#beautiful and painful and sad… they love each other… they grieve each other… they’re desperately tragic

[rosaacicularis]

do you really think we're going to stop you

no… you’re not…. because all of you make them so sad….. they’re my little sillies </3 they are supposed to be happy… :(

[merakiui]

hii could we get an angsty scenario/hcs of xiao and scaramouche/any characters you prefer! who are basically head over heels for someone but that person keeps getting with the wrong people and constantly getting their heart broken? Preferably with a good/fluffy ending but it’s up to you!

cw: angst + heartbreak  note - decided to go for scenarios! (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

[Xiao] 

One Call Away—

The sudden shout of his name had brought him out into the open, where he finds you sitting in a field of wildflowers, your head hung and quiet sobs racking your hunched form.

“You called?” The gruffness in his voice startles you and your head snaps up. He notices your pained expression and the tears that refuse to cease, and it gives birth to a strange feeling within his chest. “What happened? Surely I am not too late.” And then he shakes his head. “No, I’m never late.”

“Ah... I’m sorry.” You sniffle, pitifully rubbing at your eyes. “I guess your name slipped out. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just didn’t mean to call for you either.”

Xiao raises a brow and then surveys the surrounding area. “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re in any mortal peril. In that case, I’ll leave you to—”

“No!”

Your sudden shout startles the both of you, with you drawing back and Xiao’s eyes widening ever so slightly. He wonders why you’re crying when beautiful scenery surrounds you. Are you truly that pathetic? Are mortals usually this weak-hearted? Xiao can’t wrap his head around the idea of grief; he’s an immortal who has seen plenty of hazardous scenarios worth grieving over. Yet with the passage of time he has learned to let such emotions drift away on a wind current. Emotions are useless to an adeptus.

But now he’s stuck with them.

“No?”

“D-Don’t go...” Your voice wobbles and you wipe at your reddened eyes. “I don’t want to bother you, but could you stay here with me? For a little while, at least. It’s all I’ll ask...”

He feels like he should decline your desperate plea before it spreads its perplexing roots throughout his system. The words are practically on the tip of his tongue and he struggles to verbalize them. If he could, he’d shake his head and vanish from your sight. There’s something about your expression that forces him to stay, and he truly detests the way his emotions run wild at the prospect of something he can’t quite comprehend.

“Fine.”

And so Xiao listens to you. It’s something he does best; his eyes and ears are open as he gives you his full, undivided attention. Half of him observes your reactions as you explain what happened and the other half zeros in on the way your subtle hand motions. While he might not be anywhere near a cupid—and he would never be caught giving out relationship advice to mortals, which is something he couldn’t do even if he tried—he is still a being of immense power. From what he’s able to understand from your explanation, your loved one decided to part from you because they believed it just wasn’t working. And you, having been struck with an immense sadness, failed to call out to them to clear up any misunderstandings.

Eventually, after internally wrestling with his own thoughts and feelings, he asks, “Do you want me to teach them a lesson? Should you need them to feel the same amount of despair you’re feeling—”

“Oh, no! No. No. They don’t deserve to be punished for that. I understand now that our feelings weren’t the same. We really weren’t working and that’s okay. It just...hurts.”

Xiao tilts his head, an innocently childish show of confusion. “Where?”

“It’s not a physical pain, Xiao. I mean, it could be. But...this is more emotional.” Your hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He stares down at your hand and he almost pulls away. Before he can even consider what’s happening, you’re guiding his hand to where your heart is. “In here. It hurts now, but I’ll overcome it eventually. I’m used to it anyways...”

The straight-faced adeptus remains still as he feels the fast-paced beat of your heart. Mortals have always been weak in his eyes: feeble beings who break at the slightest inconvenience. Although you don’t seem close to shattering and that confuses him more than he’d like to admit. Perhaps you are one of the more resilient humans he’s come across in recent years. It’s strange when he feels your heartbeat, so very certain and alive with the sour feelings a heartbreak brings. He’s never understood that either. Heartbreaks and relationships. The differences between friendship and romance. Both can be seen through to the very end, if fostered healthily.

So then why are you so sad?

Truthfully, you’ve always seemed sad to Xiao. As an adeptus, he’s never been able to fully grasp the meaning behind human emotions. They’re insignificant in his eyes, mere flashes of feeling that can hurt and blind. They’re troublesome and useless—certainly not something he would ever want to experience. But those emotions can heal and bring cheer. They’re not all entirely bad, nor are they as evil as he seems to think they are.

Xiao realizes his hand has been on your chest for a while now and he’s been staring at you so much that you’ve begun to shrink away, partially embarrassed to have him analyze you with so much scrutiny.

“Is...something wrong?”

He shakes his head slowly at first before retracting his arm. And then he notices you’ve stopped crying. He’s not sure when this happened, but he’s oddly relieved to see your neutral expression. Somehow your crying face is painful and it wounds him in a way he never would have imagined.

“Thank you for listening to my rant. I know this is probably meaningless to you, since you’re an adeptus and all, but it really means a lot. So I’m glad I was able to get these things off my chest. I feel a lot lighter now.”

“You’re not sad?”

“Ah. Well...” Your gaze flickers, eyes darting to and fro while you struggle to look at him. “I’m still sad, but I’ll get over it! Don’t worry! I’m resilient!”

Xiao’s brow furrows in confusion. As he has thought plenty of times before, mortals are far too complex. Eventually he sighs and says, “It’s okay to cry. Don’t keep that inside, okay? You’ll just hurt yourself even more.” Now he’s avoiding your gaze and there’s a barely noticeable tinge of pink dusting his pale cheeks. He’s really not good at consoling humans.

“Oh, Xiao.” You pull him in for a hug and he stiffens, trying to squeeze out of your arms like a cat near water. But then he feels your fingers digging into his arm and he realizes that you might actually need this hug. Despite the fact that he’s not used to freely giving out hugs—or even cheering up mortals, for that matter—he is definitely out of his element. “Really, thank you. I promise to make you an Almond Tofu as thanks.”

“There’s no need for that.” Hesitantly, as if he’s worried he’ll break you, he wraps his arms around your form. “I’m just helping you because you called my name. That’s all.”

But that’s not the full truth. Hidden in those words is the real reason why he even bothered to stay despite the false alarm. And it worries Xiao when he thinks about the implications. He really does like you and this admiration has surpassed platonic love. As long as you’re okay, though, he’ll swallow his feelings in favor of making sure you’re always happy. It’s one of his duties as your friend.

Friend. A word Xiao never thought he’d ever use, but it feels nice. He likes it.

Yet The Distance Remains Harrowing.

[Scaramouche] 

To Mend a Broken Heart—

You’re spilling your emotional guts in front of the Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, tears freely running down your cheeks like two faulty water faucets. It’s a pathetic sight, really. Scaramouche witnessed this exact show just a few weeks ago when you were so certain that that fisher was the one. Now, after meeting and getting together with someone else for a short time, you’ve come out of yet another relationship, unhappy and unsatisfied.

He’s jealous. There’s no denying the envy he feels when you talk so highly of these people and then wail about them a few days later. It’s a vicious cycle of mending a fragile heart and then breaking it into pieces all over again. With no end in sight, you fall victim to your own demise in the pursuit of love. He wonders if you’ll ever learn to choose your next partner carefully rather than settling for anything with a pulse.

“This is exactly what I said would happen, was it not?” he says with a sigh. “Oh, woe is you. If you were smarter, this last relationship might have lasted longer.”

“That’s rich coming from you. I’ve never seen you in a relationship before,” you mutter, wiping angrily at your eyes. His eyelid twitches at the not-so-subtle jab. “Ugh!I hate being so unlucky! This is the worst.”

“Rather than your foul luck, I think the problem lies within you and your taste in partners.”

Sniffling, you lower your head onto the table, hoping to just melt into the crafted wood before you end up making even more of a fool out of yourself. It’s rare to be in the company of Scaramouche, considering how often he’s assigned missions that require swift travel and a covert profile. But whenever you do find yourself sitting across from him, indulging in light snacks and tea, it’s always because you’ve lost your latest lover; and your own sadness requires the nullifying effects of Scaramouche’s cynicism.

“They’re good people! I just don’t know why it never works out. We’re happy and we both like each other—it doesn’t make any sense. Am I missing something? Is it my fault? They probably got tired of me because I’m not a good person.“

“Perhaps.” He takes a moment to sip his tea and you muster a weak glare. Only Scaramouche can delight in his beverage while you’re holding back another onslaught of tears. “Your crocodile tears are hardly flattering and your apparent need for consistent affection might come off as clingy. And you have a tendency to find flaws within yourself whenever something doesn’t go your way. Adding onto that, you doubt yourself a lot and you’re always quick to take the blame for things that are out of your control. In a way you are partially—”

“I get it. I’m not a good person.”

“I never said anything of that sort. Now you’re just asking for pity.”

Oh, how close you are to punching that smirk off of his face.

“Then since you seem to know everything, my oh so helpful friend, why don’t you tell me what I’m missing?”

“With pleasure.” His cup finds the surface of the table as he ponders your demand for a moment. “You’re missing someone who meshes well with your personality.”

“That’s not true. Everyone I’ve been with so far—“ His skeptical look makes you stop short. “Okay. Maybe we forced it because we thought it was love. But that’s besides the point! There was still an attraction! I think...” You huff and bury your face in your arms, nearly almost sprawling on the table. You’re too depressed to even consider how impolite your actions look, and Scaramouche scoffs at your poor display of manners. “Where am I even going to find someone who ‘meshes well with my personality,’ hm?”

“I’m sure you’ve already found them.” He clears his throat, tracing a finger along a sanded knot in the wooden table. “You’re sitting across from him.”

Whether he intended for you to hear that whispered part, you can’t say for sure. But your head perks up and you fix him with a lopsided grin. “You’re kidding.”

“Hm?”

“Me and you, a couple?” A small giggle escapes your lips and you swipe the remaining tears out of your eyes. “Don’t joke about that. I’m trying to be sad here!”

It wasn’t a joke, he almost says and he catches himself, suddenly self-conscious.

“I don’t think we’d work out,” you continue, motioning between you and him. “We’d hardly see each other and you don’t seem like the type for romance. Besides, I’m not attracted to you in that way. You feel the same, right?”

Scaramouche stares into his cup before he meets your gaze, a tight smile gracing his expression. “Of course. Your inability to settle isn’t all that attractive.”

Your eyes roll and you finally pick up your own cup to take a large gulp of lukewarm tea. The bitter Harbinger observes your actions with narrowed eyes. There’s a distinct pain that taps at his hardened soul, splitting it apart as your words echo within his spinning head. I don’t think we’d work out. I’m not attracted to you in that way. Why is he suddenly feeling...upset? He’s not one for pitiful emotions; he’s a Harbinger, not a lovesick fool! He ought to glare at you and storm off, demanding the two of you never speak again. But he won’t say that because he doesn’t want to hurt you. Because he cares for you. Because he loves you.

You feel the same, right?

No, that’s not right. This is the love he’s been wallowing in since he first got acquainted with you. It’s strange when he remembers every event that has led up to the blossoming feelings that reside deep in the epicenter of his heart, but it’s even more strange that he can’t find the courage to voice his own opinion.

“We wouldn’t mix,” he reaffirms your statement with a cold tone. There is no warmth in his eyes. “After all, your taste in tea is as bad as your taste in partners.”

And even though he wishes you could see through his walls—just this once he’ll allow you to tear them down for the sake of a half-baked confession—you just sit there and grin, no longer teary-eyed and forlorn. How odd. His heart feels far heavier than it’s ever been before. And you’re already scanning your surroundings, hungry for a love that will never keep you sated. Perhaps you weren’t even sad in the first place.

Upon realizing this, Scaramouche wants nothing more than to disappear into the wood like a feeble worm and never come back out.

You Must Break Another.

[peeterparkr]

jaundiced & surreptitious; Anthony Bridgerton

sham, pride and illicit affairs | fic masterlist

read part one here read part two here read part three here read part four here

summary: you once loved each other, your hand belongs to him but it’s promised to another. 

jaundiced: affected by bitterness, resentment, or envy. surreptitious:  kept secret, especially because it would not be approved of.

word count: 8.3k (sorry I like writing)

pairing: anthony bridgerton x reader

warnings: anthony is an idiot, this is really idiots who are lovers, like genuinely they’re so stupid. poor benedict has to deal with him. 

wanna be tagged?

read part one here  read part two here   read part three here

next part.

Okaaaay so thank you so much for your support! I can’t believe you guys liked it as much as I did! Especial thanks to @steve-harringtonnn​ and @erodasghosts for helping me out with this chapter!!! 

Anthony would often disregard the pain he’d felt before. He would never say it out loud but he had lost faith after his heart had been broken. The sun had never been as warm. Grieving was one of his favorite activities to live by, silently, to himself. The bloody-minded Anthony would die before ever admitting that his feelings had been impaired.

He was obstinate, he was well aware of that. And he was scared, and he wondered where he’d gathered the courage to walk through the crowds to her two nights before, as if it hadn’t pained him. Perchance his pride had led him there, or maybe his broken heart looking to be healed did. The wandering thoughts that would cease every so often. 

Anthony loved to mourn, or make sure people think he was mourning. He often tried to be the smartest person in the room, he always failed. But he tried, and he counted himself on it. 

He was flawed, he knew that. But he would try his best, so he’d pride himself on.  However he could not forgive himself for being flawed enough to be rejected by Y/N. 

Her eyes were carved in his mind, and he’d be reminded of her every morning when the sun dared to warm his skin, and with every flower petal that he saw her eyes would find their way back to his most wounded intellect, her eyes were her biggest sin, though he could be blamed for other blunders, he thought her sight was the biggest offense, for her eyes could see through any of his lies and hypnotize him enough to lose his reason, or the lack of it. How inconvenient he found that every beautiful morning belonged to her, and it would only hurt his heart. How inconvenient was it that her entire soul mesmerized him. 

It was hard not to see her as a villain, however, maybe that’s why he tried avoiding the music, dancing was but another warning, triggering him of the night he’d seen the dress flying as she vacated the ballroom. And every time he found himself in the middle of a ballroom, he felt agony and despair. Anthony had always feared death, but he realized that he had already died once, when she’d left the ballroom. Being away from her had killed Anthony, and to be dead while still having to survive could be one of the most dreadful and painful things to endure. Anthony was now sure he’d died on that night, and he was sure that whatever death might feel like it wouldn’t be as painful as to be away from her. He thought his pain would be forever, that eternal sorrow. 

His hand had felt cold since she’d left. Though, one could argue that his hand had been warm since the night before, as if he’d finally come back to life. The act, as most immoral as it was, had been the closest he’d been to a heavenly discovery of love and life. A very magnificent distraction. 

There was light again. 

He would deny it, but the darkness was the time he felt the loneliest, hence why he had searched for Sienna’s love, an escape from the life he would’ve loved with y/n. He was so desperate to be covered on something else, to erase y/n from his body that he’d try to find the closest thing to love on someone. 

Worst thing had been he did find it, in a very unconventional way. 

He would rather be a rake to the world than to ever admit that he had been broken-hearted. A man shall never seem weak to the world, though he was broken. Hushed to the night. 

Yet, now he wanted to scream to the world that he was loved by the woman he loved. An iridescent glow coming from his chest, as he rode back home. 

He had chosen the prettiest of the flowers, though they were very little to recommend and they’d look pathetic and sad beside the beautiful woman. 

Anthony never liked being seen as a fool, yet he should not mind looking like one with her. Why would he be ashamed to say he’d fallen for such a remarkable lady. 

Gardenias and peonies. He knew she’d love them. Not roses this time, he found the roses to be very contrasting to the delicate gardenias. 

He couldn’t hide his eagerness as he’d arrived at his former household. Though he had not slept, he couldn’t have more energy. He hopped to the drawing room, in expectation to see the possible suitors that would come for Eloise, though she was not eager for them, and was rather trying to avoid any significant encounter. 

Anthony couldn’t hide the beam, as he tried the sweets that his mama had displayed. 

Eloise was plopped on the couch beside Benedict, as Violet tried to beg her to sit with grace and poise. Eloise had the latest copy of Lady Whistledown as Benedict tried to peek and read. 

“Stop reading that nonsense,” Anthony said. “Such a lovely morning, is it not?” 

Benedict scrunched his nose at his brother, mostly confused. Anthony stole one of the desserts Benedict had on his plate earning a groan from him. 

Lady Violet watched her son, “I would like to address your behavior last night.” 

The younger siblings smirked, knowing well that though their brother was an adult, he would often yet be scolded by their mama. 

Benedict chuckled, “How come, mama, his behavior was rather impeccable.” 

Eloise giggled. Anthony glared at his siblings. 

“To suggest a fake proposal,” Lady Violet said with severity. “Most imposing irrationality. You shall not play with such calamities.” 

“Do not worry, mama, a real proposal shall come soon enough, I shall be more rational in the future, ” Anthony declared. “Just this morning I sent Lady y/n flowers to thank her for her… most stimulating company,”  Anthony coughed. “And as an apology for my behavior.”  

His younger siblings looked up with confusion. 

“Are you going to propose to Lady Y/N?” Asked Eloise. 

Anthony cleared his throat, “I did not… say that.” 

Eloise frowned. “Did you not find her disagreeable? Or why else were you bickering-?” 

“Please, Eloise, that is Anthony’s way of courting, and I’m sure Y/N found it just as stimulating and flattering,” Benedict hissed. 

Eloise cackled, “as if y/n would rejoice in any avow Anthony could make.” 

“How come, brother you seem to be captured again in some possible infatuation when only last night you merely only barked towards the Lady?” Benedict inquired. Anthony tried to avoid his brother’s remarks. 

Of course, he would not tell them how his night had been accomplished, and how the despair had transformed into a very pleasant evening. He shall keep the secret for it was, though most pleasant, very unsuitable and outrageous for the standards of the society. Though Anthony did bear some guilt for the scandal and the impropriety he thought it was most  formidable to try and deny the linkage had been but an ardent reminder of his noble sentiments for the woman. 

“As you mentioned, brother,” Anthony remarked snarkly, “Lady y/n and I share a very perplexing demeanor to show our affection towards each other.” 

“Perplexing? Stupid, you mean,” Benedict mocked. 

“Is there affection?” Lady Violet inquired. 

Anthony huffed, “I guess there is no reason for me to harbor and censure my sentiments anymore,” he admitted. “However I shall not give any other explanation to this subject.” 

Benedict glared, “Why the sudden change? I thought you did not regard y/n so dearly.” 

Anthony paced around the room nervously, he did not want to address his feelings. How stupid would it be to admit he felt alive, and that he was entranced by her. 

“She is a good friend,” Anthony alleged. “Why are you enquiring my sentiments? I would’ve believed you’d be wallowed with my announcement.” 

His mother grinned, “I am.” 

“I am not,” Benedict laughed. “Forgive me, but you can understand my confusion, are you suggesting you are friends now?” 

“We have been,” Anthony hissed. “In any case, I’ve always been fond of her.” 

“I must signal how your bickering has hindered us from believing there is some kind of attachment,” Eloise pointed out as she watched her eldest brother. 

Anthony rolled his eyes, it had been a point in their bickering, to hide to them and themselves really.  But really, challenging each other was but their way of admiring their wit.  Anthony was stunned, not only with her beauty but with the way she spoke her mind. He was always left wanting more when it came to her, she rarely gave him anything but a headache, and apparently that was something very compelling to earn his heart. Not sure why. 

Benedict laughed, “I think I understand now Eloise, we seem to have forgotten how big of a fool our brother is,  the elusiveness Anthony has shown towards Lady Y/N has been but a lame attempt to tempt Miss Y/N and delude her enough for her to give some attention to our brother. Has it not?” 

“Has it succeeded?” Inquired Eloise. 

The night before was only proof it had. And it had not been elusiveness, he was transfixed on the lady’s wit, he couldn’t keep up with her, that was the reason. He was dotted with her surliness, the way she’d wag his words. Anthony loved being a fool for her, such a capable woman she was. However, it shall be noted he loved being fooled by her intellect and the false peevishness, not by her exclusion.

“What has?” Questioned Colin, as he had walked into the drawing room. Lady Violet was rather annoyed the only men in the room were but her own children and not any possible suitor for Eloise. 

“Anthony’s bickering,” Eloise looked up, as she reached for a box of sweets to nibble by her own. “Apparently his arrogance and stupidity were but to woo Miss Y/N,” explained Eloise. 

Anthony winced,“May we change the subject? I believe it is a matter of more importance—“

Colin laughed, interrupting him. “I believe those attempts have succeeded, were you not here last night? Was Miss Y/N not looking forward to not running away this time? Even after Anthony suggested such a scandalous scheme?” 

Anthony rolled his eyes, “Are you not to go elsewhere?” 

Benedict grinned, “Why? Are you not to share with him your news?” 

“News?” Colin frowned with curiosity. 

“Apparently our brother might attempt to court Miss Y/N,” Benedict mocked. “I believe.” 

Colin faked surprise, “Really? Are we suggesting that Anthony could have any sort of sentiments that aren't self depreciation and remorse?”  

Benedict and Eloise laughed, hardly. Their mother only directed a glare towards them. 

“How amusing,” Anthony barked. “However, if you must know, there is affection towards her and I must try and delight her,” Anthony cleared his throat, Benedict snickered. “And I hope she gives me the honour of accepting my hand.” 

He knew that the bomb he had dropped would be enough to shut his siblings. And it was. 

Lady Violet smiled, ignoring her sons and daughter’s remarks. ��Are you really planning on proposing?” 

Anthony tried to hide his excitement, and embarrassment, for the matter, he’d never been keen on showing any kind of excitement for any infatuation. Besides, he didn’t believe it himself, how he would dare to propose. “I am not sure where my compliments might take me, however I am not here to talk about my attention and regards to Lady Y/N, we are here to try and persuade any respectable man to bestow any attention to our lovely sister.” 

“However, you shall make sure your infatuation is reciprocated,” Benedict advised. “Be sure the lady will not leave amidst dancing.” 

“I believe it was Anthony  the person who gave me the advice that eventually my heartbreak from Miss Thompson would disappear, and that it would be as if I had never loved her at all.” 

Anthony glared. 

“Yet he is going after the person who broke his heart, did your own precepts fail you?” Colin asked. 

It  was something that did bother Anthony, and that he did fear, he knew y/n to be the most unexpected and inopportune to make her decisions. She often hesitated and reconsidered her thoughts Y/N was very volatile and her emotions would go from extreme affection to utter rage and while it was something he often appreciated, it was something he feared now. He feared the remainder of his heart would be scattered across the place. Anthony would never say out loud how much he feared ballrooms now. Almost as much as he feared bees, but he wouldn’t ever admit it. He knew he was but a fool to fall for y/n, eerie and untamable. He didn’t regret it, however. 

Anthony coughed, “I could’ve never erased my feelings for her.” 

Eloise glared at him and then finally turned to her copy of Lady Whistledown. Anthony rolled his eyes, it was no secret he didn’t like reading Lady Whistledown. He would try and not feed her with anything. He was definitely not a vivid reader. He found her rather vapid, if he were honest. He was never a fan of gossip and avoided it, most of the time. However, since Lady Y/N’s arrival, he could not help but read whatever Lady Whistledown could say of her, just to feed his dislike against her. She spoke of y/n in a way that was most repulsive. Derision seemed to be the only language the woman spoke. 

He did not like the way the pesky Lady Whistledown spoke of y/n, or her history with him, if he was to be honest. Anthony resented that she’d written about his own pride and his heartbreak when there was barely any information he understood himself about it. It was for them to know. 

However, he was rather relieved that Lady Whistledown did not know of the… affairs he’d held with Lady Y/N. Though now guilt was killing him, he did not regret it. He felt alive whenever he was with her, and he didn’t feel alive often.

After the heartbreak, he had decided to lock his heart and never use it again. Though Sienna had managed to almost get it back, his heart had not felt the warmest but until the night before. 

 And though he had promised to never use his heart again, there he was again, with a foolish smile. 

“She is talking about you again,” Eloise pointed out. “And Lady Y/N-” 

Anthony chuckled, “Expected,” he commented. “Now, dear sister, there is no soul here and I must say this is not my fault,” he cleared out. “I have not jostled any suitors from you, I know better.” 

Benedict scoffed, “She jostles them herself, no need for us to.” 

Violet took a deep breath. Anthony smirked as he picked up a cup of tea. 

Eloise turned cold as she finished reading. “She is to be married-” 

“Who is?” Violet grinned. “You? Most certainly-”

“No, mama,” Eloise commented, and then watched Anthony. “Y/N’s hand is promised to Lord Collins.” 

The cup of tea shattered on the floor, though the Bridgertons were not sure if the shattering porcelain had been what they’d heard breaking. Anthony’s face had gone stiff and pale. 

“I beg your pardon?” Was all he managed to ask. 

“It says it here,” Eloise explained. 

Violet snatched the paper from her daughter, “Is she toying with the lack of heart Anthony Bridgerton holds and is she trying to fool everyone just to appeal more to Lord Collins, who according to the ton has her hand promised already?” Read out loud. 

“Did you know about this, mama?” Questioned Collin. 

“I certainly did not,” Violet assured her son, and turned to the eldest who was going through a very familiar feeling. He did not say a thing, he only clenched his jaw and widened his eyes. 

There he was again, transported back to the night when the moon had not made an appearance, and when the poison had flourished from the floor to apprehend him down to his sorrow. He felt as he had been pushed off yet again down a precipice. 

Benedict and Colin only watched him, expecting the very worst. Instead, Anthony only took a deep breath. Anthony despised having his heart broken, and instead decided to be angry, for its a manlier sentiment. He stormed off the room anyway, quietly. 

“Am I supposed to follow after?” Questioned Benedict, and then proceeded to, seeing as his brother rushed down the stairs and off the household. “Anthony!” He broodingly called. 

Anthony pushed his way through, not noticing there were gentlemen going up to see his sister, he was rather too angry to even add more jealousy to his displeasure. 

“Anthony,” Benedict called again. 

Anthony ignored. 

Benedict ran this time to stop his brother, stopping the fuming man as he glared at him. “What?” 

“I believe I should stop you before you do anything stupid, which judging by your look, you’re on your way to do so,” Benedict barked not letting Anthony through. 

Anthony gave him a warning glare, “Let me through.” 

“You’re being an idiot,” Benedict said. 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to do,” Anthony said 

“And that is why I must stop you,” Benedict said. “If I don’t know you any better you’re on your way to kill Lord Collins.” 

Anthony scoffed, he had not thought of that idea but now he found it rather exhorting. “I am on my way to speak to the Lady,” he tried walking through but Benedict stopped him once again. 

“Shall I know what’s going on through your head? Last night you both were  opposed to even being on the same room and then this morning you come with the idea of proposing, I do not even know what is-” 

“I love her,” Anthony snapped. “That is what is going on through my head.” 

“How did you even change your mind-” Benedict paused and then watched his brother. “Did you go and see her?” He asked in a faint whisper. 

Anthony coughed and looked elsewhere, “I did not, I just realized my childish act was but an antic to evade my actual feelings for her.” 

Benedict did not buy it. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” 

“I don’t see a reason why you shouldn’t,” Anthony glowered. 

“You really don’t?” Benedict bristled. “What amuses me is that you try to justify your childish acts and stupidity with love when we are both aware those are but a matter of your personality.” 

“How amusing,” Anthony scowled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” 

Benedict grabbed him by his arm, “I shall think you know better than to go and throw a tantrum to Miss Y/N. I know you’re capable of fucking up, but this goes beyond your usual behavior.” 

Anthony opened his mouth to defend himself but knew he couldn’t actually contradict him. “I do not plan on throwing a tantrum, I will only recover the flowers I sent her this morning, I find it improper to try and court an engaged lady.” 

“So you will not fight for her, then?” Benedict queried, astonied. 

Anthony did not know if he could. “Shall you suggest I do?” 

Benedict coughed, “I would think it would be reasonable but… In a civil way, not in an Anthony way.” 

“An Anthony way?” He questioned. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Since her arrival your stupidity has escalated in immeasurable ways, I certainly am very impressed because I did not believe that to be possible and yet you are here,” Benedict cackled. 

Anthony glared. 

“Look,” Benedict sighed. “We could give this more thoughts, and see the best way we can proceed with this, however, today we shall get our lovely sister to the park, she needs to be seen,” he reminded him. “You can be stupid later.” 

He would, Anthony knew. He was the most illogical human being when it came to Lady Y/N, and he did not know how to proceed. He was lying, he actually had planned on throwing a tantrum to her, for he was not yet to be fooled again and let there standing like a complete idiot. 

And a complete idiot you were too, you were the one in need to throw a tantrum, for you did not want to meet Lord Collins and you certainly did not want to be betrothed to him. You were well aware that he was a fair gentleman, and you knew he was one of the most eligible bachelors the ravenous mamas were hunting for, but you did not want anything to do with him. 

You thought of it, the possibility to ruin your reputation, it could be a way to untangle yourself from said arrangement. What if you admitted that you were corrupted? How big of a scandal would it be? 

No, you would not dare to bring Anthony down. Not now that he was being so soft to you, and that was not Anthony in the slightest. Though it did surprise you he had not yet stormed into the room like the complete idiot he was. 

Had he… read it? 

You knew Anthony better, he probably did not follow the gossip, and if you were lucky he’d think that Lady Whistledown was but inventing things. She was not but if he used any kind of reasonable sense he would know better. But this was Anthony and he used anything but his mind to think, and he would not be reasonable. He never was before and you doubted he’d be now. 

“I cannot marry him,” you said to Lady Danbury, who had been watching you pace around the drawing room for a while now. The flowers Anthony had sent were displayed in the middle of the room. 

You were not sure but you could tell Lady Danbury suspected something, she’d always been observant but the woman’s stare was telling, she could easily see past your sweating hands. 

“I’m afraid I’m not the one to make that decision,” Lady Danbury commented. 

“Shall I write a letter to my father to beg him to not offer my hand?” You asked. “Don’t I have any saying on it? It’s my hand.” 

“I would think you’d need to have another proposal,” The woman explained to you. “However, I am not sure if there will be any more.” 

“There might be,” you mumbled, and continued to rush through the room, as if moving faster would get your thoughts fast, too.  “Can I reject his hand?” You questioned. 

“He will grant you security,” Lady Danbury watched you, “He is a respectable man.” 

“I am well aware he is.” 

But I do not… love him, you thought. 

Yes, the man was respectable, and a very handsome one, but rather cliched. Eager, but the man was rather thoughtless. You knew his conversation was boring, only compliments and questions about the weather, he was very boring. Always agreeing, and what fun was it in someone always agreeing with you. And he liked to talk about the moon and made it seem like the most horrendous and tedious thing to ever be seen, he liked to talk about anything, but not any kind of pleasant conversation. Very tiresome if you must admit, full of banalities. 

Probably you’d have a very insipid life if you were to marry such a bland and hacky man. One that most ladies would want, however. 

Anthony, on the other hand, the brooding and plucky man, always had you on the edge. He was an adventure for you. He was incredibly handsome. Or maybe he wasn’t and it was just your nonsensical sentiments for him blinding you. 

“Lord Collins can offer an idyllic calm life.” 

“I can recognize that,” You admitted, you made your way to the window, a window where you’d talked to Anthony the day before. You took a deep breath, you could see the back house in the garden, a place that you found most intimate now. That was idyllic for you, the taste of his lips, to feel like it’s a June afternoon when it’s a cold December morning only because his smile warned your heart just enough. 

You were sure Lord Collins wouldn’t be able to offer that, and that he would not like to avoid the balls because he loved them, though you despised them. You knew he would not listen to your piano forte, though the melodies you played were very tepid, and telling. 

You knew you’d have to walk through his household, bored every morning and share the most ordinary conversations, leading to a miserable life, only because your hand had been promised to a man who you did not love, but who was adequate. Only because your instability had not been able to accept the proposal of whom your heart held dear. 

You still stared at the cottage where you could see the shadows of your hands. What if you escaped? Forever. Would he escape with you if you dared to ask him? 

“I presume security is the outcome expected from a marriage,” you said. “Love is a bonus, is it not?” 

Lady Danbury yanked her head. “I suppose so.” 

“Is marriage really only but a security arrangement? Or is it merely to satisfy men's lust and appetite.” 

The woman coughed in surprisement, “I would rather not engage on such improper subjects of conversation.” 

“Is it not?” You frowned. “I believe marriage to be only that, to bare children, to relieve men from their sins. Build a legacy.” 

“I believe marriage is also to prospere,” Lady Danbury added. “When a marriage is founded on love then it shall be the most prosperous, not sinful.” 

“Yet here I am, with an offer to a disagreeable partnership,” you barked. “I thought those arrangements to be deemed contemptible.

“Lord Collins is not disagreeable,” Lady Danbury coaxed.��

You sighed, “I guess not, he is a fair man, and most kind,” you admitted. You didn’t want to give in to your fate just yet. Seemed old fashioned, very 18th century. You were assumed to tolerate him, and you knew your father would not choose a beast for a husband for you. However, you did not want to dread this, to be offered tolerance and not love was an atrocious destiny. “I presume he can offer me a calm life.” 

Lady Danbury watched you, “However, Lord Bridgerton might be able to offer such a life, too.” 

You smiled, “He most certainly would not.” 

She raised her eyebrows, “Oh?” 

“No, not calm, Anthony is anything but calm,” you chuckled. “Maybe that is why the life he could offer me would be most enticing.” 

You knew that it would be fun, exciting. And that he would not mind if you woke up early to see the dawn, and he would join you and not expect you to be the most respectable lady, but he’d respect you, if you wanted to be respected that is .  

Lady Danbury only caressed the flower petals and walked to you. You needed to perish the thoughts of love, though. 

 “You’re never one to watch with melancholy,” She pointed out. 

“Oh, I certainly am, gloomy as I can be, and am I expected not to?” You wondered. It was the worst chastise one could have possibly thought for you, to marry a boring man. To marry to tolerate. 

“I guess not,” she admitted. 

You sighed. 

“He is yet to propose,” Lady Dabury remarked with mischief. “I know Lord Collins is respectable enough to want to court you properly.” 

“He wants to court me?” You questioned. 

Lady Danbury smirked. “Yes, though he is aware your hand is promised to him, he is someone who will pursue your love.” 

“My heart belongs to another,” you stated. “He will find it rather impossible to pursue my love.” 

Lady Danbury chuckled, “How impossible?” 

“Only one man has been able to conquer my heart, and his way of doing so was rather eerie and unusual.” 

Lady Danbury smiled. 

“I must ask, do you believe that if I ensure another proposal I might be able to rid myself of such entanglement?” You questioned. “After all, he’s not yet asked for my hand.” 

“Do you think you could ensure it?” 

“Probably already have,” you said. 

“And who may that be?” Lady Danbury asked, not because she did not know but because she wanted you to say it out loud. 

Before you could, a servant announced, “Lord Collins is here.” 

Your heart stopped, your bethrote. And suddenly the perfect morning you had had just hours ago had disappeared. You knew you could not stop the rain from falling but this particular sorrow was not the best way to receive the man who had your hand promised. You would not be able to smile and you would not be able to have any kind of courtesy. 

He walked in, though, the man was clean and proper. Handsome, with flowers. Red roses, freshly cut you could see. You saw one petal fall down as he approached you. How convenient, you thought, for you could find the petal on the floor more interesting. 

It felt cold, and you were unaware why. You’d fancied yourself in love with another man who was not offered your hand. 

“Lady y/n, good morning,” he said. “How radiant you are this morning.” 

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes, you were never fond of compliments. You also had the urge to run away. You wouldn’t, though it was tempting. He was a respectable gentleman, and respected he should be, no matter the opinions you held of him.  You found him very dull. 

Lady Danbury nudged you lightly, seeing as you had only remained quiet with your eyes wide open and with a wide strained smile. 

“My apologies, I seem to be inattentive this morning,” you answered. “Good Morning, my Lord,” you said. “Thank you for your compliments, and flowers.” 

Lady Danbury watched you with dashing hopes. 

“I was hoping I could tempt you with a promenade on this fine day,” Lord Collins grinned. “I know how fond you are of walking.” 

“How lovely,” you said. 

How dreadful, you thought. You were, though, fond of walking. Gave peace to your mind, and it had helped you those months before, to try and suppress the memory of the eldest Bridgerton. It had most certainly failed you.  

Before you could even think of escaping, you found yourself promenading with Lord Collins, the sunlight was indeed lovely, and there was barely any sign of the storm from the night before. Lady Danbury was following shortly behind. 

Was there any sign of your compromised body? You wondered if they could tell, maybe it was noticeable.

You wondered if Lady Danbury noticed how jaded you were, as you faked to listen to the man talk, and talk, and talk. Whoever told men they were interesting to listen to was clearly deaf or another idiotic man, for who could ever find joy in listening to such banal and brainless individuals. However,  he did not cease his talking. He never listened to you, you’d barely said any words. 

It gave you time to go away to whatever world you could escape to, and you thought about how much Anthony did listen. He did converse with you, and he did listen, mostly, you knew, because he loved to pride himself on being brooding and pensive and quiet. You could say that it was because he was but a fool and not a single thought roamed his mind, but whatever his reasons were, you loved that he would listen, even if it was only to contend and fuss you. 

There was magic in Lord Collins, you had to accept that. The man was so interested in listening to his own thoughts that he did not realize you were not nearly even paying a gram of attention to him. You guessed that if you did end up wedded to this man, the positive outcome was you did not have to try and pretend to be interested, for he would not notice. 

Your mind was trying to find a way to reject him, knowing that Lord Collins was honorable enough to accept your rejection. But how would you reject him? 

Why had it been so easy to reject Anthony, the man you loved, but it came nowhere as easy to reject Lord Collins, a man who you had no sentiment for,  perchance just indifference. And would you even be able to? Your hand was promised, and though you believed Lord Collins to be a fine gentleman, you knew he could show his dark side, every man had one. 

Though you’d met him before, he had claimed to love you. Lord Collins had once said it to you. 

But you didn’t love him, you couldn’t possibly. How could you? After Anthony, no one would ever touch your soul and heart  like he had. Though he was a wrecked mess, he was the man who you decided to hold dear to your heart. 

Perhaps you could admit you were corrupted, and maybe Lord Collins would end the disgraceful engagement that was yet to come. 

Your glance diverted on the park, the trees and the flowers that had bloomed this season, lovely, or so bad Lord Collins pointed out. The other couples trying to court, and their respective chaperones. Vicious mamas in the haunt, some of them sending you the most unwelcoming glares. 

You were walking near the tents, you  saw the Featheringtons’, with their bright colored clothing, you wondered how they could be so deficient in their clothing taste. You did not know what had happened to them, a man was standing nearby and you knew barely anything about their story after Lord Featherington passed. Penelope was your favorite of the Featheringtons, you often believed her to not belong in such a pitiful family. You acquainted them from before, knowing that Prudcence and Philippa often showed their slight infatuation with Anthony. You never blamed them but thought of it rather foolishly.  Though at some point you did find it annoying, how dare them fancy the same man you did, though you were thankful that Anthony saw them as piteous as you did. You wondered if they had continued to try and impress them with their dubious talents, you had nothing against them, honestly, before you’d learned their infatuation you liked them just fine, however after learning they fancied him, you were not as courteous with your regards. 

It was no secret you were a jealous person, but Anthony was, too so it balanced. You always were thankful that Anthony despised dancing, as much as you did. You barely could deny any invitation to dance but at least he did not dance with anyone else. 

You kept your way, and then another tent was seen, the Bridgertons. Displaying the family in their splendour, as they were sitting , with Eloise quite unamused. You knew she’d rather be dead than to face any possible forms of courting. 

Your breath failed you, as the dress felt rather tense. You did not want to see the Bridgertons and you knew Eloise had most definitely already read Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. She would know, and besides, the man was by your own side. 

Lord Collins, still absorbed in his own conversation, pranced beside you. You tried not to see the family, knowing that they’d end up feeling your stare and Anthony would see you. 

Did he know? 

But your glance could not be stopped, as you then glanced again, and it had been as if it was planned, for his sight was locked with yours. His eyes widened as he watched you. With terror. 

In all honesty, all you wanted to do was to drop and shove Lord Collins out of the way and run to the man who’d compromised you, body and soul, but who you loved nonetheless. 

But he was glaring at you. Or at Lord Collins, or at both. 

You saw him quickly rise to his feet, for he had been plopped on a stool. He didn’t do anything but to stare at you, as if with merely staring he’d be able to get the man away from you. His eyes tried to work as daggers, and they often did, his glance though most adoring to you, was now nothing but frightening. 

You knew Anthony well enough to know he was tormenting with jealousy, and if you knew him well enough, you could tell he was idiotic enough to believe that Lord Collin’s sentiments were reciprocated. 

Anthony was fuming, though you were not sure if it was jealousy, or if he believed to be fooled again. You wished it was only jealousy. 

He was about to walk your way, but you saw Benedict rise to stop him, he failed. 

Anthony was making his way to you even when his family had tried to call for him. He ignored them, he was good at doing that. 

Lord Collins wasn’t even aware of how you had lost your breath and how you had held some type of staring contest with the oldest Bridgerton, whose hands were in fists as he decided to go on a different route instead, Benedict on his heels. You watched him approach the Featheringtons, you saw eagerness in Lady Featherington as she ushered Philippa to join Anthony. 

You scowled, what in the world was the man doing? You believed him to be stupid, but stupid enough to make a Featherington join him in his promenade was rather a most idiotic decision. 

Your eyes were glued to him, unbeknownst to Lord Collins, as Philippa was rather ungraceful as she walked along Anthony. Benedict was also joined by the other sister, Prudence, who also seemed to be happy to be joined by a Bridgerton. You could listen to their absurd giggles from afar. 

Did Lord Bridgerton think the Featheringtons would bring you jealousy? If anything the animosity was for the thought alone that he would think it would bother you. 

But Anthony was walking fast, and poor Philippa could barely keep up with him, you chuckled to yourself, it was amusing to think the poor girl believed she was actually being courted and rather not used as a jealousy device. 

“Collins,” Anthony called as he was close enough, Philippa watched you. “Lady Y/N, how delightful to see you both here.” 

Benedict threw an apologetic stare at you, before yanking his brother’s arm. Prudence gushed after. 

“Lord Bridgerton,” Collins gave him an unfeigned smile, as he was finally restored from his conversation. “Such a fortunate coincidence, ladies, how beautiful you look this morning.” 

You wondered how big of a coincidence it was. 

“Anthony,” you quickly said but then cleared your throat, “My apologies, Lord Bridgerton, how delightful to encounter you,” you said. “Philippa, Prudence,” you smiled at them as they tried to not glare at you. “Lord Bridgerton,” you saw Benedict struggling to keep a calm facade. 

“Forgive me, I shall defer my raptures for another occasion,” Benedict said. “I’m afraid we are promenading with these ladies,,” he tried pulling Anthony back but the man did not move. 

“I am sure you can keep promenading just fine, Benedict,” Anthony warned. “It won’t hurt us to engage in some conversation.” 

“Who would’ve thought we would concur here?” Lady Danbury said from behind as she approached you. “Lords Bridgerton, ladies.” 

“Lady Danbury, may I say you look astonishing,” Anthony said and then directed his glance at you. 

Lady Danbury watched him with suspicion. “I’m flattered,” she said. “I’m pleased to see you gentlemen opportuning this lovely day to parade with these ladies.” 

Philippa grinned, as she kept watching Lord Bridgerton’s face, as if his face had some kind of magnet she had to be glued to. 

You thought of it pathetic, from Anthony of course, as you could see his obvious chagrin. You knew that he was not fond of them, because they were always trying to raise their… talents, if one must call it that way, to find a proper husband. They often failed. 

“It is a lovely day,” Anthony agreed. “Seems to be the proper weather after having to engage on such a turbulent night, the storm was unpleasant.” 

“Was it, my Lord?” You quickly enquired. “I would have believed you were very fond of the rain, and… turbulent storms.” 

Anthony glanced at you, he was disappointed but he knew you did not talk about the rain.  “You are mistaken,” he said severely. “I do not like to fret on the rain when I am not well aware if it will cease. I find uncertainty disturbing.” 

“I believe the rain to be rather bitter,” Philippa intruded. 

You did not even look at her, “I do not,” you said. “I believe we can find beauty in the rain for most dreary that it can be, especially when it offers such a sight.” 

Lord Collins grinned, “I agree with Miss Y/N, the rain is rather soothing.” 

Anthony scoffed, “Of course it is soothing, when you’re aware the sun will eventually dawn.” 

This was not about the rain. But neither the Featheringtons or Lord Collins was aware of that. 

“I believe the rain to be essential,” Lady Danbury interrupted. “We shall enjoy the beauty of it when it starts and when it dares to cease,” she spoke starkly. “However, Lord Bridgerton, I must praise you for the flowers you sent this morning, they were lovely, were they not, Miss Y/N?” 

Lord Collins blinked in surprise. “Flowers?” 

Philippa scowled at you. 

“Lovely, indeed, thank you, Lord Bridgerton for the most exquisite flowers,” you said. 

Anthony ignored your sight. 

“Flowers?” Lord Collins asked again. 

“Yes, I sent Miss Y/N some flowers to thank her for her company last night,” Anthony said with  arrogance, you blushed immediately knowing exactly for what company he was thanking you for. “She joined my family and I for a lovely dinner. Besides I find the lady to be deserving of the most magnificent flowers.” 

Benedict frowned watching between Anthony and you. 

Philippa cleared her throat, “I love flowers,” she commented. 

“How considerate,” Lord Collins said, you could tell he was not fond of Anthony. He was probably aware of Anthony’s proposal, or attempt to propose, and it was no secret that in your past season, Anthony would not leave your side. 

“Yes, her favorite,” Anthony continued, ignoring the lady beside him. 

“Roses?” Lord Collins questioned. 

“I like roses,” Philippa commented. 

“Gardenias,” Anthony snarked with a smirk. “She’s fond of gardenias, are you not, Miss?” 

“I find all flowers delightful, however I do have an attachment for gardenias,” you admitted. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton for remembering.” 

He wanted to scoff, he cleared his throat instead. “My pleasure,” he said. “ I must admit the true reason for me to approach you,” Anthony slurred his words with poison. “I recently became acquainted with the news, so I am here to congratulate the two of you, I heard about your engagement.” 

He knew, then. 

Benedict squeezed his eyes shut, he seemed tired of his brother. 

You blinked with fake surprise, “Engagement? Oh, we are but promenading, I was not aware walking led to a betrothal. Shall I assume you and lovely Philippa are to be married as well?” You asked with a smug smirk, knowing he’d be bothered. 

He was, Anthony glared at you. He knew you were faking ignorance. 

Lord Collins huffed, “You flatter me, Bridgerton, thinking I am already to be married to this beautiful lady, however, I know better than to assume the Lady will marry me without a proper proposal.” 

“I think I’d be aware if I was to be married,” you hissed. 

“Absolutely, you would be aware, how could you not?” Anthony raised his eyebrow.

Benedict watched, “Seems that this is the first time the lady hears of the news.” 

“It happens to be the first time,” you lied. 

“How convenient,” Anthony said with gritted teeth.  “Well, I am not to engage in gossip, however-” 

“Lady Whistledown announced it,” Philippa commented 

“Yes,” Anthony confirmed. “The ton happened to be loud enough for your engagement to be announced on Lady Whistledown’s society papers.” 

“Well, if we were to believe everything she writes then I’d be worried if I were you,” You claimed watching Anthony. “She seems to not be fond of you, my Lord. Are you suggesting we shall believe everything she writes?” 

Anthony clenched his jaw. 

“The Lady’s right,” Lord Collins said. 

Anthony cackled, “Excellent news then,” Anthony said. “I offer my apologies to you, both.” 

Lord Collins watched him with disdain.

“Is your hand not promised, then?” Asked Prudence, finally making an appearance behind Benedict. 

Everyone turned to her, but Anthony directed the most special glare at her. No one dared to say a thing. 

“Fair question,” Anthony intruded. 

“And one that is too bold to be enquired,” Lady Danbury stepped in. “I advice you young Lady not to meddle in Miss Y/N’s business, and rather take care of your own matters.” 

“The Lady shall decide if she concedes me the honor to take her hand,” Lord Collins answered. 

Anthony chuckled, “I shall wish you good fortunes.” 

You took a deep breath. 

Benedict cleared his throat, “I believe we shall continue our stroll.” 

Anthony did not move. 

“Excellent idea,” You conceded. “We shall not waste the lovely weather, a promenade is most invigorating.”  

“Shall I suggest walking and talking, then?” Offered Anthony. “I think the activities are not exclusive.” 

You closed your eyes, you did not want to continue engaging in the conversation. 

“How amusing you’re suggesting that, Lord Bridgerton,” You poisoned. “Here I would have assumed you’d rather have some solitary time with ravishing Miss Featherington here,” you derided. 

Philippa grinned. 

He raised his eyebrows, he was trying to tell if you were jealous. You were not, if anything you were amused of the entanglement he’d dragged himself into with his attempt of bothering you.  

“Are you not finding this conversation pleasing?” Anthony questioned you. “I would have believed you to be more fond of conversing.” 

You chuckled, “I rather be taciturn and quiet.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” he smirked. “Shall we?” He started to walk. You directed a glare at his younger brother who only sighed. 

Lord Collins raised his brow, “The Lady is quiet, I do not know why you’d find that hard to believe.” 

Anthony laughed somberly,  “You seem to be puzzled, Collins,” Anthony remarked. “Miss y/l/n is never quiet, unless she is engaged in other kinds of activities.” 

He was being an arse. 

“Other activities?” Philippa questioned. 

“Lord Bridgerton is speculating,” You cleared up. “I assume he is suggesting I’m quiet when I play the pianoforte, or embroider.” 

“Absolutely,” Anthony grinned. “However, I’ve been acquainted with you my whole life and I must remark you’re a woman who finds interest in chatter.” 

He was mocking you. 

“Not when I find it impertinent,” you sassed. 

Lord Collins smiled, “A talented and accomplished woman.” 

Anthony raised his brow, watching him. He was hurt, but he then proceeded to watch you as if asking you if you were serious with this. 

 You tried to look away, you could not believe how big of an arse he was and you could not believe his stupidity. Had he suggested you were aware of the engagement? And would he do anything about it or just keep being an arse? If he rushed his proposal he might be able to free you, however you knew Anthony to be an idiot. And you knew the man to be su full of his pride, that he would possibly try to be the biggest idiot he could before making any reasonable statements. You were in the need to have a word with him. 

Lord Collins started talking again, Philippa listened this time. Eagerly. Seemed like the pair was rather absorbed in their own conversation for your own fortune. Behind, Benedict was trying to not die of awkwardness as Prudence and him were not even trying to engage in small talk. Not even about the weather. 

Anthony was only peeping at you every now and then, brows furrowed. You slowed your pace, letting Lord Collins be wrapped in his words enough to not notice you’d fallen behind with Anthony. 

“I suppose it is unworthy to try and explain I was oblivious to it,” you whispered. 

Anthony shrugged, “You must understand why said statement is hard to believe,” he growled.

“It is honest,” you said. 

“I’ve always known how fond you are of keeping secrets,” he barked. “Forgive my hesitation, but my doubts are not unwarranted.” 

You glared. “Your behavior is.” 

He grinned, “Fine, then I shall withdraw, I do not wish to vex your pleasant morning,” he said. 

“Anthony,” you bellowed. 

“I must excuse myself,” Anthony announced loudly for Lord Collins to turn around, it seemed Lord Collins only listened when it was another man speaking. “I need to disengage from this pleasant promenade.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Lord Collins, always a pleasure, I hope we can meet again soon, perchance at the ball this weekend, however I shall not retire without giving you fair advice over Lady Y/N, be careful, for her hand and heart always seem to belong to someone else,” he hissed. “Excuse me,” he then said softly and smiled at Lady Danbury cynically before storming off, leaving everyone in shock. 

Benedict closed his eyes with strain as he was left with the two Featheringtons now at his care. 

“I despise my brother,” he declared. 

You only clenched your jaw, you agreed, you despised him, too. 

next part

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[novelconcepts]

Excuse you...😭 The first prompt being absolutely Older Jamie having a cat that bonds with her AND Dani... Sad hours in this house, damn

She never let them have pets. There isn't much Dani Clayton regrets--isn't much point, she's found, in the endless, boundless stretch of after--but sometimes, she does regret that much. Jamie always laughed it off, said she didn’t mind--What do I need pets for? Got more than enough to keep alive, thanks very much.--but Dani knew she’d never had animals growing up. Hadn’t stood still long enough for a cat, or a rabbit, or even fish. Maybe it’s true that you can’t miss what you never had, but she can’t help wondering if Jamie’s got some little puncture, deep down, that should have been filled with a big-hearted creature who would have put her first. 

And Dani, to her eternal chagrin, hadn’t been able to fill that. Hadn’t been able to allow herself that. The beast, she was sure, would someday rise, and it was bad enough to think of Jamie going without. Bad enough to imagine Jamie staring hollowly at the door, wishing for Dani’s key in the lock. What would a dog have done? What would an animal who had only ever wanted love and to be loved have thought, the day Dani inevitably left and could not return home again?

How she’d thought of it in life, anyway. Now, she’s aware of so much. Aware of time in a slipstream around her, of the immediacy of the past, the present, the future all bound up with gold-edged ribbon. She is Dani Clayton, eight years old and watching her father waste to nothing, and she is Dani Clayton, twenty-nine and watching Eddie laugh at their engagement party, and she is Dani Clayton, thirty-one and watching Jamie nervously place a moonflower on a counter. Forever, she is Dani Clayton--the lost little girl, the stubborn young woman, the beloved wife. 

And Jamie? Jamie does not yet understand forever. She isn’t yet a part of the slipstream. Jamie is silver-haired, twisting that ring: a gardener and a widow, a storyteller and a scarred heart. Jamie doesn’t get it yet. Dani wishes she could tell her. Wishes she could impart the wisdoms of after while Jamie can still make use of them. 

She can’t. She’s tried. Her hand on Jamie’s shoulder, night after night, she’s tried to will the knowledge into the love of her life. I’m here. I’m always right here. You have to keep living, Jamie, you have to keep going, because I will always be right here. 

For years, she’s worried it’ll never sink in. For years, which are moments, which are blinks, she watches Jamie stagger through the world. Jamie, making bargains with gods and ghosts. Jamie, unable to see her, unable to let her go. Jamie, desperate and grieving and miserable. It sets an ache in Dani’s chest she hadn’t thought she could feel anymore. All time is now. How is there still pain?

But watching Jamie--watching her run baths, button into Dani’s old blouses, prop that god-forsaken door open in dozens of hotels over the years--how could it not be painful? Watching Jamie hurt is the worst of the world. Watching Jamie in her recklessness, watching solid, grounded Jamie crack open one empty mirror at a time. How could it not dig at her?

You’ll understand, Dani thinks--and it is as much a wish as a certainty. Someday. Soon. Now. Always. You’ll understand. The gardener always learns. The gardener always listens. The gardener can’t not piece it together, given enough time. 

But, for Jamie, it’s slow. It’s linear. It’s one day at a time, one year after another. For Jamie, it’s another Christmas alone. Another of Dani’s birthdays celebrated in silence: a lit candle, a photo, a woman bent over her own knees as her shoulders shudder. For Jamie, time plods. Time bleeds. Time is a wound she can’t stitch shut.

And then: the first one follows her home.

It’s an accident, Dani knows--would know, even if Jamie hadn’t in recent years taken to muttering to herself in the solace of an empty room. Jamie hadn’t even realized it was happening until the scruffy little mongrel followed her off the street, into the building. It sits--curly black fur, enormous brown eyes--at her side as if waiting. As if the invitation is implicit. As if it’s already home.

“No,” Jamie says. Dani can’t help smiling; there’s something to Jamie saying no that way that has always sounded an awful lot like a wall coming down. And, sure enough, the minute the door is open, the dog saunters inside as though it has never belonged anywhere else.

A bit, Dani thinks, like Jamie after Dani had taken her hand that night. 

It’s an accident, but Jamie has never been much good at turfing out creatures in need of love once they’re inside. The dog stays. Jamie calls him Iowa--it seems to have been the first thing to slip out of her mouth, and the dog cocks his head and wags his nub of a tail, and that’s that. Jamie, for the first time in her life--fifty-seven years old, paying rent on her first flat in over a decade--has a pet. 

Dani thinks it’ll be good for her. A dog begs routine. A dog needs walks, and feeding at reasonable hours, and doors that are shut at night. That Iowa seems older--relaxed and certain and just a bit bull-headed--is even better. He doesn’t run ragged around the flat, knocking into tables, shattering flower pots. He simply trots along at Jamie’s side as though he’s always been there. 

It would be enough, Dani senses, if it were just the two of them. Jamie has always thrived in the caring for other living things. Jamie is happiest when given a task, a hands-on approach to the world. The dog, she may not have sought out--but the dog is hers, and she is his, and there is a kind of salvation in unexpected love. 

The next one is even more of an accident, if that’s possible. A huge bear of a beast, shaggy and stained and wet-eyed. Jamie finds it limping through the streets of London with mud caked on its belly and head hung low. No tags. No marker of any kind. Iowa nudges her around the knees, looking at the mountainous creature, and Jamie sighs. 

“No,” she tells him, but Dani--and Iowa--can tell it’s a lie even before the syllable is completely formed. Jamie is already reaching a cautious hand toward the trembling dog. It whimpers. It presses its nose to her outstretched fingers. Iowa’s tail wags. 

London is, when given a proper bath and brushing, quite beautiful. Her limp is temporary; her attachment to Iowa in particular, eternal. The first night, with the dog resting her chin on Jamie’s knee, stretched across a threadbare couch, Jamie says, “Found it on the street. Wanted to save it” in a tone that suggests she’s speaking from a dream. Her jaw clenches. Her eyes close. Dani has never wanted so badly to break her own rules.

Neither dog seems to notice her. She’s relieved, in a way; Jamie’s nightly ritual never wavers, save for reluctantly closing the door--as with so many features of Jamie’s world, the safety of others precludes her own--and if the dogs began barking at shadows, it’s likely Jamie would never sleep again. Anyway, these aren’t her pets. Jamie has saved them--or they’ve saved her--and that bond is one Dani can’t muster envy for. 

Two dogs and a home full of plants. It doesn’t bring the light back into Jamie’s eyes, not all the way, but she walks a bit taller these days. Fidgets a little less. Cries often enough, but now there are soft muzzles to press her face against when she does. It’s better, Dani can see. Nothing will ever be what it was, but better is sometimes the most you can ask for in life. 

The third dog is less an accident, more a surprise. A two-for-one deal, to a degree; Jamie has wandered into the local shelter, where she’s taken to volunteering on weekends, and come across a sharp-toothed, snappish shepherd no one else seems able to touch. He’s been through the ringer, the other volunteers say, sage and exhausted by similar experiences. Abuse, probably. Neglect, probably. Only three or four, but with enough mistrust baked into his bones for three lifetimes. 

“He doesn’t like men,” one weary-looking young man says. “Or people who move too fast. Or multiple people coming at him all at once.”

“Can relate,” Jamie says, her mouth quirking. Dani laughs. “What does he like?”

The volunteer points. There, in the back of the shepherd’s cage, is a lithe black shadow. It blinks lantern-gold eyes up at Jamie, tail twitching, and makes a rasping sound that might, in another animal, have been a proper meow. 

“Came in same-day. Can’t separate ‘em. Not sure how we’re going to get them adopted.”

Jamie rubs her jaw, left hand hesitating on the way down. She touches the tip of a finger to her ring and heaves a sigh. 

“Fuck.”

She calls the shepherd Paris, and though it takes time--several patient weeks, Jamie turning up at regular hours each day to coax the nervy animal into growing accustomed to her smell, her voice, her easy-slow method of moving--by the time the papers are signed, there’s no changing it. The flat is now overrun, dog hair clinging to every surface, water bowls standing sentry in the kitchen. The cat’s litterbox goes into the bathroom, Jamie frowning a little as she surveys the new landscape of her home. 

“You,” she tells the cat. “Best behavior. Anything goes crash in the night, it’s your hide.”

The cat preens, rubbing around her ankles. Jamie sighs.

“Christ, if she could see me now.”

Something tugs deep in Dani’s chest--pride, and sorrow, and love of the most fervent kind. The dogs--proud Iowa, sweet London, Paris keeping a careful distance from both--are draped around the living room. Jamie’s home is theirs. Jamie is their home. Dani knows so well what that feels like. They’re lucky creatures.

The dogs are sleepy, warm, happy. The cat--

The cat is looking at her.

Dani frowns. She’s imagining things. Must be. She’s been drifting around Jamie--traveling the world at her side, resting a hand over her shoulder each night--for years and years. Nothing has ever looked at her. Nothing has ever seen her. Not Jamie. Not the dogs. Nothing. 

But this cat. This cat, with its huge golden eyes, black ears twitching, is staring right at her. 

“Huh,” says Dani.

“Mrow,” says the cat.

“C’mon,” says Jamie, oblivious to it all. “Supper.”

Days go by before Jamie properly names the cat. She strokes her fingers gently over the creature’s back, tracing the length of spine and tail, and frowns each night. “Who,” she says quietly, “are you?”

The cat butts against her palm, rumbling deep in its chest. Jamie makes a soft pensive sound.

“Vermont?” She shakes her head. “Nah. You’re different, mm? Somethin’ else.”

The cat chirps, turning its head, gazing into the corner where Dani is leaning. Dani raises a hand, wiggling her fingers experimentally. The cat makes the same noise a second time, as if in greeting. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Eerie little beast. Never thought I was much for cats, y’know. But here you are.”

Never thought you were much for people, either, Dani thinks with amusement. Didn’t stop you drawing us all close. 

In the end, Jamie begins calling the cat Gremlin. A nickname, offered in warning, at first--any time she moved too near a plant, or experimentally sniffed at London’s paws while she slept, Jamie would quietly intone, “Oi. Gremlin. Back it up.” It is, in its own way, reminiscent of the way Poppins had clung to their first year--an accidental gift cherished by its recipient. 

Dani can tell the cat--rumbling her pleasure each time the name is used--agrees. Plants are left to their devices. The dogs seem strangely hard-wired to accept the cat as their queen. Jamie shakes her head. 

“So be it, suppose.”

It’s good, watching her build a routine around them. Dani hasn’t seen her stand this still since Vermont, but the dogs love the nearby park, and Gremlin sunbathes happily on the balcony, and Jamie seems, for the first time in years, to be fostering a simple sort of peace. The baths still fill, and her eyes are still too often far-away, but the door is shut. The dogs stretch out around the living room--which doubles, as all living spaces have for a decade, as Jamie’s bedroom--as if warding off intruders. The cat sets up shop on the back of the couch, peering down with regal bearing as Jamie slowly dozes off. And, when Dani inevitably presses a hand toward Jamie’s shoulder the first night--

“Hey,” she says, very quietly. “What’s this?”

Gremlin makes a raspy sort of sound, nudging toward her. She does not make contact, exactly; Dani hasn’t quite figured out touch, in all this time. She hasn’t had much cause. Touching Jamie is a dream, an ache she has carried since her death that reminds her forcefully of before, at Bly, when she hadn’t thought herself worthy or capable. Touching Jamie is the one part of all of this that still feels linear--I could touch her in life, and I can touch her when she gets here, but in between...in between...

In between, Dani can reach toward her. Can brush the space around her shoulder. Can be here, with her, in every way except directly, because some things are still unfair. Like Jamie feeling alone, even with Dani right here. Like Dani being able to always-someday-soon-now except for where it matters most.

She is in the kitchen at Bly, and she is in their bedroom in Vermont, and she is 1976, 1988, 1999, and she is--

Almost petting this cat. Almost. Her brows come sharply together, her heart thudding. 

“How?” she asks Gremlin, who seems not to mind. The cat presses in a bit harder, as if to say, Keep trying. Dani sees no reason not to obey. 

Each night, the animals spread around Jamie in a protective circle: Paris at the door, London beside the couch, Iowa nestled between Jamie’s knees. Each night, Gremlin sets up on the back of the couch, watching Jamie’s breath even out, and turns those enormous eyes on Dani.

And, little by little...

She can’t pick the cat up, or close her hands gently around her face. She can’t make the kind of contact she would as a living woman--matter pressing against matter, mass imposing upon mass. But her fingers are unequivocally brushing thick black fur. She can feel the cat’s breath on her skin. This is true, and real, and solid--and the cat, looking entirely too proud of herself, can plainly feel her in return.

Dani Clayton has been dead for over a decade, and Dani Clayton has been here all the same ever since, but for the first time, Dani Clayton is touching. Dani Clayton is feeling, not simply in the ether of memory, but now. 

She holds a breath as Gremlin rubs against her fingers. She’s still holding it when, slowly, carefully, she reaches down to the couch. 

Her fingers brush silver. Jamie’s brow knits, her lips parting. She’s always looked like this in sleep--as though some part of her just isn’t willing to shut down all the way. She’s always looked as though some part of her needs to be on guard. 

Now, with Dani’s fingers threading through her hair, that tight, armored expression gives a little bit. Just a little. 

In the morning, Dani wonders if Jamie’s eyes will flicker open and she will, finally, see her. There’s a breathless kind of terror to the idea--that she’s gone this long keeping Jamie safe from diving permanently into her own grief, only for a cat to undo all of that work. But, when the sun rises and Jamie rises with it, she gives no sign at all. No sign that she can see Dani, standing beside the couch, though Gremlin is staring right at her. No sign that anything has changed.

Except--except her hand, lingering at the crown of her head. Her fingers, sifting almost absently through her hair, tracing the same path Dani had been unable to pull away from. Her brow furrows. Her head shakes. 

“Breakfast?” she asks the animals in various stages of waking around her. Gremlin stretches, back leg popped high, and hops down. Dani doesn’t think she’s imagining the cat’s easy swagger as she makes her way to the kitchen. 

It isn’t the life she’d imagined for Jamie, laying awake and watching her sleep. Not the life she’d wanted for Jamie, hoping as hard as she could that the beast would remain always at bay. She’d never looked at Jamie and expected dogs to follow her home, hurt and lonely and in need of someone to show them the world can be kind. She hadn’t expected a cat with a swishing tail and a regal demeanor, standing sentinel. Jamie’s life has never quite veered in this direction before.

But: watching her now, as she slips a bit of apple to each dog, strokes the cat, leans her hip against the counter as she waits for the water to boil, Dani has to admit it suits her. Jamie has always been at her best giving love, even against her own better judgement. 

In time, Dani’s sense of soon-someday-now-always will broaden to encompass Jamie, as well. The years will press on. There will come a time where the brush of Dani’s hand across her sleeping cheek--the phantom press of Dani soothing Jamie out of a particularly bad nightmare--will evolve into the intertwining of finally standing on the same plane again. It is the natural order of things. Organic. Dani, standing outside of time, is patient. 

And Jamie: is slowly building herself a home again. Jamie is waking to take dogs out, and brushing down Gremlin’s ink-black fur, and looking more present in the world than she’s been in a decade. Jamie, staring into the mirror each night with Paris pressed resolutely against her legs, Iowa hovering in the doorway, almost smiles. 

“Someday,” she murmurs, “I am going to have some stories for you.”

Dani smiles. She knows, of course--outside of time, it’s hard not to know--but she can’t wait to hear them, all the same. Stories always land a little differently, coming out of Jamie’s mouth. 

Soon, she promises silently. Someday. Always. Now. 

In the meantime, Jamie reaches for a bundle of leashes, giving Gremlin a brief scratch between the ears. She pauses at the door, glancing back over her shoulder, her eyes drifting over Dani without notice. At her side, heading the pack, Iowa gives a small bark to confirm his readiness. 

“Right,” says Jamie softly. “Back soon.”

It is the first time in too long Dani has been sure she will be okay.

[witchersjaskier]

left alone 1

inspired by the gif of jaskier watching geralt and yennefer have sex through the broken window. with added fae jaskier

||

He looks through the broken glass and feels his heart break as well.

Geralt is fine, apparently. Jaskier didn’t have to worry, as Geralt is more than fine, fucking the crazy witch. And well, Jaskier knows he’s not as alluring and seductive as her, he knows that he doesn’t have that air of animal magnetism, that aura of magic, but fuck.

He really thought they were heading towards something, him and Geralt.

How fucking naive to think that those long gazes and soft words were anything more than just a fluke, or maybe even his heart’s desperate cry for attention.

Jaskier swallows heavily and turns around, fingers curled into fists, eyes shut tight least he cries there and then. He can feel the elf hovering on the edge, he can feel Geralt and the witch together, the wild passion around them.

Fuck.

“I need to go,” he manages to say to the elf and almost runs towards Roach.

It takes him a few second to grab a new chemise, wipe the blood off and put on a new doublet, messy as it is. Jaskier cards though their belongings and grabs what’s his, slipping a dagger from Geralt’s stash and leaving the one the Witcher gave him a while back.

He won’t be needing a reminder of something so beautiful. A generic, plain one will do.

“Where are you going?” the elf asks and Jaskier shrugs.

“Away,” he says shortly, too heartbroken and jealous to bother with his usual speeches. “I can’t be here. Farewell.”

It’s all he says before starting to walk out of the town that almost saw him dead and the witch that took everything from him after saving his life. Fuck.

Jaskier walks the main road for a while, before turning towards the forest and letting the trees close behind his back. He needed some peace, away from the humans, away from Geralt, from the sight of him on top of the witch.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasps though the tears, suddenly sliding down to his knees.

He doesn’t want to cry because of the Witcher but it hurts so bad, to almost have something and then see it torn away before Jaskier could even touch it. He bows his head, lets his wings out and cries, the moon shining over him. He loves the Witcher so much and to know that Geralt would just abandon whatever they had forming to sleep with some crazy witch that almost got him killed…

It’s not something that Jaskier can handle. He can handle the insults, being left behind, the lack of talking, everything, but to see Geralt change, to witness something blooming between them only to see it shatter… It’s too much. The whole thing is too much, this land is too much, Geralt is too much.

Maybe it’s time to abandon this little fool’s desire and go back to the real world. His world.

Jaskier takes a few deep breaths and looks up, straightening his shoulders. His wings spread behind him, feathers rustling and he stands up. The lute makes an empty sound as it hits the ground, his bedroll and a bag of clothes following until he’s standing with only a dagger and clothes.

He takes one good look around, enjoying the quiet moment in his heartbreak before his wings beat and he’s up in the air.

Normally, Jaskier would never risk himself like that, but he’s heartbroken and in pain, almost dazed with it. He doesn’t have the patience to find a way to cloak himself and only use the deepest clouds. Humans don’t look up either way.

His heart feels heavy as he leaves everything behind, the land changing to the salty ocean as he flies and flies, meeting the rising sun with a hard face. His wings ache but carry him well, strong and capable. He needs to go home.

He needs to forget the Witcher and everything they almost had.

When Jaskier lands on the familiar cliff, there’s a rustling sound and a figure dressed in black appears.

“The prodigal son returns,” she says, sharp and angry and Jaskier’s smile is full of teeth and danger.

“Certainly not for you,” he snaps back, wings folding behind him. “I have a business to attend.”

“What do you need?”

Jaskier scoffs. She always knew him best.

“To forget.”

She laughs a sad, bitter sound. Her eyes are shadowed and Jaskier straightens. 

“I have just the job for you.”

They fall off the edge together and Jaskier reveals in having a companion up there with him, the owl wings almost completely soundless next to him. They tear through the sky and he sees others wonder, eyes wide. Whispers follow them and Jaskier lets them wash over him, clouding whatever’s left of the human bard. He needs to be someone else now.

The fortress is as imposing and dark as always, and his bright clothes stand out, but Jaskier walks with his shoulders straight and chin high, eyes hard. There isn’t space for weakness here. 

“The commander himself,” Rigel snickers, appearing at his shoulder. They eye each other for a second before hugging.

Jaskier falls into it gladly, almost purring when familiar wing closer over his, offering comfort and understanding.

“Antares,” his friend whispers and Jaskier’s eyes snap open.

“It’s Jaskier now,” he says firmly, unwilling to forget the only name Geralt knew him as. The bard never shared his given name and the Witcher never asked, content to leave it in the past. It hurts to think about.

“Jaskier it is,” he agrees.

Carinae snickers and then they’re laughing and Jaskier feels something fall from his shoulders. He didn’t miss home, but he missed his friends, his family. The only family he knows.

“She’s waiting for you,” Rigel warns. “She’s...happy you’re back.”

The bard laughs and walks into the room anyway, immediately focusing on the back wings and tall woman. Her grey hair is loose around her face, beautiful as always and the dress seems to be made from shadows itself. Jaskier’s heart blooms.

The only mother Jaskier knew turns to face him and her eyes are filled with understanding. She knows that he wouldn’t return unless something happened.

“Did he die?” she asks gently, not moving closer. Her wings spread a bit, offering comfort and Jaskier falls into it eagerly, tears running down his face and soaking her black dress.

“No,” Jaskier whispers. “But I can’t be next to him knowing he will choose anyone over me.”

She just hums, comforting and soft and everything he needs right now.

Tomorrow, Jaskier will dress in black and blue, get his blades and be back in the sky, where he belongs.

Today, he sobs into his mother’s shoulder, grieving what would’ve been.

[supercorp-hosie]

My thoughts for legacies 3x13: I’ll try to put the point chronologically

1. When Kaleb blew the candle, I’m so confused because the first thing that comes to my head is: he’s blowing that because is daytime, but why put it so far from Cleo? Why use a candle when you have electricity? And apparently I’m a fool, because that’s how the confinement spell works duh! I only recalled that when Alaric blew it in the end. I’m so dumb lol.

2. I love that Kaleb is the first to seek Cleo out, wanted answers and ready to accept them. When he tries to comfort Cleo in her memories, that’s me too! But apparently being the badass she is, she immediately come up with the idea of replacing her grandma to go with Malivore.

3. Poor Cleo! My heart sores when it started with a little girl, just like with Finch. She’s a hero! She’s so brave! She’s a queen! And weirdly she likes frogs(or toads?) very much. I wonder why. And although she tried to kill Hope last episode, I never see her as a villain. Never for a second. Instead I’m impressed. Tbh I didn’t understand why she is always playing with clay/mud since the beginning of this episode. But after her backstory, I just feel sad and proud at the same time. Sad because it’s shaped from her painful time of enslavement. Proud because she’s using the thing she learned from it against Malivore as her weapon despite the painfulness. I remember she talked about her sister dying, but nothing about that occurs in the memories. Did she lie before or it’s just another thing that the writers forgot?

4. ‘Jonch’ is horrible! I prefer Finsie as the ship name. Why is their moment always so cringy? I get this second embarrassment from them a lot, mostly from Josie tho. I always felt there’s something lacking in Finsie, just like what I felt when Handon started it’s kind of sudden. Maybe because of my perception, I really didn’t know why Josie think Finch is hot. I have to learn how to appreciate her beauty. But goof news, I actually appreciated Finsie first kiss, because I see why they haven’t kiss before, and why they finally kiss. It’s cute and the sparkling, haha. Tbh I start to appreciate Finch’s beauty from the kissing scene angle. But this episode, again, I still feel cringy in most of the Finsie scenes. I have to put my palm on my head. Anyway, I enjoy the “girlfriend” scene tho, like Finsie starting to grow on me(again, the first time is their first kiss, hopefully no more cringy afterwards). It’s really good to see Josie happy. Btw, since Finch decided to enrol, will she be the new alpha now that she defeated Jed? That’s good for her, she finally has a pack and no longer lonely.

5. Along with Finsie scenes, does anyone realise there’s actually other students there? And there are actually other witches at the school?? I remembered that there’s like only four witches? Because Josie was the only witch at the school when Berbelang!Hope happened? Annnndddd! To that! Does anyone remember there’s this girl Gaby/Gabby? She’s also a witch, and she loves dnd like Wade? They can’t tease us with Penelope using her then just let her disappear?

6. Oh great there’s actually other wolves at the school. I’m starting to think Jed is the only wolf left (of course there’s Hope, but she’s tribrid). As much as I enjoy Finch being badass that she can stand beside Josie, I felt so sorry for Jed and his actor. He’s been there for 3 seasons and yet Finch get a backstory before him. He has none! The actor is great, look at the siren episode! He hardly gets any decent lines and scenes now. Instead, they make him looked useless, hard to be respectable. Like anyone can just harm his alpha reputation. Justice for Jed please. Oh and the fact that Finch got a backstory before Kaleb too? It’s unacceptable. They deserve more. Jed doesn’t even have a last name, my god! Anyway that doesn’t change the fact that I want to hug baby Finch so much bc she’s adorable!

7. With MG gone, Kaleb looks like the only vampire left in the school. I miss MG. What about Ethan?

8. Josie and Cleo finally met! I’m glad that she’s learned something from her too. I think it’s true that other kids never felt as easy as Josie at the school. They finally addressed it.

9. I’m frustrated that Hope never wanted answers from Cleo. The only friend that helped her grieve. But hey maybe she’s too hurt to be able to bear Cleo in her sight. But then again there’s the Landon problem, so she’s off with Landon again. Only taking to Landon the whole episode, being the only one that only talk to one person in the whole episode. Feel bad for her about this. Poor Hope.

10. I really feel bad for Landon, because there’s a lot of hardships to make him like that. Someone please give him hugs and a therapist. The show is doing a full cycle by stating what he’d done is just like what Hope did when she returned from Malivore. I understand why he kept himself away, but weirdly, the way the let those words out, it feels like he wants to get back at Hope when I think he wanted Hope’s understanding. Maybe he wanted both?

12. Someone told me that every 13th episode is the episode where Landon’s power are explored. I kind of agree with it now. Because he’s finally having the fighting skills that he’s longing now. Finally he can achieve his desires to physically fight alongside Hope. For what though, I don’t know, because in the case of supercorp, Lena never needed it physically to be Supergirl’s partner in saving the world, or of course to protect Kara. Glad for him, anyway, bc that’s what’s he wants. And the blow to the head? It’s awesome.

11. I can’t believe Landon is blaming Hope for not coming to save him sooner?! What the hell? What happened to “I’m going to be the one that always fight to find Hope”, idk whether I quoted it precisely, but the meaning is there. I am furious. Is this some sick drama that the show wants Landon to think that Hope was not coming to him because she had a perfect version of him?? That aside, when I see that Handon is going to fight together physically, I actually think the scene is good and they will overcome the blaming thing, and going to be a power couple. Just when I have that thought, Landon have to fucking throw the artifact towards Malivore(whether it is Malivore I’ll discuss afterwards, it’s contradictory)!! That’s such a stupid move! Where’s your brain? And it’s broken, oh god. And the show have to show Hope being so weak during the fight. I mean why? She’s a badass, why do they have to make her weak to glorify Landon?? They made her look useless. These things just really kill the budding Handon spirit in me. The show really knows how to make people resent Handon and Landon. Just please change the show name.

12. Anyway to be fair, Landon do care for Hope and do love her. Before, though I don’t think they are endgame quality, I think that if they do improve, Handon endgame is tolerable, acceptable. But now, I’m not so sure of that anymore. Other than the above mentioned points, Landon did leave Hope for a solid third time. Why the show have to establish that for Handon when their fans desperately defended Landon that he wasn’t always leaving. I mean I’ve seen Handon shippers fought really hard against the “Landon is always leaving Hope” argument. What a way to make a couple being endgame. In Chinese proverbs, there’s a thing for a third time. Like the three strikes law, I think? It says not to do anything or tolerate anything undesirable that has happened more than three times. So please do not make Handon together ever again. It’s an insult to Hope too.

13. To see it differently, poor Hope will finally have time out of Landon to think of herself and her future. We need to see her having her own storyline. So maybe we can see Hosie eventually? Sorry Finsie for anticipating your break up in the future. But please enjoy yourselves when Hope grows on her own, because Josie deserves a decent relationship on screen too. Hosie didn’t interact this episode, I’m sad.

14. I just can’t help but wonder why Alaric oversee the artifact being destroyed so easily. And when Josie introduces Finch, she deserves a decent conversation with the headmaster, really. Oh he’s an adult, be a responsible and respectable one, especially you’re Josie dad. Help her with her impression with her crush. Alaric really need help, we need another adult figure. It’s okay that’s not Caroline.

15. I kind of thinking that Landon and Cleo are shippable too when I know that they are leaving at the same time. Cleo being the sole reason to Landon existence is one of the reasons to ship them. She’s the one that tell Malivore he can make vessels and create legacy, that leads to Landon existing. Not to mention she did literally made Golem Landon by hand (we all know the thing that Hope made doesn’t have a body, so Cleo must have made his torso and limps right). Or maybe we prefer wandon endgame? Wade is precious too, he’s the one that point out Landon is not himself.

16. I’m so confused by this episode Malivore. I thought Cleo trapped him inside that monster Handon defeated this episode. But if it was trapped this long? How did the pit, Clarke and Landon even exist? Did Malivore escape from it?? It must have escaped.

17. In the promo for the next episode, we’re seeing Lizzie and Hosie interaction! I’m excited! I think maybe Josie will be the one that bring Hope out of the cult’s enchantment. What will happen? Maybe they will realise something or develop something towards each other? Anything hosie that MAKE SENSE please. Oh and Hizzie friendship/banters, and Lizzie suddenly being and “angel” will be so fun to watch. Finally, the trio!

18. I know it’s irrelevant but since I mentioned Clarke, I miss Holarke. I have some shippable thoughts about Finch and Penelope too. P is the she-devil in good girl attire; F looks like a bad girl but she’s good hearted. They are both fiery, imagine what they’ll be like when they’re together, erupting volcanoes?

19. Applause to Aria’s acting skill, this is like the eleventh role he’s played in legacies? Original Landon, Hope’s (subconscious) Landon, Landon’s (subconscious) Landon, Josie’s SimuLandon, Hope’s therapy Landon, Malivore Landon, golem Landon, ptsd Landon, oni-possessed Landon, golem Landon micmicking Necromancer, Clarke-Landon. Keep up the good work!

[yelena-bellova]

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen: Stay Alive

Series Masterlist

Plot: Poe returns from his Dreadnought attack and Y/n confronts him. Soon after, the First Order catches up to the Resistance.

Warnings: language, a steamy moment between Poe and the reader, angst

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: Fun Fact: For someone with anxiety, writing fan fiction is nerve wracking for me. Sometimes I speed through it because of how wired I get, I worry about whether or not people will like it, it’s really hard sometimes. I’m going to try and take more time with each chapter so I can allow myself all the time I need to craft it exactly how I want it to be. Anyways, enjoy this one!! (And yes, the title is once again based on a Hamilton song)

————

“Want some company?”

Mom turned and gave a sad smile, “From anyone else, no. But I’ll always take time with you.”

I entered the empty room, almost afraid to disrupt the quiet atmosphere. I handed her the cup of tea I’d made for her which she accepted it gratefully, her expression shifting to false confidence for me.

I settled into the seat next to her, “Mom, you don’t need to put on a brave face for me. I was there…”

There were tears waiting in her eyes, it wasn’t just the loss of our bomb squad bothering her.

“Both times,” I finished, wrapping my arms around myself as a sad attempt at comforting myself.

Mom placed her head in her ring-clad hand, “For once in my life, I feel overwhelmed. I’ve lived through a war, the rebuild of the galaxy, raising two children, leading the Resistance and yet this,” she gestured to the space around us, “This is my tipping point…”

A tear slipped down her cheek, she didn’t bother to swipe it away. I knew that type of surrendering to grief well, why bother wiping one tear away when more would inevitably come?

“I haven’t even had time to grieve for him yet,” she stated softly, like saying it would make the loss real, “We may have been apart for the past few years but I loved your father, that never changed. Having him back for even just a little while was a gift, I was so looking forward to having both of you come home.”

Sadness rose in my chest, threatening to spill out in choked sobs and pained moans. I had to compartmentalize right now or else I would fall to the ground and not get back up. I needed to be there for Mom plus we’d have to go be General Organa and Commander Solo momentarily.

“And now knowing what you’ve gone through,” she continued after a sip of tea, “I only feel more confused about Luke’s vision. Not a day has gone by since we’ve had you that I haven’t wondered about it. Between the war and you discovering your power, I need Luke here more than ever.”

That was true. I was flying blind and my power seemed to have increased exponentially in the past couple of days. My uncle could provide guidance in ways no one else could, something I was in desperate need of. I had in no way committed to becoming a Jedi, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still help me learn the basics of the Force. We hadn’t heard anything from Rey yet, but if something had happened to her, I knew I would have felt it. I hoped she was getting help from Luke as well, she was even more confused than I was.

“I wanted Dad to come home too,” I agreed wistfully, “I’d wished to have our family back for so long and it was in my grasp. I guess that makes it hurt even worse,” I kept my eyes focused on the stars that whizzed by us in hyperspace in an effort to not fall apart, “I’m just thankful I got one last moment just the three of us.”

I saw Mom smile warmly as she stared down into her cup, I could tell she was reliving the happy memory too.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with my powers,” I continued with a half shrug, “One of the last conversations I had with Dad was talking to him about why I was so afraid to tell you about them. Everything he said to me encouraged me to embrace them, to use them for good. But it’s not like I know what the next steps are. I could use a Jedi Master right about now.”

“We all could,” Mom agreed, “Have you told Poe yet?”

I groaned and rubbed at my face, “No, I haven’t figured out how to yet. I’m beyond frustrated with him so I don’t think now is the right time.”

“Better to tell him sooner rather than later.”

I nodded in acknowledgement, still dreading what his reaction could be.


“Mom…I did have a question about my powers,” I began awkwardly, “I’ve always wondered how I may have gotten them and I was thinking about it this morning. Do you think there’s any chance that I could have inherited them from someone? Like…my birth parents?”

She held her cup to her lips, “It’s entirely possible. The Force can flow through generations, I’m living proof.”

I hadn’t stopped asking myself the question since I’d thought of it. Thinking about my birth parents had started again with hearing Rey’s story. The thought that I could have come from a family of Force users was daunting, but a possibility. I’d have to let it go soon though, there was no way of finding out who they were. There was no sense in dwelling on a theory I could never prove. 

“It’s okay to think about them, you know,” Mom said, “You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“I know,” I replied, “I can’t help it sometimes because it feels like I’m betraying you and Dad. But they’re a part of me, I suppose I’ll never stop wondering,” I reached over and took her hand, “But you will always be my mother.”

She genuinely smiled and squeezed my hand, “And you will always be my daughter. My brave, beautiful, stubborn daughter.”

I laughed just as Lieutenant Connix appeared in the doorway,

“General, Commander, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re fine, what is it?” I inquired.

“Commander Dameron’s on the bridge, you told me to alert you when he returned.”

Both our moods shifted with the news, all the stress I’d erased from Mom’s face returning at the mention of Poe’s name. Then again he had that effect on most people.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. We’ll be there shortly,’ Mom addressed Connix. Once Kaydel had left the room, she turned to me, “You should’ve brought me something stronger than tea.”

“Sorry,” I responded as we stood up and headed out of the room, “I kept that drink for myself.”



—————

Once we made it to the bridge, Poe’s orange flight suit was the first thing to catch my eye. He was standing with his back to us talking to…FINN?

“Commander Dameron,” Mom called in a falsely calm tone of voice “A word, please?”

Poe turned around to us, he looked ecstatic to see me but his grin faded once he saw my expression. The anger and frustration swirled inside me, even though I wanted nothing more than to be in his arms right then. Contradicting feelings like that came with being close to Poe Dameron, he could make you want to kill him and kiss him at the same time.

“Yes, General,” he answered, taking one last look at me before silently following Mom to a corner.

Finn and I finally made eye contact and we hurriedly crossed the room to each other. I took extra caution with his back as we embraced,

“No one told me you were up, how are you feeling?” I asked, pulling back to examine his face for any signs of pain. The last time I’d seen him, apart from in the med bay, I hadn’t known whether or not he was going to live. To see him standing in front of me was a much needed pick me up.

“I kinda discharged myself,” he chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m sure Poe will tell you the story but I feel fine.”

I released a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding before throwing my arms around him again, “I’m so glad, it looked like touch and go for a while back on the Falcon.”

Finn was drawing a breath when the sound of a slap made us turn. Poe’s head was tilted to the side as my mother withdrew her hand.

“Everything alright?” Finn asked slowly, his eyes still on the scene.

“Believe me, that’s light considering what he did…”

“Okay,” he replied and turned back to our conversation “Poe told me about Rey, have you heard anything from her?”

“Not yet,” I said, “But it’s only been a day since she left. I’m not worried yet.”

Finn nodded but I could tell my answer didn’t ease his concerns at all. As much as I didn’t want him to be anxious, I was happy he was back to his usual protective self. We were about to continue talking when I felt a hand press lightly against the small of my back. I didn’t need to turn to know who it belonged to…

“Can we talk?” 


I scoffed, “Sure, let’s talk,” I smiled towards Finn, “We’ll be back.”

Leaving an extremely confused Finn in our trails, I led Poe off of the bridge. There weren’t a lot of nearby places to have this private of a conversation and we couldn’t venture off very far. I spotted a storage closet and opened the door, not ideal but it would do. We entered the room filled with a couple crates of supplies and I locked the door behind us.

Poe put his hands on his hips, “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you’re angry with me,”

“Oh,” I spun around to face him, “So you are capable of using your brain.”

He sighed and ducked his gaze to the ground, “Y/n-“

“What the hell were you thinking, Poe?” I exclaimed, causing his head to snap back up, “You and your squad go up against a ship that big and you decide that’s the perfect time to disobey an order? Meanwhile our entire fleet is sitting there waiting for you?”

“I had an opportunity, I took it,” he gestured towards the door, “Didn’t you see what we did? We took down a Dreadnought!”

“No!” I snapped, “I didn’t see what you did because I was too busy watching the entire bombing squadron drop off the radar. I was calling out for you on the comms that you decided to turn off. Or how about freaking out internally because I thought I was going to lose you?”

Whatever response he had had ready to go, he decided against saying it in that moment. Tears were welling in my eyes as I relived the anxiety and terror I had felt in that moment,

“I just lost my dad, I almost lost Finn and Rey, and then you go and pull something like that. I know how you work, Poe, but do you realize what would happen if I lost you?” I cried, my chest aching at the memory of thinking I’d never see him again, “I had to spend half a day thinking you were dead and it was the worst feeling in the galaxy.”

I swiped at my eyes, the backs of my hands shining with tears. Poe’s jaw was slack and he’d dropped his hands at his sides, I’d stunned him into silence.

“You told me the other night you’d always come back to me,” I whispered, my tight throat with emotion, “I need that to be more than a sentiment. I can’t lose you.”

Poe’s eyes glistened as I finished my speech, “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

He surged forward and captured me in his arms, I clutched to his flight suit for dear life, I could tell I’d gotten my message across. I hadn’t meant to hurt him, I just needed him to know one fraction of how I’d felt. We were in the middle of a war, no day was ever guaranteed. But Poe and his recklessness had cost us and put me through emotional hell unnecessarily. He had to know when to call it a day, his actions no longer just affected him.

“I’m so sorry I did that to you,” Poe’s voice strained, “You’ve been through too much and I’m sorry I added to it.”

I sniffled into his shoulder, “As mad as I am, I’m just happy you’re here. I was so scared.”

He kissed the side of my head and pulled back to look at me, “I will always come back to you, sweetheart.”

“I know you will, you ginormous idiot.”

Poe laughed as he nuzzled his nose against mine sweetly, “You love me anyway.”

“That I do, Commander,” I leaned in to kiss him, but he tilted his head so I missed my target.

“Captain…”

“What?”

“Leia demoted me,” Poe went on, ashamed and hanging his head, “Captain Dameron.”

I sighed heavily and pulled him closer to me, sliding my hands up his back. Had he deserved it? Probably. But I could see how hard it was hitting him and my heart hurt for him. His title reflected the hard work he’d put in during his years here and he loved being Commander Dameron.

“I’m sure you’ll work your way back up in no time,” I assured, “You’re nothing if not determined.”

He gave me a half smile, “I know, it still feels like a slap in the face though.”

“Mmm, I’m pretty sure that was the actual slap in the face you got.”

“Ha ha ha,” he said sarcastically, “My face still hurts, your mom packs a punch.”

“Wait, was there a punch?” I jested and gestured to his cheek, “Did I miss a punch?”

Poe cocked his head unimpressed, “I may be an idiot, but you’re a jerk.”

I raised an eyebrow and moved my hands to press against his chest, “Is that any way to speak to your Commander?”

Poe smirked suggestively and leaned down to mold his lips to mine. My hands slid over his cheeks and lightly stroked the red skin, soothing the sting. He kept one arm tightened around my waist and tangled his hand in my hair, cradling my head. He pressed our bodies together till there was no space left and we were breathing each other’s air. Adrenaline fueled us, I’d almost lost Poe and he was still wired from flying.

“We should probably be working,” I mumbled against his lips.

“Yeah, we should,” he replied, before sliding his hands down to my ass and lifting me up, “But this is more fun.”

I wrapped my legs around his hips as he carried me till my back hit a wall. Poe begged for entrance into my mouth, restraining himself as he swiped across my bottom lip. I parted for him and his tongue delved in, causing me to moan at the intimate contact. This was the closeness I’d been craving with him, though the location wasn’t what I’d imagined. I couldn’t bring myself to care, Poe’s touch took hold of every thought in my mind that wasn’t about him and silenced them. My hands moved up into the back of his curls, lightly tugging to elicit a delicious groan from him. I wanted to commit every beautiful sound he made to memory.

Poe moved his lips to press heated kisses across my cheeks, my jaw and ending at my neck. I whimpered softly as he nipped at the skin before soothing it over with his tongue. I tightened my legs around his middle to get as close as humanly possible to him. His lips began exploring my skin, pressing soft kisses trying to map out my most sensitive spots. When he hit the juncture between my neck and shoulder and I sucked in a breath, the vibration of his self-satisfied chuckle run through me. He started sucking relentlessly, causing a breathless moan to escape me as I gripped his arms tightly. Poe and his mouth were going to be the death of me, I knew it. Oh, but what a way to go...

Just as I was about to raise a middle finger to our responsibilities and take Poe back to my room, the alarm on the bridge blared. We pulled away gasping for air,

“That’s not good,” Poe breathed, he lowered me to the ground hurriedly. I unlocked the closet door and we made a beeline for the bridge. Luckily, we could blame our breathlessness on account of our running.

“Proximity alert!” Admiral Ackbar shouted just as we entered, Poe and I ran to stand behind him.

“They found us!” a soldier announced.

“That’s impossible,” I said. We didn’t have to wait long to see what was coming for us. The First Order’s fleet jumped out of hyperspace, head-on in front of us. Gasps and voices erupted around us as each person got a look.

“That’s Snoke’s ship,” Poe’s voice low in disbelief, “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he strutted to the console table with me close behind, “Can we jump to lightspeed?”

“We have enough fuel for just one jump,” Connix reported.

“Well then do it, we gotta get out of here,” Poe ordered, I came to stand between him and Finn.

“Wait,” Mom held up a hand, her face carried a realization that hadn’t hit us yet, “They’ve tracked us through lightspeed.”

“That’s impossible,” Finn commented.

“Yes,” she nodded before turning to stare out at the menacing fleet, “And they’ve done it.”

“How could they have developed that tech?” I asked, knowing no one had answers.

“So if we jump to lightspeed...they'll just find us again, and we'll be out of fuel,” Finn processed before looking to me, “They've got us.”

“Not yet, they don’t,” Poe remarked confidently, he walked over to my mom, “Permission to jump in an X-wing and blow something up?”

“Permission granted,” she replied before ordering Admiral Ackbar to turn the ship around.

Poe quickly stopped to peck my cheek before he dashed out of the room, BB-8 on his heels. Just like that, I was back in the familiar position of fearing he wouldn’t come back alive. But he was right to jump into action, we all needed to.

I was about to say something to Finn when the room went silent, at least it did for me. My breath caught, my stomach lurched, every cell in my body was suddenly on high alert.

Ren was here.

My feet carried me off the bridge automatically, ignoring every call of my title as I ran off. There was no chance of me staying put if he was here. The hanger was my destination, there had to be one ship available in the hanger for me to fly. If I knew he was here, he definitely knew I was too. I wanted the satisfaction of meeting him on a battlefield where I was undoubtably more skilled than him.

“Y/n, where are you going?” Finn yelled after me, he’d caught up surprisingly fast.

“Ren’s here,” I replied, “I’ve gotta do something, you need to stay safe.”

“If you and Poe are going, so am I!” he replied, his loyalty to us was touching. But I couldn’t drag him into another squabble between me and Kylo, he’d almost died last time.

Just as we were approaching the hanger, an explosion rocked the ship and threw me and Finn forward, landing awkwardly against each other. He scrambled to his feet and extended an arm to me, I pulled myself up with a groan. I looked at our surroundings to find Poe laid out on the floor just outside the hanger entrance, his skin covered in soot and his flight suit singed. Bee was reattaching himself as his head had separated from his body.

“Poe!” I yelled, running to him and dropping to my knees with Finn to support Poe’s torso.

“Are you okay?” Finn asked.

“We need to get out of range of those Star Destroyers,” he groaned. We hoisted him to his feet, I braced him for a few steps till he found his footing again.

We hadn’t gotten far when I froze in my tracks, a feeling washing over me different than the one I’d felt during Poe’s attack but just as intense. This one was fragile, broken, yet warm. The only image I could compare it to was of a somebody trying desperately to stitch a torn piece of fabric back together. I could distantly hear Poe and Finn call my name, but I waved them off and stumbled a couple feet away from them. I sensed my mother, her pain and longing. I sensed Kylo, his surprise and conflict and…that couldn’t be longing I sensed from him as well. It was barely there, but it was strong enough for me to feel his pain. I reached out to Mom and she reached back out, it was like she had a hand stretched out towards both of us. It was a surreal feeling, I didn’t want to break it because it felt like…home.

That’s when the second explosion hit and my mother, and countless other’s presences vanished.

I cried out, gasping as I braced myself against the wall. Poe and Finn were at my side in an instant, holding onto me and attempting to calm me down. BB-8 beeped wildly with concern.

“Y/n, baby, what’s wrong?” Poe pleaded, I clung to his arm as I struggled to catch my breath. Something terrible had just happened.


“Commander Solo,” the comm in my pants pocket called, “Commander Solo, come in.”

I hesitantly let go of my boyfriend and grabbed the device with a shaky hand, “Connix, what just happened?”

“The bridge has been destroyed.”

My head shot up to look to Poe and Finn, the three of us bolted down the hall, ignoring the concern of passersby. Once we arrived outside the sealed doors to find Kaydel waiting, I could see the damage. The faces I’d seen just moments ago all gone, the lights burnt out, debris floating in and out of it. It was awful.

“Where’s the General?” I asked with a faltering voice, not turning to make eye contact. There was a deafening silence that served as my answer. Rage and devastation swirled inside me as shock took hold of my body. My fists curled at my side as tears blurred my vision, I mechanically moved my legs and left our party to walk down the long hallway. I eventually landed at a large window, looking out of it to see pieces of the ship swirling around us. Somewhere nearby, my mother’s lifeless body was there too.

No.

This was not happening.

I had not lost my entire family in the span of two days.

Tears silently dripped down my cheeks and chin as I stared out at the destruction. My heart wasn’t ready to feel what these events would force me to feel.

Then I saw something unbelievable. A sight that if I told someone who didn’t know my mother, they’d be convinced I was insane.

“Guys!” I shouted, Finn, Poe and Connix ran to my side and we watched my mother steer herself through space. I didn’t know the intricacies of the Force and everything you could do through it, but this was the single greatest display of it’s power I’d ever witnessed. I sobbed happily as she headed towards the remnants of the bridge.

“We need a medic at the bridge now!” Poe shouted as the four of us ran back down the hall to her destination. We made it to the door just as it slid open, Poe and I caught her before she hit the floor. The effort her daring act had taken had caused her to fall unconscious. We carried her away from the door as Connix and Finn continued yelling for medical. Poe lowered her to the ground as I knelt down and laid her head in my lap,

“Mom, please if you can hear me,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers, “Please, please, stay alive. I’m not ready to do this without you.”

The medics could be heard rushing down the hall, once they arrived I was forced to let go of her. I kissed her ice cold cheek and let them take over, going to stand at the stretcher with Poe. The medics lifted her up onto it and placed an oxygen mask over her mouth.

“Clear a path, everybody out of the way!” I ordered as we began wheeling her down the hall.

“Move! Outta the way, everybody! Make way! Make room!” Poe echoed across from me.

“Her vital signs are weak, but she’s fighting,” a medic told us, I clung to my mother’s hand at the news.

“C’mon, Mom,” I urged, “Fight.”

Poe and I went as far as we could with her until we reached the med bay and were told we couldn’t go any further. Someone reassured me that as soon as there was news, I’d be the first to know. We waited outside the doors, the only way either of us were leaving was at my mother’s side. I was nervously pacing as Poe sat, elbows on his knees and his laced fingers holding his chin up. His eyes were watery, Mom meant so much to him, I was surprised he’d kept it together this long.

After what had to be my fiftieth lap in the waiting room, I came to sit next to him. At my closeness, Poe leaned back in his chair and I slipped my hand into his in an attempt to comfort both of us. Both of us stared at the pristine white wall silently, probably similar thoughts and worst case scenarios running through both our heads. It was pointless to ask questions, neither of us could give any guarantee she’d live. I rested my head against his shoulder and he sandwiched it between his, squeezing my hand. We were communicating to each other ‘I’m here for you, let me help you shoulder this burden’ and ‘I need you more than anything else in the galaxy right now, please don’t leave me.’

The only noise that could be heard was chatter past the doors we were unauthorized to go through and faint beeping from machines. Would they have to perform surgery on her? Would she be hooked up to a ventilator because her lungs had been damaged? Poe and I relaxed into each other, we were willing to wait as long as we had to.

—————

A/N: Like we all wouldn’t love to jump Poe fresh from a flight still in his suit 😏 This one was a fun chapter to write because there were interactions with almost everyone. Also *cough cough* whoarey/nsparents *cough cough* Let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! 🖤

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[mattbflatt-loves-starset]

The Progression of Failed Love - A STARSET Playlist

Y’all ever make a playlist before? That shit is so much fun. Using the music by your favorite artists and ordering them in such a way that portrays your own idea or story... I love it, and I’ve only just started doing it. It’s a very unique way to creatively express yourself. Now that I’ve hyped my audience up, it’s time to break all of your hearts by sharing my playlist of STARSET songs called “The Progression of Failed Love” which follows the story of a typical young couple who just couldn’t make it work. Yes I know, this is a dumb movie trope told a million times and blah blah blah, but this is my blog so deal with it ya fuckin’ dorks… of course I’m kidding, and in all seriousness, this was the most genuine playlist I was able to make. I have my own personal connection to it, and if you’ve had a relationship before, you’ll most likely find a way to connect to it. I enjoy it, and I hope you do as well.

The playlist’s first three songs in order are “Satellite”, “DIE FOR YOU”, and “Starlight”, and they encompass the honeymoon stage of a budding relationship. Let’s call these songs Act I of this story. “Satellite” to me really embodies the feeling one gets when they first fall for someone. The energy is high and all you can think about is what you would do for this individual, with lyrics that support this idea greatly:

“Satellite! Shine on me tonight!

I will be your gravity, I will stay and never leave…

My satellite! Are you here tonight?

Shine your light and set me free.

Take the darkness out of me.

Shine on me!”

The relationship hasn’t started yet, but the interest is growing like crazy. These lyrics hit hard, check out the rest of them here:

STARSET – Satellite Lyrics 

“DIE FOR YOU” is just a more intense version of “Satellite” within the context of this story, but it makes sense because this song represents when the relationship is now official. Both parties have fallen for each other, and the love is starting to run deep. The whole vibe of the song is much more intimate, with a calmer kit part (hot damn Adam Gilbert you are smart with writing your kit parts), but yet the same exact key and even a similar tempo. The songs are so similar, yet so different, and it’s really smart. Kudos to STARSET for this, and as a personal benefit, it makes the story of this playlist flow really well.

Starset - Die For You (Official Audio) 

“Starlight” is a very specific moment in time, and marks the end of the honeymoon phase. The couple is stargazing, and the sky is just beautiful. I see many colors and galaxies in the night sky when listening to this song. The only thing is, they aren’t physically together. Their lives have picked up, and while they can’t be with each other at the moment, they still love each other very much, so they stargazed on a phone call. They are sad that they have to spend less time together, but they reassure each other that they love the other person very much, and that they are inseparable. This song has a very special place in my heart, as it’s just a beautiful song that makes me think a lot. I get a little heartsick listening to it, as it makes me think about memories that are dear to me, but it fits this spot perfectly in my playlist story.

Starset - Starlight (Official Lyric Video)

The honeymoon period has now concluded and we are moving into Act II of this story, where problems arise. This act starts with the song “Telepathic”, which has a frustrating feel to me. The song is from the perspective of only one of the characters, as they feel their significant other expects them to be a mind reader and won’t share emotions by just talking about them. As I’m sure a lot of people understand, this is infuriating to deal with, as it just makes people typically want to slam their head through a fuckin’ brick wall. At the same time, this character is very easily read by their significant other, as they wear their heart on their sleeve, making it seem like their lover is… well… “Telepathic”. This brings up insecurity, and arguments ensue. The lyrics support this idea well, for example:

“But you can read my mind

I feel it all the time.

Felt it all around you…

You had me under spell right from the start

I don’t have a telepathic heart.”

STARSET – Telepathic Lyrics 

The arguments get worse as we progress into the song “FAULTLINE”. This song has a lot to do with pointing fingers and blaming, as now both lovers in this story are outright arguing with each other a lot, and over stupid shit too. They aren’t handling being apart from each other well and are having a hard time with communication due to insecurity and distance. The vibe of this song fits this mood, as it’s got a sparse but tense groove, and the accompanying guitar/synth parts are rough and a bit grungy. Out of all the songs in this playlist, this one takes 3nd place for the lyrics fitting well into the story, with such snippets as:

“First you gotta know, how to play the victim

Hate to tell ya so, but you repeat the symptoms like an aftershock

And I only wanna make it stop…”

And also:

“Caught me shaking at the site, oh

Caught me quaking in my mind, oh

You’re tripping over every fault of mine

You’re breaking open every single time

It’s never black and white, no

Going seismic out of spite, oh

I never know if it’s your fault or mine

You’re breaking open every single time

Faultline.”

STARSET - FAULTLINE (Official Audio)

 Like damn, that entire second snippet is the whole ass chorus. This song fits super well here.

The last song in Act II has some intense, even lustful feelings tied to it, this song being “PERFECT MACHINE”. The couple is desperate to make things work, as they still love each other very much but are really struggling. When they see each other, they engage constantly in what people called “hate-fucking” which ultimately solves nothing, and then fighting after they are done. Yes I know this was a WILD turn out of left field, but this is the story I envision with this playlist, very intense and potentially very real. The song I feel is the entire progression of one… erm… let’s call it a “session” of what was described above. It starts with the lustful feelings I mentioned before, then about one third of the way through the song, the entire feeling changes, becoming very angry and desperate. This song takes 2nd place for lyrics best fitting the story, with the lyrics changing from this:

“Show me your insides, show me your secrets

Show me what you desire… I can fake it”

To this:

“Even you know… even you know, this was all for nothing…”

STARSET - PERFECT MACHINE (Official Audio)

STARSET – PERFECT MACHINE Lyrics 

Again, damn bro. I relate to this part of the story the least, as I’ve never experienced something like this, but holy shit that still cuts deep.

Finally, we reach Act III of this story, the end and the aftermath. This act opens up with “Let It Die”, which is the song that marks the inevitable end of this relationship. This song talks a lot about “breathing back life” into something and I feel that marks the end of a relationship very well. The feelings have been lost and it’s very possible that at least one party has moved on, so it needs to end. There’s not much to say about this song, except the one lyric that really made this song claim its spot on this playlist:

“But you told me, if you loved me, let it die”

Starset - Let It Die (Official Audio)

The relationship is now over, and one of the characters has left the narrative. We now enter the mind of the one who was still holding on to feelings. With this, the penultimate song to this playlist is the iconic “My Demons”. This song paints the image of inner demons attacking someone, and how they once had a significant other that would save them from these demons. The song references sickness, demons, needing help, and other color words that really paint the picture of someone mourning the death of love they once had. It is one of STARSET’s most emotionally impactful songs, and every single OG STARSET fan knows this song. This part of the story is the perfect spot for this song, and though I don’t want to copy another batch of lyrics for the purpose of finishing this story, I strongly encourage you to just listen to the song and pay attention to these lyrics. They’re very audible and very emotionally charged.

Starset - My Demons (Official Music Video)

We have finally reached the end, and the song that ends this whole story is “Ricochet”, another one of STARSET’s best songs. I know what I said about not copying another batch of lyrics to this post, but this song wins 1st place for lyrics relating to the story on this playlist, because this song is literally about reflection on a failed relationship and just wanting to see the other person:

“We were one in the same,

Running like moths to the flames,

You’d hang on every word I’d say 

But now they only ricochet…

We were falling away,

You left me with a bittersweet taste,

But when I send my heart your way,

It bounces off the walls you made,

Ricochet”

COME. ON. You CANNOT tell me this isn’t the best way to conclude this really sad story. This isn’t the only set of lyrics in the song that paints this picture well, THE WHOLE SONG DOES. Back to the story, time has passed and the remaining character still misses their ex-lover. They’ve tried really hard to rebuild some sort of relationship with them, but it just didn’t work. This song is the final stage of their mourning, and while they know very deep down that it will get better, they need this time to grieve.

Starset - Ricochet (Official Music Video)

STARSET – Ricochet Lyrics

I don't relate to this entire story, but it was sure as hell fun to write. I apologize for any emotional pain that I have caused during the telling of this story, but this is what came to mind when I was creating the playlist. You’re a real one if you made it to the end, this being my longest post yet. I really hope you enjoyed.

Links Used (In Order):

https://genius.com/Starset-satellite-lyrics 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJxSNbAer9M 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tiCEp3K3Rs 

https://genius.com/Starset-telepathic-lyrics 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MfqVlwetWfY 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keMBtyjYUPQ 

https://genius.com/Starset-perfect-machine-lyrics 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJtBYAKBByk 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkll0StZJLA 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SaC0YVaIMno

https://genius.com/Starset-ricochet-lyrics

[beblade-a]

@livingprophecy​​    /   mal’s letters aka zee choose death 🥰

i'm sure by now you know that i was reassigned to a new unit. i would have told you myself that i was leaving, but you didn't look like you wanted to see me. i couldn't blame you. part of me thought i'd be back soon enough, and maybe by then you'd stop looking away when we were in the same room. that's looking less and less likely by the hour. they say this new position might be more permanent than anyone expected. you know how these leader types are, they can never make up their mind about anything. i probably shouldn't tell you that, though. the last thing i need is you reprimanding me in writing.

shit, sorry. getting off topic. the point of this is, i don't know when i'll see you again. maybe i should have talked to you before i left. said something. i know you wouldn't have listened, but it would have been better to get it off my chest then. except you're too stubborn for your own good, and i didn't want you to hate me for pushing you more than i did that night. i couldn't help you the way you wanted me to, and maybe that's on me for being too willing to see what you didn't want anyone else to. i'm never going to regret the choice i made then, you needed someone to tell you to stop. you deserved to be able to grieve. you still do. i'm just sorry it pulled us apart.

there's a lot i didn't say then that i guess i should say now, but the trip was long, and daylight is ending soon. i'll write again. you haven't gotten rid of me yet, nik. looking forward to hearing from you too, if you can find time in your busy schedule to pick up a pen for me. but i'll understand if the masses keep pulling you down with a hundred more complaints about needing softer blankets and more salt for their slop.

best regards, mal.

p.s. sorry, that last part was a joke. i think i'm getting worse at them.

/

it's safe to say most of us underestimated just how long we'd really be here. the most "permanent" has ever meant is a few weeks, at most. just enough time to prove we've got numbers on our side, just enough to spill a little blood on both sides.

that was grim, sorry. i don't want this letter to be about that. here i was, ready to talk about the beauty of the mountains and how the air tastes different here than it did there. sometimes i forget this all leads back to war anyways, but it's easier to let yourself get distracted by the small pleasures in like. the first rays of sunlight and how they cast shadows over giants, the way plants bloom here that are strangers to what other forests have held. i wonder if you'd let yourself see this place the way that i do, if you'd love to lose yourself in it the same way. i remember you once said you wanted to see the ocean, and how your eyes lit up when you described it. i hope it makes you feel the way being on mountain tops has made me feel: at peace and just a little more alive. i think you deserve that, after everything. i know you do.

maybe we can see it together sometime, if that's not asking for too much.

speak to you soon, mal.

/

a few weeks passed since i last wrote. sorry, i guess i got caught up in everything. you know how it is, the work of a tracker is never done, etc. etc. not that i mind the work, of course. i'll take the fresh air and clear skies over being stuck in a stuffy tent with a bunch of soldiers any day. i still don't envy your meetings and boring talks of treaties that never go anywhere, or the way they always seemed to cut our mornings short at the worst possible moments. it's a miracle dominik didn't resort to anything worse than glaring at me for making you late, i always thought he'd get me thrown into the brig just for being annoying in his presence.

i still think about him sometimes. more than sometimes. i heard he had family close to the capital? you'd know more about that, i suppose. it feels stupid, but i feel guilty that i didn't know him better. did he laugh at stupid jokes, did he turn his head up towards the sky when it rained, did he see an end to this war? it doesn't seem fair that you're the one who has to carry him. someone else should remember him. i pray you learn you don't have to shoulder this burden alone.

but that's not what i was writing to you about. or, rather, wanted to write to you about. are you even getting these? i hope you are, but i know how tricky sending mail is. it once took five months for one of alina's letters to get to me, you know, so it wouldn't surprise me if you never saw these.

i met some people. well, if you could even call them people. they're idiots, really, the both of them. added onto my unit just last week, though i don't think they know a thing about tracking. that's fine, though, they're good guys and it's easier not to fall into thought with their incessant babbling going on in the background. it's hard to get close to people in times like these, but they seem too harmless to keep away. hopefully they get to stick around for a while, but we can't be sure of anything, can we?

that's all i had to say, i suppose. i'll end it here before this gets any longer.

take care, mal.

/

i think about how we left things. should i have pushed more, come to see you when i knew time was running out for us? it didn't seem to be within my right. we always knew this would end somewhere, just ships that pass in the night, but the tide seemed to carry us further away than i’d anticipated. it’s hard to wrap my head around how awful it felt when they gave out my orders, the way it seemed time was hacking me to pieces when all i wanted desperately was to help you keep yourself together. but you wouldn’t even look at me in the days that led to that moment. it was like i stopped existing for you, and you couldn’t see me as i floated away.

this isn’t to say i blame you. i don’t. saints, i don’t think i could ever place the blame on you for anything. but we were friends, right? if nothing else, we were friends, and now it feels like we’re nothing. the memory of your hands on me is a ghost that lingers, the proof that it wasn’t all just a dream. it’d be easier if it was. then i wouldn’t have to lie awake at night, wondering if you’re reading these. if you are, i’m sorry. i don’t blame you, i swear i don’t. grief is a monster that claws through all of us, and you lost the most important person that you had. if one day i got word that alina was gone from this world, i would destroy myself in that pain. but you had to watch him go, you have the memory of that now.

i’m sorry. if you get nothing else from this letter, just know that i’m sorry and i’m still here. if you need me, i’m still here, nik. i know it isn’t much, but it’s all i have to offer.

your friend, mal.

/

all of my writing seems to be reserved for you and alina. i don’t have anyone else, i guess, but that’s okay. they sent me out again, caryeva this time.  it’s only for a few weeks, but i don’t mind traveling to this one. alina’s here, said something about the cartographers trying to make sense of the caves. i don’t know how much sense they expect to make of her drawings, but, hey, she’s here. so that means that all of my writing is reserved for you, at least until i have to leave again.

i'm sorry about the last letter. i shouldn't have sent it. that's one i really hope you didn't get, but i guess you wouldn't know that if you aren't getting any of them. there's only so much i can keep bottled up, though, and it's not like i can tell anyone else about you. i've thought about telling alina, a few times, but then i look over at her and forget how to breathe and thinking about you gets a little harder to do. it's always been like that with her, though, but i can't put words to the feeling when she's the one i'm talking to. she's familiar, like you were for those few months. like you'd still be if one day we met back in the middle of this war.

princes go on to do princely things, and our story probably ended already, but i'm just unlucky enough to be stupidly optimistic. i see an end to this war, and i see you becoming a great leader,  and i see it all unfolding in front of my eyes. see? stupidly optimistic. it's alright, though. someone somewhere has to have hope. why not let it be me?

your stupid optimist, mal.

/

we left caryeva this morning. just me and the poor idiots who came here on their way to make the journey back to sikursk. i hugged alina so tight i think i would have broken bones if we'd held on any longer, but she didn't complain. just wiped the tears away and called me stupid, in that same tone she uses when she's not trying to make things sadder than they are. i missed her the moment my back was to her, my feet carrying me hundreds of miles away from her again. the ache never left me when i was with her, but she makes everything easier. now she's gone again, and i can't help but let the loneliness creep back in.

i'm an orphan, did i ever tell you that? it's hard to say, never comes out quite right. like saying "i have nobody who cares about me" or "everyone who should have loved me is dead." that's what people look at me like, at least. pity and sadness and the way the war keeps taking and will keep taking more. but that's not true. i have someone. her. we've always had each other.

i have alina, and i still feel alone.

you haven't responded, or you never got these letters, or you did and haven't even read them. i don't know which one makes this more painful. doubt muddies everything and the lack of answers rips away any security i had in what we had. but what did we have? a few nights of stupid choices, where i could have drowned my troubles away in anything but you chose me and that felt good enough to mean something? i said i wouldn't blame you and that's still true, i can't put this on your shoulders on top of everything else. mostly, i blame this war.

i've thought about not writing these anymore. they don't make me feel closer to you. they just make the distance seem longer. but i don't want to leave you alone. i'm sorry, i don't know what else to do.

i suppose i'll keep on holding hope for a little longer.

running out of things to put here, mal.

/

it's late, and the stars are shining high above, and i can't sleep. dubrov's snores could shake the mountains, but that's not why i'm awake. i stopped believing you're getting these, so i guess it doesn't matter if i say it now. i miss you. being with you was easy, which is why i know it was never real. what we had only ever existed in my head, and you forgot about me the moment i wasn't around anymore.

were we friends, nik? were we at least that?

i have to believe we were. because if we weren't, what does that leave me with?

i never thought i'd get to keep you but a part of me was looking for a happier ending, a more satisfying conclusion. you were the first thing i didn't want to run from, that i didn't even realize you were never there with me to begin with.

all i’ve said in these letters is sorry, but i can't apologize for this one.

mal.

/

it'll be a year tomorrow.

by the time you get this, if you get this, it'll be longer than that.

i can't help but think about you sitting in your tent, alone, shoving that grief down as the time ticks by. or do you drown your sorrows in someone else, the next petty face that catches your eye? is it wrong to say that? i don't know. and you're not reading these anyways.

that's not fair to you. i told myself i wasn't going to be angry writing this one, and saints know i still ache to think about you feeling any of that grief alone. but it's been a year, and it could be two years, and i know that this is it. you're never going to write back, and i suppose that's on me for expecting you to.

i'm sorry. i'm sorry that i'm mad and i'm sorry about dominik and i'm sorry i let you push me away when all i wanted was to be there. i can't go back and change that, i don't even know if i would want to. were you always so stubborn, or is that what you told yourself you had to be?

please let someone in, nik. even if it's not me.

mal.

/

i should stop writing these, but you know how it goes. one more letter turns into two, two turns into a chest full of them. there’s no telling if i'm sending these to the right place anymore, if you've moved on. they said they'd find their way to you anyways, but that's hard to put any amount of faith on. there's too many unanswered letters for me to make up my mind on what's happening to them.

i keep thinking that you might have found someone else and can't help being jealous despite knowing it's probably for the best. maybe we can both find something to keep us feeling a little more human, a little more whole.

if i kiss someone and all it does is remind me of you, does that still count as trying to forget you?

swallowing the idea that one day you might disappear from my memory is hard, though i shudder to think of the alternative. nobody tastes like you. the only person who's ever made me laugh like you did is alina, and even my love for her is different. it doesn’t burn like yours did. like it still does.

what i'm trying to say is: i don't think i can forget you if i tried, but saints i wish i could. and i hope it’s harder for you to forget about me than it is to ignore these letters.

everything i have left, mal.

/

this was supposed to be an apology for something, but the words won’t come out right. here it is, nik. by this point, i’ve spent more time being ignored by you then i ever got to have you. if you never get these letters, i hope you spend the rest of your days thinking i forgot about you. if you did, i hope you never read this one.

you said i could keep you as long as i wanted, and i wanted to believe that was true. so much that i put my heart in your hands. even though we never called it love. there was always a part of me that knew it was a mistake. i understood then that it was a lie, just like i know now that you're never going to write back. i gave you my heart. i gave you everything. i should have asked for it back when i tucked my things away that final night.

i said i wasn’t going to blame you, but then that just means we’re both liars.

you should have looked away that day our eyes first met. you should have told me to leave when all i wanted was to spend every waking moment right next to you. if you knew we didn’t even get a chance, that you were never going to keep me, you should have pushed me away before i felt your teeth sinking into my heart.

maybe we were both naive and stupid, but you always knew, didn’t you? i did too, but you can’t tell a lovestruck boy what he can and can’t do with his feelings. that’s what it is, isn’t it? i cared too much and you cared too little, or you just didn’t care about me more than you cared about letting me go.

war has never been kind but it feels less cruel than what you’ve done to me, and if i were to die tomorrow at least i wouldn’t have to think about you anymore.

saints, let your memory be purged from my body.

/

this isn't a letter. this is a eulogy. and an apology.

i don’t want to hate you, but hate pours out when i write these. there’s nothing healing about wanting to say my piece to you, and getting nothing back. like arguing with a wall. at least i’d know if a wall was there. so, this is the last one, nikolai. there’s nowhere else for me to put my feelings down for you, so i’ll bury them in this ink and move on.

if i loved you once, i can no longer separate that love from the pain your absence has caused. there is nothing more empty than being faced with your silence, no greater frustration than knowing you’re out there somewhere and we walk the same earth on startlingly different roads. you were never mine, and i was always yours. but you didn’t ask for my love, and i’m sorry i gave it so easily. a lesson for next time.

i hope you get to see the ocean, nik. i hope whatever doubt that lives in your heart can be replaced by something or someone else. if one day i hear that you’ve done great things with your life, i want to hear your name from the mouth of a stranger and think only fondly of our times together. you deserve all of the love a country can give for a great prince, and an even greater man. but more than that, you deserve to be happy.

maybe someday, when we’ve both found a place to put our love, we can meet again. maybe by then we’ll be ready to call each other friend.

i won’t hold my breath, but i choose to believe there’s a silver lining here somewhere.

goodbye, mal.

[julies-butterflies]

Honestly, your writing reminds me a lot of the buffyverse. Just the perfect balance of humor and sadness and romance and heart that just feels like a vivid window into the world you've created.

God the Body...the best forty minutes of television I may never watch again. I've rewatched Willow and Tara's kiss (because I'll adore them forever), but just...the weight of it. It took me a full month to work up the nerve to watch the episode, to be ready to cry that much.

What you said about not wanting people to suffer, because of your work...It's never once felt like that for me. And I've cried a LOT while reading your work. I'll try to explain it the best I can

Grief can be so isolating, and disorienting. Your world goes topsey-turvey, supports you took for granted go flying into the abyss and suddenly it's a minefield of those glass shards. And no one's grief is identical. No two circumstances are the same. It's not possible for anyone else to know exactly how you feel, because no two hearts break alike.

Sometimes, it's because people just don't understand. Sometime's it's because they no longer want to. But some days, that feeling of aloneness can be crushing.

Then one night, I stumbled upon Let These Shadows Fall Away Like Dust. That one hit me way harder than I was ever expecting. The question of how to grieve the living, the dilemma on when forgiveness is deserved...Alex's anger, his devestation, the rawness of it all....That's my broken glass. Those are concepts I've been struggling for over a year. I'm still picking up pieces every day.

I sobbed, because it was such a relief. To see the feelings that had been scrambled up in my mind just reflected there, on my screen. The reminder I had desperately needed, that I was not alone. That even though my circumstances were different, I was not the only one trying to unravel those messy emotions.

Then again, I also read your deathfic for fun, so maybe I'm not the best judge of this. I tend to like angst. I tend to get a lot of "WHY WOULD YOU MAKE IT THAT SAD" in group chats :D

Please don't feel any pressure to respond to me quickly or anything. I never mind the wait. I'm so sorry for the rough times. Wishing that you and your family gets whatever you need to help ease your storm. Sending love and support as well.

(sorry for all the metaphors. I'm super sleepy and apparently, I resort to purple prose when tired lol)

I know exactly what you mean about Emily. I understand why people don't like her, but I just love to see her written as such a grey character. It's just so much more powerful when the love is so clearly there.

I mean, that's what a tragedy is, really. Love cut short. Grieving a future that could have been everything, if fate had not been cruel. I don't know if you know musical theater, but I like to think about the Barber and His Wife, from Sweeney Todd: the whole tragedy of that show, is that they were happy all together, and then permanently broken. How their paths keep crossing, but they never connect to heal. Never lost, but never found.

And that's the tragedy of Luke and Emily: too stubborn and too late. You find that grey area, the messiness so well, and just bring it all out so wonderfully. You do the same with Bobby/Trevor, ESPECIALLY in the horror and the wild. God, that absolutely devestated me. I'm not a big fan of horror in general, and I haven't explored the genre that much but...if all horror is like yours then DAMN, I might just have to become a fan.

This got super long (lol) so I'll wrap it up now but! THE SIC FIC QUEENS TOGETHER???? When I tell you I lost it.... all too well Bobby and what you've lost reggie in the same story are killing me. I am hooked and incredibly hyped. Loved both updates so far, and cannot wait to see where the story goes!

Oh yeah and I forget: I have to ask, do you have a fan cast of the one, the only, the incredible Keith Richards? (and that goblin is so cute!!! I really want to pet the blood thirsty monster. So badly)

Love, your totally-not-undead-pen-pal, :D

-Vampire Anon

Know musicals? Vampire Anon my beloved, I am a musical theatre bitch. Take a look at my high school graduation cap! (Anastasia is my favorite musical... something about the themes of home, love, and family, the idea of always finding a place in the world even after enduring incredible hardship, that anything is survivable with faith and love in your heart... I'm also a Romanov history bitch, and Christy Altomare is such an incredible talent and human being.) Literally, talk to me about musicals anytime!

And yeah, I definitely see your metaphor... the tragedy of The Barber and his Wife was how close they came to each other throughout the whole show, existing within reach the entire time, after being separated for so long. But it wasn't the same; it never could be. Time and trauma had changed them both into something unrecognizeable, and when they came face-to-face, they could only hurt each other. At a certain point, the ghosts of your past are meant to stay ghosts. Sure, you might want them back more than anything --- but what would it mean? What would you truly be getting back?

Luke's "back", of course, and he comes home to visit his parents multiple times... but they're not the same people he left. They're older, greyer, changed by grief... while he's just the same. A snapshot forever frozen in time, a memory crystalized in amber. You can't hold memories in your hands. You can't pull them close and refuse to let them go. Eventually, they'll slip away... and to Mitch and Emily, a memory is all their son is, now. That's what's so heartrending about the situation we see in the show, especially --- so much love still exists between all of them, but it has no place to go.

Okay, sorry, it's 3am here and I'm rambling too, haha --- mentioning musical theatre was a mistake.

I'm so glad my stories have been able to connect with you, especially 'shadows' --- that one resonated with a lot of people, more than I ever realized it would. It's not the most personal story to me... but definitely one that needed to be told, and the emotion in it... hits home for a lot of people. It means so much to me knowing that story, and Alex's internal struggle, has made people feel less alone.

I think I'm going to have a hard time looking back on that one, though. We were staying at my aunt's house for the weekend where I wrote most of it; I read a few excerpts to her, and she said she liked it. She was always interested in my writing... I kind of wish I'd gotten the chance to share more of it with her.

Like you said. Grief's a funny thing. Disorienting, relentless, and crushing.

Please just remember, though --- whatever you're dealing with, you're not alone. You don't have to cut yourself on those broken pieces... one day, you'll wake up, and realize you feel whole again. It will never feel the same, and the pain will always be there... but healing around it is what makes us stronger. You don't owe anyone your forgiveness; it's okay to grieve when you've lost something, regardless of whether death has taken them from you. Grief doesn't have to be earned, it simply has to be felt.

You'll be stronger for it, in the end. I'm sorry you've been hurting so much.

Anyways! Oh gosh! On to lighter, happier topics! Please tell me...

What are your favorite fics? (Like, my fics, obviously, which fics of mine do you just go gaga over? Please praise me or else my ego will shrivel like a worm on hot pavement.) No, okay, I'm kidding --- what are your top fics for this fandom? Like, what are the ones that really resonate with you, that you could read over and over? The JATP fandom has so many greats, but I'm always drawn back to Some Killer Queen You Are by pearlcaddy (buffyverse meets jatp!! iconic!!), Lantern's Light by thefairhero (literally the SOFTEST reggie), the sky's not empty tonight by firefall (just... devastating and beautiful in a dozen ways), and literally anything by foundfamilyvevo.

How long have you been in the JATP fandom? Who are your favorite characters? What's your favorite JATP song?

And finally, most importantly... what are your favorite musicals?

(also... since u asked... behold keith richards and tremble)

[parkersbliss]

Reality | P. Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker X Female, Romanoff reader

Warnings: Mysterio, Mysterio, sad Peter, Peter getting hit by a train, Mysterio mentally abusing reader, just Mysterio

Type: angst??

A/N: It’s been months ya’ll I’m so sorry. This was supposed to be a prologue to Fake, but I got carried away. First post of 2020!

WC: 2,000<

Summary: Mysterio knows what he wants, but so do you and Peter.

Tagged: @theolwebshooter @thegirlwiththeimpala

If you want to be tagged see here

Masterlist

The Europe trip was supposed to be fun and relaxing, but instead, it was chaotic and quite terrifying. Your little trip to Paris ended up being a trip to Prague during the festival of lights, in which Peter was on a classified mission (that ended up being fake) to stop a fire monster. Of course, when your boyfriend sneaks out of the opera hours you were going to follow him. And not because you were scared for him, quite the opposite. You knew Peter was doing Superhero stuff and you wanted in. You had been off duty while grieving for your mom, but now it was time to jump back into battle. Something to at least distract you from the pain of loss. Quietly you followed Peter, your footsteps fell silently as snow.

“Peter,” You whisper when he reaches the festival.

“(Y/N)! Wh- what are you doing? You should’ve stayed in the opera house where it’s safe.”

“What’s going on?”

"I-“

You cross your arms and give Peter the stare, the one your mother taught you. She always said it drove the boys (and girls) mad, "Peter."

He sighs, muttering something into his earpiece. "Do you remember the water monster in Venice?”

“Yeah…” You raise your eyebrows in speculation, was this attack related to that one? As if Peter read your mind he opened his mouth and said, “They’re expecting another one here, the worse of all, fire. And I’m on duty to try and stop it."

"Count me in." Peter scratches the back of his neck, "Babe…” Someone says something into his earpiece and he hands it to you.

“Agent Romanoff, glad to see you back.”

“Director Fury, good to be back.”

He laughs in the back, “let’s get this show on the road then.”

+ + +

“Night Monkey, huh?” You tease Peter.

He blushes, “Ned came up with it not me!”

You grab Peter’s hand in yours, smiling up at him.

“Ew physical affection,” Beck jokes, his glass of alcohol in his hand.

You stick your tongue out at him, sipping from you and Peter’s orange juice.

“You guys love each other don’t you?” He questions.

Peter squeezes your hand, “yeah we do."

Beck smiles from the rim of his glass, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You figured it was because it reminded him of his love. The one he couldn’t save. His family.

"I was devastated when my mom died,” You said in hopes of relating to Beck. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye, one minute she was telling me how proud she was of me and that she loved Peter. The next, I was plunged into battle looking for her. As I was fighting I brushed it off and figured she was here and that between everyone I would never find her.” You swirl the orange juice in the glass, staring down at it. The memories still too vivid. Your eyes began to water, “When Tony died, I thought for sure I would find her there. She would mourn for him, but when I got there she wasn’t. I ran to Tony and he just-” the tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as you flashback to that moment.

“Mom!” You shouted desperately. “Mom?” Throughout the whole battle, you hadn’t found her, of course with all the heroes that thought was next to impossible. She could’ve changed her costume too, five years. You didn’t know what she looked like. Chaos swirled around you like fog in the morning. Then, there was silence. You turned around to see Uncle Tony on the ground. Everyone was gathering around, kneeling by his side. Your mother would be there for sure. However, when you got there with Peter, Tony only had a few minutes left. You stood behind Peter as he broke down. A hand was placed on your shoulder, you spun around so fast thinking it was your mom. Instead, you came face to face with your godfather, the same look as everyone else.

“Hey, sunshine,” Clint said.

"where is she?“

”(Y/N)-“

"Where is she, Clint?! She’s my mother!" The look on his face says it all as you collapse into his arms sobbing.

Clint holds you to his chest as you cry. "She sacrificed herself for us,” He said quietly. “I fought her till the end, but your mother beat me to it. She was always the better one of us.“

Clint pulls out a letter from his suit, "open it when you’re ready."

When MJ figured out that Peter was spiderman, she also learned that Mysterio was no mystery, but a liar. You and Peter instantly freaked out, you both had agreed on giving Beck one of the most advanced pieces of technology ever, lord knows what he was planning on doing.

"We have to tell Fury,” Peter said, zipping up his suit.

“No shit,” You reply, snapping on your mother’s wrist cuffs.

“MJ, Ned, you can’t tell anyone this,” Peter warned, halfway out the window.

“You both are already in danger being involved with both of us, so please stay low."

They both nod as they watch Peter grab you in his arms and swing-out the window, you wave at them over Peter’s shoulder. As soon as you arrived in Berlin, Fury picked you up and drove you to the headquarters. Both of you were frantically explaining what Beck had done and that there was little time left before he advanced. Just as Fury started putting together a plan, the room begins to disintegrate.

"Mysterio,” You whisper, looking around for him. Out of nowhere, Peter tackles you to the ground as a drone fires at you, it hits Fury in the chest and you scream. Peter stands up, checking for him when the drone shoots him and he goes falling.

"PETER!”

Your reality begins to shatter as Mysterio’s drones build an illusion.

"You know, neither of you had to die,” Beck’s voice sounds. “really, if Peter kept his mouth shut I wouldn’t have had to kill him. And if hadn’t introduced you, the love of his life. Daughter of the famous Black Widow, you’d still be on your trip to London.”

"No.”

He laughs, "it didn’t have to be this way."

The room faults and you’re suddenly back at Stark Tower in the training rooms. The smell of sweat clouding your senses.

"Your mom never escaped the Russians did she?”

The room is suddenly swamped with bright red blood, like your mom’s hair and the nefarious red room she was trained in. The blood flows in, knocking you off your feet with the force. You shriek as you fall back into it, your skin becoming that of a tomato. You try to stand, but keep slipping. More and more rushes in, until you’re drowning in it with no clear direction of up.

"HELP ME!”

Peter would recognize that voice anywhere, "where is she?!”

Mysterio laughs, projecting the image of you drowning in blood.

Peter bangs on the glass until it shatters, breaking reality as the shards rain down on him, but not one speckle of blood. He’s suddenly facing himself.

You’re yanked from the liquid by a forceful hand, tugging at your hair and thrusting you onto the hard concrete, as you’re thrown down a sound like shattered glass resounds through the room and you continue to fall. You land in the snow, bright red snow now. You scramble out of it, slipping as it melts. You begin to sink, there’s nothing to grab onto. When suddenly a hand appears, the same gloved hand of your boyfriend, Peter. It’s just out of your reach when you finally get the strength to grab it, he pulls you up. The room changed again on your on one of Tony’s jets. Peter looks at you and pushes you off the jet.

Your cries fall silent as the wind drowns them out. You land in front of a mirror, your hair is the color of your moms, your black suit stained red, lips dipped in blood.

“You were so beautiful,” Your mother coos from behind you. “but your beauty will fade.”

“Mom!”

Natasha draws out a knife, her finger dances dangerously on the edge. The fantasy ends when an arrow whisks past your ear, straight into the mirror where your heart is. Except, it’s not you anymore. It’s Peter, blood soaking through his suit. He falls to his knees as blood pours out of his mouth, you scream looking for him. The room is pitch black, the mirror only showing Peter.

“Stop it!! Stop it!!” You shout, banging on the mirror, a hand grabs you and pulls you through, it’s Peter’s.

“If you were brave enough, we would all still be here.”

“that’s not true.”

Peter fades away and Natasha appears grabbing your chin tightly, “you know it is.”

The ground opens up and she falls through, you dive after her and slam down on the concrete. Dazed, you stare blankly at the sky waiting for another trick. There’s a loud bang beside you, and you see Peter roll of a car.

“Peter.”

“(Y/N)?” He starts running toward your broken form, just as he’s about to get there the drones come back and his sense of direction is lost, but to you, he runs up and picks you up in his arms. Peter sets you down, an arm around you. And yet, you didn’t feel safe. You squirm against him and he holds you tighter.

“Let go of me, Beck.”

“The show’s just opening.”

The real Peter runs into the room, “It’s just an illusion.”

“It is Peter?”

“I-”

“You don’t know the difference, do you?” Beck’s hold on you become tighter, you let out a gasp.

“Stop it,” Peter warns, aiming a gloved hand at him.

Beck just laughs, you take the opportunity and kick the back of his knees, he doubles over and you use the chance to throw him over your shoulder.

“(Y/N)? It is you!” Peter cries, running to you.

“I control reality.”

“NO!"

As if on cue, the world shifts one more time and you’re back in your room. Sunlight filtering through the windows, your bed nicely made. A few stuffed animals sitting on it. You’re home. Something bangs in your desk drawer, curious you walk toward the source. The banging gets louder until the desk is shaking, you open the drawer and a letter flings out. The envelope is black with a red seal, where it now has small teeth. The letter grows in size, filling up the whole room as you cower in the far corner.

That damn letter. Your bedroom becomes encased in black gloom, the ground under your feet begins to tremble. You look down as small words start to appear, first your name at the top. It’s the letter your mom wrote to you. Panic sweeps through your veins and you begin to run, words ripple under your feet as you try to escape the inevitable. The paper begins to curl, now chasing you like a wave, every five seconds you turn around, only to see it get closer. The page chases you until the end, where you stumble and stare into the dark. A cloud of green forms at your feet when Mysterio appears.

"Please, stop,” You plead, you’re covered in blood, exhausted and scared for your life.

He laughs a hollow sound. Eyes glittering with hatred. He begins to walk toward you when shots are fired and he falls to his knees. Fury is limping behind him, you run up to him and he tosses his arm over your shoulder.

“Director, are you okay? Where’s Peter?”

Fury laughs, “I’m great.” His voice morphs into that of Becks. “Peter, not so much.”

Peter stumbles in front of you, slumping to his knees. Much like you if Beck didn’t possess such a strong grip. Beck begins to recite a monologue as Peter backs up slowly.

“Your girlfriend here, she didn’t have to die either. It pains me to have to do this.” Beck releases his grip as you fall to the ground, legs throbbing with pain and exhaustion.

“(Y/N)… Beck please, don’t, not to her.”

“Oh, you won’t have to see it.”

Peter’s pained expression changes to confusion and at that moment, the illusion drops and a train comes hurtling to Peter. You don’t even get to scream before he’s gone.

Beck turns to look at you, “you’re coming with me.”

[angrylizardjacket]

wishful drinking // Charlotte&Lola

Summary: After Charlotte, Peach, and Eileen go missing, everyone else believes they're dead. Everyone but Lola and Tommy. It's difficult to cope and hope at the same time, and sometimes it even reopens old wounds.

A/N: Wow a song fic, christ. Loosely based on Wishful Drinking by Tessa Violet which just gives me so many emotions about Lola. Ido believe this is the single angstiest thing I've ever written on this blog. @misscharlottelee @peachonscreen I'm so very sorry this is so sad and dark jfc. WARNINGS: Focuses on alcohol addiction as a coping mechanism, there is a funeral, acute references to Lola's childhood trauma, a panic attack, and heroin use right at the end there, and there is some very mild implied suicidal ideation

----

separate me from the rest of the herd so I can run away from all of my hurt oh

drink what I want, be what I want, say what you want me to say like I can pretend that I don't wanna end I'm afraid

I'm dangerous

Everyone keeps saying they're dead, but there's no proof so how can they sound so certain?

Lola's already halfway through a bottle of rum, as Charlotte's parents scowl their way through a list of rules that sound more like demands, of what the band is and isn't allowed to do at Charlotte's funeral. For which their is no body. Lola rolls her eyes and takes another drink.

This is the second speech like this that they've had to sit through this week, since Peach and Eileen's parents seemed equally sceptical of the band's ability to behave appropriately at their daughters' funeral. Which was a farce with no bodies. Lola takes another drink and squeezes her eyes shut.

Nikki's got a hand on her thigh, and Tommy's got an arm around her, the three of them squeezed onto a sofa probably built for two.

Nikki was fucked up out of his mind on more drugs than Lola had ever known him to take. Losing Charlotte had broken something inside of him, and when Lola had told him that she and the other girls had gone missing, he'd sworn until his voice was hoarse, crying more genuinely than she'd ever seen him do before. He was terrified of being lucid, of remembering his reality and reacting like that again.

"I wasn't... I was never in love with Charlie, but I really did love her, you know, like I love Tommy; he's like my brother, but she... she was good for us. Better than any of us ever deserved."

Lola takes another drink.

Tommy's lucid and full of rage, two cans of beer and a line of coke before lunch is all he takes now since she's gone, high off anger, demanding people find her, reading maps, triangulating where she could possibly have gotten lost, trying to put together search parties. He, like Lola, won't believe she's gone until he knows for certain, but unlike Lola, he won't take 'her plane disappeared in the mountains of another country, there's nothing we can really do, I'm so sorry' as an answer.

He holds Lola tighter when Charlotte's parents level a teary-eyed glare at him and spit that he's not allowed to start spouting his conspiracy bullshit about her still being alive, at the funeral. He squeezes his eyes shut and turns, pressing his face into Lola's hair and heaving an irritated sigh.

"I know," Lola mumbles back, words spilling into each other. Tommy's breathing is deep and level in a way that's completely controlled, like he's working on subduing his feelings. Nikki gives Lola's thigh a squeeze, but she's not quite sure if he meant to, it could have been a hand twitch. Lola leans against Tommy just a little more, "I know."

She takes another drink.

None of them are allowed to make a speech; Charlotte's mother and Tommy's sister will both be reading eulogies, but if any of the band speaks up, they will be removed from the ceremony.

"What about Razzle?" Vince is the one to speak up, and Lola's breath catches in her throat.

"Nicholas..." Charlotte's mother finally softens her tone, and casts a look to her father, a silent question.

"Nicholas will do his best to prepare an address, but has also told us that he will decide on the day if he will be able to present it," its the fairest thing they've said all day. Their sensitivity to Razzle and his situation keeps Lola from hurling her bottle at them; if they'd shit-talked Charlotte's grieving fiance, she'd have no qualms beating up her missing friend's parents there and then. Instead, all Lola can picture is Razzle, overwhelmingly upset to the point that he can't even bring himself to read a eulogy at his fiance's sham of a funeral.

As much as Lola believes its a sham, she won't push that on Razzle, either way, Charlotte's not here; it hurts like a fresh wound, she can't even begin to imagine how he must be feeling if he really believes she's gone for good.

Lola's bottle is emptying quickly.

"Is Penny okay?" Vince asks, voice soft and concerned for the missing woman's two-year-old daughter.

"She's with Nicholas," Charlotte's mother says, but tears well in her eyes and the words catch in her throat. Charlotte's father puts his arm around her, drawing her in close.

"She keeps asking for Charlotte," his voice cracks, "and... and none of us know what to tell her."

weave a story so I don't have to talk, no, it's not a problem if I never get caught oh

drink what I want, be what I want, say what you want me to say like I can pretend that I don't wanna end I'm afraid

I'm dangerous

Charlotte would either be right furious, or annoyingly understanding, about the fact that Lola is wine drunk and trying to act sober at her funeral. But if Charlotte has a problem with Lola's behaviour at her sham funeral, she should come home and tell Lola herself.

The only people who Lola isn't glowering at are Razzle and Penny. Razzle's in the quietest outfit she's ever seen him in, all black, not a hint of flair or personality, and Penny's been put in a little, frilly black dress, with a black headband which she has thrown on the ground, since she's in the middle of a screaming fit.

Razzle is desperately trying to hold himself together while Penny demands to see her mother at the top of her lungs. Tommy, for all he loathes the pageantry of this funeral, feeling as though it's being put on to make Charlotte's extended friends and family feel less guilty about giving up the search for her, has nothing but kindness and gentle understanding for the man he considered to practically be his brother-in-law.

Kneeling in front of where Razzle's bouncing Penny on his knee, Tommy lays a gentle hand on his other knee, and when Razzle looks to him, as if startled out of focusing entirely on his daughter, there's tears in his eyes. He can't even form words, mouth opening and closing like a fish, but he quickly stills moving Penny, who tries to throw herself on him, her little fists beating his hands insistently, somehow getting louder with her demands.

"I miss mommy! I want mommy!"

Tommy quickly scoops Penny from her father's hands, and Razzle doesn't stop him, just looks on with a painfully helpless expression, like he's not sure what to do with himself now. Tommy chatters away to Penny, hugging her as he takes her to walk around in the sunshine, away from the other guests, and Razzle's lip trembles as his eyes refuse to focus on anything but the beautiful picture of Charlotte her parents chose to display for the event.

Right as he bursts into tears, Lola slides into the seat beside him. No words pass between them, but she wraps him up in a hug, and he holds her tight in response, nails digging into her, apologies babbles almost incoherently, and Lola feels a wave of guilt sweep through her.

The night she'd found out Charlotte had gone missing, she'd gone to Razzle's hotel in tears, full of fury, looking for answers, for anything, knowing only that he and Charlotte had fought right before Charlotte, Peach, and Eileen had taken the spontaneous flight on which they had gone missing. She'd blamed him, at the time, for Charlotte leaving. She'd blamed him, at the time, for Charlotte going missing.

Lola whispers apologies back as best she can in her quietly drunken state, rubbing his back, wishing she'd thought to being her flask; maybe it would have helped ease some of his pain, she knew it definitely would have eased some of hers.

She can't find the words to tell him that she knows its not his fault, not before Tommy comes back right before the ceremony starts, and sits himself on Razzle's other side, Penny quiet in his arms.

When Razzle turns to see his daughter, he sees her reach out with both her arms, asking for a hug. Razzle holds her close, holds her tight, and looks to Tommy with question in his eyes.

"Told her that it was like when you went back to Finland to make music, but a bit longer."

"Momma was sad," Penny's little voice was muffled against Razzle as she refused to let go of her father. Tommy nodded sagely, and Razzle's lip trembled.

"Charlie needed a lot of hugs from Pennylope while you were away; told Penny that you'd need a lot of hugs too, now." Tommy's voice was quiet, his tone gentle like he was still explaining to Penny, and Razzle pulled his daughter back a little, giving her as much of a smile as he could muster.

"You're too good to me, Pennylope; I do need a lot of hugs," and he holds her close again, taking a deep, shake breath, "I'm never gonna let you go."

oh, wishful drinking

tell myself that I'm not thinking bout how I could drown

drown drown drown

wishful drinking

Perhaps part of the reason why Lola can't believe Charlotte's really dead is the fact that Lola had kind of always assumed Charlotte would outlive her. Its morbid, but its not ab inherently false assumption to make, considering Lola drinks probably more spirits than water and gets into fights for fun. Statistically, she should already be dead. So why was she at a funeral for Charlotte.

She finishes her glass of wine and reminds herself firmly that the funeral's a sham.

She can't actually remember how she got to the bar of the hotel that she and Nikki we're staying at in Charlotte and Tommy's home town, but a majority of the people from the funeral were there, to drink and pay their final respects, so Lola assumes one of them had brought her.

She sits at the bar and orders drinks in rapid succession, while Tommy mulls over the same glass of JD for half an hour beside her while chain-smoking and people watching. It feels like they're the only two on the same page, knowing intrinsically that Charlotte's still out there any everyone who refuses to believe that is betraying her.

"Why her?" Lola mumbles into her drink.

"She's not dead, don't you start talking like she is, too," Tommy frowns into his glass. Lola finishes her drink and pushes it out of the way as she rests her arms on the bar, and her head on her arms, looking at Tommy with a strangely blank expression.

"I know, but she's still not here; why any of them? None of them deserve it, deserve to be missing, deserve to have people stop caring about looking for them," Lola's brow creased into the barest frown, "but if people knew that they weren't gone and were just missing, just needed to be found, they'd know they still need the girls," and she gives a forlorn sigh, "they don't deserve this, people still need them."

Behind her, Tommy sees where all of Hanoi Rocks has crowded into a booth with Razzle to keep him company, doing their best to cheer him, to comfort him, each of them taking it in turn to entertain Penny, who was overjoyed at seeing her band-uncles again. The picture looked incomplete without Charlotte.

"Why them?" Lola said softly, sitting back up and ordering another drink, and Tommy hears what she really means this time, the way she implies 'it should have been me'.

go ahead and stop your thinking now

and throw it down

down down down

wishful drinking now

Lola develops a new game over the following weeks, where every time someone mentions Charlotte, she takes a shot. Or four.

Nikki's getting back to normal faster than Lola is, just says that Charlie wouldn't want to see them moping around.

Vince and Mick, still shaken by the loss of Peach and Eileen respectively, agree.

Tommy's still looking for ways to try and find them in his spare time, but focuses on the band so Charlotte will be able to come back and be proud; something about his reasoning makes bile rise in the back of Lola's throat for reasons she can't quite put her finger on.

Lola drinks, because she's come to realise she's useless. She doesn't have the actual band resources to put into helping find the girls, and Doc only keeps her on the payroll because the band won't let him fire her, he doesn't need an assistant.

The only person she would felt safe talking about all of this to was missing.

So Lola drinks.

What else is there to do?

hide your demons where no one can see em, outta sight but in your mind you believe em

drink what you want, be what they want, say what they want you to say like I can pretend that I don't wanna end I'm afraid

I'm dangerous

Lola knows now why Tommy's desperate playing to make sure Charlotte's happy upon her return makes Lola feel sick.

He kept mentioning it, kept asking whether the others thought their new album would be as good as their old stuff, the stuff Charlotte liked, and Nikki had snapped, fed up.

Lola had been in the kitchen when he'd started yelling that she wasn't coming back, and when Tommy hollered that he was an asshole at the top of his lungs.

"If she was alive, she'd be here! But she's fucking not!" Nikki's words rung through the air and were met with stunned silence, "you know why she's not here?" He hissed venomously, and Lola drops the glass she'd been holding, recognising that tone from almost a decade ago.

Nikki, in the present, snaps that its because Charlotte's gone for good, but Lola doesn't hear that. Lola hears her mother.

Lola hears that her father's never coming back because she's a disappointment, because shes not good enough, or kind enough, or talented enough.

The wrong wires connect in Lola's brain in a way that's all too familiar, in a way that makes her scars ache and tears well in her eyes.

And in another moment its gone, and Lola sees the shards on the ground and knows that Charlotte would hate a dirty kitchen. She sweeps them up.

Later, Tommy will find her, and before he can even open his mouth, she's holding his face in her hands, reassuring him that Charlotte would love their new music. His expression brightens, and he kisses her in thanks; something eases in Lola's chest.

No matter where Charlotte is, Lola will never let Tommy believe what was beaten into her for years, she'll never let him believe that he is the reason Charlotte's not here. Nobody deserves to believe that... And yet a voice in the back of Lola's mind tells her she has to do better, for Charlotte.

The voice sounds like her mother's.

do you think do you think that they notice

I keep a bottle by my bed it's the focus

drink what I want, be what I want, say what you want me to say like I can pretend that I don't wanna end I'm afraid

I'm dangerous

After a while, Doc stops praising Lola for showing up to the studio on time and sober - she's absolutely not sober, but she's also not had enough to drink for it to effect her composure. When he stops praising her, she worries that he knows she's always a little buzzed, and then she gets annoyed, thinking that he's just an asshole. It takes her a full week to realise that it's neither, in fact, its just that she's been doing it consistently enough that he's come to expect it of her.

People note her improved work ethic, compliment her even, and its nice, and she knows that if Charlotte were here that she'd be saying nice things right along side everyone else.

Nikki had been right, Charlotte wouldn't want to mope around, so Lola had to actually do well so when Charlotte came back, she could prove that she hadn't been moping.

Sometimes that voice in the back of her mind gets harsh, tells her she's not doing enough, but Lola reminds that voice that Charlotte would roll her eyes at Lola's antics, but she'd somehow always be understanding in the end. Lola didn't need to be perfect, she just needed to be better.

And she was!

She takes a shot to quiet the voice down in those moments anyways, just for good measure.

No-one seems to notice if she's four shots in before noon, one more won't hurt.

this is not a problem if I don't want it to stop

can't call it a problem if I never let a plate drop

this is not a problem if convincing that it's not

don't call it a problem it's the only thing that I still got

Nikki is spiralling into his heroin addiction of his own accord, but Lola knows Charlotte would think they're both better than that; Lola won't be able to convince Nikki, but she can keep herself away from it.

Her job's going well, and she and Tommy are still close, and she is allowed to babysit Penny on nights when Vince takes Razzle out partying. Its trust earned, that she never would have been able to earn if she hadn't been trying to do good for when Charlotte gets back.

But the world goes to hell in a single night.

What the fuck are they meant to tell Penny?

Her dad is dead.

Another thing Charlotte can't come back to.

Turns out they don't have to be the ones to tell Penny; Razzle's parents come to pick up her and their son's body, and though Tommy begs for them not to take her, they're terrified of her ending up just like her parents -

"Charlotte's not dead -"

"Wake up, Thomas, you're putting false hope into this girl's head, it'll ruin her mind if you don't let her live in reality!" Razzle's mother spits, while his father has already taken Penny out to the car to take her to the airport.

Tommy's in tears when he calls Lola.

The pair of them are devastated.

Why would Charlotte come back here if Penny and Razzle weren't here? The only person she'd loved more than Razzle was Penny, and now they were both -

"Lo, what's the point?"

"The point?"

"Of being all good and shit, for Charlie?"

"What do you mean?"

"She's not gonna come back to us," Tommy sighed, sniffling, "she's out there, but she'd go to Penny before any of us, and now..."

"Please don't say that," Lola's voice trembled, her heart beating in an erratic staccato in her chest.

"There's nothing worth coming back here for -"

Lola drops the receiver, curling in on herself, shaking all over as his words play over and over and over in her mind while all she can think about is the fact that yet again, she's not enough for someone she loved and felt safe with.

She's gasping for air, chest tight and tears stinging her eyes, heart beating in her ears while she's shaking like a leaf, in the full throes of a panic attack.

It takes her a long while to calm down, to ground herself in the feel of the carpet beneath her and the sound of the ocean outside, and the cars and the wind and the smell of the sea.

The first thing she does after she stands, is to get a drink, and then another, and then another, then to take the bottle into the bedroom, in to Nikki.

"Babe -?" He sees her red rimmed eyes first as she jostles him awake, and he wants to ask questions.

"I need something to get me out of my fucking mind, please, anything," she begs, lip trembling as she tries to focus on Nikki and not Tommy's words on loop in her mind.

"You sure?"

"Anything, the world is a fucking nightmare, and nothing fucking matters," and Nikki leans over to his nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling out a kit Lola knew was his heroin kit. Now it didn't seem like a bad choice.

"Is this about Razz?" Nikki asks, making quick work of preparing the drug for her. Lola swallows hard, and sits on the bed.

"Neither of them fucking deserved it," and Nikki knows immediately that she's referring to both Charlotte and Razzle, and he pauses, "the world needs people like them."

The room is very quiet for the few moments where Nikki cooks the powder to a liquid, pulling it up into his syringe. He instructs Lola on how to tie off her arm, and carefully injects her after double checking that its what she wanted.

As the tie around her arm is loosened, and the drug hits, Lola laughs, but there's no humour in it, her head tipping back, bottle still clutched firmly in her other hand.

"Its a fucking joke that the world is stuck with people like me."

[cassandraclare]

Queen of Air and Darkness q’s: Kitty, and blame

sweetestheavencanmake said: Hi. Out of all of the amazing ships from TDA, I have to say Kitty holds the number one spot for me. Despite how Kit and Ty left things I still have high hopes for my precious boys. But I can’t help but think

 that Kit might have overreacted a bit. I mean, did I miss something? I know he thought he got rejected by Ty and that he never cared about him, but I really didn’t get that impression. Ty was just hurting, I don’t think that there was a lot of place for new love just yet. Thx.

Hi there! I'm glad you like Kit and Ty. It's such a compliment! That said: It's natural and something that often happens, that readers react to a separation or a conflict by picking a side, saying one person is more in the wrong, blaming them and excusing the other. It is easier, I think, to imagine that it’s one person’s fault than to accept that sometimes these things happen even between two people who care about each other because of misunderstandings, because of circumstances, because of honest mistakes, or because it’s maybe not the right time for those people to be together.

(Believe me, I also have messages blaming Ty and asking if he ever cared about Kit at all, so it’s possible to read what happened with Kit and Ty many ways. I’ll answer one of those in a bit, since I don’t think the situation is Ty’s fault either.)

It may seem clear to you that Ty’s rejection of Kit had extenuating circumstances, and that Ty may not be in a place to form a new relationship right now (in which case, even if Kit had stayed, they still wouldn’t be together what with Ty not being in any state for it!) But consider Kit's situation. Kit has been raised his whole life without love, absolutely aware, as we know, that his father didn't love him in the way the Blackthorns love each other. His mother has never been a presence in his life. She was murdered, and her absence--and Johnny Rook's missing her--created a gaping wound in the middle of Kit's family life that he felt though never understood. He was neglected, raised scrambling through the Shadow Market, taught to be jaded and taught--via not being loved--that he wasn't worthy of love. If Rosemary Herondale had understood how her son was living, her heart would have broken. Then the only constant support in Kit's life, inadequate though it was, was taken away--his father--and with his father's murder, Kit's whole life and world was ripped away from him. He had no family. He was no longer welcome at the Shadow Market, the only home he ever had. He was drowning, and he clutched at the Blackthorns as his only hope.

Ty suffered a terrible loss in Queen, and that led to him making mistakes--grief for Livvy means Ty makes the wrong decision to try to raise her, just as the same grief means Julian makes the wrong decision to render himself emotionless. But Ty still has many other loving siblings, and the benefit of their love and support. Julian and his siblings wrap Ty in affection throughout the books. At the end of Queen, Dru embraces Ty, accepting and understanding why he did such a terrible thing as to try to bring Livvy back from the dead. There is never a time when Ty is living without love. Kit spends the entirety of The Dark Artifices living without family love. It says a lot about Kit that he is still able to feel love himself, and offer love. It's a big deal for him to do so. Kit saying “I love you” to Ty was the first time he'd ever said that to anybody other than his dad. Most of us, who have loved family and friends if not romantic partners, cannot conceive of the kind of loneliness Kit feels.

And we know what response Kit received. Sure, Ty--a deeply mourning kid--shouldn't feel like throwing himself into a romantic relationship at this time! (If that's even what Kit was offering.) But Ty didn't say “I love you too, but I have to do this” or “You're very important to me.” Now, Ty was in  a fever state, desperately trying to get this spell to work at the last moment — it’s arguable how much he even understood what Kit was saying to him. But the result remains that this left Kit, a traumatized and neglected orphan, with the impression that Ty didn't care about him--something that makes sense to Kit, because nobody ever has. Ty (accidentally) reinforced a belief Kit has had his whole life.

Ty was the one who offered the Blackthorns to Kit as a potential new family, saying “you'd like us if you knew us” and Kit accepts them as his new family, saying home was where the Blackthorns are. His primary bonds among the Blackthorns are Livvy (who dies) and Ty himself, who has responded to Kit's declaration of love by (or at least, this is how it feels to Kit) telling Kit he doesn't matter to him--only Livvy matters. Now, Ty interacts with and talks about emotions differently than the neurotypical do, but mainly this is Ty's totally understandable grief at work. Ty spends the whole book in a fog of grief, and thus doesn't offer support to Kit--he can't. He doesn’t, as they say, have the spoons for it. But that doesn't mean Kit doesn't need support, and he spends all of the book with absolutely none. Kit is also a deeply hurt kid, dealing with his own grief, and he can’t shoulder the entire responsibility of figuring out and allowing for Ty's emotional state while putting aside his own. Not because he wouldn’t want to — he literally can’t.

Sure, from the outside readers can say “Ty probably does care about Kit.” But from the outside readers can also say “Wow, Ty, necromancy is a bad idea and will only hurt those you love farther!” Books ask you to understand why people do the things they do because you believe in them as people: they’re not going to do what you’d do, they need to do what they’d do. This book asks you to understand why Ty, terribly grieving, makes an awful mistake. And why Kit, a deeply wounded soul, might be more easily hurt than someone with a different history.

Just as an interesting note, I often see people saying that characters “deserve” and should have PoVs, not realizing that actually often the characters who are most beloved are the ones who aren’t given PoVs but are people we see from outside and idealize. To the last, Kit's feelings about Ty are sympathetic and not angry--he tells himself to remember him smiling, even while he is wounded by what he believes is Ty's lack of care for him--and thus I think people feel very understanding of Ty's mistakes and less so of Kit's, and don't realize this is partly because of Kit's PoV. We see inside Kit's head his deep concern for Ty, and his efforts to understand Ty, but we don't get that forgiving perspective on Kit. We're not inside Ty's head in TDA, and that means we don't see his flaws and mistakes as up close as we do Kit's. We look best in the eyes of those who love us, so Ty can be beautiful and shine in Kit's eyes (and in Julian's eyes, and in Emma's eyes, and Dru's eyes, because the majority of PoVs we get are of people who love Ty! Whereas--and this is terribly sad even to write, but true--nobody loves Kit.). But Kit deserves understanding, too, and the love he doesn't receive. Kit's just as beautiful as Ty. And Ty's just as flawed as Kit.

Ty was hurting, yes. But that wasn’t a hurt that had some soon to be reached expiration date on it. Had Kit remained, it’s likely Ty would have still gone to the Scholomance, and Kit would not have been able to go, and Kit and Ty would have been separated and perhaps still at odds. At the moment there are both things they need that they cannot get just from each other in order to heal and grow in security and wholeness. So I would disagree Kit over-reacted. Kit's belief about Ty is mistaken, and parting from the Blackthorns with no goodbye is sad for everyone--but it's also something that Kit needs, psychologically.  Kit acts throughout Queen to protect Ty's feelings, and finally, at the very last, Kit has to act to protect his own feelings. It's OK for Kit to do that. After TDA, Kit will be with Tessa and Jem, who want to care for him and bond with him, to make him a priority and family--and he will have a familial relationship with Jace, too. Adults have come, and are no longer directly dealing with wars and assassination attempts but able to offer Kit the peace, love and understanding he's always desperately needed. Kit needed to go, to make a clean break, and to have a chance to heal from his own grief and pain. In a few years, Kit will not be so entirely alone and feel so entirely unloved, and Ty will not be reeling from fresh grief. They will both still feel their wounds, but they'll have more tools to cope with their pain and understand the pain of others. Which will put them in a much better place when they meet again.

[alvaar-aldaviir]

Movement: Nocturne 1/2

Time Frame: Shadowbringers MSQ. Spoilers accordingly up to Holminster Switch.

Notes: Grief and angst and a whole lot of comforting the best girl. Platonic SFW cuddling and comfort with an older Alisaie. Second chapter incoming.

Cross-posted to Ao3.

-

On the eve of Holminster Switch, Alvaar just wants to get some sleep on the first proper night he’s had in days. But there’s no rest for the wicked, and it’s more than worth staying up to comfort the person who needs it most.

Handling loss and grief is starting to feel old hat to him anyway.

-

With a fresh breeze from the first night sky over Lakeland in 100 years, Alvaar figured he was long overdue for some sleep. It didn’t make it any easier to find, especially when he knew Alisaie likely still grieved for Tesleen at Holminster’s Switch. In fact, he’d rather hoped to abate some of that unease with one of his old late-night talks with Alphinaud, but the Scholar had dismissed himself shortly after they’d arrived at the Crystarium.

He didn’t like leaving Alisaie behind, but he understood her request to be alone. To grieve in solitude as she had likely done many times before.

So he’d had a nice chat with some hunters in a bar, had a few ales, listened to Ardbert be suitably cryptic while he shrugged out of his gear and cleaned it, and fallen face first into his bed in little more than his boxers.

Perhaps it’s the stress of a foreign world that has him sleeping too hard to rouse at the light rap at his door. The faint creak as the door swings in stirs him just a little, ear twitching but writing it off as unimportant. It’s only when the chill of slim fingers settle to his chest that he blinks awake, tense and still as someone burrows in against his back in silence.

How he didn’t come awake swinging is a whole other mystery... But it’s the cursory glance at well-kept nails that has him speaking with certainty instead of hesitant question. “Alisaie? You’re cold, dear.”

He doesn’t receive a response, though on some level he didn’t expect her to. It’s not the first time she’d handled her grief in the quiet or the silence, but he supposed it’s the first time she’d invited herself into his bed. Briefly he ponders the scandal of it, more from not wanting to upset her brother than anything else, but for everywhere the chill clings to her it’s the hot press of her face against his back that quiets it. That has his hands slipping over hers and vainly trying to warm them up.

“Come on now dear, I’m not going anywhere,” he chides, the words long familiar as he whispers them. Repeated often in the Rising Stones as the months passed, uncertain for the fate of the others. In Ishgard after he’d finally felt the despair from his own intimate loss... “Let me up, I should really grab a shirt and get off this blanket. You’re freezing.”

Instead she shakes her head, fingers clutching a bit tighter against his skin and he blows out a sigh.

This long and still so much pride... they really are too alike.

“You took your boots off at least?” he asks gently, fingers soothing over hers for heat. Again, no response and he gives a theatric huff. “Stubborn.”

It isn’t hard to free himself, pushing himself up to grab the blanket still folded at the end of the bed and glancing into the room. He’s much too used to the shade of the Shroud, and he spots her sword and focus on the table and boots next to a chair in the moonlit dark easily. He’d always been rather at home in the night... It was what made that blanket of stars a relief to see again even after his brief time on the First in the blistering sands and on still watered shores.

Shaking out the blanket, he fusses it up over the both of them.

“You’ve handled your sword and focus?” he asks again, and this time he gets a small nod. “Good. A Warrior should always look after the equipment that looks after them,” he murmurs, tone quiet and soft.

Distraction. Speaking of mundane simple things instead of the more difficult situations that made the mind withdraw. He was familiar with it. He could recall the times Haurchefant had done the same for him, distracting him with easier things until his mind could unwind from whatever dark place it had been. The patient chatter that at least said you weren’t alone.

Slipping an arm under the Red Mage, he pulls her closer to the center of the bed with him before curling up around her protectively. Tucks her under his chin and holds her close, petting soft white strands idly a moment before resting his palm over the chilled length of an ear.

It takes a few moments for her to move. To shift closer and slip an arm around his back and bury her face against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” Alvaar murmurs softly. “Whatever happens, you’ll always have me. That’s a promise.”

It’s quiet between them, silence creeping into the shadows of the room as the Bard waits patiently. Let’s her warm up steadily from the chill.

Even waiting for them, her words catch him by surprise.

“It never gets easier... does it?” Her voice is soft in the quiet, hollow and sad, and even speaking the words she doesn’t move further. Merely waits for his reply and he can feel the expectation of it.

And for a moment, he almost wants to lie. Wants to offer some false hope or comfort. But he knows in these times of hardship and trial, truth is more important between them, no matter how painful it might be.

“No. It never does,” he sighs finally, squeezing her a bit tighter for a moment. “It hurts each time. The guilt tears into you each time. It rips and bleeds and hurts, every time. .... And... I hope it never stops hurting each time either.”

At that he feels her flinch, tilting her head as if to hear him better. He doesn’t need to see her expression to know the puzzlement and loss.

They’re old words. From distant memories. Standing at a different gravestone next to the faceless memory of the woman who had raised him. Rosa’s words. As he’d knelt in the dirt and asked her how to handle the pain. How to handle the loss and the heartache. Why bother loving anything when it hurt so much to have it taken away?

Words that were no less painful to remind himself over the last few years.

“For myself,” he starts quietly, taking in a steadying breath. “I hope it never gets easier. I hope it hurts. I hope it aches. I hope it tears me up inside. I hope each person lost lingers on me like a scar so I never forget it. I hope I never grow numb to what those people meant to me. I hope I never stop reaching out to others anyway, even knowing it might hurt. Even knowing that one day it can all end in tragedy. .... I hope I never stop trying to love and care about people.

“This world can be so cruel, Alisaie. This world will always seem to try and tear you down. And if you close off your heart to protect yourself, then that’s all it will ever seem. If you close off your heart to the pain, then it’s like you’re closing it off to all of that good too. Blocking yourself off from that joy and love in the world, no matter how brief it might be. So... don’t be afraid of that hurt. Don’t be afraid of what makes you human.

“.... I want it to hurt. I want that pain to make me strive harder to protect those beside me now. And I want it to linger and remind me of how beautiful the times I had with those lost were.”

Nuzzling into white hair he held tight for a moment. “It never gets any easier, but we can make it mean something. The ache of loss stays the same but carrying the weight of memory gets easier. Each voice, each scar, layering over into our personal song. ... I don’t ever want to forget a single part of it.”

A soft bitter snort left her, fingers gripping a bit tighter against his skin. “How like a Bard... you almost make it sound like some romantic notion and not an aching reminder of my failures...”

Alvaar falls quiet, unwilling to protest out of reflex and further unwilling to gloss over her own pains when he knows it will do no favors. But there’s a weight in the silence that follows, the faintest shift of her jaw that says she needs him to continue. That she wants to understand this curious belief he’s fostered through years of hardship.

“The very first Bards found their magic because of such things, Alisaie. From having to stoically watch as their comrades fell around them in battle, the first echoes of Bardsong came on the ringing of a bowstring instead of a harp. Hoarse voices rising over the sound of slaughter to give flight to that feeling of helplessness. Burning such awful memories into our hearts, harnessing that emotion to give strength to our comrades, carrying the burden of all that bitter agony with a compassionate heart and holding it as close as we do all the joyous memories we cherish... That is what makes a Bard.”

“And another lecture,” she murmured, tone empty of what was usually a teasing note but Alvaar didn’t take it to heart regardless when he can read it for what it is. “You speak as if you were there. Like you’ve heard it...” she continues softly.

Once more silence ranged between them for a few beats before he offered a simple reply. “Because I have.”

The Red Mage goes very still in his arms for a moment before tilting her head up slightly, “How so?”

Again, there’s a pensive pause. Alvaar was hardly one to speak about himself and his past, even as keen as he was to talk about Bards and their histories. Another deep sigh left him before he began. “The first Bardsong I learned is the Mage’s Ballad. A song given to me by the crystal I carry, ‘The Soul of the Bard.’ But the first song I learned myself was The Warden’s Paean. A song that allows you to aid others in time of need and safeguard them from future danger temporarily. And I learned it by putting the restless souls of the fallen to their eternal rest.

“Their regrets, potent enough to chain a soul to its remains for years after death, have marked upon my heart and soul and found resonance. I have felt that fervent wish, that desperation, that wailing cry of torment... from in life and from the hereafter. I know that song and its rhythm as intimately as my own heartbeat, Alisaie, because I have also lost everything that I held dear to me. Because I have lain mired and heartsick wishing I had done something to stop it. A Bard cannot sing of anything but a heartfelt truth if they wish to use their magic. The words, the notes, those are of no consequence. But it’s the underlying sincerity in that feeling which remains the same and lets us channel Bardsong.”

Alvaar hears the soft huff she gives, knowing he’s gone on long enough. So he heaves a slow sigh, squeezing her again briefly. “I know. It will all sound flat and hollow. It won’t sound like the pain that you feel, and frankly, I wouldn’t insult you by saying I know what you’re feeling... It’s yours Alisaie. It’s a feeling that is yours and yours alone. For now, just grieve, I’ll be here with you for as long as you need. Tonight, and tomorrow, and all the days after if you require.”

There’s the faintest twitch of her fingers against his back, the lightest drag of nails as she balls them into a fist and her arm tightens about him with more strength than he remembers. Again, there’s a grim reminder of the time that has passed. Months in a foreign land, and a wiry solidness to her slightly taller frame that’s new and wholly her own. She’s familiar but changed, forged further in the flames of conflict and heat of desert sands.

The choked sob that leaves her shuddering frame, however, is something he knows from experience.

“I loved her...” The words are strained, warped with tears and grief as she buries herself against his chest and finally cries. The sort of deep and broken sobs that sound a little different from this side of them.

It’s not something that catches him by surprise. At least, not right now. When he’d first heard the few lilting notes of a familiar flute after he’d reunited with Alisaie in Amh Araeng he’d been puzzled but brushed it off as not his to question. The music he occasionally heard that accompanied people, his gift as a Bard and perhaps as one blessed with the Echo, could sometimes give him clues to things. Personalities, quirks, and even what he hazarded as commonalities.

For the longest time he’d heard the same somber but dignified tune between Alisaie and Alphinaud. Something they’d shared with Louisoix. Some weird quirk he’d chalked up to common blood and legacy. The drive and sense of duty to continue what their beloved Grandfather had started. In the years since he had heard the changes and nuance they gained, as each sibling grew with their experiences. Still not far removed from that canticle, but altering and molding through it, separate unique takes to a theme.

And so had this instrument woven its way, subtle and soft, into those somber notes of Alisaie’s song. Something warm, gentle and loving. The quiet solo that had whispered to him as he’d walked with Tesleen to the Inn at Journey’s End in harmony to the hiss of sand underfoot. A song that had reassured him there would be no trap waiting for him, but an important answer he sought.

The difference a few months could make on someone... in a foreign place at the edge of a world on the brink of desolation and destruction. The final resting place for those lost souls forsaken and beyond saving...

He would have fallen in love too. The same way he had fallen so hopelessly in love when his own sad and weary heart had learned such gentle kindness from a loving soul.

“I...” He wants to apologize for the world’s cruelty. To say it will be okay. But he knows himself how little, how hollow their meaning and sound. How cruel they are even as a perceived kindness...

“I’ve got you,” he repeats instead, the words finding their way with her next pained sob. “I’m here. You don’t have to keep it all locked up inside, Alisaie. I’m here for you.”

They’re words that had shattered him like glass years before in the Falling Snows. And though it’s hard to stay still and silent, to listen to the cries and offer what weak scraps of comfort he could, he doesn’t flinch from it. Because loss and heartbreak are an awful and terrible storm, but as weak a comfort as it may seem companionship through it means everything. And though he doesn’t have the gift that Haurchefant had, the ability to say the most comforting things when they needed to be heard, he does his best with what he has. And Alvaar had, for most of his life, used music where words had failed him.

He begins to hum, something quiet, something soft. So unobtrusive she doesn’t really hear it until her tears have finally stopped. When she’s sniffling into the handkerchief he’d offered, summoned from whatever small pocket space he kept his things, and the slow notes filter through.

“Alvaar?” she asks at length, voice harsh from tears but otherwise quiet.

“Hm?”

“Is that,” a pause as her words crack to clear her throat tiredly, “the song you were talking about?”

“For Warden’s Paean? Yea.”

“... I’ve never heard it before.”

“Well... it’s my take on it. Something personal to me. Not all Bards need sing the same song for the effect,” he murmured.

“It’s... gentler than I thought it would be,” she mused softly. “Almost like a lullaby.”

“Different rendition. Don’t get me started, you know I’ll wax poetic all night and bore you to t-... sleep.” He gives a slow faintly pained sigh at the blatant adjustment. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem bothered.

“... Would it... be alright if I didn’t talk about it right now? Later... I think. Just not right now,” she murmurs.

Ruffling her hair gently he hums in agreement. “Whenever you like or even not at all. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Just... know that you can talk to me about it. Any of it. Even if it’s just memories or something unrelated.”

Alisaie nodded slightly, again her fingers shifting against his back and tightening subconsciously a moment before her next question.

“Would it... may I stay? With you I mean... like this...” It’s hesitant, a touch wary. A fear of rejection he’s familiar with. The tension in her shoulders eases as the Bard gives her a reassuring squeeze of the arm around her back.

“If you wish. Just maybe let me get dressed. It’ll be a bit more comfortable for me that way.”

There’s a pause of silence where she shifts back to look at him in confusion before glancing down at where her hand is pressed to his chest. “Oh.” Another beat. “Oh! Yes of course!”

Alvaar at least manages not to laugh at her as she quickly scrambled out from under the blanket and sits up on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched in embarrassed mortification. Instead he hauls himself up, a brief flicker of light and whisper of aether in the dark as he summons in one of his thinner tunics and tugs it on before doing the same with a worn pair of cotton pants. Slipping to the edge of the bed, he pauses to ruffle her hair fondly before rising to his feet. “Need a change of clothes? I don’t recommend sleeping in one’s battle attire, but I won’t judge either. Done it plenty myself.”

She lifts her head at that, staring into the room blankly a moment before sighing faintly. “I likely should. I have something in my kit...” Her words trailed off; expression pensive in the silver edged glow of the moonlight reflecting off the floor. “... I should take a bath too I suppose.”

“If you like. I’ll wait for you. Otherwise I’ve got a wash basin you can use,” he offered, long strides already seeing him across the expansive room. Casting a glance back at her and the listless stare she was giving at nothing, he frowned faintly. “Maybe that. It’s been a long day.” Gripping the water pitcher, he tapped a finger against the ceramic, setting a steady quarter time.

The faint vibration that started to build in the air wasn’t lost on him. In the still and quiet he could feel the faintest pulse of wind currents against his skin as he started to hum softly. A soft but loving piece, the flicker of flames and a grief-stricken firebird in his memories. By the time he’d returned to the bedside with pitcher and basin both, the water he poured into it was steaming in the cool air.

He missed Alisaie’s puzzled expression, but not the inflection of it on her words. “I thought you said you were aether inept?”

“I am. A little less so with your tutelage... but don’t fret a Bard for their tricks. Lavender or rose?”

“What?”

“Which do you prefer? Lavender is better for sleep they say but I like roses myself. Very classic.”

“I... lavender I suppose. ... Wait, you carry around bath oil?” she asked after a moment when he summoned in one of his packs and pulled a bottle from it. Giving a measured splash into the basin before stashing it back and swirling the contents nonchalantly.

“I’m a fop at heart Miss Leveilleur. You don’t think I step off the battlefield looking this sharp because of Hydaelyn’s blessing, do you? Because I assure you... it does nothing. Beauty is pain,” he remarked lightly, waving a fresh washcloth at her before holding it over. “Here. I’ll take your gear to the mender. I noticed a few tears in that jacket of yours. A lady needs her privacy after all, so take your time.”

Taking the offered cloth after a moment she heaved a slow but grateful sigh. “Thank you. I... would it be too troublesome to take my dress too? It would be nice to get it cleaned and repaired.”

That drew the Bard up short a moment before he nodded. “Sure. I’ll keep my back turned. Blankets behind you for modesty,” he replied, quickly doing an about face to stand at attention and huffing when she snorted out a soft laugh.

“Thanks,” she murmured, this one a bit more heartfelt as she pressed the fabric into his hands that were resting behind his back.

“Of course. I’ll be back,” he returned, quickly excusing himself and grabbing her leather jacket and boots up as he left.

Shutting the door behind him he had all of a second to be puzzled by the white glow and luminescent fur of a rather large carbuncle sitting outside his door before he noticed Alphinaud standing farther behind it. A moment of equal surprise passed them both with the distant sounds of revelry still echoing through the Pendants. The Scholar stared at him silently in confusion before his gaze flicked down to the clothes in Alvaar’s arms.

When the deep blue of his gaze locked back on the Bards face, a flicker of something protective and angry that he hazarded was rapidly approaching murderous, it resonated in an actual bolt of fear piercing the Warrior of Lights heart. He’d fought on three war fronts in the last few years with a staunch and unwavering conviction.

And in the face of one Alphinaud Leveilleur, who was already settling a hand on the tome at his hip, he immediately put his hands up in surrender. “I can explain.”

“Start.”

[plague-doctor-jules]

“No peace in death” - Count Lucio’s musings over Julian’s dead body

Fandom: The Arcana Pairings: Lucio x Julian, Julian x Asra P.O.V: Lucio Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of self harming behavior and mental health issues, sexual themes, major character death Description: This fanfic was written after a prompt by @vesuviass about Julian not coming back to life after his execution... and a grief-striken, newly resurrected Lucio grieving over his dead body. Written in Lucio’s POV

Call me evil if you want. I will accept the characterization. Is evil something I am, or something I do, I wonder. For all I know, I am a mere human; and humans err. I have taken many bad decisions along the years, and hurt many people, there is no point in denying it to myself anymore. But I swear, I never wanted to hurt him the way I did. Yet... I don’t think I’ve hurt a man more than him.

And now... now he’s gone.

“You are an idiot, Jules. An utter, complete idiot. Not that I was not aware of that. But dying for a crime you did not commit? That is the summit of how far idiocy goes.” I whisper, holding the urge to slap him just in time. There’s no use. Not anymore. My words and my strikes can hurt him no more... no more than they already have and no more than he has himself.

If he could hear me, he’d probably let out one of his signature chuckles, before he agreed with me. Oh, of all people, he wouldn’t pass an opportunity to diminish and insult himself, as if he was getting off on it. I honestly didn’t know one’s self hatred could run so deep that it could become a personality trait before I met this man... and still, I had underestimated him. We all had. 

As he lays in his coffin, I cannot help but observe how beautiful he is, even in death. How beautiful he always was. Porcelain white skin, soft and supple to the touch... Eyes of the purest silver... Magma colored curls cascading down, framing his ascetic face, the sharp jawline and high cheekbones. Sumptuous inviting lips, whose curves could rewrite history. So close, and yet, so out of reach. Frozen into time... forever more. 

It was that beauty that drew me to him initially, before I even known his name... but his strange kindness was what enslaved me to him, in a way that most perceived as...scary. That, and his exquisite addiction to his own suffering. All the people I’ve known despised me -perhaps for a good reason. But not him. He never left my side, not even when I had given him plenty of reasons to. 

Why was he doing this? Was it just a part of his good nature, to always see the good in others that kept him around? His moral compass that dictated that he should never abandon a comrade and a patient of his, even when said comrade made his life a living hell? Or was it that he craved the way I treated him; in anger and lust alike, as a distraction from the hell that resided into his heart -or, better said, the need to be treated as the worthless scum he saw himself. Too bad... because regardless of my actions, I knew that he was the opposite.

“Use me...” he used to implore me. “Take me... hurt me...”But I could hear only one thing. Break me. So I did; again and again; and each time I did the deeper the sadness hidden in his stormy eyes each time he returned to me for more. Why did he return..? What drew him back to me, what fascinated him so about my ways of showing him pain and disgrace..? And what made me break him more and more before putting him back together, only to break him again and again when I wanted more than anything to hold him tight against me, caress his hair and tell him how much he meant to me? Was it selfishness? Arrogance? Jealousy? Yes, that was it. I was jealous. 

No, not jealous of him; his self-sacrificing ways were never something I desired for myself. ‘Twas that magician I was jealous of. That magician who never loved anyone except himself; and he certainly did not love him.  He did not deserve his pain, his affection, his love; when it should be mine and mine alone. So I carved my name onto his delicate freckled skin and heart, and he carved his name too; just to get even... just to show me that I was not worthy to have such a rare being as him for myself. Just to deny me his love. 

It was a game played between us, and the poor doctor was caught in between: the only pawn; used by both sides and wounded by both sides, as he was pushed back and forth in our attempt to hurt each other by hurting him. 

We had not calculated how much pain he could take before he broke. We were too oblivious to that, as we were too deeply emerged into our own competition over him. Too oblivious, until it was too late. 

I died. I came back.

He died. Permantly.

He died for my wrongdoings, mine and Asra’s. Though the executioner was the one who pulled the lever, we were the culprits for his death, I see that now. Asra for using his feelings towards him for his own gain. Me, for my erroneous dealings with supernatural entities, a plague that was sourced in me, my stubborness, possessiveness and delight in subduing and humiliating others before me. I loved him; and killed him, because I couldn’t show him how much I loved him otherwise.

The white lillies that surround his body do not suit him. They did not suit him in life, and they do not suit him now. Nor does the emptiness into his eyes, as he gazes into nothing -he was found too late, and they had already dried out; the mortician could not close them... So they remain open; like broken windows to a soul long gone... If it weren’t for them or the vibrant rope burn around his neck, one would perhaps think the doctor’s asleep; there’s a strange calmness settled onto his features; the likes of which I had never seen when he was alive. Though the melancholy on his features is even more prominent than it used to be; and for once, he cannot mask it with his wits or humor. Even in death, the doctor has not found the peace he was so desperately seeking.

“You idiot...” I whisper again, fingers tracing the beloved features of his face; his cheekbones, his jawline, as if trying to memorize them. “How dare you leave me, how dare you die without my permission...” I glance around to make sure nobody’s watching and I lean down to crash my lips onto his, that stil smell of coffee. They’re lifeless, bruised and cold, so cold and so unlike the way they used to be,punctuating the wrongness of this; the unfairness of his death. I kiss him again and again, furiously; as if he’s going to return to life this way. I was fully aware of the hot tears that were running down his cheeks and ruining my makeup, but I could not care less at the moment. “I’m sorry... I am so sorry...”

[hokorii]

Tina Goldstein

Buckle up friends and let me write you an essay on why I find Tina Goldstein so endearing. I know some people are not fond of her, and at face value I can perhaps understand why. But I recently re-watched the first movie, and I wanted to touch on two specific pieces of information that we learn about her that really pull at my heartstrings. One of those things has to do with her clothes, odd I know, but stick with me. Also, just to be clear I’m not attempting to change anyone's mind - just sharing my thoughts. 

First things first, her background: In the first Fantastic Beasts movie, we’re introduced to Tina - an American Auror who has been demoted for seemingly attacking a no-maj. Early in the movie, during the dinner scene, we learn from Queenie that Tina is the “career girl,” indicating to us that her career is very important to her, as we no doubt discover as the movie progresses.  Back to the dinner scene, and more importantly, to the fact that we learn Tina and Queenie are orphans, having lost their parents to Dragon-pox at a young age. This is the most important detail revealed about them because it opens up a world of understanding about these sisters, what their life must have been like growing up, and the adversities they had to overcome. I don’t think I need to go into detail about the devastation and emotional toll caused by losing your parents, especially when you’re a child, I think it’s universally understood. So, just that alone makes you feel for them. Just to think of all of the birthdays they celebrated by themselves, all of the milestones their parents weren’t around to see, all the times they were scared or felt alone in the world and needed the comfort of a caring adult to tell them it would be okay - it is undeniably sad. We also know that Tina is presumed to be the older sister, though I don’t believe we know exactly when Queenie was born, it is implied she is younger, and this is an important piece of information for my personal understanding of Tina. We also don’t really know at what age they were when they lost their parents, but from Tina’s memories in the death chamber, we can see she is young, maybe 8 or 9 - no happy memories are revealed of her and her parents at an age older than that. Obviously, we can’t say for sure they didn’t die while they were teens, but it’s more than likely they died when Tina was in the age range of 9-11, because her happiest memories are from that younger age, and because Queenie says, “when we were kids.” 

So, imagine you’re Tina, you’re maybe 10, your parents die, and suddenly you and your sister are all you have in the world. And as the older sister, she likely feels a sense of responsibility to protect and raise her younger sister. Tina grew up the moment her parents passed away. She could no longer be the smiling, care free child we saw in her memory. And, even though she’s grieving the loss of her parents, just like Queenie, she must push her emotions aside, be strong and figure out how to survive, for the both of them. We learn from interviews that Queenie and Tina “raised each other” telling us that they had no family to take them in. Instead, Tina took on the role of her father, and Queenie of her mother. This makes Tina’s quest to become an Auror and make a career for herself all the more important, because she had no choice. It was their only way out of this desperate situation. They could literally only depend on themselves - no one was coming to save them. 

When Tina went away to school, she likely took that sense of responsibility with her - keeping her head down. We can tell from Tina’s demeanor that she has some self-esteem issues which probably originated in school. Her focus is entirely on her work, on surviving. It’s also clear that she may not feel as pretty as Queenie, but that she compensates with her work, and in school, likely with her studies. She probably didn’t turn a lot of heads the way her sister did, and that’s integral to her character development. I should be clear, that I don’t think Queenie had the easiest time in school either, because her ability to read minds was probably overwhelming as she was growing up. Not to mention, she can hear every awful thought anyone might have about her, whether it’s guys who only see her as a conquest, or girls who are jealous of her appearance - and that has to change you as a person. But I would imagine Queenie was quite popular in school nonetheless. When Tina, Newt and Jacob are walking up the stairs to her apartment she tells her landlord that she’s, “always alone.” I can’t imagine that she was much different as a teen, then she is now as an adult. Tina is more serious than her sister, she is hyper-focused on her job, and having friends, let alone a boyfriend, isn’t something she even allows herself to indulge in. I’m also not saying that Tina isn’t pretty, she’s beautiful, but her looks are not highlighted - the way she feels on the inside is. 

Now, let’s get to the piece of information that really hit me about Tina. Tina’s outfits throughout the movie are clearly not flattering. Her coats are over-sized, her pants are somewhat ill fitting, and her shoes appear to be men’s - this is intentional. In an interview with Katherine Waterston, we find out that Tina’s work clothes are comprised of pieces she pulled from her parent’s wardrobes. Think about that for a second, I’ll wait...

Still nothing? Let me break it down: This young girl, recently graduated, has, after years of struggle, hard work and fierce determination, overcome the odds and landed her dream job as an Auror. She’s elated, but then she realizes she’ll need something more professional to wear to work and she pauses. Having very little in the way of money, and having grown out of most of her adolescent clothes, she realizes she has to use what she already has to cobble together an outfit deemed appropriate for the job and the office. So, she hesitantly pulls out the chest they keep their parents things in, the only things they have to remember them by, dusts it off and opens it. I would imagine just this act is very painful for her. The memory of her parents comes flooding back, as she runs her hands over the fabric, carefully handling each piece. This should be a time of celebration because her parents would be so proud of what she’s accomplished, but they’re not there to calm her nerves or to give her customary words of encouragement on her first day. Instead, she pulls out her father’s shoes, and his pants (because she’s as tall as he was) and her mother’s blouse and she and Queenie work to make them fit. However, they’re not as good at sewing yet, so what we see Tina wearing is the best they could do. When she goes to work for the first time, maybe she’s a little embarrassed because everyone around her has newer, more tailored clothes. They look more professional. But, she doesn’t let it bother her because she feels as sense of security having a piece of them with her. Heartbreaking. This sweet little girl is reminded of her loss at every turn, but she still pushes forward because that’s the only thing she knows to do, and she doesn’t want to let them, or Queenie down. She’s proud of what she’s accomplished, but she doesn’t flaunt it. It’s Queenie, always supportive of her sister, who beams about her and her career to Jacob and Newt - not Tina. Tina is shy and reserved outside of her work. How can you not want to hug her after hearing all that? Just the image of young Tina pulling herself together to try and make the best of what she has of her parent’s things is burned into my brain. 

So, when she loses that job it is all the more devastating. Especially because she loses it trying to protect someone who couldn’t protect themselves. I would imagine she saw a lot of herself or perhaps Queenie in Credence, both being orphans. She wanted to protect him, but for all her efforts she lost the one thing she had worked so hard for. So, when she sees a man, Newt, whom by the way Katherine confirms Tina was already attracted to in the bank, flagrantly breaking a handful of laws, she pushes aside any feelings of attraction she might have, and does what she believes is the right thing. She may have been demoted, and she’s under no obligation to care at this point, but she can’t turn her sense of right and wrong off. Once again, she cannot allow herself the indulgence.  

Fast-forward through their adventure, to the death chamber. A horrific experience for both Newt and Tina. (Sidebar - how twisted this method of killing is, sheesh.) Here Tina unintentionally reveals (or is forced to) more about herself than she has to anyone else other than Queenie, via her memories. This is a traumatic, but bonding experience. Those memories give Newt a deeper understanding of her and when he saves her in that death chamber it is likely the first time in her life that someone has come to her rescue since her parents died. That is huge. They spend the rest of the movie working together, and at the end they’re both reluctant to part because they’ve found someone who, for once, really “sees” them. Tina is, for the first time, hopeful that perhaps she can allow herself the indulgence. That perhaps she can be wanted, and that someone could return her affections. 

That is why, for me, it will be all the sweeter when they realize that their feelings for each other are reciprocated. Here are two people who haven’t had the easiest time in life, finding each other, and falling for each other despite what others see as flaws. Newt will be just as thunderstruck that she loves him, as she will be that he loves her. It’s also understandable that once Tina allows herself to feel for Newt, it is all the more hurtful when there is a miscommunication and she thinks she may have been mistaken in CoG. But, I am confident they’ll work through it, and I’m so excited to watch them grow closer. I can’t think of two more deserving characters to find their soulmate in each other. 

Did you get to the end? High-five!