#second one as a sequel to my first drawing of them lets all pretend that everything is ok 🙂‍↕️

[moxymaxing]

(said like a normal person) hello

[smartie-chan]

Long rambling incoming in 3,2,1...

I know that I'm not really any kind of big celebrity in the Stobotnik world. The only thing I've got going for myself is the fact that I've been there since the very beginning, with my one 'I'm so proud of this community' Meme getting a like or two every full moon or so. It's also been a hot second since I've written a Stobotnik Fic, and yet, I've never really left the fandom. Far from it.

So boooooy, when that trailer dropped, let's just say, I've been going wild! That being said, I have calmed down a tiny bit and woud like to share my two cents with you all.

Especially since, considering how gay the trailer was, I've noticed people kind of leaning into either of two camps.

Team 1: They might actually make it canon y'all. This is not a drill!!!!

or

Team 2: This is the most intense queerbaiting I've ever seen, but fuck it, take my money!

Now, I will tell you where I'm standing at the end of things, but let's talk facts before I do, shall we?

I know Jim & Lee were having fun on set during Movie 1, but I doubt either of them expected us all to get quite this feral over these two evil man. In fact, I'm not sure what their plans were for Agent Stone in general. I'd love to believe that they saw us freaking the fuck out and decided to make Stone a big part of the sequels because of that. But then I look at the Robotnik Mushroom Planet scene and think: They gave this man an actual stone to hold onto, going so far as to carve Stone's face into said stone, just so he could pretend he wasn't alone and Stone was still with him. Clearly, Robotinik was never willing to admit that he cared, admit that there could be someone who he had allowed to get close, given that there had never been anyone before who had cared enough about HIM, so why should HE make the mistake of caring about someone else either. Cause, you know, it's easier to pretend there's noone than admit that there could be, just to realise that you were wrong actually. And yet. Despite all that he held onto Stone the stone, like his life depended on it. I love that scene because it's hella gay, but I love it even more because it's amazing writing, giving us the payoff for the forshadwed "I won't miss you when you're gone" scene from way back when. They didn't have to do that. And yet they made that choice. Included that moment for a reason. So I'd love to think that even back then, they were very willing to play with the dynamic of them going forward.

Clearly things and plans changed After Movie 1 , after we saw these two and made Stobotnik as big as it is. I'll talk about movie 2 in a hot second, but let's return to the way they promoted 2 first. Cause THAT was CLEARLY queerbaiting ... or was it... ? For you see, they knew what they were doing, they knew how to get us all excited , posting this on Valentine, letting Sonic make a heart, drawing the whole thing in a romantic light, going so far as to include bi-lighting in the trailer. On top of the latte art that was designed to get us queers to show up. I saw that art, freaked out and showed it to all of my friends. One friend, let's call her Barbara, smiled at me, like you smile at somone who still believes in the Easter Bunny and told me she hoped I knew they were playing with me. In fact, she was kind of dissapointed I allowed them to get to me so much. And I KNEW. I knew they were trying to bait me. I'm not stupid. This isn't the first time I've been queerbaited after all. And it won't be the last time, that's for sure. And yet, I didn't care because I loved that they acknowledged us. Loved that they were willing to give us something, even if it wasn't actually real and they were clearly NEVER going to include actual ship latte art of Stone & Robotnik together. Cause that would be gay. Haha. And those two totally weren't gay. Ain't I right? :)) Queer rep has gotten more common and yet, so has queerbaiting. Cause nowadays the chance that something could be actually made canon is way more likely than it was, let's say, 15 years ago. So companies love to use that, love playing into that even more. Like, do I have to remind you all what they were doing for the Deadpool & Wolverine movie marketing ??? Just saying.

As much as I love Lee and as much as we're loosing our marbels every time he as much as winks in our direction, I'll not be using any of his posts as evidence for the points I'm about to make further down. Cause, you know, at the end of the day, he's just one of us as well. Another shipper. A hella supportive shipper who may or may not have had a hand in the way he portrayed Stone, but still. Love you Lee. Thank you for having our back!

So now. Movie 2. And the godforsaken Maid Dress Scene. I hope we are all proud of ourselves. Cause that scene was our doing. I promise you, promise you!!! they didn't have that planned before the fandom happend. They saw us and were like "You can have this. As a treat :3". Personally I didn't freak out as much as the rest of you all, but I'm glad you guys had fun. It was a gift to us after all, so I guess it's fine if we enjoyed it. Jokes aside though, let's get back to what movie 2 did, even though they may or may not have realised it at the time. As in: They made Stobotnik canon. What do you mean by canon, Smartie?????, you might ask. And I'll answer, cause it's simple: I mean canon, as in canon. Yes, that's right. Stobotnik has been canon for a while... or... at least 50% of it. Let's get back to the Latte, shall we? Back then I thought they were making fun of us. Queerbaiting at it's finest. And then the movie happend and Stone confessed his love right then and there for the world to see, basically drawing fanart into Robotnik's caffe for who knows how long and Robotnik? That stupid -3000 IQ genius knew. He fucking knew!! Has always known and was either unwilling to read between the lines or mistook the affection for simple loyalty. Not-Spoiler: It's the later by the way, because we have that deleted scene. That beautiful deleted scene. But let's get back to the art for a second. Because I was basically dying in my seat. And I didn't think people were talking about it enough, cause it was the proof, not that stupid maid outfit that was simply put in as a joke that audiences were supposed to laugh at. But this. This! The whole scene were Stone was lovesick and heartbroken, drawing art of his lost non-lover, the way the life returned to his eyes the second said man returned, on top of literally all of him for the rest of the movie prooved one thing to me: Agent Stone was in love with Dr. Robotnik. It's clear he's never said so out loud, and for a good reason, but he didn't have to. It was so obvious anyone with an IQ lower than 299 could have seen. Just a shame that that one 300 IQ guy couldn't. So now, deleted scene time. Woopwoop. :P Recall how they had planned to make Stone even more in love and heart-eyed - JESUS CHRIST MY GUY - but went for an alternative scene instead? In case you aren't familiar with the scene, it's basically Stone telling Robotnik how he's followed his guide-lines, making the Stone Comic Canon, how he's made sure noone touched his babies, how he's known he'd return, how he's waited for him all this time cause he knew KNEW he'd come back and for a second there Robotnik doesn't know what to say. He looks that man in the eyes and for a split second he wonders, questions, and then... then he's scared. Scared of what that could mean. Scared that he could actually mean something to someone and he panics and decides to use violence to laugh it off, to refelect, to pretend that in that moment, he didn't actually feel something. That Stone didn't make him feel ... vulnerable. Because at that point, he cares too. He's not ready to admit it, at least not without having to joke about it. But he does. He does!! And the thought of it being mutual scares him. Probably more than anything ever has. Because if he allows this, this feeling to settle and bloom, he's got to admit that this, whatever it is, has the power to destroy and hurt him. And he can't do that. Maybe not again. Maybe not ever. Not now. Not now that he's what... 40? and has found peace with the fact that he'll die alone.

I know they were leaning into Stobotnik a lot, but they also... kind of didn't, following the natural consequences of the stuff they had set up in the prior movie, allowing Robotnik to go through an actual character arc. It's subtle, and he's still and asshole - always wil be - but that doesn't change the fact that his arc still exists and is actually very well done. Stone doesn't really have that obvious of an arc. Because it's not really much of an arc, we're just learning more about him, fleshing out his character. The only thing we know for certain is, that he adores and loves Robotnik and that he's willing to betray everyone and everything for him. Even if Robotnik never loves him back. He's accepted that, as long as he's alowed a place at his side.

And now, my fellow shippers, movie 3. Or rather, pre-movie 3. And the much discussed question: Are we getting queerbaited? Well, that depends how you define queerbaiting, doesn't it? Is it queerbaiting if it's unrequited love? Cause that's our current standpoint. Stone has found his doctor, nursed him back to health, lived with him, been by his side for months (years) and the only thing that is standing in their way now is: Robotnik's feelings. They have great build-up, put this man on a path, shown us how he's grown and now all that's left is to see, how they'll decide to finish his story. If I look at all that's happend up to this point, from a writing/writer stand-point, I'd say, that it would make sense for Robotnik to admit, that he cares. Cause that has been his arc, his journey. To admit that yes: He doesn't care about humanity, but he does care about Stone. Has for a very long while in fact. Be that platonic, or romantic. Doing literally anything else would not make sense at that point and would actually be an insult to their own work. And their writing has been pretty solid, so I'm confident we will get something. Especially since... I HAVE seen the leaks. Now, storyboards are just that. Something from early development, something that could change. Which is why I'd normally ignore them.... iiiiiiiif it weren't for that one line from the trailer. That one. fucking. line. That made me realise: Holy shit, those mad lads are doing it. They are finishing Robotnik's arc. That's when I understood why Team 1 was loosing their marbels. Because,

SPOILER!!!!! he is going to admi it. He is going to admit it to himself, and he's gonna do something so wild and crazy it scares me more than you understand. The only question is. Will he surive to tell the tale? And if he does, will he be brave enough to share that admission with Stone?

END OF SPOILER

I don't have links to the storyboard. In retrospect, I should have saved them. But what's done is done. Not that I cod delete the knowledge of what I've seen even if I tried. People seem hesitant to tell people all they have seen, cause those of us who have, and know the Sonic 2 story seem to have a good understanding of what and when that spoiler is taking place. And especially what outcome it seems to be leading into. But, if anyone asks, I am willing to share what it was I saw. If you really wanna know. If you are truly sure.

That being said. How do I feel about Stobotnik? I don't think we're getting a kiss. But I think (and hope) we're gonna get a moment. A moment of Robotnik being open, of him sharing that Stone means somethig to him. They even have the potential to include a joke here, of Stone perhaps attempting to hug Robotnik, for him to allow it for 3 seconds or so, only for him to punch Stone and say something along the lines of: "Okay, that's enough." You know, something close to the High Five moment, just THIS TIME they actually do the high five (or hug). You can have the feels and the joke. It's still Robotnik after all. It's what I'm hoping for, actually, cause I don't think Robotnik is ready for THAT admission quite yet. A hug though? That I could see.

I know we still have to fight against being exploited and played with, but that being said, I don't think love confessions have to always be that huge thing, that clashing of tongues and body parts. They can also be soft and quite. A moment of vulnerability and trust. Of openness. In fact, if Robotnik were to allow Stone a hug, it would be even more impactful than a kiss could ever be. He's hugging Gerald in the trailer, so they have shown me that they are not afraid to make this man hug.

It gives me hope. And it - and the leaks - are the reason why I'm Team 1. I think we could actually get canon Stobotnik you all. And I'm so hyped you don't understand. Let's see what Stobotnik marketing they are going to feed us over the next few months. I, for one, am looking forward to it. ^-^

Live long and prosper 🥚🖤🪨

[bee-and-the-slimes]

2024! (owo)/

First of all, Happy New Year. 🎉 *pfooot*

Second of all, thank you for still flooding my inbox with questions, lol, I'm glad I'm still on your mind, despite having slowed down considerably over the last year. I'm trying to pick and choose the best of them to continue and my "I need to park my butt and work on X" list keeps getting bigger, so thank you to those who have been patient. It's hard to keep up when you have so many ideas percolating and have to juggle a job, a house, hobbies (soooo many hobbies), and friends and family. Here's hoping 2024 can keep me going. Trust me, Bee loves your attention.

Thirdly, I know I've not been very big on talking about the Me behind the slimes, but I originally set out to keep Bee and co as a separate entity from what I normally do. Partially because I have a terrible potty mouth and a lot of my other works aren't really set up for a PG-13 rating, so I kind of wanted to keep that separate for a bit.

That being said, my New Year's goal basically boils down to "Read more, Write more, Draw more" -- one I hit the ground running toward this week. It may be more Bee, it may be more of my other comics, but if I'm silent here, maybe you might be interested in some of the other stuff I do? I haven't stopped doing, I just haven't been doing it here.

Maverick Hunter: Special Forces - Do you like Reploids? I like Reploids. Like, way too much to be considered normal.

SYSTEM.Reload is an attempt to adapt 20 years of RPs and lore building around my and my friend's characters after events of the Megaman X video games. It's a sequel of sorts to an earlier comic RIPtheSYSTEM, which was a collaboration between me and a friend that we started in 2003 and let fizzle out in 2007. .Reload started out as an Ask Blog that never went anywhere, and I just shrugged and drew 250+ pages of characters doing things under the guise of a plot. I don't pretend to know what I'm doing, I'm just kind of enjoying the ride. It's a lot more rudimentary than my actual ART because comics take time and I'm an impatient woman who will physically explode if I don't get my ideas on paper.

My biggest goal is hoping to finish out Part 2 this year. I have the majority of Part 3 written and Part 4 laid out, but I promised myself I'd hit a 2022 goal to complete Part 2 and failed that pretty miserably.... mostly because I keep going back to smooth out wrinkles instead of just finishing the thing.

I genuinely try to keep it censored for Tumblr, but Delta has the temper of a gangster with the mouth of a drug problem.

My DeviantArt - BUT WAIT, there's more! If you aren't sick of OCs or Reploids or OC Reploids you might like my page of art dump. It's where the rest of my stuff gets tossed that isn't Slimes. I don't really draw fanart that much, so mostly my work of upcoming comic panels and ideas that I haven't gotten to work in SYSTEM.Reload yet, commission work, short stories, plushies, or just RP related stuff that I felt like drawing out.

And everything is related.

Everything.

Right now I'm obsessed with working on a short story novella about a vampire named Alecscander St. John, who sucks (hurr) at being a vampire. Born in 1842, he left Texas in 1864, watched his uncle hang for a murder he didn't commit, and 'died' in 1876. I plan to be very mean to him as he tries to build a life for himself while his ex-wife holds a grudge and his adopted sire makes his life miserable. :3c Because I'm a writer. I write. And I've read too much Dresden Files to see everyone get a happy, boring existence...

So... yeah. Here goes... It's 2024.

Wish me luck.

[onlymexsarah]

Prince Friedrich | Jealousy

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: you are Daphne sister, younger than her just for one year. Both of you had debuted in society the same season. Since Prince Friedrich arrival the two of you had grown found to each other, finding him in the garden where you use to walk quite ofter. During the ball, after the Duke's and Daphne's break from their act, you see him believing at Daphne's flirt so you decide to have fun with a little revenge.

Warnings: my english, fluff.

Pairing: Prince Friedrich x Bridgerton!reader

A/N: it's not how I've imagined it in my head, but i hope you like it anyway :/ p.s. please tell me if you see any grammar mistake✨

*gif's mine*

PREQUEL - SEQUEL

You had agreed with your sister that you would enter in the room a dance after her, so both of you would have all the eyes for yourself. You were hiding behind the door at the start of the stars watching the room full of people. Cressida was speaking with Prince Friedrich, and it made you smile seeing that he was only being polite with her as his code obligated him. 

However you were shocked when you saw Daphne’s flirt towards him. She made her folding fan fall in front of the Prince, and he, following her plan as a puppy, knelt to take it as the gentleman he was. Your chest hurt when you saw them two dancing together and the Queen’s smile made you realized that didn’t matter how much in common you and the Prince shared, Daphne was the diamond of the season, he could not let such an occasion escape.

When it was your turn to enter, you looked toward Benedict and Colin seriously. “I want everyone enchanted by me, so don’t let me fall brothers.”

Both smiled sharing a silent conversation with their eyes. “Everyone or just a man with German accent?” joked Colin at your left crossing his arm with yours and the same did Benedict at your right.

“And with ‘his curly hair that seem to have trapped all the sun rays and made them a golden sea’. Was it accurate sister?” Benedict smiled slyly while Colin put his free hand in front of his mouth holding a laugh.

Your cheeks turned of a deep shade of pink, but luckily it could have been mistaken with the pink colour that your maid put on your cheeks. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Now we must enter before the next dance starts.”

The Bridgerton boys smiled amused while the door of the stairs opened and you three made your entrance. Your sweet smile never left your face during all the walking down the stairs. You could sense all the eyes on you, even the Queen was looking in your direction after that the Prince had stopped talking to Daphne to look at you. 

“Well done sister, there is no person in the room who is not staring at you.” Benedict whispered in your ear making your smiled grew bigger. 

“It seems that even in Prussia there is not such a beauty as yourself.” Colin whispered in the other ear. You let yourself looking around the room hiding that you were searching someone specific, and when you found him you saw that Colin was right. Prince Friedrich was looking at you with his mouth a little open ignoring Daphne who was right beside him trying to talk with him, but when she looked in the same direction of him, she stopped. 

She looked sorry at you, knowing your affection for the Prince, and you gave her a smile as nothing was happening hoping that Friedrich took it as a message that no one could hurt you.

Lord de Bethencourt, one of your best suitors, was the first to approach you and reclaim your first dance of that night. You danced twice together, he was a good-looking gentleman with who was easily make conversation due his kindness and charming. His French accent was the first thing that made you enchanted by him; he lived in Normandy with his family, but he came in London to find wife and you were the lucky one who had his eyes on. You were about to ask your brother to make a deal with him and let you marry, but since the Prince’s arrive everything changed. 

You started talking with him due your genuine curiosity about Prussia and their cultures. Just like Colin you wanted to see the word, indeed you had been with him in few travels already; most of them in the north of England or Nord Ireland, but you had read that Prussia was a beautiful place as well. It was strange saying that you found in the Prince a friend first, with who talks about literature and travels. But with time your walks at the park become something else starting to talk about the future and with some allusions from him to take you around the world. 

“You would love the sunrises in Normandy. They made the sea look like a flowered garden in the hot season.” Lord de Bethencourt said while he made you do a pirouette on yourself.

“I could stay and loose myself looking at them all days without getting tired, my Lord.” you smiled sweetly at him while you both bowed on the end of the music.

“And I will lose myself looking at your beauty, Lady Bridgerton.” he kissed your hand making you giggle shyly. You saw the Duke of Hastings, alias the man your sister was truly in love with, alone at the buffet with an annoyed look on his face. 

Thanking your gentleman you walked toward Simon with an idea in mind. “If you keep that look on your face you will have wrinkles before the next season, my dear friend.”

He looked down at you trying to hide a smirk. “Good evening to you too, Lady Bridgerton.” 

“Good evening, Duke Basset. I must tell you that I know about your little act with my sister, but if I didn’t know that it was your idea to stop it, I would say that you seem the most heartbroken between you two.” your smirk was huge behind the glass of wine looking at him with innocent eyes.

“Shouldn’t you dance with the Prince and try to become the Princess of Prussia?” he asked annoyed rolling his eyes but composing himself immediately after.

“We both are aware that the Prince of Prussia seems to have a weak at the ‘falling folding fan’ of a young lady, especially if the lady is the diamond of the season.” the Duke could hear that you were hurt in your voice even if your face was still with the same smile of before. He looked quickly around, smirking to himself when he saw that the Prince’s eyes were on you again.

Simon raised his hand in front of you waiting to you to take it. When you looked at him with an eyebrow raised, he just smiled kindly. “Nothing is better than a dance to raise your humour. After spending time with your family I’ve learned this very well.”

“Let see if you are a good dancer as you claim to be.” you took his hand happy. The time seemed to slow as you walked toward the centre of the ball room; everyone was now looking at you two and you could already see what Lady Whistledown will write about it. You both bowed and slowly started to dance without looking away from each other.

“Why did you let my sister going between the arms of another man?” you asked curiously while you kept your hands a few inches away from each other without touching as that dance wanted to be at the beginning. 

“You have surely a long tongue to be a woman, Miss Y/n.” he remarked ironically avoiding the question. He knew you were clever, and just as Lady Danbury you had understood everything even before him.

“We both know that you are my friend not for my education, but for my fantastic, good company. I am sure that if Daphne is looking at us, she is officially becoming the most heartbroken one between you two.” you said playfully.

“She must be so since the Prince has stopped to speak or dance with anyone to stay still and look at you.” you almost forgot to grab his hand when it was time to dance touching as usual due the black out of you mind for few seconds. “It curious seeing how a Prince manage his jealousy. Let see how far he can go without doing nothing.”

His smile made you feel invincible. You could made Prince Friedrich jealous and you would. With Simon at your side it was quite easy pretending that that dance meant something more than a distraction with a friend. “The Queen will never allow him to marry me, Lord Basset, and if you don’t take away my sister then I have no possibility.”

Most of the people in the room were still looking at the two of you. You were the second girl with who the Duke danced that season and knowing that the first was your sister it made the gossip bigger. Everyone was asking at themself if there was something between the two of you, and that made you smile more because if they were asking it then it was sure that the Prince was asking to himself the same. 

“Even thought, you seem quite happy, my Lady.” noticed Simon raising his eyebrows suspicious.

“I’m a Bridgerton, my Lord. Nothing can make my smile fall.” you changed partner for few moments giving you time to breath and searching with your eyes Prince Friedrich. He was with the Queen, both looking at you. 

Couples changed again and you found yourself with Simon like the beginning. “Why every time I talk with a Bridgerton, I found myself trapped in some complicate plan to attire the attention of other people? I shall expect that next season Miss Eloise ask me something similar.”

You laughed amused, thing that didn’t go unnoticed by the Prince who was asking himself what the Duke was whispering in your ear to make you laugh and smile. “I admit it was my plan since I saw you tonight, but you were the one asking me to dance, my Lord. I’ve never said nothing to you about it nor I made some type of suggestion.”

“You know how to manipulate a man with just some words. It a powerful gift, Lady Bridgerton, use it carefully.” he made you do a pirouette on yourself and then draw you back to him. “And I am sure that if burning people with the eyes was a gift too, I would be ashes right now.” 

“A gentleman shouldn’t say such things! I am sure you are mistaken.” you know you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t hold your smile from growing bigger. 

The Duke just smiled amused and bowed to kiss your hand when the dance ended. Making sure that the eyes were in you, he raised his arm. “Would you join me and walk toward the buffet?” 

“It would be a pleasure, Your Grace.” taking his arm you looked Benedict whose eyes were already on you laughing. He had seen the change of look that the Duke and the Prince changed during the dance letting him understand Simon’s plan.

You and he made sure to seem really close, laughing and smiling at each other that even Daphne herself asked in her own mind if there was something. At some point of the night Lord de Bethencourt approached you and took you for another dance.

In your mind you tried to accept the fact that he was going to be your husband. Prince Friedrich would marry your sister, and after all Lord de Bethencourt was pleasant and good looking; you shouldn’t be so sad, you will learn how to love him with time. 

When the only change of couples of the dance arrived, you prayed that some of your brothers would be there to dance with you, the idea of dancing with a stranger right now didn’t tempt you enough.

Lord de Bethencourt let go your hands giving you one last smile before other hands took you. “Lady Bridgerton.” When you looked up, your breath stopped for few seconds. The hand he had on your back made you shiver, his closeness gave inside you a strange feeling, you wanted more. You knew, deep inside your mind, that you could be closer in some animal way, but you didn’t know where this knowledge came from. The only thing that was clear to you was that every time you were close to Friedrich your body answered strangely, and you had almost forgotten how it was.

“Your Grace.” you gave him a polite smile focusing on the right movement of your feet.

“I wished to be your first dance like the other times, but unfortunately Lord de Bethencourt have been faster.” your eyes were fixed together, neither of you couldn’t look away, didn’t matter what was happening around you.

“No need to worry at all, Prince Friedrich. I am sure that my sister, Daphne, had loved your though, indeed I had the lucky to see your dance. You had enchanted everyone, your Highness.” your sweet voice never changed even when the bitter comment about him and your sister came out.

He was taken back; he didn’t know you had seen the first dance of your sister, the dance that the Queen had obligated him to do. If it was for him, he would dance with you all night and stay in your company all day.

“Still, I wished to dance with you since you arrived. I must say you shall be tired my Lady; you have danced all night especially with Lord de Bethencourt. Is he a good partner? Not many ladies dance with him thought.” his little jealousy made you amused. Take it, Daphne. 

“He is a perfect dancer, Your Grace. We used our dances to talk, mostly. He told me about Normandy, where he lives, and the many place he thinks I will love. Did you ever see the Château Gaillard?” you asked innocently speaking as you would speak with a friend or your brothers.

“Yes, I did, I find myself saying that I expected more...I am sure that Schloss Sanssouci will take your heart as it took mine. It was my grandfather’s home during the hot season, Friedrich II. In the garden we have all the flowers you can dream about.” he said back trying to stay polite even if in his mind he had already challenge Lord de Bethencourt in duel twice.

“If you marry my sister, I’ll ask her to bring me to see the beauty of that place then.” saying that words hurt you more than you expected. Why your sister had to have everything? 

“My hopes are to take you there with me personally.” you looked him surprised with the mouth a bit open. You weren’t sure how you managed to keep dancing, but it was like your body was doing all by itself.

“I don’t think it will be appropriate, Your Grace.” the dance wanted you to separate for a few moments, and then he drew you back to him again.

“It will, if you will be my wife.” he said it without thinking letting you with a shocked expression on your face. “I am sorry, Miss Y/n. This wasn’t appropriate, I don’t know why I said it, but I can’t deny that it is what my heart wish.”

“We know that Queen Charlotte wants you to marry the diamond of the season...” your eyes fell on the ground while you two kept dancing. “The two of you can come and visit Normandy if it’s Your Grace’s wish.” 

The memory of Lord de Bethencourt made his jealousy coming back. “I found Paris more enjoyable, Miss Y/n. I shall take you there in the future.” he smirked at you making you giggled.

“I am sure you will, Your Grace.”

“Friedrich.” you looked him confused. “Please, call me Friedrich.”

The music ended, all the couple bowed to each other, but the Prince took you close to him without taking away his eyes from yours. “Everyone is staring at us, Friedrich.” you said noticing with the corner of your eyes that you were the only two remained on the dance floor.

“Forgive me, but I don’t want to let you go.” he had seen Lord de Bethencourt waiting for you and he just couldn’t let it happens.

“Then don’t.” you whispered back looking exclusively his eyes. In your mind the room got empty, there were only you two and you wished you could stay in his arms forever.

“Please, walk with me to your mother. There is something I can’t wait any longer to say.” he told you slowly letting you go and raising his arm waiting you to take it.

You offered a smile at the crow that had formed a circle around you. Your mother, Lady Violet, had tears in her eyes due the perfect match you and the Prince formed together. Even the Queen had noticed it, it was impossible looking somebody else if the two of you were dancing together or just talking to each other.

“Miss Bridgerton, I hope the ball is to your liking.” said the Prince once you stopped in front of her, Lady Danbury, and Benedict. “Lady Danbury, Lord Bridgerton. There is no need to bow, Miss Bridgerton. I am the one who need your permission today.”

You looked your brother confused, but with his eyes he pointed at the Prince’s arm that was still intertwined with yours making you blush. 

“My permission for what, Your Grace?” she asked with excitement in her voice. She already knew.

“You have to know that I wrote to my parents in these days, telling them about your daughter and the desire I have to marry her.” your breaths became heavier looking him first then your mother who didn’t seem as shocked as you in that moment. Was it really happening? “I’m waiting their answer, but if I know them as I believe I do then they will welcome my happiness as theirs.” 

“Your parents must be wonderful people as yourself, Your Grace.” she smiled sweetly at him giving a happy look at you who now were searching confirm of your thoughts in Lady Danbury’s face; she had smirked since she had seen you two approaching together.

“You flatter me, Lady Bridgerton. You will have the opportunity to meet them, they will be there for the end of the season.” if the Prince hadn’t put his hand on the one of yours that was on his arm, you would have ran away needing fresh air. “I need your permission, if you want of course, to let me court Lady Y/n as a true gentleman does and then, after I’ll have Lord Anthony Bridgerton’s permission, I will propose her to become my Princess.” your eyes got wet just as your mother’s. Your smile was huge; you felt yourself flying over the clouds while you couldn’t look away from him.

“If it is my daughter’s desire, then you have my permission.” Lady Violet said looking at you for your approval.

“It is my desire, Mama.” your eyes leave his profile just for few seconds to let you look at your mother.

“Of course, Lady Bridgerton, I assure you that I will not force Lady Y/n in any marriage. If she will find herself uncomfortable with me, then I will not insist nor I will feel grudge toward your family. I just wish to let her know that...” he turned his head to look at you with devoted eyes. “She is the owner of my heart, and I wish to have a chance to try and seduce hers.” You wanted to say that your heart was already his, but he spoke again, almost whispering to you. “Even if that means taking all the France and giving it to you.” 

[uwurakax]

boy, i hate you ♡

pairing: akaashi x reader ♡

genre: angst // cheating // suggestive (not explicit) ♡

summary: you swore to yourself that you’d never stay with a cheater, so why was it so hard to let go? ♡

♡ the sequel “boy, i need you” - read the second part here ♡

word count: 1.9k ♡

author’s note: ok this has been in my mind for ages now and i need this to go into the universe. i haven’t written in years so i am crappy rusty as hell (pls be kind ty). i don’t normally write but i had to. i also believe theres no gender mentioned? (it’s like 4am and i’ve had zero sleep so pls), but i suppose it leans to f!reader. i’ll regret uploading this later haha 🤟😭 also hasn’t been proofread and i wrote this at like 1am (excuses for my terrible writing yup, don’t judge me haha) ♡

♡ (inspired by f.u by little mix) ♡

infidelity

/ɪnfɪˈdɛlɪti/

noun

1. the action or state of being unfaithful to a spouse or partner

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, with your eyes red and wet was not an uncommon occurrence. You supposed at one point, it was, but those days felt like a distant dream. You had cried so much, it was a wonder you could keep up the waterworks. Your eyes were swollen, bloodshot and dry. The moisture had left them and were spilled, half dry, on your cheeks. 

It was pathetic. So pathetic how you could keep putting yourself through this. Day after day, breakdown after breakdown, you didn’t know how much more you could take. You quickly wiped away any more stray tears with the sleeve of the hoodie you were wearing.  His hoodie. 

You wondered how much liquid had been soaked up by his clothes. An ironic display of him comforting you indirectly when he was the one who caused those tears to spill in the first place.

You took a deep inhale and leaned over the porcelain countertop. It felt wrong. It felt awkward. It felt..dirty. You gripped the sides of the counter. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it all went wrong, it was just like it happened. Or maybe it didn’t, and it was there long before you had taken notice of the signs. 

All you knew was that suddenly, he wasn’t yours anymore. The home you shared with him wasn’t yours. Hell, even this goddamn pristine white bathroom wasn’t yours. For the past year or so, it was slowly losing the essence of you and him, and somehow converged into a you, him and her. You wondered if it just lost your sense entirely and had become his and hers - you being just a warm body that filled the cold space when he was gone, whether that be at work or when he had to take a ‘trip’. 

You were so sick of it. All the insecurity of when it started, why weren’t you enough, how’d it happen, and all those basic questions associated with a partner cheating were bubbling up inside of you. 

You wanted to push all the blame on him. You wanted to hate him, despise him for reducing you to the pathetic crying mess you were now, but you couldn’t. You knew, deep down inside, at some point it stopped being entirely his fault and that it shifted to you as well. Was it a week after you found out? A month? 3 months? 6 months? A year? Did it even matter anymore? You knew you had to stop this. You had to break it off with Akaashi. His unfaithfulness hurt you in a way that you couldn’t possibly imagine. You couldn’t keep living with the fact that he’d come home into your arms, holding you in the same way that he had just held somebody else. Somebody not you. Somebody who wasn’t his girlfriend. Geez, just how many times were you going to repeat that to yourself? You’d lost count on how many speeches and psych up’s that frequented your mind. 

This will be the last time. 

A silent promise to yourself, that this would be the end. That you’d finally pick yourself up, and gain some self confidence to just rip off that bandaid. No matter how much you loved him, no matter how long you had loved him, you had to do this for your sake. With a firm nod, you braced yourself, ready to finally free yourself from the love that was Akaashi Keiji. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It had been a few hours since your breakdown in the bathroom happened. You were anticipating Akaashi’s arrival for the past hour or so. You knew exactly why he was late, it didn’t take a genius to know that he was with her. You wished that just for tonight, he wouldn’t. The suspense was suffocating. You just wanted to get this over and done with.

Not even the soft material of the pillows on the lounge you sat on calmed you. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through the plush texture, hoping to quell the dread and unease steadily rising with each passing moment that Akaashi didn’t enter through the front door. After what felt like forever, you finally heard his car coming into the driveway, the headlights peeking through the blinds. You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath. It did little to slow your racing heartbeat. You got up to greet him when the jingle of his keys echoed through the silent space that was ‘your home’, as he had put it the first time you entered into the building. Thats all it was to you now. A mix of brick and cement that no longer held the warmth that it once had, or perhaps it still did. Maybe that radiating glow just wasn’t for you anymore. 

“Keiji..”

“Hello my love” he was quick, or you were just too slow. Either way, his arms had found their way around you, pulling you close into his body. You couldn’t deny that your own craved his, fitting just a little too well, like jigsaw puzzle pieces. At one point it was relieving. At one point it would have brought you immense comfort. 

At one point it would have felt right. 

However at this moment in time, it didn’t. Maybe for a split second, you could’ve deluded yourself into thinking he was only yours, and you were only his. That sense of peace was gone in an instant when you smelt the pungent perfume of her on him. It clung to him desperately, and would soon dissipate throughout the house. The sickly sweet floral smell invading whatever little nook and cranny it could. Pushing out the fresh air.

Pushing out you.

It just further pressed the need to end things with him. Neither of you were happy in your relationship now.

For your sake and for his, you needed to do this quickly. 

You pulled away from him, hands on his chest. You had to force yourself to look at his face. It was time, you needed that bandaid off now. But when you searched his profile, you couldn’t see any other emotion but pure admiration.

Pure love.

Your breath hitched. Though it was when his hands made their way up to cup your cheeks that your body lost all rationality. Your heart now pumping quickly and loudly for a completely different reason. He slowly leaned in close and you instinctively closed your eyes. Soon enough, his lips were against yours. Soft you thought to yourself, but you could taste it. The underlying taste of something sweet. It was artificial, and definitely not Akaashi. 

God it hurt. It hurt, unbelievably so. 

His hands moved down and rested on your hips, fingers digging in ever so slightly. You both parted from each other, and this time, you decided to look into his eyes.

Gunmetal Blue.

It perfectly matched his beautiful face, and you knew you could get lost just staring into them. It honestly wasn’t fair how easily everything about him could just draw you in.

But you hated how he looked at you now. Like you held the stars in his sky. Like you were the most important person to him. It could almost make you sick, the gaze he had on you. How could he look at you like this? How could he touch you like that? How could he kiss you with such furore when he was just with somebody else, doing the exact same things that he was doing to you?

It just hurt. You never even got a chance to voice your thoughts on his infidelity, on the other woman, on anything. Because soon enough you found yourself led into the bedroom. Had he made love with that woman on the very bed you shared with him? There’s no way you could fool yourself into thinking that that space was sacred anymore. The sheets, the pillows, the mattress. All of it had been tainted. Much like everything else on this house. Contaminated with her touch when you were away and he had to stay home. Everywhere. Every surface, every room, hell every inch just had a lingering scent of her. 

Disgusting. Filthy. Soiled.

All those thoughts were washed away when Akaashi pulled you into the bed. Clothes now discarded haphazardly on the floor, easily forgotten. He gently brushed stray hairs away from your face and just observed you for a moment. He watched you with a smile, and you could reminisce back on your high school days. How was it that Akaashi Keiji, the sweet, shy and most amazing guy was doing something so horrible behind your back? You couldn’t understand. He was such a gentleman, so respectful and kind. So how? How could he do it so easily. 

He pulled you in, lips connecting once again. You knew it was wrong. To fall back into him would just lead you back into the spiral of pain and heartbreak. And yet, here you were, doing that exact thing. 

Because when he looked at you in that regard, when he touched you in the way that set your body ablaze, when he kissed you with such emotion and love, you could pretend that, just for a short period of time, that it was all just for you and only you. You could forget about the other woman. Could forget about all the thoughts of all the things he’d do with her. Forget the marks that he left on her, the same way he did you. 

You’d think of the consequences later, like you always did, because during these moments was when your heart didn’t ache so much, and you didn’t need to be left with your own intrusive thoughts. Here, like this, right now, you could just be two people together. Pretend that he did love you unconditionally.

Pretend that everything was okay. 

You knew tomorrow you’d regret it. Wake up in his arms and sob about how much of a coward you were to walk away. 

This will be the last time.

How many times had you repeated that phrase only to continue this toxic cycle? It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. You hated Akaashi, but you hated yourself more, because you knew that you’d always lose yourself to him. Like a puppet master with the strings, you were pushed and pulled to his desire. 

You now lay in bed, with the covers over you both, and his hand rubbing a soothing trail up and down your arm. You wondered if this would’ve been a good time to do it. To cut your loses and go.

But..

Akaashi scooted over towards you, his hand now finding its way behind your head. His own now angled to press a delicate kiss on your forehead. You shut your eyes, willing the tears to not show. 

“I love you”

..you could never do it.

With a small, sad smile (hoping that the darkness of the night shielded the pain from him), you whispered the words that contradicted everything you had been feeling.

“I love you too”

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. You knew tomorrow you’d go through the same process. You knew you’d feel the same anger, frustration and ache. Knew that you’d put on one of his shirts or hoodies on for any sense of comfort. Knew that you’d cry and get lost in your thoughts. Knew that you’d swear that this was the last time this would ever happen. 

And deep down, you knew that you’d never really do it, because you’d fall right back into loving Akaashi Keiji again, just like all those times before.

[missymurphy1985]

Miracles (sequel to Reminiscing)

You'd been trying for a baby with Cillian for over a year now without success - he isn't getting any younger... What's next for the two of you?

Taglist:

@being-worthy @peakyscillian @queenshelby @noctvrnalmoth @margoo0 @janelongxox

"Baby it'll happen when it happens..." Cillian soothed your tears as he held you on the bedroom floor. Your period had just arrived, which meant only one thing. No baby. You'd been trying now for nearly 15 months and nothing but negative pregnancy tests and more sanitary products. You'd tried changing your diets.. you'd both cut out alcohol and caffeine.. but nothing.

"What if it doesn't, Cill? What if it never happens?" You dried your tears on the sleeve of your t shirt and sank into his arms.

"Let's book in with that fertility doctor yeah? Get some tests run, find out what's stopping us having a baby?" He lifted you back to kiss you. You nodded, reluctantly. You were dreading this.. what if you were the problem? Clearly Cillian was fine, he had the two boys.. if you weren't able to give him a baby you'd never forgive yourself.. would he even stay with you? The baby had been his idea... The thought alone made you feel sick.

"How about a weekend away? Just you and me, we'll head to Kerry and just relax for a few days?" You smiled. He always knew how to make you feel better. Nodding your head, he pulled you up from the floor and held you close. "Let's just get away from it all - no more talk of babies, just us, agreed?"

"Okay.. agreed."

The following day you woke feeling sore and achy. Your lower back feeling like you'd been kicked by a horse. Grimacing slightly, you lifted yourself out of bed to the kitchen where Cillian was making coffee.

"Hey, you okay?" He saw you limping slightly.

"Yeah, must've slept funny, my back is so sore!"

"Why don't you go lie down, I'll bring your coffee through?"

"I need to get ready, I'm meeting Lisa for a coffee this afternoon."

"I'm sure she'll understand if you're not feeling great y/n?"

"It's just a bit of back pain, I'll be fine once I've stretched it out. Don't worry," you smiled, kissing his lips and taking the decaf coffee from him. You pulled away suddenly as a sharp pain suddenly washed over your lower abdomen.

"And now we have period pain too... Wonderful..." You felt your eyes watering at the harsh reminder that you weren't pregnant and Cillian pulled you into his arms again.

"I'll call Lisa, go get back in bed." You rolled your eyes in annoyance. "I'm not asking, y/n." Feeling irritated, you made your way back upstairs and got under the covers. Cillian joining you shortly after with a hot water bottle, glass of water and some paracetamol. You took the tablets and Cillian placed the water bottle on your lower belly, before climbing in behind you and holding you close. He could feel your body tense every now and again.

"Hey, you okay?" He rubbed a hand up and down your arm to soothe you.

"My back keeps spasming babe, must've really done a number on it.." he pulled back from you slightly and ran a hand over your lower back trying to soothe it. He could feel the spasms as they came off and on every few minutes, the worry growing in his stomach. You were normally so fit, working out in your basement gym downstairs three times a week, yoga every Saturday.. pulling a muscle sleeping didn't sound likely to him.

You felt yourself drifting off to sleep as Cillian's hands massaged your lower back. The heat from the hot water bottle easing the cramps in your tummy.

You woke a few hours later to a white hot pain across your stomach and you cried out, clutching your belly. The pressure in your stomach was so intense you called out.

"Cillian!! Baby you there??" No answer. You reached for your phone on the bedside table and called him.

"Hey, you're awake -"

"Cillian come home.. please it hurts!!!" You heard the car screech to a halt.

"What hurts? Baby where are you? I'm on my way, 10 minutes okay?"

"Please... God it hurts!!!" Cillian stayed on the phone but you heard him talking to his sister in the passenger seat.

"Orla, call an ambulance, you're gonna have to come with me. Y/n stay on the phone until I get there baby okay?" You were panting now, the pain was unbearable. You could hear Cillian swearing at other cars, he must've been driving like a maniac... You didn't care, you just needed him now.. Orla was talking now, she must've been on the phone to the ambulance service, you heard her give them your address before you screamed as another white hot pain shot across your belly.

Panting through the pain, you felt the pressure in your pelvis start to increase in intensity. You pulled yourself to your feet slowly, and made your way to the bathroom. You were sweating from every where, your temperature soaring to new heights. You pulled your underwear down and sat on the toilet, convinced whatever it was you'd eaten that was causing this was about to make a dramatic exit. In that moment you heard Cillian and Orla burst into the bedroom, Cillian making his way into the bathroom to you. You didn't even feel embarrassed that you were sat on the toilet you were just grateful that he was there.

"It hurts so bad Cill... Please make it stop!!!!" You screamed, as a sudden need to push took over you. Cillian was frozen in panic, completely helpless, he didn't know what to do. Orla suddenly took charge, pushing Cillian to the side to check you over. You stood up slightly, your body taking over completely.

"Holy shit..... y/n lie down on the floor, come on... Cillian, get a fucking towel!!" Orla guided you slowly to the bathroom floor and opened your legs, Cillian quickly grabbing a towel that she placed under your hips.

"Fuck... Okay y/n look at me.. you're going to feel a need to push and I need you go with it okay? Just breathe... You're gonna be fine.."

"The fuck is happening Orla??" You screamed.

"You having a baby y/n.. right now.. Cillian get that end and hold her.. Get your shit together y/n and push!!" Cillian didn't have time to react before Orla pulled him to sit behind you holding you, your back to his chest as you gripped his hands and bore down as hard as you could. There was no time to think about anything else. The pain was like nothing you'd felt before in your life. Cillian breathed with you, grimacing slightly as his knuckles were being gripped like a vice but focusing his attention on getting you through this.

Within seconds the paramedics had arrived through the door Cillian had left open downstairs and taken over from Orla, giving you a mouthpiece to breathe into.

"Gas and air babe, it'll help, just breathe in and out okay?" Cillian whispered in your ear as you did as you were told and instantly felt the pain subside slightly. One paramedic was between your legs, the other radioing the hospital to let them know what was happening and to expect a mum and baby imminently.

The room was filled with the sound of a baby's cry. You heard Orla burst into tears, whilst you and Cillian were still too in shock to fully process what was happening. The paramedics offered Cillian a pair of surgical scissors to cut the cord, before placing the tiny baby girl in your arms. At that moment you both cried, looking down at the tiny bundle who was starting to settle, searching for your breast. You instinctively fed her, and Cillian gently stroked her head.

"Where the hell were you hiding her??" You looked up at him and laughed.

"I was about to ask you, when did you put her in there?!"

************************************

Opening your eyes, you felt hands roaming over your body as you lay in bed pretending you were still asleep. Those hands knew you better though and teased between your legs making your body shudder.

"I reckon we've got 10minutes before the 'threenager' wakes up... You'd better make this quick Cillian..." You turned onto your side and opened your legs inviting his now rock hard cock to rest between them. His fingers skilfully toying your clit making you moan softly. Easing himself inside from behind you, he began thrusting slowly. The only position available to you, your swollen belly now too large for any other.

"Fuck.. y/n.. still so tight..." You arched your back into his thrusts from behind you, both of you knowing this could be the last time before you had your new baby, due any time now. This pregnancy being much less of a shock than the first - you found out about 7 weeks in and you'd blossomed quickly. You'd loved feeling the little kicks, seeing your baby on the monitors at your scans, choosing names... You'd experienced it all and had relished every single second of it, making up for missing the first one's milestones.

"This really isn't going to last long.. you feel too good... Full of my child..."

"Cill keep talking to me.. I'm close..."

"Watching your body grow... Fuck you have no idea what that's done to me.."

Your hips rocked back against him almost frantically, his fingers still pressing on that bundle of nerves drawing your orgasm even closer. Before long you came hard against him, muffling your cries into the pillow so as not to wake your daughter in the next room. He followed not long after, spilling deep inside you.

Kissing your shoulder he pulled out, running his hands over your belly again and holding you close. A sudden giggle of your daughter emitting from the doorway.

"Mama!! What was Daddy doing behind you?" You pulled the duvet over you and Cillian helped you into a sitting position, your daughter climbing in-between you.

"Ready for some breakfast Niamh?" Cillian said as he booped his daughters nose and she moved to bite him playfully.

"Baby?" She pointed to your belly.

"Not yet little lady, soon though we promise." Cillian climbed out of bed and pulled his jeans on, picking the little girl up in his arms he playfully swung her over his shoulder, her legs in the air. You laughed watching Cillian bounce her over his shoulder, blowing raspberries into her waist making her squirm and giggle. Feeling another twinge in your lower abdomen you smiled.

"Maybe sooner rather than later Niamh, I think it might be time for that sleepover at Aunty Orla's house!"

The look of shock in Cillian's eyes made you laugh. "They do say it speeds things along Cill, don't look so surprised," you winced as he called his sister.

"You ready for this?" He kissed your head as he dialled the number.

"Definitely more ready than last time!" You laughed and tweaked your daughter's nose. "Let's get your bag shall we little lady?"

"No you don't, you stay there. I'll sort her out and Orla will come pick her up. You feeling okay?"

"Yep - I'm okay, they're not too bad for now. Her bag's on the hook behind her bedroom door already packed. My bag is in the closet downstairs ready. Just need to call the midwife and we're grand okay?"

"Love you... So much..." He kissed you gently and called Orla to come pick Niamh up. Your heart felt completely full and you couldn't wait to meet your latest addition.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

*claps*

So, sequel ideas. Specifically for Wormman shenanigans. What if he goes to scout out the Evil X shop to see exactly what’s going on, and he spots the exploiter himself and just tackles him because friends

Also I can imagine Zed is literally the only one who knows that they’re different people, so EX just thinks it’s Zedaph and won’t show any weakness, so he pushes WM off and Helsaph is just like “Dude we’re friends :DDD, what the hels”

i love Raven ideas :D

this is a sequel to this one

...

Helsaph has absolutely no trouble finding the right building. After all, it’s got a giant statue of his old friend atop it, towering over the surrounding area. As he approaches, he’s delighted to see his friend themself just leaving the building. “Evil X!” he calls, picking up speed. “Hi!”

EX turns but their impassive expression doesn’t change. “Uh… Hello. Can I help you?”

Helsaph grabs them in a hug, delighted to see his friend again. “It’s been so long! How’s it going?”

“Um…” Clearing their throat awkwardly, EX detaches themself from Helsaph and pushes him away. “Sorry, I’m a bit busy right now. If you want to buy some derpcoin, there’s signs inside instructing you how to do that.”

“Why are you being so weird?” demands Helsaph. “I thought you’d be happy to see me again. It’s been years.”

“Years?” EX stares at him as if he’s crazy. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have to go.”

As EX turns to walk away, Helsaph suddenly realises exactly what’s going on. “Oh, wait, no I- EX, wait!”

They pause, glancing back at Helsaph with a slightly suspicious look. “What?”

“You think I’m Zedaph, don’t you?”

EX blinks. “Who else would I think you are?”

Helsaph quickly digs the pink mask out of his pocket and holds it up to his eyes.

EX’s own eyes widen and they quickly drag Helsaph into the building. After locking the door, they pull Helsaph up some stairs and into an office overlooking the rest of the interior.

They stand in front of the closed door and cross their arms. “Explain.”

Suddenly put on the spot, Helsaph stammers over his words. “I’m, um… I’m Ze-Zedaph’s Hels counterpart. He recruited me to be Wormman back in Season 5. The “Zedaph” you befriended and battled was me.”

EX stares at Helsaph. “You’re NOT a helsmit.”

Not expecting this reaction, Helsaph frowns. “I am.”

“Helsmits are evil,” says EX. “Helsmits don’t run around in pink spandex and yellow underwear pretending to fight a quasi-evil clone.”

“I AM a helsmit,” Helsaph insists. I’m not sure if I can prove it but I am. My name is Helsaph.”

EX scrutinises Helsaph closely, causing him to feel slightly uncomfortable.

“I can’t go get Zedaph to prove that there’s two of us because I’m not actually supposed to be on this server so only one of us can leave the base at a time.” He hesitates. “I could take you there if you wanted? To prove that there’s two of us?”

“Oh I believe there’s two of you,” responds EX. “Knowing Zedaph, I’m not surprised in the slightest that he’s managed to clone himself. I just don’t quite believe that YOU are a helsmit.”

“Not sure I like the way you said “you” there but okay,” Helsaph says slowly. “How can I prove to you that I’m a helsmit?”

EX doesn’t even hesitate in their answer. “Kill me.”

Helsaph considers this for a moment. “Will you respawn?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Helsaph draws his sword and slices it straight through EX, killing them immediately.

He nearly has a heart attack as he suddenly remembers that his name might show up in chat. But when he hastily checks the communicator Zedaph lent him, he sees something entirely different.

EvilXisuma was slain by [Entity]

“Oh my god,” he breathes.

Imagine if my WHOLE existence on this server was exposed and ended by me killing EX just because they asked me to.

It takes less than a minute for EX to appear back in the office and start to collect their items.

“It occurred to me about half a second after I did it that my name might’ve shown up in chat killing you,” Helsaph says, watching them. “Went through the five stages of grief in less than three seconds.”

EX chuckles, straightening up. “I’m guessing you were reduced to [Entity] because you’re not registered to any server so it didn’t recognise your code. Well anyway, I’m impressed. Now why did you kill me?”

“WH-?!” Helsaph yelps. “Because you asked me to!! What the frick is this?!”

“You could’ve refused,” EX points out. “Why did you actually do it?”

Helsaph stares at them for a moment, then sighs. “Because I want to prove I am who I say I am and I knew the real Zedaph would never in a million years kill you like that.”

“You’re right,” responds EX, nodding approvingly. “I believe you. So what on earth persuaded a helsmit to dress up in the world’s most ridiculous superhero outfit and chase me around for several months?”

“Honestly, just the fact that the prospect of THAT was better than my current life at the time,” says Helsaph honestly. “Which really says something about how I was living back then, doesn’t it?”

EX scoffs. “Oh boy, it sure does. Where’ve you been since Season 5?”

For the briefest of seconds, EX thinks they see a flash of red in Helsaph’s eyes. But it’s over so quickly that they can’t be sure of what they saw.

Helsaph clears his throat. “Not really something I want to get into now. The point is I’m back and I heard on the grapevine that you’ve been running a little scam.”

“S-Scam?!” splutters EX.

“I’m guessing that this derpcoin thing is that.” Helsaph points down at the shop floor. “I came over to find out if it really is a scam but I’m not really sure how to do that.”

EX crosses their arms. “Why don’t you just ask me?”

“Okay,” says Helsaph. “Is it a scam?”

“No.”

A pause follows this.

“I’m really not sure what I expected there.”

EX lets out a chuckle. “Heh. Witty, goofy, gullible. You really are Wormman, aren’t you?”

Helsaph frowns. “Why does that feel suspiciously like an insult?”

“It wasn’t really. You know, I actually kinda missed having you chase me around all day.”

Helsaph’s frown clears into a smile. “Aww, you missed me?”

“Nope!” EX says quickly. “I said I KINDA missed you chasing me around. It was kinda fun.”

“That means you missed me,” responds Helsaph sweetly, rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet.

“It really doesn’t.”

“You said you missed ME chasing you around. Not BEING chased around. Therefore, you missed me.”

EX rolls their eyes. “Add “annoying” to that list too.”

Helsaph beams innocently. “That’s something we helsmits have in common.”

“I’m not a helsmit,” EX responds.

Helsaph opens his mouth to respond that he had meant helsmits in general when he properly registers what EX just said. “Wait… y-you’re not?”

EX shakes their head. “Nope. Xisuma’s hels counterpart is Helsuma. I don’t actually remember how or why or when or where I was brought into this universe.”

Silence follows their words as Helsaph’s gaze flickers to the ground. EX isn’t a helsmit. What are they then? Are they a clone? Where did they come from? How did they come into being? What are they made of? Helsaph’s mind is racing with all sorts of experiments he could perform on his friend to find out the answers to these questions.

“...Helsaph?” EX prompts after a moment. “You still with me?”

“Huh?” Helsaph blinks himself out of his thoughts. “Oh, yeah, sorry. That’s cool. Anyway, I’m gonna need to investigate your little not-a-scam. Mind showing me around?”

Still a little shaken by the sudden darkness they had seen in his eyes, EX nods. “Sure.”

…

EX finishes up the tour back at the front door. “-so that’s pretty much it. Any questions?”

Helsaph nods. “Yeah. How is this not a scam?”

EX gives a chuckle. “Tell you what, since you’re clearly still not convinced, how about you take this premium derpcoin for free?”

They hand Helsaph a coin the size of their palm.

“I gotta head out now but take a look around for yourself, read the signs and books, then decide what you wanna do. Okay?”

“O-Okay.”

Helsaph watches EX leave, before turning his attention back to the coin they gave him. He can’t stop staring at it, turning it over in his hands, admiring the way it glistens. There’s no way he’s going to spend this. Not because this is a scam - because obviously it is. For a different reason.

This is the first gift EX has ever given him.

[internalsealpanic]

Bloody Valentine

Summary: There is nothing more romantic than being stuck in an elevator and arguing about terrible life decisions. 

a/n: Blame @littleredwing89 for the existence of this.  This is, as of the time I’m posting this, the 4th part (chronologically) to my Dick Grayson/Merc!Reader series. It might be better for you to read part 1 or part 2 before reading this as the angst might hit harder if you do. 

Warnings:  Mentions of blood and injury. Dick and Reader are both hypocrites with no self preservation. It also gets a little heated(?) in the end but nothing really bad.

Main Masterlist

Dick Grayson Masterlist

Direct Sequel to this: Sweetness 

This was not how you pictured your Valentine’s Day. 

Sure, you weren’t exactly picturing a candle-lit dinner under the stars or slow dancing in the pale moonlight like a Hallmark movie. But you’re not exactly thrilled to be standing outside an emergency room waiting area, clutching an unopened pack of cigarettes and a spare superman shirt, as per the police chief’s suggestion. You tap your foot impatiently as an officer persuades the hospital staff to let you in as you stupidly forgot to bring any of your IDs. The pack of cigarettes crinkles loudly earning you a withering look from a tired-looking mother. 

You take a breath. 

You settle yourself in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs they point you to. There’s a scream in your throat. And you’re so close to crying. From frustration, anxiety, fatigue? You couldn’t distinguish. 

You flick your eyes to them. Finally, the staff relents and you brush past them brusquely.   

Your thoughts spiral. The bile lingers at the back of your throat. Burning. Acidic. Dick had lost a lot of blood but not fatal, they told you. The sob that left your mouth was inhumane. You’d almost dropped the phone. Static and white noise vibrated through your eardrums. In a trance-like state, you walk towards the room they kept him in, tunnel vision guiding you to his door. That’s what shock does to you. 

All you can think of is him.

You hold the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, glaring at Dick through the rearview mirror, more specifically the white hospital issued sling cradling his arm. You watch Dick as he pretends to not notice the look you’re needling him with.  “I spy with my little eye something… green,” he says absentmindedly as he stares out into the flow of traffic. 

You keep your narrowed eyes straight ahead, not even thinking about dignifying his little distraction. Right now, all you were seeing was red. 

To your right, Dick sighs dramatically, running his hand through his black hair. “So you’re just going to ignore me, huh?”

You’re not but you sure are trying. 

Dick as far as you knew was used to silence but he thrived in noise. He lived off of interactions, good or bad. You’re usually an endless supply of banter and playful quips but right now you needed the silence. You needed him to stew in it along with you. This isn’t to say you were particularly ill-tempered or impatient with people, being friends with someone like Dick necessitated a certain level of patience in your opinion.  And sure, you had a sharp tongue but you didn’t lose your temper often. But as you sit there next to him with your teeth grinding, fingers tapping, and muscles clenched, you could feel anger coiling under your skin. 

He lets out another sigh, this time sounding genuinely exasperated. Good. “(y/n), I don’t know why you’re upset by this- I’m a cop. We both know the risks.” 

The coil under your skin burns and you break hard, pointedly ignoring the loud cursing from the driver behind you. Dick chokes and hisses as the seatbelt digs into his chest. You offer him no sympathy or apology as you shoot him such a glare that whatever smartass remark he has for you dies on the tip of his tongue. Considering all the villains and heroes he’s had glaring at him over the years, you consider this an accomplishment. Dick flinches at the intensity of the anger wicking off of you. 

You click your teeth and turn back to the road, seeing the light turn green again. “You were issued a gun for a reason,” you say flatly, opting for this instead of the litany of other ways to say ‘you’re a moron’. You’re polite like that. 

It’s Dick’s turn to level you a look but unlike him, you don’t flinch, too caught up in your own anger. “Well, I assessed the situation-”

“You were wrong.”

“- and thought I could deescalate,” he says scowling at you through the mirror. Hurt flashes behind his eyes.  He looks… like a mix between petulant and offended but you can’t bring yourself to care to do more than give him a withering look, especially not when you still have his bloodied uniform burned into your mind. You admired his determination to keep the peace the way you admired how uncompromising his stance was on second chances. You really did but… It was the second time he nearly died that week and it was just Tuesday. 

You stop again. You close your eyes. Loving someone who could someday not come home to you was not a possibility you had prepared for.  You just- You just weren’t ready to care for someone so… destructible.  You weren’t sure how to process all the anxiety that came with that, so you turned to anger. It just seemed so much more productive and tangible than the shapeless fear anxiety brought you. “And you nearly got shot in the heart,” you deadpan, heart twinging. You taper your emotions down into something more manageable, something easier to compartmentalize. You can tell Dick was going through the same process. Which one of you was having a harder time, you couldn’t tell. 

“He barely grazed me.”

“Correction, you have a hole in your shoulder.” Asshole.  You bite back the insult, trying not to escalate the argument. You click your teeth but try not to clench your jaw or grind your teeth. The first person to lose their temper loses the argument. 

Dick huffs, resting his chin against his uninjured hand. His eyes flicker to you then the window. “I’ve had worse,” he mutters and your stomach tumbles to the ground getting crushed by the tire. Your mind careens. Your lungs fill up with the smell of ash and gun smoke. For a moment, your eyes do not work. For a moment, you’re in a crumbling building. Your eyes watching the billowing smoke curl against the sky. A blast of heat so hot it makes the liquid in your eyes boil breezes past you. 

You feel the flick of Yasiri’s tail on your skin and suddenly your foot is on a gas pedal instead of a broken cement floor. You blink, a tar-like emotion is swimming under your skin. You breathe. You glare at the traffic in front of you if only to focus your vision. “You’re impossible,” you snarl. 

In the corner of your eye, Dick peels away from the window, anger flashing in his easy-going features. He’s brandishing a sneer. You brace yourself. Dick… Dick Grayson was a mean son of a bitch when he wanted to be and he knew too much of your hurts. You swallow, gripping the steering wheel. Yasiri swims on your skin, surfacing just enough to get ready to strike but also just enough to be hidden. 

Dick opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Dick closes his mouth then opens it again and instead of something truly scathing, Dic opts for something more teasing probably realizing that pissing off your driver is a really bad idea. “You say that like you’re any easier to talk to.”

“At least, I know how to listen,” you bite out, voice drawing dangerously low. Dick’s eyes flicker to you, his shoulders bunching up a fraction. You click your teeth and take a calming breath. 

Dick snorts, the knot in his shoulders disappearing. “Yeah, right.”

You bristle. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel contemplating on whether to deck him. You should deck him. You should definitely deck him. Would that open up his stitches? It probably would. You mutter a curse. It feels nice rolling off your tongue and it seems Dick feels the same when he curses in Romani. You catalog the word for later use. Dick turns away from you, glaring out the window. You can see the way his eyes narrow through the reflection in the window. The look in his eyes is a complicated mix of irritation and hurt and regret.  

You silently agree to table the discussion, at least, until you got off the road. 

You brush past the elevator door, tossing your bag to the corner and leaning against the cool wall of the elevator. Dick enters and leans on the opposite wall, gingerly rubbing his shoulder. Neither of you look at each other. You watch the buttons light up as the elevator climbs up. Your skin is still buzzing from emotions. You thought the quiet drive would right them but… it didn’t.

To your side, you hear the restless tapping of feet. You glance over to Dick whose body is vibrating and itching from movement. Seems you weren’t the only one jittery. You smother a snort in your hand. It was cruel but you find the fact that he’ll be so bored while recovering is slightly funny. 

The elevator shakes. You’re thrown off balance. There’s a metallic clunking above you. You both lookup. Dick strains his ears to listen. You quiet your breathing so as not to distract him. He sighs and curses, the side of his fist pounding against the wall. “It’s just broken.” You look at him, eyes wide and dumbfounded. 

“Are you fucking with me?”

He shakes his head. “I wish,” he scoffs. You scrunch your nose and Dick sneers. “We’re just gonna have to wait, I guess.”  And you press yourself against your wall. “Wonderful.” 

You both stew in silence. “I can’t believe I’m stuck...” you mutter under your breath as you try to pry the elevator doors open. Dick rolls his eyes at you. “You can’t open those doors, (y/n),” he ruffles his hair in frustration, “we just need to wait for the fire department, dumbass.”He says, his head lulling back against the wall. 

 You hiss, your fingers sore and red. “Has anyone ever told you that you were an ass?” You snarl making Dick scowl at you. 

“You’ve said so like 5 times in the emergency room and 2 times in- Do you really wanna start this again?!”

You punch the door, creating a deep divet. “You’re goddamn right I wanna start this again because, Richard, for once in your goddamned life I wish you would stop being such a self-centered dickweed!” You seethe. Your knuckles hurt. They feel cool. They’re probably bleeding. 

Dick shoots up from the corner. “How am I self-centered?”

“Risking your life like a fucking moron like that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was trying to save those people.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” you throw your arms up in exasperation, “do you know just how bad you are at keeping yourself alive because of that fucking hero complex, huh? You dumb. piece. of. Shit.”  You take a deep breath and continue your tirade. “You think you’re invincible just cus you run around in tights all night?”

Dick smirks at you. “You never had a problem with my tights when-”

“Check your ego, Grayson. I’ve dealt with a lot of spandex-clad pretty boys before, you’re nothing special.” You want the words to sting. 

“Oh please, you dealt with them by putting them in body bags!”

“Yeah! Fuck you! You’ll end up in one the rate you’re going.” Dick is speechless for a moment. Something in Dick’s eyes flares. You flinch and open your mouth to say something but Dick roars, the sound loud in the confined space. “What? Are you gonna tell me to stop being a hero? Are you gonna tell me that I’m not good enough to be Nightwing like how Bruce told me I couldn’t be Robin? Hah?”

Your heart drops and your chest burns. Your hackles draw up as high as they can. You bare your teeth. “No, you fucking moron That’s not the point!”

“What is it then, (y/n)? What do you want from me?!”

“You always go on this damn crusade to save everyone and everything and you don’t bother to take care of yourself or how it would affect others!”

“Wha-”

“No! You don’t- You don’t ever think!”You shove him against the wall, jabbing your finger into his chest. 

Dick glares down at you, grabbing your wrist in an almost painful grip. His finger jabs against your collar bone as he gets in your face, his hot breath fanning against your skin. “Fuck you! You’re just as bad as I am! You always throw yourself in front of others at the first sound of gunfire.”

“Dipshit, I have accelerated healing!” you say, ripping your hand out of his grip. 

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE INVINCIBLE.”

“Neither are you!” You sob, it comes out wet and raw. You close your eyes. You can still see the blood on his uniform. You sink to the floor, clutching at his shirt. Your tears sting even as they fall to the floor. “Neither are you.”

“(y/n)...” Dick’s shoulders droop as he watches you proud form crumple, entire body shaking.  He lowers himself to the ground slowly, careful not to agitate you. 

You press forward and bury your face into his shoulder, fist lightly punching his chest. You don’t want him to see you cry.  “Dick… I’m not saying you should quit… that- that’s just who you are.” You hiccup, tears flowing.“I just- I don’t want to bury you. I don’t- I can’t lose you, you fucking moron… You can’t just worm your way into someone’s heart and- and- ”

“(Y/n)...” Dick pulls you into his lap and lays his chin on your head. He hadn’t really thought… He should have known. He should have guessed. 

You pull away and look him in the eye, eyes bloodshot from crying. “You can’t just expect me to be ok with the possibility you won’t come back to me,” you say lowly, punching his chest.   The next few words come out in a shy whisper, low enough that Dick has to strain his ears to hear you. “Dick… I love you. I want to grow old with you, you waste of oxygen.” You cry into Dick’s shoulder not able to face him.  Dick shakes his head. He puts his hand on the back of your neck and presses a kiss to your hair. Dick doesn’t know how many times he has to tell you he doesn’t think less of you for crying on his shoulder but he’ll tell you no matter how many times you need to hear it.  

You sit in silence with only your muffled sobs and Dick’s comforting words filling the dead air. 

 “Timmy is gonna kill you for making me cry,” you sniffle, facing him with a wet tear-stained smile. 

Dick gives you a crooked smile in return.“ I still have no idea how you managed to turn my siblings against me,” Dick says, planting another kiss on your face but this time on your eyelid just below your brow. 

“You say that like it’s hard.” 

Dick pouts at you and you cackle loud and high, somehow still managing to sound musical. “I am a lovable big brother-”

“-And I’m a fucking nun-” Dick pinches your ass through your skirt. “We'll  have nun of that,”

You grab Dick’s wrist in a tight grip, managing to narrow your eyes at him. “I am not dropping this conversation just  to get fucked in an elevator.”

His eyes shine cheekily at the idea.“Wasn't my plan... but that works.”

“Dick…”

Dick leans down, his nose grazing your pulse, brushing like petals against your skin. “Let me make it up to you,” Dick says, licking a stripe up the column of your neck. Ignoring the swell of his pants against your inner thigh, you pinch his cheek, tugging him away from your neck. Your stomach roils at the loss of his lips on your skin but you suppress a whine to glare at him.

Dick looks up at you, mischief lighting his eyes. He pulls away from your hand. His lips find their way back to your neck then back up your jaw. His lips press kisses along your jawline. “It’ll-”kiss”-be-” kiss “-sooo worth it.”

Your breath hitches.“Dick...” you whine, feeling your skin heat. Your mind is buzzing. He smiles against you. His fingers toy with the strap of your bra, tugging it down slowly, carefully, making sure you feel every bit of his movement. “I hear my name-” he kisses your shoulder “-but you’re not stopping me.”

You roll your hips, panting for him. Dick’s tongue is hot against your skin. “C’mon, sweetheart, you know I can make you scream my name with just one hand,” Dick whispers against the shell of your ear. His hand slides down your arm down to your hip, his hand guiding your ass towards his growing bulge. “C’mon, Sweetheart, think about it-” Lick ”-the words I could make you sing.”

“Dick...” you pant, arching your back, pressing your body against his, giving him more access to your neck. Dick nips at your flesh happily. “Honey, I’m going to-”   

You yelp, your skin flying off your bones when you hear the elevator doors open. Dick, unphased, continues kissing you and licking up your skin. 

“Heeey guys, it’s Grayson,” the fireman calls out to the other men behind him. He turns back to the two of you with a cheeky grin.“Dickie, if I’d known it was you..” He glances towards you, eyes catching on the red hickeys blooming on your shoulder. You want to evaporate. “You guys need a minute?” Dick grins against your skin, looking up at you through thick lashes. “Thanks, Jerry, but we might need more than that.”

You glare down at Dick who simply smiles at you as he nips at your flesh.  “What? Feeling shy?” Dick breathes against your neck and all of a sudden, all of the anger and irritation comes creeping back. You shove Dick lightly, standing up and fixing your shirt. “I think he has a concussion. I suggest you check him out,” you snarl, brushing past Jerry leaving Dick on the floor, horny and stunned. 

“I’m totally fine!” Dick says, scrambling to his feet and grabbing your bag. 

You glare over your shoulder. “Our argument isn’t over.”

“What? But- I thought- We were about to-” Your scowl deepens as you see Dick flounder.  Jerry cackles as he gives Dick’s back an unsympathetic pat. 

“Sorry about that, Grayson. I guess you were destined to get blue balled,” Jerry laughs shaking his head. Dick sighs deeply, his shoulders drooping. “Are you really sorry?” Dick asks, side-eyeing Jerry. Jerry grins. “Nah, but it’s the thought that counts,” Jerry says, looking all too pleased with himself. 

Dick bumps past Jerry gently with a slightly petulant look on his face which earns him a chuckle from Jerry and a glare from you. “Watch the shoulder,” you crow from the hall. 

Jerry shakes his head. “No, hero’s welcome, huh?” Dick rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, she’s not exactly happy about the hole in my shoulder,” Dick admits, sheepishly. Jerry shoves Dick forward lightly and the other firemen do the same. “Go get ‘er, Tiger!”

Dick falls into step behind you, his lips brushing the back of your neck. His arm wraps around you as he pulls you close. He places a kiss behind your ear. You gasp and you hear hoots behind you. “Dick… Don’t… You can’t solve this with an orgasm,” you sigh, feeling your resolve crumble as his soft lips brushed the weak point of your neck. “Honey… please.” Dick holds you against his chest. The beating of his heart thaws you. “Honey, I’m sorry...” His breath runs down the side of your neck and it feels like feathers caressing your skin. You take a breath. He just knew how to make you melt. 

“... I love you too.”

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell   @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

[mirrorforevers]

heavenly nobodies (or “the fog”) • graham/reader

this is a bit heavier than usual, ladies. proceed w caution. tw for mentions of abusive relationships, drug abuse and reader has no self-esteem at all. nothing too descriptive in that sense though

on a lighter note, reader n graham are basically two lost adults acting like petty children

a quick disclaimer: its not my intention in *any way* to glorify or romanticize drug abuse or basically anything any of these characters do - its messed up shit. this is fiction, don't take it seriously, please

if this fic was a song, even though its titled after a lush song, it would be lark by angel olsen i guess. might have a sequel someday i dunno

+18, as always. contains smut. this is sososososo long and has went through so many rewrites im sorry. but i do think its my best fic yet!

set in the mid 90s

word count: 3.780

You still remember the day it began.

A nasty fight took place between Graham and Alex. You only got involved because your relationship became one of the topics of the heated debate. Long story short, Graham basically screamed at you two that you, Y/N, were wasting your life away by dating someone like James.

At first you were blind with rage and defended your decadent relationship while insulting Coxon until your throat burned from the screaming match, but afterwards, after you caught yourself thinking a little too long about how James' eyes sometimes seemed to hover over you with an indifference Coxon's never, ever showed, and how it hurt to see Alex in the arms of an entire sea of more attractive women than you - and how shallow you've become for even trying to excuse his behavior with something as empty as the fact you weren't as stereotypically beautiful as the other girls he screwed, you noticed something wasn't quite right about the entire situation, but you still felt shivers at the prospect of telling him you were sorry. He also had a lot to apologize for.

The fog. That's what's been messing with your mind lately. And Graham's. And everyone else's.

It's hard to think about things clearly as they happen in your life when all you feel during most of it is hedonistic, empty bliss. Everything moves in slow motion. The regret, the harsh words, always come afterwards, like a sudden car crash, after people realize the very real consequences of what they said and done while they were immersed in their own very temporary, elusive, pleasures. The fog also made you bitter - not only you, but Graham, Alex and the other boys as well; your relationship with them as a group of friends and individually, each in a different way, consequently turned into a toxic, resentful mess of chaotic feelings and unresolved conflicts. Your relationship with Graham was by far the most affected.

You grew up together. You went to the same college. You very briefly had a thing. He drew you lots and lots of times, you haven't lost a drawing. You realized you didn't love him like *that* and he was okay with it. You were still as close as ever.

Then you met his other friends. In the beginning, he was so excited about this whole "band" thing. The boys were funny, compelling, undoubtedly hard to deal with sometimes, but you got them quickly. Their music very gradually became successful - they deserved it. They sounded so good together. You noticed Graham was a bit jealous of how you interacted with the other boys sometimes. Damon and Dave were the first ones who tried (hard) to bed you, but Alex, effortlessly, was the one who got to.

One night turned into two, three, fifteen. Then into a fucked up prototype of a relationship around the time their stages got bigger, more packed with screaming teenagers and all of you met her – heroin. Graham got proportionally and gradually more distressed and anxious each day. You didn't know which one of these things disturbed him the most, after all, he didn't speak to you (or anyone, for fuck's sake) like he used to. Thousands of little things began to intercalate and swallow everything you've built together.

You've started to hate him - he refused to speak to you about what was bothering him, and you barely talked outside of the inevitable circumstances. Meanwhile, Alex dragged you even deeper into his questionable lifestyle and you shrinked into it until you could pretend it fit you like a glove. You felt so small. Invisible to everything and everyone who truly mattered, even to yourself. You tried to reach out to the one who mattered most plenty of times, but every time you tried to reach out to him it would end up in screams and even more resentment. It seemed like there was no way back - he hated you as well because he thought you were just like Alex. It felt like a knife was twisted in your stomach when he said it the first time. You pretended it didn't hurt the other ones - those were the nights your binges were the worst and you'd vomit yourself to sleep, though.

Everything was leading you to one of those nights again, until you heard a knock on your door. At this time of night, it was definitely Alex.

You tried to tidy yourself up as much as you could in a matter of a few minutes. You thought you weren't as effortlessly beautiful as the other women in his life - as if cheating had something to do with appearance and not with his character, but oh well - and you felt like you had to at least try to keep up with their pace. You washed your face, smeared some foundation on some old stretch (and track) marks and tried to pretend his presence was the brightest spot on your day. He disguised so much criticism under the pretense of worry, leaving you feeling so bad about yourself, but you needed his approval like you needed air on your lungs (or opioids on your veins) for some reason you couldn't quite explain.

You open the door, holding your breath while you tried to ignore the pit that grew on your stomach just to find out that...

"Graham?" You were simultaneously relieved and revolted to see him on your door. Adrenaline ran through your veins. You didn't realize how afraid you were of him - you've only hurt one another with words, but still, you were afraid to cross eyes with him just because you felt like it would start another fight and you would simply never speak to each other ever again, not even to fight. You were afraid of how deep your friendship has corroded.

He was visibly hurting, just like you. It comforted and hurt you to see it.

"You were waiting for him, weren't you?" He noted, vaguely motioning towards the lipstick on your lips. You felt pathetic.

"What are you doing here?" You quickly wiped the lipstick off your lips while he looks around, not really knowing what to answer. His eyes, puffy, somehow indicated he wasn't there to say he was sorry. At that point, you didn't even cared who was in the wrong. You just wanted to know why he was there.

"Just came here to tell you that... I'm leaving Blur, and... I'll be moving to Germany with a friend. Tomorrow."

"What kind of joke is this?"

"I wanted to tell you because... I felt like we got so used to each other's presence t-that... even if you're relieved by the news, uh, I think you should know in advance."

There was no mischief in his eyes. There was no point in joking with something like that. It's not like you were comfortable enough with each other to joke with each other nowadays anyway. That realization crushed you and anchored you to the very confusing and tragic reality just laid out in front of you.

It was so uncharacteristic. You knew of his tendency to run away from these types of situations and this time he simply didn't. Your mouth refused to close. "I-I don't understand. You... You can't... You can't just do that. You have a fucking gig tomorrow!"

"I won't justify myself to you. Just... take care of yourself and... don't let that leech suck the life out of you more than he already did."

"You don't understand. You don't understand anything. Is this about him? Again?" In yet another wave of adrenaline, you pulled him inside your flat and he just lets you. "Are you moving to bloody Germany because of what went on between us today?!"

"I don't care that you don't love me. I care that I can't go for a fucking day without seeing you waste away your life with him. If he was someone that made you happy... but he's just killing you. I can't deal with that."

Still in shock, you pulled him in a desperate kiss. It was not an attempt of making him stay, but something else entirely new. He had to say he was leaving so you could really know, in a matter of a few seconds, how much you needed him there.

His reciprocity simultaneously broke your heart and filled it with hope - you knew how far your relationship with Alex went and how tough it would be to break free from the chains he's got your heart tangled in, but at the same time, Coxon kissed you in a way no one else ever did. He loved you like no one else could. And that's how you noticed how easily you clinged to any sign of true affection given how much Alex's been neglecting your emotional and physical needs lately. Everything was about him all the time, it was a monologue. Graham and you had a conversation.

(A conversation that lasted all night. Thankfully, Alex didn't show up. He must've been talking to someone else.)

Instead of sweet nothings and love confessions, funnily enough, you and Graham exchanged soft "I hate you"s after the deed was done. You both hated the situation you were in. Hated that even though the passion burned hot as fire between you, you were stuck in a mess bigger than everything that just went through both of you. But never each other. You just couldn't name the feeling right.

Perhaps needless to mention, he stayed in the United Kingdom. Instead of sitting and talking like adults about what you felt about each other though, the bickering somehow became even worse.

Of course you started to take his side on fights more often. Mock Alex's behavior together more often. Something definitely changed between the two of you, but it still wasn't enough. Graham was still furious that you wouldn't give up on James. You were still furious that he wouldn't take your relationship with Alex seriously. It had its many faults, yes, but it was special in a way no one else grasped and you were raised to think that people shouldn't give up on others that easily, a convention that no modern deconstruction of social norms could take out of you out of a sudden. Not even Graham. But instead of raising your voices and breaking things around you, you've found other means to release the tension between you. Usually in dark corners of untidy pubs, his flat or yours. It became so frequent it didn't need any planning anymore.

Following the opposite path of the earlier days of your animosity, the more intense the fights got now, the lower your voices got. Instead of distancing yourselves from each other in the middle of screams, your bodies got closer like magnets. He could be so tender somehow even when his words stung like venom.

You were living and breathing contradictions. Him in the way he conveys his hopeless submissiveness to you in the way every touch of yours breaks him and the way he just isn't able to cum if he sees you're not having enough pleasure, yet he fucks you like he wants it to hurt and pretends nothing happened after you're done; and you in the way you cling to him like he's your lifeline when he's deep inside of you but isn't hesitant to not look him in the eye on some other nights.

The night of one of the parties thrown by Blur's record company following the release of The Great Escape wasn't one of the latter.

While the lower floor of the venue is frenetic with people immersed in different levels of ecstasy caused by all sorts of different substances, the upper floor is reserved to the lovers, or people who were looking for a calmer place to talk or to relatively safely de-escalate from their highs. You, on the other hand, just wanted to run away from the view of Alex kissing another woman in the event he brought you to. You were almost falling asleep in one of the tiny, dimly lit and cramped rooms when a small, familiar voice woke you up. "Why aren't you downstairs with your future husband?"

You feel aloof. The slightest mention of the one you think you love disgruntles you. "Ugh. I should have known it was you," you grumble, giving him room to share the sofa with you. "You know why."

"I don't. Someone once told me I don't understand anything." He accepts the offer almost unconsciously. It's so interesting to see how his actions contradict his words and posture, just like your actions contradict yours.

"I'm still right about that. Why did you come here? To mock me?"

"You're lost."

"And so are you. Don’t talk. I don’t want to hear it."

"Do you want me to leave?" he asks, calmly, knowing what the answer will be.

It's always a no.

You instinctively move closer to him, as if he's about to disappear in a cloud of dust in any moment. You don't ever want him to leave.

He notices your eyes are glistening when your lips touch, so smoothly and in such a tender way. His hands enter your hair, just below your ears, and you melt at his touch all over again.

The kiss starts out slow, then becomes more and more intense. His tongue slides against yours and you whine, clutching at him like he’s the only thing tethering you to this earth. It becomes so easy to let him settle between your thighs. He runs one of his large hands through your hair, fists it, and pulls your head so he can have easier access to your neck, filling it with open-mouthed kisses. “Why the fuck,” you manage to murmur in between heavy breaths, “do you care so much about me?”

He doesn't answer. His fingers trace the hem of your dress instead, skimming up the side of your leg. You whimper as he moves them over the sensitive skin to the apex of your thighs, his lips finding the side of your throat again. He sucks a mark into your skin just as his thumb caress your core so lightly above your underwear and you whisper, voice trembling with desire: "You're so much better than him."

He's not sure if you're just leading him on, and neither are you. He doesn't even know if he has heard it right. The fog really blurs every line. Reason, feelings, motives. "You never cried over me", he answers, seeking to turn that reality around, it seemed. Your hips buck into his touch, and a moan escapes you when his hand coyly seeks direct contact with your clit, stimulating it with precision from the start. "You truly... don't know shit," you gasp, grinding harder against his touch and losing yourself to his ministrations, the fog of an earlier hit helping in enveloping you in a state of so much bliss.

"Do you want me to lock the door?" His raspy voice takes you out of this world. You nod, a little disappointed by having such a great feeling interrupted for the sake of privacy. Your lips were spit-slick and pinkened, your eyes half lidded. The sight made Graham breathe hard through his nose, but he somehow kept his composure. When he goes to lock the door, you couldn't help noticing the tent you helped build in his jeans. You feel proud of yourself.

He returns with the hungry kisses and eager touches, slowly driving you crazy all over again. His kisses lower down, down... and you pat his shoulders, motioning for him to stop. "I want to make you feel good tonight." He accepts the offer.

You scooch downwards, just above his hips, and you pull his pants and the waistband to his briefs down in one swift motion. He's painfully hard, but that was hardly a surprise. Graham straightens his back just in time to watch you take the reddened head of his cock into your mouth. He claps a hand over his mouth, hips bucking upwards into the wet heat instinctively, your warm breath enveloping his dick and clouding his mind.

Wrapping your fingers around it, you gently jerk him off, slowly sliding your hand from the tip back to the base. He groans, watching you as you fill his senses with a dull warmth. You stare back at him, smiling as he groans at your warm breath.

You run the tip of your index finger tentatively along the underside of his cock, watching with fascination as his cock twitches and reacts to your presence. You lean forward, breathing on the head before planting a soft kiss on the tip. Coxon whimpers, his dick aching from your attention. Tired of the teasing, you begin stroking it, your soft fingers loosely bouncing along his shaft. He leans his head back to the ceiling when you kiss the tip again.

You eye his cock excitedly, before you lean forward and lick his head, swirling your tongue around the crown and flicking it across the tip. His hips thrust forward before you can even react, his mind reeling as your tongue slowly traces along a vein you followed from the head all the way to the base. He groans, and was about to say something when his mind went blank. He sees pure white, his brain shutting down almost completely as you wrap your mouth around the end of his cock and set a steady rhythm to the oral stimulation. His chest rumbles as a deep growl of satisfaction leaves him, shaking through the air, the vibrations in your mouth punctuating his growl with a hiss.

He cracks his eyes open, his glazed eyes staring down to find you staring directly at him. The sight of his rigid cock vanishing between your soft lips made his skin crawl. He groans heavily, grasping your head on instinct and thrusting forward.

You gasp lightly as he shoves himself deeper inside your mouth, pushing against your throat. He moans your name desperately, panting heavily as his hips automatically thrust against you. You stand firm, keeping only the front half of his cock in your mouth, slithering your tongue against the crown and watching intently for his reactions. He was close, his mind firmly on fire as his body reacted on autopilot, trying to extract as much pleasure as possible. He could feel his climax approaching, your soft lips and gentle eyes coaxing him on. You look into his eyes and give an experimental bob of your head, taking him further into your mouth. Feeling the characteristic salty taste of precum on your tongue, you take your mouth off his cock, and before his mind is able to form a cohesive sentence of protest, you take off your underwear and sit on his lap. His hands now squeeze your hip, pulling you closer. Your wetness leaves a bit of a trail on his legs before you sink on his hard, already lubricated cock.

"You're addicted to my cock, aren't you," It's fascinating how Graham's behavior changes when he's drunk. In the best and worst ways. He would never say something like that while sober. You nod in agreement, face flush with arousal and need. "He can't even fuck you," he punctuactes with an especially hard thrust, "like I can." he envelops you in a sort of hug as his broad shoulders and arms now dictate the rhythm you both follow.

"He--c-an't, fuck--"

"Do you think," he takes his entire cock out of you just so he can go even deeper when he says, "he'll hear us... if you say my name out loud?" he smiles when a loud moan escapes your lips, feeling completely in control of your body. You can't even talk anymore, just nod, like a marionette.

"So say it." Another thrust. And another. And another. You follow his pace with your hips religiously, not even slightly ashamed of making the name of the one who's giving you so much pleasure public, as he commanded. You take the last atom of control on your body and direct it to your pussy, clenching your walls tighter around him, an action that successfully tears his thoughts apart, making his eyebrows furrow and his mouth, agape. One of his hands move to the middle of your bodies and, as he looks down at where your bodies meet, begins to stimulate your clit to the rhythm of his thrusts. His groans turn louder when your body moves towards his again, and the sound of your moans, along with the sound of skin against skin and your ragged breaths were the only thing you were able to hear, along with the distant sound of It Could Be You playing in the background.

In a daze, he says your name in that unique way that only he knew how to - like it was part of a prayer and your body was his God(dess). You dig your nails into his back while he fucks you without a trace of mercy. You close your eyes, losing yourself in all those sensations as Graham continued his movements. When he punctuates his now even faster thrusts with a string of "fuck, fuck, fuck" - that's when you know he's close, a suspicion confirmed true as he comes hard inside of you, closing his eyes tightly as he reached his climax. You follow him seconds later.

When he recovers enough to be able to breathe calmly and control his heartbeat, Graham rests his chin on your shoulder. Neither of you say anything for a long time.

And when the spasms of pleasure are gone, Graham's brain decides to go back to work and he realizes what had just happened - again. Suddenly, the sensation of bliss is accompanied by that weird sensation of "What do I do now?". He carefully removes his dick from you and pulls his jeans up, zipping up his pants while you straighten your dress and search for your panties in the middle of the dark. Both without saying a single word.

Graham clears his throat, glancing at the mirror behind the door and seeing his state was deplorable. His face reddened by the heat and his hair a perfect mess. You were in no better situation than him.

“Uh,” Graham said a long time later, breaking the silence. “How long is that arrangement supposed to last?”

"I won't count the time." You responded calmly. 

He nods, mystified by you. 

[moonlights-inkwell]

Why Don’t You Just Tell Them All to Fuck Off Love, And Be Mine

Jaskier x Reader  

Word Count: 5,670

Summary: You and Jaskier partake in a game of pretend, with some unexpected consequences.  

AN: The sequel to Oh Can’t You Hear The Scratching that no one asked for. Oops.  

Warnings: Smut. Oral (female receiving). Dirty Talk. Feelings.  

“You know,” Jaskier says lightly, cutting through the silence of the empty tavern, making you look up to meet his eyes. “You wore that dress the first night I met you.”  

You had almost forgotten Jaskier was still in the tavern. He was being strangely quiet before speaking up, so quiet you could have sworn he had gone home when the drinkers had, yet there he is. Sat there, still holding his Lute on his knee and watching you like a hawk. He’s taken to performing on nights when you work. Locals love him, bards seldom come through your village, and those who do don’t stay for long, so Jaskier's songs have been well received, even if your employer has been shooting your lover death glares every night he has performed. You don’t know if he recalls that it was Jaskier that swept you out of your life in the village so long ago, or if he’s just jealous of how you allow Jaskier affection so freely, but the older man scowls and jabs and jibes, and with him going through the coins earned tonight upstairs, there has been silence. Just you and the rag and a silent Jaskier. 

It’s true though, you did wear this dress the first night you met him. It’s a white and wine-coloured affair, pretty enough to flatter your frame but easy enough to move in during your hours working. It’s nice, flares out when you turn too quickly and dips to a respectable if a little coquettish square neckline that makes your chest more obvious. The dress is usually enough to encourage men to be more generous with their coin without hearing any comments about your being some sort of whore, and your hands leave the rag you had been using to clean to smooth the fabric about your hips. You hadn’t paid that much mind when you tugged it on this morning, but under his watchful eyes right now, you flush as though it had been deliberate. Clothing has never been something you pay much mind to but, with how Jaskier is eyeing you, you can tell that he has paid attention to it, and you realise something you hadn’t noticed earlier. He too is wearing the exact same thing he wore the night the two of you met, deep violet and sky-blue doublet and trousers, pretty and attention grabbing- but somewhat toned down compared to his usual garb.

“it was clean.” You say shyly, tucking a few stray curls behind your ear to hear him chuckle quietly.  

“It’s beautiful. You're beautiful.” Jaskier says things like that as if they’re obvious, unintentionally making you feel foolish for any insecurity. A pathetic laugh comes from you and he tilts his head like a pup, the island of the bar between the two of you makes you feel safe; he'd never hurt you, that much you can stand your life on, but the distance between you keeps you from doing something foolish. Like kissing him.  

He’s been distant since the first night he returned to you, never letting his touch linger longer than would be considered chaste, his kisses never turning passionate, never finding his usual respite between your thighs as he once did. He sleeps beside you, presses kisses to the space beneath the corner of your lips, still sings and leans into you but doesn’t... touch as he once did. It’s as though you've fallen into some sort of time warp to before the first time you were intimate, when he was so concerned about making you uncomfortable that progressing seldom seemed like an option at all. You have no clue how to fix this rift that has developed, unsure if this distance is simply because of the time you spent apart or because he’s no longer interested in you as you’re interested in him.

“It’s just a dress.”  

“It’s a dress that makes you look beautiful, Little Miss.” The bard insists, settling his Lute down on the newly cleaned surface of the table before walking around it to approach you. Be it nerves or something more embarrassing than that, you turn from him to continue your cleaning. “...The moment I saw you wearing it, I knew I’d laid my eyes on the most divine creature the lands have ever known.”  

“The moment you saw me you had a woman hanging off each arm.” You retort. It’s intended to be playful, but comes out colder than expected, and you cringe at the sound of your own voice. Petty. Absolutely fucking petty, because you know as well as him that once you smiled his way and brushed past him to serve drinks to a group of patrons his lady-friends were gone, and Jaskier had sat at the bar and spent the night talking to you as if you were the only person in the world. You aren’t jealous, truly you aren't, the person your Dandelion had been before you had even known him has never been your concern, and now you sound like an envious adolescent. It’s enough to make your flesh crawl with shame. Were you paying more attention to anything but your own words you might have heard Jaskier say your name firmly, but no, you remain in your own head until your stomach is pressed gently against the counter, kept in place by his warm, firm body behind you. “Jask?” Stupid question. Who else would it be?  

“I thought you were the most beautiful woman I could ever lay eyes on.” He breathes into your ear, sending shivers down your back. “A muse, a godsend, beautiful and intoxicating and...” His voice trails away to nothing at all while his hands rest on your hips. “Gods above and below, Missy. The sight of you alone had me willing to spend a whole night ignoring everyone else, content to spend my night obsessed with the Beauty before me and fisting at my cock until i slept to the thought of you rather than try to find someone else to spend my night with.” His voice is little more than a growl, and breathing is growing harder with every honeyed word that drips from his lips. “You, beautiful you, who didn’t care about my songs or my reputation- just so kind and perfect and fucking beautiful.” Cold hands slide upward from your hips to rest in the dips of your waist. “So perfect I asked you to come with me. So perfect I feared telling you how I felt. Skilled with a sword and with your tongue and so much better than I will ever deserve.”  

“Julian.” You start, but no other words will follow his real name. You could worry that he's going to do something foolish, or give in and push his hands up to your breasts, but instead you simply sigh and relax into his touch. His lips press to the expanse of your throat and you feel him smile against your skin.  

“Even before I asked you to be mine, I wanted you. Needed you. Came with my fist in my mouth to the thought of you so I wouldn’t wake you. So, do not question when I tell you how I feel about you.” His growl is enough to send a rush of heat to your cunt with each word, and a painful sort of warmth to your heart. “Even without being with you, my heart has been yours since the moment I met you.”  

Logical thought dies an honourless death at the suggestion of Jaskier's want for you. Weeks of nothing at all and he decides that he ought to break that run by informing you that the first night he had even met you he had worked himself to climax to the thought of you. That the thought of you alone was enough to have him spilling onto his hand even before he had so much as kissed you. You swear you could choke at the thought, but there’s something more you want to choke on. Still, he pulls back from you, the world is off kilter and you swear you’re going to fall to your knees until you turn about to press your back to the counter, it takes less than a second for him to all but throw himself onto you- mouth over yours, tongue dipping into your mouth as though he's some adventurer trying to map out uncharted land.  

Eyes shut, his mouth on yours, you feel the tavern around you fall away, the wind gusting through your hair and along your décolletage. There is no tavern, no employer, no cleaning, no childhood home that will almost definitely be cold as death by the time you get home. None of that exists, none of it matters at all. All that exists is his mouth, his tongue, how he manages to somehow be everywhere and nowhere at once, intoxicating and intangible. You could be anywhere, everywhere, with your eyes clamped shut as they are. With no effort at all, you could imagine yourself anywhere, the hidden spot behind a curtain while a ball happens less than a foot away from you, the sandy alcove of some far-off beach, but the place your mind settles on is somewhere you don’t know at all, making you fill in the gaps to create something out of your own memories. Oak coloured, and warm, furnished all with deeply coloured leather, books and instruments, like Oxenfurt, but cast half in shadows by flickering lights and scented like smoke and molasses, like Yen's home. In spite of all of that, or maybe because, it feels like home: especially when Jaskier's lips dip down from your lips to the corner of your mouth once more to kiss at the space he calls Your Kiss.  

Lettenhove, your mind supplies the name for the place it has created, faster than you can remember where you know it from. Jaskier's home.  

He’s mentioned it to you once, maybe twice, in all the years you’ve known him, only ever to complain and insist how he hated it and would never return, but here you are, creating it in your mind. It seems only right, that he has kissed you in your childhood home that you can at least imagine his. It feels wrong though, even if the thought remains, like a sick secret.  

“Darling?” He asks softly, drawing your attention back to him.  

“Yes?” You ask gently while his fingers trace circles into your waist.  

“You look sad, Dear Heart. I know I’ve been distant but please tell me that look is not disappointment as I assume.”  

“No, no. Just thinking.”  

“A dangerous past-time.” Jaskier says solemnly with a shake of his head which you ignore.  

“Why have you been so distant of late?”  

“I. I've had a deal to think about since. Well, since.”  

“Since the mountain.” You finish the sentence for him. He nods and you nod in return. He hasn’t told you what happened, except that Geralt and himself had parted ways on less than amicable terms. Why that has meant the two of you haven’t been intimate is beyond you though, and you feel awkward to ask such a question.  

“I didn’t want to do anything while my mind was not entirely focused on you, My Muse.” He admits, tracing fingers across the details of your face. “I spent months without you, trying to remember just how your skin turns pink as you climax, the delicate arch of your back, the contortion of your lips. Months of cumming to a memory, and months of cumming to fantasies of you before I had you. I wanted the real thing, and to appreciate it. And that meant not being distracted.”

“I could have put my mouth on you. That always relaxed you.”  

“A sweet offer, truly. Probably would have taken you up on it too.” He admits, “But I want to pay attention to you.” Traitors that the mind and mouth are, you can’t find a single word to say, but your lips turn up in a subtle smirk and you pull away from him, slipping from his grasp.  

“Darling-" he argues at your sudden movement, but you press your fingers to his lips with a soft shushing sound.  

“Play a game with me a while, Dandy?” You ask intently, which catches him off guard, his hand wrapping around your wrist. Pet names are his forte, wordplay his bread and butter, so it doesn’t take a hair out of you when he calls you by one, but you use them fairly infrequently and they always have him blinking like a startled doe.  

“Name the game.”  

“First impressions.”  

“Can’t pretend I know that one, Dear Heart. If it’s anything like Gwent I can’t see my being any good either.” He chuckles and you pull back from him with a laugh of your own.  

“Not like Gwent. More of a playing pretend sort of game.” You clarify, though saying it makes you feel childish. “We... we pretend this is the first time we have met.” He smiles at that, head tilting to the side.  

“A pretend game.” He repeats, smile growing as he mulls over the idea. “I like it.”  

“I’m glad.”  

“Are there any rules to this game?” He asks and you blink. Rules had not even entered your mind, but he was right. A game should have rules.  

“...We can’t acknowledge anything we’ve been through.” You say easily and he nods. “And we can do whatever we wish we could have done when we first met.”  

“Sounds good to me. But one thing before we start?” He asks gently, leaning in and loosening your hair and pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck. “Perfect. Now I can pretend not to have known you.”

“I... think we ought wait for Kacper to leave for the night.” You whisper meekly, and though Jaskier lets out a pained little groan he nods slowly, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss the heel of your palm.  

“Fine. Can’t have that vile little man watching as I have my way with you.” That makes you choke, staring at him, wide eyed and gaping like a fish out of water while he smiles down at you like he’s simply commented on the weather.

“You. You say that like I would have let you- “ You falter and snap out a quiet, “That vile little man is the reason we can afford food and clothes!”  

“Little Miss, please.” He interrupts you flippantly before bringing his lips down on your own once more, albeit only for a second or so. “I have eyes. I’ve seen how the bastard looks at you. I’ve seen how every bastard looks at you.” You dont know what he means. Kacper, yes, the man is uncomfortable and not someone you want to spend any time about, but everyone? He’s a fool, and a paranoid one ay that.  

“Be that as it may!” You say, hoping he doesn’t realise that you’ve essentially agreed with him. “You’re acting as ifi would have let you bed me having known me less than a night.”  

“We'll be playing at having just met, not completely forgetting everything. And besides, you said we could do anything we wished we had when we first met, no?”  

“I. I did.”  

“And, from the moment I met you, I’ve wanted to taste you. And I have every intention of creating a first meeting between us where I was not such a coward as to not even attempt it.”  

“I never thought you a coward, Jaskier.” You argue but he shakes his head.  

“I know that, Dear Heart, and I wouldn’t change our time together. But it’s just a game of pretend.”  

“Just a game of pretend.” You agree.  

...

“I’ll be off now, Missy.” Kacper says tiredly, holding onto the door for purchase. “No bard?”

“He's home and asleep by now.”

“You should go home yourself. I can walk you if you-"  

“No, no. I'll finish cleaning, it oughtn't take too long. Go rest.” You reply easily, pushing the hair that’s escaped your bun away from your eyes. “I'll be fine. I’m a big girl. I can cope.”  

“You can stay in my house if you want to avoid the walk.” He says insistently. Your flesh crawls at his lecherous smile but you fake a smile all the same.  

“I’ll be fine, Kacper. But thank you. Sleep well." The response is sharp and firm, and the older man ducks his head in a suddenly sober nod. “Good Night.”  

“Goodnight Child.”  

Child. The looks he gives you should not be given to a child.

The tavern is empty, and you wipe at the counter in front of you out of boredom until you hear it. The click of the latch lifting followed by the soft squeal that tells you the door is opening. Your eyes stay focused on the wet surface. In this pretence of a night too long ago, you consider pretending to serve drinks to patrons that don't exist, but decide that to be a step too far and instead drop the rag to toy with your hair, leaning against the counter as if watching people that are no longer there.  

Try hard enough, and you can make out the people who had been there that night; the table of drunken older men playing Gwent who had always been especially generous in tipping you in the hopes that you might stay a while and bring luck with a smile, your own friends gathered about a table and shouting old pet names to lure you back to their table with ale, the gaggle of older women cawing and cursing about how wrong it is for a girl of your age to be working in a pub, tempting their husbands and sons. It’s familiar and alien and nostalgic all at once, making your heart ache. It was like that not four hours before, and you hadn’t had any such feelings then, but now that it is empty it feels like watching ghosts lingering at empty tables, phantoms sat in empty chairs.  

“Is it always so busy?” A voice asks from beside you, making you let out a squeak of surprise. You take in the bard as if you’ve ne’er seen him before, and it’s strange. Gods, he’s beautiful, that you already knew, but the way he’s swept his hair to one side has you convinced he’s testing your patience on purpose. He deliberately loosened your hair so you looked closer to how you had, but his hair is swept to the other side entirely. Bastard. You know he’s done it to see if you will immediately try and sort it out. You’re tempted.  

“Oh? It’s early in the morning on Freya's day at a tavern. It’s always busy.” You’re surprised how level your voice is, tinged with sarcasm. “You aren’t from here.”  

“Beautiful and Observant. Are all women in this town like you?” He smirks and leans on his elbow, not realising how wet the counter was until it slides along the surface, making you cackle unexpectedly.  

“Only in that lines like those won’t work on them, stranger.” You struggle out between laughs. “Ale? Wine? Food?”  

“Wine, please.” He grumbles out, pushing himself off of the counter. Any mortal man would be ashamed of having almost knocked out their front teeth on the bar, but not the bard, his lips turn up in a smirk. “And the name of the radiant being in front of me.”  

“Wine it is, Stranger.”  

“Not a stranger. Stranger has some awful implications, Pretty Thing, and a stranger is only a stranger when you know not their name.” A pale, calloused hand is thrust towards you. “Dandelion. Well, Jaskier, famed bard. Surely you've heard of me.” His voice is overcome with confidence, and you can’t help but lean on the driest part of the counter to observe him closely before breathing out your name, which he repeats.  

“That’s my name.” You say simply, leaning back to seek out a bottle of wine and pouring out a glass for the bard in front of him. “And I can’t pretend I know who you are, Bard. But if you’re famed then I presume that you can pay for your drinks.”

His face falls at that, and he begins to ooh and awe, looking through his pockets which you already know to be empty.  

“Now, Angel of the Ale, famed doesn’t necessarily mean rich-"  

“And, Bard, pretty eyes and notoriety doesn’t necessarily mean you'll get a free drink from me.” Your hand covers the brim of the glass and begin to slide it backwards toward you. “This is an establishment, not a charity.”  

“Now, Missy. Let us not be too hasty.” He argues, with a small smile. “surely a song is enough payment for a single glass of wine?” This elicits an unamused sigh from you, and you lift your hand from the cup.  

“Fine, Bard. Have it. But not a word of this to anyone. The owner will have my head if he finds out.”  

“No song, Missy?” He asks and you laugh and shake your head.  

“No, no. I’m. I’m hardly one for a song. You would just be wasting a song.”  

“A shame." Jaskier drawls out, taking a sip of wine before settling you with a smile that is just on the right side of leering. “I like to believe my songs are good enough even for those who don't know much of music. I hear I have a very clever mouth, and a talented tongue."  

He has a bastard of a tongue. The sort that has you flushing without obscene words, and with them? Oh, Melitele's tits you feel like you'll fall apart. The shock written across your face is true, and he chuckles like it’s a funny joke between just you two. It is, you suppose, or would be, were it not for the vile looks that your employer sends your way when he thinks your eyes away from his.

“Excuse me-?”  

“Come, Pretty Thing, play at a role that suits you. Shocked virgin might be believable at your age were you not the most beautiful woman I could ever lay eyes upon.” Jaskier says dismissively, eyes unblinking and following you as you escape from behind the bar. It’s easy to feel like prey under his watchful gaze.  

“Not that my sexual activity is any of your business, but I am.” You respond, shakily; watching as Jaskier saunters to you, holding his chalice in one hand. “A. A virgin, I mean.” You all but whisper the last sentence, and he grins; terrible and beautiful, all teeth and gums, and he reminds you of the wolves that lived in the woods during your childhood. But then he slinks closer still, the comparison between Jaskier and wolves are not quite right. No. Geralt, wherever in the world he is, is a wolf; built to survive hardship. Close enough to resemble a person who could be kept, but far too large and dangerous for that. No. Jaskier is no wolf.  

Jaskier is a fox. Slim and small and ready to rip out your throat. Easily mistaken for a pet, even willing to play at the role, but as soon as you stop eyeing him, he returns to a state that is closer to feral than kept. You feel like a chick, eyed like a feast, waiting for him to just. Strike. And he does, just not in the way you expected- he cups your cheek gently and swipes his thumb across your cheek.  

“Then everyone in this village must be blind, if they aren’t willing to fight to the death to Kiss you, never mind bed you.” His voice is smoke and molasses and you feel like you could drown on dry land.  

“They’ve wanted to.”  

“But you haven’t?”  

“Never met someone who I had any interest in.”  

“Is your... employer here?”  

“N-no.”  

“Then, at the risk of pushing, darling-maid, I’d rather show you what pleasures the flesh can hold.”

“Push. Please.”  

.....

Games of pretend as an adult are much different than they were when you were a child. As a child you toyed at being a princess, a dragon, a knight; now, you’re pretending not to know the love of your life as he buries his face between your thighs, shoved over a table that you cleaned while his clever tongue works it’s way inside of you from behind.  

The wood under you is so, so cold, but his mouth is intoxicatingly warm. Having his mouth on you is nothing new, not at all, but it has you feeling drunk: like having gulped down a tavern's worth of wine, giddy and all appendages tingling. It’s right and comfortable and new all at once. This position especially, face down on a table with him down on his knees before you, the Bard insists on seeing your face- be it so he can kiss you or see the minute changes in your face that tell him that you’re close, but tonight all you can see is the floor and not the mop of brunet locks and wide, blue eyes. The change is fine, welcome, but not enjoyed as much as the alternative.  

He’s made a romantic out of you, you don’t know if you should like or despise that fact. Women in the pub ask often about your musical lover and his talented tongue and fine fingers, asking if the length of them extends to other more personal parts of his anatomy, which you always laugh off. Small villages such as this thrive on gossip and you couldn’t bear it were your intimate goings on to become the talk of the town, but really, you’ve other reasons to be silent on the matter. How do you explain to someone that it’s not about the fingers that crook within you as it is the fact he always knows exactly where to do so? Could you ever find the words to describe that talented though his tongue may be, it’s the fact that you feel him use it to trace the words I love you against your most personal flesh, as he is right now? Can there be a means of saying that large as your lover's cock might be, and that he is well aware how to use it and that he uses it well, your pleasure comes more from the softness in storm-coloured eyes that bore deep into your soul all while that thick length fills you to the point of no return? Never mind a romantic, he's made some poet out of you. You never knew poetry and syphilis were transmitted the same way but you'd rather the former than the latter.

Missing his eyes on you, you whimper and reach back for his hair only to have it pinned to the table beneath you. With a long lick from your clit down to your entrance Jaskier pulls back, only to stare at your sex while panting- the warm air passing along your soaked cunt and making you quake .  

“I was right, Pretty Thing. People should fight to the death to Kiss you. Especially kiss these lips you so cruelly hide.” He sounds as drunk as you feel, words slurring over themselves.  

“Bard. Bard please.” You whine, digging your nails into the table. There's a breathless chuckle behind you, followed by a wet kiss to the meat of your thigh, where leg meets arse.  

“Do you want something, Angel of the Ale?” He chuckles, nipping at the skin.  

“Julian~” You whine loudly and Jaskier lets out a whisper of something that sounds suspiciously like finally, followed by a sharp swat to your cunt, wet slap echoing through the empty air. You'll never be able to work comfortably again, instead you'll be haunted by the memory of Jaskier's most triumphant performance to date: being able to bring you to the brink of orgasm without talking. No compliments, no whispered coos of Little Miss or Dear Heart to encourage you. Just his tongue.  

“So much for your game of pretend, Little Miss.” Jaskier sighs, but there's nothing but amusement in his voice. “I thought we were strangers?”  

“Changed my mind.” You choke out while his fingers spread the lips of your entrance wide open. “If I wanted to fuck a stranger, I would. I want my Buttercup to make love to me.”  

“Make love to you, eh?” Words fan across wet flesh and you could swear you have reached nirvana.  

“I want the love of my life to stop playing silly buggers and fuck me until I sob, yes.”  

He moans at that, weak and wanton as he bucks his hips into your calf, the proof of his want dragged against your skin like a dog rutting. Ever since he called you that in Oxenfurt, it’s been a secret sort of weapon for you. Losing an argument? Tell him he’s the love of your life. See him glaring across the tavern at a man whose eyes have been on you a second too long? Love of your life. It might be cruel were it not true.  

“Gods, Dear Heart, you're a cruel mistress.” You feel him smile as he bucks against you once more, thick and hard under layers of fabric. “Play pretend, Jaskier. Make love to me, Jaskier. You're the love of my life, Jaskier. What next? I simply won’t rest until your cock is in my mouth, Jaskier? You're going to be the death of me.” He smiles, you can feel soft lips as he kisses up from beneath the crease of your arse to the thickest point. “I’m half convinced you’re trying to kill me.”  

“Never.” Comes the earnest reply. “I can hardly spend forever with you if you’re dead.”  

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re half convinced you’ve gone too far but a thought creeps unbidden into your mind to fill the gaps. Something he said in Oxenfurt, which slips from your mouth with honest ease.  

“I'd marry you this second if I could.”  

Eyes slip closed as if waiting for some inevitable fallout, but none comes. Instead, you’re rolled onto your back and tugged up with such an intensity you worry the table might capsize.  

“... A hell of a place to propose, Little Miss.” He returns your own words back to you, eyes soft while his hand comes up to frame your face, fingers ghosting across the scar on your eye. The wound that kept you apart so long. The other rests on the crook of your neck, where if you cast your mind back far enough, you recall a wound being once, from some sort of vampire. He’s held your life inside you with trembling hands more often than you would like to think about, and you reach up to rest a hand over the space on his chemise where you know his heart ought be. It thunders along at a pace too fast for you to know it as you normally would, reminds you of how your own feels after fighting, fucking, but your own heart is beating slowly, pumping along at a relaxed pace under the touch of his fingers.  

“Well. I’m no poet.”  

“No. No, you aren’t.” He agrees. “I. I recall someone else saying that once before too.”  

“Well.” You reply melodiously, fingers straying from the fabric to the thatch of hair across his chest. Downy, dark hair, always keeping you a layer away from him- thick enough to keep you from seeing the flesh beneath but fine enough to feel his warmth seeping through. “He never got about to proposing, so I assumed I could take the line for myself.”  

“Excuse you, Dear Heart!” He sounds scandalized, like some rich old bat who asked for petunias and was gifted peonies by mistake. “I think you will find one of us refused to propose in his old place of education and spent every day afterwards trying to earn coin enough to buy you a proper ring, and as soon as I did you near died- oh. Oh shit. I didn’t mean to say that.”  

“You. You bought me a ring?” You ask incredulously. It doesn’t sound real. Jaskier bought a ring. For you.  

“Of course.”

“You. You, Jaskier, bought me a ring?” You ask again, mind unable to fully understand what it is he's said.  

“I told you I wanted to marry you!” He replies sharply, eyes narrowed a little as if anticipating a fight about it, but all you can do is grin up at him.  

“You want to marry me.”  

“I do.” He confirms, softening from the annoyance as easily as he hardened into it. “Not where I wanted to propose-"  

“Then don’t. Not here.” You insist. “Melitele's tits, I like to think I'm quite free and easy about these sorts of things but I’d rather you not propose in the tavern I work in.”  

“Good. Especially as I don’t have the ring to hand.”  

“As long as you plan on marrying me, I don’t mind when it happens.”  

You mean it too, but he shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you softly on the tip of your nose.  

“You commandeer my proposal, destroy the element of surprise, make me tell you my plans. What am I to do with you?”  

“Keep me forever?” You prompt and he smiles and kisses you gently, hands sliding down to your hips, tugging your skirts up once more to eye your quim. “Jaskier?”  

“I need to get you home right now.” He whispers softly, eyes moving from your sex to your eyes. “So that I can make up for lost time.”  

“...Why not start here?”  

“It’s hardly romantic after admitting I want to marry you.”

“Bath and Bed?” You offer but he chuckles.  

“I think some things may need to go in the middle and the end.”

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Nineteen: I May Think of You Softly

The angst is starting to hot up now, because we can’t have a Chishiya fic without it :) 

As always, you can also read this on AO3 here. 

Just adding this because I’ve gotten a few messages about it, but once this fic comes to an end, I’ll start reading the manga properly so I can eventually write a part 2/sequel! 

While I’m reading it though, I want to make a collection of one-shots based on this fic from Chishiya’s pov. I have a few scenes in mind to focus on, but if there are some you’d like to see, just drop me a message, comment, carrier pigeon etc... and let me know! 

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‘It’s time.’

They were simple words, but they carried an awful lot of weight. The plan had to go perfectly, otherwise we were finished.

Arisu’s voice sounded from the other line. ‘Is everyone getting into position?’

I picked up the walkie talkie and headed to the door, only for Kuina to grab my arm and stop me. Perplexed, I opened my mouth to ask her why, but her pleading expression silenced me as she took the walkie talkie from my hand.

At the same moment, a new voice – Usagi’s – came through. ‘I’m in the hall, keeping lookout.’  

Never taking her eyes from mine, Kuina’s hand tightened around my arm. She pressed the button to activate the walkie talkie. ‘We’re watching over the elevator to the top floor.’

Except we weren’t. We were here, in my room.

Kuina??

Once again, I began to ask her what was happening, but she shook her head, shushing me. The guilt in her eyes was unmistakable. ‘The coast is clear,’ she said into the walkie talkie.

Then it became awfully, awfully apparent what was going on.

‘The new leader is making a speech in the lobby,’ Chishiya said, ‘and all the executives and militants are at the annex. I’ll let you all know if there are any changes.’ There was a pause. ‘This is our only chance. I’m counting on you, Arisu.’

Shrugging out of Kuina’s hold, I sat down on the bed, trying to process the situation. This had been his plan from the start. Not the official plan, but a fake one: to use Arisu and Usagi to locate the safe, and to let them take the fall. Chishiya may know the passcode, but the location of the safe is something that can only be discovered once you actually go into the room.

He’s using them as his guinea pigs.  

‘I’m in the Royal Suite now,’ Arisu said. ‘Though I can’t see anything that looks like a safe. Just give me a minute.’ My knee began to bounce nervously as the line went quiet. Then his voice crackled through, triumphant, ‘I’ve found it!’

A puff of air sounded from the other line, and I could practically hear Chishiya’s smirk. ‘The code, it’s 8022.’

There was a pause. ‘How do you know?’ Arisu asked. ‘Did you see inside the black envelope?’

I leaned forward, curious about how Chishiya had managed to figure it out simply by sitting in the same room. There were two possibilities here. Either Chishiya knew perfectly well what the passcode was, and he would concoct a lie to give to Arisu, or he only had an inkling about the passcode, and he was using Arisu to test it out.

‘No,’ Chishiya said, ‘but I didn’t need to. Aguni’s expression told me everything. He was surprised at first, then he was confused. I believe the paper inside was blank.’

‘Blank? But what about the passcode you just told me?’ Arisu asked.

There was an amused hum. ‘The wax seal. You remember Hatter’s ring… it was stamped with the word ‘BOSS’. When the wax seal was stamped, the embossing left numbers. That was the true code.’

You really are incredible, and not necessarily in a good way.

It certainly sounded convincing enough, though until Arisu tested it, there was no way of knowing whether this was the genuine truth, or an impressive sounding lie. And judging by the way things were going, he would find out very quickly.

My heart broke for Arisu as he spoke with pure, blind amazement. ‘Chishiya, I’d hate to be your enemy.’

I held my breath, waiting for the worst as silence ensued. This was a setup, after all. I glanced at Kuina, but she only looked at me apologetically.

Why does he have to be so cruel?

‘Chishiya??’ Arisu’s voice shook. ‘Chishiya, the code’s wrong?’

The static shut off into silence.

------------------------------------------

Even the stale air of my room tasted bitter as I gripped my walkie talkie, turning it over in my palm. It was tempting to just toss into the dustbin and wash my hands of the whole thing, yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Chishiya had backed me into a corner. It would be too dangerous to stay at the Beach now that the militants had taken over, but I also resented Chishiya for stringing me along in such a dreadful scheme.

Kuina was waiting for me in the hall outside. Now that the militants were busy with Arisu and Usagi, the royal suite was unguarded. This was the final test. The real plan. But as for whether or not I joined them…. I didn’t have a choice, or at least, it seemed that way. I remembered the words that I’d told Hatter when I first arrived at the Beach.

‘I still have a choice. It’s just that one of the options doesn’t look too great.’

There was always the option to stay and pretend that I had nothing to do with it. Except there was an obvious downside; Niragi wouldn’t settle for that. He’d be out for blood. My blood. It was either possible death or certain death… freedom or confinement. I knew which one I preferred.

‘Though wise men at the end know dark is right, because their words forked no lightning they do not go gentle into that good night.’

It was funny how fittingly Dylan Thomas’ poem sprung to mind now. I was going to die. That was inevitable. But I still wanted my voice to be heard. I still wanted to chase the meaning of it all.

Pocketing the walkie talkie, I walked towards the door. It almost felt sad. All the textbooks I had been given, the books that had kept me sane this entire time… I would have to leave them behind. They were gifts from Chishiya, but after what he’d done to Arisu, they were tainted. I shut the door behind me, quite possibly for the last time.

Kuina was leaning against the opposite wall, and when she saw me, her expression was one of relief.

‘For a minute, I thought you weren’t coming.’

I tried to smile. ‘For a minute, so did I.’

The hotel was quiet as we made our way to the top floor, it became apparent how quiet it was. The militants and executives were likely dealing Arisu and Usagi by now, and I hated to think of what was currently happening to them. Perhaps this was another reason Chishiya wanted to use them; as a distraction.

‘I don’t like it either,’ Kuina said. Her jaw was rigid. ‘I really don’t like it. But I have to get home to my mother.’

Some of the bitterness I felt softened. I couldn’t fault her for that. Not really. She had told me once, while we were on the rooftop, about her mother being the only one to accept her after her gender reassignment, and now her mother was ill, yet she was stuck here, unable to help. She had tried asking about my own life, although I’d brushed it away at the time.

‘My brother,’ I said after a moment. ‘I want to get back to him. He’s older than me, a psychologist. He went into psychology to research treatment options for certain mental health conditions. My mother isn’t happy… to put it mildly. She’s a mess. Probably it’s something to do with being married to my dad, or maybe it’s genetic.’

Kuina went quiet at first, then took the quit-smoking aide from her mouth. ‘Are you two close?’

I shrugged. ‘I suppose we are. We both grew up in the same place, and we both have that understanding. He was always the one who went first, and I’d follow him. He wasn’t scared of anything, not even my dad.’

Kuina and I didn’t say anything more after that. We were nearing the top floor now, and even though I couldn’t see him, I knew that Chishiya was lurking somewhere, waiting for us to give him the all-clear.

As planned, Kuina handed me a second walkie talkie, and I took my place at the end of the hall, looking out for any executives. Meanwhile, Kuina took watch outside the royal suite, where she could see Aguni’s room. So far, Aguni had remained in his old room, despite being the new number-one, and since Arisu and Usagi’s capture, he had yet to emerge.

Chishiya’s voice sounded through the walkie talkie. ‘You two, how are things on your side?’

Just the sound of his voice brought with it a mixture of anger… despair… betrayal… relief… and love. Even that. How was it that now, when I had never been more hurt by him, I still craved the safety I found in his voice.

I don’t know who I hate more, him or myself.

I didn’t particularly want to speak with him. But ignoring him wasn’t an option either. ‘You’re all good to go from where I’m standing.’

‘Aguni’s still in his room,’ Kuina’s voice crackled through. ‘We’re getting bored now.’

‘Then should we get going with the plan?’ he suggested.

I clicked my tongue, eyes scanning either side of the empty hall. ‘We’ve already gotten going. It’s you who needs to hurry up.’

‘Patience,’ was the curt reply.

I didn’t hear anything, but I knew that somewhere down the hall, Chishiya was entering the royal suite. ‘I don’t know if Arisu is stupid or intelligent,’ he said. ‘Hatter was paranoid. He wouldn’t have hidden the cards in a normal safe.’

Did Arisu try breaking into one of the hotel’s guest safes?

‘Where’s the real one then?’ Kuina asked. She sounded tired and weary.

‘When Arisu was caught,’ Chishiya replied, ‘Aguni wasn’t paying attention. He was looking towards a certain picture on the wall. It turns out the paper wasn’t empty after all. It contained a drawing instead.’

It was impressive how Chishiya was able to figure these things out through body language alone. For someone who seemed to have no concept of how people behaved, he sure paid attention to our behavioral patterns.

‘So, you had no idea where it was until then?’ I asked.

‘Exactly,’ Chishiya said. ‘What happened to Arisu was necessary if we were going to find the real safe. Speaking of which, I’ve found it.’

The way he talked about it was chilling. Not so much the words themselves, but the ease in which he spoke them, the lack of hesitation.

Kuina seemed to be thinking the same thing, as she sighed into the walkie talkie. ‘You used him just for that?’

The response was immediate. ‘In order to gain something, you have to lose something. He’s just a sacrifice. Things like this happen a lot, don’t they?’

The level of self-assurance behind those words… it was brutal. I always knew he was like this, but what did that mean for me and Kuina? Were we just pawns like Arisu and Usagi? Would our deaths be necessary too?

‘No, they don’t.’ Kuina said. ‘Not at all. I really don’t want to be your enemy.’

At this, I almost laughed. When I first met Chishiya, I had thought the same thing, and earlier today, Arisu had said something similar himself.

‘I get that a lot,’ Chishiya replied.

Perhaps everyone is his enemy. Perhaps the only person he sees surviving the Borderlands is himself.

The idea was a harsh philosophy, but it made sense. Chishiya had always made me feel like insignificant just through his calculating gaze alone. In that sense, he was just like my own father, and chances are that was why I was drawn to him. In this crazy parallel world, feeling small was the only thing familiar to me.

Maybe, in order to gain my own freedom, I have to lose Chishiya.

--------------------------------------------

Now that the sun had set over the skyline, the evening had turned still and cold. Aside from the hum of cicadas and the chatter of crickets, it was quiet. Leaning against the outside wall of the hotel, I wrapped my arms around me, although it did nothing to stave off the shivers that tickled my skin. Nor did it melt the wedge of icy determination that had buried itself within me.

I’ll follow him for the sake of leaving the Beach… but I refuse to let myself love him.

I had never been a good liar.

To my right, Kuina was leaning against a lamppost, staring guiltily at the ground. Meanwhile, Chishiya removed his numbered wristband as he strolled towards a decorative brick archway that led out of the hotel grounds. ‘I guess we won’t be needing these anymore.’

‘Don’t you feel sorry?’ Kuina asked quietly.

He stopped. ‘Sorry?’

I looked at him curiously, wondering how he could seem so calm. ‘About what happened to Arisu… I feel really sorry for him. We both do.’

Kuina nodded, folding her arms tighter. ‘Don’t you?’

Chishiya’s eyes flitted to mine, and for the first time, I saw genuine surprise there.

Show me a sign… please give me a reason why I should trust you.

‘Is there anything we wouldn’t do in order to survive?’

A shudder ran through me, and this time, it had nothing to do with the breeze. His words confirmed my every suspicion, but I couldn’t let myself feel so disappointed. I needed to block it all out… block everything out.

Then he smiled. It would’ve been easy to mistake it for his usual smile, if not for the hint of bitterness there. ‘If you both feel so worried, then maybe you should go and help him.’

Kuina looked at him, eyes wide with regret. However, she didn’t move. Neither of us could. We both had our own reasons why we needed to survive and return home. Knowing this well, Chishiya took a step towards the arch, only to stop once more. His brow furrowed as he whispered something under his breath.

Growing impatient, I pushed away from the wall and walked towards the exit… towards freedom.

‘Stop.’

Chishiya’s hand clasped around my wrist, dragging me back. I yanked my arm away immediately, both hating and loving the feeling of his fingers on my skin. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

Kuina appeared at my side, and the three of us watched tentatively as Chishiya tossed his wristband through the arch. A red laser burst through the plastic, leaving behind a singed hole.

I stepped back, horrified. This couldn’t be… could it?

The Beach is a game arena??

[hottestthingalive]

a storm in your eyes (lightning and dark skies)

It is then, with Virgil curled up against him, wet hair soaking Logan’s neck and the smell of hot chocolate in the air, that Logan realizes he loves a thunderstorm in human form. 

His best friend.

Oh, god, Logan is in love with his best friend. And also his roommate. And also his favorite person in the whole of the universe.

(He’s pretty sure that if Virgil could hear his thoughts, and if, y’know, Virgil wasn’t the person in question, he’d roll his eyes and say, “Oh my god, they were roommates.” The idea nearly makes him laugh.) 

–

Notes: Thank you so much to @snek-snacc, @smileyzs, @confused-sunflower, @xaimelarks​, and all my other followers for putting up with me ranting about this story, and helping me edit. Y’all are the best!

Edit: After publishing this, I got this AMAZING piece of art from @ent-is-undecisive / @birdsongisland! Go check them out, because they’re insanely talented, and looking at this piece makes me so so so happy!

Two sequels also exist for this now! 

waffles and wedding vows (promises and proof)

songs and stars and silence (of loving you)

Hope you enjoy!

Relationships: Romantic Analogical, background romantic Royaliceit, background romantic Intrusleep/rem^2, platonic drlamper

Words: 6885

Ao3

–

Logan Sanders falls in love with a thunderstorm.

Well, not a thunderstorm, exactly. As far as Logan knows (and he knows quite a lot), a tempest, no matter how powerful, cannot take the form of a human.

Still, the first time the boy with a hurricane’s eyes enters Mugnificent (the coffee shop Logan very reluctantly works at), he swears the smell of ozone fills the air. 

His name is Virgil Foley, and he sweeps into Logan’s life like a summer storm, filling it with wind and chaos and unmatched wild beauty. 

The first time they meet, it is 5:26 in the morning, and he’s considering revolt. Yes, he needs this job to supplement his scholarship, but being up this early is awful enough to warrant mutiny. Besides, customers are few this early in the day, and thus the tip jar is woefully empty. 

The door opens with a ding 

(there is a smell like lightning)

and in walks a person with dark hair tied in a bun under a black beanie, rummaging around in their backpack. Their bag is covered in pins, and Logan notes a rainbow one near the center. 

“Hey,” they say, and he meets eyes the color of stormclouds, a grey bordering on purple and blue simultaneously. “Can I just get a small coffee, please? Black is fine.” 

“Yeah,” Logan nods. “Name?”

They glance around the empty Mugnificent with a raised eyebrow, but reply with “Virgil,” anyways. 

“Nice to meet you, Virgil,” says Logan, and he’s not normally one for small talk, but he also is sleep-deprived, and too tired to have any sort of filter. “I’m Logan.”

Virgil relaxes, and they hold out a hand for him to shake. “Nice to meet you, too. I use he/him pronouns, by the way.”

“Ah, yes,” Logan nods, returning the handshake. “He/him for me, as well, thank you.”

Virgil pays and waits by the counter as Logan goes to prepare the coffee, scrolling through his phone. There is a comfortable silence as he makes the drink, which Logan spends mentally cursing out Roman, his coworker who was supposed to arrive for work thirty minutes ago. “Here,” he says finally, holding out the cup for Virgil to take. 

“Thanks.” Virgil is wearing fingerless gloves, and his nails are painted a bright purple. They shine in the fluorescent lighting. “Have a nice day, Logan.”

“You too,” he replies, and it seems too little. Logan doesn’t believe in magic, or gods, or destiny, but as he watches Virgil turn, about to walk out the door, something twangs in his chest. Despite himself, Logan opens his mouth, searching for something to say, anything that will make him stay. 

He blinks, about to speak, and Virgil is gone.

A few minutes later, it begins to rain. 

–

The second time he meets Virgil, it is in his psych class. 

Logan has always liked psychology. It’s fascinating how the human brain works, he thinks, and even if he isn’t always so good at understanding emotions, he’s quite good at the science behind them. His appreciation for said science is the only reason he signs up for the class at all, when it has practically nothing to do with his astrophysics major. 

He’s just about forgotten about the boy with eyes of a storm by the time he sits down for the first psychology class of the semester, pulling his computer and textbooks out of his own bag, and setting them before him. Logan cracks the knuckles on each hand individually, a nervous habit he’s had since he was in high school. He’s done his best to break it, but he supposes, as annoying as it is, it’s better than some of the alternatives.

Case in point, the boy from Mugnificent, who walks into the room nervously tapping his thigh while chewing at his lip. There’s a split in it, one that shines a bright red against the chapped surface, and Logan wants to wince just looking at it. 

His eyes flash with recognition as he spots Logan in one of the back rows, and he pauses. “Logan, right? From the coffee place.”

“And you’re Virgil,” Logan smiles, and okay, maybe he hadn’t forgotten Virgil so much as attempted to forget him. 

“Can I sit there?” he asks, nodding to the seat beside Logan. 

It turns out Virgil is smart, and funny, and just a little bit snarky, and a English major minoring in psychology. He’s got all kinds of nervous habits, chewing on his lip and tapping out rhythms known only to him and drawing on every available surface, and Logan often notices a tendril of ink wrapping around one of his fingers from under his gloves. 

They become fast friends, him and Virgil, bonding over a love for space and science and poetry. He starts coming to Mugnificent for coffee more often, and Roman teases Logan incessantly about it. 

“You’re finally making friends!” he pretends to sob, throwing his arms around him, and he has to shove Roman away, rolling his eyes. Virgil is stifling a laugh behind one gloved hand, and Logan mouths “Traitor,” at him, though he isn’t really mad at all.

They fall into patterns -- psych and history and statistics together, always seated side by side, sometimes accompanied by Roman or Patton or Remus or Janus or any one of their expanding circle of friends. The two of them buy each other coffee, edit essays, go out for junk food (that Logan complains about but secretly loves) with their friends. 

Virgil begs to paint Logan’s nails one night as they watch documentaries together in Patton and Virgil’s dorm room. His tongue sticks out of his mouth slightly as he focuses on the tiny white dots he’s adding, and Logan ends up loving the night sky that graces his fingers. In return, Logan styles Virgil’s long hair into a crown of braids. 

“Your Majesty,” he bows as he leads Virgil to the mirror. 

“If I’m royalty now, I demand a feast to celebrate,” Virgil grins, admiring his hair. “Sir Logan, this calls for pizza!”

“All the junk food you consume is going to kill you one day,” Logan sighs, but he’s already dialing their favorite pizza place.

They eat dinner seated on the floor, holding paper plates and drinking soda as they watch Cosmos. Patton returns to the dorm a few minutes later, accompanied by Janus and Roman both, and snags some of the pizza for himself – luckily, they’d thought to order extra, as soon Remus, Remy, and Emile all show up, too, crowding into the dorm room and around Logan’s laptop. The documentary is switched to Big Hero 6, Virgil showing off his hair and Logan his nails as the others admire them. Soon Virgil is breaking out his nail polish again, painting delicate puppies on Patton’s fingers, and Logan is teaching Roman how to do the same hairstyle on Emile’s curls. 

It’s a Saturday night, so they feel comfortable all crashing in Patton and Virgil’s room, squeezing far too many young adults into one small space. Emile giggles that it reminds them of sleepovers they went to when they were in elementary school, and Remus points out that they ought to play Truth or Dare with a manic grin. Virgil quickly puts a stop to that, however, distracting Remus with conspiracy theories and carving marshmallows to look like Lovecraftian monsters, and Logan wants to laugh because Virgil is very much a mom friend, despite his protests to the contrary. Still, as he sips hot cocoa with a marshmallow Cthulhu staring up at him from the mug, he has to admit it was a good idea. They all get into the fun, carving marshmallows with whatever cutlery Patton and Virgil have in their room, and eventually Monster Mallows will become a tradition for all of their friend group. 

When he falls asleep that night, lying on the floor in the blanket fort Patton and Roman had insisted on building, he dreams of rain and lightning, across dark skies that resemble Virgil’s eyes. 

–

Logan realizes Virgil is his best friend in the middle of winter, when he shows up at Mugnificent at the end of his shift, ordering two coffees and taking them as Logan gets ready to leave. “Sorry, Roman,” Virgil says, though he doesn’t look sorry at all as he hands Logan one of the drinks and reaches out to hold his other hand. “C’mon, L, we’ve got to hurry if we’re going to get there in time.”

“Where are we going?” Logan raises an eyebrow, throwing on his coat and waving goodbye to Roman (who is saying something dramatic about a grievous betrayal) as he sips at the coffee. It’s perfect, his order exactly. 

“Look!” Virgil grins as they leave the coffee shop, and it’s snowing, white flakes falling around them and coating the ground. Some of the cars nearby are already covered in it. “C’mon, we’ve got to get to the park.” 

“Wait, why?” he asks. “Virgil, this looks rather like the makings of a blizzard. We should probably go back to our dorms so we can prepare if we get snowed in.”

“I know it’s a snowstorm,” Virgil rolls his eyes, and his stormy eyes are bluer than Logan’s ever seen them, shining with excitement. “Now, let’s go!”

Logan should probably argue more, but he’s laughing as he gets pulled along, the two half-running towards the park. 

They slow down at the top of a hill already lightly coated with snow, and Virgil reaches into his bag to pull out a picnic blanket. “No,” Logan protests, but he’s cackling as Virgil yells “Snow picnic!” and spreads it over the snow. 

“This is going to turn into a blizzard,” he manages to say, stifling his giggles. “We are going to be buried alive because you wanted to have a picnic in a snowstorm.”

“Oh, shush,” Virgil grins, flopping down onto the blanket and digging into his bag again to retrieve two bagels wrapped in tinfoil. “Drink your coffee and watch the snow with me, Logan Sanders.”

The bagel he hands Logan has Crofters jam instead of cream cheese spread across it, still warm from toasting, and Logan could kiss Virgil if they weren’t very platonic…

Well, it feels like they are a whole lot more than friends, at this point. There’s something about their relationship that feels different from the ones Logan has with their other companions, be it Remus or Emile, Patton or Janus, Roman or Remy. 

Are they best friends?

He asks, and Virgil merely grins and says “I hope so.” 

It’s amazing, lying there as they watch the sky, munching on bagels and sipping at their coffee and pointing out oddly shaped clouds. Virgil is practically covered in snowflakes by the time they have to leave, the wind picking up too much to stay, and Logan is no better. Still, he thinks it was worth it, even when he gets a cold and has to spend the weekend curled up in blankets, sneezing and coughing as he works on his essay for his cosmology class. Virgil gets a cold, too, and they end up on the phone together as they work, Virgil blasting music on his end and Logan parroting his roommate’s consistent reminders to take medicine, and drink some water! 

Emile seems to think it’s cute, for some reason, and they tell Logan to say hi to Virgil for them, a smile playing on their lips that he’s too sick to interpret. 

–

Logan has a crush on a boy in their shared statistics class by March, the one who sits three rows in front of him and two seats to the right, who has green hair and a cheerful grin. Virgil listens patiently about it whenever Logan brings it up, and when they have to pair up for a final project, he pushes him towards his crush, joining Remus instead.

He finds out his crush already has a romantic partner in a strictly monogamous relationship when they’re nearly done with the project, and Virgil shows up to Logan’s dorm room with ice cream and his laptop that night, pulling aside Emile as he comes in and whispering something to him. Emile leaves shortly after, and the two of them are alone.

“What did you tell Emile?” Logan asks later, when they’re sitting on his bed and watching trashy teenage romcoms, because, according to Virgil, “This way, you won’t associate any good movies with this.” 

“Well, Patton invited him for a ‘sleepover,’” Virgil says, eating directly from the carton of chocolate ice cream, gaze shifting from the screen to Logan. “Did the moment he saw your text on the groupchat.”

Logan had texted that his crush has a partner when Roman had begun teasing him about it on said chat. Looking back, it may not have been the best of decisions, but all he wants to do right now is curl into the comforter and watch bad movies, while simultaneously eating unholy amounts of ice cream. 

“It’s not a big deal,” he protests, pulling the blankets closer around him. 

“Listen, L, you’re sad ‘cause the boy you like… well, you know. Anyways, you being sad is a big deal, at least to us.” Virgil isn’t wearing his normal clothes, only a pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt (Logan knows he ran over in his nightwear, which makes him feel worse), so he can see the ink covering his hands, smudged in places.

“Why do you draw on yourself so much?” He leans over to look at the patterns of spirals winding their way up Virgil’s arms, tracing them with one finger. “That much ink can’t be good for your skin, pretty as it is, Vee.”

Virgil bats his hand away, blushing behind his curtains of dark hair, and Logan laughs. “It’s just a nervous habit, okay?” he exclaims, and Logan pokes his cheek, cooing. 

“Aw, lookit you,” he smiles, and even though Logan’s heart hurts from what happened with his crush, he doesn’t think he would trade anything for his friendship with Virgil Foley. “So cute.”

“I’m not cute,” Virgil grumbles, pressing play on the computer. “Watch the shitty movie and shush, nerd.”

He gets over the boy from statistics eventually, and gets an A on the project, which Roman insists they celebrate with breakfast at Logan’s favorite diner on campus. (Logan’s pretty sure Roman just feels guilty about teasing him about it, but he goes anyways, pulling his friend aside later to tell him it’s fine.)

–

They return from summer vacation changed. Janus, Patton, and Roman are dating now, for one thing, and it’s disgustingly sappy. Emile comes out as asexual and aromantic a few days after they get back, and Logan helps them hang flags in their dorm room when they arrive a week later. Remy has switched majors, from biology to culinary classes, and Remus tells them excitedly that he’s managed to start a rather popular horror comic online. (Logan reads it, and learns Remus is quite adept at art, writing, and scaring the crap out of him. He never looks at door knobs the same way again.) Virgil, meanwhile, has started wearing far less baggy clothes and more makeup – in other words, people around campus start realizing that Virgil is actually hot, and not just a relatively cute bundle of sweatshirts. 

Logan kind of feels weird about it. He knows how aesthetically pleasing Virgil is, of course – they’ve spent enough time together for him to have figured that out – but… well, Logan had realized while he was away how much he’d missed Virgil, even more so than his other friends. He tells himself it is because of how close they are, and ignores the ugly anger in his chest when people flirt with Virgil, or how his heart pounds and face flushes when they curl up to watch movies these days. 

As for him, well, he’s dyed his hair a dark blue, a color so dark it’s almost black. Roman marvels over it, asking how he managed to not damage his hair in the process, and Logan doesn’t feel like telling him that he had meant to do a brighter shade, but hadn’t realized how hard it would be to get proper color without bleaching his normal dark hair. He does end up telling Virgil later, though, when Remy and Patton drag them and the rest of their friends to a party.

For the record, Logan tended to avoid such events. He didn’t see the point, firstly – he’d never been a fan of crowds, especially not ones where everyone was drunk off their asses, and he generally had too much work to do to bother with parties. Secondly, he simply didn’t care enough to look nice for such a thing, or to go at all. Logan would much rather spend time with his friends if he had to be up in the middle of the night, whether haunting the 24/7 diner a few miles off campus or playing stupid games in the woods or making fun of Disney movies while throwing popcorn at the screen and shushing each other so they didn’t get noise complaints. 

But then there were Patton and Remy, social creatures who liked seeing other people and didn’t mind getting wasted to do so. Roman and Janus typically followed Patton wherever he went, so they were a given, and Remus had developed a raging crush on Remy by then, so he’d probably have tagged along even if Remy hadn’t grabbed his hand and said “You’ll come, right, Ree?” with a grin. 

Well, Remus was lost to them after that, and that left Emile, Logan, and Virgil alone.

Which would have been fine! Except then Virgil had got dragged in by Patton (a difficulty of being his roommate, according to Logan’s best friend, was that Patton was very, very persuasive when he wanted to be) and Virgil had begged Logan to come for “Introvert solidarity, L! Introvert solidarity!”

Then Emile had sighed, said something about being the only responsible one, and appointed themself designated driver. So Logan didn’t even have that excuse to pull himself and Virgil out of it early. 

He finds himself on a couch in someone’s house, sitting besides Virgil. Janus tells him that it is owned by someone who goes to their college but lives nearby, a summer home belonging to their parents or something. Janus says ze aren’t sure who the actual host is, and ze run off to go find Roman or Patton before Logan can ask why all of them are attending a party hosted by someone they don’t know.

Virgil has obviously already had something to drink, or he’s insanely sleep-deprived, as he has started playing with Logan’s hair. Logan’s willing to bet on the former (although knowing Virgil, he can’t be sure – he has an awful sleep schedule) especially since he’s never known the other to be so touchy, even when tired. 

“How’d you get it like this?” Virgil asks, running his fingers through Logan’s curls. He’s perched on top of the couch, and though he would normally be concerned that Virgil might fall, Logan is just glad he doesn’t have to bend over so his friend can examine his hair. 

He tells Virgil, and can’t help but smile as he laughs, perhaps a little more than the story warrants. They sit there in peace for a few minutes, Virgil humming along with any song he recognizes and Logan scanning the room for any of their friends. 

“Your hair is so pretty,” Virgil eventually says, and Logan is surprised he can hear him at all over the noise of the music and other people. He slides down from the couch to sit beside him, reaching up to poke Logan’s cheek. “You’re pretty. You know that, right? You’re real, real pretty.”

“Aw,” Logan grins, hoping the dim lights and Virgil’s addled brain will hide his red cheeks. “What is it you say? Oh, right; you think I’m warm.”

“No, dummy, I think you’re hot,” Virgil sighs. “Get it right.”

“Why, thank you.”

“‘Course. You’re my best friend, Logan Sanders.”

“Same,” he replies, dodging Virgil’s attempt to flick him as he scans the room. “Have you seen Remy or Remus around recently?”

“Oh, they’ve been making out in that closet over there,” Virgil says offhandedly, pointing, and Logan nearly chokes. “You didn’t know? They’re so obvious, Remy’s been whining about it to me for weeks. ‘Oh, Virgil, I’m doomed to be alone forever!’ ‘Oh, Virgil, Remus is so hot, and I’m going to whine about it to you for hours!’ ‘Oh, Virgil, I have a crush on a trash rat man and I won’t stop talking about it ever!’”

“Did Remy actually call Remus a ‘trash rat man’?” he snickers, turning to look at Virgil, who is wringing his hands in mock despair as he imitates Remy.

“No,” Virgil pouts. “Wish he had. Remus would love that.”

“He would,” Logan agrees, rolling his eyes fondly. “Hey, do you want to leave?”

“Why, Logan Perfect-Hair Sanders, are you asking me to ditch a party with you?” he laughs.

“That isn’t my middle name and you know it.” Logan shoots off a text to Emile, standing and turning to grab Virgil’s hand, pulling him upright. “But sure. Will you, Virgil Emo-Nightmare Foley, ditch this absurd party with me?”

“Logan, I thought you’d never ask,” Virgil smirks. “Let’s bounce!”

They get lucky – Logan hasn’t had anything to drink, and due to how large their group is, Virgil had had to drive over Patton, Janus, Roman, and himself earlier. Virgil hands him the keys to the car, and Logan drives them to the nearby McDonalds, where they order fries and milkshakes. “Let’s go somewhere high,” Virgil says when they return to the car, grinning, and Logan obliges, driving them to his favorite stargazing spot near campus, partway up a mountain in a parking lot for an old playground. 

Soon, he finds himself sitting on the hood of Virgil’s car, dipping his fries in a chocolate shake as the two of them stare up at the stars and the moon, pointing out constellations. “Look,” giggles Virgil, his head on Logan’s shoulder as he traces lines between stars. “It’s the glasses one!”

“There is no ‘glasses’ constellation, Virgil,” he points out, but the path his friend is etching into the sky does look rather like a pair of glasses. 

“Well, there is now,” replies the other. “It’s your constellation! You deserve one, y’know, ‘cause you’re pretty, and smart, and nice, and funny, and you’re just the best, Lo, okay?”

“How much did you have to drink, exactly?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow, and his friend punches him in the arm, lightly. “Ow!”

“I’m telling the truth,” Virgil rolls his eyes, pulling the blankets they’d retrieved from the trunk closer around the two of them. “You deserve a constellation. You deserve the universe.”

“Well, now we have to find you a constellation, too,” he muses, ignoring the heat in his cheeks (he seems to be blushing quite a lot lately, talking to Virgil) as he searches the sky. It takes a few minutes, and Virgil is half-asleep on his shoulder by the time he makes his choice, but finally Logan says “I found it.”

“Well, lemme see,” Virgil mumbles, opening his eyes. 

He traces lines between a series of stars. “It’s a cloud,” he explains, “and a lightning bolt. Because you’re a thunderstorm, V.”

“Isn’t that a bad thing?” He’s biting his lip, suddenly subdued, and Logan feels a surge of guilt, because no one should ever make Virgil look like that, anxious and hurt and scared all at once.

“No,” he answers, fiercely enough that Virgil jumps slightly. “You’re wild, and chaotic, and occasionally a bit destructive, but you also make people feel alive. You bring rain to help things live, you bring the sound of a storm and the beauty of lightning, you simultaneously wake me up and help me sleep. You are beautiful, and inspiring, and so amazingly you, and the best friend I could ever ask for.”

“...And I thought I was the English major,” Virgil says quietly, and his face is bright red. “You have no right to be better at words than me, Sanders.”

“Well, Foley, I’m the astrophysics major, and you’re the one who started making constellations, so turnabout’s fair play,” Logan replies, and Virgil lets out a laugh at that.

Later, when the fries and milkshakes are both gone, they get back into the car and drive back to their dorms. For Logan’s birthday that year, a month or so later, Virgil presents him with a painting of the glasses constellation. He’d commissioned Remus, he explains, staring at his feet, and Logan tells him he loves it. For Virgil’s birthday, he gets a similar art piece from Roman, of the stars making a storm, and Virgil pulls him into a tight hug.

For now, though, the two of them simply sit and gaze into space. 

–

Logan goes on a few dates with someone he meets at the coffee shop, named Andy. They become boyfriends. Virgil teases him about it whenever he brings it up, and eventually he stops talking about his partner to his best friend. The two of them start to pull apart, their friendship strained.

When Logan and Andy separate, Virgil is dating a girl he’s only met a few times, who shares Virgil’s English classes and wears colorful barrettes to hold back her curls.

He hadn’t even known Virgil liked her. 

–

College passes by quickly. They graduate, and Logan tumbles into a job at a rather prestigious observatory. He lives in a small apartment in the city nearby, buys coffee from the Starbucks across the street every morning, settles into a routine.

Gradually, they all start to fall out of touch. It sucks, but things have been off between Virgil and him ever since Logan had dated Andy Michaels, and at the moment Logan sees his ex-boyfriend more than his ex-best friend. Their relationship had ended amicably, but still – he misses Virgil Foley, more than he’d ever like to admit. 

A year or so later, Logan receives the invitation to Remy and Remus’ wedding. 

It is in the fall, and Logan isn’t surprised in the least that they plan to have it in a forest, if only because he knows that the odds of Remus wanting the guests to jump into leap piles with him are absurdly high. At least they’re at an actual wedding site, so they can be inside if needed – Logan half expected, when he found out they’d gotten engaged, for them to drag a bunch of guests to a Starbucks for the event. 

What does surprise Logan is the fact that Remus has apparently sent it early, because Logan is going to be one of the wedding party attendants. 

He calls Remus and Remy that night, certain they’ve mixed up things, but Remy simply laughs. “Logan, you’re still one of our best friends,” he says. “Come on, please?”

“Besides,” Remus adds, “Virge will be one too, and Patton and Roman and Jan and Emile! You can’t break up the team!”

He ends up agreeing, and no matter how much Remy teases him about it later, it was not just to see Virgil again. 

The wedding rolls around. Logan has managed to avoid speaking to Virgil for more than a friendly greeting and a bit of small talk through all the preparations the two of them had had to attend, but the they both arrive early on the day of, and Logan doesn’t know anybody else, and, well, he does miss Virgil. 

“Hey,” he says. Virgil is nearly as tall as him in the heels he’s wearing (Logan had managed to opt out of them, convincing Remus to let him wear flats with his dress), and his green dress offsets his stormy eyes perfectly. Logan doesn’t think he looks nearly as good in the color, but he’d decided not to argue with Remy’s puppy-dog eyes. Besides, he much prefers the dress to the suits Emile and Patton had opted for. 

“Hi, Logan,” Virgil replies. The tension in the air is palpable, and Logan hates it. “How’ve you been lately?”

“I’m good,” he answers. 

“Oh, good,” nods Virgil. He’s gnawing at his lip again, and Logan can see the split in it even through the lipstick. “Me too.”

“I miss you,” Logan says suddenly, because he does. “You were my best friend, and I hate not being close, because you are one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

“...I miss you too.” He smooths his dress, looking out the window at the trees, and then laughs. “I’m surprised they didn’t have their wedding in a Starbucks, honestly.”

Logan can’t help but chuckle at that, especially when he spots Remy breezing past them, a coffee cup in hand and makeup only half-done, frantically trying to catch his little brothers and sister, whom he and Remus had appointed flower children. “I thought the same thing,” he admits. 

It’s easy for the two of them to talk, after that, sharing jokes and telling stories and talking about their new lives. Logan feels oddly happy when he learns Virgil is single, and when he mentions how he’s looking for a roommate and Virgil remarks that he is too, it feels as natural as breathing to ask where he’s currently living. Finding out they live in the same city makes Logan feel strangely elated. 

“Help!” Remus exclaims, skidding to a stop in front of them, collapsing into Virgil’s arms and only barely being caught. “I’ve lost my husband-to-be!” 

“Alright, please calm down,” Logan says, exchanging exasperated looks with Virgil, who pulls Remus back to his feet. “Have you actually lost Remy, or are you just being overly dramatic?”

“He has been stolen from me,” Remus whines. “We were kissing, and then he was dragged away by my evil brother!”

“By any chance, was he dragged away to prepare for your wedding? The event we’re attending, so you two can get married? The one that most guests are expected to arrive for in fifteen minutes?” Virgil crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. 

Remus’ eyes widen. “Fifteen minutes?” he asks, checking Logan’s watch, and groans. “Oh, drumsticks. Drumsticks torn right off a chicken. Bloody chicken legs everywhere.”

He darts off, and Logan and Virgil sigh simultaneously.

“We should go help, shouldn’t we?” Virgil asks, and Logan nods reluctantly. “Well, it was great to talk to you.”

“It was pleasant to speak with you, as well,” he agrees. 

As he turns to go find Patton, Virgil grabs his arm. “Hey, L, save me a dance, okay?”

They do indeed dance together that night, after they watch Remy and Remus get married among the colorful leaves, and talk, and laugh, and by the end of the wedding they are good friends again.

Virgil and Logan move in together by the end of November. 

–

They become surprisingly domestic, the two of them, moving into their large apartment that is close to both Logan’s job at the observatory and Virgil’s work at a publishing company. He’s not surprised Virgil has become an editor (he was always the best at it, when they exchanged essays to review), but he is rather impressed when he notes some of the books in Virgil’s room have his full name on the cover. “I write poetry, mostly,” he explains when Logan asks. “It’s… I used to use it like therapy, I guess, and I got some of it published. I’m not famous or anything.”

“That’s amazing,” Logan says sincerely. 

The poetry becomes important, later, but then, it is simply something for Logan to admire, another flash of beautiful lightning in Virgil’s storm.

Saturdays become movie nights, and they order junk food and make popcorn and watch documentaries or horror movies or cartoons together. Occasionally, some of their friends will join them, and every so often, all eight of them cram into Logan and Virgil’s living room. Despite his love for the others, however, Logan’s favorite nights are usually the ones when the two of them are alone, when they curl up together on the couch and make fun of trashy films or contribute their own knowledge to documentaries or sing along quietly to Disney. It is peaceful and lovely and utterly perfect.

Logan doesn’t mean to fall in love with Virgil. It sneaks up on him, mornings of coffee for him and tea for Virgil and memes shared over breakfast, afternoons texting each other with reminders to get groceries and news from the office, nights of cooking together and dancing to the radio. 

One day, when both of them have work off, Virgil pulls him out of bed, waits impatiently while Logan gets dressed, and drags him outside into a storm. They walk through the park together, enjoying the rain on their skin, both of them jumping into puddles and belting the title number of Singing in the Rain and getting utterly soaked. 

They return home for cocoa, each taking a warm shower and then sitting together on the couch to watch old movies with small white krakens bobbing in their cups. It is then, with Virgil curled up against him, wet hair soaking Logan’s neck and the smell of hot chocolate in the air, that Logan realizes he loves a thunderstorm in human form. 

His best friend.

Oh, god, Logan is in love with his best friend. And also his roommate. And also his favorite person in the whole of the universe.

(He’s pretty sure that if Virgil could hear his thoughts, and if, y’know, Virgil wasn’t the person in question, he’d roll his eyes and say, “Oh my god, they were roommates.” The idea nearly makes him laugh.) 

Logan tries to get over his crush (and there’s no other word for it, as juvenile as it sounds). He really does. But it’s so hard, now that he knows it exists, especially when he has to see Virgil every single day. And he can’t just cut himself off, or leave their apartment, because that might ruin their friendship, and that’s the whole reason he’s trying to escape his feelings, because he loves being Virgil’s friend more than anything. 

So he exists in this inbetween state, thrashing in the eyewall of a storm, so close to safety and danger simultaneously, trapped in chaos and uncertainty. 

Logan isn’t quite sure whether he really wants to return to the eye, blissful quiet and the peace of oblivion, or if he can at all. But he thinks entering the storm itself, the danger of telling Virgil how he feels, the potential for a life with him, is equally impossible. 

Eventually he decides that it is best to just ignore his rebellious feelings. It works, sort of – Virgil doesn’t seem to notice anything different, and Logan gets to keep his best friend. Still, every moment together is tinged with a sort of bittersweet sadness, the dancing in the kitchen and cuddling on the couch and meals together a harsh reminder that they are just friends.

He’s not sure exactly how his other friends figure it out, but they do, judging from how Remy and Janus tell him exasperatedly that he really ought to say something to Virgil, how Patton and Roman tell him how cute they would be together, how Remus does his best to shove Logan towards Virgil at any opportunity, how Emile tells him pointedly that repressing his feelings isn’t exactly healthy. Logan does decide that he’ll confess… eventually. 

The problem with eventually, however, is how ambiguous it is. The others have realized as much, evidently, but they don’t force Logan to say something, or tell Virgil themselves, and he appreciates that.

It is a Saturday when eventually finally comes, a peaceful movie night interrupted by a phone call with Roman’s name flashing on the screen. He holds up a finger over his lips as he accepts the call, grimacing apologetically to Virgil as he steps into his own room. “What do you want?” he asks exasperatedly when he picks it up, and winces as the other line fills with noise. 

“Logan, have you read Virgil’s latest book?” Roman practically screams, and in the background Logan can hear Patton squealing with excitement as Janus shushes them both. 

He frowns, closing the door to his bedroom. “I wasn’t aware he’d been working on one.” Normally, Logan knows whenever Virgil is working on another collection of his poetry – he’s often the first person Virgil hands it to for editing. 

“Get on your computer this instant, Pocket Protector,” says Roman, and Logan can hear his grin.

A quick search confirms it; a new book of poetry, just released by Virgil Foley. The revelation is almost painful (does Virgil not trust him anymore? Not like him?) until Janus’ voice comes over the line, hir voice sarcastic and concerned altogether.

“Way to go, love, he’s definitely not overthinking this,” ze sigh. “Logan, listen to me. I need you to go look at some of the reviews for the book, okay? Actually, no, if you can find a sample online, go read that.”

He’s operating in a haze, a robot in human flesh, and what do robots do but obey orders?

Logan barely understands what he’s reading at first, lines of poetry in the sample flashing past him. He checks the reviews, words of praise and admiration flowing through his mind, and it takes a second before he understands any of it. 

Clicking back to the online sample, he starts to recognize the story being told. It is a tale of late nights and hot drinks in the morning, of pining and fear of destroying a friendship older than love.

It is Logan’s story, told through another’s words, a voice speaking of a scholar of the stars, of glasses and storms, of hugs and hand-holding and a cute barista, a boy in psych class, a friendship repaired at another’s wedding, of admiration and hope and love. A love for someone seen not as a storm, but as stars, as the universe in human flesh. 

Virgil is in love.

Virgil is in love with Logan. 

“I’ll call you back,” he hears himself say, and drops his phone on his bed in his haste to get back to the living room. 

“Logan?” Virgil’s voice pierce the haze of his thoughts, his eyes 

(a storm, wild beauty) 

shining with concern, and he sits up from where he’s lying on the couch. “You okay? What happened?”

There are many things he wants to say, questions and explanations and promises, but in the end, all he says is “Can I kiss you?”

“What?” He doesn’t expect Virgil to look quite so flustered, but then again, Logan did just storm into the room, looking desperate and probably a tad deranged, and ask to kiss his best friend. 

“Roman told me about the new book,” Logan says first, and Virgil’s eyes widen even further, and he can sense the incoming apology, but he isn’t done, not yet. He begins to crack his knuckles, a habit he’d thought he’d finally lost, full to the brim with nervous energy. “I’ve read some of it, and as far as I can tell, you are romantically attracted to me. Which is good, because I also harbor such feelings for you, and have for about a year now. So. Can I kiss you?”

“Isn’t it ‘May I kiss you’?” Virgil grins, playing off his feelings with humor, as always. Logan opens his mouth to apologize as his world comes crashing down, because oh, he’s messed up, oh no, but then his best friend’s expression softens, and he whispers “Of course, Logan Sanders.”

“Thank you, Virgil Foley,” he says, and abandons the eyewall for the storm. 

They don’t watch any more movies that night. The two of them kiss, and talk, and kiss some more, and Virgil grabs his author’s edition of the new book from his room, and they read it together on the couch. 

The next morning, they sit with their coffee and tea and talk some more, about labels and boundaries and dreams. Their friends come over for movies the next Saturday, and Virgil and Logan hold hands as they tell them they are dating. 

(Roman choking on the popcorn in his excitement almost makes up for the money Logan spots being exchanged between Emile, Remus, and Patton.)

Eventually, Virgil’s latest book will gain fame, and they will end up with quite a bit of money between the two of them, especially after Logan gets a promotion. Eventually, they will move to a larger house, one a bit outside the city, one where they will have two cats and a dog and a son named Thomas. Eventually, they will get married in the spring, and when it starts to rain as they say their vows, the two of them just laugh. 

But that is eventually. In the now, Logan Sanders is in love. In the now, Virgil Foley is in love. 

They are glasses and hoodies, poetry written and spoken, dancing in the kitchen and cuddles on the couch. 

They are thunderstorms, and they are stars.

[not-all-dead]

angstpril day twenty-three, part two: alone

CW: very bad mental health issues, intrusive thoughts, depression, death, more death, the second being a su*cide, super super super super long (again)

part one is here, and the sequel short is here

fic under the cut

She was at a party, but she wasn’t really there. She’d been feeling like that for a while now, months, years, she couldn’t tell anymore. It was an odd feeling, like she was disconnected from everything around her. People moved and talked and danced and her body went along with them, but she was nowhere to be found, not really anyway.

So there she was, at yet another party, there in body but not in mind. She was standing by the drinks table, sipping a strong, clear liquid from her glass, when someone she didn’t recognize came up to her.

“You’re Kya, right?” they asked.

she nodded, staring into space and only half-listening to what they were saying. That is, until they mentioned her father.

“...and I heard about Avatar Aang taking ill and was all like ‘No way! That’s terrible!’, because he’s like, the Avatar and everything, but then I remembered seeing you around and thought ‘Hey, isn’t she the Avatar’s kid?’, so I decided that whenever I saw you around next, I’d say something. So yeah, I’m so sorry to hear about your father, and I wish all the best for you and your family,” they smiled at her despite her distant expression, waiting for a reaction for a long moment before their expression changed.

When Kya noticed them raising an eyebrow in confusion at her silence, she shook her head and forced herself to focus.

“S-sorry, I uh- my father’s sick?” she stuttered, meeting their eye cautiously.

“Oh, you- you didn’t know, I’m so sorry, uh-,” they paused and looked around, pretending to see something across the room.

“My uh- my friend just came in, I think, I think I should just,” they stopped and scurried away, leaving Kya alone to understand what had just happened.

“Avatar Aang taking ill.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about your father.”

“You didn’t know.”

Kya downed the last of her drink and wove her way through the crowd, easily avoiding bumping into people without really having to look.

“You didn’t know.”

She broke out into the cool night air and took in a deep breath.

“Taking ill.”

She rushed down the steps of the venue, starting on her walk back to the hotel.

I didn’t know.

She made quick work of the walk, arriving back at her room in under a half an hour.

Dad’s sick.

She collapsed backwards onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling, her head spinning.

Dad’s probably dying.

She gasped, her own thoughts surprising her. She closed her eyes and pushed the thought away, trying to convince herself he wasn’t that sick. That he’d be alright.

Her eyes remained closed as she sifted so that slightly more of her was on the bed. Once she was relatively comfortable, she sighed heavily and let herself give in to the alcohol for the night. She slept deeply, but couldn’t keep herself from having nightmares about her father, standing in her bedroom, a corpse rather than a living man.

She woke in the morning with the sun streaming through the hotel’s large windows and the sound of voices in the halls. She rolled onto her side and gazed at the carpeted floor, but didn’t move to actually get up. Her mind was blank, her eyes unfocused as she stared at nothing in particular, unmoving on the bed. She drifted in and out of a light sleep, her father’s face consistently appearing behind her closed eyelids as she did.

She wanted to cry, wanted to sob like there was no tomorrow, but she couldn’t. Her body was too tired, her mind too lost. She could see what was around her, and knew she should be going back to Air Temple Island, but… but first she had to get out of bed. And that was seeming more and more impossible with every passing minute.

Get up.

Get up, get up, get up.

She rolled over again, curling up so that the now very bright sun coming through the windows hit her back. Her eyes traced over the clothing she’d thrown on the floor days before, quickly becoming heavy again. This time, she fell back into the deeper sleep she’d had before.

“You should have been there.”

“How could you betray me like that.”

“I never really loved you, anyway.”

Her eyes opened groggily and she blinked away her father’s rotting face. She sighed quietly and ran a hand over her face before turning to look out the window. This time she pushed herself up so that she sat cross legged in bed, though she still couldn’t bring herself to actually get up.

The sky had darkened again, the dull night creeping up on her quickly. Her stomach growled in disagreement with her having not eaten since the party… however long ago that had been. She sighed again and let herself fall to the side, her head landing heavily as she did.

Everything felt so out of reach. She knew there was a buffet downstairs, where she could easily satisfy her hunger. A train station in town that could bring her more than halfway home. Paper and a pen in her drawer that she could at least write home with. But the longer she stayed in bed, the farther away everything seemed.

The drawer was miles away every time she’d look sideways at it, hoping this time the effort of opening it wouldn’t be too much.

Smells from the buffet would occasionally waft up, reminding her of how long it’d been since she’d had any food or drink. Each time her nose caught one and her stomach complained, she felt more and more deserving of the hunger.

She could hear the trains going by reasonably often, and began to count them for lack of anything else to do. The higher the number climbed, the more and more she saw Aang’s sunken face watching her with disappointment.

She counted the trains silently, her arm falling asleep under her. She lost count every once in a while and had to start over, and the entire time her eyes continued to close, periodically pulling her into nightmare-ridden sleep. The sun rose and fell again, and then again a third time, before anything changed.

First, there were voices outside her room’s door. New voices, familiar voices, not just the cleaner or the cook.

Then, there was her door opening. She kept staring into space, not bothering to look at who it was. It wouldn’t matter soon anyway, so what point was there?

But then there was a man crouching in front of her bed putting a hand gently on her cheek. She forced her eyes to look at him, recognizing him as soon as she did, but still not saying anything. Still not finding the will to get out of bed.

“Kya…” he said quietly, looking at her with a great deal of sadness in his eyes.

She couldn’t help but be jealous of her uncle at that moment.

At least he feels sadness.

At least there’s something more behind it all.

She turned her eyes away from Sokka, who sighed and stood to his full height again. He left her as she was on the bed and began moving around the room, opening and closing drawers and packing all her things into her suitcase. It didn’t take him long, her limited belongings helping with the quick cleanup. He set the packed suitcase on the bed and walked back around so he could look Kya in the face.

“We have to go home, Kya,” he started gently, trying not to be too forceful to the clearly distressed woman.

When she didn’t respond, he crouched in front of her again. He pushed her hair out of her face and then placed his hand over hers, pressing slightly in an attempt to get her to look at him. Her eyes remained glazed over, though, and she still said nothing.

“Can I please bring you back to the island?” he asked.

Still, no response. Kya wasn’t sure what she was waiting for, if she was even waiting for anything. She didn’t want to go back, because that meant accepting the reality of what was happening. But she didn’t want to miss saying goodbye to her father, either.

Saying goodbye.

She blinked a few times and looked at her uncle, her eyebrows drawing together. Her eyes flitted around the room and she pushed herself into a sitting position, pulling her knees to her chest and hanging her head.

“Kya?” Sokka asked, moving so that he was seated on the bed next to her.

He put a hand on her back, watching the minute changes that danced across her face. When she settled back into her blank, seemingly emotionless state from before, he spoke again.

“Almost everyone is already on the island. I-,” he sighed before continuing. “I know how hard it is, Kya. I know how much it hurts. But believe me, it hurts more when you don’t get to say goodbye. So, so much more, because then there’s a regret that you can’t get rid of. My mother- your grandmother, neither Katara or I got to say goodbye. Her death was so much harder than dad’s, because we had the chance to talk to him before he went. I would hate for you to have to live with that regret, Kya. So please, let me take you back to Air Temple Island.”

Kya looked down and nodded, taking a moment before letting her legs fall over the side of the bed. She let out a long, heavy sigh, and Sokka placed his hand over hers again.

“We’ll get through this, alright? All of us, together,” he said before standing.

Kya stood slowly after him, closing her eyes against the dizziness that suddenly hit her.

“Woah, there,” Sokka said, grabbing her around the shoulders to steady her.

Kya mustered up a weak smile but kept her gaze down, straightening herself and nodding to signal that she was okay to stand on her own. Sokka walked around the bed and grabbed her suitcase, turning back to her and watching her walk slowly after him.

“When was the last time you ate something?” he asked, eyeing her frail and unsteady form as she walked.

Kya shook her head and looked up at him, a hint of guilt gleaming in her eyes. Sokka pursed his lips then smiled, throwing his arm over her shoulder again.

“Let’s get you some food before we head home, yeah?” Sokka looked at her out of the corner of his eye as she gave a single nod.

They walked down to the buffet on the main floor and Sokka got himself a plate of food alongside Kya. Kya was absolutely ravenous and ate more than even she had expected, not leaving room for herself or her uncle to say anything. Once they finished Sokka went to the desk up front to pay before going back to Kya so they could leave. He held out his arm for Kya to take, which she did tiredly after a moment.

Neither of them spoke on the way to the train station. Sokka talked to the person at the ticket office to buy their passes home, but then fell back into silence as they headed towards the platform. They found two seats when they got on the train and took them, Sokka looping his arm over Kya’s shoulders before they both fell asleep. They slept for the majority of the train ride, Kya not having nightmares for the first time since she’d heard that Aang was sick.

“Tickets, tickets please,” Kya heard a nasally voice calling, pulling her out of the dreamless sleep.

She looked over at Sokka, who was gazing quietly out the rolling hills they were speeding past. He turned his head to her when he felt her shift, a small smile tugging at his mouth. He reached into his pocket and grabbed their tickets, giving them to Kya and looking behind them at the ticket master.

“You okay to give those to him?” he asked, looking back at Kya.

Kya nodded and he turned back to the window, letting out a sigh. Kya fiddled with the tickets in her hands, keeping her gaze cast down as she waited for the ticket master to get to them. When he did, she failed to notice until he cleared his throat above her.

“Tickets?” he asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

She jumped in her seat and looked up at him, blinking a few times before realizing what he was asking. She handed the two tickets to him and he scrutinized them, stamping them reluctantly before handing them back to her and moving on.

The train pulled into Republic City’s main station a little under a half hour later and practically everyone got off. Sokka led Kya outside to where a taxi was waiting for them. They got in and sat wordlessly for the entirety of the drive, raining silent as they rode the ferry over to Air Temple Island and then walked up the long path to the temple. Just before they got to the temple, Sokka stopped Kya, pulling her in for a hug.

“Your dad will be so happy to see you, Kya,” he said against her head before drawing back to look at her.

She looked like a shell of herself, the bright and energetic girl she’d once been lost deep in the numbness that now encompassed her. She met her uncle’s eye briefly before looking at the ground, turning and walking the rest of the way to the temple. She heard Sokka following her, but didn’t turn back to him. She hardly even looked up when her mother came running down the hallway to greet her.

“Kya!” Katara cried, wrapping her daughter in a tight hug.

Kya stood stiffly, not returning the hug or greeting her mother back. She closed her eyes after a few seconds, sinking slightly into her mother’s embrace, only for Katara to pull away all too soon. Her mother cupped her face in her hands, forcing her to look up at her.

“Oh, baby…” she murmured, glancing at Sokka who was standing just behind them.

Kya pulled away from her mother and hung her head, walking to a nearby pillar and leaning lightly against it. She stopped listening as her mother and uncle talked for a minute, though she did notice how often they looked over at her. Katara hurried down a long hallway when they finished speaking, while Sokka turned to Kya.

“Katara’s going to see if Aang’s awake, so we can go in and talk to him,” he said, taking a few steps towards her.

Kya kept her eyes trained on the ground, wrapping her arms around her stomach. She didn’t want to see her father dying. Not now, not ever. Even so, she followed her mother and Sokka when Katara said Aang was awake and wanted to see them. She remembered what Sokka had said to her the night before in her dingy hotel room, and figured she could at least say something to her father. When they stopped outside his door, though, she suddenly felt as if she couldn’t breath.

Katara had left them at the start of the hallway, wanting to give them space to see Aang on their own. Sokka had been about to open the door when he noticed Kya’s sudden change in demeanour, turning to her and placing his hands on her shoulders right away.

“Hey,” he started, glancing around them.

“Kya, hey, it’s alright. Let me go in first, okay? It’ll be okay, you’re okay, just… sit here for a minute,” he stepped away from her and grabbed a metal chair from a few doors down, placing it by Aang’s room for her.

She took the seat gratefully, bouncing her leg and clasping her hands tightly in front of her. Sokka went into Aang’s room and she tried to listen to what they were saying, but kept losing herself in worry.

Dad’s dying.

He’s really dying.

I’ll probably never see him again after today.

When her mind finally became too much to sit alone with, she shoved up from the chair. She stopped briefly before opening the door, peeking her head in just slightly. She watched her uncle crying into her father’s shoulder for a long moment before Aang noticed her, pulling back from Sokka. Sokka wiped his cheeks before he turned and saw her, smiling and waving for her to come in.

He put his hand on Aang’s shoulder as she took a single step into the room.

“I’ll miss you,” he said to her father, just before turning and gliding past Kya.

Kya dragged herself over to the chair by Aang’s side. She paused for a second and looked at her father, huffing lightly before sitting down. She didn’t care if he noticed something was wrong or not, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. That is until he turned his hand so his palm was up and looked at her with an overload of concern.

“Hold my hand?” he asked, as she looked up to meet his eyes.

She lifted her hand and curled her fingers in with her fathers, her face practically going slack as she stared blankly ahead. She tried to focus on what was going on in the moment, but found it impossible with her thoughts criticizing her so loudly.

“Kya, what’s wrong?” Aang asked, the sound of his voice distracting her from her mind for at least a few seconds.

She opened her mouth to respond and took a deep breath, but couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Finally, after what felt like hours to both of them, she found her voice.

“Dad,” she whispered, looking up at him again.

He looked back at her sadly and she couldn’t help but beat herself up for it. She didn’t want him to feel bad on her behalf, and yet here they were.

She watched as he tried to take a deep breath but instead started to cough, getting himself under control after a moment but still wheezing slightly. She felt her eyebrows draw together almost imperceptibly, but had too little energy to show her concern any more. She could tell by how he looked at her how empty her eyes were, his own eyes dulling with each passing second.

“Tell…” he trailed off, trying to muster up enough strength to finish his sentence before continuing.

“Tell everyone I love them,” he said, barely louder than a whisper.

Kya furrowed her eyebrows as Aang slid down in the bed just barely, his eyes watching her with sadness.

“Dad,” she whispered again, panic growing in her chest.

“Dad,” she said louder as he closed his eyes, his face relaxing.

She pushed out of the chair and leaned over him, putting her hand on his cheek. Her eyes were wide with shock and she grabbed his shoulders, shaking him harshly. When he didn’t respond, she whipped her head around the room for some source of water, only to come up dry. She turned back to her father, breathing far too quickly, and raised her shaking hands to his chest.

He’s dead because of you.

She started making compressions on his chest, trying hard to keep his heart beating. With every compression, she felt more and more panicked, her vision blurring with tears.

They’re all going to blame you.

They’re all going to hate you.

She let out a sob and her elbows gave out, and before she knew it she was kneeling on the floor by the bed. Her hand slid back over to his, grasping it tightly as she sobbed. She had no idea how long she was there before someone called to her from outside.

“Kya?” they asked just before opening the door.

Kya turned her head to see a shocked Tenzin standing there.

“No…” he whispered, looking between his father and sister.

Kya watched as her little brother became quickly very pale, only finding the strength to move when his eyes closed and he went limp. She caught him just in time, sinking to her knees with him, sobs still tearing through her body.

Katara heard Kya’s cries as she walked down a perpendicular hall and immediately knew what had happened. She rushed to Aang’s room, bursting through the half open door and taking in the scene before her. She knelt down beside Kya, taking Tenzin off of her lap before looking over at Aang. Kya saw her mother’s eyes fill with tears and had to hold her breath against a loud sob.

Just then, Sokka came rushing in, along with Bumi, Suki, and Izumi. Suki dropped to her knees next to Katara while the other three gathered around Aang. Kya pushed herself up from the ground and all but ran from the room, trying to escape the chaos of the others and of her own mind.

They all already hate you.

Shut up.

They’ll never forgive you.

Leave me alone.

You killed your own father, you monster.

I didn’t- I didn’t kill him.

But you couldn’t save him either, and what is that if not just as bad?

She ran across the courtyard in front of the temple, finding her way to the trail that led up the mountainside. She kept running until her lungs burned and her face was dry of tears, the view from the edge of the mountain’s tallest cliff filling her with an incredulous sense of awe. She didn’t realize someone had followed her until she heard the sound of fabric shifting behind her.

“Don’t,” she warned through gritted teeth, stepping closer to the cliff’s edge.

“Kya,” her mother’s voice said softly, a thickness to it that told Kya she was crying.

“Mom, please, leave,” Kya rasped, not looking back as she inched still closer to the edge.

“Kya, no, just-,” Katara cut herself off with a blood curdling yell as Kya stepped from the cliff.

“Kya!” She shouted, running to where her daughter had stood moments before and falling to her knees.

Kya looked up at the sky as she fell, an odd peace spreading through her body. It dissolved when she heard her mother’s scream, her heart abruptly shattering with the realization of what she’d done.

“Mom,” she whispered into the wind, just before her body slammed against the rocks below and her mind went black.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Reflection of Beauty Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: Detailed spoilers for a date yet to be released in EN! 🍒

Phone call between Gavin and Mr Keller before the date: here

Candlelit Night Collection: Kiro // Lucien // Victor

Trivia regarding the name of the date: 

This date is called 惊鸿照影来, which is part of a couplet from “Shenyuan”, a poem by Lu You written in the Song Dynasty

Rough translation of the full couplet: Alas, the green water under the forlorn bridge / Once reflected the charming face of my beloved one!

It was inspired by the poet’s own love story, where he was forced to leave his wife because his mother didn’t like her. Even so, their love never ceased. Ten years later, they met again in Shenyuan Garden (which was also the place he first fell in love with her). Lu You inscribed a poem on a stone wall, conveying his anger and sorrow towards their separation. A few days after seeing the poem, she died from depression :’<

“Shenyuan” was written later on as a memorialisation of his undying love. It conveys how revisiting old places makes one remember past lovers and sentiments

-

[ CHAPTER ONE ]

The date begins with MC and Gavin having a rehearsal for the sequel of the “Three Lifetimes” play

The audience had a deep impression of them in “Three Lifetimes”, so Mr Keller wrote them into the sequel as second leads

In the play, the town looks forward to the marriage between Lady Su (the female lead) and Swordsman Bai (Gavin)

But Lady Su is in love with Swordsman Bai’s friend, a scholar (the male lead)

Meanwhile, Swordsman Bai is in love with the character MC is playing (a high-ranking palace maid and a close friend of Lady Su)

After the rehearsal, Mr Keller gives them suggestions on how to improve, and tells Gavin to gaze at MC and hold her hand during a particular scene:

Gavin: ...all right. 

-

[ CHAPTER TWO ]

Once the rehearsal is over, Gavin is a sweetheart as always, bringing water and a few bananas over to MC with this face:

Gavin: If it isn’t enough, I can get a few more? 

MC: There’s enough, there’s enough. 

Su Xuan, the actress playing Lady Su, tells them to change outfits for the photoshoot:

Su Xuan: I’ll help you put on some make-up first, then marry you off beautifully to your Mr Gavin. Come, close your eyes.

Without giving me a chance to explain or argue, she skilfully helps me with my make-up, as though she’s really helping a sister prepare for her wedding. 

Su Xuan: Mm, that’s more like it. 

She pulls me to my feet. After looking me over carefully, she tilts her head and smiles at something behind me.

Su Xuan: What does the groom think? 

Before I have time to react, Su Xuan pushes me lightly, and I fall into familiar arms.

Gavin: Pretty. 

Gavin, who has walked out of the changing room, is also wearing a matching set of red wedding attire.

The colour, which isn’t typically found on him, suits him unexpectedly well.

His easy-going independence has been toned down, replaced with fiery passion.

Gavin: What are you looking at? 

MC: This outfit really suits you.

MC: ...very handsome!

Gavin: [coughs] ...you look very pretty in red too. 

Gavin’s ears have a tinge of redness. He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes containing insuppressible surprise and warmth as he looks at me. 

Su Xuan: All right, you two “newlyweds” can appreciate each other after the shoot! The photographer this time is quite picky.

As she speaks, she pulls our hands together. 

The both of us stop talking, perhaps due to the dry air around us, or the warmth surfacing in our eyes. 

Gavin holds onto my hand tightly.

-

[ CHAPTER TWO: A flashback ]

Location: Outside Lynn’s Kitchen

By the time Minor and Gavin leave the noodle shop, the sky is mostly dark.

Only traces of the sunset glow faintly from behind the tall buildings. 

Minor: It’s so difficult to get tickets this Chinese New Year... I’m always struggling during this part of the year, and spending the New Year’s alone here is too cheerless. Gavin, what are your plans? Eh... why am I even asking - you’re definitely spending it with Boss.

Gavin is the same as always, letting Minor ramble on at his ear. 

Only when he hears the final sentence does a corner of his heart feel a light tug.

Gavin: Mm. I promised to help Mr Keller with her. 

Gavin smiles faintly without even realising it himself.

Minor: Huh? ...even though I find this method a little off, it’s not bad I guess! Boss has been asking everyone in the office what dishes they usually make for New Year’s. It made me curious... so you two are spending New Year’s together!

Minor’s words cause Gavin to recall the few memories of “spending the New Year’s” he has.

New Year’s should be a festival of celebration. There was a time when he looked forward to it.

It’s just that afterwards, this day gradually became no different from a normal one. 

That is, until the girl reappeared in his life, drawing the link between this day and warmth. 

It made him start looking forward to it again.

Minor: Bro Gavin? What are you thinking about? It’s rare to see this look on your face... I got it!

Minor makes an exaggerated expression, predictably receiving Gavin’s neither hard nor soft punch. 

Gavin: Minor, are there places selling New Year goods near her home? 

Minor: Bro Gavin, you want to... buy New Year goods?!

Gavin: What’s wrong with that?

Minor: Nothing nothing nothing...

Gavin: ...your smile is a little nauseating. 

Minor: I’m just happy! Then again, as compared to preparing in advance, there will be more of an atmosphere if you pick them out together!

Gavin: Makes sense. 

Gavin nods, quickening his pace slightly. 

Minor: Bro Gavin, where are you headed to next?

Several images flash across his mind - a warm light in the living room left on for him, a table with the home-cooked dishes he mentioned liking, and the girl waiting for him on the sofa, hugging a pillow. 

Gavin: Home. 

-

[ CHAPTER THREE ]

The photoshoot turns out to be more difficult than MC expected

Photographer: You must imagine - you two are about to elope, so it has to be dynamic! And yet have a tinge of... hesitation and worry! You’ve got to feel it! Change your pose!

MC and Gavin struggle to understand the photographer’s abstract descriptions

MC suggests they pretend to chat while sitting on the grass

MC: ...the weather is getting cold. Does Sparky need to be sent for maintenance? 

Once the words leave my mouth, I’m filled with a sense of regret. This topic is too forced...

Gavin seems to be stunned for a moment, then the corners of his lips lift gently.

Gavin: Mm, I have plans to do so. We can find a day to go together.  

MC: Ah, okay!

Gavin smiles, lifting his hand to tuck stray tendrils of hair behind my ear. 

His amber eyes, which are filled to the brim with smiles, hold my blinking and grinning expression within them.

Photographer: Very good! That’s the right feeling! Could the both of you try lying down? Girl, close your eyes and lift your head slightly.

MC: ...all right. Like this? 

I follow the photographer’s instructions and lie down at Gavin’s side, closing my eyes. 

In the darkness, a familiar warmth encases me tightly, allowing me to have a peace of mind and lean into his arms. 

We are very close to each other. His unique scent entwines with the reed grass that has been dried by the sun, reminding me of the summer we spent together. A breeze brushes past us. 

It makes one want to draw even nearer. 

Photographer: Very good very good. Can the man include some movements to add on to the idea of newlyweds interacting?

Gavin: ...uhm.

I hear Gavin’s breath halt for a moment, as though he’s deep in thought. 

After a while, he seems to have thought of something, and he laughs softly. 

Gavin: MC, don’t move. 

Right after he finishes speaking, I feel a lock of hair near my ear being lifted gently. 

I don’t dare to move a single inch, nor dare to open my eyes. I leave myself entirely to Gavin. 

The frequency of my heartbeat increases, and a numbness travels from the roots of my hair to my spine. My hair seems to be gently held in his palm.

Gavin: ...let me know if it hurts. I’ve never tried this before. 

Even though he says this, his actions are cautious and tender. 

All I can feel are the slight vibrations from my hair, the lock of hair ascending and descending along with his fingers, and then falling by my ear again. 

I purse my lips tightly, frantically trying to control my rapid breathing. I’m afraid that I might accidentally ruin this ambience. 

The shutter continuously sounds. The photographer seems to be saying something again, but I can no longer hear him clearly. 

Next to me, Gavin’s breathing brushes against my forehead and the tips of my hair. The breath, which carries a certain warmth, feels like a light kiss. 

Even though this is just a photoshoot, I wish time would give us this moment for a little while longer.

The words he said during the Qixi Festival last year surge from the depths of my heart, and once again gather in the centre.

I can’t help but feel that even if our destinies entangle and cross, and fate only allows for fleeting meetings, we will ultimately accompany each other at the very end. 

In my ear, the sound of his heartbeat is akin to him giving me a definite answer. One after the other, regular and resolute. 

Photographer:

Gavin: MC, we can get up now. 

I open my eyes slowly. The past few minutes have felt like a small, beautiful dream. 

In Gavin’s hand are locks of our hair tied together with a red string. 

Noticing my gaze, Gavin clear his throat unnaturally. 

Gavin: ...when the idea of “newlyweds” was brought up, I could only think of this. 

[Trivia: In Chinese culture, one’s hair represents one’s self. During a traditional Chinese wedding, the couple would each cut a lock of their hair and tie them together. This is called 结发 (”joining of hair”). It symbolises the couple becoming one flesh and blood, and how they would be connected forever... T^T]

I nod, not daring to meet his eyes. 

His short sentence channels layers of emotions in my heart, converging into unstoppable ripples. 

In a most straightforward way, his unembellished words leave a long and sweet aftertaste in my heart. 

MC: Let’s go over there so the next group can use this place...

Gavin: Hold on...

Without waiting for Gavin to finish, I’ve already sat up. Only when I feel a light tugging sensation do I realise that my hair is still tied to Gavin’s. 

MC: Ah-

Gavin: ...does it hurt? Don’t worry, I’ll untie the knot.

Gavin’s voice, which carries within it concern, is very close to the top of my head. In the next second, the strands of hair that are pulled are immersed in a tender warmth. 

Gavin: ...I might have tied it a little too tightly.

MC: Let me try...

Gavin agrees with a sound, cooperating by bending down slightly to make it easier to untie the red string. 

I try pulling at the end of the string, but the knot refuses to budge.

Gavin: ... 

MC: It does seem a little tight... could it be a dead knot? 

Gavin seems to have leaned in a little closer. Perhaps it’s just my misperception, but he seems even closer than he was during the photoshoot. 

His temperature and breath make my face feel increasingly flushed. I focus on the knot in my hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice my flustered state.

MC: N-next time, don't tie it so tightly! Or else I’ll leave it to you to untie. 

I pretend to be angry, wanting to break the atmosphere that makes my heart go into a frenzy. 

Gavin: All right, I got it. 

When I hear his voice in my ear, I know fully well that my attempts are futile.

When the red string is finally released and falls to the ground, I release a huge sigh, yet feel an inexplicable emptiness in my heart. 

It’s as though my fate with Gavin has become untied. 

They get called back to the rehearsal

MC: We should go over then.

Gavin: ...hold on. 

Gavin pauses, then takes the red string from my hand.

In a slightly clumsy manner, he uses the string to tie a knot at the end of my plait.

Gavin: This is also considered joining of the hair.

Gavin looks at me, his eyes clear, as though he has seen through all my emotions. 

Gavin: Let’s go.

While he speaks, he takes my hand and we leave. 

I hold onto Gavin firmly, the red string on my hair swaying gently along with our footsteps.

We will never miss each other again. 

-

[ CHAPTER FOUR ]

At 8pm, the play finally begins

On stage, MC is supposed to read a letter to Gavin

But when she opens it up, she realises there’s nothing on the letter even though her script is supposed to be on it

Gavin notices that something is amiss, so he steps in to calm her down while pretending everything is normal

MC starts reciting her lines based on memory, but starts panicking in fear of ruining the play

Gavin then takes the letter from her and pretends to read from it, reciting her lines perfectly

The First Act of the play comes to an end, and there’s an intermission

MC decides to thank Gavin properly after the play is over, but Su Xuan suddenly looks for her:

Su Xuan: MC, are you free now? Pass the silk ball to Gavin! I don’t know why, but the prop hasn’t been brought over yet.

MC: Okay! I’ll go now!

Thinking of the little time left, I grab the silk ball and run towards the other end without much thought. 

In the next scene, Gavin and I are supposed to enter the stage from different sides, which is why I have to cross through the entire backstage to reach him.

The silk ball is an indispensable prop in the next scene. Also... I have a “thank you” to say to him in person.

With this in mind, I quicken my pace, and find a familiar figure afar off in the busy backstage.

MC: Gavin! I’m over here!

I stand on my tiptoes and wave at him, thinking of ways to reach him even faster. 

Hearing this, Gavin raises his head. After seeing me, he immediately weaves through the crowd and walks towards me. 

People are moving to and fro. Our eyes only have each other, and we go against the flow of people, walking towards our only focus. 

Staff: Prepare for the second half!

When I’m only a few steps away from him, the countdown for the second half of the play resounds. 

MC: Gavin, this is for you!

In my desperation, I lift my hand. The silk ball flies in a slightly shaky arc, landing steadily in Gavin’s arms. 

[Trivia: In Chinese culture, the silk ball (绣球 - ”xiu qiu”) is used to symbolize love. Giving it to someone reflects the giving of one’s heart. If a woman is in search of a fated life partner, she will toss the ball high into the air in a crowd. The person who catches the silk ball would become the person’s husband]

MC: Gavin, about earlier...

Staff: MC? What are you doing here? Go back, we’re about to start soon. The snatching scene is next, and it’s very important. 

MC: Please wait! I haven’t finished what I wanted to say...

The staff doesn’t give me a chance to continue, and pulls me to the other end. 

I turn my head towards Gavin, and I have no choice but to swallow the words of gratitude I couldn’t say to him in time. 

Gavin: [unintentionally sexy whisper] Wait for me.

Gavin stands in place and looks at me, mouthing those words to me. 

The bell from the venue rings, and the noise from the audience gradually dissipates.

Staff: The Second Act! Begins!

-

[ CHAPTER FOUR: A flashback ]

Location: Gavin’s home

MC: “It’s good, and I doubt the lady would refuse, but...”

Gavin: Are you still looking at your lines?

MC: ...Gavin? Why are you here!

[Note: I have no idea why MC asks this since the backdrop is of his own house LOL]

Gavin walks over with a blanket in his hand. 

MC: The rehearsal is the day after tomorrow, so I’m trying to make use of my time to familiarise myself with the script, especially the scene where I’m reading the letter. Even though I should be able to read straight from the letter on the actual day, I think it’s better to memorise it just in case... Gavin, why don’t you accompany me in going through the lines!

Gavin nods and sits beside me. After covering me with the blanket, he takes the script from my hands. 

Gavin: From here? 

MC: Okay!

Gavin and I go through the dialogue. Places I usually get stuck at become miraculously smooth.

Without realising it, we’ve gone through the entire script.

I flip through the script, marking out places requiring additional attention. 

MC: I feel like Mr Keller has taken reference from the personalities of the actors when writing the lines. I keep thinking that the lines sound like what you would say.

While speaking, I let out a yawn.

Gavin: If you’re tired, rest. We can continue tomorrow. 

As the year draws to a close, there are more things than usual to settle at work. And when I come home, I’d have to familiarise myself with the script. It’s natural that I’d feel fatigued. 

MC: You don’t have anything on tomorrow? 

Gavin: I don’t have work tomorrow, so we can practice our lines.

MC: That’s great!

A warmth gushes out of my heart. I shift closer to Gavin, sharing half the blanket with him. We look at the script together. 

MC: This is so much warmer!

Gavin: ...do you still want to look at it? 

MC: Mm, let’s look through the letter scene again. “If you lack medical knowledge... attach some... scattered silver... I hope to do my best...”

The words in front of me gradually become blurry and distorted. After a certain line, I lean on Gavin’s shoulder in a dazed state, giving up on my fight against sleep.

Gavin: MC? Are you asleep? 

The girl, who loftily said they would look at the script together just a few minutes ago, is now leaning softly against his shoulder, sleeping peacefully. 

Gavin doesn’t wake her up, and simply covers her with a jacket. He flips to the first page of the script, quietly reading the girl’s lines, and memorising them. 

The city is asleep, but the room filled with the breath of two people is still illuminated with a tender light. 

The all-knowing stars in the night sky are silent, and will guard the small world belonging to these two people.

-

[ CHAPTER FIVE ] The curtains are drawn slowly. I once again step onto the stage, following the script. 

In this scene, Gavin will snatch the silk ball, and I will hand it to the male lead so he can bring his beloved home.

For the scene to be more realistic, the actors are allowed to walk around spontaneously. 

As such, I have to run past various settings, weave through the crowd, and finally reach the stipulated spot. 

MC: Swordsman Bai? 

Panting slightly, I stand underneath the embroidery building, looking for Gavin. 

[Trivia: In ancient times, women who were more socially well-to-do would do embroidery in embroidery buildings.]

The sense of deja vu blurs my perception of the boundaries between the play and reality. 

A strong wind arrives as promised. Following the glint of a sword, a path forms in the crowd, interrupting my thoughts.

Gavin is dressed in red. One hand holds onto the silk ball, and the other sheathes his sword. He walks straight towards me. 

Gavin: Trivial matters held me back, and I seek forgiveness from the lady. 

The corners of his lips are curled into an open smile. His eyes are wilful and tender. 

The setting of the blue sky, the red silk in the surroundings, and the startled magpie birds surround Gavin, who is donned in wedding attire. It makes one unable to look away. 

At this moment, he finally stands before me again. 

The crowd and the noise of the world - they no longer have anything to do with me. 

Gavin places the silk ball into my hands steadily. 

Even though I know this is a script, and that it’s part of the plot, I can’t help but feel that the red silk ball in my hands is akin to a solemn promise. 

A greedy thought even flits across my mind - maybe it’d be good if the story ends like this. 

On stage, the silk ball is finally handed to the scholar. The lady takes the silk ball and holds it with her lover.  

Under the embroidery building, Gavin suddenly takes my hand. 

Gavin: Perhaps this may be abrupt. MC, are you willing to marry me and become my wife? 

MC: ?!

Was there such a line in the script? 

I look at Gavin with confusion.

Gavin doesn’t say a word. He stares straight at me without a hint of evasion.

There are so many emotions within that pair of eyes, leaving me unable to make sense of them. I have no idea what to say. 

Off-stage, the audience erupt in thunderous cheers.

I glance to the side. Mr Keller, who has been watching the entire play, nods in my direction, signalling that I should continue in my role. 

My confusion dissipates when I see Gavin’s amber eyes, which are filled with deep, tender emotions and lingering affection. There is even an undercurrent of questioning and anticipation. 

It’s as though the answer I give would be an entrustment of the rest of my life. 

My heart beats loudly in my chest, feeling like it would leap out from my throat in the next second. 

MC: I... I accept. 

I blush and respond, not even sure if my words are loud enough to be heard by the audience off-stage. 

However, every single word is heard by Gavin, who has received my feelings. 

With a gentle laugh, he wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me up. 

Gavin brings me up the embroidery building to stand alongside the male and female leads.

At the end of the play, there is thunderous applause from off-stage. There are even a few audience members who are fully immersed in the story, sending us their blessings. 

In the midst of the applause, I tilt my head and lean towards Gavin’s ear, speaking softly. 

MC: Gavin, just now... I don’t remember seeing such a scene in the script?

Gavin: Mm, it was impromptu. 

MC: Why didn’t you tell me beforehand? I even thought...

Gavin doesn’t respond further, only smiling at me. 

Facing the cheering audience, the four of us bow and thank them for watching, as though worshipping the vast sea of people. 

After the play, everyone involved in the show gathers together to celebrate over dinner

MC: Gavin, thank you so much for today! It’s a good thing you saved the show! Back then... I really didn’t know what to do.

While I speak, I raise the drink in my hand, clinking it lightly against Gavin’s.

Gavin: You were looking for me just now to say this? 

He raises his drink, making up for the delayed clink. 

MC: Yeah. I wanted to thank you properly, but time was so tight that I couldn’t find the chance. Come to think of it, how did you know my lines...

Gavin: When we were rehearsing lines together, I just memorised them as well.

Gavin lowers his head and takes a mouthful of food, maintaining his usual casual attitude. Noticing that I’ve been watching him, he rubs his neck in slight confusion.

Gavin: Um... is there something on my face?

I immediately shake my head. A warm wave of emotions overflow from my heart. Countless words of gratitude are lodged in my throat, but I feel that no matter what I say, it would not be enough.

In the end, I silently fill a bowl of soup for him.

At the table, everyone is eating and drinking merrily, and the atmosphere is warm.

MC: After spending so many days with the crew, thinking of how we might not have the chance to get together like this again makes me feel quite reluctant to part with them.

I lean against Gavin, looking at the lively crew around us. 

MC: Gavin, I suddenly thought about something from my childhood. My dad used to be busy producing programs, and would bring me to the recording site to spend the New Year’s. The site was always busy, but no matter how pressed they were for time, everyone would sit down together and have an especially sumptuous dinner. Once I grew up, I also started spending my New Year’s working. I still remember that the warm ambience back then was the same as right now. 

Gavin: Mm, I can imagine. I used to spend New Year’s with my teammates, and it was very lively. 

MC: Even though it’s not at home, it’s still a different kind of fun!

Gavin: Since we’re on this topic, [coughs]...

Gavin seems to have something very important to say, but he takes another sip of his drink and stops. 

I blink, waiting for him quietly. I can vaguely guess what he wants to say.

In the end, he seems to become determined. He clears his throat and turns his head to look at me with a serious expression. 

Gavin: Over the next few days, if you don’t have anything else planned....

Gavin: Spend the New Year’s with me at home.

His tone is light, but the look in his eyes tells me just how solemn this invitation is. Even the tips of his ears turn an unnatural shade of red. 

I am very certain that, to the both of us, these words are the most precious and serious treasures from the deepest parts of his heart. 

MC: Okay. 

I nod heavily in response. Since a very long time ago, this answer has not changed.

The corners of Gavin’s lips turn up slightly. Those eyes, which always have an undercurrent of emotions, look like a glacier that has melted in spring, tenderly melting into a warm current. 

Gavin: I’ll pick you up then.

MC: Mm!!

The way his lips are curled upwards is as though all the uncertainties in his heart have found a most potent answer. 

I find myself smiling along with him.

MC: I recently learnt how to make a few New Year’s dishes, so we can try them. 

Gavin: All right, I can help. My skills... have improved. 

I freeze for a moment, making a sudden realisation. 

MC: Have you been practicing in secret? Looks like teaching you how to cook was a wise decision.

Gavin: ...I occasionally tried to.

MC: I’ll have to check the results of my teaching this year then!

Gavin: No problem. 

Gavin smiles, nodding his head with some measure of seriousness. He suddenly thinks of something.

Gavin: Oh yes, do we need to buy things like spring couplets?

MC: Mmhmm, we also have to buy the character “福”! It will only feel like New Year’s when we have these things pasted.

[Trivia: During the Chinese New Year, households paste an inverted red coloured square with the character 福 (“fu”, which means auspiciousness, blessing or happiness) on doors, walls, etc. to usher in such tidings]

I continue talking, listing on my fingers the items I want to purchase.

In my memory, my aunties’ fierce interrogations don’t seem that long ago. In just a blink of an eye, a new year has arrived. 

[Note: She’s making reference to the Spring Festival Date!]

This time, we can leave our time to each other. 

In a place belonging only to us, flipping open a new year’s calendar together.

The atmosphere at the dining table is just right. The sound of clinking glasses and celebration comes in waves. No one notices this small corner. 

We clasp each others’ fingers quietly. 

Our pulses, only separated by a layer of skin, call out to each other in the language of warmth.

I’m so lucky to have you by my side. 

[that-was-anticlimactic]

hey! i just saw your ask to bisexualsokka and i saw that you mentioned "frozen au"? is it atla related? it sounds really interesting.

hello, friend:)

first, imma promote now that i see you by @bisexuallsokka which the ask i sent was about and everyone should go read it because the disney zukka brain rot is real oof i have been thinking about them all day... like… uGH i was picturing the second to last chapter / the beginning of the last chapter in my head ALL day today and I have no regrets

okay bUT about what you sent... i am in the process of writing a zukka frozen au and i am uhh very invested hehe

so, i was showering one day and frozen broadway came on and i was like "yeah zukka" and then i went "... yEAH ZUKKA" and wrote this post and then forgot about it and then remembered in december and it was all i thought about in december and it consumed my mind

but for anyone who doesn't want to look at the link (which valid it's long lol), imma summarize:

katara is elsa and sokka is anna (although sokka is still the oldest. katara is literally the last southern water tribe bender so like,,, yeah she's elsa) and sokka does become chief, not katara.

and azula is hans (but she is being manipulated by oz*i v heavily so if i ever write the sequel i've been pondering about... major azula redemption... also mai and ty lee anyways). then zuko is kristoff and druk is sven (look me in the face and tell me that zuko wouldn't sing a song called dragons are better than people ijuhgvhjihu)

then aang is technically olaf in this but like... just in the companion sense. like, when katara reveals she's a bender and there's a storm, the storm cracks the ice berg and zuko and sokka find aang and he travels with them to find katara

iroh is pabbie and the white lotus are the trolls (except pakku still sucks and he's a nonbender in this because plot lol and he moved to the swt to be with kanna) and the rest of the trolls are the freedom fighters, the kyoshi warriors, toph, and just people who want to stop the war. so while toph, suki, jet, and haru aren't main characters, they're still there (and also yueki and jetru... yeah... oh but yue is still dead which sad but i also am in the process of writing a yueki prequel and a jet-centric prequel as to how he joined the "trolls")

(most importantly, the cabbage man is oaken—)

and yeah :) the plot is kind of the same but also different??? like the journey to find katara is a lot longer and that's how zukka falls in love and azula was instructed to try and take down the swt from the inside and like flirt with sokka (poor girl doesn't know she's a lesbian yet://) and they move so fast because a) sokka falls hard and he falls fast and b) azula was like "wow this child is so starved for affection and attention that i could ask him to marry me and he'd probably say yes father this is so easy w h a t kind of mission is this?" (spoiler alert: she is correct lol)

and katara and sokka fight and oh no she's a water bender and sokka is like "she's my sister, i'm not leaving her" and then frozen but in atla verse and with some additions by me :)

oh and also the war is kind of different? like it's not a full out war but the fire nation slowly trying to take everywhere down from the inside / sneakily and they don't have the resources or ability to attack the heavily armed nwt or the huge earth kingdom yet but the swt is doable

(and it's still small, but the nwt sent them some nonbenders... you know, after they killed *all* of the benders, the north was like 'mmm maybe not benders', so sokka's "coronation" is a big deal for them histroically)

and the swt still doesn't really like the fire nation at all (understandably) so azula pretends she's a refugee and zuko is so used to pretending to be earth kingdom that he lies and tells sokka that his name is li lol

but anyways, to sum it up, this is a story that i really want to explore the relationship between sokka and katara first and foremost and then zukka immediately after that and the let it go scene with katara... yeah i have plans for that that will stay hidden iuhgvhuji

well um

you did not ask for this much but i've been genuinely craving to talk about this because i think about it constantly and will be dedicating my life to this after my bb fic is completely posted :)

thank you very much for *unintentionally* indulging me and allowing me to scream about how much i love my zukka frozen au

(and under the cut is the frozen and tangled boards i drew for the menu board at camp today hehe--ignore the nightmare fuel that is olaf—i cannot draw)

olaf really looks ready to murder me tho,,,

and kom nu frem is quite literally always playing in my head… but the tangled one,,, I spent way too much time on it but it was sO worth it. that’s supposed to be sokka instead of flynn and zuko instead of rapunzel but I doubt I would’ve been able to get away with that lol

but yeah !!! i did the frozen one because kom nu frem and then decided tangled because frozen makes me think of my au and then when I was trying to figure out what the lunch board should be, my kind went to zukka soooo nOW THAT I SEE YOU

[starrlikesbooks]

Let’s talk about upcoming books!

It’s hard to believe the year is nearly over, but it’s equally hard to believe that it’s somehow still 2020  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Either way, the new year means at least one good thing- cool new books!

Click the read more for a little on each and why I’m excited! And have a great new year! 💓🎉

The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey is Gailey’s third full-length novel, and their second Adult novel. It’s an SFF story about a woman whose husband is cheating on her… with a clone of herself… which he made by stealing her research. The layers of betrayal! Obviously her and the clone have to kill him, what other choice do they have? I’m super excited for another one of Gailey’s fun, complex characters and the concept alone sounds so, so cool.

The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney I’ve already had the pleasure over reading and I am PUMPED to get other people to read it! This is a magical realism story about grief and baggage mixed with a southern (western?) gothic vibe with the town in the desert full of otherwordly “neighbors”. This is a beautiful story of PTSD and healing and as well as a lushly magic one.

The Mirror Season by Anna-Marie McLemore is another one I’ve already been lucky enough to get an advanced copy of. This is a magical realism story about the trauma of two characters’ unfortunately closely connected sexual assault. This one is heavy, and if you’re sensitive to stories involving rape and/or blackmail you may want to avoid it, but it’s well written and honestly an excellent story of healing and reflection.

Lycanthropy & Other Chronic Illnesses by Kristen O’Neal I…. have also already read! Sorry- I am just a very lucky reader of books! This is a really modern online friendship based story of a girl and her community of people with chronic illnesses, like the one that forced her to come back home from college. But it turns out her best friend’s chronic illness is a little… weird. I love the humor in this book, I love the characters, I love the representation of these illnesses and the online communities they form, and I honestly think that anyone who 1) like werewolves and 2) is still on tumblr will love this book.

Blade of Secrets by Tricia Levenseller combines three of my favorite things- bladesmiths, magical quests, and the author of The Shadows Between Us. A magical bladesmith takes a commission from someone far more dangerous than she knows, and winds up with an uber powerful sword able to steal secrets, on the run, and with some surprising friends. I can’t think of anything I don’t like from that, and I know I already love Levenseller’s characters, so!

Mister Impossible by Maggie Stiefvater has… that title, but is also the sequel to Call Down the Hawk, Stiefvater’s Ronan Lynch centric TRC spin off. CDTH was incredible and ended with a massive cliff hanger, so I’m chompin at the bit for this book. More magical dreams! More disembodied voices! More murder and art theft and Declan Lynch failing at pretending not to be weird af!

May the Best Man Win by ZR Ellor has the potential to make me cry right from the get go. This is a MLM trans lovers-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers story and my God I’m vibrating. Basically it’s a battle for prom king between exes who had a messy break up because one of them ended their relationship in order to come out & transition. The cover is so cute and I’m ready for this to be fluffy and fun.

One Last Stop by Casey McQuiston is McQuistion’s sophomore novel after Red, White & Royal Blue, so… obviously? This one is sapphic and involves falling for someone who is literally in the past. I trust McQuiston so much I’d need this book immediately even if the concept didn’t sound amazing, but I’m feeling blessed that it does!

Violet Ghosts by Leah Thomas is about being best friends with (and crushing on) a ghost while also coming out to yourself as trans. As an enby who likes ghost books- may I just say trans rights? This book also involved parental abuse, so beware if you find that distressing or triggering!

Blood Like Magic by Liselle Sambury not only has a stunning cover and a main character who looks like she means serious business, but it’s a dark urabn fantasy about witches. The main character fails her ritual to come into her magic, she’s forced to kill her true love or strip her whole blood line. Ah, I love difficult choices, gray morality, and magic, so I’m already in love with this.

The Box in the Woods by Maureen Johnson I’m astounded and super excited to know is going to exist at all. I loved the Truly, Devious trilogy, and while this isn’t exactly a part of that it is the same main character and it is still a mystery about an unsolved murder! Plus, I love summer camps, so a summer camp murder mystery makes me happy.

Gearbreakers by Zoe Hana Mikuta is a sappic enemies-to-lovers about two girls on opposite sides of a war fought by giant Windups. This is a cyberpunk book of spies and pilots and gay love, and it’s also the first in a series!

Any Way the Wind Blows by Rainbow Rowell is the third and (most likely) final book of the Simon Snow series and it’s gonna be GOOD. My only wish is for it to be about 500 pages longer because I want a full out door stopper of tying up loose ends.

The River Has Teeth by Erica Waters is the second book by the Ghost Wood Song author- which was on my most anticipated list for 2020 last year! That one was creepy and folky and queer, and this one looks to be the same. This one has a sister disappear and some strong magic to find out what happened to her, and if their mother was the one who did it.

Mark of the Wicked by Georgia Bowers is a dark fantasy about a girl who comes into her powers but has some different ideas about how she should be using them. I love morally gray or just plain dark main characters, so I’m ready to jump right on this one. This one also involves memory loss/blacking out and being framed, which always adds a cool mysterious layer!

Among Thieves by M.J. Kuhn involves queer, selfish thieves forced to band together. I have a soft spot for characters who are really flawed and don’t want to work together (especially if it leads into found family!) and this also has a slow burn sapphic relationship and a lot of possible betrayal in it, so I’ll probably go crazy from reading it.

Beyond the Ruby Veil #2 by Mara Fitzgerald doesn’t have a title yet but it does have a great plot to work off of. I loved the first book- which was creepy, had a completely awful, villainous main character, and full (I mean full) of murder- and it ended in a way that point to the sequel being just as good if not better. The first one had the quality of just watching the world burn, and I have a feeling this one’s going to be the same thing with maybe more flames. If you plan on picking up either of them, consider checking out the CWs, though!

Little Thieves by Margaret Owen got added to this immediately because Owen definitely gained my love and trust via The Merciful Crow duology, and I’m certain it’s going to be incredible solely because she’s a wonderful writer and her characters are a lot of fun- and speaking of characters, she’s already shared some drawings and info on them and they’re GREAT I cannot wait to meet them. This is a retelling of The Goose Girl story, from the maid’s POV!

Jade Fire Gold by June C.L. Tan was originally on my 2020 most anticipated but then 2020 happened so… yeah. But it is actually coming out in 2021, as long as the world doesn’t end again (fingers crossed). Inspired by East Asian mythology, this one is about a dangerous cult, a peasant cursed to steal souls, and an exiled prince!

The Heartbreak Bakery by A.R. Capetta is going to be one of those cute, fluffy, feel good reads, which I think we probably all need about now. I love Capetta’s work and their very queer characters, and I love the idea of a magical baker both breaking up and then getting couples back together. Also, the MC is agender- we love to see it.

The Second Coming by André-Naquian Wheeler follows a teen with a traumatic past falling for a boy who might be the second coming of Jesus Christ. Honestly, I’m a little nervous about this one- but also I almost wrote my own queer second coming story, so who am I to talk? I don’t know much more about this book, but I’m excited to see what it turns out like!