#repeatingsins

Reid had known from the beginning of their friendship that Laurent was not planning to go to the senior prom. The acceptance and adjustment into genderfluidity had only exacerbated the common stresses of preparing for the night: what to wear, who to go with, what the night will be like surrounded by pretty much all of your peers. What had transpired with her ex before—before he had moved to town from Ireland with his brother, before he had gone to school there, before he had pretty much fallen head over heels for this wonderful person, and before he had the chance to kick the guy's ass himself—had only steeled her resolve not to go.

Which sucks because Laurent deserves to have that one special night more than anyone else in the entire senior class. (At least, in his opinion. Reid might be a tiny bit biased.)

Stop being dramatic and just fuckin' ask her on a date that night, Peter had deadpanned when he was pouring his heart out to Franz. Leave it to his little brother to come up with a reasonable solution!

But Reid will do one better.

Rosalita suspiciously raises her hand like a good little girl. “How do you write a declaration challenging someone to a fist fight?” 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Marie says, slapping a hand against her forehead. She then reaches out her free hand to grab Alin from running off to the other side of their ‘classroom.’ It’s too late for Aurel, who’s in Vasilisa’s arms as she tries to keep him from getting crayon marks all over the church wall.

“You don’t write the challenge,” Peter chimes in, petting Chulainn for being a good boy and not eating the pencils. “You call ‘em somethin’ nasty ‘fore you deck them in the face! That’s what we were taught.”

“Not exactly the best role models to be looking to, Peter,” Reid says from his seat next to him. He already has a grasp in writing Roman characters, so he’s helping Laurent facilitate the lessons. Vasilisa was better at reading and writing in general, but it was in a different alphabet altogether so she had to learn this one alongside them.

“Idolfried’s name has no letter marks on it, right?”

“The accent thing?” Aurel asks after being set back down by his twin and Marie. “No, it doesn’t. I wish it did though–especially over the ‘o.’ Then it would look like a face.”

Alin giggles. “He should have a ‘u’ in his name instead so it looks like a smile.”

“De jeito nenhum!” Rosalita says. “A smile on his person in any way is like blasphemy. Not allowed!”

“Oh Laurent, you’re always such a suck up hmm?” She listens to them chuckle in response, but she returns the embrace from her oldest. 

It’s been years since Laurent’s come into her care, and she’s damn proud of her. Marissa recalls seeing them as a child, hugging his birth mother’s jeans. They had gotten to know one each other during college, then eventually collaborated on different projects together and managed for a time. But then Laurent’s mother was killed in a car accident caused by her alcoholic ex, honestly she didn’t know what that damned bastard was thinking. She’s made sure to keep some tabs on him from the distance, just in case he decided to start anything up again.

Oh Eris, Marissa thinks while massaging the back of their head, your child has grown into such a strong person you would be proud. Upon unwrapping her arms from Laurent, she spots the gift that was secretly hidden and laughs.

“For me? Thank you dear.” Marissa replies, taking it carefully into her hands. She blinks when Laurent continues, then her smile grows wider. “…but for you three –– I’d give the world, you and your other siblings are my pride and joy after all.” Her dark brown eyes lower to the gift and slowly unwrap it, seeing the ring she lets out a gasp then looks up to her child incredulously.

“You can’t be serious––” It’s engraved too, she hears him say which bewilders her more. “….honestly? What would I do without you haha.” She then leans up and kisses her child on the cheek. She’s kind of annoyed that she wasn’t as tall as either Laurent or Lars anymore, she just hoped Raine didn’t grow any taller. 

send me a ✿ and my muse will react to your muse putting a flower in their hair

Their time apart has damaged her nerves beyond repair. From the corner of her eye, she is always double-checking - triple-checking even - to reassure herself of his whereabouts. She may trust her child but Therese is far too suspicious of even the most docile of worlds they travel through. Fate has already wronged them once; who’s to say it won’t happen again?

Unsurprisingly then, when she is suddenly aware she’s lost sight of März, the panic is written as clear as day across her face. Pulse spiked, eyes wide, and skirts whirling as she moves, she calls his name over and over. It seems like an eternity before her fears are placated by the familiar way “mutti” is directed at her.

Although she is fully prepared to scold him for wandering off, the words vanish before they have the chance to be spoken. Just as she turns to face her child, he places a flower alongside the blue one in her veil and explains where he had gone to get it. His thoughtfulness and concern for the grave expression she had been wearing moments prior melt her anxieties away, and Therese finds herself smiling before long.

“ Pardon me. “ Careful as to not scare or startle the young boy walking through the forests just outside of the castle, Frederick would be curious as to if this was a child from a local village or an outsider of Ylisse, given that under both circumstances he couldn’t leave a lost child by themselves.

suddenly, heaving a deep breath in his lungs and cupping his hands around his face,

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░░ ;; ⌚ - headcanon about schedules. )

His daily schedule is incredibly lax, especially considering that he generally works at home. So he’s probably the kind of guy to be doing some his programming work AND play video games while heating up take-out in a microwave in his pajamas.

The only thing he’s rigidly on time for is appointments and meeting up with friends, if not early. (And depending on how excited he is, he can be very… very… early.)

░░ ;; ☹ - headcanon about sorrow. )

Kousetsu is sitting on the raised walkway with the small child from another world, making sure he’s fed for the evening before finding him a place to sleep for the night while he recovers from the shock of his first travel.

“Hmm, indeed. Centuries between us, and even longer between worlds. How is it to see a world not filled with sorrow? For something to be fresh and kind.” He says calmly, neither a question or statement. Looking up at the stars and all Kousetsu can see is the repetitive motion of violence and war, with only small respites of grateful peace to separate them, allowing them to be given new names and new causes yet still spilled over with blood, and then fire... He sees the stars and wonders if his brothers are out there too, scattered across history and looking up at the night as well. His family…