#and shes like ''oh its a wonderful thing that i write letters insulting people and spreading rumors bc its my job

[perenlop]

i got shirley jackson’s dark tales for christmas and ough short horror stories my beloved

[bittermuire]

a nightlight and a bottle of wine

recently I’ve really loved nezriel and wanted to write a lil thing for them. this will be two parts, this is the first. modern au

---

It’s not like Nesta really knew what she was doing when she moved out. All she knows is that there is a rift between her and Feyre; a scar splitting their shared skin, a wound opening and reopening, never to heal.

And so she’s away. They’ve made their mistakes and let them be. They’ve hurt each other and even tried to love, but sisters love each other too much for love—and so she’s away. The guilt is still there, but farther from her, now. Nesta stirs it into her morning coffee and drinks the sleep, wiping it from beneath her eyes and the lines around her mouth.

Every so often Cassian will text her, inviting her out to dinner or to a work party, and Nesta resists the urge to throttle him. He’s a very smart, thirty-five year old man. He should know what cutting off someone means.

(He knows, of course he knows. She guesses he just thinks it doesn’t apply to him.)

His roguish charm, his smirk, his low voice, all inviting her to one thing—sex—was beginning to exhaust her. It’s a surprising relief to be away from him. She feels like she can wear tank tops and let her hair down and go out without a bra, relieved he won’t be there to stare.

(Was she really so afraid of him?)

So Nesta lives her life and drinks her coffee, wears her tank tops and sleeps in her underwear, finally a woman in the way she’s always wanted to be; she feels discrete from the rest of the world but in a near comforting way. She has no one to disappoint, no one to miss. Her world is confined to very few people and her mind allows for one.

•

But there are things that trip her up. Remaining ties.

One such: the nightlight clipped to her bed. It’s cheap, a gaudy silver. She’s sure Azriel bought it for no more than two dollars.

But she uses it every night.

(This trips her up.)

It’s a routine she’s given to herself, written into the margins of her life; she climbs into bed, smooths the blankets over her legs, grabs her book, opens it on her lap, then twists and switches on the light. It illuminates the page with a pretty, golden sun. She uses it religiously. She thinks that if she lost it, some intrinsic part of her might be lost as well, and this frightens her.

Remaining ties should be snipped. These last threads should be spooled up, put away, hidden in the bottom drawer.

She switches it on anyway, watches the light trace the letters.

(Sometimes she thinks she is the black stamp of letters. The utter bleakness of them on the smooth page. Sometimes she thinks she is what ruins the paper. She is what ruined the paper. There’s a reason she is here and they are there.)

•

November 19th.

Happy birthday to me.

She buys a cake from the supermarket and blows out the candle.

There’s a knock at the door, late at night. Not thinking to check, she goes to open it, and there stands Azriel, still in the doorway, bottle of wine in hand.

“Happy birthday,” he says bluntly.

She lets him in for some reason she still doesn’t understand, and they end up drinking a glass together. It’s from Cassian, the wine—his favorite. Azriel tells her that Cassian didn’t think she’d take it from him.

“So he asked you,” she says.

He smiles. “Because you like me.”

1:00 AM, and they’re still drinking. They barely talk. They just sit; they sit on the kitchen stools, then the rickety chairs, then the floor, then the couch, then back to the floor. His cheeks are pink, his words slurred.

“Why’d you come?” she asks, peering down at where he lays, splayed out, on the carpet.

(He’s not the kind for favors, she knows that.)

Opening his eyes, he fixes his gaze on her. He smiles sleepily.

“Happy birthday, Nesta.”

•

She doesn’t really celebrate for the holidays. Her apartment is bare, save a pair of twinkling bells on the kitchen counter, tied with a red ribbon. Sometimes when she’s cooking she’ll give them a little ring.

The letter comes in the mail—from Feyre, clearly put there by her own hand. It’s an invitation to dinner, for the winter solstice. They’re celebrating early this year because they’re going out of town for a few weeks.

(Please don’t feel pressured to come. We were going to leave you be but Az, since he’s so considerate, thought you might appreciate an invite.)

Nesta picks up her phone and texts Feyre a simple no thanks.

•

The next morning, she opens her door to a bottle of wine. Its neck is tied with a cherry red ribbon, and there’s a note—“If you’re ever lonely, give me a call. It’s my favorite.”

She doesn’t need to see who it’s from to know.

She smiles and picks it up, taking it inside.

•

It bites, the loneliness.

She wasn’t prepared for the quiet.

She traded in insults and jabs and sweaty hands at dinner tables for nothing, nothing, nothing. Silence in the shower, silence over breakfast. Over time, it’s begun to grate on her skin, sift between the strands of her hair, and she feels like she’s swimming a meter below the surface, ears clogged, vision blurred.

And slowly, she’s started to cry; she cries when the silence is too loud, when her aloneness is real, when she realizes the ugly truth of it all. She’s alone, she has nobody, she’s alone.

She picks up her phone and dials his number. “Let’s drink your wine.”

A small quiet. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“I know, Nesta,” he laughs. “I’ll be there.”

•

They don’t drink at all, actually. She starts crying again the minute she sees his face.

“Nesta?”

•

“I’m fine, really.”

They’re walking down the aisle of the grocery store, weeks later.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m doing better, I am.”

He shrugs. “I don’t care. Pick a flavor. We’ll eat it, we’ll watch a movie.” He looks her up and down, brow creased. “You need two things—no, make that three things.”

She huffs a laugh, sticking her hand into the freezer and pulling out a carton. “What?”

“Sleep, ice cream, and company.” He grins. “And now you’ve got me.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.”

•

He’s seen her beautiful; he’s seen her ugly. He’s seen her in her rattiest apron with flour crusted into her fingernails. He’s seen her laugh so hard she cries, watched her slam her head into an open cupboard door, driven her to the hospital when she sliced her hand open with a knife. They’re together a lot, she realizes. They’re not halves; they’re one and one, and one and one make two, and they stand as two together on sidewalks, squinting at menus in the windows of restaurants, and they pet dogs in the park (Nesta always asks, because Az gets shy), and they take walks at midnight, and they live their lives contentedly next to each other’s. She starts to wonder if he splits his life into two—into Cassian and Rhys and Mor and Feyre, and into her, the girl who walked away. She’d like to know why he followed her.

Sometimes she’ll catch herself staring. Even before Cassian, she’d thought Azriel was the most beautiful of the three; all graceful, sloping shadows, soft and deep eyes, curling black hair. Her heart doesn’t know what to do anymore. It skips a beat when she sees him, but calms when she’s near him. It races when he leans close, falls to steadiness when he slings his arm over her shoulders. She can’t decide if she loves him like this or loves him like that. He means so much to her, means so many different things, that to give him a singular word wouldn’t fit.

She calls him Azriel, Az, Steve, Steven Shadow, Mr. Shadow, Ralph, Ron, He of the Candied Pecans, You. He responds to all of it. Recently he told her that it wasn’t because of the name, but because of the voice—(of course I don’t know who Ralph is, Nesta, but your voice, it’s your voice you use for me)—and she felt warm for reasons she couldn’t understand.

She shows up unannounced at his apartment when it’s a bad night. He does the same.

•

“Tell me the truth,” she begins, tipsy. “Did you like me before?”

“What?”

“Did you like me before?”

He frowns. “Elaborate.”

“Before you learned I’m a nice person. Back at the townhouse. When I hated everyone and was rude to you.”

“Oh.” He laughs a little. “I always liked you,” he says, and then his face settles into something like sadness. Nesta watches him closely. “I didn’t like… the way you made me feel, though. I’d see you down the hall, tired and everything, a stick of a person, and Rhys would make some joke, and I’d hate him.”

She blinks.

He looks down. “I’d never hated him before.”

There’s a tension between them. It’s common enough to be recognizable, but not enough to be familiar. She’s on edge, unsure.

The silence seeps in.

“And I hated myself, too,” he says. His eyes flick back up to hers.

Her breath catches in her chest. “I hated myself because I didn’t do anything. So I stayed away.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, overwhelmed. Everything is building; everything is quiet. His eyes are deep and dark and swirling. He shakes his head slightly, leaning closer, slowly, slowly, and she sees it all happen—he takes her face in his hands. She can see the stray strand of hair on his forehead, the one eyelash resting by his nose, the mole right above his mouth.

“I watched you fade,” he breathes. “I watched them pull you around.”

She twines one finger into his hair, trying to bring him closer, trying to have him closer. Come here, Azriel. Come with me. Be with me, love me, because I love you.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, because it’s all she can say.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmurs, and kisses her.

•

“Wait,” he says, reaching up.

“What?”

He touches the nightlight. “You kept this?”

She laughs, curled into his side, and says, “Of course I did.” He drops a kiss to her hair. “They all bought me books. You made it easy to read them.”

—-

@acosfisfeysandpropaganda I finally wrote it!!

[writebycandlelight]

Bread Rolls

Prompt: Reader’s attempted act of kindness goes awry. 

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Erwin x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluffy, Mild

A/N: It’s been a whole year I think but I’m back for today after seeing some BEAUTIFUL art by @ thisuserisalive on Instagram. I heard people have been thirsting for some Erwin fic so I hope you enjoy this little cute fic.

By the Walls, there was nothing more demoralizing than having the scouts return in their terrible conditions time and time again. As you shoved past an unruly crowd, gathered to shout insults as the scouts returned in single file, you clutched your covered basket filled with warm bread rolls to your chest. Times were tough but you were sure the scouts were in need of something to lift their spirits. Bread was the most common military food but surely freshly baked would bring some comfort. Freshly baked bread was always something people liked. In your humble opinion, there was nothing better.

 You scanned for a good spot to approach, unsure of whether you might cause too much of a disruption to the scouts. Your eyes fell on their commander, blonde and blue eyed, you were certain he’d look handsomer with his head held high. Perhaps a bread roll might make him smile a little. Determined to put a smile on at least one scout, you slowly pushed to the front of the crowds. You were just in range to approach when you tipped forward, jostled harshly into the incoming scouts. Your startle cry was interrupted by your face slamming into something hard and metallic. Your head throbbed with pain as your vision began to cloud. A startled voice came and went. Blue eyes stared at you. Two pairs, no, just one pair. So shimmery, they danced as the edges of your vision turned black.

--

Sunlight peeked through your lashes as you blinked awake. Groggily, you looked around. Nothing was remotely familiar. Where were you? What happened? Weren’t you just at the city gates? Blinking in recognition you looked around frantically. Your bread! You were supposed to give the Scouts some bread rolls! 

“Bread rolls-” you said aloud. Startled, your hand reached for your throat. How was your voice so dry and hoarse? Looking around, you spotted a table to your left, and lo and behold, a pitcher of water!

You glanced around the room, taking in its neat and pristine appearance as you slowly made yourself stand. For a moment you felt your body sway, but reaching out you took a few unsteady steps to the table and steadied yourself upon it.

Your hands grabbed greedily at the cup and poured, downing the water in moments.

“You should have called for someone to assist you,” a deep voice said from the door. 

You nearly dropped the cup as the man you knew to be commander entered the room. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently. “Are you feeling better?”

You raised the glass with a small smile, “A bit yes. The water helped.”

“Good, good. Please, sit. You should be resting,” the commander urged and motioned to the bed. You glanced at it and then back at him. He made the motion again and you slipped back onto the bed, cup in hand. 

“I am Commander Erwin Smith,” he smiled, and then with a sheepish chuckle added, “I feel I owe you an apology. It was my ODM gear that you hit.”

You felt your face flush, he may not be able to see it, but your face felt as hot as the furnace you baked those rolls in!

“O-oh! Oh no, no! You don’t have to. If anything the idiot that shoved me owes me an apology. Not you...sir-” you stuttered, feebly tacking on ‘sir’ at the end. Despite using the word every day with customers and garrison soldiers, it felt strange to use it on such a man. His whole demeanor commanded a level of authority and respect that made your heart thud. Nerves? Most probably.  

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be able to find them,” Erwin said with a sort of frown, or perhaps you thought, a rather neutral expression for his face. 

“Either way, I hope that it is alright that we brought you here. The Scouts headquarters,” Erwin continued, “We have a fine doctor that said you should feel alright within a few days.”

“I guess I hit my head pretty hard,” you murmured, touching your forehead. Your fingers flinched when they touched the bandage around your head. 

“Thank you for all this,” you murmured bringing your hand back to the cup, “I’m so sorry for all the trouble. I was just trying to bring out some hot bread rolls to your soldiers. I thought it might help boost morale a little. I hate when those crowds go out and bother you all. They have no idea what you all go through no doubt. I mean, you’re all so brave!”

Your eyes shone in a way that made Erwin pause, he hadn’t seen such a look in ages. Not since he first became commander.

His staring at you, with a look you couldn’t quite place, made you realize you were staring right back. You felt the heat to your face return and you glanced down at your cup.

“Thank you. That is very kind of you to say. However, have your bread,” Erwin said, “Captain Levi saw it fall from your arms and we brought it here. It is untouched-” “Untouched!” you exclaimed in exasperation. “Well I hope they like cold bread rolls. By the Walls! All that work to ensure they were warm and oh so lightly buttered and I still only get you cold rolls.”

Erwin chuckled at your sudden change of mood, “They may still be warm. You’ve only been here for about an hour. You did a wonderful job in wrapping them in that basket. I do believe only one fell out.”

“Only one. I guess I’ll take that one,” you joked awkwardly and felt your face flush again. What were you doing?! What kind of dumb joke was that? By the Walls, why were you telling them to the commander of the Scouts!?

Erwin laughed, deeply, he would have taken more time to be surprised if he hadn’t found your demeanor so endearing. For the briefest of moments, he felt wildly afraid by the sound he made, laughter. How long had it been since he’d laughed?

Your eyes widened as his features broke into laughter, the complete opposite of how it had looked like not so long ago. He really was handsome when he smiled like that.

It was gone in a moment though and he looked at you calmly. The silence was short and you stared at one another, but it was enough for you to want to stop it. You’d die if those water blue eyes stared at you like that for another second!

“If you would like to, you can tell the soldiers. To eat the rolls I mean, not that I’ll eat that one roll. The bread rolls, they’re for them of course. And for you! As you know..” you bumbled and had to actively force yourself to smile as your body fought to hunch over and bury your face in your hands in sheer embarrassment. You couldn’t even speak right anymore. Walls you hoped he thought it was because of your head injury.

Erwin felt himself smile, she was surprisingly shy and outspoken at the same time. It was refreshing and charming. He shook his head to focus for a moment and then stood.

“I’ll go tell them, if that’s what you’d like. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat and more water,” he said. 

You nodded and watched him go. His shoulders were so much wider now that you saw them from behind. You watched mesmerized until he turned around. You almost squeaked, averting your eyes. You could NOT be caught staring.

“I’m going to apologize again. I didn’t ask your name,” Erwin said shaking his head, a disappointment to himself really.

“Oh, that. I’m (Y/N), it was nice to meet you Commander Smith” you replied, your heart beating a mile a minute from the startle he’d given you seconds ago.

“(Y/N),” Erwin said with a furrowed brow, “Stay resting,” then turned and left.

You sank into the bed and threw an arm over your face. You’d made a fool of yourself hadn’t you? Of all the people you could have talked to, it had to be the commander of the Scouts himself. Well it’s not like you knew meeting him would make you a whole fool, you thought bitterly. You settled into the bed at last and closed your eyes. Better not to think about it.

---

When you awoke the sun had set considerably. You rubbed your eyes and with a glance remembered where you were. You sighed and turned your head to the table. Your brows lifted in surprise and you sat up. Swinging your legs over the bed, you shuffled toward the table that now had water, soup, and a bread roll on a tray. 

Taking a seat at the chair Erwin had used, you lifted the bread roll. It was one of yours. You had a distinct pan mark on your bread that made it easy to recognize. You pinched the bread and it tore softly, with an ever so slight shimmer to your fingers as the drop of butter at it’s top. It wasn’t warm but you were surprised at how soft they still were. Good on you. You were about to give yourself a pat on the back when you noticed a folded paper just beside the bread roll. You flicked the white note open and blinked at it dumbly before laughing aloud. 

From the room next door, Erwin sat at his desk and lifted his head at the sound of your laughter. He looked to the far wall and smiled. You’d found the note. He felt rather proud and yet silly for having left it. He felt like he had as a young scout. Writing the note has been a very strange thing for him to do but he found himself writing it anyway. He didn’t think the note was particularly funny, but your laugh was worth it.

In your room you moved the note to stay unfolded on the tray, glancing at it as you ate. The neat block letters made you smile as you reread it out loud, “I can promise this is not the fallen bread roll.” Unaware, you and Erwin shared the same smile at the same silly note, and somewhere, a little pang of joy beat in both of you.

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 10: pen pal

Character A and Character B both sign up for a Christmas Pen Pal project to exchange post cards,, percabeth. not just letters I promise

01/04/2008

Hi! My name’s A, and I’m eight years old. Well, my name isn’t actually A, but I don’t know you yet so I can’t tell you my real name. I don’t know your name, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.

I don’t know why I’m doing this whole pen pal thing. I just thought it would be fun, but I don’t really know what to expect either. I guess I should tell you a little bit about myself.

My favorite color is grey, like my eyes. I like to read a lot too. I don’t have many friends, but that’s just because I don’t like talking to people. They start to talk, and it makes me feel like I want to hit them, so I prefer to just be by myself. I wouldn’t mind being your friend, though. I don’t have to hear you talk.

Hope I get your response soon! Goodbye until then!

Love, A.

,,

01/27/2008

Dear A,

I guess you can call me P then. I’m eight years old too, so that’s cool! We’re practically best friends already. I’m doing the pen pal thing because my teacher says I should practice writing. I’m not very good at writing, but I promiss prommis promise I’ll get better for you!

I like to swim. The water is cold where I live, but I still go in anyways. My mom says I’ll get hypothermia, but I do it anyways because it’s fun. I wonder if you like the water too? You’re crazy if you don’t, but it’s okay. I’ll be your friend anyways. I have one friend, but I don’t really like them very much. They’re mean to me a lot. You seem much nicer.

I’m so excited to get to talk to you!

From P :)

,,

05/07/2012

Hey, P! It’s been a couple of months since we spoke. I’ve missed my mystery-stranger-pen-pal-person. Hope you’re doing well.

Honestly, not much has happened with me. It’s the end of sixth grade, thank god. I actually hate all of my teachers. Especially the history one. She makes something that could be so interesting so dull, and it’s upsetting. There’s so much to tell about the past, and she’s ruining it. I’d consider saying something to her, but you know how it is.

I’ll just complain to you instead ;)

I remember you said you were applying to the swim team, and I think that’s so exciting! I know the try-outs passed, so let me know if you got in! (and if you didn’t, don’t worry about it. You don’t need to explain it to me if you don’t want to.)

Anyways, eagerly awaiting your response (but not that eagerly. It’ll be a couple of weeks, if not more.)

Love, A.

,,

05/20/2012

A! I’m insulted that you would think I didn’t make it onto the swim team. I am one with the fish. I am living my dream of swimming around the water like a turtle. It’s been pretty fun actually, except for when I ran into a wall and nearly bust my head open months ago. We don’t like to speak of that moment.

And yes, your history teacher is absolutely bizzare bizarre. I’m not the best with grades and spelling (clearly. I mean, look at my spelling of “bizarre”) but history is one of my better subjects, surprisingly. I think that it’s because the past is so important. My mom always likes to tell me that without the past, we wouldn’t learn for the future, so I try to pay attention to that class. I’m sorry you don’t like it :(

I really missed talking to you too. I don’t even know your name (cue frown), but I feel like I’ve known you my entire life. A person I can talk to when there’s no one else.

You’re my best friend (though I do love the term “mystery-stranger-pen-pal person).

Sincerely, P.

,,

10/7/2016

P! Get ready for my rant because I’m about to go off, and you’re going to listen.

People always say that you lose friends sophomore year. I didn’t think that was true. BOY, was I wrong. I’ve lost, like, twenty friends. I thought I’d be more upset about it, but honestly, I’m relieved. They always made me feel excluded, and without them, I’m not going home near tears every day.

I did meet a guy. His name is Luke, and he’s a junior. We’re not dating, but I wouldn’t mind it if we did. Not that I think it’ll ever happen because I’m too focused on school, but it would be nice to at least be friends. He’s really nice.

Also! The last letter was two months ago (?) and you said your school placed second in the state competition! Does that mean you’re going to nationals?

If you are, I am so proud of you. You seriously have to let me know how that goes.

Until next time.

Love, A.

,,

10/27/2016

A, my love!

As your best friend, I am obligated to say that you must not let the man be an obstacle to your schoolwork. I say this because I want you to do well. (Also because I’m in love with you)

Really though, I’m happy for you. I hope everything works out and you’re happy. That’s all that matters.

As for the sophomore thing, I felt that. I’ve never had all that many friends, but a lot of them changed. Change isn’t a bad thing I guess, but I wasn’t willing to stick around for them destroying themselves, so I didn’t. I’m always here if you need me.

(And I did place at states! Nationals was actually a few weeks ago! I didn’t place there, but I apparently got pretty close, which is awesome)

Love, P.

,,

04/03/2017

A! It’s been a while. I haven’t heard from you since October, and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Is that weird? I don’t know you but I’m checking in?

Oh well. I just really missed you. Not much has happened. Just wanted to say hi. Hope all is well.

Love, P.

,,

12/25/2017

A! Babes! Where are you? I’ve sent a few letters but haven’t gotten any responses. You’re kind of scaring me haha. Is it something I said?

I totally get if you don’t want to do this anymore, but just let me know please? I’m checking the mail every day and I keep getting more and more worried, so… Just let me know, please.

I miss you.

Love, P.

,,

06/01/2018

Dear A,

You never responded to any of my last letter. I get the feeling you’re not going to respond anymore, so I guess this is my last letter.

I graduated. Finally. It was a struggle, but I managed to bring my grades up. I even got accepted to a pretty good school. It’s not Ivy League, like I’m sure you got into. You’ve always been so smart.

I’m going to school in New York. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that in any of the 126 letters we’ve sent. I counted.

Anyways, I just really miss you. I hope you’re okay, and I really wish you the best.

My name’s Percy by the way.

Love, Percy.

,,

12/24/2023

Percy jumps as his girlfriend wraps her arms around his shoulder and nips at his ear. He turns and gives her a playful look.

“You want to take me to the ground?” he asks.

Annabeth rolls her eyes, sliding her hand into his. She feels really warm, even in the cold air outside of Rockefeller Center. “I’m not that heavy.”

“What if I told you you’re wrong?”

“You would get no more kisses for today.”

“Oh, we can’t have that.” Percy’s arms slide to wrap around her waist and tug her closer to his. She doesn’t resist, hugging him back. Percy nudges her jaw with his nose until she turns her face up so he can kiss her. “You’re not heavy at all. Super light, actually.”

She hums, kissing him again. “Good answer.”

Percy laughs, letting him detangle himself from her. His hand goes back to hers, and they begin walking around the plaza, taking in the beautiful decorations. It’s really pretty outside. He’s always had a thing for Christmas and its sparkling lights. He loves the smell of the pine trees and the feel of the light snowflakes against his face.

Annabeth swings her hands between them, and he thinks she looks so cute with her hair down in the cold and nose turned red that he can’t help but kiss her on the cheek.

Percy catches sight of a large sign at a random booth sitting along the edge of one of the buildings. It’s decorated horribly in the most adorable way — no doubt done by children. It’s what it reads that really makes him doubletake.

He just barely manages to make out the words, Christmas Pen Pal Exchange.

It makes his heart ache. He hasn’t heard from A since sophomore year of high school when he was sixteen. He’s twenty-three now. He can’t believe it’s this close to ten years since he heard from her.

He misses her so much. It’s not that he necessarily needed her because he has Annabeth, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world. He’s in love with Annabeth. He thinks he’s going to marry her someday.

A helped him get through difficult times. He wishes he could at least know that she was okay, or why she stopped talking to him. He doesn’t care why it happened anymore. He just wants to know, and to tell her things he was always too scared to say.

Annabeth bumps his shoulder as they pass the booth. “You okay?”

Percy swallows the small lump in his throat that formed. “I’m okay.”

“You sure? You look like you’re about to cry.”

A part of Percy doesn’t want to tell her. He wants to keep it to himself because he has for so long. What he and A had was different.

The other part, and the bigger part, does want to tell Annabeth. He loves her and wants her to know every piece of him. Annabeth is Percy’s best friend now, and there’s no reason for him to keep something like this for her.

“It’s just.” Percy pauses, looking over his shoulder at the booth. “I did one of those when I was young.”

He expects her to tease him, so he’s surprised when she says, “I did too.”

Percy looks at her. “You did?”

“Yeah. I was eight, I think.”

Percy breaks into a smile. “So you were that kid with no friends in elementary.”

“Okay, mister, you wrote them too.”

“That’s how I know you were a loser back then. I was too.”

“A match made in heaven,” she says, wrapping herself in his arms to block the wind that’s begun to blow harder. “Do you still talk to them?”

“Not anymore,” he admits. “We just stopped talking.”

“Aw. Why?”

Percy breathes deeply. “I’m honestly not sure. She just stopped talking to me.”

“What an ass,” Annabeth says.

“Right?” Percy laughs slightly. “I miss her, to be honest. Is that weird? I just used to talk to her all the time, and then — nothing.”

“It’s not weird at all,” she tells him, snuggling her face into the crook of his neck. “I miss mine too.”

“Why’d you stop talking?”

“I moved here. I lost their address, and I got a new one. It just didn’t work after that.” She smiles, thinking of a fond memory. “They used to call me their best friend. The only one I had.”

Percy turns his nose up. “Well now you have me, so forget that guy. No man dares hurt my baby.”

“If I ever meet them, promise to beat their ass.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises.

“What was their name?” she asks. “Of your pen pal?”

“I never found out,” he says. “She didn’t tell me her name. Only that it started with an A, so I called myself P, and we just kind of went on like that.”

The atmosphere suddenly turns cold as Annabeth stiffens in his arms.

“What is it?” he asks.

“You called yourself P? And the other person was A?”

Percy thinks to confirm before saying, “Yes. Why?”

“Did this person also meet a guy named Luke?”

Percy pulls away slightly. “How did you know that?”

“And you told them about your love for history at one point?” Percy suddenly feels lightheaded. “Annabeth…”

Annabeth’s lower lip trembled, and when she speaks, it comes out cracked. “I’m A.”

It hits him like a train, and Percy suddenly can’t breathe. His mouth opens for air, but his lungs fail him. His mind races, he doesn’t know what to say, and he feels like he’s going to pass out, and… “Oh my god,” is all he manages.

“Percy.”

“You’re A.”

Tears are falling from her eyes, and he doesn’t know how to feel. He doesn’t feel anything at all at first. It’s a weight off his chest, and he’s finally able to take a wrangled breath as it settles inside him. He feels something dripping down his face and realizes it’s tears.

He feels like he should be mad, but he’s not. He can’t be mad at Annabeth because he loves her so much, and he knows what happened, and it’s not her fault, and it’s not his either, and he’s in love with her.

Percy tugs her close. He doesn’t kiss her because right now, this is him seeing A again. His face is in his neck, and he can hear her sobs, and he’s sure his are just as bad. He pulls away, and he lets himself kiss her this time.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers into the kiss. He can taste the tears falling, but he pays it no attention. “I missed you, and I love you so much.”

“I’m sorry,” is what she says.

“Don’t,” he says, pulling away sharply. His voice is wobbly. “This is not your fault.”

Annabeth whimpers. “It feels like it.”

“It doesn’t matter. We found each other, and that’s all that matters, okay?” He wipes the tears from her face gently and kisses her forehead. “We found each other.”

“A twisted way of fate.”

Percy lets out a wet laugh. “It is, but it’s okay.”

“I love you,” she whispers.

There’s so much he wants to say back, but he would never have enough time to say it. “I love you too, mystery-stranger-pen-pal-person,” he whispers. He stays like that, her wrapped in his arms, and he doesn’t know how much time passes like this.

He kisses her, but this time it is as more than her boyfriend.

They are P and A.

Percy and Annabeth.

They are best friends and lovers in one.

He’s going to marry her. His best friend.

Percy and Annabeth.

P and A.

[whirlybirdwhat]

Prompt: ASL give Dadan a father's day card. (She threatens to kill them but she keeps the card)

hehehehe this is late BUT HERE WE GOOOOOO

bear hag tiger bandit dad mom

read on ao3 here

“Hey guys.” Ace started out of nowhere, as he and his brothers laid down, staring at the sky from their usual cliffside spot. “What even… is Dadan.”

A beat of quiet.

“A hag!” Luffy said delightedly, giggling as he rolled over to stare at Ace. “An ugly one! Or even a bear! Oh she’s a bear-hag! A bear-hag-tiger-bandit!” He then gasped dramatically, stars in his eyes. “DO YOU THINK SHE CAN HAVE CLAWS! AND FANGS!”

“No! Idiot!” Sabo thumped Luffy on the head without even moving from his position on his back. “Dadan isn’t a bear. Or a tiger. She is a hag though.” He nodded, as if he had made an excellent, proper point.

Ace groaned at his brothers. “No! I mean what even is she to like… us. Not anybody else.”

“What do you mean?” Sabo rolled over as well to look at Ace, who was staunchly refusing to look at anyone else and whose face was turning a brilliant shade of red.

“I mean… like she kinda watches over us right? Does that make her kinda like a parent?”

Sabo cocked his head to the side, thinking. “I mean… maybe? She does give us food and medicine sometimes.”

“NO! THAT’S NOT DADAN! THAT’S –“ Luffy was quickly cut off by a hit to the head from Sabo.

“The Mystery Doctor isn’t real, Luffy, its just Dadan in a shitty mustache.”

Luffy looked to the side disgruntled. “Hmph.”

“GUYS! Focus!” Ace finally rolled over to face his brothers, so now they were finally all looking at each other. “What is Dadan? A Parent? A Mom?”

“I never had a mom before! Or a dad! Is Dadan a dad? Or a mom?” Luffy chattered, jumping on the possibility.

“Neither have I. That’s why I’m wondering.” Ace ignored the latter half of Luffy’s comment. Sometimes it was better to allow him to ramble than to try to make sense of it all. “Sabo you had parents right? What were they like?”

“Shitty.”

“Well, duh. No shit. What else?” Ace prompted, Luffy finally having quieted about Dadan being a tiger-bear-dad-mom beside him, and both staring attentively at Sabo.

(Because, well. They were children who never really had a home beside each other. Dadan was the closest thing Ace ever got, Luffy never had more than spare moments when the bar wasn’t busy, and both never knew anyone that could have been called dad, or mom, or anything of the sort – no one who stayed that is.

Ace hated his dad, and loved his mom (and hated himself, for all that he did,) and Luffy simply didn’t think he had any parents to feel anything about.

Still, Ace wondered, and things that his brothers wondered about, Luffy wondered about.)

Sabo placed his hand on his chin as if to think better. “Well. If we’re figuring out what Dadan was closest to, my mom was kind of like… Eh. She just cared about appearances and looking pretty and shit like that.”

Luffy and Ace nodded as one. “That’s not Dadan.” Dadan might wear make-up and beads, but she was a mountain bandit who was never really seen by people other than her clan or her victims. She didn’t really care about stuff like that. Even if she did get pissed when they stole the lipstick she kept hidden in her back closet for war paint.

“And she cared about other kids more than me, and didn’t really bother me until I did something she or someone else didn’t like.”

“Definitely not Dadan.” Luffy and Ace nodded again. Dadan didn’t have any other kids and yelled at them all the time. (Though, that may be because they never did anything they were supposed to do. What did she expect? Chores were boring! )

“What about your dad? What was he like?” Ace prompted, tossing out the idea of ‘mom.’

“Shitty. He always yelled at me and called me names. He was mean about it though. Dadan just looks like she’s about to cry.” Sabo finished, still thinking hard. “I mean… my parents aren’t what everyone else says parents are like though? At least for the kids in Edge Town.”

“Yeah… dads are supposed to protect you right? And be big and strong? And leaders?” Ace questioned, bitterness tracing into his voice.

“And moms are suppose to like take care of you and bring you stuff! Like the Mystery Doc-“

“THAT’S JUST DADAN!” Both Ace and Sabo this time hit Luffy’s head, cutting him off.

“She just comes to check on us, then trips up all our traps! It’s not a Mystery Doctor! Just! Dadan!” Ace spit out.

Luffy whined as the three of them quieted, thinking over everything that they had just said.

Then, Sabo spoke the words that would seal Dadan’s fate.

“If Dadan is kind of like a dad…” She protected them, or tried to in her own way, and was the leader of the Dadan bandits. “And kind of like a mom…” She was the Mystery Doctor, as Luffy called it, and checked up on them while cursing them out in all sorts of nasty ways. “Then… is she a mom and a dad? Is that how that works?”

“Well. We only have one of her. She can be both.” Ace decided. Jungle life left no room for society to state who could or could not be what and… well…

Besides. Maybe mom’s were the protectors sometimes and the leaders, and maybe dads were the caretakers. Ace was pretty sure that could happen. Did happen. Roles were stupid anyway. Just do whatever the fuck you wanted. That’s how Ace and his brothers lived, anyway, how everyone should live.

But…

“Why were you really asking Ace?”

Sabo knew him too well.

“Some of the kids in Edgetown were talking about how they were getting their dads’ shit for Father’s Day or something.”

And Ace wanted to know if he should be making something for anyone (or just wallow in the hatred he had for his dad.)

If he had anyone to make something for.

Luffy doesn’t even question why Ace was lurking around Edgetown kids without them, and sits up with stars in his eyes.

“WE NEED TO MAKE A CARD FOR –“

“SHUT UP!!”  Twin fist slammed into a rubber head as Ace and Sabo cut Luffy’s idea off.

“HEY!”

Or maybe…

“Maybe he has a point.” Sabo hummed, thoughtfully, as they had all settled into the ground.

“What?”

“Maybe we should make a card for Dadan.” Sabo rolled out of the way of Ace’s fist. “No! Think about it! We get to tell her thank you for all the shit she tries to do for us and maybe she’ll stop yelling at us so often!”

Luffy and Ace looked at him as if he were an idiot.

Sabo felt vaguely insulted.

“It’d be super funny to see her face when we give it to her too.”

Luffy and Ace looked at him as if he were a genius.

Now, there was only one question left.

“How the fuck do you make a card anyway?”

-

Dadan woke up peacefully that morning, which was an immediate cause for her to reach for her knife under the bed and spring into action.

She never woke up peacefully anymore. Not since those three brats had taken to crashing the hut in the morning. Either something was wrong, or those brats were playing with her.

She was going to get more gray hairs than Garp at this rate.

Fuck.

Quickly, she scanned her room for any oddities, any thing that would tip her off to whatever the fuck was going on this morning.

Dresser. Mirror. Weapons. Window. Card. Window. Wall. Wea- Wait.

Card?

Dadan stepped closer to the piece of folder thick paper, lying on her dresser, and peered at it closely.

Hapy Father’s Day! It read, in the misspelt handwriting of a child who had previously learned to write well then gave up. It was in black ink, fancy looking, with a smear along the exclamation point and drifting off into the side.

Around it was jungle trees in crayon and something that might have passed as Dadan, if not for the lack of face, and the only visual characteristics being orange curls and red beads and sharp teeth and a angry look.

Curious.

Wait.

SHE WAS A WOMAN!

Damn BRATS!

She ignored the tears at the edge of her eyes and opened the card, knife set to the side.

Dear Dadan, the same handwriting as the front said, this time in dark blue, thickly pressed crayon. Hapy Father’s day. Thank you for taking care of us. Beside the note was a scribbled jolly roger, an S surrounded by crossbones as its signature. Besides that was another scribbly orange blob, this time marginally closer to looking like a person.

Beneath that, on the same page, was careful red print, again in crayon. The words were spaced out, as were the letters, as if the writer didn’t particularly know how many letters were in the word and was waiting for someone to tell them. It read Shitty Old Hag. Thank you for taking care of me. You are stupid but you are strong sometimes. Happy Fathers Day. – Ace

Besides that was some suspicious wet spots, hastily wiped away.  Dadan dabbed her own eyes as to not add to them.

Ace’s artistry skills were slightly better than Sabo’s at least. His version of her was most definitely a person, apparently sitting atop of a bear. She laughed at that, a little.

Her eyes skimmed to the next page, where a monstrosity of black and orange was red was scribbled out. She was vaguely sure it was human. Vaguely. It might have been a bear.

The yellow crayon writing had been outlined in careful strokes by someone clearly not the original writer. DADAN, it seemed to screech, YOU ARE THE BEST BEAR HAG TIGER BANDIT MOM DAD. MOUNTAIN BANDITS SUCK BUT YOUR COOL. – FUTUR KING OF THE PIRATES

Then, on the opposite side of the drawing, in bright orange, LUFFY.

These stupid, stupid kids.

Dadan wasn’t crying. She wasn’t.

Oh how she loved these kids.

She turned the card around one last time, to the message on the back.

This handwriting, graceful and in black ink, was one she recognized. Makino.

Dear Dadan,

I hope this gift doesn’t insult you too bad, the boys were so excited to do it that I just had to help them with supplies! They really do love you, even if they don’t quite grasp the difference between mom and dad. They told me they just decided you could be both. Isn’t that great?

Thank you for being there for our boys Dadan! Happy Father’s Day.

-Makino

Okay. Maybe Dadan was crying right now.

Oh, she hated the fact that she loved these boys.

“Shishishi!”

“Luffy! Shut up!”

THUNK!

Oh, she was going to kill them.

Dadan turned to the window where a top hat, a straw hat, and a quite obvious head of black hair was peeking out over the window sill.

“BOYS!” She raged, setting the card down with care before running to the window.

“RUN!” Came the terrified call, followed by laughter and joy as three boys sprinted away into the woods.

Dadan debated following them, before deciding she would rather they not see her teary-eyed face.

Ah.

She might not be the best parent, but she did alright at least. Enough to get a card on a holiday.

Dadan loved her boys.

She really did.

[playlistmusings]

I am sick of the chase But I'm stupid in love (And there's nothing I can do)

 1,571 words

Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Response to a prompt from @charrise :  “ Do you accept fanfic prompts? Because I got an idea it’s post TWK and Cardan’s wondering why Jude won’t come back and then he begins to reevaluate how he treated Jude in the past? And he realizes he treated Nicasia like a queen and Jude like dirt and he begins to wonder if Jude’s not coming back because of him and he begins to regret how he treated her?”

Cardan was pacing. It was an unfortunate habit he had picked up since becoming king, the actual king that is, one without a meddling seneschal secretly working behind the scenes. It had started at some point while Jude had been held captive by Queen Orlagh, when his days bled together because of repetitive meetings and his nights bled together because of the worry that had filled the pit of his stomach. It felt odd to be alone with his thoughts, usually when things got bad, Cardan made a point to surround himself with people and vices, in an effort to escape his mind. But those days, where all he could think about was Jude and getting her back safely, it felt wrong to surround himself with people he knew she would hate, doing things that would cause her to look at him with disdain. So, he paced.

He had hoped that the habit would be forgotten when he got her back. When he slipped the ring on her finger and proclaimed her his queen, hoping that meant that instead of pacing at night he would hold her body to his and never worry about her safety again. But then she had killed Balekin and Queen Orlagh had demanded a punishment and he had exiled her.

It had been far too long since then, far too long since Cardan had heard her voice or saw her face, and, yet she still filled his mind. He felt like when he was younger, writing Jude, Jude, Jude over and over again on paper before hiding it away in books, as if he could stop his thoughts from controlling him by forcing them onto paper. He had tried that since her exile. Writing long winded prose explaining that she should come back, that she should come home. He had not-so-subtly hinted at the loophole he had left, writing until such time as she is pardoned by the crown with such emphasis on the last word of the phrase, that he knew that lest she had, somehow, never received a single letter, then she had to understand his meaning. So he was forced to assume that she understood his meaning and chose to ignore it, chose to ignore him.

That fact hurt him more than he would admit. Throughout the whole time he had known Jude, he didn’t mind that she hated him, in fact, it usually made it easier for him, knowing that she thought of him at all, even if her thoughts were colored with anger and hatred. This time though, when he had, for once, been trying to help her, when he thought she should finally see through the cruelty and understand he didn’t want to hurt her, he just wanted her. Jude. The High Queen. His queen.

So he paced. And contemplated writing another letter.

Eventually he decided against it, less so because he thought it'd be best not to, but because the sun was slowly moving up in the sky and he knew he only had a few short hours until he’d be forced to go to a meeting and then another and end the evening with a revel. Slipping under the spider silk sheets, Cardan forced thoughts of Jude out of his mind and focused on ignoring the way his bed felt too big and cold and lonely.

-----

Cardan felt his crown tipping precariously off the edge of his head as he sat haphazardly on his throne. He was aware that he should be smiling, laughing, dancing, something other than frowning on his throne, wishing he could get drunk without seeing Jude every time he closed his eyes. To be fair, Jude was usually hidden behind his eyelids, but when he was less than sober, his mind muddy with alcohol and his inhibitions lowered, he found that her face was more vivid, that he could feel the intensity of her glare as if she were right next to him. So he didn’t drink.

He was slightly aware of Locke and Taryn and Nicasia off to his side, walking towards him with drinks in their hands and mischief in their eyes. As they approached the throne, Cardan saw Locke’s eyes catch on a faerie walking past, clearly enamored and lust driven, despite his wife’s presence at his side. It was no surprise that Locke split from the trio, leaving Taryn to wander away pretending that she wasn’t hurt by his actions. So only Nicasia was left to approach his throne, nodding her head in a small acknowledgement of his position before speaking.

“My King, wouldn’t you rather be dancing or doing something more enjoyable than sitting on your throne all alone?”

Cardan could feel a part of himself come to the surface, the other side of him reserved for his school friends and members of the court that reeked of self-importance, yet polite in the way only someone raised from birth to be a part of the gentry could master. The frown slipped from his face as he replied, “Of course, but, alas, a king must make time for his subjects to come to him with their problems.”

Cardan refused to acknowledge that when Jude was seneschal times like these were secretly one of his favorites. He would put on airs while drinking and laughing, all the while knowing Jude would always be by his side, whispering into his ear exactly what he should say and do. Now, it felt like a slap in the face to only have Nicasia by his side, someone he couldn’t banter with or insult or antagonize. The thought shot a painful jolt through his heart. Imagining the rest of his life like this: lonely, boring, sad, and all because of his actions. It was something he was loath to admit, that it was his words that caused Jude to leave, even if a part of him knew that it was a risk when he said those words on the beach, a bigger part of him hoped it wouldn’t be true. And he was wrong, so instead he was left alone with Nicasia and her pretty smiles and flirtatious words, all the while wishing she were someone else.

Something about the moment reminded him of all the revels before this mess, before the bloody coronation and Jude’s secret plot and everything, when him, Nicasia, Locke, and Valerian would walk through these same rooms, demanding respect and hurting those who refused to give it. It almost felt nice to be lost in those memories, of trysts and teenage foolishness, until Jude’s face worked its way into the memories. For every moment of satisfaction he got, there was a memory of Jude’s frown or hate shooting from her eyes, burning into his heart. It was enough for him to mumble some half-hearted apology to the direction of Nicasia as he slipped from the room into the halls that led to his chambers.

His mind felt too full, as he thought through all the times he had antagonized or hurt Jude. Flashes of her face stubbornly refusing to show weakness as he watched Valerian force faerie fruit into her mouth, glimpses of her saving Taryn from drowning in the river, all of it clicking into place in a horrid montage of his misdeeds. What struck him the hardest is that for every memory of the pain he caused Jude, there was Nicasia, standing by his side laughing or smiling, perfectly happy. Even as she toyed with his heart, leaving him for Locke, he had shown Nicasia respect and knew that she would be there as a friend— regardless of how messed up his definition of the word was. It hurt, finally acknowledging that while he only saw the kind gestures, he gave Jude, pricking her so she would stop suffering from the faerie fruit induced madness, offering her an out from his antagonizing, she must only remember the pain that he had caused, all the while treating someone half as deserving of his love and compassion more kindness than her.

It suddenly made sense why she didn’t respond to his letters or come back to him. Because even if he had thought he made his loophole clear, even if he had exaggerated the point in his letters time and time again, Jude was used to seeing the worst parts of him, of being blinded by the pain and unaware of the miniscule efforts he had made to help her.

Every memory stung like an arrow lodging its way into his skin, knowing that all of his actions were horrible, that he was horrible and cruel. Knowing that Jude must think of him as horrible and cruel, and that she was right to believe it. But the realization that right when he had earned her trust, right when Jude had seemed to let go of the memories of Cardan’s cruelty, he had exiled her, had denied her as his queen, in front of Orlagh and Nicasia, struck his heart like a dagger. And now she wasn’t coming back, because of him. Because he was everything she must think him to be, a wicked king, undeserving of love or respect, least of all from her.

So, when he arrived back in his room, thinking of all his regrets, refusing to let himself remember anything but the truth of how he hurt the one woman he would do anything for, he paced.

————

So, I lied, and I wrote this all in one sitting instead of starting my school work. Which means that I am apparently better at getting things written in a timely matter than I thought I was, but I am also apologetic if this isn’t the best because I should probably edit it more, but oh well. Anyways, I hope you liked it and that it was sort of what you had in mind, I feel like I’m not that good at writing angst but I tried my best :)  (Title from Killer by Phoebe Bridgers, which side note I feel like is such a Jude and Cardan song but that may just be because I listened to Stranger In The Alps while reading this series oops)

[mydrug-is-dragonage]

Veda Adaar, Life after Bull

Victory. Triumph. Glory. Pride. What we usually feel when we win a battle. The quiet grief of cutting down lives, regardless of how worthy they are of death, but the warm joy, knowing we saved someone or something or everyone or everything from a grand or small evil.

Victory.  We stood on the balcony, crowded together, together again for the first time in years. Thom and Sera, Divine Victoria’s watchful eyes, Cassandra and Varric’s constant disdainful flirting, Cole and Maryden’s quiet affection, Dorian and Vivienne both wine drunk trading insults, the quiet acknowledgement of a friendship that grew against both of their wills. Josephine and Cullen arguing, treating the terrace like battlements, more performative as they both know the end is closer than the beginning. Solas, our own personal god, long-gone into the eluvian. We’re all here, we’re all together. All of us, but Bull.

Triumph. The weeks have passed, a quick and effective rebuke from the Arishok, King Alistair and Empress Celene accept it quietly, no time for war with another battle floating above us in the air. Back at Skyhold, a skeleton crew, these days just Harding and me spend our time in the battle room, staring at maps; Leliana’s other protégés are always off on missions. Sera pops by every now and then to see Dagna with bees and trinkets and little things to remind me that she’s never really gone. The best day, or the worst depending on the audience, Sera and Dagna came up to my room, giggling, presented me with a crossbow for where my arm ought to be. “Widdle’s a wizard, yeah! You’ll be on rooftops sticking it to people too big for their breeches in no time!” I thanked them, and sent them away. This is love, at least for Sera. Her love is violence and showy maneuvers, dancing with both hands and feet shaking about.

Glory. Josephine writes me letters, telling me to eat, to ask Cullen to write back. After a few months, she finally pens, “I know I am no longer your formal ambassador, but as your informal friend I find it painful to admit what has been sung in the inns and halls. Bards have taken your loss and turned it into song. Unlike what Maryden had composed, these are unfortunately mocking in nature. People have taken the final act and written it as the whole narrative, my lady. A play premiered in Val Royeux putting you at the center of the conflict, as the one who allowed it to happen. If you desire, I can put an end to this. Divine Victoria recommended assassins, but I’ve temporarily dispelled her more primal desires. Likewise, Mr. Arainai also reached out, grateful for the assistance you had given him evading the Crows. I similarly told him no. Above all, regardless of what action we take, I want you to know I am sorry. You’ve lost much, suffered more than so many of us. I’m sorry, Veda. I love you.”  It wasn’t unexpected, bards sing, playwrights write. They tell the tales people want to hear. Immortalizing betrayal has always turned them into legends.

Pride. A cold morning, one with little to be done, Charter and Rector off in Nevarra, the crows neither coming or going, Lace came into my room, “Sorry to bother you, V, we’ve got a vistor.”

“Avoidable?” I ask.

“What an impossibly rude question, darling.” I looked up from my desk and saw her horns pointing from the stairway.

“Oh, Vivienne, I wasn’t expecting you,” I said. I don’t stop the smile on my face. For all our differences, we’d become like sisters. On her best days, she’d fawn over me like a mother.

“That’s Grand Enchanter now, My Lady Inquisitor.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Lace said, excusing herself. I waited to hear the door close, then the other. Vivienne stood, graceful and stoic as ever. A few more moments of silence, then she broke into a smile. She took off her hat, placed it on the sofa, and walked towards me, arms splayed.

“Oh, my dear, how I’ve missed you!” I stood up, robes draping and hiding me.

I leaned into her hug, resting my head on hers. “Grand Enchanter, really Viv?”

“One must keep appearances, darling. Besides, imagine if Bull heard you call me…” She heard it as it left her mouth. “Oh, my sweet, I’m so sorry. While we should have anticipated his betrayal, I know the loss must weigh on you heavily.” She nestled further into my chest. I breathed out, for a moment just Veda, not the Inquisitor, not the betrayed lover, not the important person forced upon me. I was mortal, Vashoth, tall and strong and being hugged by someone who loved me enough to allow me to be small and weak. We settled onto the couch. I pulled my legs in front of me

“You know better than anyone. I remember, I was there when you lost Bastien.”

“And I was there when you lost the Iron Bull,” she sighed. “We are sisters in grief, as well as sisters in victory. We’re sisters in success, although your’s has had its struggles as of late. I assume the Divine told you of the bards?”

“Josephine.”

“The Nightingale sending a gentler songbird. Wise.”

“I assumed it would happen. Charter brought back the lyrics and playbook from what she considered the more consumable tales,” I said.

“They’re vile, darling. I offered the services of the Circle. The Divine declined. I assumed she had sent assassins.”

“No, I turned down the offers.”

“You’re losing political capital, my dear. If you want to return to the world, recruit who you need to defeat Solas, you’ll need allies. New allies, old allies. It will require quite the force and connections. You know you have the Circle, as much as we can politically sacrifice in this turbulent time,” she said.

“It isn’t the first thing on my mind, at the moment,” I said.

“And why not darling? If you choose to remain in obscurity at some point it will no longer be a choice.”

 It’s spring, it is the last night at Skyhold before we leave for the Exalted Council. Cullen and Josephine have been up bickering most the evening, finally put to rest. I settle into my room, sitting at my desk, twiddling my pen. My bag is packed, the horses are ready. The door creaks open. I don’t look up, I can smell him from here. Even after a bath he smells like home, smoky and warm. “Hey, Kadan.”

“Hey,” I say, “they finished?”

“Well, Cullen is now arguing with Cabot which gave me enough time to get the serving girls to feed Josephine. She wanted to get back to bickering, but I asked her if the itinerary had been checked. So I think they’re fine for now.”

“They’re just worried about tomorrow, the coming weeks. It’s normal,” I say,

“You’re the one who grew up with humans. They worry too much, but it makes them easy to work with. Like clay.” I smile and look back down at my papers. “Enough work, Kadan. You can’t do anything more today.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Are you going to make me?” I smirk.

“Oh, is this what we’re doing?”

“Oh you didn’t know?” I laugh. “I thought you knew it all, everything I needed, Ben-Hassrath training, remember?” He smiles and walks towards me, I slide back in my seat and he scoops me up.

In bed, his heart pumps slow and heavy in his chest. I trace his body with my hands, his arm around me. Our horns rub against each other, small grooves from the years of lying here together. “Better?” He asks.

“What do you think?”

“I know. I just want to know if you know.” I lean up and kiss him.

“Yes, better.” He smells better when he’s sweaty. Something about those early days, seeing him tear through crowds, watching his arms lift and push those heavy swords and axes. Long before, when the Chargers still existed, when he wasn’t just my man, but their man.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“I’m sorry, you know,” I say. For a moment, he’s silent, sitting in the grief.

“You made the right choice. You made the only choice. You led like a Qunari.”

“It shouldn’t have been my choice. I should have let you decide,” I say.

“No,” He says, clipped. “You are the Inquisitor. It was your decision, to keep the alliance or lose it. You made history. You stopped a batshit insane darkspawn from destroying the world.”

“I could have stopped him anyway,” I say.

“We don’t know that. The Tamassrans used to say, ‘When there are no right choices, the right decision is the one you make and the one you live with.’” I nestle into his chest.

“I’m happy the Qunari have kept you here.”

“Me too, Kadan.”

“I love you, Bull.” He pulls me closer into him. For a moment, I wonder if he’s crying.

 “I don’t want you to be angry, Viv,” I said.

"Oh what now darling? First you go into solitude like a hermit, what’s next?” I put my legs down and pulled my robes back. “What’s this?” She looked, at first with curiosity, then her eyes widened. “Veda, oh Veda, are you?”

My eyes well, “Yeah, Viv. I am.”

She covers her mouth, the first time I’ve seen her truly shocked. “And is it…?” With that question, the tears fall. The heavy sobs wrack my chest and Vivienne crawls towards me, arms draped around my shoulders and I cry into her chest. “Oh darling, of course you’ve been distracted.” She rubs the back of my head, stroking my neck as I calm down. “Should I ask Harding for some tea? Juice? No wine, of course.” I shake my head. “Oh dear. Who all knows?”

I swallow and trap my tears in my chest. “So far you, Leliana, Thom, and Cassandra. Lace knows, and she’s kept questions from Charter and Rector to a minimum.”

“You haven’t told Josephine?”

“How could I? What could I possibly say, ‘Oh yes, enjoy your new career in Antiva! By the way, I’m carrying the betrayer’s child! Send my love to Yves and Yvette!’”

“I don’t think keeping it secret is much wiser, my dear. People will know, especially once the child is here. Do the Qunari know?” She asked.

“As far as Leliana’s sources know, no. Bull was loyal to the end, they had no reason to think he’d do this, especially when it hadn’t happened in the years before.”

“When did this happen?”

“Right before we left for the Exalted Council,” I said.

“Oh.”

“I know,” I said. “He must have known. I can’t decide if this was kindness or cruelty.”

“What’s that line he always said, darling? ‘When it’s a hostile target, you give them what they want. When it’s someone you care about, you give them what they need.’”

The tears well again. My hands slide to swollen belly. “It isn’t what I wanted. I had never even considered it. He was Qunari enough that I knew we’d never have a family.”

She reached a hand towards my belly, “May I?” I sniffed and nodded. She placed her hands on my stomach, on top of my own hands. “If this isn’t what you wanted, then it must have been what he thought you needed.”

  “He couldn’t have known we’d win. He fought like he meant it. He struck me with his blade. He wasn’t fighting to lose.” The anger and grief mixed in my throat.

“He wasn’t, he never did, darling. But he knew you. He knew us. He knew you’d bring me and Cassandra. He knew what the Qunari could and couldn’t do. He believed in you, at the end. Just as he had at the beginning, my dear.” I took a hand from my belly and moved it to the outside of my horn, the groove still there from the years spent lying together.

“I’m not planning on bringing  my child into the public life. We’ll have a few years, at least, presuming we aren’t all destroyed by Solas,” I said.

“Shh, no reason to worry about that right now, darling. We have today’s troubles and tomorrow’s troubles.” She sat back and blinked away her own tears. “I’ve never been an aunt before. I’ll of course send over a suite of clothes and supplies from Val Royeux.”

 I wipe my eyes and smile, “Are you going to be an aunt or a Grandma’am?”

"Oh you miserable louse, how dare you?” She said, the tears finally pouring from her eyes.

[lochrannn]

Warnings: Sexual Content (M Rating)

Characters: Lila Pitts; Diego Hargreeves; Allison Hargreeves; Klaus Hargreeves; Hargreeves Siblings (background)

Relationship: Lila Pitts/Diego Hargreeves

Roommates AU; Fake Marriage; Slow Burn; Mutual Pining; Emotional H/C

Chapter 6/?

-

Lila picks up the letter with the marriage license from the letterbox when she comes home from running some errands only a few days after they applied for it. She recognises that it’s from city hall and hesitates for a moment as it’s addressed to Diego and could honestly be anything, how would she know, but she’s desperately impatient so she decides to open the letter and just give it a cursory look and apologise for snooping through his mail later if it turns out to be something else.

As it is, in fact, the marriage license, Lila gets on the phone right away and books an appointment at the courthouse for a wedding in a week’s time, apparently managing to get a slot that just opened up again earlier in the morning, as the waiting time would otherwise have been a couple more weeks. The clerk at city hall had very kindly explained to them how to go about booking a courthouse wedding and what that would entail, otherwise Lila would have been back at square one again even with the license.

All they need to bring is their necessary documentation and a single witness. Lila really hopes Diego has someone he can ask, because she doesn’t want to get one of her coworkers to come along.

She explains this to Diego when he turns up in the evening and he doesn’t even blink at the fact that she opened the letter addressed to him and then suggests he could ask Klaus to be their witness.

“I can ask my brother to take some pictures as well, so we have them as proof for the visa proceedings.” Diego muses.

“Who, Klaus?” Lila asks a bit confused why Diego wouldn’t just refer to him by name, seeing as she’s already met him.

“No, Ben.” Diego says, a bit distracted, as he reads through the letter that she handed him.

“You have another brother?” Lila asks, surprised.

Diego gives her a blank look for a second, then says, “Uh, I have four brothers…”

“And a sister?” Lila puts together, her voice a little high in disbelief.

“Two sisters, actually… all adopted.” Diego shrugs noncommittally, “I guess we’ll have to go through all of that before the interview process.”

Lila could kick herself, because she forgot to ask him exactly what the interview could possibly entail as she’d not heard of it before Diego mentioned it back at city hall. She’s relatively certain that the image that pops into her head of her pretending to be some kind of nineteen fifties housewife in a hoop skirt and delicate curls, who has to fawn over her breadwinner husband while a government agent takes notes, is probably not exactly what they are in for.

But before she can ask about the interview this time, Diego asks tentatively, “Uhm, have you thought about what you’re gonna wear?”

Lila is sitting on the arm of the couch, Diego standing not too far away from her, very strenuously looking down at the letter in his hand. Lila crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, and after a moment Diego does look at her and is immediately flustered.

“I’m not— It’s not… It’s just, if we’re taking pictures, we can’t look too shabby, but it’s also just a courthouse wedding, so we can’t look too fancy either.”

“You think I might turn up to my wedding looking shabby?” Lila asks in an even tone, but she tries very hard to give it an edge and tries even harder not to start laughing out loud at the look of panic that makes its way onto Diego’s face.

“That’s not… I didn’t mean…” he stammers, but Lila takes sympathy and interrupts him to say, not unkindly, “I have a dress I can wear.”

“Ok,” Diego says, clearly relieved that she didn’t end up getting annoyed at him again, and a tiny part of Lila is filled with a little bit of guilty regret for making him feel like he can’t say anything to her without the danger of her blowing up at him. He’s doing her a massive favour, apparently despite the fact he seems to think of her as some kind of raging bitch. It’s not like she can entirely blame him, but for some reason that thought really twists something in the pit of her stomach.

Which is odd, because she usually couldn’t give a flying toss about what people think of her.

-

In the end the day somehow arrives much sooner than she expected and Lila finds herself stepping out of her room in a short red cotton dress that hangs a little loosely off the thin straps across her shoulder but is cinched at the waist with a drawstring with a bow, and she’s put on a pair of black high heel sandals.

She hears Diego in the kitchen, so she makes her way over and when she finds him she is hit by the view of Diego in a pair of very nicely fitted grey suit trousers, a matching jacket, and what must be a black t-shirt underneath as he’s pouring himself a cup of coffee. For a second Lila can’t work out if she’s completely underdressed by comparison, or whether Diego is just wearing the heck out of his clothes, but then he notices her and gives her a once over with a strange expression.

“You look… uh… really, uhm, cute,” he says, a bit hesitantly.

“Ah shit,” Lila says, a bit frustrated, “this is way too casual… Hold on, I can take another look in my cupboard…” but Diego interrupts her. “No, Lila, honestly, you look lovely! You’re perf— It’s perfect! Not too flashy, but you look very nice, really!” Diego says in a reassuring tone and despite the fact she doesn’t quite feel like she’s actually struck the balance, she’s finding it hard not to believe him, he does sound awfully sincere.

Diego drives them to the courthouse and Lila is very intrigued by his car. It's classic Chevy and it’s a bit of a banger of a thing, but inside it smells of leather seats and very faintly of Diego’s aftershave, and Lila is weirdly comforted by that, considering her stomach is rolling with nerves. She’s not even sure why. This means nothing, they are doing this so she can get a visa and yet Lila wonders whether she’d honestly be significantly more nervous if this was her real wedding.

On their way they pick up Klaus, who is wearing a sarong and a tie dye crop top and Lila is interested to see that Diego doesn’t comment at all on the outfit, so neither does she. Then they pick up Diego’s other brother, Ben, who’s wearing a leather jacket over a hoodie, Lila can see as he approaches the car. A lot more sensibly dressed than Klaus, but still a little casual for a wedding. Then again, Lila thinks, he’s mostly only there to take the photos, so it doesn’t actually matter.

The first thing Ben does, as he climbs into the car, is make a snide comment at Klaus’s attire and Klaus shoots back with something equally insulting and after a short back and forth Diego interrupts them in annoyance, “Shut the fuck up back there, or I swear, I’m gonna pull someone off the sidewalk to be the witness, and I’m sure we can get the officiant to take a couple of pictures!”

The two brothers in the backseat take that as an invitation to have an argument amongst themselves about the ungratefulness they have to deal with and Diego rolls his eyes at them in the rearview mirror, but Lila catches the fond smile that etches it’s way across his lips and she’s quite certain that she wasn’t meant to see that. She’s glad she did.

She’s also glad that Diego has apparently told his brothers the purpose of their wedding, which means they don’t have to pretend in front of them and only need to start acting like a couple as they are called into the ceremonial office twenty minutes after their actual appointment.

The officiating judge seems harassed and in a hurry and just makes a grabbing motion as they enter. Diego catches on right away. Maybe, Lila muses, he deals with people like this all the time in his job, so he hands over all of their documents that they have compiled in one file.

The judge gives the paperwork a very thorough look, while Lila and Diego stand a little awkwardly in front of her desk.

“Okay, this all seems fine. Can I see the witness’s ID?” she says looking over the rim of her glasses at Ben.

“Oh, that’s me!” chirps Klaus and flounces over to the desk and hands the judge a passport that Lila doesn’t want to think about where he’d been keeping it on his person.

“Alright!” Says the judge and pulls a form out of a tray and starts writing their names on it in what looks, from where Lila can see it, like remarkably tidy cursive.

“Well then, are you, Diego Hargreeves, free lawfully to marry Lila Pitts?” she asks in a very official sounding voice.

Diego, much like Lila herself, must be a bit taken aback at how quickly they got to this part but rallies and says, in an unwavering voice, “I am!”

The judge turns to her and Lila swallows hard as she hears, “Are you, Lila Pitts, free lawfully to marry Diego Hargreeves?”

“I am!” Lila answers without hesitation, maybe she even sounds a bit rushed, but she hasn’t got the time to think about whether that is in any way embarrassing, because the judge just plows on, “Ok, then you sign here and here,” she points at the two gaps and Diego lets Lila go first. Then the judge says quite impatiently, “Witness?” and Klaus hurries over to put down his own name.

“Great! Then, by the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” the judge says, reaching for a stamp and then distractedly adding, “You may kiss the bride.”

Lila watches as Diego’s eyes go wide, and she can’t blame him for that. For some incomprehensible reason she had also not thought about the fact that this might come up.

Diego looks at the judge for a second, but she’s busy sorting out their paperwork, then he looks at Lila and she gives him a half smile and a tiny shrug, because they can hardly just back out of this part now and Ben is just there with his camera at the ready, so Lila feels emboldened by the thought that this is probably really useful evidence for the immigration file, and she’s just about to reach for Diego, as his hand gently lands on the side of her face and in surprise she covers it with her own, and then his lips are softly pressing against her mouth.

She doesn’t even notice that she’s closed her eyes, but for a moment all she can focus on is the warmth of Diego’s hand on her face, the gentle breath that ghost across her cheek as he slowly breaths out of his nose, and the tension in his lips as they move gently against hers. Then he starts pulling away and a deep sense of loss settles into a spot just behind her breast bone just before Diego ever so slightly brushes his lips against hers for one more moment and then he’s gone and Lila almost over balances. She just about manages not to fall forwards and hopes nobody noticed that for a beat she turned into a swooning damsel.

Things turn into a blur then. They are dismissed hastily by the judge and then find themselves outside the courthouse. Klaus has produced a bottle of champagne and some paper cups from somewhere and Ben encourages them to pose for a few pictures in which they are toasting their newly established matrimony.

Lila downs the first cup of champagne she’s handed and immediately asks for a second and Diego gives her a slightly bewildered look, but at this point the day has been too much for her already and she no longer has the energy to feel embarrassed.

“C’mon!” Klaus then says clapping his hands together decisively, “We need to get a few more pictures of the happy couple,” and adds in a loud stage whisper, “for the whole visa things.”

Lila catches a glimpse of how Diego’s jaw tightens in response and when she looks back at Klaus there is decidedly a glint in his eye, and Lila is relatively certain that they are having some kind of unspoken communication literally over the top of her head.

Klaus glides over to stand beside Ben and in the meantime Lila suddenly feels Diego’s arm coming around the back of her and landing on her waist. But his grip is loose and he doesn’t pull her in and she’s unsure of how to go about this herself, so she fusses for a moment before putting her arm around his waist as well and then leaning into him just a bit and putting her other hand against his side.

Apparently encouraged by the fact that she’s not pulled away, Diego’s grip on her tightens and Lila makes the mistake of looking up at him, and their eyes meet and she freezes.

Diego’s eyes are impossibly soft as he’s looking back at her and for a moment Lila wonders whether that means anything. Then she slowly starts panicking as she thinks about whether she wants it to mean anything and just as Diego clears his throat and it almost seems like he wants to say something, Klaus shouts, “Lovely! And now kiss!”

Both Lila and Diego swivel round to look at Klaus but he just gives them an encouraging hand gesture, so they turn back to each other and this time a bit awkwardly press their lips against each other, noses bumping a bit uncomfortably.

It’s not a terrible kiss, Lila has had worse, but it certainly has nowhere near the effect on her that the one in the judge's office did. As she makes a little displeased noise in the back of her throat and Diego pulls away instantly with an expression that looks about as frustrated as she feels, Lila is suddently completely off kilter. In one instant she feels like she might get lost in his eyes and the next they can’t even manage an even slightly romantic kiss despite the fact they have already done so much more together.

Apparently Klaus is also not particularly impressed by their display because he says, irritation in his voice, “Are you kidding me? What was that? Come on you guys, you’re young and hot and… well… not so much unattached, but you know what I mean, you should manage a more passionate kiss than that even if it’s just for the camera! Stop kissing like you would your grandma!”

“Shut the fuck up, Klaus!” Diego growls and Lila can feel him tense next to her, but she’s too busy gaping at Klaus and asks at the same time as Diego speaks, “How the fuck do you kiss your grandma?”

“Never you mind!” Klaus grins at her with a little flick of the hand, “Anyway, we need more passion, right Benny?” he adds, elbowing his brother enthusiastically.

“I’m just the photograoher!” Ben says, raising his hands in defense, one of them still holding his camera, “But yeah that was pretty lame.”

“Fuck you both!” Diego says angrily and Lila definitely shares the sentiment but doesn’t get a chance to voice it, because all of a sudden, she’s vertical, with Diego’s arm firmly behind her back pressing her up against his chest, his other hand at the back of her knee pulling it up against his hip and he is properly kissing her this time.

Almost on autopilot, as her brain has momentarily stopped working, Lila wraps one arm around Diego’s neck, threads her other hand into his hair, and when his tongue runs along the seam of her lips, she opens her mouth and licks into his before he even gets any further. Diego makes a tiny whining noise and Lila automatically presses herself harder against him, even though she’s basically suspended in mid air with only one foot on the ground.

Then there’s a loud whoop from somewhere off to the side and as suddenly as she was tipped backwards, Diego pulls her back upright and then she’s standing unsteadily on her own, already desperately missing the sensation of pressing up against Diego’s warm, solid body and the wet heat of his mouth on hers.

-

It’s become a habit by now.

Diego will go to bed and then lie awake staring up at the ceiling for hours, trying to sort out his thoughts.

But today is particularly bad. It’s past two in the morning and he’s not slept a single minute, despite the fact he didn’t get in that late.

After the ceremony, he invited Lila, Klaus, and Ben out for lunch, mostly to thank his brothers for their help and because his stepmom had taught him how to be at least somewhat classy, so he wasn’t going to marry a girl and then not at least take her out to dinner – or lunch in this case – even if it was a sham wedding. Then he’d driven them all home and as he couldn’t afford to take a full day off, made his way back to his office in a daze.

When he got back in the evening, the apartment was already dark and he couldn’t hear any sounds coming from Lila’s room, so he assumed she’d gone to bed and almost felt guilty at how relieved he was not to bump into her.

Fuck, here he is, lying awake in bed, his wife in the other room—Jesus Christ, his wife!—and he can’t even face her.

But he just can’t work out how to be around her, now.

He has no doubt anymore about the fact that he’s in love with Lila but that realisation has almost made things worse.

For a moment, when he stupidly let himself be goaded into kissing her for the photos, he started imagining that she was kissing him back with the same fervor as he was feeling. It felt so real, he’s not even entirely sure he imagined it, but he worries that he’s just seeing what he wants to see.

He even contemplated telling her about how he feels, but that just wouldn’t be fair, even if a tiny part of him hopes that maybe there is a remote chance that she could at least feel something for him beyond friendship. But it would be so unfair on her if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings. They entered their deal under very specific terms and he can’t just go and make things awkward for her, just because he can’t handle being close to Lila without wanting to pull her in and kiss her senseless. He does wonder, though, if he maybe could talk to her about it once she has her visa, once she has options. She wouldn’t be stuck with him then and wouldn’t have to continue pretending to be in a relationship any longer.

Fuck, this is all so messed up, Diego thinks, angry with himself for not being able to keep his feelings under control better. But who is he kidding, that’s never been his strong suit.

He abandons the idea of getting any sleep, so he rolls out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt and hopes that a run around the neighborhood might tire him out enough that he can maybe catch at least a little bit of sleep.

[vampire--dad]

For the Witcher Writers’ Circle prompt bingo!

Prompt: Grieving

I am so sorry

(you did this to yourself kell)

——————

(song: play this when i’m gone — Machine Gun Kelly)

I’m writing you this message just so I can say that I love you.

The letter slips from Jaskier’s satchel as Geralt moves it aside to find his nice black doublet. His eyes follow the parchment as it falls to the floor and sees his name penned delicately across the folded page. He’s almost scared to read it, especially today. But he does. He picks it up from the floor and sits on the edge of the bed as he unfolds the page. He almost hears the bard’s sweet voice in his head, wishing that it was more than a figment of his imagination, that it was real, that he was still here.

They both knew it would happen someday, but Geralt had hoped they’d have more time. Jaskier’s death came early even for a human. Some sickness had caught him. Yennefer and Triss did everything they could, brought all the help they could muster, but nothing worked. No herb or potion could cure whatever it was that ailed him. All they could do was ease the pain as he slipped away.

The witcher sighs as his eyes pass over those three words. Jaskier could never say it too many times. It never lost its meaning. He proved it in new ways every day, even on his deathbed.

I had to let you know that everything about me was you.

As if Geralt didn’t already know. Jaskier loved to say that Geralt was his smile, his laughter, the sparkle in those beautiful blue eyes that he misses so sorely. The witcher almost smiles thinking of those eyes and how Jaskier used to set them upon him and smile and tell him for at least the fifth time that day that he loved him. Sometimes Geralt wasn’t sure why he did. Jaskier would lay with him late at night or early in the morning, brushing a hand through his hair, and remind him of all the reasons he adored him.

But not even those memories can ease the pain of the truth. Those eyes now remain closed, the smile nothing more than a memory that Geralt clings to. Sometimes, if he closes his eyes and relaxes enough, which doesn’t come easily, he can almost feel Jaskier’s fingers in his hair, brushing through the snowy locks and twisting them into a braid. He only wishes it was real. That he was still here next to him peppering kisses on his cheeks and making him laugh like no one ever could.

I think it’s time for me to leave, but I’ll never leave you.

He dares not look outside. He knows that by now Eskel and Lambert will have laid his body on a pyre. He promised himself that he would hold himself together for as long as he could and seeing his body, having to accept once again that he’s gone, will break him before the funeral even starts.

His free hand rests on the chain around his neck that carries two rings. They dangle just below his medallion, close to his heart. Both are made of gold, one shaped like two vines woven together, the other simple, but not bland. They hang next to his heart as a reminder, something for Geralt to remember his husband by. Not that he needs it. Jaskier is burned into his brain like a brand. No matter how many years pass until he sees his lover again, he’ll never forget him.

“Dad?”

Ciri stands by his door in a long dress of black silk with a light cloak drawn around her shoulders. Jaskier did love that dress on her. It brought out those beautiful green eyes, he’d say. Geralt can tell that she’s already been crying. Jaskier, her papa, meant the world to her as she did to him. He loved that girl as fiercely as Geralt does. She has his wonderful imagination, his creativity, his way with words that Geralt could never understand, and, unfortunately, his flirtatiousness. He hears Jaskier every time she tells a story of a hideous monster or a wonderful woman she’s met on her travels.

Geralt sets aside the letter and stands, returning to his search for his doublet.

“I’m almost ready,” he says shortly, not trusting himself to say much more.

“Are you?” she asks softly. Geralt doesn’t respond. He can’t. A lump forms in his throat that he chokes back down. “I don’t think I am… I’m not ready to say goodbye to him…”

She sniffles and sighs, letting out a chuckle to try to lift her own spirits.

“Gods, I’m a mess already.”

“That makes two of us,” he replies thickly, leaning against the dresser with a sigh.

The pain in Ciri’s voice only adds to his own. Tears shine in his yellow eyes as they meet Ciri’s green ones. Her lip trembles as she throws herself into Geralt’s arms.

I’m not gonna lie and tell you it’s alright. It’s alright.

“It’s alright, Geralt.”

Those were his last words to his lover. His voice was barely above a whisper, weak and shaking in his chest as his heart came to a stop. Geralt wonders if he knew when he said those words how deeply they would hurt him when he was gone. He remembers feeling Jaskier’s hand go limp in his, watching his eyes close for the last time and the life slip from his body, wishing he’d had the strength to say ‘I love you’ one last time for him to hear. Yennefer and Triss were quick to leave the room, each holding their breath so Geralt wouldn’t hear them cry. He shakes his head slightly, trying not to think about the moment his husband passed. It only hurts more.

Ciri helps him fiddle with the buttons of the doublet. Usually he would hate wearing these things and would much prefer to wear his armour, but of all people, Geralt insisted that they bring out what little finery they allow themselves to have. Jaskier loved to see them all dressed up. Over the years he shared with Geralt on the Path, the witcher convinced him to wear something slightly more protective than silk and lace, but he loved to dress up. He liked to look pretty for his White Wolf, as he would say so affectionately.

“He would have loved this outfit,” Ciri says softly.

“He would have loved yours more, petal.”

Ciri draws in a slow, calming breath at the use of one of Jaskier’s old nicknames. Her eyes are already reddened and puffy.

“I should have gone out last night and picked some daisies for my hair.”

You’re gonna cry and baby, that’s alright. It’s alright.

It’s a struggle, but Geralt manages to hold back his tears until the fire roars and envelopes Jaskier’s body, wrapped delicately in the finest silk Lambert and Eskel could find. The funeral was going to be painful enough without having to see Jaskier’s pale face.

With his brothers’ arms slung around his shoulders, Geralt looks up at the clouds that hang above their heads and sighs shakily, tears streaming from his eyes. Eskel glances at him and pulls him into a hug. That’s what really breaks him. All of a sudden he’s sobbing quietly into his brother’s shoulder, Lambert’s hand still on his back. Eskel clenches his jaw and blinks tears from his own eyes as they meet with those of his younger brother. Lambert quickly looks away. Even at a funeral, he doesn’t want his brothers to see him cry. Jaskier had become incredibly close with Geralt’s brothers. Eskel loved to share his stories with him for his songs. He always made it known that those stories weren’t of the famed White Wolf, but another charming warrior. He never wanted his brother’s fame, but at least Jaskier gave him the credit. Lambert used to have such terrific exchanges with the bard, sharing the most creative empty insults and making each other howl with laughter. Late at night they’d share much kinder words. Jaskier would tell the witcher that his voice would pair wonderfully with his own. Lambert never took him up on the offer. He should have.

Ciri has her head buried in Yennefer's shoulder, crying her eyes out again. Her papa was her sunshine. She was his daisy. He made sure that she knew how to collect her skirt when she sat down, how to curtsey, how to braid her hair— not easy things for a girl to learn when she’s raised by wolves. Luckily, though he didn’t have sisters of his own, he had many, many cousins. Yennefer was expecting a wild, boyish, awkward child when she took Ciri into her care. She was surprised to meet a polite young lady with expertly braided hair. She often spoke of her fathers, one being a little rough around the edges but loving and kind, the other being like a walking ray of sunshine. Yennefer eventually met this wonderful man she described and found this to be oh so true. She and Jaskier spent many nights together drinking expensive wine and gossiping. He often told her of his latest quarrel with his husband, but no matter how disagreeable he could be at times, he always spoke of Geralt with love and affection. She remembers those nights fondly as she watches flames engulf his body with tears rolling down her cheeks.

I wrote you this song to keep when I’m gone if you ever feel alone.

Geralt hasn’t slept properly since he passed. The only thing that grants him relief from the exhaustion is the exhaustion itself. In the early hours of the morning he’ll pass out, only to wake a few hours later, still alone. That’s quite possibly the hardest part. He’d grown so used to Jaskier lying next to him, snoring softly, that trying to sleep alone is almost impossible. He misses tracing the curve of his back, burying his face in the crook of his neck, kissing his hair and neck to wake him, watching those bright blue eyes flutter open. He wouldn’t dare sleep with another. He doubts he ever will. Jaskier was his light. Nothing can replace that. No one can.

But the weight of being alone becomes heavier with each day that passes. The chain around his neck feels like an anchor, but taking it off would hurt even more. He finds himself bed ridden some days, not seeing much of a reason to get up. He knows what Jaskier would say. He tries to listen. The others don’t say anything, other than words of encouragement. They know how Geralt feels. Jaskier’s passing weighs heavily on all of them but it’s nothing compared to him, the man he would have followed to the ends of the earth. The weight on Geralt is unimaginable.

Part of me doesn’t want this cruel world to know you.

“Freak.”

“Mutant.”

“We don’t want your kind ‘round here.”

“You’re no different from the things you hunt, you know that?”

Jaskier used to work himself into a frenzy over those comments. Geralt reassured him that he was used to it, it came with the occupation, but the bard wouldn’t accept that.

“What the fuck do they think they know?!” he would exclaim. “They call you all these names, but they don’t know you. Not like I do.”

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to know me like you know me, songbird,” the witcher would reply.

Jaskier would turn to him, still annoyed, but smiling. That was the one thing about him that never aged, his smile. Wrinkles slowly formed around his eyes. Grey streaks appeared among his mass of chestnut hair. But his smile never aged, even framed by a thick but well kept beard.

“Well, no, I wouldn’t want anyone to know you quite that well either. But still, Geralt. They don’t give you a chance.”

Geralt would chuckle and shake his head. Jaskier hated how adorable the witcher thought he was when he was angry, but that anger quickly melted when Geralt pulled him into his arms.

So just try and keep in mind everything that I told you.

Jaskier would shower Geralt in compliments, if not just to see him try to hide how flustered he was. He’d give him all of the nicknames he could come up with and deepen the blush on Geralt’s cheeks by peppering kisses on them and on the tip of his nose. Geralt had maybe one or two nicknames for him. His favourite was songbird. Jaskier would smile brighter than the sun whenever he called him that.

“Your eyes look like rays of sunshine, dear heart. Like the finest gold.”

“Sweet Melitele, your hair, my love. It’s so soft when it’s clean. It looks and feels like fresh snow.”

“Have I ever told you how wonderfully intelligent I think you are, my dearest? You like to act like you’re not, but I know you are. If I had met you at Oxenfurt I would have thought you a scholar.”

“Stop it, Jask.”

“Why? Oh, is my big scary wolf getting all flustered because I called him pretty and smart?”

“No. Witchers don’t get flustered.”

“Bollocks to that. I see you blushing.”

Maybe there was some truth to all the things Jaskier said to him.

This is the last time I’ll ever open up my eyes, I apologise.

That moment haunts Geralt. He tries his best not to think about it, but late at night it flashes before his eyes, clear as day.

Yennefer had sought him out early in the morning, waking him from what little sleep he was trying to get. She looked exhausted, but they couldn’t afford to stop working. Jaskier was getting worse, she told him. She didn’t need to say anymore. They both knew. They were losing him. Geralt was out of bed and up the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.

Even weak and dying, Jaskier’s smile could light up a room in seconds. Despite the tears beginning to slip from his eyes, Geralt smiled weakly and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and kissing him softly. He had to. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew then it would be the last time.

Jaskier managed a soft chuckle and told him he looked like shit. Nothing could quash his sense of humour. Geralt told him he wasn’t looking much better and immediately regretted it, even if it was just a joke. Jaskier shrugged. He seemed to have already accepted his fate.

All of a sudden, Jaskier’s breath rattled in his chest. The smile slipped from Geralt’s face as he leaned over Jaskier and gripped his hand firmly. The bard had kept on smiling and reassured him he was alright. Geralt begged to differ, but stayed silent as Jaskier cupped his face gently and told him he loved him. He said it with such finality that Geralt just about started sobbing then and there. Jaskier wiped a tear from his cheek gently but before he could speak again, he coughed, his hand falling from his face and clutching at his chest. Geralt looked on helplessly as he fought to draw one last breath.

“It’s alright, Geralt.”

He doesn’t remember much after that. He remembers clutching Jaskier’s body to his chest and sobbing, but he can’t recall how long he sat there. At some point, Eskel had come in to pull Geralt away. He didn’t want to go, but Eskel had to remind him that there was nothing he could do now. He was gone.

In that moment, Geralt’s whole world had come crashing down before his very eyes.

——————

Tags: @lovelyeskel @jaskierswolf @patchwork-quilts @viking-raider

[ledenews]

Santorine: 'Let the Games Begin... the Political Season is Upon Us'

In just under two weeks we’ll arrive at the end of the filing period for many of the political offices that will be voted upon in our state and local elections. There will be incumbents coming back, some fresh new faces, and some who have run before and all are looking for a chance at success. You’ll be inundated with media of all kinds - outdoor advertising, radio, TV, social media, newspapers, and direct mail. Everyone involved in “the media” knows there’s always a bit more money around in a year with elections (and Olympics). As certain as I am that day follows night, I know that most, if not all of the candidates will message some form of “Working for YOU”, and that some anonymous Washington, D.C. entity with a nebulous name will go massively negative on at least one of the candidates. Oh, and don’t forget the incessant fundraising. I’m a student of history and “working for you” started popping up in the 1930s with the explosive growth of government. It’s not going to go away. It’s a recurring theme in political campaigns, and with good reason. Government puts it ham-fisted mark on so much of what we do every day. A good politician will help their constituents navigate the morass that they created. “Constituent services” is a critical part of what will keep politicians in office, and it should be top of the list for any newly elected public servant. It’s dealing with the alphabet soup that is government. DOT, DMV, SOS, AG; the list goes on and on. You’re not going to get what you deserve; you’re going to get what’s expedient for some bureaucrat. You’ll need someone in your corner to help. That’s where your elected officials become very, very important. Negative campaigning has been around since day one. John Quincy Adams supporters distributed the “Coffin Handbills” against Andrew Jackson in 1828. They didn’t tell the reader a thing about Adams. They did tell you how awful Jackson would be as President. There were also slanderous allegations about his wife that were used as negative campaigning. That’s nearly 200 years ago, and I’m sure if Photoshop were around then, they would have put his head, powdered wig and all, on a pig’s body for their “handbills”. I don’t think we have become more sophisticated about negative campaigning, but we might be a little more civil. Some of the early negative campaigns were simply brutal, and like today, no member of the candidates’ family are spared. We have seen negative campaigning use allegations from when the candidate was a child. At some point, it is insulting to the intelligence of the recipient. Negative campaigning is an attempt to trigger fear. “If elected, he’s going to start World War III!” “He’s a RINO!” (whatever that is), or “She votes with the commie, socialist scum of the other party 470% of the time!” None of it is true, but it might move some voters. Negative campaigning is ideally suited for today’s election cycles, which are typically short. The fear needs to be constantly reinforced for it to be effective, and campaigns will repeat the same message frequently and through many different media outlets. If it didn’t work, the professionals who run political campaigns would not spend so much money doing it. While I was writing this, I received two fundraising messages - “$5 could make all the difference in these final hours” (from a presidential candidate) and “If I don’t raise $11,231.24 in the next four hours, we are going to have to drop out”. Really now…. I guess my five bucks won’t make a difference. Here’s a collection of some from just this political season: “Friend, your name is still Missing.” “We have to win, or people will die.” “YOUR NAME WILL BE REMOVED.” “It’s not looking good …” While I’m sure there are really smart folks who are penning these fundraising letters, I have to question its intent. Again, they would not continue along these lines if it didn’t work, but sometimes I wonder if the young staffers who are responsible for this could not use a bit more adult supervision. I know your mailbox, both postal and email, will be full. You’ll chuckle at some of it. Your intelligence will be insulted by a chunk of it, and some of it will make it to the trash bin, directly or after a short detour to the bottom of the bird cage. So, let the games begin! The political season is upon us. I guarantee you’ll have a front-row seat. Read the full article

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m learning to drive and the anxiety it gives me should be illegal why can’t we just apparate -Danny

Words: 2,883

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Already Gone’ -by Sleeping At Last

Chapter Eighteen: Inside His Mind.

"Not that I'm complaining," She heard Fred's voice from where she was, her arms tightly wrapped around his middle. "But I thought you wanted to be discrete?"

"This is just a hug," Mel murmured. "I'm sad."

"I see that," Fred was reading through the list of materials for his new products. "You shouldn't be sad though, you got a place in the team, didn't you? We're hoping you'll make us proud, Ginny as well."

"Thank you," She said. "But that's not what worries me right now. I just heard that Flint's Grandad... he's gone."

Fred stopped reading.

"Really?"

"Yeah, he'd been ill for a while... Erick looked terrible."

"Well, that's how you look after you lose someone."

"I acted like an idiot," She groaned. "I just stood there..."

"For the best, if I'm honest," He continued. "Some people don't react well to hugs when they're in shock. What if someone had walked in on you hugging a Slytherin? That's bad for everyone involved."

"I'm her friend, to hell with the gossip..."

"I wasn't talking about the gossip," The boy replied. "He's been helping us a great deal by keeping the prefects of his house away from the D.A. I'm really sorry about his Grandad, he helped us to get a great deal for a little flat on Diagon Alley, but we have to be careful; if someone sees him acting too friendly with any of us that wouldn't help him, would it?"

"I guess not," Mel propped herself up and away from his chest. "I still think I could've done more."

Fred gave her a serious look.

"Your schedule is full all the time, you barely have time to sit and sulk on me!"

"That sounds terrible," Mel blushed.

"Well it's true, you only come to your dear boy-friend," He smirked, knowing how flustered Mel got, "to complain about how hard life is. I don't mind being a shoulder to cry on, but maybe you could compensate afterwards?"

"How?"

His smile widened.

"Get out," Mel slipped away from his grip, crossing her arms. "Leave before I hex you."

"Oh, c'mon!" Fred laughed. "Not even a good night kiss?"

"Fred!"

He laughed louder, standing up and lifting his hands in surrender, his notebook under one arm.

"Fine," He sighed. "I'm just saying, you'll miss me during the next weeks, you'll be all alone in Grimmauld Place and I'll be at the burrow..."

"I've created a monster," Mel groaned, feeling her face burning.

Twenty minutes later she was finishing her History of Magic essay, her eyes slowly giving up in the dim firelight. Ron was laying across the rug and Hermione was next to her, writing the longest letter ever to Krum. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but she didn't worry about it, if he were in danger she'd be able to feel it.

He came back eventually and sat down quietly in front of the girls.

"What kept you?" Ron asked.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione glanced at him, noticing his silence.

He didn't answer, Mel lifted her gaze. Harry was pale.

"What's up?" Ron insisted, leaning on his elbow. "What's happened?"

Harry shook his head slightly, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He glanced at Mel nervously, and she was surprised when he immediately darted his eyes away, his hands closing into fists to avoid shaking.

"Is it Cho?" Hermione asked knowingly. "Did she corner you after the meeting?"

Mel had noticed the Ravenclaw staying behind, staring at Cedric's picture, but she didn't think much of it because her mind was already swirling, too busy to focus on the girl Harry had a crush on.

Ron let out a silly giggle.

"So — er — what did she want?" The boy asked.

"She —" Harry started, but when his eyes found Mel's again his voice faltered and he had to stop to clear his throat. "She — er —"

"Did you kiss?" asked Hermione bluntly, trying to finish with it as fast as possible for the sake of her friends' sanity.

Ron sat up and accidentally pushed his ink making a mess on the rug. None of them moved to fix it.

"Well?"

Those ten seconds felt like a lifetime. Harry stared at Ron, then at Hermione. When he gathered the courage to look at her, he frowned slightly, a short and silent nod making its way out.

"HA!"

Three second-years that were sitting near them jumped. Ron's laughter filled the room and for the first time in her life, Mel didn't follow. Harry was waiting for her reaction, which was weird considering she'd hidden away when Harry found out she'd kissed Fred. Didn't he know it was awful to ask for her opinion?

They had spent months in blissful secrecy, escaping to secluded places and holding hands, he couldn't lie to himself saying he'd never felt something for her. Yet he was, and she was doing the same thing. This whole thing felt like a joke, but she had to be fair and give him the same freedom he'd given her, no dirty looks, no insults.

Harry had every right to be with someone when they hadn't worked out. Even if she was bitter, at the end of the day she wasn't planning on giving up whatever she had with Fred, and who knew? Maybe Cho would be a better match for Harry.

"Glad to see she finally worked up the courage," Mel said lowly. "You should've seen the way she would stare at you during every meeting..."

Harry was too transparent when it came to his emotions, and at that moment, a little smile crept up his face as he looked down, clearly pleased.

"Well? How was it?" Ron's laughing fit finally stopped, and now he was looking at his best friend with eager eyes.

Harry's smile faltered and he frowned.

"Wet," He replied shortly.

Ron made a noise between a snort and a groan, Mel looked at Harry with mild confusion. Surely he had a better way to describe a kiss than just 'wet'?

"Because she was crying," Harry explained further.

"Oh," Ron said, then his face filled with pity. "Are you that bad at kissing?"

"Dunno," His expression changed, panicking. "Maybe I am..."

"No, you're not!" Mel blurted out.

"How do you know?" Ron asked her, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Because Cho spends half her time crying these days," said Hermione, saving her without noticing. "She does it at mealtimes, in the loos, all over the place."

"You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up," Ron joked.

"Ron," Hermione straightened in her place and took a deep breath, "you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

Mel snorted.

"What's that supposed to mean? What sort of person cries while someone's kissing them?" Ron argued.

"Yeah," said Harry, still worried. "Who does?"

Hermione looked at the boys with a sad little expression; then she looked at Mel waiting for her to say something. Mel merely shrugged.

"Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?" Hermione asked softly.

"No," said the boys.

Mel rolled her eyes. Hermione, who couldn't help herself, started to explain everything.

"Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings toward Harry are anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly."

"I can relate to that," Mel sighed. "Minus the flying, I mean, I managed to get in the team after all—" Hermione hushed her.

"How can you relate to that?" Ron asked in disbelief. "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode!"

"Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," said Hermione sharply.

"That explains why you haven't been kissed, Ronnie," Mel teased.

"You've kissed my brother once, you can't talk!"

Mel had to bite her tongue so she wouldn't say she'd kissed someone else apart from Fred Weasley.

"She was the one who started it!" Harry exclaimed over their bickering. "I wouldn't've — she just sort of came at me — and next thing she's crying all over me — I didn't know what to do —"

"Don't blame you, mate," said Ron, shivers running up his spine.

"You just had to be nice to her," said Hermione, then she stopped writing once more and looked up. "You were, weren't you?"

"Well... I sort of — patted her on the back a bit."

"Dear Merlin..." Mel ran a hand over her face in embarrassment. "Why are you like this?"

"Well, I suppose it could have been worse," Hermione said with contained annoyance. "Are you going to see her again?"

"I'll have to, won't I? We've got D.A. meetings, haven't we?"

"You know what I mean."

Harry's face was a bunch of mixed emotions, she wondered if Ron was seeing what she was seeing, then maybe he'd be able to believe one could possibly feel many things at once.

"Oh well," said Hermione simply, "you'll have plenty of opportunities to ask her..."

"What if he doesn't want to ask her?" Ron said bravely.

"Don't be silly! Harry likes her, don't you, Harry?"

The boy glanced at Mel again and she pretended to be busy putting all her stuff inside her bag.

"Who're you writing the novel to anyway?" Ron asked, saving Harry the trouble of admitting something that could damage their thin bond even further.

"Viktor."

"Krum?"

"How many other Viktors do we know?"

Mel sat there in silence, a mix of second-hand embarrassment for Harry and something like a sharp, little sting in her chest that she was sure had to do with him as well. She thought about Erick and wondered if it was a good idea to plan a meeting for the next day so they could talk about all the things that were happening in such a short amount of time.

"Well, 'night," said Hermione as she finally finished her letter to Krum. "You're coming, Mel?"

"Yeah," She stood up.

Harry got up abruptly as well, Mel froze in place and stared at him.

"What?" She asked.

In the end, he picked up his own bag and nudged Ron's leg.

"Nothing— We're going too, right Ron?"

"Yup!" Ron stood up, his bag already on his shoulder.

"Okay..." Mel said, still feeling slightly uneasy about his behaviour. "See you..."

When it was just the two girls in the room, Hermione sneaked her way into her bed and sat down.

"I think it was nice of you to be kind to Harry, he was quite upset."

"It's not really my place to be rude, is it? I'm with Fred now... sort of."

"Yes, you are," Hermione said in a tone that sounded like she could tell Mel was having doubts. "And you're happy with him. There's no need to overthink it now."

"No," Mel sighed. "I feel bad for him though, their kiss wasn't ideal."

"Well, your first kiss wasn't perfect either," Hermione shrugged. "You simply threw yourself at Fred in front of everyone while he was in a temper..."

Mel's cheeks felt warm. She wanted to reply with 'That wasn't my first kiss.' But that would only provide a context Hermione did not need to know.

The girl laid on her bed and against her own will, thought about the very first night Harry had kissed her. Back then he looked like he knew what he was doing, but she couldn't blame him. Mel wasn't crying when they'd kissed. She was beaming with joy. For only a second, she felt happy that Harry could count that as his first.

Then a bitter voice that would come to her more often than not came to interrupt her thoughts.

'Well, he could've had more of those if only he hadn't tried to play the hero with you. He deserved that! He can't take you back whenever he pleases...'

No, he can't, Mel agreed.

At some point after falling asleep, Mel started to have a very strange dream. She felt her body on the bed, but the setting was slightly different, the light was coming from the wrong side of the room and she was wearing a different set of pyjamas.

A sharp pain shot up her forearm and cracked open her skull, or at least, that's how it felt. She let out a sharp cry, sitting up abruptly. When she opened her eyes she realized she was back on her bed, not only that, but she finally knew why the one in her dream had looked slightly different. It was the boys' room.

She got up, sweating profusely and feeling nausea. Luckily for her, her scream hadn't woken up her roommates, and she could leave the room without them noticing. When she reached the stairs she ran into Neville, who was looking really pale.

"Mel!" His eyes widened in relief. "You heard him? He's really ill..."

"What happened?"

"He–He woke up screaming and threw up..."

"Go get McGonagall," She urged him. "I'll take care in the meantime, go!"

Neville nodded and left, she walked into the room and the boys turned to look at her. Dean moved away so she could get to Harry.

"Harry, mate," Ron was saying, "you... you were just dreaming..."

"No!" He cleaned his face hastily, there was vomit on the floor, next to his bed. "It wasn't a dream... not an ordinary dream... I was there, I saw it... I did it..."

"He's talking nonsense since he woke up," Seamus told her. "He's saying Ron's dad was attacked."

Mel felt something cold run down her back. Harry gawked again and Ron jumped.

"Harry, you're not well," He said. "Neville's gone for help..."

"I'm fine!" Harry coughed, shaking uncontrollably. "There's nothing wrong with me, it's your dad you've got to worry about — we need to find out where he is — he's bleeding like mad — I was — it was a huge snake..."

"Move over," Mel said in a determined voice.

Ron hadn't noticed her until she spoke, he seemed relieved to have her there.

"Harry," She supported one leg on the mattress, trying not to step on the vomit. "What happened?"

"You have to believe me," He said hoarsely. "I swear it wasn't a dream— We have to—"

"I believe you," She said. "I can feel it, remember?"

Harry blinked, a worried expression on his face.

"Yes... I remember..."

"Good," She held his face firmly and stared into his eyes. "Now, show me what you saw."

"What?"

"Think about your dream," She explained. "I'll see it."

She wasn't an expert at Legilimancy yet, but now was the perfect time to make use of her hours studying the subject. Wouldn't hurt to try...

Harry nodded and stared back at her, his frown deepening as he tried to recall every little detail.

It was the strangest sensation, getting pulled into someone else's thoughts. She saw the dark hall, Mr Weasley's body covered in blood in a place that looked slightly familiar. The weirdest part of all was that Harry had seen it from the creature's point of view— What did he say it was? A snake..?

Mel blinked, stumbling away from Harry and feeling Dean and Seamus holding her so she wouldn't fall.

"Merlin, that was hard..."

"What did you do?"

"I saw... I read his mind," She said dryly.

"You what?"

"Don't go around telling this to other people!" She warned them. "I mean it, this is a secret!"

"Fine!" Ron exclaimed. "But what did you see?"

Before she could reply, Neville and McGonagall entered the room.

"What is it, Potter? Where does it hurt?"

"It's Ron's dad," Harry sat up again. "He's been attacked by a snake and it's serious, I saw it happen. Mel saw it!"

"What do you mean, you saw it happen?" Professor McGonagall frowned. "What do you mean Mel saw it?"

"I don't know... I was asleep and then I was there..."

"You mean you dreamed this?"

"No! I was having a dream at first about something completely different, something stupid... and then this interrupted it. It was real, I didn't imagine it, Mr Weasley was asleep on the floor and he was attacked by a gigantic snake, there was a load of blood, he collapsed, someone's got to find out where he is..."

"It's true," Mel added hurriedly. "It woke me up—  You... you know what that means, right?"

"I'm not lying, and I'm not mad!" Harry insisted. "I tell you, I saw it happen! Mel did something a second ago, she saw my thoughts!"

"I believe you, children," said Professor McGonagall. "Put on your dressing-gown, both of you. We're going to see the headmaster."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world​ @just-here-to-escape-from-reality​ @21bruhs

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Oblivious Actions Part 2 of 2

Revali x Reader

5827 words (hey you asked for a big boi so)

Part 1

Thank you for your patience! I really love how this turned out, even though I suck at endings. Critiques and any typo finds are appreciated if I missed anything. Anyway, enjoy!

Music filled the air, the stable was lively, and full of chatter. Understandable, considering it wasn’t everyday the Champions would grace the common folk with their presence. Many travelers were already making their way up the bridges to Rito Village, in anticipation for the Champion celebratory party set for that night. Around Rito Stable, workers had begun lighting up amber lanterns, in preparation for the sun setting in a few hours. A few Hylians were walking about. One Sheikah was playing his instrument by the campfire, humming a familiar tune, while others watched and danced along. Rito and Hylian children zigzagged between the large, wooden crates, painted with the Hyrulean crest. A worker with a maroon tunic was stirring a large pot of stew, its savoury aroma filling every part of the woods. The winds rustled through the dancing trees, creating its own, cutting melody. However, the chill was not felt from within. 

Inside, the curtains by the stable entrance were half drawn, people lounged around tables, talking and eating. Warm, yellow light illuminated the room, the lanterns occasionally flickering. Workers and guests clattered about. A few men in the corner were on their third pint of ale, while a few Rito women were giggling from across the room, staring at a particular Rito and Gerudo. 

He hadn’t bothered to wear his blue scarf, even though he adored it (and he would never say so out loud), he found that its emblem attracted much unwanted attention. Urbosa, on the other hand, had her sky blue skirt on, draped across the stool she was sitting on. It was the figure of a Gerudo so far into the Tabantha Region, combined with her Champion status that attracted attention. So in essence, it was her that negated any efforts Revali made to stay away from the crowds. He leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling restlessly, waiting for her to be finished with the last of the lingering fans.

With a flick of her wrist, Urbosa finished writing her name across the piece of parchment. The black ink at the tip of the quill soaked into the paper, leaving Urbosa’s cursive name in large letters. A thin and lanky Hylian man took it excitedly.

“T-thank you, Chief Lady Urbosa ma’am! Really! Truly! This means a lot, I’m going to— I mean… my kids are gonna love this.”

The Gerudo gave him a kind look and tilted her head, her emerald eyes gleamed. There was not a sliver of annoyance or mocking on her face. “It’s not a problem at all, sir. I find it encouraging whenever people come up to greet and support us. Don’t you think, Revali?”

Although the blank, wooden image of the ceiling was very entertaining, Rito pried his gaze away and narrowed his eyes at the two of them. The man was rocking back and forth on his heels, hugging two pieces of paper to his chest. One, already autographed with Urbosa’s loopy handwriting. The other, blank and waiting. His posture was jittery and nervous. The Hylian was switching his gaze between the Rito and the quill on the table. 

Ugh.

“Why yes, Champion Urbosa. It’s always nice to meet the adoring fans.” Revali enunciated the end of the sentence carefully. He continued with a regal tone. “Especially, since we’ve wasted the last hour of our free time watching you write the same word over and over. Theoretically speaking, we have greatly supported the ink business with our presence alone.” He leaned forward, speaking directly to the Hylian. “However, I think we’ve taken enough of this gentleman’s time, so why don’t we send him on his way. After all, I’m sure there are more actually important matters that we all need to attend too.” He flicked his wing in a motion towards the stable exit. 

A beat of silence. Then, the Hylian started to sputter, his cheeks reddening. “O-Oh... oh-oh yes, yes! Of course! I’ll just…” he took a shaky step back, “...be on, my, way, then. Thank you very much for your time!” He shuffled outside, nearly tripping on the step out the exit. 

Letting out a huff of air, the Gerudo Chief muttered under her breath. “Ink business...hilarious as always, Revali.” He let a smirk cross over his feathered face, “Yes, I already knew that, thank you.”

Revali turned his gaze back towards the ceiling, finding comfort in the fact that all the pestering fans were gone. Urbosa rolled her eyes. “Would it kill you to be nice? Or at the very least, polite?” He scoffed. 

“I don’t think having to endure lines of mindless devotees is part of our job description. Last I checked, I was chosen for my masterful skill set and bond with Medoh, not my penmanship.”  

She gave a tired sigh. “We both know that’s not the point, it’s about inspiration and giving people hope.”

“If people are so eager to have my name on a piece of paper,” he picked up the quill the Hylian had accidentally left on their table, “they can write it out themselves. By this point most people have the ability to spell, correct?”

The two continued their idle banter for a bit. The conversation at this point was mostly out of a lack of other things to do, as no food or drink had arrived yet. Then, another Hylian approached their table, cheerfully.

“Excuse me, Champions, I have—”

“OH for the love of Hylia!” the Rito interrupted, “I’m afraid I’m not in the mood to deal with whatever requests you have for me.” He held his head towards the ceiling, exasperated. 

“So pardon my bluntness, but why don’t you—”

“Revali,” Urbosa interjected.

He looked back towards her, a sarcastic response already at the tip of his beak. That was when he caught a glance at the Hylian woman in question.

She was holding up a wooden tray, dark and stained. A large pitcher sat on top of it, and she balanced two cups on either end. Her leather cap sat lopsided on her yellow hair. The symbol of a horse etched onto the fabric of their hat and tunic. The look on her face was that of confusion.

“Oh.”

The stable worker cleared her throat with a forced cough. “Um, you ordered the apple cider, right Champion Revali?” She set the cups down without waiting for a response. The Rito fixed his eyes on his drink, mumbling. “Yes, thank you Lucile.” At least, that’s what he thought her name was. He couldn’t bother to remember all of [Name]’s friends. The bronze colored liquid swirled in his cup.

Attempting to lighten the mood, Urbosa quipped in. “It wouldn’t be very responsible of me to let him get drunk, lest he become even more dramatic than usual.” She exchanged a quiet laugh with the waiter. Revali clicked his tongue. “I am in no need of your motherly supervision, Urbosa. Besides,” he laid his wing across his chest, theatrically, “I’m sure I can handle my drink much better than anyone here ever could.” At that, Urbosa gave a wink towards the waiter, whispering something about ego.

After pouring their drinks, the Hylian that was probably named Lucile put the pitcher back on the tray. “Alright, well, call for a refill when you want it. And don’t worry about the price or anything. [Name] said to put the rupees on their tab.” 

At the mention of their name, Revali perked up. “Wait, Lucile, I noticed I haven’t seen [Name] around yet. Are they…?” he let his voice trail off. It’s not like he cared that much, he was just curious. He hadn’t seen them all day. It’s not like he was looking forward to their interactions or anything. Yeah, curious, that was the word.

“If you’re referring to your little get together later, they’re still on for that.” Lucile gave a warm and knowing smile. “The place is busier than usual, thanks to you guys. So it’s ‘all hands on deck’ if ya know what I mean.”  She gave a quick nod outside, where a savoury aroma was starting to swirl its way inside. “They’re making your on the house dinner right now, so just wait a little bit longer.” Lucile tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, and picked up the tray. “Okie dokie, then. I’ll be seeing you.” 

The Rito allowed himself to look outside. The view was partly obstructed by the purpleish curtains on either side, but the unmistakable glow of embers and flickering firelight could be seen. Craning his head forward a bit, he caught a glimpse of a coffee colored boot in front of a cooking pot, tapping along with the music. Huh, only one stable worker he knew would still be dancing along to the music despite working all day. Revali thought back to that time when [Name] would force him to sing along with the sparrows, just to annoy him. Or how he would invite them to Warblers nest to listen to the Rito kids chirp their tunes. I wonder how they’re doing, have they been working all day? Have they taken a break yet? I know I’ve been caught up with Champion duties, but maybe tonight—

“Wandering eyes kill, little Rito.”

Snapping back into reality, Revali quickly blinked and turned to face Urbosa. There was a calm and almost pitiful tone in her voice that he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be at the end of.

“Ah, my apologies. I should have asked for your permission to use my sense of vision.”

Unbothered by his comment, she kept the smirk on her face. “You know, I’ve never seen you laugh so easily until the other day.” He let out a loud scoff. What was that supposed to mean? Am I not allowed to express emotion on duty? Perhaps I should don the same stupid expression as that little knight.

“Well, perhaps that’s because everyone else in the group is boring.”

Urbosa leaned forward in her seat, letting her elbows rest on the table. “Let down the act, Revali. Everyone can see the big picture but you.”

“What are we even talking about?”

“[Name]”

“Uh-huh. Right, I think it would save us both time if you bothered to be specific in what you mean.” He lifted his wings in fake surrender. “What about them? You insulted by their choice in flower crowns? ”

Putting his wings down, he went for his drink. Taking up the cup of cider, Revali lifted it towards his face, using it as an excuse to not continue further into the conversation Urbosa so clearly wanted to have. Urbosa let out a huff of air. “Look, I’m just trying to compliment you two. You really are a cute couple.”

Instinctively turning to the side, Revali spat out his drink wildly. His coughing fit caused the surrounding conversations in the stable to trickle into curious whispers. A few other Rito in the back were giggling. Thankfully, he hadn’t sprayed anyone as no one was in range. He wiped down the front of his clothes and part of the table with his wing. He cleared his throat and half stood up, addressing the people that were looking at him quizzically. Revali’s voice raised in pitch and his speech quickened.

“AHEM! Wow, that was absolutely appalling and disgusting. I can’t believe the staff would be so careless as to let a dragonfly swirl around in my cup! I WILL be sure to speak with someone later concerning the cleanliness and hygienic practices of this place. So...yeah…” he let his voice echo in the room for a few more moments before sitting back down completely. Urbosa’s hands were folded as if in prayer, but her fingertips were pushed in front of her lips, as if to keep from laughing.

“Great save.”

“Shut up, will you? What in the hells did you just say? Couple? I think you’re clearly misreading things.”

She let out a short laugh. “Well, the fact that you reacted so enthusiastically says otherwise.”  

“Wha—what…?” He shook his head quickly. “Urbosa, whatever you think you saw the other day isn’t what you think. [Name] and I are very obviously not dating, or seeing each other, or whatever your proper terminology is.”

“You both are very obviously into each other. You always hang out, you have cute banter. You’re dating, no?”

“NO!” He quickly shushed her comment, lowering his own voice and glancing around to see if anyone else was listening in. “The answer is NO because I don’t even like them that much. They’re very stupid, and unattractive, not to mention a Hylian. They’re an acquaintance at most. Maybe a friend.” He propped his own wing on the table and rested his beak on it. “Or close friend. A confidant...or—agh! Point is we’re not whatever you think we are!”

Urbosa let out a huff of air, letting her shoulders slump. “For a Rito, you are quite blind.”

He went for his cup again, fiddling with the chipped white paint that decorated the side. Revali didn’t bother to look up at Urbosa, for fear of unconsciously communicating something with his eyes. “Fine, then. Please, enlighten me into what I am so blind to.”

She furrowed her brows in confusion. Was he seriously not getting it? “You and [Name] seem to talk and visit each other all the time, considering you even know the staff here. You both have known each other since childhood, no doubt you’ve formed a bond. Both of you were so incredibly flustered just being in each other’s presence yesterday. Also,” she held up her head to imitate Revali’s posture, “You look pretty too!’ Does that comment ring any bells? Come on, Revali. And this is only the stuff I’ve seen in one day.” 

Shocked and speechless, Revali let the silence between them settle for a bit. He considered her argument, thinking over what to say next. “OK fine, I tolerate them. Sure. That doesn’t mean it happens both ways…”

The Gerudo Chief looked as if Revali had just told her that the current King of Hyrule was five stacked cuccos. “They practically invited you for a date earlier.”

“But, we do that all the time.”

“You do!?” it was Urbosa’s turn to be shocked.

“Wait,” Revali narrowed his eyes, wheels turned in his head. Did that time he invited [Name] to watch his archery practice count? Or when [Name] had baked him a fish pie when he came to visit them even though they were sick? Wait, wait, no. Friends do that all the time, that’s absurd. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the incessant fluttering in his stomach whenever he thought about braiding their hair...or laughing beside them...or— ah! What did it all mean? He scrunched his face in confusion, lowering his voice to a whisper, “Have we already...what does...are we dating?”

Urbosa held the bridge of her nose with her fingers, sighing. “Everyone with eyes can see it. You are.”

Revali practically squaked. “WE’VE BEEN DATING?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, you’re... dating Urbosa?”

Both Revali and Urbosa whipped around in unison to face [Name], who was standing behind them holding two hot bowls of spicy meat stew. 

Spirits bless his quivering soul, [Name] was here. There were still droplets of cider on his clothes, his braids were probably all frizzled from the trip down here. Was what he was wearing too formal? Too casual? Maybe he should have worn something more colorful. Hold on, was [Name] wearing their hair differently? When did they start wearing that yellow ribbon? It looked nice...should he say something? What was that new leather pouch on their belt, did someone give them that? Why all these changes? Are they seeing someone? Well it would be fine if they were...considering they were just friends. Right, they were friends— Wait a moment, did they just ask if he was dating Urbosa??

The Gerudo Champion, ever quick to regain her composure, was the first to respond. “Unfortunately, no. I’m afraid I’m a bit out of the Rito Champions league. We were talking about something else.”

The slight tension in [Name]’s shoulders relaxed, just barely noticeable. They chuckled, setting down the stews. “Ah-ha, well that’s good. Hylia knows Revali’s much more trouble than he’s worth.”

The Rito in question, who had still been sputtering over the several revelations he had come across over the last few minutes, finally regained the ability to formulate words. “...What? Hey! I’m right here!”

“Oh, sorry about that!” [Name] leaned down to face him, “I didn’t see you there. When you’re sitting down, you’re even shorter than usual! ” To further add to their quip, [Name] booped the tip of his beak with the end of a spoon. The feathers on his neck poofed up from embarrassment, though probably no one but him noticed. After placing napkins and silverware on the table, [Name] gave a deep, exaggerated bow. Their leather pouch hung out, half-open, revealing a few colorful hair ribbons. “Enjoy the meal, and thank you for staying with us, esteemed Champions,” their words were more of a tease towards Revali. “Just holler if you need anything, Revali! I’ll see you...later.” And with that, [Name] strode back outside, the brisk breeze fluttering the edges of their maroon tunic.

Revali’s thoughts were racing. Mainly centered around one word.

Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy

Urbosa looked at Revali, a twinkle in her eye. “Truly, you are made for each other. They’re the only one I’ve seen with the ability to actually make you shut up.”

Ignoring her comment, the Rito continued to stare at [Name] as she bantered with the other guests and workers outside. Then, he exhaled quickly, muttering comments that would make any mother click their tongue. Attempting to alleviate the tension, Urbosa asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

Quickly rebuilding his walls, Revali let out the usual quip. “You just did, but you have my permission to ask a secondary one.”

“Do you believe they like you back?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, spare me your useless fledgling gossip and prattle. What are you going to do, exchange handwritten love letters between us? Unfold the schoolyard drama? Maybe later we can skip around in circles as we talk about our crushes before bedtime.” 

She rolled her eyes. It might as well be an exercise when around Revali. “How about you answer the question?”

He turned away, looking outside and watching the dancing trees and people. “[Name] and I have been friends for years. I think I’d know if we had mutual feelings.”

Taking a napkin and placing it on her lap. She focused on enjoying her meal. “Oh but you do. You’re both clearly head over heels for each other already. Considering you're already basically dating.”

Turning back to face her, he started sputtering. “Wait, wait. Let’s back up, shall we? If we’re, as you said, basically dating, does that mean they know this? Do...do they already consider me their significant other? Do they know we’re…” he lowered his voice again, gesturing at himself wildly, “...you know.”

Urbosa slurped her stew, but held Revali’s gaze. She enjoyed its warmth and savory smell for several, several, several long seconds, still looking Revali in the eye. He spread his wings, exasperated. “Your condescending stares aren’t improving the situation.” 

Finally, she finished her sip, giving a satisfied sigh. The spicy taste tingled in her mouth. “Mmm. Delicious. [Name]’s cute and a good cook. You have good taste.”

“Did you just make a pun?”

“Pfft, like you haven’t done that before?” Revali responded with a grimace. 

The Rito asked again, “Can you just please take this seriously and help me with all this? You should already be flattered that I’m even bothering to continue this conversation with you. I don’t just babble about [Name] with anyone. So just...tsk...I don’t know, grace me with whatever wisdom you have.”

Urbosa raised an eyebrow, “Oh? Why should I? I’m not your mother or anything…” She flipped her velvet hair and looked away dramatically. Seems the Rito’s personality rubbed off on her.

Revali rolled his eyes, “Are you really going to make me—”

“Yes.” she said bluntly.

“Well, I’m not—”

“Hm?” 

“I said—”

“What?”

“Can you—”

“Yes?”

Revali sat there, eyes narrowed. Seems there was only one way he was gonna get her to talk. Urbosa gave a hearty laugh, her chocolate smooth voice echoing through the room. She kept her eyebrows raised, looking at him expectantly. After letting out another sigh, the Rito grumbled, barely opening his beak. “Can you please help me with all this...” Urbosa cupped a hand around her ear, a smirk plaster on her face. Revali quickened his speech. “...ugh you’re insufferable...considering you are the closest thing to a parental figure in my life and you’re more of an expert in this than I am, please tell me what in the hells I should do about [Name]—THERE! Happy?”

She started chuckling again, laughter must come easy for her. Shooting him a wink, Urbosa mused, “I think that’s satisfactory. Was that so hard?”

“Very.”

She snorted. Leaning back in her seat, she jeered him further. “Alright, maybe I won’t let you crash and burn this cute relationship of yours, considering it’s my responsibility to look out for all the little children in my life.” Revali scoffed.

Before he had the chance to nag her further, Urbosa continued. “So, Revali, from my own expert deductions on your whole,” she moved her spoon towards him in a circular motion, “situation, I’ve concluded that you’re both idiots.” He grumbled and shot daggers at her.

“Thank you. Very helpful.”

“You’re welcome. Now,” she set down her spoon, “Listen close and listen well, Revali. You’re both in the same boat here. [Name] didn’t react that badly at the prospect of you going out with me. However, their eyes immediately lit up when I clarified that you were not, infact, taken.  

“This means that they also don’t realize the obvious fact that you’re dating each other. Yet, they reacted with a hint of jealousy, so there’s no question they’ve got it for you.” Revali shifted in his seat, but allowed her to resume.

“They were completely oblivious to Daruk’s earlier comment about you being cute together. Yet, they’ve continuously made moves that suggest they really like you. Did you see their face when you put your wing around them yesterday?” She sighed. “ Who knows what other signs you’ve both been oblivious to all your lives.” Finally, she leaned forward and pointed a finger at Revali.

“You’re both too lovestruck to see how lovestruck your loves are for you.” Then, she went for her drink, sipping it slowly.

Taking her silence as a cue to speak, he asked softly. “Alright, so what do I do?”

“I don’t know,” was all that came from behind the cup.

He practically squaked again. “What? But? You just? Why—”

She held up a finger to shush him. “The best I can say is that you should probably openly confess so there’s not anymore confusion between you two fools. How, where, and when? Well that’s entirely up to you. Maybe at the party tonight you can whip up something.”

The likelihood of someone like [Name] showing up to a party filled with stuffy nobles, pestering fans, and overall loud people seemed slim. From experience, Revali probably thought [Name] would spend the night in the woods or something, searching for wildflowers. “I can assure you that’s not going to happen.”

Urbosa gave a final shrug. “Well then, good luck.” She went back to eating the rest of her meal.

Revali cast his eyes to the floor, deep in thought. What was he gonna do? 

Several minutes passed, and Urbosa basked in the rare occurance of the Rito Champion's silence. Thoughts and anxieties swarmed his head like bees to a courser honey comb. Then, the wind swept past the curtains and through the stable entrance, fluttering something under Revali’s foot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a feather. It was a familiar deep blue, bordering on indigo, the edges were stroked with white. The color and hue was unmistakable.

Losing one or two happened everyday, sure, but what was peculiar was that this particular feather was that it seemed to be from a fledgling. The white marks faded to grey slightly, indicating the not yet fully formed colors of a young Rito hatchling. 

Tsk. I’ll admit I have youthful looks, but I’m not that young.  

Picking it up off the floor, he studied the stiff end of the feather, he was surprised to find it was decorated. A yellow ribbon was wrapped around its end. At one point, it was a brighter, daffodil like color, but now it had faded with time to a more pastel shade. The color matched well.

Why on earth does someone have my—

Suddenly, Revali stood up, almost flipping the table. “Hey!” Urbosa held the table steady. “Revali? Are you alright?”

Earlier, they were wearing a new leather pouch. It was half open, there were trinkets...ribbons inside.

“Revaaaaaaali?”

When they were joking around, they fake bowed. Did this...did this fall out?

“Are you alright? Where’d you get that feather? Is it yours?”

[Name] kept this? After all this time? That idiot, don’t they know about Rito custom by now? Someone might get the wrong idea.

Or the right idea...GAH! Whywhywhywhywhy—

Breaking his eyes away from the feather, he pushed in his seat and started to leave. “Well, you’ve had your free meal, hope your food was good Urbosa. Now I have to go.” Revali started shuffling out towards the exit, hastily shoving the little feather into his own pocket. “I’ll meet up with you at that idiotic party later. Right now I need to be somewhere.” 

Urbosa started to chuckle. “So, heading out early to your date?” Nearly outside, The Rito abruptly stopped and turned to face her. Her eyebrows were raised in suspicion. “And Urbosa, if you tell anyone at all, and I mean even the slightest whisper in the breeze, about our conversation, I have a bomb arrow nocked and ready for you.” He gave her a death stare, but she just laughed.  

Her chocolatey voice resonated through the air once more, laughter must truly come easy for her. After shooting him a wink, she smiled.

“Good luck, little Rito.”

- - - - - 

Ironic, that the Champion of the sky would frequent the area of his first failure. But, the woods had their own calm and beautiful atmosphere, made all the more pleasant when he and [Name] would hang out here through their childhood. Revali knew these trees all too well, from when he first crashed into them as a child to when he practiced his archery in the time before the Flight Range was built.

Walking along the dirt path, he spotted them up ahead. Their secret spot wasn’t that secluded, it was by a small grassy clearing within the forest. Tall pine trees swayed in the wind, the setting sunlight was cut apart by the shifting shadows. The rose, orange, and yellow light coated the sky and shimmered through the branches. The bushes during this time of year held small buds, some had already bloomed into more colorful yellow flowers, although most were still a young green. Kneeling on the ground [Name] was shuffling through a leather pouch, spilling the contents on the ground and searching for something among the mess. A few hair ribbons, a spare quill, a comb, empty elixir bottles, and other junk cluttered the forest floor. Sensing a presence behind them, [Name] spun around to find Revali, standing there with his wings folded behind his back. 

“I don’t suppose all that is to help the fertility of the forest?”

[Name] rubbed the back of their neck, brushing aside their hair, embarrassed. “No, I was just...organizing my things.” Trying to move the conversation away from that, they asked, “So, how’ve you been, Master Revali?” 

The Rito brushed his wings against the pocket on his side, where a certain item was tucked away. Tilting his head, he innocently asked, “Are you sure you weren't looking for something just now? We both know you have a habit of being terribly irresponsible.”

[Name] started to formulate an excuse at the tip of their tongue, but one glance at Revali’s expression told them it would be useless. “Alright, fine. Yeah, I lost something, but I’ll find it later. We don’t need to worry about it right now. Why don’t—”

“What did you lose?” He didn’t mean to come off so blunt, but he needed to know. He wanted to be sure. He needed to remove any doubts from his mind. [Name] gave a hasty shrug.

“Uh, just an old trinket. It’s nothing, really. It’s just this dumb thing I had as a kid—”

“So what is it?”

“Nothing! OK? You don’t need to push it, there’s no need to concern yourself with it…” their voice trailed off.

“Was it blue?”

Both their hearts stopped. [Name] suddenly looked up into Revali’s eyes. The looks they both gave each other confirmed their wordless questions. Letting the silence fall a bit longer, [Name] finally dared to whisper.

“How did you...?”

He reached for his pocket. He meant to do this confidently, to swoop in and present it with flair. Perhaps say a quip like “Aha! Of course you kept this. My feathers are of the most dazzling color and quality after all!” Yet, no words escaped his beak. He held out his feather, the pale yellow ribbon hung lazily in the wind. He held it out in front of him, his usual confidence left him. No need to get my hopes up early, just please tell me, if it’s true.

The feather stood between them, shifting back old memories. The sounds were only that of the forest. Crickets softly chirped, and the wind danced through the trees. The sunset trickled through the leaves. Revali let out a cough.

“Ah, well....I believe you left this at our table.” 

Neither of them made a move. [Name] was just standing there, bewildered, their gaze constantly shifting between Revali and the feather. They rubbed their boot on the ground awkwardly, unsure of what to say. Finally, the Rito started to speak again.

“Did you know—”

“Yeah,” they said. “Yes...I’ve known about the whole Rito culture thing since when we were kids. You exchange feathers to show that a piece of you is bound to that person for eternity. Then you can, like, braid it into their hair or something? You only do it with your soulmate, or significant other, or whatever the proper terminology is.” Memories started to stir in the back of Revali’s mind, but they continued, waving their hands in front of them in surrender. “I mean, when I first asked you for it, I had no idea about the custom. I just thought it looked nice,” they rubbed the back of their neck, their cheeks rosening. “When I got back to the stable, some elderly guy told me about it. But I didn’t have the heart to throw it away or anything. I just kept it under the floorboards so no one would find it. 

“Ah, but tonight there were so many people, plus the Champions… I thought it would be safer on me.” They gestured to Revali, “And, of course, I was wrong, haha….” They let their shoulders slump. “Goddess above, I’m sorry, this is so weird huh. I didn't want to tell you in case you...took it back. I probably should have, I don’t have the right to keep something that should be sentimental...but…”

Their voice trailed off. Revali continued to say nothing. Taking this as a cue to say something more, [Name] added, “I’m sorry, obviously when we were kids you didn’t mean anything that way. I should have told you sooner.” 

His heart was racing. Well, both of their hearts were. Taking in their words, Revali could feel his stomach start to flutter, the winds played with the end of his braids. Still holding the feather in front of him, he extended it towards them shakily. “Well, take it. It’s yours.”

They looked up from the ground in shock. “R-Revali! Don’t feel obligated to do anything just because I—”

“And there’s a comb among the junk you’ve littered on the forest floor, correct?”

They took a step back. “Wait, wait. Does this mean you—”

He suddenly took their arm and twirled them around, facing them away from him. “Yes, now sit down already. I’m not gonna do this standing.”

His feathers were poofed out, from the mixed emotions of pride, embarrassment, and adoration. Plopping [Name] in the grass, he went over and picked out the wooden comb among their belongings. 

Seeing [Name] about to churn out more excuses and questions, he held up his wing to shush them. “Shut up will you? This is long overdue.” He sat down behind them, the grass prickling against his feet. Revali started to carefully undo the yellow ribbons in [Name]’s hair. Softly, they asked “So for you, how long? When we were kids? Teens?”

“A while,” he simply stated. “It just took me some time to really accept it I suppose.” Silence overtook them once more, though its atmosphere was much more pleasant and warm. Parting their hair into sections, Revali started to lighten the mood with a quip.

“Did you know we’ve already been dating over the last few years?”

“What?!”

“Yeah, you’re pretty much an idiot for not seeing it. I mean, all those times we’ve been in each others’ company. I don’t know how you’ve gone this long without realizing.”

They laughed. “Maybe the idiot Rito I’ve been hanging out with rubbed off on me.”

“Maybe.”

Finally, he placed the feather within their hair. After braiding it halfway, he twisted the yellow ribbon with it, and finished off the braid. The colors of his feather and the ribbon matched perfectly.

“Is it done?”

Before he could give an answer, [Name] brushed their hand against their hair. They both sat there, in the grass, for another eternity. Suddenly, [Name] turned around, and planted their lips on his beak. After releasing him, they stared into each other's eyes for a moment. “Heh, I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.” they mused. “What’s with the look? Should I enlighten you on the Hylian custom then?”

His feathers were now fluffed up mainly from embarrassment, but he regained his composure at their smile. “I’m quite aware of what a kiss is. It’s just that Rito have something better.”

Revali wrapped his wing around the back of their head, moving it gently towards his. Pressing their foreheads against each other, they both smiled, half flustered. His soft face tickled their skin, but they smiled for more reasons than that.

“This works too.”

“Of course, I’m an expert at this sort of thing.”

A beat, and then they both laughed. The sun was almost completely swallowed by the horizon . The Rito Champion was probably going to miss the party, but it didn’t matter. He was busy with more important matters, anyhow.

[when-are-you-coming-back-steve]

I’m inpatient so, backstory Part 1

Mochi had a good life honestly. Well if you didn't think too much into it. They learned things that others apparently didn't learn but that just meant they were smart right? They grew up in a house that had a stable income and everything was perfectly normal, they were perfectly normal. Except other kids didn't know how to hide from the cold alone outside, they didn't know how to manipulate someone, they didn't know how to blend into the shadows or know how to eavesdrop without anyone even knowing you exist. The others didn't know that everyone was constantly in danger of the others, they trusted and they loved not realizing the secrets they handed out freely. But it's not a big deal, she was just a little different, a little smarter, that's what everyone else said. 

They were a good kid with good grades with a normal family and was completely normal. They weren't like the kids who were constantly beat, they weren't thrown insults. She wasn't a genius or a prodigy and she wasn't stupid, she seemed to have a mind slightly off. 

No one batted an eye when they started writing down in notebooks, why would they? Mochi didn't exist. But Mochi had faced the consequences of talking and accidentally dropping that said knowledge, it wasn't something they needed having happen again. All the information in their mind needed an outlet though, somewhere to be reliably stored and shared so they started the notebooks. 

It was filled with everything they needed, information on different people, info on places, analysis, murder plans, and escape plans, animals and technology, anything that came into their mind. 

What does any of this have to do with the Chaos family? Well it went like this.

Mochi was watching the latest thing that caught their attention; the chaos family. To be honest the family scared them, quite an accomplishment but very concerning. Mochi knew Sal, a far off neighbor, thought they were a mafia family, but that wasn't what scared them. They were just too authentic and trusting. Some of the members would only be there for a few days and a spot at the table was there, every part of people coming out and then appreciated. Everyone listened and cared and it was wrong. Nothing was sugar-coated, but why would it when most of it was so nice. Mochi couldn’t understand how they did that. So they spent much of their time now trying to find info on the family.

One of the members, who they seemed to call Cenn or Renn, was working on a project from ver work while the kids hung out at the playground. Cenn was their favorite to watch, they don't know why. Maybe it had to do with how much ve ended up telling their projects out loud, it was always fun to work it out while watching vem. Ve had just told the lawyer, Green, about ver most recent project, so they excitedly got to work. Apparently, they got too excited as their shaking caused their notebook to fall loudly against the ground. 

Cenn’s head turned to my direction, where they sat frozen on my tree, and then looked down at the notebook, “Need any help?”

Mochi immediately became stuttering and waving their hands around, “I..Its...no..yeah..it's fine…” 

Apparently it was Mochi’s unlucky day because Cenn was already picking up the notebook, and even worse, the page it was turned to was the same page that held their answer to Cenn’s project. What was supposed to be a small glance became a stare as Cenn saw the name of the page. As much as they wanted to, Mochi couldn’t stop vem from reading it. And so for a minute Mochi sat tense as the tree and Cenn read the stupid notes until,

“What is this?”

“Well, you see, just some notes for an idea, it's nothing.”

“..I’ve been working on this thing for a hour, how long have you been taking these notes.”

“Just a little while, a few minutes? I just overheard a little and my mind ran off I guess, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, this is great. I didn’t even think of this.”

Oh no. This was not supposed to be a conversation. Time for an escape route. The layout of the park ran through their head as they tried to think of a good reason to leave. 

“I’m sorry but I really got to go, y’know mum probably wants me home by now.” The lie came out naturally. 

“Really? Where do you live?” Shit. Where do they live again? Is it better to lie or tell the truth? No time, just answer ve are waiting, 

“Oh uh over there.” And they pointed. Towards where they most definitely not live. Mochi pointed towards the town with the worst crime rates, and that's including the Chaos family. Great.

Of course a wave of concern crossed Cenn’s face. A kid, walking towards there, alone, at sunset? Not a good idea. “Would it be okay if I walk you there?”

Yeah no. This was already completely off script. So of course in their panic induced brain, they flipped on the tree to grab the notebook and jumped off towards where they pointed. Mochi started running backwards when their wits came back, “I should really get home now. Run home y’know. Mum probably wouldn’t like that, stranger danger right?” and turned around to sprint around the block. 

That went great.

``````````````````````````````

Of course, when Mochi was around Cenn again, ve saw them and came over. 

“Did you get home okay?”

“Yeah great. Thank you.”

“I was wondering actually, do you have any more notes on my project?” A whole page maybe. 

“Just a little bit, nothing really.”

“Do you mind if I read it.” Absolutely yes. 

“Yeah..no..um you can read it.” Yes, hand vem the notebook that has everything that proves you stalk their family, great idea. Mochi knew this was a terrible idea, so they went to minimize the damage, opening to the right page before handing it to vem. Thanks to anything holy Cenn only read the page they gave. Hopefully ve would read it, hate them and leave. A million different scenarios ran through Mochi’s mind of what they should do, when Cenn decimated every single plan by taking out a flyer?

Mochi's eyes were already scanning the page, when Mochi saw "Hiring"

What in the ever living.. 

“What?” 

“Well, I’m swamped with work, and honestly this is the best thing I’ve seen in years.” W h a t.

“Okay?”

“So, I could use someone with a brain like yours to get some of this work off my back," Cenn handed them the flyer and said, "Here. Just think about it.:

 ```````````````````````

Ok, ok, ok. No or yes? Interaction is hell but it would get me more information. It is just helping Cenn right? No reason to actually interact with more of the family.

This is a bad idea. The worst idea possible. But..

The poster stared through Mochi. In big bold letters “Hiring” and under that, “Advisor for Maxx Chaos needed.” 

They should just write it down. Look out for new people around the chaos family. But..

A job would help pay for notebooks. This job would allow more information on the Chaos family. It could be fun, working on Cenn’s projects. 

And look at that they already sent a quick text to the number on the poster, “Need a resume?”

Oh no. What are they doing? Their resume is atrocious, nothing of substance just random facts, it would probably scare anyone off. 

The phone beeped, “A resume, you say?”

And well gosh, you can’t leave the Chaos Family on read.  So they quickly copy and pasted the resume. 

Once again a terrible idea. 

“Wow. If you want to you can be my advisor.” 

And that's how you destroy a Mochi. What in the world?

“What's the hours?”

“Always. Come to the address listed as soon as you can.”

...Mochi is right outside the house. How long is an acceptable amount of time till someone should arrive? Can’t be too early or too late, don’t want to make it worse.. And the choice was out of their hands. 

“Who are you?” Oh no. A member of the family, wondering why in the world I’m standing in front of their mansion. 

Guess the best time is now. “I’m the new guy, well Cenn’s advisor? Ve told me to come a.s.a.p.”

“Cool! Come in, ve are probably in the meeting room. Good luck!”

The person dragged them in and they left. Mochi is left alone, in a mansion, with no direction. A meeting room. 

It is a little concerning how nobody gave more than a glance at a random person wandering around in the house. But they found the room with little ruckus. Well things were blowing up in some hallways but it is the Chaos family. Mochi turned the handle to the door that said “Meeting room” and started the job. 

[villainess-noble-girl]

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Title: Second-Year Valentine's Day

Author: meiberry

Link: https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12852677/1/Second-Year-Valentine-s-Day

Fandom: Kenkyo Kenjitsu

Pairing: EnjouXReika

Photo: https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/67148847

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

"No. I'm not going to take it. It's going to make me sleepy. Plus it tastes like soap."

The muffled voice of Yukino came from beneath the covers. The IV drip tube poked out from the ball of sheets in the hospital bed.

Shuusuke sighed at his little brother's stubborn actions. Good thing he came prepared for this. "Yukino. Kisshouin-san wrote you a letter."

The ball of sheets shifted, and Yukino's head popped out from beneath the covers, his doe peering up at Enjou in surprise. "...Reika-oneesama?"

Shuusuke held up a small pink envelope with "Yukino-kun" written in neat handwriting in the center. Yukino reached for it when Shuusuke swept it back out of reach with a gentle smile.

"..." Sullenly, Yukino obediently drank the medicine. Watching as he finished it, Shuusuke patted his head and handed him a glass of water with a piece of candy to take care of the medicine's bitter aftertaste. Yukino popped the candy in his mouth with one hand and eagerly held out the other, looking up at Shuusuke expectantly. Shuusuke handed him the letter and watched as his little brother opened it earnestly.

In the beginning, Shuusuke was pretty surprised to see him get along so well with an older girl. Usually, Yukino was not so nice. He was a really smart kid for his young age, and many older girls had been trapped by his soft, harmless facade only to be humiliated and insulted beyond repair. But recently, Shuusuke found that with Kisshouin, Yukino seemed to genuinely act like his appearance.

Shuusuke could see why. Kisshouin clearly didn't have any ulterior motives when speaking to Yukino. Older girls usually saw Yukino as a means to an end. If they weren't patronizing then they were obsequious, obviously trying to use the younger brother to get to the older one. But when it came to Kisshouin… if anything, it was as if her treatment of the two brothers was reversed. In the ten years of knowing her, the very first time that Kisshouin started a one-on-one conversation with Shuusuke that lasted longer than one minute happened to be because Yukino. It was a dreadfully humbling experience. Yukino has sure put up with a lot these past few years.

In any case, no matter how devilish he was to other people, in the end, Yukino really was still a little boy, and Shuusuke was simply grateful that he was able to be just a normal, cute kid with someone, even if it was a girl who clearly didn't put Shuusuke in her eyes.

He watched peacefully as his little brother's eyes happily flew across the letter.

"Kisshouin-san really cares about Yukino."

Yukino shot a glance over at him, "What? Is oniisama jealous?" And then he continued reading his letter.

"And don't think that I don't realize you told her to write this to make me obediently stay in the hospital."

Shuusuke smiled wryly. When he could tell Yukino was finished reading, he continued, "Well, Yukino seems to really like Kisshouin-san. I thought maybe you would listen if she asked you personally."

Yukino smiled, happy from finishing Kisshouin's letter. "Yeah, I do like her. Reika-oneesama is really nice and she's not just pretending. Do you want to read it, oniisama? I'll let you read it, since you asked her to write this for me. I'm going to the bathroom."

Yukino handed the letter to Shuusuke as he climbed out of bed and grabbed at his drip stand to roll it into the bathroom in the room.

Shuusuke blinked at the letter in his hands. Although he didn't ask to read it, he was honestly pretty curious. What did she say to Yukino to cheer him up, anyways?

The letter was not very long, and it fit neatly on the cute stationary decorated with little birds and vines.

Yukino-kun,

Enjou-sama told me that you are admitted to the hospital. I am worried for your health. Your family must be even more worried than me. I hope you take care of your body because many people care about you very much, and we want for you to quickly become well again. With that said, I hope you listen to the doctor so that you can leave the hospital soon. I know that sometimes it is really hard to do something you don't like. But experts have their reasons for their advice.

Recently I have been learning to make desserts from a friend. To be honest, my dessert-making skill is much farther behind my cooking. I think I know what to do when I try to be creative and individual with my own ideas, but actually, my friend tells me that the greatest mistake in baking is not following from the recipe. This is completely different from cooking, where not following the recipe is not that big of a deal. When I listened to my friend, I made a dessert more delicious than anything I'd ever made in my life! I realized at that moment, ah, so that is the difference between a normal person and an expert. With that said, I hope you understand the importance of listening to experts such as your doctor.

When you come back, you'll be able to see your other friends and me in the Petite Pivoine salon again.

Wishing you a quick recovery,

Kisshouin Reika

By the time Yukino returned from the bathroom, Shuusuke had already finished reading the letter and had set it on the tray over the foot of Yukino's bed.

"So, what did you think of Kisshouin-san's letter? Are you going to listen to her when she asks to you listen to to doctor's advice?"

"I guess." Yukino sat at the foot of the bed and picked up the letter again, folding it and carefully putting it back in its envelope before he flopped back into bed, pulling the covers over himself. "The way she asks me to listen to the doctor is just less irritating than when you ask me to listen to the doctor."

Shuusuke helped put the covers over Yukino.

"I wonder why Reika-oneesama is learning to make desserts." Yukino looked at Shuusuke, his eyes widening. "Valentine's Day is coming up, isn't it? I wonder what Reika-oneesama is making…"

"Hmm. Who knows."

"I wonder if she's learning to bake something for the person she likes..."

"Hmm. Who knows."

Yukino's eyes widened like big dark marbles as he looked at Shuusuke.

"You're curious, too, aren't you oniisama? Ne, ne, what kinds of sweets has oniisama received from Reika-oneesama on Valentine's day?"

"Actually, I've never received anything from Kisshouin-san on Valentine's Day."

"Ehhhhh!"

Shuusuke thought about how in the ten years since he's known Kisshouin Reika, she has never given anyone Valentine's chocolates. Year after year, the whole school secretly held its breath in wonder at who the Goddess Kali of Suiran would afflict with her attentions. And year after year the answer was an anti-climatic… nobody.

Kisshouin Reika never gave anybody at Suiran chocolates for Valentine's day. Him and Masaya were not excluded.

Ah, wait, that's not right. Last year she gave courtesy chocolates to the student council president. In fact, Shuusuke was the one who pointed this out to Masaya... Even though she had done it in secret, for Kisshouin Reika to give chocolates to a guy at Suiran was no small matter and in the end the word leaked anyways. Because she had done it pretty secretively, there were no massive rumours, but the thing about secrets was that they always spread. Shuusuke heard about it from the more low-key sources.

Back then, he had remembered how she seemed to have had a crush on the same student council president back in middle school, but nothing had happened even after all these years. For nothing to have happened all this time, what other conclusion was it other than unrequited love? He hinted at this story of camaraderie to Masaya in hopes of inspiring him to move on with his life. Unrequited love was not the end of the world. Just look at Kisshouin-san.

Who knew that the whole thing would have worked out so beautifully at graduation. Tomoe Senju actually had a girlfriend! And he called Kisshouin Reika a sister in front of everybody. Masaya was so moved by Kisshouin's composure and courage. Shuusuke felt like he was watching Masaya watch a romance movie. Out of all the times that he's taken advantage of Kisshouin, Shuusuke felt most proud about the way that one turned out. Witnessing the way Kisshouin "handled" the student council president's "public rejection" totally inspired Masaya and brought him back from depression. He completely recovered from Yurie's rejection after that.

Yukino's marble eyes seemed to glitter in wonder as he looked up at the handsome young man sitting beside the bed.

"Wow, even though every year it seems like you get chocolates from every single girl we know, there is actually one girl who has never given you any chocolates… not even once! Hehhh..."

Yukino did not look or sound sympathetic at all with the the corner of his lips twitching upwards.

"That reminds me... when we first met and I introduced myself, Reika-oneesama made a 'geh!' face when she heard my name, like she was really saddened to hear that Oniisama was my oniisama... I thought that maybe she hated you!"

"Hmm. I sure hope Kisshouin-san doesn't hate me. But if she does hate me, then that's unfortunate."

"No, no. I don't think Reika-oneesama hates you, Oniisama! She probably doesn't even think about you at all."

"..." Shuusuke's expression remained serene as he stayed silent.

Yukino looked at his face and suddenly giggled. Shuusuke joined in with a few chuckles. For a short moment, they laughed together.

"Ahahaha…"

"Hahaha…"

"..."

"..."

Yukino turned over in bed. "Don't worry, oniisama. Maybe one day Reika-oneesama will also remember to give you chocolates, too."

"..."

"Oh yeah, oniisama, could you find me something to write with? I want to write Reika-oneesama a reply."

"...Alright. I'll go find you some paper."

The next morning, Shuusuke thanked Kisshouin for her letter to Yukino. She looked really happy that it helped. Yeah, it was really useful. She was pretty humble.

"Yukino said that it was fun to read about making sweets."

"I could only think of unimportant things to say… well..."

Hm, there it was. Shuusuke could always hear the instant whenever it sounded like Kisshouin was trying to wrap up a conversation and escape. Usually, he'd just let her go. But for some reason, he didn't feel like it this time. The words Yukino said yesterday skipped around his mind, reviving an old and annoying itch.

"So Kisshouin-san is making sweets. Could it be that on Valentine's day..."

"Umm…" He watched as Kisshouin's eyes lowered, her cheeks blushing very lightly. He could imagine her cheeks must have been warm to the touch now. "Yes..."

"Hn."

It'd be a lie to say that he never expected any chocolates from Kisshouin Reika. It wasn't to say that he wanted her chocolates or anything like that. In fact, the idea of actually eating Kisshouin Reika's handmade sweets seemed like something that belonged to the realms of extreme adventures and chemically dangerous thrill-seeking. Although, whether or not Reika's chocolates are edible, Shuusuke wouldn't want to eat them anyways, as he didn't have a sweet tooth, but...

...He still expected to get them.

It was about logic. If a girl knew Enjou Shuusuke, then she would give him chocolates on Valentine's day. (The same applied to Kaburagi Masaya.) Three of five of chocolates would be honmei. That was the rule. He knew it was a very unique and extraordinary rule. Certainly not every boy in the world had the ridiculous privilege of receiving a mountain of chocolates and sweets from all the girls he knew. But, that was his experience.

In accordance with his life experience, it was natural to expect chocolates from a girl he knew when he's always received chocolates from every girl he knew. With no exceptions.

Except this one.

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

thoughts on starry after multiple listens

(dated July 8, 2020 because i might make another one)

Edit: I SHOULD FACT CHECK MORE

the Starry soundtrack is as impressionist as the painters it invokes by energy alone, which is impressive given the style of music used (of which i’m fine with, but not partial to)

the Prologue does this right off the bat

the people of Monmartre are very critical of the rest of France and I adore it

i can feel theo’s overwhelment in Impress Me

Impress Me does a wonderful job at introducing the setting of the show

that song is a ball of pulsating yearning—no wait that’s the whole show

Theo got so stressed he walked blindly into Madame Segatori’s cafe

learning that the Le Tambourin was named as such due to its tambourine aesthetic via Vincent’s portrait of Segatori is just incredible to me; the table is shaped like a tambourine

“If Paris is the world, Monmartre is Bethlehem; and art is our Amen” sounds so powerful

A New Horizon is so warm

i expect Theo and Vincent to be very cuddly with each other everytime they interact

“dream with me, dear brother” is the energy of this song

french wheat fields will forever haunt me because of this damn musical

*insert Do You Like the Color of the Sky? post here*

like, so much emphasis to the sky

Vincent’s dreaming leaking into Theo’s trading practice surely must be a sight to see

chain imagery hits hard after hearing Wheat Fields/Finale Ultimo

in this yellow house, we dream of freedom

“should I really take this giant risk?” “brother, I took a giant risk coming here—fuck yeah do it!”

United in Distaste reeks of Vincent’s intimidation—it has new kid in school energy and I am living for it

Vincent coming to Monmartre (and when he arrives in Arles) like “Hey, I’m new in town, and it gets worse,”

Bernard has apparently spent enough time with Theo to be able to identify Vincent by frowning alone

Rude of Gauguin to yoink Vincent’s painting like that; Segatori immediately hangs it tho—

Gauguin sounds like he’s going to corrupt anyone who approaches him—dude announces his horny nature during his introduction

Gauguin IS a savage and a whore and the best thing about that is that he knows it; even better knowing the vision of his costume

Segatori’s displeasure throughout the song implies that the artists that frequent her cafe also argue amongst themselves frequently

“keep in mind that we’re academic rejects, Vincent”

with the way Degas, Pissarro, and Morisot tease at Gauguin (noting that Gauguin, Bernard, and Toulouse-Lautrec are together in a later song), it sounds like they’re are hurling insults from a separate tambourine table

Toulouse-Lautrec sounds dramatic; Bernard sounds like he’s not sure where he is artistically—both are a mood

Of the post-impressionist table, the only one retaliating with genuine insults is Toulouse-Lautrec; Bernard and Gauguin only end up defending themselves while Toulouse was ready to tear down Degas and Morisot

Pissarro IS old (at this period in time in the musical) damn

Morisot is unyielding with her insults, “speaking of size—“ holy shit oh no

i reiterate—why is Toulouse-Lautrec the only one actually speaking in a French accent; almost everyone there is French

since I’m aggressively referring to him, I think Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec merits a musical of his own, and that’s based on what first learned about him when I first listened to Starry

by extension, also Berthe Morisot

Monmartre’s artists be like “We’re very critical of ourselves and each other, and while that’s worth being intimidated by, don’t be intimidated by us! What do you have to bring to the table, foreign painter?”

Something poetic about how what Vincent wants being what all the artists want hereby making him a member of their squad is so warm to me—galleries are gravity INDEED

“We will embrace the madness we design, or lose our mind,” IS THIS FORSHADOWING BECAUSE IT FUCKING SOUNDS LIKE IT

“i am loving this! YES, GET ANGRY!” if only i can identify who said this

Something After All is directed towards Vincent, right? It better be, I lack context

Theo’s yearning is so relatable and I fear not being able to fulfill it

bless Kelly and Matt for giving Jo so much depth in Enlightenment

apparently she deadass learned English for the purpose of translating the letters she had compiled??? yo i love that

poetic how Jo invokes making a legacy since she’s the one who actually preserves her brother-in-law’s legacy (and by extension, herself and her husband’s legacies)

at first listen, i immediately drew a comparison to Hamilton’s Eliza; Jo is better both musically and literally, given that Vincent van Gogh is far more relevant than Alexander Hamilton will ever be, even with LMM’s musical

not trying to start beef, just an observation

Jo’s yearning is also such a mood

fire, light, and road imagery being invoked huh

it is by this point i’ve to the realization that the reasons one goes to Monmartre that was cited in Impress Me tie in very well to the individual characters’ desires in this show

Where Are We Going? goes so hard ugh yes

“I need a stronger strategy to seize my immortality!” Gauguin’s incredible ambition is the root of his dissatisfaction; doesn’t help that he’s impulsive both in the musical and IRL

Toulouse prioritizes integrity and Bernard prioritizes progression—I wonder what this means for their characters in the show

Toulouse and Bernard calling Gauguin out on his known shitty behaviors feels like they’ll be problems Vincent will have to deal with in Act 2, when they live together

this is where Gauguin leaves for Martinique, right???

which one is the act 1 closer, really??? The Sower or The Road??? help me please

everyone in town is really concerned for Vincent

it wams me how much Segatori believes in him

Bernard’s right, Vincent van Gogh’s artstyle IS a melting pot

learning that Toulouse-Lautrec capitalized on his art during the peak of his career really adds weight to his concerns on Vincent’s inability to sell

i like to imagine the everyone’s in the gallery during The Sower

Theo and Jo’s relationship progressing as Vincent’s works don’t sell hits upon realization

Theo falling hard when he learns that he and Jo yearn for the same thing tho

recontextualizing the imagery that Vincent found beauty in into imagery that demonstrates his person is just mighty good of Kelly and Matt

then again, so much of his person is in the artwork to begin with

“and everyone knows your reap what you sow.” w o a h!!!

The Road starts like a dramatization of one of Vincent’s breakdowns and how he copes with them, or perhaps this starts after one??? The opening verses suggest a lot

also ties his road to his dream of freedom with what i believe is his travel to Arles

“North, South, East, West—navigate from inside you,” = “With conscience as my compass,”

“i am guided towards the night” this Vincent knows the answer but is so clearly far from its reach and is desperately trying to figure out how to

soul of fire, crystal heart and blizzard-like brain; the man is passionate and everyone knows it

“Fascinating, but maybe just a little too soon,” sounds like that at this point, Toulouse-Lautrec and Bernard genuinely recognize and admire Vincent’s talents, but also understand that the world is still against him and that they have the experience to prove it

the “sunlight and storms” imagery always concern Theo, Jo, and Vincent’s relationship with each other

Gauguin popping up in this song with the compass imagery implies the show’s going to make him a pretty interesting foil to Vincent; this sounds like him traveling back to Paris, or at least him attempting to vibe in Martinique

this hurts when you remember what happens to Vincent

“curse of the gifted” is a phrase i am too afraid to understand

DYLAN SAUNDERS CAN SLAY ME WITH HIS VOICE

The Yellow House sounds yellow somehow

who clears their throat before writing a letter???

Gauguin’s frustration’s against Vincent’s admiration of him is amusing

sounds like Gauguin hasn’t found his “freedom” yet

Theo is one generous fellow

this arrangement lasts for only 2 months; given the apparent span of this musical, The Yellow House is a very “calm before the storm” song

wait a minute—

apparently, Vincent REALLY admired Gauguin and was so excited for his arrival at the yellow house

i fear the dramatization of their disagreements

“Don’t tell Theo I said that,” it amuses me how the van Gogh brothers’ relationship is so well-known to these painters

based on the gifs lurking, the ear incident WILL be dramatized and I am terrified for my heart on how it will be depicted

Sunlight and Storms quotes the original letter from Jo to Vincent surprisingly well (i attempted to read some—there’s so many! this was one of the first ones i came across)

this song hurts when it hits how little time Jo and Theo had together as a married couple

I am convinced a lot happened between Sunlight and Storms and On the Threshold of Eternity

this definitely was after a breakdown

i skip this song just so i don’t think about the obvious implications, i must confess

the meaning of “sunlight and storms” hits the hardest here

“we will not let your illness keep you from finding your freedom”

The Red Vinyard is so full of a brother’s love

this hits me, and i speak as an only child

“You’ve carried me more than you’ll ever know,” AH—

when Theo finally sees the new horizon, Vincent is seeing it too

and what Vincent saw he put on a fucking canvas

“i can see it—a new horizon” = “the sight of the starry night”

they say that at the time, not much was thought of the iconic painting

i could only wonder what might’ve happened between The Starry Night and Wheat Fields

all the piano motifs coming together in Wheat Fields/Finale Ultimo, just like that

“I’m ready for harvest time” is melodically similar to “The road is bright”, particularly when it’s just Vincent singing the line alone

despite the obvious, I don’t think I’ll grasp the meaning of the final song; i also skip this one so i don’t think about it