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humanitieswalkingredflag · 3 months

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homecoming part 1 - h. potter

notes: finally getting back to writing <3 requests are back open, of course, will get to them in due time. honestly i'm a bit burnt out and i hope creativity will get my energy back up again. here's something with our favorite gryffindor!! tags: they're just friends in this [but not for long], homecoming, harry potter x reader, muggle!reader, sixth-year harry, very long exposition at the start, feel free to skip that, mention of growing one's hair, reader goes to a british boarding school w. uniform, word count: 1.1k

Harry Potter. Your childhood bestfriend. The two of you had met at his first year at St. Grogory's primary school, where he'd shown up shuffling behind a large boy with an ugly disposition, in too-big rags, and taped up glasses. You'd been popular enough. A pretty girl, happy and easy to talk to. Your parents loved you, your teachers adored you, you never caused trouble.

But when you saw Harry Potter, something clicked in you and persuaded you to go up to him, say hello. So you did.

The two of you hit it off wonderfully. Everyone wondered, because of course they did, how you could be friends with the boy with the too-big rags, and the taped up glasses. With the boy who turned his teachers' hair blue, or made things disappear, or suddenly showed up on the roof.

If there was one thing you didn't do, it was care.

Over the years, the two of you grew tighter and tighter. He was your best friend, you were his, and although Petunia and Vernon hated you with all their might, your parents absolutely adored Harry, and frequently invited him for dinner and the like.

Everything changed the summer of year 6. One day you were spending time with Harry like you always did, and the next, his insane aunt and uncle had moved him and dudley away to the countryside, to a lighthouse on the roudy ocean, utterly untouched by civilization.

You recieved no word from him for the rest of the summer. You worried terribly of course. What if his aunt and uncle had finally snapped? Thrown him into the ocean? Left him on the side of the road? Your 11 year old mind conjured up terrible things, all of which could have been happening to your friend at that very moment.

Your fears only grew worse when you walked into St. Grogory's that year, only to find that Harry wasn't there. You sent letter after letter to him, but recieved no reply. The Dursleys neglected to answer any questions about his whereabouts.

It was at this point that your parents broke the news to you that they were going to send you to boarding school in the country, so as to further your education. Without Harry to hold you back, you went without a fuss, and that is where you spent the next six years.

SIX YEARS LATER - PRESENT DAY

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you consider whether or not you should knock on the door of the Dursleys and congratulate them for Vernon's promotion like your mother asks that you do. For that, you'd have to take the tube from your home in London to king's cross, then the train down to Little Whinging. It would be a hassle, but maybe you'd be able to ask about harry.

You haven't forgotten him. Of course you haven't. God, it's tough and embarassing to admit, but he was your best friend, and perhaps the best friend you've ever had, because you've yet to find someone anywhere close to him at your current school. The girls are plenty nice, the boys are plenty fanciable, but you lack the connection with them that you did with Harry. Its not an open wound anymore, you're sixteen, you've gotten over it, but you remember, of course. And you still miss the friendship.

You sigh, fiddling with your school uniform, and elect to change into something else. If you're going to go, you might as well be comfortable.

The tube to King's Cross from your neighbourhood takes twenty minutes, and you pass the time on it by listening to music and working on your homework. It's at Victoria, about halfway through your journey, that someone sits beside you. You move your books slightly to accomadate the man, and when you look up, you're struck with an uncanny sense of deja vu.

You take one airpod out, "Do I know you?"

He laughs, not looking at you, and says: "You know, I get that a lot."

"Sorry," you pause, looking at him. His hair's swept over his forehead, but he brushes it out of his face as he glances at you, and recognition sweeps over you at the sight of the scar on his forehead.

"Oh my goodness," you pause, "It's you!"

His eyes narrow as he looks at you, but then something seems to click and he gives you a beaming smile.

"Harry Potter. God, it's been a while," you grin from ear to ear, overjoyed. You want to hug him, but as you look him up and down, you can hardly recognize the scraggly boy you once knew. He's fulled out, grown. He looks athletic, intelligent, most of all: grown up. Independent.

"You've grown up," he says, looking at you, "I barely recognized you."

You pause, thinking of something to say then muster up a dull: "I grew my hair."

"I can see that," he laughs.

"I... I really missed you. I mean, where did you go?" There, you asked it. Maybe the incessant pressure on your chest, begging you to say something, has a role to play in that.

"Boarding school," the words slip off of his tongue, a lie. You can't tell.

"Oh my god, me too! Where?"

"Scotland," he pauses, then adds: "Its a bit secretive. Private school and all that."

"Did the Dursleys really pay for that?" You ask, furrowing your brows.

He shakes his head, "No. Uh... my parents did. It was in their will I go there, I mean, they attended too."

A soft smile falls over your lips and you nod, "That's... sweet."

The two of you chat for the entire way to King's Cross, at what point it occurs to you that going to the Dursleys makes little to no sense.

"Could you uh, pass on a message. To your aunt and uncle?" He nods, and you smile, "Thanks. My parents just want to congratulate them on your uncle's new promotion. I mean my dad and him work together now, so..."

"Will do," he pauses, and something like apprehension flows over his features for a moment before he pushes out: "Can I get your number? Maybe we can meet up for coffee at some point."

"Oh, sure," you type it into his held out phone, "I'm free anytime."

"Really?"

"No boyfriend, no friends that live here, so..."

"That's great," Harry says, then realizing his mistake amends, "Well, not great, but..."

"I get what you mean."

You smile, and he smiles, and you remember what its like to be friends with someone like this, to really be tight.

"Text me," you say, as you get into the tube.

"I will," he replies, and you think you're finally happy again.

#harry potter x reader #gryffindor x reader #hp x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter #friends to lovers #homecoming #muggle reader

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 4 months

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too sleepy to elaborate at this time but I miss the old fandom culture of interacting with fanfic writers and fanfic artists as members of the fandom community who enjoyed engagement and discussion and feedback instead of the modern trend of seeing us as content creators up on a pedestal who don't need positive feedback but DO need to churn out constant content to feed the a03 machine

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 4 months

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I hate doing these posts but if this gets 10,000 notes by February 12th (which won’t happen) I will ask for therapy AND finish every wip

please do not feel forced to add notes

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 4 months

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Mizu and Taigen x that Princess Mononoke scene

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 6 months

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Once again fantastic 🫶 could you maybe tag me in the next part please?

The Best Fit

Chapter 3

Summary: A Lannister and a Lefford walked onto a battlefield... It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke to most people. But it turned into a life-altering journey for Lady Y/N when she got captured alongside Jaime Lannister after the Battle of Whispering Wood.

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x female Reader

Word count: 4k

Chapter warnings: Mentions of injuries and death, cursing

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you'd like to read more ❤️

I do not consent to any of my writing being saved, copied, edited or re-uploaded to ANY platform!

Chapter 2 | Series Masterlist

“Come on,” Jaime urged her as he prepared to hike up the hill.

Y/N stared up the hillside, a grimace making itself apparent on her face. They had been fleeing from the Stark soldiers all night. She had no clue how long they were already on the run.

The darkness that surrounded them resembled her inner state. The western lady had lost track of the many times she had tripped over sticks and stones, and the countless times she had received slaps to her face and legs from branches, leaving throbbing cuts on her skin. Her thighs screamed, begging her to let their muscles rest, even just for a little while.

When she hesitated, Jaime looked back at her. The pale moonlight made his dirty and bloodied face shine sombrely. His jaw clenched and he released a deep sigh - Y/N almost expected him to snap at her. Instead, he slowly reached out to offer her his hand.

As she placed her hand in his outstretched one, Lady Lefford couldn’t contain the grateful smile that ghosted along her lips. His small gesture of kindness aided her in regaining a spark of ambition.

Hence, together, they hiked up to the top of the hill. His grasp on her hand was tight, sometimes painfully so. But that didn’t matter, so long as they made it. So long as they survived.

“Down there,” Jaime suddenly said and pointed at the shadow of a house down in the valley. It was surrounded by a thick patch of trees. Illuminated by bright orange torches.

Still holding each other’s hand for stability, they stumbled down the other side of the hill.

The ground, which was more like one giant puddle of mud, was slippery, and Y/N bit her lower lip in concentration. She could barely see where she was going. But she was not going to drag them both down, she kept telling herself. She would not allow herself to be a liability.

“Bloody mud,” Jaime cursed to himself, chest moving up and down with bated breaths. His eyes roamed the ground as he carefully guided them both downhill. Unfortunately, his caution couldn’t protect either of them.

Merely a few moments later, the Kingslayer stepped onto a loose pile of mud and lost his balance. Instantly, he let go of Y/N’s hand so he wouldn’t drag her along. But she, too, slipped when she lost the stability he had provided her with.

She released a yelp of surprise when she tumbled down the hill alongside Jaime. They rolled and crashed and dove through the mud. Once they reached the bottom of the hill, they each remained still for a moment and gave in to their forced little break.

“Are you all right?”, Y/N breathed heavily.

“Yes.” Jaime groaned in frustration as he pushed himself back to his feet. “Are you?”

“Yes.” Y/N stood back up as well, all the while trying to flatten her torn dress. What for? She didn’t know. Especially when all she did was wipe more dirt into the ruined fabric. ‘If Father could see me now,’ she thought, amused by the mere imagination of the look on Leo Lefford’s face.

Side by side, caked by mud, the odd pair walked over to the house, which appeared to be an inn.

As they approached the entrance, Y/N eyed the establishment with suspicion. “Are you certain we should go in there?”

“Where else should we go?”, Jaime inquired, shoulders rising questioningly. “I, for my part, would like to rest in a bed for a few hours. We won’t be staying long.”

She didn’t share his nonchalant demeanour in the slightest. Her hand landed on his arm, making him pause. “What if someone recognises us?”

“What, looking like this?” With a disbelieving tilt of his head, he shrugged her off. “You worry too much. I will protect the lady, should anything happen,” he remarked smugly.

“Oh, will you?", Y/N retorted, "I’m fairly certain you were just defeated by a puddle of mud.”

Jaime withdrew his arm from her grasp. For a second, Y/N wondered if she’d managed to penetrate his golden shield of pride.

But instead of firing back, the knight proceeded to push open the door and hold it open for her. “My Lady,” he said and bowed his head.

Her Y/E/C eyes narrowed. Underneath his mask of politeness, she saw clearly that he was taunting her back. “Thank you, Ser,” she mumbled through barely separated lips and pushed past him.

“No pigs allowed!”, a man growled upon seeing the two filth-covered people enter the inn.

While the few patrons seated at the tables turned quiet, Jaime walked into the establishment as if he owned it. Even bejewelled with layer upon layer of dirt, he couldn’t hide his Lannister stroll. “Excuse our… attire. We need a place to stay for the night.”

The big, bearded man snorted at their messy appearance. “Who would’ve guessed?”

Y/N stepped forward, hands raised like a peace offering. “We’ve had a horrific night, as you can probably tell. We’ll be gone by morning. I have some silver.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Jaime’s wary attention was focused on her. And she knew why. After the Kingslayer had killed Torrhen Karstark, Y/N had taken it upon herself to rob him. Her silver belonged to a dead man.

The owner of the inn ran a hand over his dark, scruffy beard and eyed the lady closely. His stare roamed her face and her body, as if he was trying to clean her up with magic eyes.

Clearing his throat, Jaime stepped forward. He walked even further into the inn than Y/N had, leaving her behind a step. “We won’t cause any trouble. We’ll be gone before you even notice it,” he promised. His tone was well-mannered, but his gaze was cold as a freezing winter’s night.

The innkeeper pursed his lips. “All right, then. You pay, and you get one night. Just one. Make sure to clean up after yourselves.” With feigned, theatrical emphasis on his displeasure, he grabbed a key and handed it to Jaime.

Begrudgingly, Y/N reached into the shaft of her boot and pulled out the coins she’d stolen. She handed the innkeeper a fair amount of silver, but he counted the coins with a frown on his face. He shook his head and held out his hand again. With an irritated sigh, she pushed the remaining coins into his palm, which he accepted with a spiteful little grin.

Jaime wrinkled his nose at the state of their temporary home. The oil lamp in his hand illuminated their surroundings with yellow beams of light. “This chamber is not worth the amount of silver you gave him."

The small room looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in months. In its centre, there was one bed. Which was unmade.

“This chamber is not any more disgusting than we are,” Y/N muttered while taking the lamp from the Lannister. “At least we get to sleep in a bed for once. Is that not what you wanted?”

“We?”, Jaime taunted, arching his eyebrows. “Does that mean the lady does not plan on having me sleep on the floor?”

Y/N’s only response to his question was a shake of her head while she positioned herself in front of the mirror in their chamber. A blend of curiosity and vanity compelled her to look at her reflection. Her eyes widened at her appearance. She looked horrifying. Her hair was all tangled like a bird’s nest. The outer layer of her dress was pure filth. And apart from her dishevelled state, she wore deep red cuts on her face, neck and legs from running through the woods. She barely recognised herself.

Jaime grinned to himself as he pulled his muddy coat over his head, tousling his hair even further. “I wonder what your father would have to say to that. Climbing into bed with a man you won’t wed.”

“He’s not here, is he?” Y/N’s forehead furrowed with disgust while she pulled a crawling bug from the nest of hair on her head.

“Oh? Is that your inner rebel talking?” The smirk widened across Jaime’s begrimed face. “Are you going to seduce me tonight?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”, she joked and placed the oil lamp on the small table next to their bed.

“Don’t worry,” he sighed nonchalantly, already having lost the commitment necessary to tease her, and sat down on the squeaky bed. “I’m not interested.”

She ignored him and stared at her dim reflection while she peeled the top layers of her dress from her skin. The skirts of her gown underneath weren’t in much better condition, but at least she got to rid herself of one heavy coat of filth. She felt lighter instantly. The skin on her arms and collarbones could finally breathe.

When Y/N glanced to the side, she noticed that Jaime was observing her. Studying her. Quickly, he averted his eyes, as if she’d caught him doing something inappropriate.

She wondered about the thoughts going through his mind. Instead of asking him, she decided to do the teasing for once. “You were saying?” Her voice was supposed to taunt him, mock him, but it came out much softer than intended. Like a genuine question.

The wrinkles on Jaime’s face deepened with a faded smile. “You could make a strong man weak, Lady Y/N,” she heard him mumble under his breath as he shed more of his stained clothing.

She kindly pretended not to hear.

Her body was aching for sleep. She had never been more exhausted in her life. But her mind wouldn’t let her rest. The Starks had to be out there, searching for them. Angry wolves seeking retribution.

After months of captivity, her and Jaime had escaped. After killing a Northman - their very own declaration of war.

Y/N was expecting northern soldiers to break down their door any second. To drag her from the bed and put her back in a cage. To let her rot until she finally succumbed to the definite end of her freedom.

It didn’t help her racing mind that Jaime kept tossing and turning on the bed. From one side to the other, he kept shifting back and forth. After what felt like his hundredth attempt at getting comfortable, Y/N couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Would you stop?”, she whispered harshly.

He froze on the spot and whispered back, “What?”

“Stop moving, please.” She almost laughed at herself for saying please. Why did she even use that word anymore? She never truly meant it. And she doubted any noble lady ever did.

Jaime, after hours of fighting to fall asleep, pushed himself up into a seated position. “Don’t tell me that I woke you up. That you were actually sleeping.”

“I wasn’t.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Jaime brushed some of his greasy hair out of his face.

Y/N, too, pushed herself up to sit, agitated. “We’re not getting any sleep tonight, are we?”, she muttered.

“I’m afraid not.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Each lost in their minds. There were definitely enough thoughts in their heads to entertain. Fear of being found. Relief about their escape. Anger at how they’d been treated. Strangely, also a sense of dread as to what would happen should they return to their old lives.

All their contemplation and rumination came to a halt, though, when Y/N’s stomach suddenly roared due to how deprived it was.

Her belly’s growl was Jaime’s cue to leave behind his nerve-wrecking thoughts and return to his inherent reckless nature. “Hungry, are you?”, he asked.

“Seven Hells, I can’t put into words how much,” she admitted freely.

The bed shifted with Jaime's movements as he threw his legs over the edge. His feet hit the floor and he pushed himself up to stand.

Y/N listened to his footsteps as he wandered around to her side of the bed. Her forehead creased with confusion. “What are you doing?”

“Care for some supper?”, he questioned, his voice light and charming as ever.

“I highly doubt the kitchen is still open.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jaime reached out, and his calloused fingers collided with Y/N’s arm. “Come on.”

A tired huff of air left her mouth, but she followed Jaime’s actions and got out of bed herself.

How much more trouble could they get themselves into?

Together, they snuck through the silent inn hallways.

Y/N felt as if she was back in her five-year-old body. Back when she used to sneak out into the halls of the Golden Tooth at night. When her sense of adventure had still been untainted. Before she’d ever heard any sort of horror story, truth or fiction. Back when no one intended to harm her.

Earlier, Jaime had held her hand for stability. To make sure they got to safety. Now, he held her hand while jumping head-first into a potential predicament. Like a spoiled child who didn’t fear consequences. Perhaps that was all they were deep down. Spoiled children.

And just like spoiled children, they had to withhold their laughter as they quietly descended the narrow winding stairs. They tiptoed through the main hall with cat-like footsteps, trying not to bump into the tables or benches that were strewn across the tavern.

When they reached the kitchen door, Jaime let go of Y/N’s hand. “Let’s find out whether the innkeeper’s an idiot,” he whispered as he reached for the doorknob. And much to his adventurous delight, the door was unlocked.

Y/N couldn’t believe her eyes. The kitchen was theirs for the taking. The thin lights of the waning moon travelled inside through the windows, generously leading them through their very own dreamland.

They ate grapes and bread and leftover boar. They drank ale and water and wine. They put on coats that the kitchen workers had left behind. They hid knives in their stolen pieces of clothing. And they laughed as they did so. For the first time in many months, the odds appeared to be in their favour.

“I don’t want to return to the Golden Tooth,” Y/N revealed as she swirled a cup of wine in her palm.

With a curious look on his face, Jaime tucked another knife into his belt. “Where do you want to go instead?”

The lady shrugged her shoulders. “I haven’t been to King’s Landing in a long time,” she said before attaching the cup to her lips again. The wine didn’t taste good by any means, but it calmed her.

The knight mimicked her movements, pulling his shoulders up and releasing them in a shrug. “Then I’ll take you to King’s Landing,” he stated.

Y/N scoffed, then smiled to herself. It sounded so simple. No questions asked. No counterarguments. No insults. Just a man and his word.

Before long, the kitchen was flooded with bright purple light. The sun was rising to announce another day. To remind them of their journey ahead.

“We should get out of here,” Jaime suggested, belly filled to the brim with bliss.

Illuminated by the morning sky, Y/N thought the Kingsguard almost looked like a saint. Admittedly, a saint who had been dragged through all Seven Hells. But she hadn’t seen him that peaceful in months.

Side by side, the two former prisoners snuck out the front door. Jaime’s sword hand rested on the kitchen knife he'd tucked into his belt, while Y/N was still holding the cup of wine they’d shared.

“Aye!”, the innkeeper called after them, furious, as he suddenly came barging through the door. He’d discovered that food and drinks had been devoured in his nightly absence. “Stop, you twats! Get back ‘ere!”

Simultaneously, the lord and the lady took off running. They could have rightfully argued that they’d left the innkeeper with more than enough silver. But now wasn’t the time to draw additional attention to themselves.

Y/N ran away with a pained grimace on her face. Once again, she found herself rushing to get to safety. To keep herself from being harmed.

Jaime, however, ran away with a big smirk on his lips. He found himself speeding up with the intention to mock the innkeeper. He’d missed the excitement of being free. Of bending and breaking rules as he deemed fit.

His scowl was intense enough to hurt his face. The cuts that rested on his cheeks and forehead pulsated with discomfort. “What do you think you're doing? We agreed not to split up,” he complained, sitting on a fallen log deep within the forest.

They had agreed to take a short break. Emphasis on short. To catch their breaths and continue their journey south.

Y/N had disappeared between the bushes, and spent more than just a few breaths out in the woods. It irritated Jaime to admit it to himself, but her absence had caused him to worry. He'd been a few seconds away from going after her.

“I made something,” Y/N replied and held up the cup she’d stolen from the inn. To avoid tripping, she lifted her filthy skirts with her free hand as she moved to sit down on the log next to Jaime.

He watched closely while she reached into the cup and began to smear a substance on her wrists. “What is that?”, he asked.

“It keeps injuries from getting infected,” she explained, fully focused on the broken patches of skin that her captivity had left behind. When Jaime’s eyes wouldn’t leave her, she asked, “What?”

“You know much about herbs?”, he questioned.

“I had a lot of free time growing up.” Leisurely, her shoulders twitched. “No one cared to watch me. My favourite septa knew a lot about wounds and how to heal them. I spent years following her around. Observing her.”

A strange sensation settled within the Kingslayer’s gut. Y/N’s narrative stirred something deep inside of him. Something he’d rather have pushed down until it vanished entirely. She reminded him of his own childhood. Back when he’d fought tooth and nail to satisfy his father. But Tywin Lannister had still found something wrong with every single thing his favoured son had ever done. “How old were you when your mother died?”

“Seven,” she said.

“And your father never married again?”

She replied with a shake of her head. “Neither did yours, did he?”

“No.” Jaime ground his jaw. He wondered to which extent a motherly figure could have changed his and his siblings’ lives. Would they be happier? Stronger? Or weaker, perhaps? “He didn’t.”

With the cup in her palm, Y/N shifted on the log and faced Jaime. “Come on.”

His back straightened as he brought some distance between their bodies. “I don’t need it.”

“You do,” she insisted, “Believe me. There’s nothing more vile than an infected wound. It’s unnecessary, too, considering I have the solution right here.” She proceeded to shake the cup in her hand for emphasis.

A breath of defeat left Jaime’s mouth. If there was one thing he’d learned throughout his life, it was when to argue and when to surrender. So, while the lady coated her fingers with the ointment, he leaned back over. Closer to her. When her fingertips neared his face, his muscles tightened, prepared to recoil. He barely knew what a gentle touch felt like anymore. But Y/N’s touch was feather-like enough not to chase him away. Careful enough not to cause him any pain. The muscles in his body calmed down, allowing the mighty Kingslayer to let someone else take care of him.

“Why aren’t you married yet?”, Jaime asked while she applied the ointment to a cut on his forehead. And he was not trying to fill the silence. No, he was genuinely curious. Many ladies were being married off to all kinds of lords at a much younger age.

A deep breath entered her lungs and was released sharply through her mouth. “My father has been more concerned about finding someone for my sister to marry.” She dipped her fingers into the substance again and spread it on a cut on Jaime’s cheek. “She might be a wife by now. It’s what she was raised for.”

“Your father hasn’t tried to find a husband for you?”

“He has. But I’m not the heir to the Golden Tooth. My sister is.” Alysanne was three years older than Y/N, which made her Leo Lefford’s oldest child and future Lady of the Golden Tooth. “Thus far, no rich lord deemed me worthy.”

Jaime openly disclosed his bewilderment by drawing his eyebrows together. “I find that hard to believe. They’d be stupid to reject your father’s offer,” he declared with a crooked smile. “What made them decline?”

His charming demeanour did not leave her indifferent. Neither did his smile. It was infectious enough to be passed on to her. “I can be unpleasant when I need to be,” she replied and pushed a little harder on his cheek.

Jaime winced, then chuckled when he realised she’d just made a point. Y/N couldn’t help but grin along to his melodic sounds of laughter.

For a few seconds, they were draped in harmony. Surrounded by tranquillity. Until their peace was intruded.

“Seven blessings,” a mysterious voice spoke out a greeting.

Both Jaime and Y/N were startled by the stranger. Their instinct to fight was brought to life, and with incredibly fast movements, they stood up from the log.

The old man who had stumbled upon them chuckled nervously. “Easy, now. I mean no harm.” He seemed to be travelling a long distance. In one hand, he held the reins of his horse, which was packed with the stranger’s belongings. In his other hand, he held a large stick to stabilise him as he walked. “Staying off the King’s Road, are you?”, the curious commoner asked.

“It seems we have gotten somewhat lost,” Y/N lied, body still tense as a rock. The stranger’s attention made her highly uncomfortable. Even if he wasn’t a Northman, her and Jaime were safer on their own until they reached the capital. “The woods can be quite rough if you’re not used to it.”

“Where are you headed?”, the old man wondered out loud.

“South,” Jaime responded, keeping his reply short and sharp. “You?”

“Riverrun,” the man revealed. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” Y/N and Jaime blurted in unison, so strictly that they startled the man.

“All right… Well…” The commoner narrowed his eyes, studying the filthy strangers closely. “Best of luck.”

“Thank you,” Y/N replied as kindly as she could, given that her heart was still racing due to the sudden intrusion. For a second, she’d believed that the Starks had found them. She couldn’t imagine a fate more dreadful.

The stranger walked on, but his questioning gaze didn’t waver. He kept eyeing the lord and the lady, disclosing his suspicion.

It wasn’t until the man finally looked away that Jaime tilted his head, moving it closer to Y/N’s. “He recognised me,” he stated quietly.

Her eyebrows rose up in response. “How do you know?”

“Have you not seen the way he looked at me?”

“I thought you didn’t worry about being recognised.”

A sigh of annoyance left Jaime’s mouth. Then, he almost stared a hole into the old man’s head as he walked away. The knight contemplated his choices. “What if I’m right? What if he tells someone?”, he demanded, still keeping his voice down.

Y/N, reading his intentions like an open book, shifted on the spot with unease. “You’re not going to kill him.”

The Lannister lifted his chin as if he was ten steps ahead of her when he shot back, “You didn’t seem to mind when I killed the Karstark.”

“He was our captor. That old man is innocent,” she argued, pointing her finger at the retreating stranger.

“No one is truly innocent,” Jaime claimed. When Y/N glared at him, eyes resembling wildfire, he sighed loudly. “Have it your way, my Lady. I hope for both our sakes you're right,” he spoke while passing her.

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 6 months

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🫶🔥👀🛬🔝

💯🙏💛🟨👍

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 7 months

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I NEED PART TWO 🫶🫶🫶 so good and there’s such a lack of Jaimie fanfics that I’m starved for any morsel of good writing about him!

The Best Fit

Chapter 2

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x female Reader

Word count: 3k

Chapter warnings: Captivity, violence, sickness, blood, death

A/N: I hope you enjoy the second chapter! Let me know if you'd like to read more ❤️

I do not consent to any of my writing being saved, copied, edited or re-uploaded to ANY platform!

Chapter 1 | Series Masterlist

Time went by drastically slowly after the Lannisters had lost the Battle of Whispering Wood.

Y/N felt like a mess. The guards brought her water and food, but she didn’t get to wash herself. Her shackles, which tied her to a wooden post, were wearing her down. In more ways than one. Her wrists ached, and so did the pride that had been instilled into her by her status of birth.

Care-wise, Jaime was facing odds even worse than Y/N. He got just enough water to get by. When the guards were feeling generous, they gave him a chunk of leftover or rotten food. They wanted to see the lion break.

The captives were chained to their posts day and night, and they were forced to sit in their own waste. It was nothing but a precaution, the Northmen claimed. But Y/N knew it pleased their captors to exert power over them, especially over a Lannister.

The cage was under constant observation. The guards had been ordered to make sure that Y/N didn’t conspire with or help the Kingslayer by any means. And so it happened that every time the prisoners engaged in a conversation, the Northeners listened closely.

Currently, Howar was pressed up against the bars of their cage, listening to their hushed voices as Jaime told Y/N exciting stories about his privileged youth.

“I replaced someone’s squire on short notice.” Jaime’s eyes held a faint sparkle while his mind went back to the time when he'd been sixteen years old.

Every little bit of entertainment that Y/N could get her hands on, she gladly accepted. Especially when Jaime was in a talkative mood. “Whom did you squire for?”, she asked.

The corners of Jaime’s lips were lifted by a crooked smile. “Barristan Selmy.”

The skin around Y/N’s eyes wrinkled with wonder. Barristan Selmy was one of the most talented knights to ever walk the earth. “What was he like?”

“He was…” Jaime sighed, at a loss for words. Just like his sixteen-year-old self had been. “A painter,” he finally said, “A painter who only used red.”

Despite the discomfort caused by their circumstances, a smile tugged on Y/N’s mouth.

Their amicable conversation was put to rest when Howar unlocked their cage. It was time for supper. Clarrik stepped inside with Y/N's food. He looked less than happy to be on serving duty that night. He handed her a chunk of dry bread, a piece of meat and her usual skin of water. With her signature glare, she grabbed the items.

Clarrik didn’t even acknowledge Jaime before leaving the cage. No supper for the Kingslayer, apparently.

Y/N could hear Jaime’s stomach growl against the lack of proper food. And she felt bad for him. Compassion had always been her greatest weakness – at least her father kept telling her as such.

Howar shut the hideous cage and locked the two captives back up. He then engaged in a conversation with Clarrik. They spoke about moving the camp elsewhere. Great, a new home made of filth.

Luckily, though, the talking soldiers gave Y/N an opportunity she had been waiting for.

She glanced at Jaime, who was fully focused on her food, yearning. Y/N placed her pointer finger against her lips, capturing his attention, signalling for him to keep his mouth shut. Then she looked back at the two Northmen, who were entirely unaware.

With the piece of meat between her dirt-stained fingers, she cautiously inched closer to Jaime, her gaze not daring to leave the Northeners.

The Kingslayer’s curious eyes remained on Y/N’s face while she carefully placed the meat into his right palm. Once the food was secured in his grasp, she quietly crawled back to her spot in the cage and sat there as if nothing had happened. As she bit into her chunk of bread, she saw that Jaime was subtly chewing on his piece of meat.

Their eyes met briefly, and Jaime nodded at her in gratitude.

Y/N gave him the slightest of smiles in exchange.

The Stark camp moved from place to place, and they always took their prisoners with them, always keeping them close to ensure they wouldn’t escape. Over the course of time, Y/N kept sneaking food into Jaime’s hands whenever possible. But her kind gestures weren’t nearly enough to keep him well.

Now, Tywin Lannister’s eldest son was truly in bad shape after months of being held prisoner. He had begun refusing any kind of food, even from Y/N. He looked weak, filthy, in pain. He barely even reacted to her teasing if she tried to taunt him out of his shell. His body was there, but his spirit wasn’t. As if he was dying.

In a moment of vulnerability, after vomiting onto his worn-out pants, the Kingslayer admitted that not only was he experiencing constant nausea, but also severe abdominal cramps.

With a quiet, pained wince, Jaime leaned his head back against the post he was tied to.

Y/N, tied to a post a few metres away from him, wondered, “Do you have a headache as well?”

“No, but if you make me talk any more, I might vomit again,” he mumbled with the last shred of sarcasm he could muster before another cramp struck.

“Do you feel feverish?”

In the darkness of the night, she could make out the nodding of his head. His greasy blonde hair fell into his face as he nodded, hiding his expression.

“Clarrik!”, Y/N yelled out, sitting up higher against her post. She knew their guard on night duty would take two seconds, at most, to be at their miserable service.

“What are you doing?”, Jaime questioned, his voice growing a bit stronger due to irritation.

“What do you want?”, Clarrik demanded as he leisurely approached the cage, jaw locked tight. “You already had supper.”

Y/N struggled against her restraints. “I wish to speak to Lady Stark.”

Clarrik sneered. “Lady Stark excused herself for the night. Now shut your mouth before I forget my orders.”

“I demand to speak to Lady Stark. Now,” she growled.

“You demand? You’re in no position to make demands, my Lady,” Clarrik taunted her.

Y/N's nostrils began to flare. “You will take me to her. Otherwise I will find a way to tell the King in the North the things you’ve been saying about his wife. I am certain he doesn’t want a pig for a soldier.” Was she usually that brave? No. But her ladylike inhibitions had bid her farewell.

While Jaime’s head tilted with interest, Clarrik’s eyes darkened at her threat. It was apparent that the Northman would have liked nothing more than to let Y/N disappear. Unburden himself from her. But instead, he bent down to detach her shackles from the wooden post. “One more word and I will cut your little throat.”

Biting her tongue, Y/N complied and stayed quiet while she was pulled up to stand. She exchanged a look with Jaime, who eyed her with suspicion, uncertain as to what she was hoping to achieve with her behaviour.

Clarrik pushed Leo Lefford’s daughter across the camp to Lady Catelyn’s tent. Once there, he waited impatiently for Robb Stark's mother to let the two of them inside.

Having made it this far felt like a success to Y/N. After all, the Northeners were rightfully known for their stubborn, unruly nature.

The Lady of Winterfell did not seem pleased to be bothered at such an ungodly hour. Her face was laced with exhaustion, and her hair was slightly tousled. “Clarrik, what is it?” Her deep blue eyes were narrowed. Until they settled on Y/N. “Lady Lefford. What is going on?”

“Apologies for disturbing you, Lady Stark. She demanded to see you,” Clarrik explained.

Catelyn nodded at him. “Thank you. That’ll be all.”

If she hadn’t been so tired, Y/N would have chuckled at the soldier’s baffled expression. He hadn’t expected to be dismissed, but Lady Stark was superior to him, so he complied with her orders. “My Lady.” He bowed and left the tent to wait outside.

“Has he harmed you?”, Catelyn asked Y/N.

“No, my Lady, he hasn’t. I appreciate your concern. He is just somewhat… Gruff.”

Catelyn scoffed as if that was an understatement. “Indeed, he is. As are most Northmen. But I am certain that is not why you came to see me?”

“No, it isn’t. I came to speak to you about Ser Jaime.”

Lady Stark’s bright eyes darkened. “What about him?”

“I believe he’s suffering from severe food poisoning,” Y/N explained, “I was hoping that I may ask you to speak to your son about his condition.”

The muscles in Catelyn’s jaw bulged as she tried to withhold her emotions. “Jaime Lannister is my son’s prisoner. I am sorry, but I don’t think I can help you.”

“Excuse my boldness, Lady Stark, but I assumed Ser Jaime is of value to your family,” Y/N pressed, “Do you not plan to have him exchanged for Sansa and Arya?”

The northern lady’s caring demeanour towards Y/N transformed into sheer suspicion. “How do you know?”

“Soldiers talk. I’m a good listener.”

“It appears that you are.”

Cautiously, Y/N took a step closer to Catelyn. “Your daughters are in King’s Landing. I know how they treat young noble prisoners. They’re allowed to sleep in their chambers, to eat proper food. I can tell you with certainty that your children do not have to endure the same treatment as Ser Jaime. They won’t be sitting in their own waste and vomit, they won’t be tied to wooden posts, forced into shackles and fed with rotten food. So, I ask of you, please speak to your son. This treatment is unworthy of a nobleman.”

“Unworthy, you say?”, Catelyn demanded breathlessly, “I admire your compassion, Lady Lefford, I really do. But that man…” She paused and swallowed the angry lump in her throat.

“What about humanity, what about his dignity? If you try to exchange him for your daughters while he’s in such a state, I sincerely doubt his family will take it well. And Lannisters always pay their debts,” Y/N kept arguing, “I know he broke his vows, and I know that many people despise him for it-”

“With good reason,” Lady Stark stated firmly.

Close to defeat, Y/N realised that she wouldn’t get far unless she got to a more personal level. “He saved me,” she said, voice softening, “Before the battle, a group of soldiers circled me. Harassed me. Ser Jaime came to my aid. I don’t know what would have happened, had he not stepped in. I owe him.”

Lady Stark’s brows furrowed, as though she found the story hard to believe. It took a moment for her to process the information before she spoke. “Very well. I will speak to my son… Not only about the treatment of Ser Jaime, but also about yours.”

“The treatment of me?”, Y/N inquired, her voice reflecting surprise.

“You look pale, my Lady,” Catelyn spoke, her voice dropping from angered to appeased, “You have bags under your eyes. Your hair is heavily tangled. And you’re too much of a kind soul to be tied to wooden posts.”

Looking down at her constraints, Y/N sighed. Deep red lines of sore and broken skin wound themselves around her wrists. “Thank you, Lady Stark.”

Ned Stark’s widow gazed at Y/N for a few moments. “You remind me of my son’s wife, you know.”

“Lady Talisa?”

A sad smile pulled at the corners of Catelyn’s pale lips. “She is a warm-hearted woman. From a noble house, and yet she tends to wounded men on the battlefield. Amongst corpses, blood and ashes. I heard the same about you.”

Slowly, Y/N nodded her head.

“She is everything I ever wanted for my son. And yet…” The Lady of Winterfell looked at the ground, as if to contemplate whether she should say any more.

“The heart wants what it wants,” Y/N said with a gentle scowl on her lips, “We’re not in charge of love, are we?” Her entire life, she’d watched her father mourn her mother. And he was still nowhere close to being done. Her mother had left behind a deep, gaping hole that nothing had ever been able to fill. No gold, no power, not even Y/N and her sister. Instead, the Lefford siblings had gotten lost in the abyss that was their father’s reign over the Golden Tooth.

Catelyn blinked rapidly a few times, as if to hide her sorrow. “I will speak to my son. You have my word.”

A grateful smile appeared on the younger lady’s mouth. “Thank you.”

Indeed, Jaime’s condition improved over the course of the following weeks. He was tended to with more care, and he’d overcome his food poisoning.

The Stark men’s glares had turned close to deadly, however. They hated having to treat the Kingslayer somewhat decently. But Catelyn Stark’s authority managed to keep the Northeners in line.

Sadly, though, Robb Stark could not be convinced to rid Y/N of her constraints. In some strange way, that was flattering. Apparently, Jaime was not the only captive who was considered a threat.

“Why does Lady Stark despise you?”, Y/N asked Jaime one night. Each of her breaths sent small clouds of fog into the dark air. She needed to distract herself from the cold, and from the burning sensation in her wrists.

Rickard Karstarks son, Torrhen, was guarding their cage that night. And he was even worse company than Howar and Clarrik. At least he was not as good at eavesdropping.

Jaime scoffed and dropped his head back against his wooden post. “I like to think it’s because the depth of my frown is starting to match hers. Perhaps she doesn’t like the competition.”

“I’m being serious,” she scolded, tilting her head as she stared at Jaime.

“Everyone despises me, in case you haven’t noticed,” he grumbled. His face lost its smug expression. Suddenly, he looked a lot less fierce and a lot more exhausted.

“She doesn’t treat you like everyone else does. It’s personal,” she insisted. She had seen Lady Stark hit Jaime with a rock. Right in the face. If that didn’t scream personal, Y/N didn’t know what did.

Just like that, Jaime’s face hardened again. His eyes focused on the top of Y/N’s head and took an arrogant journey down her entire face. He stared at her with contempt, a sneer plastered across his lips. “I’m grateful you threw that little tantrum on my behalf, but that doesn’t make us friends.”

While she watched and listened to him react, Y/N’s jaw tightened and tightened until her teeth snapped apart and she hissed back at him. “I’m all you’ve got right now. And you’re all I’ve got. We need to work together, not against each other. Don’t you wish to get out of here?”

His lips were close to parting, to unleashing more of his venom, but they remained sealed. Because he spotted something worthwhile in Y/N’s lap. Along with some mud, a dark red pattern of splatters was staining her dress. “You’re bleeding,” he stated.

“Oh, really?”, she demanded angrily, “I hadn’t noticed.” She was not in the mood to discuss her blooming flower.

The skin around Jaime’s eyes narrowed as he returned to her question about a potential escape. “Every single day of our captivity, I’ve been plotting to get out of here. Perhaps now is the time.” Suddenly, he yelled out into the camp, “Torrhen! Lord Karstark!”

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing?”, Y/N whispered harshly, chest rising and falling with uncertainty.

Jaime's eyes, which looked almost black due to the lack of light, were boring into hers with an unspoken promise as he asked, “Do you trust me?”

She hesitated. Did she trust him? He was a schemer, no doubt. Raised by the mighty Tywin Lannister. A skilled fighter with a fair amount of strategic knowledge. She was going to need him. Eventually, she nodded her head.

“Good,” Jaime breathed, “We need to improvise.”

Torrhen Karstark, irritated by the Lannister’s yells, approached their cage with heavy steps. “Shut your mouth, Kingslayer, before I shut it for you,” he threatened.

“There’s something wrong with Lady Y/N,” Jaime lied through his teeth.

While Torrhen unlocked the cage, wearing an annoyed scowl on his face, Y/N took on the role that she was supposed to play. With quick, shameless fingers, she smeared more mud on her dress to match the blood of her red flower. Painting a perfect picture of a damsel in distress. Decency had stopped mattering a long time ago. “Help,” she whined as Lord Karstark's son entered the cage, “It hurts.”

While Torrhen was distracted by Y/N, Jaime got up on his hands and feet to sneak up on him. A lion stalking its prey, teeth bared for the kill.

“What’s wrong? Huh?” Torrhen’s gaze roamed the dark spots on Y/N's dress, but he couldn’t seem to locate any wounds. “Wh-”

Before any more could be said, the Northman’s torso was roughly bent backward. He gurgled a few incoherent, pained words. Then his voice died on his tongue and all he could do was struggle against death’s grip on him.

Time slowed down as Jaime’s chains tightened around Torrhen Karstark’s throat.

The look on the dying man’s face was one of pure terror. Y/N could see his soul leave his body, the spark of life leave his eyes. She did not allow herself to look away or make a sound, not even when Torrhen’s hands reached for her in a desperate plea to her conscience. But his plea didn’t reach her. It was met with deaf ears and a closed heart. It was him or them, she told herself.

With an unceremonious thud, Torrhen’s corpse fell to the ground. Y/N kept staring at him even after Jaime had dropped his dead body. Blood was harshly rushing through her ears. It almost made her miss the faint rattling sounds of Jaime's shackles as he disposed of them.

Y/N woke up from her stupor when she was pulled forward by her chains. Jaime had grabbed them to unlock her wrists. She gasped when her shackles hit the floor. Her skin, now free, burned deep red.

“We must leave,” Jaime urged as he got to his feet.

At once, she pushed herself up to stand beside the Kingslayer.

The two prisoners exchanged a look. Neither of them knew how the rest of their escape was going to play out. But there was one thing that was certain - they were in it together.

Bound by murder.

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 7 months

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h p [ harry potter ] m a s t e r l i s t

this is the masterlist pertaining to the series of films and books written by JK Rowling Harry Potter that were first released in 1997. this pop-culture phenomenon shaped so many childhoods.

<- return to main masterlist

gryfindor masterlist ->

slytherin masterlist ->

ravenclaw masterlist ->

hufflepuff masterlist ->

all content belongs to @humanitieswalkingredflag save for the characters themselves - cr: @humanitieswalkingredflag 2023 - do not copy my work to any other websites - writing JK Rowling's characters does not mean I open myself to debate about her morals

#hp x reader #hp imagines #harry potter imagines

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 7 months

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g r y f f i n d o r [ harry potter ] m a s t e r l i s t

this is the masterlist pertaining to the Hogwarts house Gryffindor, any characters who are members of it, and reader inserts where it is specified that the reader is a member of this house.

<- return to main masterlist

[ harry potter ] homecoming part 1 part 2 extra content

[ hermione granger ] -> nothing yet

[ ron weasley ] -> nothing yet

[ fred weasley ] -> nothing yet

[ george weasley ] -> nothing yet

[ ginny weasley ] -> nothing yet

[ oliver wood ] -> nothing yet

[ remus lupin ]

young: -> nothing yet

old: -> nothing yet

[ sirius black ]

young: -> nothing yet

old: -> nothing yet

[ james potter ] -> nothing yet

[ gryfindor!reader ] -> nothing yet

#gryfindor x reader #james potter x reader #marauders x reader #hp x reader

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 10 months

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 10 months

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balance the scales ; aemond targaryen. (m)

alternatively titled soda. track six of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x strong!f!reader

synopsis ; he flinched away when your fingers brushed against his eyepatch. despite this, you reached out once more to pull it off, your touch ever so gentle—and this time, he let you. you whispered that he was beautiful as your lips grazed against the marred skin of his cheek. aemond didn’t believe you, but he let you say it nonetheless.

words ; 40.3k (my longest oneshot!)

themes ; heavy angst, action, smut (minors dni!), mild fluff, enemies to lovers back to enemies trope, slowburn, betrothed au

warnings / includes ; violence/war, several character deaths, descriptions of injury/blood, birth scenes, oral (f recieving), unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, hotd s1 spoilers, reader is fiercely team black, implications of rape (aegon), really really heavy angst, harwin is reader’s older brother, helaena is the sweetest ever :( jace and luke are reader’s best friends, rhaenyra is practically reader’s mother, lots of Emotions in this one, asoiaf politics and references for all of you book nerds

main masterlist. read on ao3!

It was said that you came into the world silent.

A problem with your lungs, the midwives had solemnly told your father, the Hand of the King, proclaiming you dead not three minutes after. Lyonel Strong was grief-stricken at not only having lost his dear wife to the perilous task of childbirth, but you as well.

But you were a fighter from the very beginning. At least, that’s what Harwin had told you. Once they’d laid you in your eldest brother’s arms, your airway had miraculously cleared up and you’d let out a hoarse, shrill cry—and the rest was history.

“I was twenty when you were born, you know,” said Harwin, voice rife with affection, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from your face. “I was so scared that I’d lose you. Now look at you—eight years of age and healthier than ever. Are you excited to meet the new baby?”

Keep reading

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humanitieswalkingredflag · 10 months

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— 𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.

even the sweetest of scents eventually turn bitter.

✦ featuring: zhongli.

✦ warnings: angst.

"why do you seem to adore this particular flower?" he remembers asking you, one still night, when even the moon has decided to go to sleep. for as long as he's known you, your entire life seemed to revolve around jasmines.

he remembers you laughing as you hang a bunch of them from his horns mischievously. "i love its versatility, my dear morax. it can be a garland, an accessory, a perfume, it can be infused into tea; it's wonderful, really. and it smells and looks divine." you playfully add later, "in addition, you look absolutely fetching with them on, don't you think?"

it dawns on him that he's never seen you without a cluster of them nestled in your hair, he's never seen you drink anything but various varieties of jasmine tea; at this point, he cannot think of one without thinking of the other. he doesn't even remember what your name means. to his mind, all it invokes is vivid pictures of your smile and the fragrance that always surrounds you.

and when you stand in front of him, a determined aura about you, that memory swims to the surface and he knows. he knows exactly what you'll say.

morax dreads those words he knows will come out of your mouth, and for the first time in a long while, he's afraid. he's afraid of breaking your heart, when all he wants to do is cradle it in his palms— but he knows he must.

"i cannot return your feelings," he says, steeling his gaze, lifting his chin and hardening the curve of his mouth.

he watches the hope in your eyes break, shatter like glass. he watches passively as somewhere, deep within, your heart cracks, and he swears he could hear the sound reverberate throughout the stone hall the two of you stand in. he watches as your hands start to tremble, your voice shake the tiniest amount.

he almost reaches out with his pattern covered arms, desiring naught but to hold them still and whisper honey-glazed words in your ears, rock you in his embrace and offer you uncertain promises of a happy future, but he forces them down. there is no place for love in a war, he thinks. and my presence cannot make them smile more than my absence would make them cry.

"why?" he hears you ask, voice barely more than a breath. "i-" you seem to be frozen in place, only capable of moving your lips the tiniest amount. "i thought we had something."

he swallows, saliva scalding his throat. "i'm in love with another," he blurts, knowing this would stop you from chasing after him. every syllable stabs at him as it leaves his mouth. "i always have been."

"oh," that soft, silent, broken breath of yours cuts through his armor and pierces through his core. "i understand," you lower your eyes, displaying the same grace you've always shown, and he hates that he cannot be true to both himself and you. "i hope you will be happy. i wish you the best, morax." he nearly winces. morax. not 'dear morax', and not 'my dear morax.' just morax.

as you turn to leave, he gets a whiff of the flowers in your hair, and he retches at how absolutely acrid they smell. he takes a step backward, once again fighting the urge to reach his arms out. he plants his feet firmly on the ground and watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller before you start running.

if doing it this way is how he must keep you safe, then he'd step on his own body, heart and soul, without hesitation.

of what use is a god who cannot control his own destiny? who cannot promise happiness to those he cares for?

he will wait, he swears. he will wait for as long as it takes. after the war, he promises himself. when time is favorable, he promises. as long as it takes for him to see you again, meet you on the other side, where the future is bright. but he knows it, in all the possibilities of the world, is pointless. after all, you were just a mortal, with a life akin to the blink of an immortal's eye, were you not?

it is the unmistakable scent of jasmine that wafts through his nose, many, many, many years later. he is simply zhongli now, the funeral parlor consultant who frequents teahouses, nothing more, nothing less, but the bitterness still bites at his nose each and every single time, all the same.

he smiles into his cup, a little sad, a little nostalgic and he absentmindedly wonders why he chose to order jasmine tea today, of all days. a cheerful lilt reaches his ears, and he laughs to himself.

why do you think of them now, after all these years?

the voice grows louder and he jolts uptight, not trusting his hearing. he stands up hesitantly, searching, scared all over again. and it is then he hears a laugh he never thought he'd hear again. he finds the same set of features, giggling at something the other person in front of you said.

impossible. people rarely reincarnate with the same face. but hope strikes to a flame nevertheless, and he sits back down again, looking for signs that it might be you.

sharp amber eyes find a small jasmine flower nestled behind your ear, and he can't help but smile.

perhaps, this time, he could try again?

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