“Yes,” she answers simply because it’s true. There’s no one she trusts more.

Before she knows what was happening, his focus has shifted again, his hands holding her thighs apart as he licks through her, making them moan simultaneously, her at the feeling of it, of every nerve in her body feeling like it was alight, and him at the taste of her.

“Oh my God,” she moans, her elbows giving out as she lays back down, her hands fisting in the bedspread as he carries on, his grip on her thighs getting tighter as he explores her in this new way, “Please don’t stop.”

He takes her apart, slowly and methodically as if he had thought of nothing else in the year that they had been apart. Pleasure rushes through her in a way she didn’t know it could, and it takes her a second to remember to breathe, her body shaking as she comes back down. She blinks, clearing her vision, and feels the dip of the bed next to her. She looks at him, breathing heavily as he smiles at her.

“You ok?” He asks, and she nods, clearing her throat.

“Yes. More than ok. Where the hell did you learn about that?” She asks, reaching up and pulling him down for a kiss.

“France,” he mutters, shifting them so he’s laying on top of her, both of them groaning as he notches over her. She raises an eyebrow at him, her curiosity slowly getting the better of him, “It’s a bunch of men sitting in a dug-out trench in the ground sweetheart, we talk about sex.”

“Oh,” she says, hooking one of her legs around him, bringing him impossibly closer. She doesn’t want to talk about France, about the reality that he’d start his long journey back the following morning. And she knows he doesn’t too, “Well…we’re definitely doing that again at some point.”

He smiles at her and leans down to kiss her, one of his hands sneaking between them, his finger briefly dragging over her before he guides himself into her, both of them groaning as he pushes forward.

It was overwhelming, the feeling of her around him better than he remembered. The fleeting time they’d had together when they got married was never enough. He buries his face in her collarbone, whispering praise against her skin as she shifts her hips up into him, a silent request to move that he is happy to oblige.

They move together, his hand reaching for hers, linking their fingers next to her head on the bed as they build each other up. The only sound in the room is them, and quiet gasps of each other’s names whispered against skin. He can sense she’s close, can feel it in how she’s grasping at him, in how she says his name, so he reaches between them, his finger swiping over her until they tip over the edge together.

He lays on top of her until he gets his breath back, and moves to roll off of her, but she stops him. Her still shaky legs hooked around him, and her arms tight around his back.

“Em-”

“Not yet,” she says, and he looks down at her, sadness sparking in his chest at the unshed tears in her eyes. “Not yet.” She repeats, and he nods, leaning down to kiss her, hoping he can get across everything he can’t find the words for. How much he loves her. How much he didn’t want to leave.

How much he missed her already, even though he was right here with her.

“Ok sweetheart, not yet.”

___

He wakes up alone.

At first, he doesn’t notice. His heart racing as he sits up suddenly, heaving deep breaths into his lungs. It takes him a moment to realise where he is, that he’s home. He’s safe.

It’s the silence he finds the strangest, the total opposite of what he was now used to. The complete lack of sound was louder than he knew it could be.

He rubs his eyes as they adjust to the low light of the room, and he looks over to the adjoining door to Mae’s nursery and sees it’s slightly open, light streaming into the main bedroom around it. He gets up, stretching as he walks towards the door. As he gets closer he hears quiet singing, Emily’s voice soft as it travels through the air.

“The little stars were the herring fish

That lived in that beautiful sea —

“Now cast your nets wherever you wish —

Never afeard are we”

Aaron opens the door, smiling as he’s met with the sight of Emily sitting down, Mae against her chest. She’s rubbing the baby’s back, her lips against the top of her head as she sings.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that lullaby,” he says, his smile widening as she looks up at him, her own smile sleepy.

“It’s one my dad used to sing to me,” she replies, “I think she likes it. Want to come sit with us?”

She doesn’t need to ask twice, moving across the room quickly, she stands just long enough for him to slip in behind her in the chair. He wraps his arms around her as she settles against him. He feels the last bits of tension caused by his nightmare fading away at having his girls in his arms.

“Is she ok?” He asks, looking down at Mae and watching as her eyes flutter shut, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks.

“She’s fine,” Emily assures him, tilting her head to look at him, “She needed feeding, and she always likes to cuddle afterwards,” she smiles, looking back at Mae, “I like it too. Are you ok? I didn’t wake you up did I?”

“No,” he says, holding her a little tighter, “You didn’t. I…dreamt about something.”

She reads between the lines, not needing any other information to know it was a nightmare, that he was trying to play it down for her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know how to. Everything over there is so…awful. Some of the men dying are just kids,” he shakes his head, chuckling bitterly, “Boys. And I don’t know how to tell you. You and her are so untouched by it,” he says, reaching out to touch Mae’s head, his fingers gentle against her soft hair, “I don’t want to bring it here too”

“We’re not untouched by it. I know it’s not the same. But my life is on pause, Aaron. I’m sat here waiting for you to come back, or for a telegram telling me you’ll never come back. I had our little girl alone. You weren’t there waiting to meet her,” she says, her eyes meeting his. She sees the sadness on his face, the guilt he’s barely covered up the entire time he’s been here, and she sighs. She takes one of her hands out from under Mae and reaches out for him, tangling their fingers together, “It’s not your fault, but I’m not untouched by it.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I know you’re not,” he kisses the side of her head, “The thing is I can’t even wish I hadn’t gone. Because if I hadn’t, I don’t think we’d be here.”

She hums in agreement. She’d had the same thought many times over the last year, she was well aware that his decision to sign up for the army had been the push they’d needed.

“You’re right. I’d be married to Ian,” she looks down at Mae, realising she had now fallen asleep. “And she wouldn’t exist,” she looks at Aaron and kisses him, “She’s asleep, if you want we can go back to bed?”

He nods, kissing her again before she stands, well-practised at holding the baby as she moved around, and she sets her back down into the bassinet without disturbing her. Aaron leans down and kisses Mae’s head before he loops his arm around his wife, leading her back into their room.

They both knew the countdown was on, that their time left together was limited. Hours would soon tick down into minutes, then seconds.

They didn’t want to waste any of it.

___

She doesn’t let him out of her sight until he has to leave. Even then, she stands by the front door with Mae in her arms, her eyes fixed on the car her mother had organised for him until he completely disappears from view.

Somehow, it feels worse than the first time she had to let him go. The sweet taste of their life together that she’d had for a couple of days turning bitter as he gets further away from her.

Mae cries out in her arms, and Emily looks at her, adjusting her hold on her daughter as she turns into the house.

“Come on, sweet girl,” she says, raising her up a little so she can kiss her head, “It’s almost time for you to eat.”

When she gets back to their room, she finds a letter propped up against their wedding photo, his familiar scrawl across the envelope spelling out both her and Mae’s names.

Next to it is a small vase. A bunch of freshly picked daisies staring back at her, seeming all too bright for the heaviness in her heart.

-x-

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angry-geese · 3 years

Text

Nanami Kento x Reader

Warnings: sfw. pregnancy mention, death mention, minor injury mention. mild angst. jjk manga spoilers/shibuya arc spoilers

Summary: some pregnancy fluff with nanami

Word Count: 2.2k

jjk masterlist

Greys dot at his temples, and the sides of his beard. There's a permanent line between his eyebrows from scowling. Nanami always kept his face shaved in the past. Nowadays he hardly bothers shaving. You like it when he has a little bit of scruff, and he's often too tired to shave. His cheeks are far more gaunt. He lost a considerable amount of weight he never really gained back. You’ve been trying to get him to eat more. And it's working, but recovery isn't a short process. It was a long road that sometimes it feels like you take one step forward, only to take ten back.

He finds himself questioning if he'd rather wear a glass eye, or an eyepatch.

Nanami hardly sees the point in either. So the answer is neither. He rarely leaves his house, save for the rare times you drag him along to the grocery store, or down the street to the bakery. Even then, he wears his hat low on his head, keeping his eyes on the ground in a feeble attempt to make himself as small as possible.

Shibuya left scars on everyone who had the misfortune of being there, ones that never quite healed right. You were the same person; torn apart and put back together wrong. Age has not been kind to you, your wounds taking longer to heal, an ever-present ache in your bones. Past injuries have never quite healed, only laying dormant, waiting for the weather to sour so they can ache. He guesses he can consider himself lucky. He's alive. That's more than a lot of people can say.

But sometimes he thinks the real lucky ones were those who didn't survive.

Sometimes he thinks he's dead. In the twilight between sleep and his waking moments, he wonders if he actually made it. He wonders if he really survived, or if this is just some last ditch attempt by his brain to make sense of things.

He doesn't understand why you stay. He finds himself wondering why he bothers. Most days he doesn't see a point in continuing. But he doesn't want to leave you alone, reaching out to the empty space where he used to be.

For a long time he struggled to find purpose to all this. He wanted a reason, or at the very least answers. But he never would get them. It's unfair to say there’s an order to the universe. There's no reason why things happen the way they happen, they just do.

In the end he came to terms with it.

He remembers the glint in your eyes. A mischievous look- you were always trying to cause trouble. It's never really left. You were younger than him. Not by much. Two years. You were adamant he recommended you to become a grade one sorcerer. For months you pestered him, hounding him for that recommendation. As a Jujutsu High first-year, you looked up to him. When you got into trouble, you found yourself asking 'what would Nanami do?' And as time went on, you still did.

After months of pestering he eventually caved. You're nothing if not persistent. It was a little alarming at the time, and equally as irritating. But when you were finally a grade one sorcerer, he was there alongside you to celebrate.

At first glance, you two were far from compatible. The two of you couldn't be any more different. He was stoic and stern, and you were a known troublemaker. Your cursed technique worked well with his, and as a result, you went on many jobs together. As time went on you grew close.

And after years of working together, he finally realized he wanted more.

To everyone around you, your feelings were obvious. The two of you were hopeless. Between your stubbornness, and Nanami’s refusal to believe Gojo, neither of you wanted to be the first to confess. It was up to Gojo to help. Neither of you asked for his help, he took it upon himself. Little did he know, Nanami had a confession planned.

Nanami never got to have a proper confession. Gojo would spoil the surprise. Nanami was pissed, but your reaction was worth it. He doesn't think he’s ever seen you that happy.

Slowly things got better. Your more visible wounds healed and scarred. You went back to work. Nanami settled into domestic life better than he thought he would.

The transition wasn't the easiest. Settling down was far from an instantaneous change. He took on work around the house. For a short time you kept a ‘normal’ job. Even when you were younger, such work never suited you. Between the money you had saved up from your years as a sorcerer, and the money you got from odd jobs, you had enough to live comfortably. There was no need to work.

Slowly he started to look forward to getting up in the morning. Having a routine helped. It gave him a sense of normalcy.

He often finds himself unable to sleep. Nanami falls asleep late in the afternoon, and sleeps until either his phone, or a nightmare rouses him.

Today it's neither. He was a light sleeper before. Now even more-so. When he’s next to you, sleep comes to him easier. His arms find the swell of your belly, wrapping around it protectively. Your presence is a reminder that you’re still around, that you're not going anywhere. His shoulder aches. He finds sleep impossible. He’s too sore to move, but too sore to sleep. Even before everything, he found it easy to sleep on his couch, and hard to sleep in bed. You’d constantly pester him that sleeping on the couch wasn't good for his back. But that wouldn't stop you from staying there until you both inevitably fell asleep, and he carried you to bed.

It took you years to convince him to have one. He wanted to settle down and have children, but he couldn't be both a sorcerer and a parent. And neither could you. Shibuya only set things back. The world had to heal first. Things had to get better. The two of you had to heal before others could rely on you.

You weren't actively trying, but if it happened, it happened.

You've long since fallen asleep in the crook of his neck. He hardly left bed all day. Things were getting bad again. Sometimes months would go by where it seemed things were improving, only for them to take a nosedive. He’s still getting better, but recovery isn't a linear process. You didn't have anywhere to go that day, so you stayed right by his side. You took it upon yourself to make him feel better. Or at least bother him until he got out of bed. Much of your morning was spent watching movies on your phone, and stealing blankets from each other.

Retirement was nice. Granted, you retired rather young, but if the rest of your life was spent with him, you’d be content. He’s still the same man you fell in love with all those years ago. Aside from the occasional, safe-ish odd job, you were done with sorcery. Those days were past you.

He’s grown tired of staying still. Sometimes moving helps the aches. He never was the earliest riser before, but now he can hardly stay in bed past seven. Everything hurts. No matter when he goes to sleep, he’s usually up by 7:30, and you can count on him making coffee in the kitchen.

It's hardly past nine. The sun has completely set over the horizon. Stiffness has set into his limbs. He takes great care to not disturb your sleeping form, tucking the blankets back around you.

You nuzzle into the warm spot where he once was, a frown burned into your face. You never liked sleeping without him. Nightmares struck you frequently. Often you'd wake up from a dead sleep in a panic, calling out for him, convinced that this was some sick dream and he died years ago. He’d often wake up to you clinging to his arm, face buried in his shirt.

But he was always there.

You find it easier to fall asleep when it's light out. You don't like falling asleep in the dark. He makes sure to keep a light on in the hall. The power bill you could care less about. Nightmares came to you in the dark. Your logic is that, if there's no dark, you won't have them. To some extent it works.

It's a bit late for dinner, but he finds himself in the kitchen anyway. He wants udon, but the shop you normally go to would be closed at this hour. Their mushroom udon is the best. He’ll try to recreate it.

He sets some water on to boil, along with some frozen gyoza to thaw that you always insist on going to this one specific market in Tokyo for. Chicken and leek, with lots of ginger. Your favorite. You go through so much of the stuff that you have to get it in bulk, and freeze the extras. He thinks you’ll want tea too, so he sets the kettle on to boil.

He doesn't hear you walk in. Between the clanking of pots, and the whistling of the kettle, your soft footsteps go unheard. Nanami’s hearing was never quite the same. But he senses eyes on his back, and turns.

“I didn't mean to wake you, love.” He says.

“You didn't. I was having a hard time staying asleep anyway,” you say, “what’re you making?”

“Mushroom udon and gyoza,” he says, “it’s gonna be kind of a late dinner, but I thought it sounded good.”

“Smells good,” you say.

One of his hands finds your much smaller ones. Your fingers lace with his. His hands are warm, and calloused from years of using his weapon.

“Remind me to get more tea when I head into town tomorrow,” you say, “oh- and rice too. We were getting low the last time I checked. Do you want to go too?”

He nods. He makes a silent note to add those, along with laundry soap to the shopping list.

Before, he hated going into town. Strangers poked and prodded, and asked about his scars. It's gotten better as time goes on. If cravings struck you in the middle of the night, he would be up and ready to bring you something. Craving the mochi only sold by a specific shop in Tokyo? It doesn't matter if he had to take the train all the way to the city, he’d do it. Your arms wrap around his waist from behind. He’s a bit too tall for you to rest your head on his shoulder from behind. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He smells faintly of laundry soap, and shampoo. His stubble brushes against your lips. You always liked when he grew it out.

He pulls you so you stand in front of him, your back against his chest. His hands find the swell of your belly, wrapping around you protectively. Nanami plants a kiss on the top of your head. It's one of the few moments you feel truly normal. You’re no longer sorcerers, but a couple sharing a romantic moment, one building a life together.

He’s hardly allowed any distance between you two. Nanami acts like you’re made out of glass. He’s almost afraid to touch you. God forbid you try to lift something too heavy, or help out with the housework. He’s on you in an instant, trying to get you to rest. He’s a bit overbearing when it comes to things that aren't good for the baby. No alcohol, no caffeine, no overexerting yourself. You didn't miss alcohol all that much, but you really miss coffee. At times his presence can be suffocating. He means well, even if it gets on your nerves.

When the noodles are done, he gathers two bowls- part of a set given to you as a wedding gift. You only brought them out to use when your parents would visit. Much of the time they spent gathering dust. You always talked about using them more, but never got the opportunity to. He figures now is as good a time as ever. You set the table, setting out a few candles. He’d break out a bottle of sake if you could drink, but you just settle for tea.

"Retirement looks good on you," you say.

“It looks good on you too,” he says.

Conversation carries on while you eat. The topic falls onto mundane things that make his heart flutter only when you talk about them. You make plans to go shopping in the morning. You need groceries, and there’s a new shop opening up in town that you want to check out. When you’re done eating, you help him clean up. You clear the table while he gets the dishes.

He’s finally found his place. Not in jujutsu or human society. Not among sorcerers or regular people. His place is beside you.

And each day, he finds himself falling more hopelessly in love.

#jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #nanami fluff #nanami kento #fluff #jjk manga spoilers

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battybatzgirl · 3 years

Text

Hey Mr. Sandman, You Missed a Spot

AO3

Summary:

It's not that Hunter doesn't ever sleep, Eda's come to realize. It was that he falls asleep sporadically, most of the time in really weird places.

Or: 5 times Eda catches Hunter taking a nap

Part 1 of the Finders Keepers Series

---

Here’s the thing about Eda: she loves naps. Eda likes to be cozy, so usually, that equated to curling up under a blanket, lazing around, and falling asleep. The Owl Beast shared that sentiment, the creature that lived within her constantly wanting to nest. Those animalistic instincts were weird, but when you lived in a house with a demon who also liked to bury himself under a pile of stuffed animals, you kind of got used to it.

Here’s the thing about Hunter: he doesn’t sleep.

The kid has been living with them for only about two weeks, officially replacing Eda as Public Enemy Numero Uno in the eyes of the Emperor. When he’d showed up on Hooty’s doorstep, all bloody and barely conscious, Eda thought it was some kind of cosmic trick. The Powers That Be had to be pulling her leg because this was the second time the leader of the Emperor’s Coven had shown up to the Owl House with nowhere else to go.

Luz had been ecstatic to welcome him in, apparently excited to finally fulfill her dreams of becoming a middle child in their weird little found family. King was less thrilled, but eventually warmed up to the idea of Hunter staying with them as long as he taught King his secrets on how to command an army.

Hunter himself even seemed unnerved at the thought of living with them. He tried to leave a few times when he was still wounded, but his little bird palisman (Rascal, she’s heard him say) effectively herded him back into the house by continuously dive-bombing him and nipping at his ears. And after Belos put out a wanted poster for the kid, making him the Isles’ number one most wanted traitor, leaving wasn’t really an option. Not if he wanted to stay alive.

So eventually, Hunter begrudgingly accepted that yeah, he lived in the Owl House now.

And alright, Eda isn’t heartless. The kid was lost, wounded, and an enemy of the Emperor. She can work with that.

Getting to know him has been a challenge, though. Hunter has a lot of weird quirks. He holds himself so seriously that Eda has a hard time remembering that he’s a teenager and not a fully grown middle-aged man. He hardly ever smiles. He’s jumpy, practically jolting out of his skin every time you walk into the same room. He’s clearly Going Through Some Shit, as Eda so eloquently calls it, remembering how Lily went through the same thing when she slowly broke free of Belos’s freaky subjugation.

But still. The kid doesn’t sleep.

Eda first notices it around day four of his residence. She’s up early to go to the market, stepping into the living room and nearly transforming into her Harpy Form out of pure shock when she sees a figure messing with her bookshelf in the back of the room. Wide maroon eyes lock on hers from across the room and she feels the feathers that sprung to her skin recede.

“Titan, kid,” she breaths, “You nearly killed me. What are you doing up? It’s Saturday, you should be sleeping in.”

“Um…I did sleep in,” Hunter responds, as if it’s obvious.

Eda feels a frown tug at her lips, “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

The kid just shrugs a little lamely, and Eda feels a twinge of concern in her chest. (And ugh, feeling concerned for a guy who dangled you over the Boiling Sea is certainly weird.) If this was sleeping in for him, he couldn’t have rested more than five hours.

She steps closer, taking a second look at what he’s doing. Half the books are spread out on the floor, the other half stacked neatly back on the shelves in some kind of order.

He notices her looking, “I, uh, took the liberty of reorganizing your bookshelf. Or organizing it, since it didn’t really seem to have a system.” The kid ducks his head, the tips of his ears flushing pink. “I- I can put it back the way it was if you want, or organize them in a different way.”

That’s another thing about Hunter: he always has to be doing something. Being useful. Without direction, he crumples. It was always, What do you want me to do now, Miss Clawthorne this and I completed this task, Miss Clawthorne, what’s next that. His brain operated on a transactional level—I do this thing for you, you do this thing for me. And since Eda was housing him, he felt like he had to constantly be doing things for her. Constantly proving himself worthy to be here, repaying her. Hunter couldn’t seem to wrap his head around that she didn’t want him to do anything except stay comfortable.

Eda has thought up a hundred different little tasks for him to do in just his first four days. She’s running out of odd jobs to give him, and if she has to keep telling him what to do she’s going to start pulling out her hair.

“You’re fine, kid,” she says. “Keep doin’ what you’re doin’ if it makes ya happy. But you shouldn’t be up this early. You should at least take a nap later.”

Hunter tilts his head. “But that wouldn’t be accomplishing anything.”

“You don’t hafta be working all the time,” Eda stresses. “It’s okay to sit around and just exist once and a while. Actually, I think that should be your priority. Take a nap, relax, go cloud watching, take a walk—any or all of the above.”

“That sounds like doing nothing.”

“That’s because it is doing nothing.”

His face hardens, taking on that soldier-like seriousness that encompasses his entire demeanor. “Being lazy can’t be a priority.”

“Don’t think of it like that, then,” Eda almost snaps, wishing for a nice hot mug of apple blood. It was too damn early to deal with the repercussions of Belos’s all-work-no-play mindset. “Think of it as acting your age. Did you ever get to take naps as a kid in the Emperor’s Coven? Is relaxing just a foreign concept to you?”

He doesn’t answer, staring at her with those bagged eyes and guarded expression, and Eda throws up her hands in defeat.

She leaves then, her patience running too thin to continue arguing with him. She doubts he’ll actually go back to sleep. He probably goes back to doing whatever he was doing with that bookshelf. Eda makes a mental note to tell King to knock all the books off, just so Hunter can reorganize it later. Just for something for him to keep him occupied.

Eda doesn’t even notice the first time it happens. It was one of Luz’s friends, Gus, who pointed it out.

The kids were gathered at her home after school, spread out on the floor of the living room along with various pillows and blankets. Luz found some card game she knew buried somewhere in the piles of human trash Eda has laying around, and the girl has been spending the better part of an hour trying to explain how it works.

“So the Wild Card doesn’t make you turn into a wild animal?” Willow questions, holding up a black card with looks like a colorful pie chart on it.

“Nope!” Luz says cheerfully. “It just becomes any color you want it to be to go with the rest of your hand.”

“But the card doesn’t actually change color?” Amity asks.

“No, it only represents the color,” Luz clarifies, and Eda has to admit, her girl has a ton of patience. She’s been quietly watching from her place on the couch, half-listening to their conversation, half-reading the Isles’ latest edition of You Gossipy Witch, a tabloid where a writer is speculating about her true form. Apparently, some people think she was raised by feral, wild owls on some far away barrier island, and has come to reside in Bonesborough just because she ran out of mutant rats to eat.

Weird.

But entertaining!

Gus holds up one of his cards, “So are blank cards bad, or—"

King jumps over his shoulder, landing on the deck of cards in the middle of their little circle and making them fly everywhere. “I have taken dominion over ALL YOUR CARDS. All of you must grovel for a taste of my wealth!”

“Actually, the point of the game is to get rid of all your cards,” Luz reminds him gently. “That way, when you get down to one card, you shout Uno! And you win! If no one else makes you draw anymore, that is.”

King deflates a little, apparently put off by the idea of less is more. “Oh.” Luz smiles and pats him on the head, and he brightens up. “Okay, let’s play, because I wanna make all of you draw as many cards as possible! You'll drown in your cards! Choke on them, even!”

As they start gathering up the cards that King threw everywhere, Gus lets out a little gasp. “You guys—is Hunter asleep?”

That immediately draws Eda’s attention away from the magazine. Her eyes flicker to the blond witch, laying on his stomach just on the edge of their group. He was still having a hard time socializing, especially with Amity, but Luz was determined to include him in all friendship activities. She said wanted to teach him how to be a kid, and hell, if anyone could knock some seriousness out of that boy it would be Luz.

Hunter is indeed asleep—his face is mushed into the forearms pillowed under his head, and his red palisman has weaseled its way to nestle in between the crook of his elbow. His breath comes out in soft little sighs, and Eda feels something in her melt.

“Awwww, he looks so peaceful,” Luz croons, mushing her palms against her cheeks. Amity’s already scooched past her, snapping photos on her scroll. Eda can’t blame her. She knows a good blackmail opportunity when she sees one.

Eda’s off the couch and catches King mid-pounce. “Whoa there, none of that buddy.”

“But Edaaaa,” the demon whines, his little arms and legs flailing in mid-air. “I have to conquer him when he least expects it!”

“Ehhh, let the kid sleep. Save your conquests for when he’s awake and can put up a fight.” Eda sets him down in his place in the circle, and the kids all glance at each other before turning back to the cards.

She notices that they’re more mindful to keep their tones softer, probably to not disturb the sleeping boy. And when Hunter wakes himself up about half an hour later, they don’t mention it, seamlessly integrating him back into their game.

The second time it happens, Raine is walking Eda home. It’s early in the evening, and the pair just got done with a fabulous date—a picnic with apple blood and sweet (and stolen) baked goods? Titan, take Eda now, she’s found her perfect match.

She’s still riding that high, not noticing Raine stopping until they tug on their clasped hands. “Hey, who’s that? Is he okay?”

Eda follows where they’re pointing their finger. It’s Hunter, slumped against the base of an oak tree, fast asleep. His chin is tipped forward and a book open on his chest, and even more strangely, there’s a small pile of leaves on his lap.

“Oh, that’s just my—” Eda stops herself, the word catching in her throat. Hunter was a child in her care, yes, but he wasn’t quite her kid. Not like Luz or King. The blond witch was still too jumpy, baring his teeth and snarling at anything that tried to get close to him.

He calls her Miss Clawthorne, for Titan’s sake.

“—Hunter,” Eda finishes lamely.

Raine raises an eyebrow. “Your Hunter?”

“He’s uhhh, one of Luz’s friends who just so happens to be living with us. Not a big thing.”

Raine shoots her a deadpan look but strides forward anyway, kneeling next to the sleeping blond. They keep their voice to a low murmur, “Should we wake him? That can’t be comfortable for his neck. He’ll probably be sore later.”

“Eh, let him rest. This is more sleep than he usually gets.” Eda steps closer, kneeling down on his other side. It’s the side that has his scar, the slightly raised red tissue standing out even more so than usual now that he wasn’t constantly moving. She’s almost asked him how he got it, but he’s clearly sensitive about the subject. She’s seen the similar marks on his arms, and something tells her there are a whole lot more scars that he’s hiding.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who gave them to him.

Still, it’s hard to ignore just how young he looks. When he’s stripped of all of his snappy comebacks, quick defenses, and that guarded demeanor Belos forced onto him, he’s reduced to exactly what he should be:

A kid.

“Oh!” Raine startles in surprise. Eda looks up to see the cardinal palisman fluttering down from above them, carrying a few leaves in its beak. It hops down onto Hunter’s lap and deposits the leaves in the little growing pile on his leg.

A smile worms its way onto Eda’s face. She runs a finger across the little bird’s head, “Trying to keep him warm, huh?” The bird lets out a trilling note of confirmation. She lets the bird be, turning back to Raine, “I think Rascal’s got this covered. If he hasn’t come in before nightfall I’ll come out and get ‘em.”

The bard casts one last glance down at the sleeping boy before they stand. “Y’know, he kind of reminds me of someone.”

“Oh yeah?” Eda weaves her arm through Raine’s as the pair reassumes their walk.

“Yeah,” Raine hums. “He kind of has the same build as someone I met when I was held hostage in the Emperor’s palace. The Golden Guard. Did you hear that he ran away from the palace? There've been rumors that the Emperor himself is tearing apart the Right Arm looking for him.”

“Uh, about that...”

Raine stops, turning to look at her square in the face. Eda gives them a sheepish, toothy grin.

“Oh my god,” Raine says. “You adopted the Golden Guard?”

“Hey now, adopted is a very strong word—”

The bard cuts her off with a delighted laugh. “How am I not surprised?” Eda feels heat rise to her face, but can’t help but return Raine’s infectious smile. “Only you, Eda. Only you.”

The third time it happens, Eda’s passing through the upstairs hallway, intent on curling up into her nest for an afternoon nap of her own. She hears a shuffling noise as she passes by the glorified storage closet that they gave Hunter as a room, and can’t resist a peek inside.

What she finds is definitely…not what she was expecting. Hunter is laying flat on his back on the floor, his feet elevated on the little cot they’d given him. Yeesh, that couldn’t be comfortable. Soft snores woosh past his open lips, his face turned toward a crystal ball that’s playing some cartoon he must have been watching before he fell asleep.

His body is nearly covered in stuffed animals.

“King,” Eda hisses. The horned perpetrator is in the middle of dumping his entire army onto the blond witch’s chest, pinning down his arms with plushies. “What did I tell you about burying people alive?”

The demon pauses from where he’s been slowly arranging his army over Hunter’s sleeping form. “He’s got plenty of room to breathe! I didn’t cover his face,” King protests. “Can’t subjugate someone who’s dead.”

“No subjugating—” your brother, she almost says, “—Hunter.”

King squints at her, but then grumbles and starts slowly taking the stuffed animals off the boy’s body. Crisis averted, Eda slips back out into the hall, mind swirling. That was the second time she’d almost referred to Hunter as hers in passing. The feeling is too raw to speak out loud yet, but there’s a growing warmth in her as she watches Hunter acclimate to his surroundings in the Owl House. With every day that goes by, he’s more comfortable around her, around Luz and King and Hooty, and he’s starting to come out of his shell. He’s growing softer, less quick to snarl, becoming more Hunter and less Golden Guard.

Unconsciously, Eda’s started viewing him as part of their little family. Two weeks ago, that thought would have made her uncomfortable. Now, she welcomes it with open arms.

Ugh, she’s getting so soft.

The fourth time it happens is when Eda’s flying home from visiting Lilith. She’s only been gone for the day, and is hoping that leaving Luz in charge hasn’t led to any freak fires, the resurrection of the dead, or other various natural disasters. Unfortunately, even her most responsible kid is pretty reckless, so Eda’s expectations are set pretty low.

It’s probably sometime around 2 a.m. when she makes it home sweet home. She swoops in close, intent on landing on the front door but stilling mid-air when she sees something on the roof of the tower. Even from up here, it’s not hard to distinguish the form of a looming body.

Eda’s heart leaps into her throat and she takes Owlbert down into a dive. Her body is tense when she lands, her staff already aimed toward the person lurking by the edge of the roof. “Alright listen bucko, you better step back or—wait.” She sees what looks like a lump of feathers sitting on top of the person’s head, and Eda squints in the darkness. She quickly pulls out a light glyph, sending the tiny ball of sun forward.

“Hunter?!” Eda’s tense posture relaxes. The kid doesn’t answer, and it takes her a beat to figure out why. He’s dead asleep, slumped precariously over the telescope they use for stargazing. Eda has no idea how he’s even standing at all. Kid probably had a ton of practice of falling asleep on his feet during long, boring meetings with the Emperor.

“Wakey, wakey.” She places her hand on his shoulder, gently, but he wakes up with a full-body jerk, startling the palisman on top of his head. The cardinal chirps once in irritation, fluttering to rest on Eda’s shoulder instead.

Hunter’s eyes are wild for a moment until he seems to register where he is and who he’s with. He relaxes then, letting out a yawn so huge it would put any lion to shame. “…Eda?”

“The one and only,” Eda says, ignoring how her heart squeezes at the kid finally calling her by her name. “Wanna tell me why you’re up here in the middle of the night?”

“Waitin’ for you,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. His eyelids drop and he sways dangerously on his feet. “Wanted to… t’make sure y’got home safe.”

The warmth in her chest expands and eclipses her entire body in that fuzzy feeling she gets whenever one of her kids does something particularly adorable. Thank Titan it’s dark and Hunter is too out of it to notice the smile that spreads across her face. If he was fully awake, Eda gets the feeling that A) he probably never would have admitted that he was worried about her, and B) would have snapped at her for smiling at him like that. “Well, I’m home now, so let’s get you to bed before you topple over.”

Eda wraps her arm around his waist and nudges him along, practically carrying him back downstairs, their palismen following close behind. She doesn’t mind. Someone had to make sure he didn’t fall off the roof.

“Night, kid,” she says, tucking him under the blankets on his cot. Hunter doesn’t respond, already having slipped back into unconsciousness. And if she brushes his bangs tenderly out of his face, no one ever has to be the wiser.

The fifth time it happens, Eda’s gotten used to it. It's not that Hunter doesn’t sleep, she’s come to realize. He just falls asleep in weird places. Why, she has no idea, but honestly, the kid looked so tired all the time, she wasn’t going to question it. They had bigger things to worry about.

The Day of Unity is just around the corner, and Belos has become more irritating than ever.

Eda hadn’t even thought that was possible for him, but apparently, it was. The scouts around Bonesborough have tripled, their captains leading more and more raids, butting into shops to check everyone’s papers, and invading random districts.

Oddly, Belos’s priorities seem to have shifted. He’s still sending out grunts to round up any wild witches, but the guards have been playing a weird sort of hide-and-seek, going beyond just patrolling the marketplaces to actually tearing into people’s homes. From what she’s heard, the guards never take anything, just searching the place top-to-bottom before leaving empty-handed and moving on to the next house.

Belos was looking for something.

And unfortunately, Eda’s got a pretty good idea of what he’s after.

Said thing just so happens to be slumped across from her at the kitchen table, dead to the world. It’s late into the night, and most of the kids have already gone to sleep. Too on edge to lie down, Eda’s been keeping herself busy by concocting more potions while the late-night news plays on her crystal ball in the background.

Hunter, striving to be helpful, volunteered to stay up and help.

It wasn’t long before the kid slowly started to nod off, face supported by his palm as his eyelids started to droop. He’d been in the middle of mixing two ingredients—highly flammable ingredients, mind you—and Eda plucked the vials out of his lax grip just in time. Honestly, it was a miracle the kid never killed himself in the Emperor’s Coven with how randomly he falls asleep.

He probably never got the chance to sleep at all, a voice reminds her. She remembers how dead-exhausted Lily was during her first few days at the Owl House. It was probably safe to assume that the Emperor had a habit of running the head of his Coven into the ground.

Hunter has been picking up on Belos’s tightening grip, too. He’s been getting quieter, more reserved. He’s come to the same conclusion that Eda has: the Emperor was tearing apart the whole of the Isles to get him back.

Why, though, is anyone’s guess. Hunter has long since explained that his uncle always said that the Titan had big plans for him, and it probably has something to do with the Day of Unity, but beyond that, the Emperor had always kept him in the dark. Luz has a crazy theory involving clones and blood magic, but that sounds like it’s a plot point straight out of one of her Azura books. King thinks Belos wants his artificial staff back, and Hooty predicts the Emperor is just sad because all his Coven leaders are leaving him to join Hooty’s superior best friends club.

Whatever the reason, Eda’s made it pretty clear that she’s not gonna bend to Belos’s intimidation tactics and turn him over. That smarmy gold jerk could set the whole Isles on fire and Eda still wouldn’t hand him over. Hunter’s part of the Bad Girl’s Coven now, and Belos can just suck it. And she’s not afraid to say that to his stupid face, either.

So when the cauldron at the end of the table that holds the scrying potion suddenly begins bubbling on its own, Eda may very well get her chance.

She’s up on her feet in an instant, dashing to the other end of the table just as the steam rising off the potion begins to warp into a familiar figure.

“Edalyn,” Belos greets, his voice sharp like a dagger. “I do hope I’m not interrupting your evening, but I needed a word with you.”

Ugh, scrying potions weren’t supposed to work both ways! Belos was too damn powerful. He could probably peer into their lives as much as they could peer into his.

“Sorry, but now’s a bad time,” Eda shoots back. “Why don’t you hang up and call back literally never?”

“It’s come to my attention that you have something of mine,” the masked man continues smoothly as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’d ever so appreciate it if you gave it back.”

Eda’s lip curls back, feeling the itch of feathers poking out of her joints. She wants to shift into her harpy form and leap through the potion to claw out his eyes. “Sorry, Belos,” she says, dripping smug bravado, “We wild witches operate solely under the laws of finders keepers. Your kid? Mine now.”

Eda expects that the Emperor would very much like to vaporize her. “Make your threats wisely, Owl Lady. You have no idea what you’re up against. Everything will be easier for you and your little friends if you just hand the boy back over to me.”

“Fat chance.” Eda throws back her shoulders and shoots him a sharp grin. “Sounds to me like you’re threatening one of my kids, and we weirdos stick together. Going after one of us is basically asking for all of us to bring you down. Remember how well that went last time? How my human cracked your mask and publicly humiliated you during your big let’s-turn-Eda-to-stone ceremony?”

The Emperor looks as though he has some choice words to say, but Eda doesn’t care. Hunter is her kid now. She glowers at him through that mist, voice lowering in with deadly promise. “You’ll have to drag him back to your Coven over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” sneers Belos.

“Try me, antler boy.” Then Eda whacks the cauldron and sends it tipping over the edge of the table. The connection is immediately severed as the potion goes splattering over the hardwood, and the resounding CLANG of the bowl makes Hunter shoot violently out of sleep.

“Huh?! Whassit—Eda? What happened? Are you alright?”

“Fine, kid,” she says, swallowing down the rage that’s still bubbling hot in her throat. “’S alright, just got a little clumsy and knocked over a cauldron. Sorry for waking you.”

“Sorry for falling asleep,” Hunter responds. He grabs a towel and hurries to clean up the oozing purple goo.

Eda waves him off, “Eh, I don’t mind. You kids need your rest. Growing bodies and all that.”

Hunter still hesitates, looking at her for a beat too long as if double-checking to make sure she wasn’t really upset. Eda holds back a sigh, a twinge of pity flickering through her that he’d even have to look at her like that in the first place. All the damage from Belos couldn’t be wrapped up in a month, she supposed.

She snatches up the cauldron, still dripping with the ruined potion. Peachy. She’ll have to call Lilith to get her scrying potion recipe. Though maybe not having this in the house was a good idea. Eda doesn’t want to risk His Royal Highness dropping in on any more unexpected house calls.

“Eda?”

She looks up at Hunter. The kid chewing on his bottom lip, wringing the half-soiled towel between scarred hands.

“I just…I wanted to say thank you,” Hunter says shyly. “I know having me here hasn’t exactly been easy—not only because of the fugitive thing, but because I’m…” He flounders for a moment, and Eda can only pretend to know what’s going through his mind right now. “…me,” he finishes finally. “You’ve been so kind and patient with me, it’s so much more than I deserve, and no matter what happens next—”

“Hey, no.” Eda cuts him off with a swift and gentle beratement. She sets the cauldron on the table and crowds closer to him, curling one hand around his cheek. The kid automatically leans into the touch, and Eda can’t help but wonder how Belos could have ever hurt a child who was as sweet as this one.

“You may be one bratty little shit, but you’re my bratty little shit. And Mama says you deserve all the smothering that comes with being a child of the Owl Lady.”

Then, to prove her point, she swoops down and quickly places feather-light kisses on the tip of his nose, forehead, and his scar, until Hunter squawks and shoves her away. He’s practically glowing, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Gross,” he snaps, rubbing furiously at his face. “I’m never helping you with your potions ever again.”

“I’ll accept your terms. Now get upstairs, it’s way past your bedtime.”

“I don’t have a bedtime, I’m not a baby.” Hunter sticks out his tongue but obeys, slipping out of the kitchen and disappearing into the rest of the house. Eda shakes her head as she watches him go.

Kids. What could ya do with ‘em?

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sandundersun · 3 years

Text

Everyone has a Downside, He isn't Excused

vernon x reader || romance || 1.3K words

warning: mention of blood

tbh this is not really romance, it’s a short description of hansol’s life

He was probably the weirdest and the toughest man you passed by in life.

He wasn't afraid of any extreme entertainment; haunted house ride, skydiving, any kind of spice, putting water in extremely hot oil, walking as if he owned the hall when he was ten minutes late to class. He gave a little to no fuck about challenges in life. If his parent put him in a sports club on his younger day and he chose to be a long jump athlete, he probably would be good; or you could send him as a shepherd with no internet connection for two months and he would come back with no scratch; it was some strong kind of endurance partnered with adaptivity, or witchcraft.

So, maybe, maybe that's why God gave him a little downside—that could kill him in a colossal amount but on a usual day it was only mildly annoying.

The boy was allergic to mundane things you stumbled upon in everyday life. He was hardly enjoying springtime when the grass became less green and more colorful, as flowers blossom here and there, because the pollen made his eyes itchy; he couldn't eat peanuts, where it came in so many delicious snacks and foods; he loved cat to death, he probably would have a dozen if it wasn't for his busy life, but he was kinda allergic to them. It was comedy.

Plus, this stupid reckless boy, who was brave enough to punch someone in the face for messing up with his sister or friend, constantly had a wound on his lips; not because of chapped lips and sun combo, nor because of the fighting he had once in a while. This boy just felt like, eh, it's a good day to bite my lips until there was blood on it, and he needed to put an ointment, stay calm for a while and, oh hello another good day; a fridging vicious and addictive cycle.

Though—at first—you didn't understand in the littlest bit of why it became a "cycle".

"It's a reflex," he said. "I don't know, I just bite it when I find something cringe or funnily dangerous."

Except, anything his peer group said or did was cringe or funnily dangerous; from talking with a lovey-dovey tone in public like a romance classic novel to coloring someone's eyebrows with red chili paste—his mates was, suffice to say, insane.

The first time his lips got sore after you dated him, he sent you a chat with a crying emoji and an "aw" , followed by a picture of a drop of blood—as a proof because he was like some kind of an indestructible god until now. It was alarming. You saw blood, meaning pain, and you hurriedly jumped out of your bed, going to a store, and knocking on his door.

The sight in front of you was not what you foresaw.

Well, there was someone who was tired and in—a bit of—pain, and the other was the happy healthy one, but he was the fine one. Standing while hugging his orange cat Leo, with a small scar, yet super red; a little lost.

"Oh, hi!" He welcomed you and ushered you to sit on the couch. "I didn't know you'd come."

"Well, I brought you a compress for the scar," you said, "you sent me a pic and I thought it was painful?"

"Yeah, for five seconds, it's fine by now."

That was one of the oddest and funniest excuses you heard in a whole year, and just like that, your effort went to waste—in your defense though, that was also the first time he sent you a crying emoji.

You sighed out loud, meanwhile, in a flash, he gave you a kiss and a hug and the damn cat was trying to keep it civil with you.

"Thank you for the ointment, by the way. I'll keep it for the next one."

"The next?"

"I get this once in a while."

Glad you bought two because once in a while meant 24/7/365.

Dear God, sometimes you wondered, why were you worried for a man that should barely survive the world, but was actually thriving in life? Seriously, if someone hated him, they could just lock him in a greenhouse or sneak up peanut on his meal, and get done—well, he was an awesome person, so perhaps no one disliked him that much, but—you believed some super force magic must be circling around Hansol.

You should just stay put and enjoy the day—like him.

It wasn't easy.

It took time for you to not get panicked every time his lips bled. For the first fifth time, you bought him a new ointment and compressor; by the eleventh, you tried to breathe and mumbled it's fine, it's just a scratch. It was annoying for you too though, worrying for a grown-up man who made biting lips his habit. But after the twentieth, you had let it go. For someone as pretty and as magnificent as him, this one addiction simply served as a reminder that no one is perfect except God.

Well, another downside, you could go with no kissing for days, sometimes a full week if his scar kept reopening.

Not that it mattered that much though.

You can still kiss him on his eyes and nose and cheeks, and he would press his lips in return, on your knuckles and arms and stomach—though not as strong as you. And his love surging through his hands on your arms, whisper in your ear, and everything in him that was all around you.

Anyway, the third time it happened, you slept in his apartment. It was half-healed at the time you arrived and instantly got better.

His olive-colored sofa was soft and fluffy and comfortable, you probably had been there for almost three hours, devouring the melancholic novel in front of you, with five minutes breaks two or three times to get another drink or go to the bathroom. The sun was barely seen on the west when he snuggled up on you, made you—forcefully—put down your book and wrapped your hands around him instead.

"What?"

"Nothing." He buried his head deeper on your chest, voice muffled. "I just miss you."

"I've been sleeping in this apartment for two days," you ruffled his dark brown hair, "what kind of missing?"

He sat up and let out a witty smile, then he brushed your lips with his. "Missing to kiss you."

You laughed at the rare sight of him being so soft and spoiled. Your fingers voyaged to his jaws, thumbs softly brushing the corner of his lips. The rashes weren't as bad as the first time, it had become flat and the color faded into soft pink.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"Yep." And he leaned closer to give you another light peck.

"You said it hurts?"

Then another kiss, not quite a peck right now "It does, very faintly."

You pulled yourself and gave a look what are you doing. "Hansol ..."

"Oh, come on. The bit of pain dawns on me after I kiss you, I can't feel it when your lips are on mine. So maybe,"—two kisses, short and sweet—"maybe we can kiss all night long so I don't taste the pain."

And he was gone for the long endless kiss before you could deny any of it. Left hands wrapped your neck, fingers crawling on your back, chest going against each other. You wanted to let go yet wanted his desire too, and in the end, you succumbed.

Well, maybe the aftermath of his habit wasn't that bad.

note: this was supposed to be a short writing under 500 words after my friends talked about Hansol’s constant wounded lips, I thought it was from his allergy, but people said it’s his habit of biting lips lmao. So, I just kept typing and typing describing him and a bit of seventeen dynamic (ofc edited a bit), and end up with 1.3K rambling and a little romance

#caratwritersclub #vernon #hansol vernon chwe #vernon chwe #vernon x reader #vernon scenario #vernon imagine #vernon fic #vernon drabble #vernon fluff #mine:svt #mine:writing

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barsformars · 3 years

Text

reaction: to their s/o being a teacher; ateez

req: Hi! Can I request Ateez Reaction to you being a teacher and them visiting you at school. Thank you you are the best ♥

a/n: thank you for requesting! this was kinda hard to write but i hope it won't bore you out JDJEJE I tried please hehehe

Seonghwa

being naturally curious about a lot of things, seonghwa would probably be more than happy to listen to you 'rehearse' your classes the next day at the dinner table, and if he has the energy to comprehend the content he might even ask questions so that you can kind of practice answering your students.

and before he even visits your school, he will make sure to ask you how many teachers there are in your department so that he can buy some snacks and drinks for everyone knowing just how exhausting teaching can be, hehe model boyfriend, 11/10 will make your colleagues jealousssssss

Hongjoong

you can count on hongjoong to help make your classes more interesting to keep the students attentive, like he would tell you what he wished his teachers did so that he would have liked school more and stayed in it longer but well JSJSJEJ

he would probably be very awkward while walking around your school waiting for you to end your class, like the only memories he had was when he was really young so, yea the school would probably feel pretty strange to him since he spent so much time in the studio since he was like what....15/16(?)

(also bye he's so small in the gif i-)

Yunho

he would be really amazed honestly, like he would always think of how much nonsense and bullshit teachers have to deal with and he would shudder so he really respects you for choosing this career and having the passion to educate children no matter how tiring it can be,, would always ask if you need any help unwinding for the weekend or something

he probably isn't supposed to but he would tell the security guard that he's just going to wait at the library or something but he ends up crashing your classes,, just suddenly appearing at the back of the room and surprising you. your students always asks you when he's going to come again as if you would know lmao

Yeosang

he likes hearing the tea, all the drama between your students or like from entitled parents or just the stupidest most chaotic things that the students in your school do jdjeje and like seriously,, schools really do have the juiciest gossip and stuff

the type to just hang out at your desk in the staff room and make friends with your colleagues, secretly judging the ones that you told him shit about. ok im making him some so mean and like drama hungry but he's really not, ok, he just finds it really interesting but he won't let anything loose.

San

like Yunho, he would really admire you because in his eyes, teachers are seriously one of the most selfless people on earth because they really do more than just teaching and he himself have received so much guidance and help outside of academics from his teacher and ya so uk,, he would really love a s/o who is a teacher.

you would just see him talking to students eating alone in the cafeteria, playing football/basketball with students and even helping your colleagues with carrying the books and all while waiting for you to end class. you know how there's always that one teacher who brings their kids to school and everyone loves them, yea that's San, but instead of a kid he's a grown ass man, of course (you've also heard he plays video games with some of your students????)

Mingi

he loves an intellectual, but you know what he loves even more, an intellectual who's willing to share and give that knowledge back to society. and mingi likes to learn, so hell yea he would definitely sit beside you while you plan out your classes so he can kinda pick up whatever you are teaching at school. he would probably like to read it up on his own and ask you about it

he would just go straight to your classroom but instead of going in he would just kinda loiter outside because he's shy lmao, it's a little creepy for the students if you think about it but he would peek through the windows and just admire you as you do your thing jsjsjs

Wooyoung

he was in no way a bad student but he was definitely loud, like you can't tell me he's quiet in the classroom. so naturally, he would ask you about your students, like who are the quiet ones and who are the loud ones, the class clowns etc. like yeosang, he's probably more interested in knowing about the people in school than what you teach (no offence)

and when he comes visit you in school, like Yunho, he would crash your class and try to match faces to names and be like "ohhhhh so you are the really smart one", "ohhh you are the one with the bad handwriting" 💀 or "you better hand up your work on time, I swear to god"....your students are just like 😳😳😳😳😳 "ok"

Jongho

constantly stocks up your desk with markers, marker refills, whiteboard duster, blank papers, stickers, stamps, you get it...whatever you need for your classes, he will make sure that you never run out and never have to worry about making last minute runs to the store to get them. will also text you reminders to eat well, sleep early and to not drink so much coffee

he may be quite shy but when he goes to visit you at school, I see him interacting with your students a lot, like he would ask how they find your lessons, or how they were coping with studies and stuff, would even play with them during breaks and tell them the dad jokes jdjsjs,, your students might like him more than they like you oops

#kwritersworldnet #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez writings #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez ot8 #seonghwa #hongjoong #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #requested

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hey-a-wild-jojo-simp · 3 years

Text

Okay, college professor headcanons for JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures

Included characters: Dio (Part three, not vampire, fairly out of character, so sorry about that), Jonathan, Avdol, Joseph, Caesar, Polnareff with a little bit of Iggy, Kakyoin, Jotaro, and a bonus of Okuyasu, Josuke, and Koichi teaching a self-defense class to their peers (Not college profs)

Dio

He is part three in this btw, and he isn’t a vampire, I was thinking about the whole night class thing and deadass forgot he was a vampire

He teaches a night class

He teaches a criminal forensics class

No matter how many students he has at any given time, he knows them all by first and last name

He absolutely allows cussing in his class and takes full advantage of this rule

He will without a doubt notice attitude shifts in his students and will be fairly straightforward about it in his office after asking them to stay for a while after class or after they’re done with classes for the day to talk to them about it

He’s the cool professor

He only refers to students by their last name if he’s mad at them

He has his students skip titles and just call him Dio

He has helped students remove smell from their cars after someone left food in it and they didn’t know and it ended up rotting, or if they had stoner friends they had to pick up

It doesn’t matter if they aren’t in his class he’ll help them

He takes time out of his night/morning to help his students

He shows up about 5 or so hours before school starts and allows students who live in noisy ares to come in to sleep, he sets up pillows and everything

It doesn’t matter if he isn’t their first class he still lets them come in

Basically as far from canon Dio as you can get, just with appearance and accent, along with a few tendencies to snap at his students

He brings in meals on exam days because he knows students skip meals

Jonathan

You’ll literally never get lighter homework in any other class (Besides maybe Joseph)

He doesn’t allow cussing, he won’t report you for it. but will scold you, which normally gets anyone to stop, because no one wants to upset this man, he’s too nice to his students

He will report his students for any form of slurs, and that is the only time he will get angry unless one student is actively attacking another verbally or physically

He has stepped in front of a student in the parking lot who was being mugged and just knocked the mugger on their ass

Constantly jokingly butting heads with the criminal forensics teacher, sometimes gets heated between the two

They’re step siblings

Very few students know this

He’s a ELA (English language arts) teacher

MASSIVE golden retriever vibes, super energetic, loves his students, is the kind of man who would take one of his student’s secrets to the grave (As long as it wasn’t something like self harm or being a victim of a crime)

An absolute lumbering machine of a man, he seems imposing at first, until he breaks out into a smile and laying down the few ground rules, telling his students to feel free to talk to him about anything bugging them

Much like his brother, he brings in meals on exam days

He will fall, no if about it, it’s an inevitable thing, all of his students will see it at some point

The room normally erupts into chaos of running around and picking up his papers and freaking out about whether or not he’s okay until he looks up and is just an absolute blushing mess and he’s laughing

After the first time people still help pick up papers but it isn’t as chaotic

This man is so understanding about late work

He encouraged an enby (Born female) to get their hair cut to a mullet and made a 360 video for them to show to their barber

Absolutely would understand anything his students were going through or would at least try his best

He will hug his students if they’re having a rough time

Can be counted on to extend due dates unreasonable amounts for large projects

Avdol

Stickler about late work

He does love his students, but for every 3 school days something is late, a point gets marked off

Unless you have good reason

Is a recreational class on astrology and other forms of psychic readings (I have no doubt that’s a class, my sister almost took a class on the history of James Bond)

He also brings in tea for his students daily

Will talk to his students if he sees them in public

Widely loved by students

Amazingly attuned with his students

Not many other details that stand out about him

Joseph

He’s that one guy that no one is really sure what he teaches

The presentations from student projects end up being the kinds that end up being iconic(?) images like the “How I lost my virginity to a mint cookie” thing, because no one knows what the presentations are supposed to be on

It’s harder to fail than it is to pass, seeing as if you forget to turn something in you have to remind him to mark it as missing, otherwise it just sits as not turned in, not as late, so it won’t affect your grade

He shows a lot of movies in class

Brought in a gaming system once and held a tourney amongst the students in all of his classes

There isn’t a single student who doesn’t like him

Caesar

Cooking class

Lets his students eat what they cook after the taste test for grading

Is often brought flowers by his students after they inevitably find out his love for the colorful displays

Let’s be quite honest, we know Joseph is the one that exposes this

The two of them have a running joke of bringing each other jokingly “romantic” gifts as a show of their friendship

He was at first quite uncomfortable with the students bringing him flowers as it is generally quite a, romantic I could say, gesture (Funny lil’ side note, I was a weird child, apparently I thought as like, a 4 yr old I would have multiple husbands, and this guy that’s like, 7 or so years older than me was one of them, apparently planned to be the last???? I dunno lmao, but he brought me flowers because it’s now a running joke and we’re now sorta friends, anyways, he brought me flowers when I was 9, at least I think I was 9, but his girlfriend got mad???? Like hun, I'm not going to steal your man) until he started getting notes in them (Will post those in a later post)

He blushes very heavily upon receiving the flowers, any blush at all is extremely prevalent and he gets flustered and very happy upon receiving the flowers, his students have likened him to a blushing schoolboy

Has a fondness for paintings of nature, which have also been brought in as gifts by students, and they all get hung on his wall, which is always a great surprise to the students that paint them.

Polnareff

He teaches French

He brings in pastries

Very comedic

I don’t really know what else besides he's just a friend more so than a teacher to all of his students

He definitely brings in Iggy frequently, though he makes sure to keep the coffee gum accessible to himself, but not where Iggy could easily get to it

All of his students love Iggy

Iggy will curl up in students’ laps if he likes them enough

Kakyoin

He teaches a history of gaming

Tournies in his class

He’s a bruh dud, just a friend more so than he is a teacher

Doesn’t give two fucks about late work policy cause there is rarely ever any late work from his students

I dunno, his students bring him a bunch of cherry stuff lol, a mini bean bag that looks like a cherry, cherry pastries, cherries grown by the students, maraschino cherries, even a hat that looked like a cherry

Jotaro (Part 4 Jotaro)

Marine biology, duh

An absolute hardass

Half points for late work unless you have a damn good excuse

A student brought him a dolphin stuffed animal once, and Star Platinum broke out in happy tears (No stand using students) while Jotaro kept his composure, although he did crack a smile

Deadass takes students on aquarium trips I shit you not

Secretly loves all of his students

Most of his students love him

Bonus

Okuyasu, Josuke, Koichi, all canon age of part 4, not college profs

Self-defense classes

Open to any gender

Very kind but firm

Okuyasu either makes people laugh or cry or confused

Koichi normally comforts the people who end up crying

Josuke heals everyone up after sparring matches and is also a sparring partner to many

Tomoko may pop in every so often for some harassment tips to the participants

#jjba headcanons #jotaro headcanons #kakyoin headcanons #okuyasu headcanons #Koichi headcanons #joseph joestar headcanons #jonathan joestar headcanons #josuke higashikata headcanons #polnareff headcanons #dio headcanons #part 3 dio #caesar zeppeli headcanons #muhammad avdol headcanons #iggy headcanons #college professor headcanons #no one dies #not canon dio

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mirthful-sonnet · 3 years

Text

Rise Above the Ashes | Chapter 3

Summary: Jean and Mikasa find a remedy against their nightmares, Armin has an announcement, and despite the political tensions in Paradis the peace negotiations go forward.

Notes: Thanks once again to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading this <3

Warning: None

Ao3

Time was a blur that now consisted of nothing but restlessness and constant visits to the hospital.

That didn’t matter to Mikasa.

A restful sleep was something alien to her. She might as well spend her time beside Jean, trying to make up for yet another failing on her part.

It had all happened too fast, but she knew that the man could have reached her if Jean had not stepped in first. Her thoughts were too muddled, with the quietness of the hospital making the violent scene and Jean’s drug-induced confession echo inside her head.

I think I even loved you. Since we were trainees.

She was aware that he had a crush on her back then, something she had easily ignored. Yet knowing the depth of it and that he possibly still felt the same brought plenty of surprise and confusion.

Did he still feel the same way for her? No, that was impossible, and she could not bring herself to acknowledge it. Even the thought of doing it terrified her. He certainly showed no signs of remembering his words once he woke up again, and she didn’t expect him to. Not when he was still battling between life and death.

She felt a pang in her chest at the thought of death, at the mere idea of Jean dying. He had proved himself stronger and more stubborn than anyone had expected.

The doctor had described his case as nothing short of a miracle, as one of Jean’s lungs had collapsed and he had caught an infection that led to a critical fever. They had inserted a tube into his chest to help drain the excess blood and air caused by the wounds, and this morning they had finally removed it. While there was still pain, he was alive and that’s what mattered.

During the entire treatment, Mikasa remained by his side.

Jean constantly told her to go home and rest, but she rarely listened, opting to watch over him when Jean’s mother wasn’t around. She took a break from her volunteering at the orphanage and her work passing down messages to the queen. The rest of the group continued their negotiations while she and Mrs. Kirschtein watched over Jean.

Meeting Jean’s mother had brought her an unexpected sense of inner peace, her warm and caring personality making it easier to confront the guilt and uncertainty that plagued her. It took every ounce of composure to keep her from breaking down and falling on her knees with apologies when she met Mrs. Kirschtein.

The woman had smiled kindly at her, saying that she was happy that Jean had a friend looking after him so thoroughly. The reassurance in her hazel eyes was more than enough to make her feel better. It came unbidden, but she couldn’t help but be reminded of her own mother. The light that had been cruelly snuffed out of her life when her age could still be counted with her fingers.

While she felt a strange ache when watching them, she also liked to see Mrs.Kirschtein still fuss around her son, who could only roll his eyes while hiding a smile, clearly glad to have her present.

She immediately admired the lady, who put on a brave face despite the terror that had almost taken her son away from her. Mikasa had unintentionally witnessed her in such a vulnerable state during the early stages of Jean’s recovery that she had felt like an intruder.

It hadn’t been long since Jean’s mother arrived, having immediately taken the first train that was available to come to the capital with nothing but her garments and a broken heart. Mikasa had just returned but stopped when she saw her beside Jean’s unconscious form through the gap of the room’s door, fitting woolen socks over his limp feet as her only son battled for his life.

“Remember that time you fell down while playing with the neighborhood kids? I held you tight and you kept complaining about how you would be able to learn to take care of me if I kept fussing around you as if you were a baby.” She had said as she fit the blankets around his shivering form, a slight tremor in her voice as if she was trying not to cry. “You were always such a sweet child. Now look at you, a grown man but still getting into trouble. It won’t matter how older you get, because mom will always be here to take care of you.” Mikasa strained to look at the woman’s slouched shape, now crying freely. “Because you are still my little boy, my sun, and my sweet child.”

Mikasa realized then that there were tears streaming down her own cheeks as she watched the grieving mother. With one last glance, she had decided to leave them alone.

Now she was back in front of his room, holding a bag full of extra blankets and a packaged meal. At the same time, Mrs. Kirschtein opened the door to exit, startled at seeing Mikasa.

“Mikasa!” She exclaimed. “How lovely to see you! Although I thought you were back at your house resting.”

Mikasa shook her head, not wanting to explain that she barely got any rest as her sleep was filled with nightmares of blood and unforgiving steel.

“I slept for a good enough time,” she lied, “I figured I could bring more stuff for him. It’s the least I can do.”

The woman’s hazel gaze was gentle, reaching out to grasp her free hand. “My dear, there’s nothing more you could possibly do for my son. You have rarely left his side! Please don’t strain yourself so much, now I’ll have to fret over you too.”

Mikasa could only smile, squeezing back her hand. The bittersweet ache came back as she remembered her mother again, and she wondered if Jean had the same kind of memories with his mom when he was a child. Did she hold him when he had nightmares? Did she sing to the scars on his knees when he fell?

“My son still likes to act all haughty sometimes, but he cares so much. And he is worried for you. We both are.” The older woman added, looking genuinely concerned as she took in Mikasa’s weary appearance.

Mikasa knew the circles under her eyes must have given her away. “I know, Mrs. Kirschtein. I’m just…I care for him too. And this is the least I could do for all the trouble he put himself in for me.”

Her voice had come out weak, as she remembered that this wasn’t the first time Jean had saved her. Mrs. Kirschtein looked at her in disapproval. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, sweet girl. My son told me what you did to that horrible man who hurt him, and I couldn’t thank you enough for protecting him. I have only known you for a few weeks, but I have come to think of you as my daughter. That’s why I’m asking you to take it easy and allow yourself to rest and not worry. If not for Jean, then do it for me.”

Something jolted in her suddenly and she surged forward to hug the older woman tightly, with tears gathered in her eyes and a lump in her throat. She was mildly embarrassed, but the woman’s motherly affection had touched a part of her that had been hollow since she was that wide-eyed child living in the mountains. The older woman had stiffened momentarily at Mikasa’s unexpected reaction, but after a moment she hugged her back just as tightly, happy to offer the girl even just a little bit of comfort.

***

Jean’s coughs echoed along the hallway as he stopped to catch his breath.

“I don’t think this was a good idea,” Mikasa said, her hold on Jean’s hand faltering. He was already recovered enough to walk, but he still had to strain sometimes to breathe properly.

“Hah, don’t worry about this,” Jean managed to get out as he got his breath back and continued walking while holding onto Mikasa.

“If I spent any more time cooped up in that room, I would have jumped out from the window already. Then we would all be having regrets,” he added, his steps somewhat clumsy but still steady.

The hallway was dead silent, with bluish moonbeams filtering through the windows. The only sounds were those of their steps. Jean had wanted to take a walk since he felt suffocated in his room, and Mikasa insisted on walking with him.

“Stop being morbid,” Mikasa chided him.

Jean snorted; his breath was still strained. “It comes naturally these days.”

Mikasa looked at him, taking in the weariness permeating the smile on his face. A walking contradiction. There was still no sign of him remembering what he had said weeks ago in his delirious state. She suddenly gripped his arm tightly without noticing and he turned to her, a questioning look on his face.

“Are you okay?” He asked her, his concern evident. It seemed like such a Jean thing to worry over her while he was the one who had been on the brink of death.

“Jean, I…” She trailed off, not really knowing what to say, or how to acknowledge his past confession.

“What is it?” He asked.

Mikasa paused and then just shook her head, afraid that she would say the wrong thing. “It’s nothing, I just don’t want you to joke like that.”

Jean gave her a small smile and they continued walking. It felt odd to be able to walk like this again, even if his steps were awkward. His days had been filled with medications and therapy, visits from his friends, and the usual nightmares that were forgotten once he woke up and saw that Mikasa was still by his side.

The visits brought him great comfort, whether it was Connie bringing him books to read, Armin suddenly opening a chessboard mid-conversation, Reiner reading letters from Falco and Gabi aloud, Pieck talking endlessly about new spots she had discovered in town, or Annie sneaking in donuts (her favorite treat) for him to eat.

Right now, he was glad to break from the usual routine even if just for a while, and Mikasa remaining by his side made everything better. He only wished she didn’t feel so guilty or even felt the need to trouble herself so much for him.

Jean almost found their current situation amusing. It seemed that he had spent half of his life wanting Mikasa’s attention while she looked elsewhere, something that he could never resent her for. But now they were here together in the most uncertain of circumstances, caught up in the middle of trying to build a paradise out of a blank canvas.

Armin constantly gave him updates on the progress of the treaty and other legislations that had been approved. Historia also sent him notes notifying him about their progress and wishing him a speedy recovery since she couldn’t come in person. As a monarch, it wasn’t possible, and she had to juggle her favors carefully.

Their efforts had not been interrupted despite the attack, which Jean was immensely relieved about. He knew, however, that they could not let their guard down as it was clear that the hatred from their adversaries would not stop there. His wounded body was now the tangible evidence of that hatred. The culprits were awaiting a trial, and Yeagerist officials had sent a half-hearted apology for what happened.

Bastards.

Now there was an upcoming ceremony for the peace treaty to be signed, which would be highlighted by the first ever air show on the island. A demonstration of peace that also displayed the military and technological advancements that were taking place at a rapid speed in the country.

“Are you sure you’re ready to leave?” Mikasa’s voice interrupted him from his thoughts. She had an unreadable expression on her face.

“Of course, I am. I have gone from breaking a dozen bones to turning into a titan. A knife in my lung is nothing to me.”

Mikasa was quiet for a moment, pondering on his words. “What was it like?”

“Hmm?”

“Turning into a titan. What was that like?” Mikasa asked as they turned in a corner and faced another hallway.

Jean paused for a moment until he finally spoke. “I’m not sure I remember exactly what happened. At one point it was just me and Connie holding onto each other, wondering if what we did was enough. And then…it was just nothingness. Some part of me was alive and conscious, but the rest…well, it was like I had no control over myself. I wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.”

They kept walking slowly, their shapes casting shadows on the blank walls. At least in those moments that had seemed final he had not been alone. After the rumbling, he always had his friends with him, the terror they had faced linking all of them permanently. But Mikasa had to bear the weight of the aftermath by herself.

“I bet I looked handsome as a titan,” he tried to lighten the mood.

“I don’t remember. I just took off without so much as a goodbye.” Mikasa muttered.

Jean stopped in his tracks, tightening his hold on her hand so she would look at him. “Hey now, what is this? Nobody can blame you for how you reacted after doing what you did. I don’t think I would have even had the strength to keep going, but you did anyway.”

“But I could have-” Mikasa started.

“Stop, you’re here with me now, aren’t you?” He interrupted.

Mikasa wanted to protest again, but something about Jean’s expression made her stay quiet, and she only nodded. Deep down she knew he had a point. Killing Eren had been like tearing out her own limbs, leaving behind an empty shell of a girl, a kite cut off from its string, left to drift aimlessly. But the guilt she felt over leaving her friends behind to face whatever came their way was still there. Even mourning Eren made her feel terrible, as she struggled to reconcile the boy who had saved her with the one who had caused so much destruction and suffering. In a way, being here was a way of atoning for all the time she didn’t spend with the group, who had to face and struggle to fix the outcome of that destruction. But a more selfish part of her just wanted to spend more time near Jean.

“I do think though,” Jean said as they continued walking, “that you would have loved all the places we visited.”

Jean had told her about them, weaving stories about the cherry blossoms of Hizuru, the vast deserts of the Middle Eastern countries, the icy weather of the northern isles, and the active nightlife at Marley’s emerging cities. There was something extraordinary about how humanity was finding a way to rise back up despite the destruction that happened. There was still a long way to go, but little details like the ones he recounted to Mikasa gave him some hope for the future.

Mikasa loved to hear about the different places they visited, inevitably thinking about Eren and Armin’s dreams of going outside the walls. At that point in time, she had never taken much part of their dream, happy to simply watch their enthusiasm about the outside world. But listening to Jean’s stories made her feel as if she were treading through those landscapes herself.

“Maybe I’ll see some of those places eventually,” she said, letting him stretch his arms as he walked, still holding onto her hand.

“If by some chance you find yourself lost in a hellhole like Marley’s capital, I have a spare room in my apartment,” Jean commented, taking another pause to catch his breath before continuing to walk.

Mikasa looked at him. “You’ve told me dozens of stories about your travels, but I haven’t heard much from the place you live in.”

Jean was thoughtful for a moment. “The capital city is a nice place. At least right now it is. When I arrived, it was mostly rubble and shelters for refugees. The summers were infernal too.” He told her. “But I did meet some good people there, and everyone worked hard to preserve what was left and rebuild what was destroyed. Despite everything, I think…that I miss it somehow.”

It was true, he didn’t think that he would ever come to think of Marley as his permanent home, but he had still made some memories there that he held dear. The good times, the bad times, the friends, and the lovers he had there, they were all a part of him too.

Mikasa asked him for more details, and he went on to tell her about all the work they did in the shelters, how he had painted the walls of his apartment when he found them too plain, and the neighbors who introduced him to Marleyan cuisine and the subsequent disaster he had caused trying to cook an octopus. It made Mikasa laugh, picturing a frantic Jean trying not to burn his apartment down.

He also told her about the historical landmarks that survived the rumbling, the capital square that held all the government buildings, the hectic nightlife at the entertainment quarter, and the different dialects and languages he had discovered.

“I was terrible at first,” Jean commented, “I earned a good slap from a girl when I tried speaking to her in her dialect.”

“What did you tell her?” Mikasa asked.

“Something about my privates when I just wanted to ask her name,” Jean replied, his face flushed in embarrassment.

Mikasa stared at him blankly for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound ringing through the quiet hallway. His embarrassing memory was forgotten as he took her in, not used to seeing her laughing so freely.

“I’m sorry-” she tried to say between bouts of laughter, failing to control it. “Oh no, that’s terrible but so funny Jean!”

She continued laughing until she finally had some control of herself. Then she looked at him and noticed that he was staring at her with something she could only describe as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Mikasa asked between chuckles, her flushed face now matching his despite the darkness of the hallway.

“Oh-um sorry, it’s just that I’ve never seen you laugh like that before,” he looked away, flustered. “It’s nice.”

Mikasa felt her cheeks burn more fiercely and she let go of his hand to go near one of the windows in the hallway, calming herself down. She didn’t remember if she ever laughed like that before. Something about Jean made smiling and laughing easy instead of a struggle.

He was standing beside her now, taking in her reddened face and black hair coming loose from her hair tie. Anyone would say she looked disheveled and tired, but he only marveled at how effortlessly beautiful she was even now. He truly was hopeless, wasn’t he?

“I guess it’s new to me too,” she was still not looking at him. “Your tales, they make me happy.”

“I’m glad,” he muttered, turning to look at the outlines of the city buildings. “All these things I’ve been telling you, the places I have seen and the people I have met… they’re all still standing because of you, Mikasa.”

Mikasa immediately shook her head in denial. “No, I-”

“It’s the truth,” he interrupted, unnerved that Mikasa thought so lowly of herself. “The people that have survived and find a reason to smile and hope every day, the way everything is rising back up even better than before, you made it possible.”

She shifted in her feet, slightly flustered at his open praise. It wasn’t just her. All of them had helped stop Eren, she wanted to say. Plus, her friends were the ones who were working tirelessly to bring peace. But she couldn’t deny the comfort she felt from his words, from the anecdotes that proved that not everything was lost.

“Thanks, Jean,” she simply said, now thinking of something else she had been meaning to tell him but didn’t know how to.

They remained in comfortable silence, looking at the sleeping city before them. Before Jean could tell her that they had to go back, she finally spoke.

“Jean?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” Mikasa murmured, twiddling her thumbs. “Since you’re already set to be discharged and will have to follow up your treatment, I was thinking…why don’t you stay at my house?”

She had said the last words too fast, but Jean’s face made it clear that he understood her.

“What? N-no Mikasa, I can’t,” he stammered while shaking his head, “I’ll be fine in my lodgings, I can take care of myself.”

Mikasa felt her heart sink at his words, but she persisted. “I know you can… but they expect you to follow a strict routine and you’re still struggling to even walk and breathe. You’re going to need someone to help you and the rest of the group won’t be able to be there when you need it. Please, Jean, let me do this for you.”

Jean only shook his head again, even if he knew what she said was true. The group would be at the council every day while Armin gave him time off to fully recover. His mom was set to go back to Trost tomorrow after he had convinced her that he was fine and would be looked after, something that was a partial lie since he didn’t really have anyone but himself. They expected him to follow strict medications which was no problem to him, but he also had to dress and clean his wounds routinely while also having to work and do normal chores.

“Mikasa, I really appreciate it, but I can’t burden you with my condition. I promise that I’ll be fine.” His tone was firm, but the more he denied it the more desperate she became to convince him.

“You’re not a burden Jean. You could never be a burden to me. That’s why I’m asking you to consider it. This isn’t the first time you have put yourself in harm’s way for me. This is…this is the least I can do.”

Jean frowned, a little taken aback that she remembered that he had saved her once before. “What do you mean it’s the least you could do? You have done more than enough for me just by staying by my side. Don’t do this out of pity or just because you feel that you need to compensate me for something. I would take those stabbings a thousand times again if I had to.”

“It’s not out of pity!” Mikasa’s voice was shrill, which neither of them expected, and Jean blanched slightly at her tone. She reached out to grasp his arm and bowed her head, silently apologizing for raising her voice. “I want to help you,” she whispered, “it would mean everything to me if you would let me help you. We agreed that we would always be there for each other, and I meant that. Please let me help you, Jean.”

He exhaled sharply, trying to hold on to even just a sliver of stubbornness, but watching her pleading face made whatever resolve he had finally break.

Jean let out another exhale and finally nodded. “All right…I’ll stay with you, Mikasa.”

The smile that lit up her face made it worth it to him, and whatever protests he still had were quickly forgotten.

“Good, thank you, Jean.” She replied, and he wondered why she was thanking him when she was the one burdening herself for him.

He stepped forward, unable to help himself, and took a stray lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I’ll try to be a good guest.”

“As long as no octopus is involved, I’m not worried.” Mikasa deadpanned.

This time it was his laughter ringing through the hallway.

***

Life as a soldier had taught Jean to get accustomed to every circumstance possible. So, in that way, Jean easily got used to living with Mikasa.

It wasn’t a big house, but it was enough. He had his own room and it was suitable for the work he would continue to do from a distance.

They fall into an easy routine, a small semblance of normality in a pattern filled with triggers and bad dreams.

He wakes up, the tremors of his nightmares still permeating his body as he helps Mikasa prepare coffee and breakfast, never ignorant of the stiffness in her movements during the early hours of the morning as well. No doubt still stunned by her own nightly terrors. But they are grateful that the worst kind of nightmares are kept at bay for now, and their demons lay forgotten when they greet each other and make small talk over their meal.

Mikasa learns just how stubborn Jean can be, as despite his condition he insists on helping her with every chore around the house. She only relents slightly when it comes to cooking, with Jean making savory omelets that she can’t get enough of.

There are times when her curiosity threatens to get the best of her, where she wants to ask him what he meant by his dazed confession, but she stops herself in time. She pushes it into a hidden corner of her mind to avoid breaking this bubble of comfort - this castle in the sky they were building together.

Jean on the other hand learned how fussy she could be, a trait he had somewhat noticed back then with Eren and Armin. But now he finds himself as the target of her attention, and it’s a little overwhelming. Amid her attention, he also notices how odd she acts around him sometimes-as if she wanted to tell him something but kept herself from doing so. He didn’t want to pressure her into anything, so he doesn’t question her about it. Instead, he is endlessly grateful; for her watchful eyes when he is walking alone, for the snacks she leaves on his desk as he drowns himself in paperwork, and for her presence in general.

“I think Mikasa is looking to replace me as your mother”

Jean grimaced. “Mom, please don’t start.”

“I’m only telling the truth, Jeanbo. She’s been watching over you like a hawk! It’s almost like I’m not needed around here.” His mom said, a teasing undertone in her voice.

“Mikasa has always been protective and she…well she feels guilty over what happened. I don’t know how to make her understand that none of this is her fault.” He sighed; with the book he was reading now forgotten across his lap.

“She’s a caring girl, that one. I am sure she will understand eventually. But for now, just be grateful that you have someone like her in your life, Jeanbo.”

Jean stayed quiet, taking in her words, and then shook his head. “I’ll also be grateful when you stop calling me that and never mention that Mikasa’s my new mom again.”

“You’re right. I think daughter-in-law is more fitting.”

“MOM!”

He was only met with endless laughter.

It was an extraordinary thing, the solace one could find just by having another person close. Mikasa learns it through the easy rhythm they fall into in the kitchen, the little talks over the table, when they relax in the backyard, with their clothes loose due to the summer heat and faces flushed by the sun; through the endless stories he has from his travels, the concentration in his face when he’s sketching, or just the simple knowledge that he is here, living and breathing. Despite the guardedness that he still shows around her, the glimpses that she does get of his mind make her want to see the world through his eyes. She has always said that the world is cruel and beautiful, but when he is here, she can only see beauty.

There’s a glint in his hazel eyes when he tells her about the places they have been to that brings her an odd type of comfort. It’s one of the many quirks and details she notices about him. Their routine makes it impossible not to notice small details about each other.

He notices that she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s embarrassed, she notices how the warm honey hues of his eyes can change color depending on the lighting, he notes the secret dimple on her left cheek if she smiles enough, she sees the way he scratches his ear when thinking hard about something, he’s transfixed by how much her grey eyes remind him of passing clouds, and she discovers that there are more scatterings of freckles and moles on his neck and arms.

This last detail she discovers during the daily procedure of changing his bandages. As former soldiers, they have found themselves in similar situations before. But the horrors of war are not around them anymore; now it’s just the both of them in the quietness of her house.

It takes great patience to convince him to let her help him, his protests that he can do it himself eventually drowned out. But when he bares his chest and the map of scars adorning it, she sometimes wonders if this was a good idea at all.

“Gruesome, huh?” He tells her one day, avoiding her eyes as his buttoned shirt lays open.

Mikasa snaps out of her stupor, immediately frowning. “Not at all, I’ve seen worse.”

She goes on to remove the bandages, trying not to wince along with him, as if she could feel his pain somehow. The sighs that escape him as she cleans and rubs the ointment on his wounds make the hairs at the back of her neck rise. There is an inevitable shyness when she sees the toned muscles of his chest and abs, when she visually traces the constellations of freckles and moles that dot the planes of smooth skin, when she sees the beauty that lays under the vestiges of war.

“Will I live to see my grandchildren, Nurse Ackerman?” Jean teases as she finishes up the task.

“Only if you behave, Mr. Kirschtein.” She teases back, pressing down the last new bandage, right over his heart.

Yes, she could get used to this.

It is easy and comforting, their new routine. They fall into it so naturally that they can almost ignore the cracks in the picture.

Almost.

Perhaps they were too hopeful or too confident that they wouldn’t have to hear each other’s night terrors, but that illusion breaks one night in which Mikasa’s screams fill the house.

Jean sat upright in his bed, having just woken up from his own nightmares, with every scream sending a dreadful shiver down his spine.

Nightmares were his nightly companions, and he and all his friends had become quite familiar with each other’s screams. The thought that Mikasa had to go through her nightmares alone pained him. The screams continued until he could not stand it anymore and walked out despite the tremors that were still shaking his body, reaching her room in no time. Her hands were tearing at her hair, and she was screaming Eren’s name in one instance while in another she was wailing for her mother and father.

“Mikasa, wake up!” He held both of her hands tightly while she still trashed around. After a while, her screams had been reduced to small, broken whimpers. Under his tight hold she opened her eyes abruptly - her confusion clear amongst endless tears, and she suddenly grabbed Jean forcefully by his neckline as if he were a stranger.

“It’s me Mikasa, it’s me.” Jean whispered shakily, an unbearable tension passing between them before he slowly pries her hands off him.

“Jean?” Mikasa croaked, her voice hoarse from her screams. “I’m s-I’m so sorry, Jean.”

She could barely finish her sentence before she started sobbing, loud and broken. He remained rooted in his spot, at a loss on what to do and trying to ignore his own tremors, watching the woman he loved and the former soldier he had admired for so long cry her heart out, now listening instead to the cries of a little girl still calling for her parents.

He snapped out of his daze when she grasped at his shirt as if he were a lifeline in a sea of tears. When she turned to look at him, he wondered if it was possible to have your heart torn in two just over looking at another person’s face. She looked so broken that he wanted to somehow gather her inside his heart and let her remain there for as long as she wanted.

“Wh…w…” She tried to make out amongst her whimpers.

“Easy, easy, you’re okay now,” Jean told her gently, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “What were you trying to say?”

“Why…why does it hurt so much?” She fixed him with her swollen eyes, “Why does it still hurt?”

He wished he had an answer to that. Even after all these years, he didn’t think the pain would ever really stop. So, he thinks he owes it to her to be honest.

“I don’t know, Mikasa.” He said, his voice breaking a little.

She pressed her forehead to his chest, still crying. He takes that as a cue and gently pulls her to him, an embrace that she quickly returns in such a way that they don’t know who is comforting who.

He thinks they must have remained like that for a good while, with him rocking her gently in his arms like a child while she grasped his lower back, trying to stop the tremors that were still shaking him.

The whimpers quiet down, and the tension in her body loosens, so he laid her down on the bed and waited for her to fall asleep. He made shushing noises while stroking her hand, noticing the signs of exhaustion taking over. She is looking at him with a dazed expression before tightening her hold on him.

“Jean?”

“What is it?”

“Can you stay with me?” She asks, her voice sleepy.

In any other occasion, he would have promptly denied her, deeming it too improper. But watching that look on her face and remembering the terrors that would still await him back in his room made him lose all sense.

Just one night. At least just one.

He gulped and nodded, moving to climb in and get under the covers. The immediate warmth that they feel is overwhelming, and they scramble to get closer as if each other’s touch will be enough to keep the nightmares at bay.

She listened to his heartbeat, its steady pulse lulling her to sleep. His tremors died down under the gentle press of her hand, and he followed her into slumber soon after.

They have their first sleep without nightmares in years.

The moment when she wakes up in the morning is less peaceful in a way. Mikasa shoots up in her bed, feeling an onslaught of confusion and mortification when she remembered what happened.

Jean is fast asleep, his face relaxed and somehow younger, with his arm thrown over her lap. That usual subtle guardedness that he shows now completely shed.

The sight makes her heart hammer wildly and a strange warmth spreads in her chest. Before she can dwell on it or on how much she actually liked having him pressed against her, she bolts out of her room.

She doesn’t really know where she is going but she knows she must get out of there. The cold morning air greets her as she runs out of the house, running and running until she stops, gasping for breath and resting her hands on her knees.

Mist is rolling on the gravel road, revealing the scattered houses of the village in all their simpleness. She lets the coldness settle in, obliterating the heat that had overtaken her.

This was completely unexpected, and she knew it made no sense for her to react this way when she had been the one to coax him into her bed. Yet, she also knows there’s only so much sense you can have after nightmares like theirs. It was expected that they would eventually give in to that urgency, that need to cling to each other.

A flock of birds snaps her out of her thoughts, the group flying and dipping by her house before disappearing into the nearby woodland. Soon the whole village would be waking up, and she couldn’t stay here only wearing her nightshift. She wraps her arms around herself - a futile attempt to warm herself against the cold morning air and makes her way back to the house.

The smell of coffee invades her senses when she steps in, and she sees him in the kitchen, already pouring coffee into two cups.

There’s a hint of relief in his face when he notices her, and she swallows down whatever embarrassment she still feels and greets him as usual.

He greets her back, going on to ask her what they should make for breakfast. In that way, their shyness lays forgotten and what happened earlier remains unspoken.

Their routine for the day remains as usual, and the end of their errands sees them relaxing in her backyard like always, lazily talking about nothing and everything.

When night falls, they’re ready to face whatever horrors await them in their sleep again.

This time, Mikasa is in what appears to be a forest, and it doesn’t take long before she notices that Eren is walking ahead of her. She tries to reach him, but he only drifts away further, occasionally looking back at her, green eyes glinting as if he’s playing a game with her.

The further he gets, the more desperate she becomes. She calls his name, but he gets even further away from her. Always far away, always unreachable.

Soon the woodland disappears, and a steep precipice appears ahead, but Eren doesn’t stop walking. She feels as if her feet are shackled while trying to reach him, and she cries out his name brokenly as he plunges down the precipice and disappears.

Instead of screams, she wakes up with cold shivers and a lump in her throat. Her body is pulled taut like a bowstring as she struggles to gain her breath back, trying to blink away her tears. Her only company was the shadows cast upon her room.

But she then remembered that she wasn’t alone, not exactly. In another corner of her house, Jean was slumbering, probably fighting off his nightly terrors as well. It was a never-ending cycle, and yet she can’t pretend to not remember the remedy they had found against their demons: each other.

Mikasa had always put on a hard front to everybody, but she is tired, so very tired; she doesn’t want to hide or even think logically anymore. And so, ignoring all sense she stands up and makes her way to his room, her steps only a whisper against the wooden floor.

She shouldn’t have been surprised when she saw him sitting up in his bed already, though he didn’t seem to have noticed her, looking disconcerted. In the dim light, she can see that he is paler than usual and that his eyes are wide with unshed tears. He seems to finally recognize her as she reaches for him and gently wipes away the moisture that was beginning to spill down his cheeks.

There is an unfathomable look on his face as she soothes him, and when she asks a silent question with her own red-rimmed gaze, he pauses and then moves to open the covers for her.

She doesn’t hesitate to climb in.

***

There was childish laughter coming from the large yard.

It was a comforting sight, watching the children of the orphanage go about their day, playing their little games.

Jean could barely remember the time when he was that carefree and innocent, he pondered as he walked with Armin around the establishment.

“Until wintertime then?” He asked, not knowing how to take the information.

“That’s what I’ve been told. They will pick delegates to go to each of the allied nations. Whoever remains here is still unclear.” Armin said as he walked, looking at Jean’s tired expression and keeping a close watch on Jean’s steps as he balanced himself on a cane. He rarely used it but since he had insisted that he was ready to attend meetings he started bringing it with him, the constant walking and touring taking its toll on his body.

It had been common knowledge that they would need representatives in every nation, but the fact that there was already an established time for him to possibly leave Paradis took him by surprise. There were still months left for winter, and he still hadn’t made up his mind on whether he wanted to stay or leave.

They stopped in a far corner, with Jean leaning against the wooden fence, recalling a distant memory of when he was younger and stood here with his friends. In the distance, they noticed Mikasa walking in the grassy area, inspecting a group of kids who were playing on some swing sets. She noticed both of her friends watching and they waved at each other before she focused back on the children.

“She’s been quite active here,” Armin observed.

“And yet she still feels guilty for some reason,” Jean said, fishing around his pockets until he found what he was looking for.

Armin narrowed his eyes as he watched Jean lighting up a cigarette. His friend noticed him and groaned. “What? I’ve had to deal with Mikasa scolding me already, you’re going to lecture me as well?”

“You’re still recovering from a punctured lung, Jean.”

“I’ve dealt with worse things,” Jean mumbled, exhaling puffs of smoke. He knew his friends were right, but he couldn’t help it.

He sighed and took another drag. “So, tell me about this airshow, will you? What exactly are they planning?”

“I don’t have anything to do with it, but every delegation is expected to attend of course. The Yeagerists have made sure to spend every penny on the ceremony.” Armin said as he also leaned back against the fence.

Jean snorted. “This whole thing feels like a circus, it won’t be long before they go back on their word, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps, but in the meantime, we do what we can, and what we must. Even the Yeagerists know that we have to depend on each other. Right now, we focus on peace.”

Paradis too was struggling to rise back up, with its damaged borders and the destruction of the ecosystems around the world leading to severe droughts, forest fires, and famine. If the rumbling had gone any further, there was no chance they would have survived. Currently, every country was struggling with the reforestation of their lands and developing new technologies to battle the climate crisis. The treaty would be a milestone in that direction.

“Peace is only relative,” Jean remarked.

“Of course, but we must leverage that peace, be it relative or not. I will always condemn what Eren did, but I think he would want us to take advantage of whatever chances we can take.”

“It’s not like he left us much choice,” Jean spat, and then gave a tired sigh. “But whatever is best for us, I will vouch for that and support you along the way.”

“I know you will,” Armin said, bumping Jean’s shoulder and taking in the circles under his eyes. “I don’t want you to strain yourself too much though. If you can’t attend the ceremony, I will excuse you.”

Jean shook his head, exhaling another puff of smoke. “I will be there. I won’t give those assholes the pleasure of not attending.”

Armin hummed in response. “I hear that there are many other events planned beside the ceremony for the treaty. There are rumors that sweet Vera is coming here to perform.”

Jean looked elsewhere. “I heard that as well.”

Vera was a Marleyan singer and actress who quickly rose in fame all over the continent. Her advocate work with the Alliance was well documented, as she used her cultural influence to help gather supporters and fund numerous causes. Just as her charity work was well known, so was her affair with Ambassador Kirschtein.

He had been assigned to escort her to performances and public speeches linked to their cause. One thing led to another, and it was only a matter of time before they ended up tangled between the sheets. The prospect of seeing her made him feel strange but also happy, as despite their casual flings she had also been a good friend.

“Seem like Paradis is ready to deal with the outside world, and not just through treaties,” Armin remarked.

“Oh, they’ll love her for sure, she stole hearts whenever she went,” Jean said while taking another drag.

“Did she steal yours?”

Jean rolled his eyes. “No one stole anything, she and I made our boundaries clear before we started sleeping together. It was the same for all the other women I’ve been with. They took what they wanted, and I took what I wanted.”

“You think you will ever settle down?” Armin asked.

“I don’t know…especially not after…” Jean stopped himself. “Ah, never mind.”

“I’m all ears,” Armin said, looking at him expectantly.

Jean remained quiet for such a long time that Armin thought he wouldn’t say anything at all.

“I’m in love with Mikasa,” Jean finally admitted, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Armin replied, looking at him sympathetically. “Have you tried telling her?”

“What? No, I’ll never tell her,” Jean said, dropping the cigarette and crushing it. “She doesn’t see me that way and I respect that. I’m happy as her friend.”

“You don’t believe that.” Armin had an eyebrow quirked.

“Oh, but I do, the time I’ve spent with her… it has kept me sane in a way,” Jean told him, then shaking his head. “I’m so in love with her it feels ridiculous. I can’t even think about settling down with anyone else even if I know I have no chance with her.”

“Why do you think that? You claim to respect her, but are you really doing that when you don’t even bother to know what she thinks?”

Jean scoffed. “I don’t need to ‘bother’ because I already know what she thinks. Her heart belongs to Eren, that’s a simple fact.”

It was Armin’s turn to scoff. “Eren is dead, Jean. She killed him if I may remind you, and she has always been a full, stronghearted person outside of him. You may love and cherish a memory, but there’s only so much love you can give to a dead man.”

Jean could only look away, staying quiet. Armin followed his tired gaze and found unsurprisingly fixed on Mikasa, who was now spinning a little girl in her arms.

“You may not believe me, but I’ve never seen her this relaxed and happy, not even when we were children.”

“I want her to be happy. That’s all I want.”

“Well, she looks happier than ever to me, and it’s because of you.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Jean rolled his eyes.

“I’m not trying to make you laugh, it’s just the truth. Take it from someone who practically grew up with her.” Armin insisted. “Besides, I don’t think I could make you laugh with that weary expression you’ve had all day. Have you even slept lately?”

“Mikasa kept me up last night,” Jean replied, before realizing what he said.

Armin looked embarrassed. “She…kept you up, huh?”

“Not that way I- for goodness’ sake, Armin! I would never take advantage of her like that!” Jean exclaimed, blushing furiously while Armin smirked.

“Care to explain then?”

“We…ah, we’re sharing a bed, it helps with our nightmares,” Jean explained, avoiding Armin’s curious look. “It’s just sleeping I swear, somehow…somehow it makes it easier.”

Armin nodded in understanding, thinking of the solace he and Annie had found with each other in a similar way, though it was also different since their ritual had quickly taken a much more physical level.

“You don’t have to reassure me of anything, whatever you guys do is none of my business,” Armin said. “And I know you would never take advantage of her.”

Jean said nothing, still looking at Mikasa in the distance.

“But I insist that you must be honest with her.”

“I don’t think so, Armin. Let’s leave it at that.” Jean tried to end the subject.

“I never took you for being such a pessimist. I thought you wanted to be with her since we were Scouts.”

“Even back then I was aware that there was no chance she would ever return my feelings. So, I kept my distance and ignored it. And I-well… I turned to other girls.”

Jean looked embarrassed but Armin nodded in understanding, remembering the times when Jean and Connie would come in late from having explored whatever town they were stationed in and all it had to offer. Their time in Marley had been similar in that regard, with Reiner occasionally taking part in their escapades.

“In that way, I thought I was over her for a long time. It was easy to get distracted by constant missions, carousing, and sex. I should have known my feelings would only come back stronger once I saw her again.” Jean continued, still looking ashamed. “I have accepted that I’m in love with her, but I have also accepted that I’m just her friend, and I’m happy to be that. Being by her side, that is more than enough for me.”

Armin looked at Jean and saw that he truly meant his words. While he felt bad for his friend, he also couldn’t help his frustration at his resignation.

“You make everything sound so hopeless.” The blond complained, leaning further into the fence.

Jean smiled sadly. “I am utterly hopeless when it comes to her,” he said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it.”

“You don’t have to get over it, you can simply love unapologetically. This world…us and our friends, we have seen too much misery. We owe it to ourselves to try and get some happiness, don’t we?”

“I don’t know if that’s possible… dreams, settling down, having a family, is it all worth it when we don’t know if this so-called peace will even last?”

Armin fixed him with his gaze. “It is worth it every bit,” he affirmed. “I have to believe that because…well, I want to tell you something.”

Jean looked at him curiously as Armin fidgeted with his hands. “I uh…I am planning to propose to Annie.”

A small silence passed between them before Jean’s face broke into pure happiness despite his tiredness.

“That’s-that’s amazing, Armin! I’m proud of you.” Jean said gleefully as he stepped forward to hug his friend tightly and pat his back.

“Hey! I haven’t even asked her yet and we don’t know if she’ll say yes!” Armin laughed, still hugging Jean back.

“Of course, she’ll say yes you idiot,” Jean said. “She looks at you as if the sun shines out of your ass.”

They both laughed before separating, still holding onto each other’s arms. “I don’t know how any of this works, but would you be my best man?”

Jean was already nodding before Armin finished his sentence. “Of course, of course, I’ll do it.”

“Good, because I have no idea what to do after I ask her.”

“And you think I do?” Jean countered, and they both laughed out loud again before continuing their walk, feeling much more at ease than before and enjoying the light breeze. There was still a lot of apprehension clouding Jean’s mind, but for now, he was glad that his friend wanted to take his chance at happiness. A glimmer of hope in the midst of uncertainty. For now, he could be happy about that.

***

The planes were flying at a safe distance, yet it felt as if they could graze the onlookers in a heartbeat. There was a cacophony of cheers, music, chatter, and roars from the planes that were flying overhead.

It seemed surreal that this was happening. It was almost as if all the hatred and tension that their visit had brought was broken, now replaced by celebration and merriment. The cheers came and went the same way the steel birds flew and dipped across the blue sky.

Jean had stood on the stage at the town square some hours ago, tall and defiant despite the scars he bore underneath his formal clothing and the cane that signified his survival.

His presence had given everyone much to talk about, some in puzzlement and others in admiration. He gave a speech with no problem and made sure to look at every Yeagerist official directly in the eye as they shook hands, silently telling them that this was his home.

Now he stood at the edges of the city that overlooked an extensive lake, watching with the members of the delegation as planes flew in unpredictable ways overhead, a sign of progress and more things to come.

He leaned against the railing, looking at the other delegations on the lower levels. Standing amongst the Hizurian delegation was Mikasa, who was also focused on the aerial spectacle while exchanging words with Kiyomi. Even with her small height the Hizurian diplomat still had an imposing presence whenever she went.

Almost as if Mikasa had felt the weight of his stare, she suddenly turned her head and found his gaze. Normally he would have been flustered but watching the smile that she gave him made him feel calm even in the middle of all the excitement that was happening around them. He smiled back before Kiyomi got her attention again and he turned back to the planes.

The sight of the planes flying and turning across the sky made him feel a small ache as he remembered Hange. He was sure the late commander would have loved this. Her excitement over all things unknown had left a huge gap amongst the former soldiers. Now all they could do was continue their endeavors for peace, just as she would have wanted.

He was hit by a barrage of memories as he watched, also wondering how Levi was faring while also finding reassurance in knowing that he was in good company and getting the rest he deserved. But just as he remembered past recollections, a small hidden memory surged up to the surface of his mind, now clear and prominent.

I liked you Mikasa, you know? I think I even loved you, since we were trainees.

No, it couldn’t be.

I wish he was here, I wish I could bring him back. I’m sorry I can’t do anything, I’m so sorry Mikasa…

The strange behavior Mikasa sometimes showed around him now made sense, and Jean suddenly felt as if he were about to vomit, his face blanching.

He had resolved to be Mikasa’s friend and not make things strange between them. But he had failed with flying colors.

With one last glance at Mikasa- who was still engaged in conversation, he backed away and left the compound, ignoring the questioning stares from his friends.

He walked as fast as he could even in his delicate state, immune to the fanfare around him and feeling absolutely mortified.

Way to go, dumbass.

#jeankasa #snk #attack on titan #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #hope all the tags work this time

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luciesbabyboy · 3 years

Text

The Letter.

Something momma and me wrote together, the background to this is fact, the solution is pure fantasy. But OMG this was such fun to write together.

Steve came home to an empty house after 21 days working away. It had been the longest stretch working away and he was completely broken. His wife had sent him a message earlier saying she was sorry she wouldn’t be there when he got home from his flight, but not to worry she would be home at 9pm, she was just having coffee with an old friend.

He made himself a cup of tea and sat down on the sofa and flicked on the TV. His eye was drawn to the fireplace and an plain white envelope with “Darling, please read me” written in his wife’s handwriting

Having picked it up he returned to the sofa and gently prised open the envelope, his nostrils caught the sent of his wifes perfume and he smiled at the thought of her. He opened the letter and began to read.

“Darling,

First, let me tell you how much I love you and how proud of you I am for everything you do. You make me feel so loved and our time apart is only made so much better when we are together. However, I’m really worried about you. I know you’re not telling me the whole truth about the hours you are putting in, but I know as you read this letter that you are completely destroyed mentally and physically and its will take you days to recover. But you’re not recovering, you’re surviving, you’re not eating properly, you’re not getting the sleep you need, you’re not getting any exercise, you’re waking up, going to work, eating crap to feed your depleted energy, you’re working 15 hours a day and 7 days a week and you’ve just done this for 21 days. How you’re not in hospital I really don’t know.

What you have done at that business, is beyond remarkable, you’ve single handed built it to an extremely successful, profitable business, but you have to look after yourself. If you don’t I fear you’ll self implode. I’ve seen you when you come home from a tough period away and I can tell you’re just minutes from going down the drain. How you recover enough to face another week is beyond me.

We need to get you back to where you were mentally and physically 4 years ago, cooking and eating great healthy food, loving life, exercising and reading....remember how you used to soak up books, almost a book every week, and we used to sit listening to classic alums on the record player. Now you just sit down and because you’re exhausted you don’t engage with much. I understand, but we used to have so much fun, we’d spend time with friends and family or just being on our own.

I know you’re at breaking point, and I fear that any day I’m going to get a call from your work saying you’ve had a heart attack or a mental breakdown. Thats why, this week, I contacted your CEO and she agrees with me. Again she is amazed at what you have achieved for the company and the group, but she agrees that you’re on the verge. The business will cope, you’ve built the foundations, you have got the staff in there running it, you now need to step away and relax.

So from this weekend, with your bosses blessing, you have a 10 week leave of absence. We have 10 weeks to reset you, to get you back into a mental state that gives me confidence that you’ll not kill yourself before your next birthday.

And I know exactly how to rest you “little man” 😊

On the other side of this letter is a 10 week program to take you back to basics, to allow your brain and body to dump all of that stress and then to slowly build you back up. You will, if you agree, give up all responsibilities and I will make sure you are looked after like the gorgeous little man you are.

Weeks 1 & 2

Regressed to a 9 month old. Momma will take care of your every need, she will bathe you, feed you, clothe you, read you bed time stories, cuddle you, change your nappies, love you unconditionally.

During this period, you are not allowed to walk, talk (9 month olds can’t do either), you communicate by using your hands and either crying or babbling. Just like a little baby. You are allowed to crawl around the house, but you are to use your nappies for their true intended purpose. No phones or computers and no tv except early learning tv like sesame street and in the night garden. Early bed times and day time naps. Me feeding you with a spoon, having all your drinks in baby bottles. Millions of cuddles on the sofa.

Weeks 3 & 4

My little man is now a proper handful as a 2 year old: You can toddle around the house and can use big words, but you still need momma for cuddles and everything else in weeks 1 & 2. You’re still not able to use the toilet, you can watch a few more interesting things on tv and you can play with lego and cars and colour with crayons. Your food is a less babyish, and you love food time and getting all messy with eating with your hands. You need to ask momma for everything you need, even though you can reach the counter top, cookies and treats are off limits without asking. Time out on the naughty step if you get caught doing something momma has said you can’t.

Weeks 5 & 6

Oh my, what a cute little 3 year old you are. So independent, but so naughty, trying to do things yourself and getting into all kinds of scrapes. Momma still has to tie your shoe laces and get you dressed and you still have problems with the potty, so momma is keeping you in nappies for a little while longer. But you’re old enough now to let momma know when you need to go poopy. Where she can undo your nappy and sit you on the big boy potty and wipe your cute little bottom after, and put you in a fresh nappy. You’ll be in a lot of trouble if you forget to tell momma you need to go number two and momma will smack that poopy bottom and make you sit in a dirty nappy to remind you what a dirty boy you are. We can now watch Disney cartons together and you’re learning your abc’s and numbers so well. You still need nap times, and momma needs to still take you for a bath, but can leave you to play with your bath time toys.

Weeks 7 & 8

6 months older and such a handful for this momma. You’re getting much better at potty time, so momma has decided to let you wear pull ups. You need to tell momma when you need to go potty and she will pull your trousers and pull ups down and sit you on the big plastic potty. Little boys who are potty training still need nappies at night and you’ll be wrapped up tightly in a big fluffy nappy after bath time every night. Of course I’m sure you’ll forget about needing to go potty which is why momma will constantly ask you if you need to go, however if you say no and then wet your pull ups, you can expect momma to pull those down and put you over her knee for a well earned bare botty spanking. Momma is going to be strict with you and any rule breaking will result in a red bottom and corner time. But now you’re older you can help momma bake cookies and cakes and she’ll let you lick the spoon. Lots of cuddles with my little man and you can help momma around the house. You’ll look so cute in just your Spider man pullups and dinosaur t-shirts. It makes momma’s job of checking you for wetness so much easier

Weeks 9 & 10

Oh my you’ve grown up and momma is getting you ready to go “back to school” You’re nearly fully potty trained with only the occasional wetting accident. So momma has gone out and bought you some proper big boy briefs. They have lots of cool designs on them. Spiderman obviously, I’ve got several pairs of them, some other marvel prints and some basic plain colours so you can feel like a big boy when we go out. Momma is still going to ask you if you need the potty, especially if she sees you doing your little potty dance. As you’re bigger now, you have lots more responsibilities, you are big enough to put away your toys after play time is over, you can read books by yourself. You help momma clean up the house and do the laundry. And you can help her big person cooking. We have put the big plastic potty away in the cupboard and now you’re using the big boy toilet all by yourself and wiping our bottom properly after poopies. Momma is so proud of your journey to being a proper little man, but understands you still get into mischief. You sometimes still have little wet accidents in your big boy pants and that means momma will turn that cute little bottom of your red and put you back in a nappy for the rest of the day as punishment. You can go the whole night without wetting your night time nappy, but momma knows you sleep more soundly having one on, so she still gets you properly wrapped up for bed every night.

So that’s it my love. I need you to be better, to get you’re head in the correct space you can be a proper functioning adult. We’re going to have so much fun over the next 10 weeks. I’ll take you to the park, we’ll go for picnics and walk the dog and feed the ducks. You’ll get an allowance to spend on sweeties at the shops if you’ve been a good boy. You’ll get to go shopping with momma and she’ll make sure your bottom is checked when we’re out for wetness.

Now the bad news. You’re not allowed any alcohol for the whole 10 weeks. You have to do everything momma says without questions. Any breaking of my rules will result in you getting a proper hard bare bottom spanking. You are never allow to touch your nappy at any time or play with what is in it 😊 Which brings me to “Mommas needs” Obviously momma has needs, that only a grown up can provide, seeing you naked 4 or 5 times a day as I change your nappy, or bathe you, or even when I turn that tight little butt of yours over my knee will inevitably make momma hot in all kinds of places. Therefore momma is going to need you to fix this her whenever she needs to satisfy her needs. I will take you out of your nappy and you will be allowed to be a proper man, then straight after we’ll go back to our plan.

If you agree to this plan, and giving me full responsibility for you over the next 10 weeks, just send me a text with a “Baby emoji” and the words “I’m ready momma”

Love you so much baby boy.

Your darling wife.

He let this sink in for a moment, and an emotional wave came over him. He felt so loved in that very moment that he started to cry, all the stress that had built up was too much for him. With tears in his eyes he reached for his phone and sent the message his wife needed to see.

His phone immediately buzzed back with a heart emoji and 10 seconds later buzzed back again with the following message:

“Finally and you’re not going to like this one little bit. When I get home, I want you standing in the corner in just your underwear. I want you to get a high backed chair from the dining room and place it in the middle of the lounge. You will also need to get the paddle, the hairbrush and the cane from under the bed. I know you have constantly lied to me about the hours you are doing and I know you’ve been going back into work when you said you are tucked up in bed. So I’m going to really punish you for this behaviour so you remember what happens to naughty boys who lie to me. This is not going to be a normal spanking where I turn your bottom red and then we make love afterwards. I’m going to teach you a lesson through your bottom that you will hopefully remember. If you end up sobbing and begging me to stop then I know its working, but only I will decide when the punishment is over. You will be so thankful to be put back into nappies tonight to protect a very sore bottom when you sit down over the next few days. I’m sorry baby, but I have to show you that lies and sneaking around are not good for our relationship and I’m only doing this for your own good. Love you, see you in 30 minutes. Don’t disobey me or it will 10 times worse.

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og-danny-dorito · 3 years

Text

[ 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐉𝐨𝐉𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 ]

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[ 𝐀/𝐍 ] straight up pulled these out of my ass at like 1-2 am but here u go anyway

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𝐉𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐊𝐮𝐣𝐨 :

- consistently smells like cigarettes and cheap cologne but he has the common sense not to buy axe since it reminds him of the middle schoolers in his school

- cant fucking cook to save his life because he refused to sit down and let Holly teach him. he suffers the consequences his first week in college and ends up eating dinner there for a month since he’s broke

- literally only smokes Marlboro Reds. like he’s super fucking picky about his cigarettes and it carries on for the rest of his life

- i can’t 100% tell what his sexuality is but i know he isn’t straight (it’s a gut feeling i just k n o w)

- i know everyone says he fucks but like,,, the concept of him having only dated jolyene’s mom rather than having multiple past partners and just marrying her like all the white southern people do with their “highschool sweethearts” in my area SENDS me

- i like to think that he’s bilingual since he grew up around his gramps and holly speaking it all the time so it’s kinda normal for him to stare into the distance for 2 hours straight trying to figure out the english word for “salt” during dinner with his english-speaking grandparents

𝐊𝐚𝐤𝐲𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐤𝐢 :

- BI-CON no you cannot convince me otherwise thank you very much

- probably has a male leaning preference tho cause like his vibe just screams “twink” to me for some reason

- he somehow speaks better english than jotaro (who’s grown up bilingual) and constantly likes to show it off by having conversations with his mom in front of him

- absolutely feral when playing videogames. like if you’re playing mario kart with him do NOT expect him to go easy on you since you’re a friend. in fact he might be even more competitive and a whole ass cheater by “accidentally” bumping into you while you’re trying to avoid a banana peel or some shit like that

- he likes cherries the most, but he pretty much likes any red fruit anyway. like he literally won’t eat any fruit that isn’t red, just because he doesn’t find it appealing. it’s been like this since he was a kid and his mom is still pissed off about it

- kinda insecure about his body since he’s thinner than the rest of the crusaders but polnareff makes sure to ABOLISH that shit since kakyoin is the Skinny Legend none of them could ever be. polnareff is basically his hype man when he feels unattractive no cap

- literally hates the way cigarettes smell and has complained about it enough to get Jotaro to finally put on some fucking cologne to mask it (even tho it does a shitty job) but it’ better than being suffocated by the smell of smoke all the time

𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧-𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐟 :

- a pansexual icon, and likes to constantly clarify that by merely existing

- def the hype man of the group. like in the last one where i mentioned that he hypes up kakyoin when he’s feeling insecure?? yeah its not just limited to kakyoin (even though he arguably needs it the most probably)

- notices and compliments ever new piece of clothing any of them get and gives tips for their wardrobe unprompted (that being said he would literally fucking die if he saw part 6 jotaro’s snake skin print pants)

- can COOK okay like this man can make a 3 course meal blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back and it still comes out looking straight outta master chef. he can also grill, but not as well as joseph can obviously

- LOVES chubby girls like,,, its not a fetish thing he just LOVES chubby girls with all of his heart

- beats the shit out of anyone who makes a r*pe/misogynistic joke in his presence with absolutely no exceptions

𝐌𝐮𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐝 𝐀𝐯𝐝𝐨𝐥 :

- s o m f t,,, s o m f t h u g s. like he’s just the warmest dude, and he smells so nice and has such a nice voice that reverberates in his chest- like if he sings you to sleep while you lay in his arms you might as well die right then and there because you’ve reached heaven

- probably smells like sage and chai tea with a hint of cinnamon in there. it’s v calming tbh like he basically feels like what you think home would be if it were a person

- gorgeous, but very VERY uncontrollable hair. like it’s v curly and thick and stuff and so he ties it in bantu knots so it doesn't bother him. he’ll let it loose sometimes just so he doesn't end up having breakage or anything like that, but if he’s actually trying to be productive he has to tie it up somehow

- i personally believe in puffy ponytail avdol supremacy thank you very much

- names all of the chickens. yes, all of them. and he remembers every single one of their names too

- theres a v v common headcanon that he’s Muslim and honestly? i don’t know much about Islam but i still think it’s cool regardless

𝐉𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 :

- ya’ll thought he’s matured since he’s older now? lmao NO- he still does dumb shit all the time and i honestly doubt that it’s ever going to change. he’s a himbo for life ya’ll

- really likes film noir movies!! like the old shit is probably always going to be his go-to, but he also likes modern noir stuff too just because it’s so cool to him. highkey quotes lines from the movies when investigating something too and gets so excited when someone recognizes it

- i hate to fucking say it but i KNOW this man says “gracias” at Mexican restaurants to a) embarrass the fuck out of jotaro and b) because it’s canon that he has quote on quote “frequent failures at blending with the local culture and his struggle at battling Stands are a constant source of humor” (see the Joseph Joestar Wiki Page) and i plan to use that to the fullest of it’s capacity even if its a stretch

- highkey knows he’s a gilf but like refuses to let out the information that he has knowledge of modern lingo. he’d much rather use it incorrectly to make The Youth uncomfortable

- can actually use technology really well?? like you’d expect him to be a boomer about it but he’s knowledgeable to be able to help younger people with their phone problems (mostly courtesy of Hermit Purple)

- would die for some soul food at any given moment thank you very much 😌

[ ~𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!~ ]

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lassieposting · 3 years

Note

otp questions for skugwife plz 🥺

1. Who said I love you first?

He did, about three seconds after laying eyes on her for the first time. He was Not Subtle. In his defence, he was in a field hospital at the time, covered in his own blood, and was high off his ass on pain relief, so.

2. Who laughs and kisses their partner on the cheek while their partner isn’t happy about something trivial to try and make them feel better?

Wifey. She's kind of handicapped here because Skug does his best to shield her from the worst parts of himself and the grim truth about war. He doesn't outright lie to her, but he'll censor what he tells her, leaving out the death and the blood and the gore, because he's grown up terrified of becoming his father and he's desperate to be the man she thinks he is, to be someone who's worthy of her love. He doesn't want her to ever look at him and see a killer. If she has to think of him at war, he wants her to think of her gallant hero who always saves the day. So a lot of the time, when he gets into a black mood, she doesn't actually know what's really distressing him. She knows he has nightmares, but he always claims he doesn't remember what they're about. She knows that sometimes he'll nick himself with a knife while he's helping her with dinner, and when she turns around he's just standing there watching his hand bleed like he's suddenly somewhere very far away, but she doesn't know why he gets like that. She knows he has days where she'll say his name four or five times before he even seems to hear her, and an unexpected gunshot from one of the neighbouring smallholdings will have him trembling and running to check on her. But she tries, when he's quiet and distant and sad. She'll hold him and stroke his hair or sing to him or take him out walking in the sunshine, and eventually he'll take her hand and kiss her knuckles and apologise for being an arse, and she never really knows how to tell him that she doesn't mind him having those days at all, she just wishes she knew how to make him stop hurting.

3. Who cuddles up to the other after a long day at work, and this soon escalates to a playful pillow fight?

Skug. They're a cuddly, affectionate couple anyway, but his favourite thing in the world is laying his head in her lap and having his hair stroked. The man melts. They'll cuddle up in the evenings and he'll keel over for her as soon as she pats her leg like come on then and they'll just. Catch each other up on what they've missed since the last time he was home, while she pets him. She'll tell him the latest drama in her friend circle and how her father's been dodging the advances of an elderly patient, and he'll give her a censored, family-friendly version of what he got up to at the front - so, all the funny stories, but with all the gore and death and hard choices edited out. If he says something sufficiently ridiculous, she'll swat him in the face with a cushion. Sometimes he'll fall asleep there and she'll keep playing with his curls until she thinks he's well and truly out of it, and then pick up her needlework to do over his head while he sleeps.

4. What is something that they gave one another that has a lot of meaning?

When they're courting, she makes him a scarf and sends it with the courier with one of her letters, because she didn't like to think of him being cold on night watches. It's red and has zero magical properties whatsoever, it's no Bespoke creation, but he wears it on every mission.

She has a locket with his portrait in it. He's ADHD as fuck and hates sitting still for hours, but she playfully tells him one time that he's "been away so long I almost forgot what you looked like," and he takes it seriously and makes sure that never happens again.

5. How would one another describe their partner?

Very similarly. They both think the other one is their better half and that they don't deserve them. She loves him because he's brave and clever and funny and not afraid to stand up for what he believes in. He loves her because she's good and kind and loving and makes him want to be a better man. They're that couple that are so caught up in each other's virtues that they completely miss each other's flaws.

6. Who wraps their arms around their partner as they look them in the eyes and compliments them with a goofy smile?

Skug, every time they go somewhere they'll be surrounded by His Kind Of People.

Wifey is a salt of the earth working/lower-middle-class sort of girl. She has a job. She's grown up doing all the cooking and cleaning for her father, and she continues to do a lot of it even after she gets married and Skug hires servants because she can't stand to be idle. She has a very limited education; she didn't spend her childhood being fussed over by governesses or taught to simper and dance and paint. So she feels very out of place at fancy Sanctuary parties, surrounded by Skug's superior officers and their sophisticated upper-class wives. She's worried about embarrassing him, she's worried about making him look bad, she's worried about being laughed at or insulted behind her back for being too common or too forthright or too lacking in pretty manners.

He'll pull her to one side before they're announced and remind her that she outshines every other woman in the room, that most of these people are boorish and ignorant anyway so who cares what they think, and that she's got nothing to worry about: she's far more charming than he is and the laws of probability suggest that if anyone is gonna put their foot in it and embarrass the other one, it'll be him.

7. Who loves saying ‘my wife’ or ‘my husband’ or ‘my spouse’?

Wifey, especially when they're newlyweds. She has absolutely no idea how she managed to land him. He's hers now, forever. She has to keep saying it to convince herself it's true. Skug is a bit baffled, but having someone so happy to lay claim to him gives him major heart eyes. He's not used to having someone be proud of him and want to show him off like he's something worth bragging about.

8. Who always talks about how amazing their partner is when their partner isn’t there and they just light up with genuine love and happiness?

God, both of them.

In Prussia, a few months after they get married, Morwenna Crow takes one for the team and spends three solid weeks indulging Skug while he talks about his wife just, constantly.

On Wifey's side, she has a gaggle of girlfriends who appear at the door of her lovely new home to take tea at the first opportunity after her honeymoon wanting all the salacious details. And? She has so much to tell them. Like a lot of young women at the time, the most she was given in the way of sex education was a vague lecture from an older married friend about Marital Duties that didn't really serve a purpose beyond making her really, really nervous about her wedding night.

(She tells Skug about this lecture while she's sprawled all over him somewhere between round two and round three on said wedding night. She's confused. She was told it would be distasteful and unpleasant and painful. Why would her friends lie to her? He laughs, and strokes her hair, and tells her her friends' husbands are clearly doing something wrong.)

So. She returns from her honeymoon with a lot of new information to share with her poor, deprived friends. She's not the only married woman in the group, but she's the only one who married for love, so the unmarried girls are looking at what they want for themselves, and the ones who married for wealth or status are lowkey living vicariously through her.

These gatherings are deeply unnerving for poor Skug. He'll pop into the parlour to kiss Wifey goodbye before he goes out riding with Ghastly, and like eight smirking women politely sipping tea will chorus good morning, Skulduggery like they know something he doesn't know, and something about the way they look at him makes him feel like they're starving and he's a juicy steak. And then he'll close the door behind him when he leaves the room and hear them all immediately explode into giggles. What the fuck do they talk about in there??? At least once he's asked Wifey if she's plotting to sacrifice him, or something.

9. Who loves it when their partner kisses them good morning?

Skug. When you've spent the last 6+ months snatching at sleep on a hard bed with itchy blankets in between night watches and enemy attacks and commando raids of your own, it becomes a real treat to get a full nights sleep and wake up in fresh sheets in your own bed with your wife pressed up against your back, kissing your neck and touching you under the blanket. He knows he's safe when he wakes up with her, and he misses feeling her burrow into his arms when they're apart.

10. Who shows the other how to balance a spoon on their nose?

Skug.

11. Who loves to pull pranks on the other? What type of pranks do they pull and do they pull their pranks off?

Wifey's favourite is to tell Skug she invited her father to stay for a week and watch him frantically try to arrange his face into any other expression than "horrified". This is doubly funny if he just came home and he's raring to get her into bed - "Oh, darling, we can't, Papa will be here shortly, and he's due to stay until Thursday next, you'll simply have to wait," - but she never lets him believe it for long. She's not, like, cruel.

12. What is something small that they would randomly pick up for one another?

Spending money is Skug's love language. He's always buying her "just a little something"s. Hair ribbons, jewellery, new dresses, books, paints...anything he sees and thinks she'd enjoy.

She bakes for him, when he's home. She doesn't think the army feeds him properly, and she knows he eats like a horse. Coming back from Ghastly's to the smell of homemade bread is one of his favourite things about being married.

13. Who is the one who can’t stop laughing when trying to tell a joke?

Wifey. She'll be doubled over wheezing, red in the face, and Skug will still have no idea what the joke is. She didn't get that far. She's the kind of person where, many hours later, he'll ask, "So what was that joke you wanted to tell me?" and it'll just. Set her off again.

14. Who would plan the other a surprise birthday party?

Skug. He's often away for Wifey's birthday, but he'll always try to wheedle some leave out of Corrival so he can come home and spend it with her. It doesn't always work - a lot of the time they simply can't spare him - but he does his best.

15. Who picks the other person up when hugging their partner?

Skug is a 6'4 beanpole of a man who likes small, petite women. Wifey is like 5'3 tops and he picks her up all the time. She weighs, like, nothing to him and she's really into how strong he is, so getting swept off her feet all the time doesn't bother her.

What does bother her is when his lanky ass forgets to bring things down from the top shelf before going away for a few months. She can't reach up there.

#skulduggery pleasant #sp headcanons #skugwife

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hhunjins · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Minho x gender neutral reader

Genre: body changing!au, angst

Word Count: ~2,800

Warnings: none

Notes: By body changing, I mean like the movie The Beauty Inside except I’m putting a little twist on it. Also rewritten for Minho because I liked the idea of him on a bike :’)

Summary: There was no way this was going to end well, but it was so easy to fall in love with Lee Minho.

The timer on the inside of your wrist tells you there are five minutes left. You rub your finger against the black numbers, knowing that trying to erase them was as hopeless as trying to pluck a star from the sky above you.

The world is dark, allowing you to see the faint glittering stars dot the black expanse of the universe. You feel so small, so insignificant like this. After five minutes are up, Earth will continue to spin, time will continue to tick by, life will continue to go on. After five minutes are up, the person in this body will wake up on the roof of their car on the side of the highway, wonder for a moment why they’re there, and drive home.

They’ll question the past few days but once they find the little post-it note on their fridge that says, “Hope you found yourself!” they’ll remember bits and pieces of their impromptu road trip…at least the pieces you want them to remember. They won’t question the gaps, filling them in with their own made up memories. Eventually, the past few days will be forgotten as nothing out of the ordinary.

Your eyelids are getting heavy, breathing slowing down as sleep beings to creep in. You close them willingly, letting the darkness finally overtake you. The last thing you see is the twinkling of the faraway stars. The only thing that stays constant throughout your constantly changing lives.

Your breath catches in your throat, like someone has forced all the air from your lungs yet you can’t breathe out. A tick, tick, tick echoes in your ears.

Finally, darkness.

The first thing that you register when your eyes open is how warm it is. There is a weight draped over your stomach and when you finally will yourself to open your eyes, you realize that there’s someone else in the bed with you. It’s his body heat and the blanket covering you that’s making it so warm.

“Hello. You’re finally awake. It’s noon,” he laughs, bopping your nose with his finger.

You blink slowly, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “Noon?”

Your voice sounds foreign to yourself, but this man’s voice sounds like you’ve known him for years.

“Yes, noon. Come on, get up.” He slips his hand under your shirt and tickles your side, letting out a bubbly laugh when you swat him away with an indignant squawk. “We can go out for lunch,” he offers. He untangles himself from you and rolls out of bed.

You watch him rummage through a closet, pulling clothes off their hangers. He’s effortlessly attractive, even with nothing but sweatpants on.

He turns around. “Hey, get moving! I’m hungry.” With a crooked smile, he walks out of the room while trying to smooth out the mess on his head. You can’t take your eyes off him.

Once he’s gone, you look at your wrist.

Three months.

His name is Lee Minho and he’s been your boyfriend for two years and your best friend for much longer. He stays at your place over the weekend because his roommates are obnoxious. You don’t get to see him often on the weekdays because of your job, but sometimes he’ll drop by with food and a kiss. He has the softest smile, the most genuine eyes, and the most infectious laugh.

He loves you.

You’re so screwed.

You’ve never experienced anything like this before. There were lives where you were married or had significant others, but they never felt like this. Your body loved them, instinctively knowing which places to touch to bring the most pleasure and the right words to say when conversations about the past arose.

But with Minho, there was more.

There was something so pure about this relationship, so fulfilling and warm even after two years of being together. Minho’s partner loved him wholeheartedly, and with every interaction you had with him, you could feel that he reciprocated that love with the same intensity.

It was hard to push those instinctual feelings away. It would be easy to say that whenever you ran your fingers through his hair and kissed his cheek that it was his partner’s mind urging you to, but that wasn’t really the full truth.

You may or may not be falling for him too.

“Why aren’t you eating? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly.

Minho tilts his head to the side, raising a concerned eyebrow. “Are you sure? You’ve been out of it since Sunday.”

You swallow. “I just have a lot of things on my mind.”

“Baby, you have three months off for the summer, why are you stressing?” Minho’s hand pats your head gently as he gives you his most sincere look. “Relax. It’s not like this is your first year teaching, you should be confident! It’ll be fine!”

You grimace and duck your head away from his hand. “I know,” you say meekly. You’re glad he doesn’t try to pry more. Being in a two year relationship has taught him a lot about your boundaries. Still, it feels weird to lie to Minho, even if you’ve only known him for less than a week.

You’re sure it’s because you’re in his partner’s body. Because there are so many overwhelming feelings associated with the man sitting across the table. Even though you have control of this body, you can’t control these impulses because the connection they have transcends Earth. If soulmates were real, Minho and his partner would definitely be the picture perfect pair. And, if an anomaly like you exists, then who is to say soulmates don’t?

But even without all of that, honestly speaking, it’s hard to not like Minho.

“Stop thinking,” Minho orders, “I can see the gears in the brain turning. You’re using too much brain power for summer break!” He takes your free hand and holds it to his face, so your palm cups his cheek. His skin is soft under your touch. When he smiles, you can feel the movement against your palm. “Eat faster! We have things to do!”

You crack a small smile. “Okay, okay.”

It feels a bit cruel that whatever entity in charge of the arduous task that was finding bodies for you to switch into chose someone close to Lee Minho. This higher being must either have it out for you or taking pity and presenting you with an opportunity.

Minho loves late night drives just as much as you do…the real you, whoever or whatever that form was. But the problem is that his partner doesn’t like sitting on his bike as he speeds down the highway. There was no way you could really do this without making something seem off.

“I’m going to for a drive,” Minho says as he grabs his keys from the coffee table you have your feet propped up on. “Don’t stay up too late. I know it’s summer, but you really shouldn’t be pulling all-nighters.” He pats your head with his hand, smiling when you frown at his action. “Don’t give me that face. I’ll be back safe and sound.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as you try to stem the urge to ask to come along, but Minho takes it as distaste.

His eyebrows furrow, smile slipping off his face. “What? I promised to be safe.”

“Could I come along?” The words leave your mouth before you have a chance to stop them, the urge too strong. You wanted to feel the wind in your hair, to breathe in fresh air, to feel free.

Minho’s jaw drops and he looks like you’ve grown a third eye or something. “You? Want to come with me?”

You scrunch up your face and avert your eyes, regret filling you up. Your fingers tug at the loose string on the pillow on the couch so you don’t have to look at him and see the surprise on his face. The rational side of your mind is telling you that this is too big of a change, but the other side is giddy with excitement. “Maybe? Just thought I’d give it a try. If you’d let me.”

Minho lets out the most wonderful laugh and you feel his hands pinching your cheeks. “Who are you and what have you done to my y/n? Yes, of course I’ll let you!”

If only he knew how funny the answer to his question would be.

As much as you love zipping through the lanes of the highway, no doubt going over the speed limit, the body you’re occupying doesn’t. The moment you two hit emptier roads, you tap frantically at Minho’s shoulder to signal him to pull over. The cheap pizza dinner you had is emptied out onto the side of the road. Your eyes are watering from the acid burning your throat and your head is spinning from how dizzy you are. This really wasn’t a good idea, but it’s too late to regret now.

But the one good thing you could feel was Minho’s hands holding your hair back and pressed firmly against your back as a reminder that he was there.

When you’re done heaving into the grass, both of Minho’s warm hands hold onto your shoulders to steady you. “Damn, sorry. I probably shouldn’t have gone that fast,” he laughs nervously. He gives you an apologetic smile, already grimacing at your inevitable complaints.

You wave your hand dismissively to his surprise. “It’s really fine,” you say. Your voice cracks at the end, which prompts a soft chuckle from him. “I liked it,” you add. “Really.”

“Your stomach doesn’t.” Minho walks you back to his bike and guides your hands to hold onto it so you don’t fall over on your jelly legs. Then, he flips up the seat and pulls out a water bottle. He twists open the cap and holds it out for you to take. “Drink up.”

The cool water soothes your throat and gets rid of the nasty aftertaste that lingers on your tongue. As you chug the water bottle, you see Minho pull out a thin blanket from the same compartment. “What are you doing?” you ask as you crush the bottle in your fist and twist the cap to tighten it. “How much stuff do you have in there? Where are you pulling all of this from?”

Minho smiles softly, spreading out the blanket on the flat ground beside his bike. “That’s all I have. Come here and sit with me.”

You place the crushed water bottle in your lap when you sit down, settling into the space right beside him. It’s partly instinct but more because you want to be close to him, to feel the warmth emanating from his body.

Minho is leaning all of his weight on one hand while his other arm is slung lazily around your shoulders. You take advantage of the position to lean your head on his shoulder. “What are we doing exactly?” you ask.

“Look at the stars. Aren’t they pretty?” He points to the distant sky.

“Is this what you normally do on your drives?”

“No, I usually just drive, but someone has to settle their stomach first,” Minho teases. He plays with the strands of your hair, stroking them between his fingertips absentmindedly. “I’m really glad you decided to come out with me today,” he murmurs. “I like doing fun things with you.”

You finally look up.

No matter where you are, no matter whose body you’re in, no matter how you got there, the stars always look the same. It was the one thing you looked forward to seeing. It was the sense of consistency, of familiarity in an always changing world. They were the most beautiful thing, and if there was one good facet about changing bodies, it was the last moments before you fell asleep where you would be surrounded by nothing but the vastness of the universe.

But today, there was something better.

The sparkles in Minho’s eyes put the stars to shame.

There’s something different about Minho that leaves an impact. He doesn’t love by telling you he does, it comes in the little things. Whenever you meet, he comes early and has your favorite drink ready for you on the table. Whenever you’re out shopping, he’s always cracking dumb jokes and making you laugh. Whenever you part ways, he gives you a small smile, cups your cheek, and presses the softest of kisses to your forehead. You find yourself jealous of the person who gets to see him like this, soft and smiley and oozing with nothing but affection. For some reason, you know he’s only like this with you – or rather, his partner – but the thought of it makes your insides tingly and your heart beat a little faster.

Maybe for these few short months, you could let yourself be loved by this man. Maybe you could pretend like it’ll all be okay. Maybe you could hope that you wouldn’t wake up after it’s all over and be in a different body.

Maybe Lee Minho could be yours.

It was so easy to fall in love with Minho that you forget how time isn’t on your side. Three months fly by. You forget that your time with him is fleeting because every moment spent with him feels like a lifetime’s worth of happiness. You forget that you’ll have to leave him eventually because he promises forever. You forget that he isn’t yours to love because in just five hours, you’ll fall asleep and wake up in another body, another life.

And you won’t see him again.

But what hurts the most is that when he gazes at you like you’re his world, he whispers his partner’s name instead. It’s a brutal reminder that you’re not his, that you’ll never be his. You’re just not meant to be.

Of course, he doesn’t know that. That’s why when you’re mentally breaking down at the thought of no longer seeing Minho and being held by him and being kissed by him and being loved by him, he’s doing all the things that hurt you the most.

It makes letting go so much harder.

“Is this going to become a new thing for us now? Are you going to finally stop nagging me to stop driving?”

You give him a weak smile. “Maybe.”

You might be able to leave Minho’s partner with the wonderful memories of being on that bike and feeling him so close. When they come back, they’ll hopefully continue this routine with him. If doing what he loved with the person he loved made him happy, at least you could leave Minho with that much.

The drive feels shorter this time, much to your dismay. Your stomach feels like it’s still spinning in circles but at least you don’t throw up when it’s over. Minho spreads out the same blanket and you sit like you did months ago. It’s a warm sense of familiarity, of being close to someone who has made you fall so damn hard, that makes your eyes burn and your throat form an uncomfortable lump.

Minho doesn’t notice, too busy rattling off about constellations he’s learned over the past few weeks to show off to you.

Your eyes are closed to keep the tears at bay. The beating of your heart is loud in your ears. You don’t want to leave this. You know the clock is ticking down and that there are only a few minutes left until midnight. And when you wake, the grass will be gone. The bike will be gone.

Minho will be gone.

“I’m so glad I’m here with you,” he whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad I exist here with you,” Minho says. “In this universe. At this moment.” You can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “How lucky am I to be here together with you?” He presses a kiss to your hair. “I’m so ready to spend forever with you.”

“Me too,” you whisper back, not daring to actually speak in case your voice cracks. Pushing the ache in your chest away, you force your tone to be light. “Can I take a nap? I’m comfortable,” you ask.

Minho laughs at that and nods.

You change your position so that you’re curled up on your side with your head on his lap. His fingers are stroking your hair, something you’ve learned he tends to do without thinking and something you’ll definitely miss. You wonder if you’ll remember it tomorrow. Remember this feeling. Remember him.

“I’ll wake you up in thirty minutes. Then you’ll have to point out all the constellations I showed you before we can leave,” Minho jokes.

“Alright.” The tendrils of sleep are pulling you down. “I love you,” you murmur.

He manages catch it. “I love you too,” he replies.

Minho doesn’t see the tear that slips down your cheek as you fall asleep.

Your breath catches in your throat, like someone has forced all the air from your lungs yet you can’t breathe out. A tick, tick, tick echoes in your ears.

Finally, darkness.

#minho #stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #lee know #stray kids lee know #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #minho imagines #minho scenarios #lee minho #i need to stop writing sad stuff for minho but i can't help it he's so angsty

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derireo · 4 years

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Okay hear me out, Izumi was a babysitter for Masumi when he was young and one day she tells him how lonely she is too due to her dad leaving and her mom working constantly. So lil Masumi then promises to marry her so they can no longer be lonely anymore. Cue Act 1 where he finally meets her again but she doesn’t remember him. Masumi then promises himself to make sure she’s never lonely, even if it means hooking her up with another guy (whoever you want it to be) and losing his first love/crush.

the inevitable

"Then let's get married when we're older." Masumi said, serious. He was sitting across from Izumi on the large sofa in his living room, both of them on either side.

Izumi was quietly explaining to Masumi how she enjoyed his company, despite their eight year age gap; him being eight while she was sixteen.

She spent most of her days taking care of Masumi in his home. It would be school and then babysitting, school, babysitting, school, babysitting—you get the gist.

It's not that Izumi had to do it. She could have easily said no. Even now, she could just stand up and leave if she wanted to, just as long as she called an assistant or a maid or another worker who would watch over Masumi until they found someone new.

But Izumi liked it here. The silence in her own home was far too quiet and she didn't really mind filling in the empty space at a lonelier kid's house.

He was easy to take care of, a quiet child who liked to do things on his own which allowed Izumi to do her school work. She'd play music for the both of them to relax to as they did their own things, Masumi more often than not asking her who the artist was or what the song was called.

Masumi was a cute one, too. Izumi liked to pinch his chubby cheeks whenever it was time for Masumi to eat his lunch or his dinner for the day and he let her, when normally he didn't like it when others approached him this way.

She'd been taking care of this kid for a while, and she saw him like a little brother.

"I– what? Why?" Izumi laughed in surprise and leaned back into her corner of the sofa with a smile. To receive such a sudden proposal from a kid was amusing, but what was funnier to her was that Masumi didn't look like he was joking.

There was an indignant frown on his face as he crawled across the sofa to sit closer to Izumi.

"I don't want you to feel lonely anymore." He murmured shyly, reaching out with his small hands to envelope one of Izumi's own. She smiled at his sincerity and ruffled his hair with her unoccupied hand, offering up the empty space in her arms for the child to crawl into to comfort him.

It looked like he had accidentally brought his own mood down.

"I'm used to it, Masumi-kun." She soothed, gently petting his hair.

"I, for one, don't want you to feel lonely. That's why I always pick you up from school and stay with you in your house until you go to sleep."

"I don't feel lonely. I don't care." Masumi grouched unhappily at Izumi's words and sulked into her side, his rest resting on her shoulder while she cradled him in one arm, a manuscript balancing itself on her thighs.

"That's not something you should say." She scolded him, looking away from the child's grumpy face to skim over the text on her lap.

"Whatever. I'm going to marry you once I'm old enough, and I'm going to always be by your side." He vowed for the both of them and dug his face into the crook of Izumi's neck while she let out another laugh, flipping through the pages to her book.

"Okay, kiddo."

After that day, Izumi continued to take care of him for a few months until the devastating news that Masumi was going to be living abroad for the next few years surfaced. Even worse was that, Izumi's mother was set on moving away too as they had found a new home to live in; a home for just two people.

Masumi was in tears when Izumi decided to say goodbye to him at the airport before he and his small family left, and he clung onto her desperately when he was told that they needed to head to terminal.

"Izumi, I don't want to go." He sobbed into her chest and clutched at her as she was the only thing that tied him down to this world. It broke Izumi's heart.

"I don't want you to either, but it'll be hard for me to convince your parents to stay." She explained to him; trying to avoid words like 'can't'. If she used a word that had negative connotations like that, it would only hurt Masumi more and make him confused.

'Why can't you?' She could hear him ask.

Before the two could say anything else, Masumi was pried away from Izumi by his father, the young child letting out another sob that nearly ripped Izumi's heart out.

And that was the last time they saw each other until another eight years had passed.

God, when Masumi saw her again.. it felt like he had ascended to Heaven.

He moved back to Japan once his parents deemed him old enough to live on his own in their old house, sending him home at the age of fourteen.

It had been two years since he came back and not once did he see her until today.

He was walking around Veludo Station when he saw Izumi and Sakuya performing a street act; and when he saw her all grown up and pretty, it felt like a truck had hit him.

His heart was stuck in his throat when she noticed him staring, and he quickly hopped down to where she stood with Sakuya, effectively startling the two.

"If you're a part of the troupe.. I'll join." He muttered, much to the joy of Izumi, Sakuya, and that old looking dude.

He smiled a little when he saw how her eyes sparkled with relief, but wasn't sure what to make of it when she gave him another glance and didn't seem to recognise the little boy she used to care for.

So it was a bitter feeling as time dredged on at Mankai with Izumi still not realising that he was Masumi Usui, the Masumi Usui that she babysat when they were younger.

That bitter feeling would turn impossibly more acrid when he'd watch her interact with the other men in the company, but it was even worse when he would notice her working alone in the dining area or the lounge room; piles of papers seemingly neverending as she silently worked into the night.

It was an image he never wanted to see.

She worked tirelessly to keep this company afloat and on top of that travelled around the city to help with other theatres, never giving herself a break nor the time to just eat and recharge, let alone spare any time for anyone to have a conversation with.

Watching her from areas she wouldn't figure out he was hiding in, Masumi would feel his heart sink whenever she finished for the night, picking up her materials to leave for her room.

There was no one to sit beside her or come and fetch her. No one to kiss her head and tell her that she did well. No one to hold her hand and tell her that she shouldn't be working so hard when there are others that she can rely on.

Masumi wanted to be the person to do that; wanted to be the person who took hold of that special finger on her left hand to be able to do all of those things.

But how could he when their promise to marry was left in the dust? Her memories of him forgotten and pushed all the way to the back of her mind?

...and then there was Sakyo.

That good for nothing Yakuza piece of crap who dared to even insinuate that he would use Izumi's body to pay off the debt.

Masumi was seething in his bed when he found out that that man would be joining their company.

"I don't like him." Masumi said one morning while eating his breakfast with Sakuya and Itaru, scooping a spoonful of fried rice into his mouth with a glare.

"What, 'cause it's obvious he likes the Director?" Itaru chuckled and took a sip of his coffee, tapping away at something on his screen while Sakuya looked over to see Izumi and Sakyo discussing something important in the lounge area.

"Well– yeah. But he's mean to her too." Masumi muttered glumly, poking at his egg with his spoon. Sakyo would always be caught glaring or staring at Izumi, as if waiting for her to do something wrong so that he could clean it up right away.

Masumi didn't like how Sakyo did that, but Izumi never seemed to mind.

"'Cause he cares?" Itaru scoffed, coffee spoon hanging from his mouth while he let a grumpy Masumi steal some of his breakfast.

"You ever experience tough love, kid?"

"Only Izumi's." Masumi sighed, resting a hand on his chest to calm his running heart. Then Masumi paused. “Wait. Does that mean Izumi loves me?”

“Uh.” Itaru tapped his spoon against his tongue. “Yes and no.”

Sakuya smiled at the gentle answer Itaru gave and looked at Masumi with a gentle look in his eyes, reaching out to pat his junior on the shoulder. “I’m sure Izumi’s in good hands with Sakyo, Masumi. I think...he has all the things that the director needs.”

“What do you mean?” The young boy frowned, to which both Sakuya and Itaru shared a brief glance.

“Well. He’s mature.” Itaru listed off.

“I’m mature for my age.” Masumi argued back.

Itaru ignored it. “He’s responsible.”

“Me too.” Masumi gritted.

“And he’ll always be there for Izumi. Right by her side.” Itaru finished off, talking as if he knew what he was talking about as he took the last sip of his coffee and stood up from the dinner table to put his cup in the sink.

“There’ll come a day when you leave with everyone else, Masumi.” The adult warned gently, patting the kid’s hair while lazily shrugging his business coat on. “But it’s quite obvious that Sakyo has his reasons for being here.”

And it was then, that Masumi felt his heart drop. Because Itaru was right. He could very much well be taken back overseas by his father again if he so choose to; reminded of the time when he had to part with Izumi when they were younger.

Would she forget him again if he had to go? Would he be removed from her memories again? Would he have to experience meeting her for the first time all over again if he came back?

Masumi wasn’t sure if he wanted to go through that again. If Masumi had to leave; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to come back at all.

The pain he felt when she looked at him with no sign of recognition was almost unbearable.

He didn’t have a viable enough reason to stay here. He knew his father would drag him back to his own home anytime, and Masumi wouldn’t have a good enough reason to keep him from doing that.

But Sakyo did. Sakyo was here because he was indebted to someone, and because he held a history in this very theatre.

What did Masumi have?

Nothing.

“Don’t think too hard about it.” Itaru consoled the silent child who sat with Sakuya and left the pair with a solemn bow. He saw how the light slowly left Masumi’s eyes and heard how loud the cogs in his head were turning.

Itaru was sorry.

“Hey.” Sakuya prodded, lightly patting Masumi on the back to make him snap out of it. “You can stay home today. I’ll ask the director if she can call the principal to report your absence.”

“Okay.” Masumi murmured, picking at his egg once more before eating whatever was left on his plate. Izumi always told him never to waste his food.

He hated how Itaru was right, but he didn’t have the power to do anything about it.

But just because he’s leaving Izumi in Sakyo’s hands doesn’t mean that he’s going to leave her be. He’ll still be there for her when he sees that nobody else is. He’ll still stay by her side until he has to be ripped away from her.

He knew he wasn’t going to be here for long, so could you really blame him?

She was just going to forget about him when he left anyways.

But at least he’ll leave knowing that she isn’t alone anymore.

#masumi usui #izumi tachibana #sakyo furuichi #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#this was one of my favourite rqs but it got too long so i had to cut it early.#thank you for this long ago ask anon!

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bookspined · 3 years

Text

❝ that’s all history is after all: scar tissue. ❞

{ cis-man, he/him } huh, who’s FROY GUTIERREZ? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually SCORPIUS MALFOY. he is a TWENTY-TWO year old PUREBLOOD wizard who is A HEALING APPRENTICE. he is known for being CAPTIOUS, RETICENT, FACETIOUS, DISMISSIVE, and DRAMATIC but also RESOURCEFUL, CONSCIENTIOUS, FERVENT, INNOVATIVE, and OBSERVANT, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song IN DREAMS BY BEN HOWARD. i hear he is aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX, so be sure to keep an eye on him. { merry, 24, gmt, she/they }

CHARACTER PARALLELS: Amy Santiago (B99), Claire Temple (Daredevil), Chidi Anagonye (The Good Place), Giles (Buffy TVS), Michelle Jones (MCU), Simon Tam (Firefly), Elizabeth Swan (PoTC), Spock (Star Trek), Clarke Griffin (The 100), Harley Keener (MCU), Gregory House (House) suggested honorable mention Gizmo (Gremlins)

pinterest [blood, medical imagery tw]

wanted connection ideas

Full Name: Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy Gender/Pronouns: Cis man | he/him Age: Twenty-three Birthdate: January 20th Parents: Draco Lucius Malfoy & Astoria Céline Malfoy (née Greengrass) [Not biologically Astoria’s due to her health, if you ever point this out he’ll flay your eyeballs] Siblings: N/A. Birth place: St. Mungo’s Hospital, England Height: 5’11” Weight: 56 kg Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Demiromantic Bisexual Nationality: British Body Alterations/Marks: A ragged diamond shape scar at the base of his throat.

Blood Status: Pureblood Hogwarts House: Slytherin Wand Arm: Right Pet: His pet toad, Jarvis, recently passed away. Patronus: Arctic Fox Wand: 11 2/3 inches, Willow, Supple, Dragon Heartstring.

Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn. It has always been a proverb in my family that he who has furthest to travel will go fastest with willow.

Personality Traits: Brilliance, innovative, empathetic, individuality, openness, social consciousness, inventive, logical, practical skills and self assertion; lack of attachment to people outside his circle and the “real world,” over-intellectualizing of the emotions, dismissive, anxious, crotchety tempered, facetious, rigid, prone to self-isolation, intellectual arrogance, and stubborn. Zodiac Sign: Aquarius/Capricorn Cusp Moral Alignment: Neutral Good Core values: Loyalty, Knowledge, Hope Four temperaments: Melancholic

HOGWARTS HOUSE ANALYSIS

Slytherin Primary and a Burned Ravenclaw Secondary.

Slytherin Primaries prioritize their own selves and loved ones first. Slytherins don’t feel guilty or selfish about this– they feel righteous and moral. The most important thing is to look after your own. Abandoning or hurting one of your own is the worst thing you can do.

A Burned Ravenclaw Secondary might want to be skilled, curious, and prepared, but they feel like they are (or like people think they are) limited, clumsy, or inconstant. Gathering knowledge, hobbies, skills, or tools is the right way to achieve their goals, but Burned Ravenclaws know that’s not going to work within their capabilities. So they take other paths and use other tools– maybe a Gryffindor’s bluntness, a Slytherin’s flexibility, or a Hufflepuff’s slow and steady dedication.

You may have a Hufflepuff Secondary Model.

Hufflepuff is the House of grit, reliability, and determination, and Hufflepuffs use those values to help live, act, and succeed. If you model Hufflepuff Secondary, you also value these things and like to live by them. You like to be hardworking, dedicated, and consistent– but you wouldn’t feel guilty for abandoning those values in the service of other, higher priorities. If there’s another, easier way to get what you want– you’d take it. You think hard work provides valuable rewards– and those rewards are why you work. The work doesn’t have persuasive value in itself.

Despite his very best resistance he’s always been pretty empathetic in nature, he tries to rule his emotions as well as he can but fails more often than not. He was always one of those toddlers that if another kid started crying he’d be right along with them, not because he wanted attention but because he just couldn’t not. A bit of a crybaby, has researched how to magically seal up his tear ducts. Obviously managed to keep the family’s flair for the dramatic there as well. After a few years he leant into the sarcastic vague-snobbishness to hide the core of overwhelming anxiety.

Just managed to scrape through his schooling with nearly all top grades, this isn’t really due to him being a model student. He has always accrued information with a voracious appetite. Any knowledge he could find, even if most people would consider it entirely useless. His mind clicks into that place? You can’t keep him away. However, when there is not an immediate stir of interest on his approach to a topic he has to fight with himself tooth and nail to carry on.

Predictably found exam season highly stressful, was never open about it but was quietly competitive and silently smug over his good grades. Could comprehend well above his reading level from an early age and would often look into experimental research and complicated magic but found himself lost in OWL level History of Magic when chapter upon chapter lay ahead of him about something that didn’t catch his interest. Some people he beat just to spite cause he hates them. It worked, whatever.

Tends toward introversion and finds himself tired sometimes quite easily by a large amount of social interaction. Witty and big-mouthed when he feels comfortable or is in the presence of those that embolden him and very likely to get flustered and snap at people when things are becoming a bit too much. Especially if he feels however unjustly that someone is blocking his escape. Has matured slightly in this since leaving school but it happens still, he’s just anxious. Quite fickle and can at the drop of a hat decide that he’s done with you for the day once his Give Me Attention Meter is maxed. Could be an absolute bloody brat when he felt like it but feels he has grown out of it, which he mostly has.

Always been very, very aware of many people’s distrust of him and his family, he used to sneer and play it up if anyone tried to bring up his dad and go on the offensive but was genuinely affected quite deeply by it all. In his early school years, despite his weakness to the cold, he constantly had his sleeves rolled up to the elbow so that his blank forearm was bared as a statement to just about everyone. I am not marked, I never will be. Now he’s older he has more of a handle on things and can be diplomatic in situations where people are clearly discomforted by his presence and his family history.

Even though the war culminated far earlier in this verse I imagine Scor would have had to have been relatively sheltered as a child if not for how emotionally sensitive and prone to periods of ill-health he was, it was definitely for his own safety. He is still the grandson of a known high-ranking Death Eater and that made him a media target and put one on his back for anyone else that might happen to be watching.

Never produced much of a talent for offensive magic and wouldn’t resort to those methods unless he had literally no other choice, not a front line fighter by any means. His talents with strategy, potion-making, healing and his perseverance with defensive magic are what define him to the Order. While everyone kind of knows who he hung out with at school and who his friends are he is deliberately very mischievous with releasing rumours and misleading people. He deliberately keeps his cards very close to his chest so most people don’t know that he is aligned with anyone, he usually uses glamours or a scarf to conceal his identity if he has to.

While he is knowledgeable about healing and anatomy, he is the WORST at taking care of himself. The literal embodiment of Healers make the worst patients, tends to forgo sleep and basic bodily needs if he’s locked into what he’s focusing on. Sometimes needs reminders to sleep and eat, like a child.

Healing is the most satisfying part of his life and he would never give it up, he likes to experiment as he has a fascination with magic and muggle science and where they might intersect. A fucking nerd honestly. While he thinks he’s being fairly subtle about it a large part of his academic life has been doused in research into blood maledictions, for obvious reasons. He does his best not to flutter too obviously around his Mum. She is capable and ten times stronger than he is.

Lives in a small studio flat in Diagon Alley that is mostly stacks of books and makeshift shelves.

the stillness of the world the moment you take the first step into fresh snow, cashmere and fine wool, the pearlescence of dreamless sleep draught, the scratch of a quill on parchment, faintly tremoring fingers, a shiver up your spine in a warm room, the exhilaration of a problem solved, a thunderous grey overcast sky, the bite of a stitching charm, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, petrichor, the burn in your eyes before a well of tears.

Always had somewhat fragile health tending toward sickly. Hands are never warm, his existence is an endless heat seeking mission.

Went to one Slug Club meeting and used his time to verbally berate and or challenge most of the contacts in attendance, he was not asked to return.

Potions Club, Charms Club, used to sometimes be willing to be dragged to Dueling Club but didn’t enjoy himself.

Plays quite a bit of chess.

Bruises like a fucking peach and scars so easily.

Views quidditch as a good fly spoiled.

Is a very skilled pianist almost entirely due to his Grandmother’s tutelage.

Surprisingly great with children/toddlers/babies, no one including himself expected this, he mostly feared them beforehand.

Bit of a mummy’s boy in that he practically GLOWS when people talk of Astoria’s achievements.

When he has time off from healing he will have chipped black nail varnish on.

Highly intelligent but rarely manages to match a pair of socks, chews his quills but no one else’s.

While very eloquent and well spoken, he is markedly less posh than when he first arrived at Hogwarts.

When he isn’t prone to bouts of insomnia he can take a nap pretty much anywhere. He was once found in a tree after several frantic hours search.

[ CREDIT : CHARACTER PSD template by @karmahelper (defunct url) I tried to find a current social this week by messaging around but couldn’t find anything unfortunately. Forgot to copy this over from the google doc! ]

#potterintro #finally #sorry if this is missing anything

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