hi! 💖 from the soft asks: 6, 9, 18 for for Liz beloved, please?
Hello darling Katie! Happy to see you here!!!
6. What does their laugh sound like?
In public and especially with people she doesn't know that well, little huffs or mostly smiles. People she loves, loud giggling that sounds twinkly.
9. What's something they never fail to get excited over?
Music! Liz loves hearing people sing, especially skilled singers and live performances, and will never be normal about it haha
18. What's their favorite scent?
She's coming to love a certain someone's sandalwood and smoke scent.
But outside of ofc the people she loves, (and this is very specific lol) when Rebecca would be home, the scent of her perfume, their garden's flowers and lemon tree and the smell of the washed clothes hung on the clothesline. Bonus points if it was going to rain later. She misses it dearly and will get super nostalgic when Rebecca's around on a rainy day.
hi hi hi hiiii katsuuuu im doing good >_< im on breakkk!!!! yayy yay yay!!!! :3333 hopefully i can get all my important paperwork stuff done and just chill and study :pppp the end of decayed and decrepit is edging near… im excited!! the session today was rlly good :ppp love u !!!!
TEAAAA paperwork blegh
I'm on break too and the work scares me 😭 I hate my immune system with a passion legit don't think it does anything I've been sick the last seven days
WAI8TTT decayed and decrepit I've been looking at your lbs of that and it sounds intriguing...
Hey can I req a Chanyeol fic? Arrange marriage au, reader is in love with her husband chanyeol but he's not, initially he didn't gave her attention but when she decided move out he realises her value.. it be better if the genre is smut & angst.. but happy ending plz 🥺🫶🏻
hey anon! I wrote something similar along these lines a few months ago, it wasn't exactly arranged marriage au rather it was fwb au but yeah. I wouldn't be writing this now if that okay with you.
You can check out both the parts of the fic I'm talking about here.
What inspired you to write your Path-verse fics? Was there a particular aspect of a modern AUs you just really loved and wanted to write? 🥰
KATIE I LOVE YOU!!!! 😘❤️💕
Originally, it was just that first fic. But because it was my first New Dream AW, the prompts I couldn’t figure out, I just worked them into that first one. And then decided you know what? This could be like a nice little AU series. ((And this was way before I started watching This Is Us)) Cause we all know how much I love that domestic life bliss. And also, I have trouble writing in canon verse because there are moments from the show I do not really care for. LOL
Thank you for the ask Katie girl! It was a nice surprise to find in my messages lol!
The whole concept of “appropriate sleep schedule” had abandoned Peter Pettigrew sometime in second year, and everyone around him seemed to be on board with it. As long as he showed up to meetings and did the logistical work they needed of him nobody seemed to care if he was up til 4 and sleeping until 11; even if a full seven hours of sleep was something far beyond his capabilities of relaxation. But as much as Remus might shout and James might roll his eyes and Sirius might proclaim he was both boring and dusty and doomed to die a virgin (which, unknown to Sirius, he was no longer) it was this strange schedule that enabled him to be as useful to his brothers and the Order as he was. Useful things were kept around. Useful things had a place. As long as he was useful, the fact that he didn’t belong, didn’t fit in, didn’t match everyone else wouldn’t matter.
It was a fact universally known that if there was a light on in the Library and the door was shut, you left it the fuck alone. Nobody in the order ever knew everything, but Peter Pettigrew knew much, and was responsible for disseminating information, or disinformation, as the cause saw fit. However, no matter how universally a fact was known there are still people incredibly comfortable with ignoring it. Sirius was one. Peter could never fully train him that a shut door actually meant something; despite some awkward moments in school. But while Sirius always blew into a room like a cannonball, there was one other person who routinely ignored a shut door, and she did not. With his headphones in it was impossible to even notice Mary enter the room, and it wasn’t until a deep sigh brought the smell of sage and sea salt to his nose that he even knew she was there. He kept the silence of the moment going, though. If Mary had wanted his attention she would have gotten it, and more often than not she didn’t want his attention, just his presence. They’d never talked about it and honestly they probably never would, but that summed up their dynamic. Silence was golden, and gold is to be treasured.
The work lay before him like an easy to follow map; do these steps, encode these reports, streamline this intelligence. One, two, three, and then maybe you’ll be relaxed enough to sleep, to rest, to unclench muscles you had held taut for so long that you didn’t know if you could feel them soften without falling to pieces. Peter liked plans, and even if plans went awry, or had yet to work well enough to call successes, he still liked adhering to them, and in the depths of the focus he poured into his work forgot Mary was even in the room with him, probably in her favorite armchair with feet tucked up underneath her. But when the duet of sage and salt turned into a trio of sage, salt, and smoke, his senses piqued, knowing she’d pulled the lid off the decanter of scotch on the side table, and when he felt the ghostly barely-there drag of her fingers across his back he knew she was leaving for their spot, and that he would be following behind her.
“One more page.” He murmured, so low he couldn’t hear himself over the music in his ears, but the fingers vanished, replaced by the cool air of an open window leading to a rusty fire escape, and he knew she’d heard. One page bled into two, and then into three and it was another ten minutes before he made it up the fire escape, two glasses in hand, to find her in their usual spot, feet dangling over the edge, hair blowing in the night wind.
“Can’t sleep?”
The only response he got was an insouciant shrug, a rolling of shoulders that somehow told him exactly nothing about why she’d infiltrated his sanctum, and everything he needed to know all at once. The slate of the roof was so cold beneath his jeans Peter thought he could feel his ass literally freezing, but still sat close enough to feel the heat of Mary though the thin raglan of his shirt, leaning across her to grab the bottle and pouring a hefty measure for both of them. As he passed Mary’s glass to her he clinked them together, the sharp chime of the crystal shockingly loud even against the London traffic beneath them.
“Me either.”
The scotch was just enough of a burn to make him shiver and he let his head fall gently against her shoulder, taking another sip as they looked out over the city’s lights together. He was reminded of a quote from a book Remus had recommended to him once, about another Korean who didn’t quite fit in, “It wasn't that Henry was less of himself in English. He was less of himself out loud. His native language was thought” It was just as true of Peter as it was of the Henry in question. He existed best in ink and thought, less so in word and body. But somewhere along the line he and Mary had developed their own language in the silence far above the hubbub of both the town and the Order beneath them. His head on her shoulder was a silent but heard, James and Sirius will be back soon. We haven’t lost them yet.
Her fingers pushing his shaggy bangs out his face was as much of a response as he was going to get, I know. But it doesn’t make the waiting easier.
Lifting his head he downed the scotch and poured himself another measure, taking a deep breath and smelling her sage, the city’s grime, the rain that was threatening to pour down in the next few hours, “I’ll stay up with you.”
That too, was its own coded language, because what spymaster ever told the truth out loud. The heard words were one thing, but the meant words were another thing entirely.
The weather, always an unpredictable thing at best in 12, had behaved long enough for the bride and groom to be showered with a seemingly special kind of sunlight that made his eyes glow and her hair shine. Everyone had come; dressed up in the strange mish-mash they could put together; military uniforms and Capitol high fashion but nobody had been as beautiful as Katniss, or as handsome as Gale, and as Azar watched them dance their first dance, cheeks pressed together, he felt a warmness in his heart he’d never known before. A contentedness, a happiness that hadn’t ever been part of his emotional spectrum in the cavernous chthonic depths of District 13.
Which is part of what made him so sure that he couldn’t stay.
Sitting in the back of the tent as he watched them dance he pulled the envelope from his vest pocket, caressing the paper and thinking on the words inside, allowing himself one more chance to recant all of it and throw it into the giant bonfire illuminating his best friends.
K
First and foremost, in case you’d forgotten which I don’t see how you could because I say it all the time… I love you. From the bottom of my black crippled heart I love you to the stars and back again a thousand times over. Which is part of what makes this so difficult to write, and to carry out. I love you.
But I can’t do this.
I wasn’t born to sun, or happiness, or love, of peacetime. I don’t know how to be the man you need me to be, he needs me to be, in a world that isn’t at war. You’re going to live happily ever after, and you’re going to have a big beautiful family with that big beautiful man and you need to do it without the shadow of the past, of the war, hanging over your head. So I’m leaving… because I can’t live in peacetime and I can’t keep you in the past with me.
Tell him that I love him too. He doesn’t get a letter because I don’t know how to say what I want to say to him. You know. You’ll interpret correctly, I know that, but just tell him I’m sorry, and I love him, and not to bother because even he won’t be able to track me.
Tell your kids fairytales about an Owl who could see in the dark, who could make things, but who could fly free and wholly; do me the favor of lying to them a little bit about who I was. Make me a superhero, like I never could manage to be in life. I’m leaving this in your stack of gifts so by the time you notice it I’ll be long gone.
Please remember, no matter what happens, that I have unflinching and unwavering faith in two things; your heart, and his devotion.
Yours, from now until the sun burns black in the sky,
Azar
A deep sigh rumbled through him and he picked up his cane, hobbling his way over to the massive mountain of gifts assembled for the newlyweds and setting it on top of a pile of cards. One last glass of champagne and one last look at his best friends glowing with happiness and he walked, as straightly as he was able, to the entrance of the tent.
“It’s gonna kill her to see you gone, Flint.”
Another miracle of the day was that Haymitch was sober enough to form a complete sentence.
“It’ll keep her down too much if I stay. Some things should stay underground, Abernathy.”
The man nodded, tucking his flask into Azar’s vest pocket, filling the void left by the letter.
“Stay safe. Die well.”
Azar just nodded and faded into the night, stopping only to pick up the packed bag by the town gates; the night was young, and he had a long way to go before he could stop.
