#every song has something in the lyrics or mood regarding the fic

[empress-simps]

harry oneshot based on the song gold rush by taylor swift?? i always associate that song with him because no joke he captured my entire heart and soul he's so... i can't even begin to describe him.

maybe this could take place during 6th year/hbp and the reader secretly grew to have a deep admiration for him since the triwizard tournament. she yearns for him, holds him in a higher regard than practically anyone else at that school, but doesn't dare to pursue the crush because he is simply too unattainable. and harry, although nobody knows, quietly returns the feelings, viewing her in the same "gold rush" light. (ngl i'm imaging the reader to still be filipina and ravenclaw but really, it's up to you :D)

i think i'm rambling at this point but some details i thought of are stuff sort of relating to/referencing the lyrics like "At dinner parties / I call you out on your contrarian shit" meant engaging in witty conversation with harry during the slug club's dinner parties... and yeah that's it xx

Tbh, I can relate; I associate songs with a character that captures my heart🏃🏻‍♀️🫣 I also listen to songs when I write fics, it helps me think and get in the mood (also feeds my delusion-) Now, I haven’t really listened to gold rush, I sat down and listened to it, (I’m a mirrorball and archer girlie) I hope I did this fic some justice, Thank you for requesting, honey! Sorry it took so long😣 (You’re making me fall in love with him honestly)

Glint of Gold

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem! Reader CW: None that I could think of. Possibly some typos/grammatical errors as I literally published this the second I finished writing. Summary: You’ve always felt entranced with the boy who lived- You held Harry in such a high regard it seemed that he belonged in the stars. Harry, who was marked by destiny and burdened by battles, sees you too- a glimmering presence in his gloomy and stormy world, a rush of gold in a grey.

Harry James Potter; the boy who lived. The beacon of light, hope, and resilience. His very name was a symbol of survival against immeasurable odds. It was no wonder that he was admired, he has this talent for pulling people in.

In the eyes of the world, he was the chosen one, the hero of a story still being written. But to you, he was Harry—just Harry. The boy with the lightning scar, the untidy hair, and the earnest eyes that held galaxies of unspoken emotions. You saw beyond the legend, unearthing another layer to the boy who laughed and loved, who felt pain and loss.

You know everybody wants him. Everybody wondered what it would be like to be noticed, loved, or be deemed important to him. It is a certain thought that made negative emotions swirl inside you, but who are you to judge? You’re one of those people, it would make you a hypocrite.

In the golden glow of the great hall, you watch him across your house’s table. Murmurs of hushed conversations were strewn across the vastness of the hall, clinking of silverware across the tables was nothing compared to the sound of your heartbeat pulsing in your ears as your eyes were met with his.

You tried to deny it, but you wanted him. It might sound stupid but the only thing that’s holding you back is the fear of the unknown, the what-ifs swirled and haunted your thoughts. What if he saw you as nothing more than a fellow student? What if your feelings were as invisible as a Disillusionment Charm?  What if you were just another face in the crowd to him? The idea of rejection was paralyzing.

You’d rehearse conversations in your mind, imagining witty banter and shared secrets. Yet, when faced with Harry’s actual presence, your tongue would twist into knots, and you’d blurt out something absurd like, “Did you know that Hippogriffs can dance the waltz?” Making Harry chuckle and you a blushing mess as you stammered the next words that came to mind.

You were known for your wit, yet words failed you every time you tried to speak to him. He was Harry Potter, and you were just another student who admired him from afar.

“Harry’s quite good looking, yeah?” Your friend casually comments, eyeing you as she eats some of her pudding for dessert. Your eyes widened, feeling your heartbeat quicken, words spewed out of your mouth, desperately trying to defend yourself.

“Huh?!? I wasn’t looking at him- honest!”

Your other friend shot you a knowing look, “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Y/n.”

But as you lay in your bed that night, staring at the canopy above, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to the possibility of 'what if he knows me? Likes me?'. The thought sent a thrill through you, a rush of adrenaline that felt like flying. You imagined the softness of his smile, how the warmth of his hands holding yours will also warm your heart, and the way your name sounded when it rolls off his tongue.

Being invited to Professor Slughorn’s Slug Club dinner party came as a surprise for you. Although you were delighted since that would mean you’ll have an excuse to mingle with other students (read as Harry, lol.). The room buzzed with chatter, but none of that mattered as you were immersed in the conversation between you, Harry, and the other students.

You finally found your voice, leaning in, a mischievous glint was present in your eye. "You know, Harry," she teased, "for a guy who's all about breaking rules, your take on potions is pretty out there."

Harry's laughter was infectious, the kind that made you want to join in. "Yeah?" he shot back with a smile, “Well, I've never been one to just follow the recipe. Where's the fun in that?" She couldn't help but laugh too, he leaned back, arms crossed, a mock-serious look on his face. "You could say that. I'm all about stirring things up. Literally."

For a moment, the world felt like it was yours and Harry's alone.

As the year progressed, your moments together became a series of stolen treasures—a glance, a smile, a conversation that lingered in thoughts. Each encounter was a brushstroke in a larger portrait of what could be, a potential future painted in hues of hope and yearning.

You clearly understood the weight he carried on his young shoulders with your intelligence. And he, in turn, recognized the light you brought into his shadowed existence. It is a contrast of light and dark, a blend of strength and softness.

There was never a dull moment when you had class with Gryffindor students, especially in Charms. Watching him from afar, you stole glances, heart like a fluttering moth drawn to the flame of his presence. So, when Professor Flitwick announced he will pair students each from your house and the Gryffindor’s, you felt your heartbeat thud quickly. Even more so when he announced you would be paired with the Golden Boy himself.

The next day, you found a note tucked into your Charms book. It was written in a messy scrawl that you'd recognize anywhere—Harry's handwriting. "Meet me by the lake after dinner?" it read. Your heart leapt. Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something.

Under the moon’s silvery glow, you ambled your way to the Black Lake. The crumpled note in your pocket with Harry’s handwriting was smudged due to you reading it countless times. You waited for him patiently, looking at the moon, humming and trying to keep yourself occupied. After what seems to be like an eternity later, he arrived. His hair was ruffled, looking like he had just run from the Gryffindor tower all the way to your location. His silhouette framed by moonlight; your heart somersaulted.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice soft. “Thanks for coming, I wanted to talk.”

You nod, feeling your tongue suddenly heavy with words unsaid. “About what?”

He bit his lip, a habit of his that you noticed he tend to do when he’s nervous. “You know, the important stuff.”

And then, he pulled out his Charms textbook—the pages worn and dog-eared from years of use. “I thought we could go over some charms we need to perform for Professor Flitwick,” he said. “You know, practice makes perfect.” Harry shrugs, offering a smile.

Your heart skipped a beat. “But we’ve already mastered almost everything.” Raising your eyebrow, you protested. “Why revisit it?” Harry’s eyes sparkled.

Because it’s not about wand movements or anything of the sort. It’s about bridging the gap between us.  Harry thought.

“There’s one thing the textbook doesn’t teach,” He confesses, trying to calm his pounding heart.

“What’s that?” you raised an eyebrow.

He hesitated, then slowly and surely cupped your face in his hands. “The magic of connection,” he said.  Then, he kissed you—a soft, lingering kiss. The Charms book lay forgotten in the grass. Pulling away, he smiles, taking your hand in his, running his thumb across your knuckles.

“I don’t know what our future holds,” he starts, “But I do know I want you to be in mine.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

The Golden Boy was no longer a distant constellation. He was here, real, and beside you; the sole witnesses of the exchange are the moon and the black lake.

It wasn't a grand declaration, but it was real and honest, and to you, it was everything.

[roccinan]

I'm glad to see you answer (and no pressure at all, this particular fic has been so precious to me, I'd already made the playlist asdfjsk) You're too kind omg, I thank you for writing it in the first place, and this is just a token of my appreciation <3

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3VXYoJIvkgV2Fu4CZwrhaB?si=859c50fe23b74936

(just a warning lol idk how my taste in music differs from you, so you might not like it in which case i apologise before hand 😭 I tried to mostly pick songs that fit the feels/plot overall, some songs (nearly half to 2/3rd LOL) is kinda from Sergio POV? I hope it comes across that way atleast, and a few instrumentals that again I *hope* fit the general mood, I tried (key word - try) arranging in order of the events that happen in the fic but you can also listen on shuffle! I also apologise for how long it got, please listen to it only if you have the time/energy lol (it's also got a few nods to hc's from some of your other fics but it is primarily based on the hermanos in rain fic)

PS I understood your struggle to choose a title, I literally titled it "rain" in the beginning XD I ended up going with one of the other options to match the cover pic, hope you don't mind! I love the actual title of the fic too, it just looked too long on spotify 😅

Firstly, sorry for how very looonnngggg it took me to answer! @ everyone, this an amazing hermanos-themed playlist that perfectly captures every beat of I'd rather be dry (but at least I'm alive). Thank you so much for taking the time to make this and for sharing it with me (as you know, I 100% RACED to listen to it as soon as you shared it with me). No really, thank you so much for always being there to support my hermanos fics! I really appreciate it and means a lot to me!

My music taste is also all over the place LMAO and I always have the toughest time thinking of songs that match the "vibe" of whatever it is I'm looking for, so I'm super impressed at how you picked out such a wide-range list that manages to capture every scene and mood I was going for :D The fact that it's chronological too blows my mind! I'll definitely be listening to it a lot while rereading that story ;) And all the instrumentals you picked were so beautiful and exactly what I enjoy listening to too!

Remembrance - This sets the mood so well, not just for a moody intro but also Sergio's mindset in general (+ his life with Andres), like this is something I can hear from show canon!

He Ain't Heavy He's My Brother - Perfect title and perfect lyrics for our brotp, made for the hermanos! Also love how it coincides with Sergio literally having to carry Andres in the next scene lol

Carry You - Same thoughts apply here! Thematically perfect; also something that feels like a track the show would play over a montage

West - Sleeping At Last song!! haha I've used their songs to set the mood so much whenever I'm writing for hermanos or berlermo, and the song you picked here (both instrumental and lyrics) fits the story so well, especially the "we'll be just fine" being repeated

Blue Ridge Mountains - Another beautifully themed brotherly song! Can definitely see this playing through the scene of Sergio trudging through the rain, or of him and Andres "contemplating" in the motel together during the storm

Repeat Until Death - The lyrics :'D really perfectly captures Sergio's feelings about Andres' (impending) death; this one's so sad omg but so fitting

The Emotion - the vibes! I can hear this suiting Sergio's flashback to the day on the beach (and events in Hermanito!) and Andres comforting him in the present

Recuerdos - Another beautiful instrumental that captures the same mood as #7!

It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday - this one reminds me of Sergio telling Andres his fears out loud in the motel :') also fits his mindset regarding Andres (and their father) in general

Across the Sea - el mitad del oceano reference!? haha either way, another bittersweet instrumental that suits the melancholic mood

Song for a Stormy Night - literally captures that entire picture of Sergio listening to the storm while Andres sleeps XD the lyrics somehow took all of Sergio's words out of his mouth

The Golden Age - I'm also a woodkid fan and I remember hearing this song the first time and going 'hmm hermanos' asdfasdf You came to the same conclusion, love that!

Stay Alive - Another one that really captures the narrative's mood, especially from Sergio's pov!

Brother - this gives me strong "Hermanito" vibes! And to me, this feels like a rare one from Andres' pov

Jacob and the Stone - Another great instrumental that fits the tragisweet mood in the motel!

I Don't Want to Lose You - This playlist digs through Sergio's emotions like an onion, and this one really suits his confession about never wanting to lose his brother :') Even the lyrics perfectly fit the hermanos (like the part of past loves at the piano!). I know the singer wrote this with a couple in mind lol but out of context, this is a song for the #hermanos

Same as above!

Carry You Through - we're 18 songs in and you still manage to find a song with lyrics that matches Sergio's angst so well that I'm just impressed XD "we couldn't be closer but still out of reach" AHHH

In Case You Don't Live Forever - Another PERFECTLY matched hermanos song, especially taking in the events from the "Hermanito" timeline; exactly what was going through Sergio's head towards the end of Rain too

Isaac - And we're getting to the end of the storm ;) OHH another rare one from Andres' pov that perfectly captures how he felt about seeing Sergio panic through Rain. And yes, always insane about Sergio is the Isaac to Andres' Ishmael

You'll Be Alright - a comforting one that feels like it's from Andres when he's comforting Sergio!

Yellow - Ah, coldplay, Alex Pina's favorite band XD not an lcdp playlist without them! This really fits the mood at the end, after the climax, and I like to think of it from Andres' pov as he's reminiscing about little Sergio

Save You - Immediately made think of Sergio's , "This time, I'm protecting you" :') and the overall last scene of the fic; it's what all his fears have been boiling down to, and the lyrics about searching for an answer/trying to understand --> that's so El Profesor!!

We're Gonna Be Okay - perfectly paints the mood of Andres hugging Sergio in the living room, telling him it's going to be okay after that hell of a day they had :'D

Si, Te Quiero Mucho (Hermanito) - LOSING MY MIND THAT THERE IS A REAL SONG NAMED THIS!????? wonder if it's a lcdp reference lol anyway, definitely Andres' final thoughts about Sergio both in the canon timeline and the end of Rain; literally the perfect thing to close out the playlist with and what I can hear playing over the "credits" of Rain. Mood and lyrics match so well (Andres' pretentious ass asdfadsf) and the culmination of what he feels about Sergio + inevitably leaving him behind

Thanks again for sharing this with me! A lot of wonderful new songs here I didn't know about and so many great hermanos-themed tracks too :D This was such a sweet gift and I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart!

And loved the title you chose too ;) PLEASE, I of all people know the pain of trying to choose a good title!

[reitziluz]

song tag

ten songs you currently love, i was tagged by @loviloves

fdgsddsf i don’t know what this says about me... and i kept babbling on each of these way more than i think i was supposed to!! but here they are in no particular order:

White Happy - Maretu  it’s just the fucking refrain, it just keeps playing in my head.... maretu’s stuff is so edgy, but often with a few lines of pure gold mixed in, and yea the “come and destroy my sense of inferiority” and the thing about being lovable being a talent the speaker wasn’t blessed with, ahh... 

Tetris - Plastic Tree  again something that will not leave my head and always gets me pumped up!! i’ve hacked away so many fic chapters listening to this it’s ridiculous. i like how the lyrics are just disjointed words thrown in the air but it still feels like there’s a connection, a continuity.

Sanbika - Plastic Tree gdfgdshg this is... just such a good song for me to get some writing ideas flowing in my head. something about the line of feeling like everything can be forgiven, this sort of melancholic hopefulness.... 

Fushigi no Kohanasaichi - PinocchioP  i feel for this song so much and yea catchy as hell too. i love love love how the voice expecting things ends up being the speaker and how disappointing it is turned out into being good ahhhh

Pascal Beats - Yuki Kaai “say, can’t you understand more? i’ve run out of energy i was counting on” dgsfg relatable as hell, i like how much this song does with so little. 

Love is Onomatopoeia - PinocchioP i love japanese onomatopoeias and this song has some lines about love that just fucking hit spot on where i need them to hit. is it love or sickness? and the juxtaposition of like, is it just noise or can it become music.

Laughing Mannequin - napoliemon, but the Onyu cover  this song is just?? cool?? i’m tempted to try making a lil bit more accurate translation for myself... i love how it’s all about this pain and hurt, but gets more and more about getting better and staying hopeful almost as to spite the hardships. and the last line of “keep hitting my glass heart, if it breaks it’s just good” is just !!!

Odori to Chishidoku - CapsLack yea ok i fucking. ended up translating this song because nobody else has done it, it got so badly stuck in my head and i needed to know what exactly it was about and bbbbboy the lyrics are. so cool. atmospheric and just hhhhh so the title is decoy and lethal poison, and the whole song has this feeling of poison crawling deeper, something feverish, but it ends with... something hopeful, and i’m a sucker for that.

Monster is dying to eat you - sasakure.UK this one has great atmosphere, again great source of writing inspiration. i like how the lyrics use repetition and then break away from it, it’s not “can’t help it” anymore and hhhh the twist of there being no magic, it’s a good structure !!

maboroshi sweetheart - beacons  i’m... this one me and bestie call “the official last song of the night”, because yea perfect song to cool down with. i get so painfully nostalgic over the scenery in the mv. and it’s super catchy in a mellow way. and the damn lyrics. the bullets still lodged in the wounds, and ready to come after you now, too - i don’t know if it’s about trauma or something else but it makes me feel things. ahhhh damn.

immm tagging @bisexualwinry @snorkmaids @setfa @reiqenarataka @cosmentos @ruemilly @ofpaintedflowers @mareliini @zzzbraaa aaaaaand @zefive !! but don’t feel pressured to do this if you don’t wanna, and even if i didn’t tag you, feel free to do this (and tag me, if we’ve interacted i’m p likely interested to see what sorta music you like!!)

[dusksmote]

Is there anything you want to talk about regarding your fic that no one has explicitly asked you? IF SO PLEASE DO SHARE ^_^

maybe not what you were looking for, but i've been wanting to talk more about ~music~

i'm actually not a huge fan of songfics so i consider myself kind of a hypocrite in that regard, but i do have a process for picking music or a kind of "code"

my issue with songfics is mostly that the music doesn't fit the characters, or the mood, or the setting. when it doesn't serve a purpose. i remember years ago reading a fanfic for a different fandom where a character was written as obsessed with MCR or All Time Low or some other alternative emo boy band. they went to their concert, wore band merch, and brought up the band multiple times--but it had nothing to do with the story and made no sense for the character. it was like if light yagami had a shrine to britney spears. it just didn't work, and it was really obvious that this was the author's favorite band. for whatever reason they felt it necessary to include it in their fanfic.

for that reason, i never use music i'm already familiar with. i do have favorite bands/genres/songs/etc, but shoehorning them in just because i like them feels like pandering to myself. not every character should have the same music tastes as me, and i enjoy speculating on what they would like to listen to and exploring new music. regardless, i usually try to use music i think is "good", but sometimes i add stuff i don't like. for example, kyle canonically likes the cure, and i think the cure fucking sucks!!!!! but i still forced myself to listen to them and used like 3 of their songs >X^(

so how do i find music to use? in most cases i'm seeking out new music to listen to and it ends up inspiring me. i rarely go out of my way to look for a song that fits a scene, because i try to use music sparingly. a song should compliment the scene and add something to it, otherwise just don't add it. ETL was inspired in part by the song juicy by doja cat, and the reason stan likes weezer is because i was listening to pinkerton while writing. i had actually never listened to weezer before this fic (except for their big hits of course), and sometimes i wonder if people assume i picked weezer because they think they're my favorite band LOL.

sometimes i do have to go out of my way to find the right song, and that's because i need something that fits the tone of the scene or the character or has some lyrical quality. if someone mentions a song in their fanfic you better believe i'm gonna look it up and listen to it, so it better fit the tone of the fic. ever seen a movie where the soundtrack completely didn't work with the scene? it totally takes me out of it. and on the topic of using music sparingly, if i put song lyrics i try to be as concise as possible with my choice. i don't want them to distract from the rest of the story, so i'm not going to copy and paste a whole ballad into the middle of a paragraph. and by rule i always try to choose lyrics that add an element to the piece, either by conveying some emotion or information or foreshadowing something.

sometimes its to make the audience think about things a different way, like when randy walks in the barn i specifically used the line "All my enemies from the past pucker up they lips, and kiss my ass!" from the song "i smoke weed" to remind the reader that this is where stan did the same to kyle's ass and now randy might be about to find that out. another example is karen listening to "my girlfriend's girlfriend" by type O negative while butters, cartman, and kenny are in the other room. it's by a goth band so it fits her goth persona, and it's about a polyamorous relationship, so it does some double work foreshadowing that. actually, i think i've listened to every fucking song about threesomes. there are, unfortunately, not that many.

anyway, i think the best way to incorporate music into fanfics is to just be open minded and willing to listen to a lot of different shit. the coolest thing is listening to a full album and finding some hidden gem no one knows about or a piece that really inspires you to write.

[the-darklings]

DUDE your tags on the hozier jackie and wilson song post GOSH. WHAT HAVE U DONE? the level of involvement i have developed towards those two is absurd at this point thanks for that

—reasons wretched and divine;

pairing: santino x reader (vipress) [you win this one team santino]

wc: 2.2k+

an: so anon is referring to this post and the tags on it. I originally wanted to hold off writing this cause while it is a canon event for COA, it takes place directly during Chicago, and obviously since no one has any clue wtf happened there I worried it might be premature to write this but you know what?? I’m miserable and wanted to write something cute so here we go. Enjoy dear anon! And to the other anon who said there are no fics for him…I hope this can sate your thirst lol.

Lake Michigan is a sprawling, large ravine of water that reflects the setting sun as you stare at it through the hotel window.

In the far west, dark clouds are already gathering and you know that there is substantial snowfall in the forecast. Ares had made a comment earlier about how navigating Santino’s security is going to be a nightmare for the next few days.

Curling tighter in your seat, you lean your cheek against your folded arms, debating a nap before dinner. You managed maybe two hours of sleep last night and your head feels exceptionally heavy. You hate the fact that awake or asleep you never seem to find peace anymore.

The earlier silence filling the room has been suffocating though, so you have opted to turn on the radio to dispel it. The random station continues playing an unfamiliar song and your eyes flutter closed for a second.

The door to your room suddenly opens behind you, and your fingers wrap around a blade; a cold, comforting weight in your hand.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you turn, readying your muscles for a fight.

But your fear is unfound when you spot Santino strolling into the room, his phone pressed to his ear and expression pinched with annoyance. His lips, too, are pulled into a faint sneer as he listens to whatever is being said impatiently.

“I do not need it tomorrow,” he remarks in biting, cold French before spotting you and giving you a brief smile as he turns his attention back to the conversation. “I do not need it later. I need it now. So I suggest you start doing your job before I find someone who can.”

He hangs up without waiting for an answer and grumbles under his breath. “People. Tell me, cara mia, is everyone that’s not us is this stupid and incompetent?”

“Probably,” you drawl, sheathing your blade and turn your attention back towards the large window. “You’re also kind of an asshole.”

Santino scoffs with a snarky grin as he comes to a stop beside you, his expression easing. His eyes take you in—pathetic and miserable, with your limbs folded around you like a shell—and his smile dies a little. There is something about that intense regard of his that makes you almost brittle. It’s as bad as Winston, except Santino doesn’t look grim with understanding. Santino dresses up his rage with a calm softness that brims with that familiar, cold promise of retribution.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, though it sounds more demanding due to subtle anger lacing the words and deepening his accent. “Still unwell?”

“I’m fine,” you shoot back dully, not looking at him, but that glimmer of curiosity still forces your tongue. “I didn’t know you could speak French so well.”

It’s a statement more than a question, but just as expected Santino sits down beside you in the other spare chair. Unlike you, however, his eyes focus on you oppose to the stunning scenery outside the window.

“I am a Camorra heir,” he reminds you but there is nothing patronising to be found in his smooth baritone. “My father made sure that Gianna and I had tutoring in all the main spoken languages from around the world. We started young.”

“What if you don’t have an aptitude for languages?”

Santino smiles slightly when you glance at him, but it’s a cool, cutting thing. The look in his eyes even more so as he laces his fingers together, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Ah, my father did not particularly care for that, cara.”

You scoff, shaking your head a little. That isn’t exactly surprising to hear, especially in relation to a man like Giovanni. A man of strong, unforgiving features, deep voice and eyes so dark they make it difficult to even look at him. It makes you suppress a shiver just thinking about him.  

For a few minutes, you sit in almost comfortable silence and although you don’t consider Santino someone you can completely relax around, you find yourself grateful he is here. Better than being alone. Perhaps Winston had a point after all.

But you don’t need anyone, you remind yourself.

You don’t need another repeat of John.

John and his beautiful wife. John and his wonderful wedding. John and—

Something inside aches; a dull, violent throb of loneliness. Of pain.

Your fingers tremble violently before you hide them from sight, and feel Santino follow the motion with his eyes. Too slow.

After another few seconds of watching the almost gone sun, he rises to his feet with a deliberate sort of air around him. He turns to you, extending his hand in your direction, his eyes giving nothing away.

You stare at him blankly.

“The radio,” he speaks after a pause, one eyebrow quirking. “We should practice. We have to be—”

“Convincing, yes, you have said that maybe ten times already,” you interrupt with a roll of your eyes before glancing around the room and back to him. “I’m not going to dance with you, Santino.”

The man before you slides one of his hands in his trouser pocket, observing you with a tilt of his head, and keep his hand extended between you.

“Come now, cara mia,” he speaks, his voice laced with boredom and this time you do see the arrogant heir who gets everything he wants. “My arm is growing tired.”

Snorting, you rise to your feet stiffly, glaring. You know him well enough to know that he will not drop it. So you will give him what he wants, if only to get rid of him. So much for not being alone.  

You stand face to face for a second—with him simply gazing at you and you glaring back. He steps closer, one arm wrapping carefully around your waist while another gently takes a hold of your hand. Your body is a coiled mass of taut muscles while your jaw grinds painfully. His expression is both guarded and open all at once as he peers at you silently.

He’s warm.

It’s an odd thing to notice about a man who revels in violence. But till that moment you haven’t realised how cold your hands have gotten. He cradles your fingers in his larger ones, surprisingly gentle, and the warmth of his Camorra ring presses into your skin as you sway awkwardly from side to side.

“Clearly,” he starts teasingly, but more subdued than you’re used to seeing him. “We are both exceptionally gifted dancers.”

You don’t answer him. You’re not in the mood to joke around. You haven’t been in the mood for anything lately.

The radio continues playing another unfamiliar tune, and you let your mind focus on the lake outside your window again.

“Say something,” he whispers abruptly, strained, and you head snaps in his direction at the angry softness wrapping his words. His grip on you tightens briefly before loosening again. “Anything. Where is the fire that I adore so? Do not tell me that he robbed you of it so completely, cara mia.”

Your heartbeat spikes, and you stare at him coldly. “I am seconds away from walking away from this whole thing,” you inform him and your words are harsh even though you don’t so much as raise your voice. “You don’t talk about him. Ever.”

Santino’s jaw tenses at your words—at the acidic bite of them—but he doesn’t oppose you. Only looks at you. You wonder what it is exactly that he’s trying to unearth. You’re not sure there’s anything left to you anymore.

Though you continue swaying from side to side, the silence between you is chilly, heavy.

The song on the radio changes again and you blink, recognising the start of a familiar tune. Then comes the voice and despite your best intention to remain unaffected, you start swaying to the beat. Santino notices, his green eyes gleaming with understanding.

“This song…” he trails off, glancing towards the radio. “It is familiar to you, no?”

No other version of me I would rather be tonight and lord, she found me just in time.

You shake your head in immediate denial, but Santino’s eyebrows jump up playfully and he matches your rhythm, turning from side to side with more energy. His arm stays on the small of your back but now a small smile lingers across his lips.

I need to be youthfully felt ‘cause, God, I never felt young.

He starts humming and you shoot him a half-hearted glare. “What are you doing?”

His smile turns slyer, knowing, but his voice is ever-so innocent when he speaks. “Dancing, bella.”

The chorus kicks in, and Santino pushes you away from him before tugging you back with one smooth motion and you stifle a gasp, your grip on him tightening. He moves you in a more deliberate circle, singing under his breath. He butchers every single line, clearly having no idea what the lyrics even are while you continue glaring. But he just watches you, smug and shrewd, every time your eyes meet.

He steps back and raises your hands above your head. Rolling your eyes, you turn in a circle, your muscles loosening somewhat as he pulls you back into his embrace.

“Those are not the lyrics,” you grumble petulantly, shooting him a look but Santino only grins wider. “It’s not—”

He dips you with a chuckle and pulls you back up to him, ignoring your slap on his shoulder with another grin of amusement.

“Then you better sing it with me and correct me, cara,” he informs you, mock-serious, but his eyes glow with mirth, a playful teasing. He steps back, grabbing your other hand and tugs back and forth, creating little waves with your arms.

You both no doubt look ridiculous. Like two little kids dancing in a playground, clumsy and uncoordinated, as you try to create your own rhythm.

But—

There is a slow blooming lightness in your chest you can’t recall feeling for ages.

A reluctant smile tugs one corner of your mouth even if you try to smother it, and you know by his pleased expression that he’s spotted it nonetheless.

We tried the world; good God, it wasn’t for us.

“She’s gonna save me, call me baby,” you sing under your breath and he joins you—both of you most likely completely off-key and miles away from the tune—but you can’t help but chuckle when you note how seriously he’s taking this. “Run her hands through my hair. She’ll know me crazy, soothe me daily. Better yet, she wouldn’t care.”

Clearly picking up on the lyrics, Santino sings a bit louder—still off-key—as he leads you in an extravagant circle, your arms still swinging. He twirls you again, and you can’t help but chuckle as your terrible mix of voices soars while you turn from side to side. You’re a flurry of movement, both caught in the lively energy of the song as you tangle in each other.

“We’ll name our children Jackie and Wilson raise ‘em on rhythm and blues,” you finish off, breathless with laughter and lean into him for a second, a crooked grin splitting your face.

Santino drags his eyes over your features, seemingly caught off guard by what he’s seeing, and clears his throat slightly before smirking faintly.

“Who is this man?” he questions, both curious and somewhat out of breath, and you don’t miss the fact that his grip on your doesn’t loosen. “We should go see him.”

You can’t help but snort, and his expression creases with wonder when he notices your amusement. He’s smiling too though—as if your momentary joy is somehow important to share in.

“What?”

“Well, for one, I don’t think he’s on tour,” you point out and realise that you haven’t heard your voice this light and carefree in months, if not years. “And I’m sure an Italian mobster with a pack of guards is going to draw no attention whatsoever.”

Your sarcasm is clear and open, and his answering crooked grin makes him appear younger, less guarded. Less arrogant, too, and more…more human. Something you have never seen him show openly before—not like this.

“It could be just us and Ares,” he tells you calmly, but there is a flicker in his eyes that seems to make him hesitate for a split second before he continues on, “Or…just us.”

Something inside your withers at his words; retreating inwards, terrified and broken, and you pull away from him.

With every new inch of distance between you, Santino’s open expression draws closed again. Only the cool, haughty heir remains and for a loaded moment, neither of you speak. A step at most separates you but it might as well be miles. It has caught you off guard—this genuine moment of fun and freedom and laughter, but it’s time to come back to reality.

And the reality is that you are not here, in this city, for fun and games.

“We should focus on the job.” Forced and empty.

“Yes, of course, cara mia. It is for the best.” Stilted and formal.

His hands slip back inside his pockets and he regards you for another brief moment before moving past you.

You stand rooted in your spot, the distant sound of the radio filling the air.

Santino’s footsteps fade.

Outside, it begins to snow.

…

an: ofc I have to finish with a sprinkle of angst. hope you enjoyed this tho. I needed something sweet today. Dedicating it to my little bean who I had to say goodbye to today, and Team Santino who is cheering me up a lot these last few days with their wild messages. Love ya guys!  

[drowningbydegrees]

Once Written in the Stars Pt. 1

I think this might be the first fandom I’ve been in that really reads fic here, so I’m trying to be better about posting it. It’s also on AO3 It’s only when Geralt sheaths his sword that he realizes his medallion is still humming, perhaps even more than it was before. He squints through the trees, and sees nothing beyond the blanket of buttercups carpeting the forest floor. There’s a lark somewhere in the distance, but nothing near him moves.  Buttercups. He circles back to that, to the bright spring flowers that stretch out into the forest as far as he can see. It’s the end of summer though, where the world goes brown and dry as it waits for relief from the heat to tumble into fall. There’s not something in the woods making the medallion vibrate against his skin Geralt realizes too late. It’s the woods themselves, and perhaps the keepers of it.  “Fuck,” he mutters to himself, hoping he hasn’t gone so far astray that there isn’t a way back. 

So, Geralt walks back in the direction he’s certain he came from, searching for where the flowers fade back into the dirt and twigs he should be finding under his feet. The medallion only thrums more urgently, for so long that it’s eventually just a background sensation as Geralt tries to find his way.

He passes an old, moss covered tree for what he’s certain is the fourth time and makes himself stop, as if pausing will help him regain his bearings. It doesn’t of course, but somewhere nearby, someone is singing.

Somewhere in between the moss and the stone

The wind and the wood became my home

I layed myself down upon the green

when the ivy overgrew I could never leave

Something in the darkness pulled me deeper

Something in the madness eased my mind

Was I awake or was I dreaming

Cut the strings that bind me to mankind

Geralt bristles, starting to reach for his sword, but it’s a stuttered, aborted motion as the melody sinks in. The song is beautiful, he realizes, subtly easing the wariness with which he regards the woods. Perhaps he’ll just listen for a moment, because it’s ever so soothing. When his feet begin to carry him closer, Geralt doesn’t notice. Nothing good lives in a fae forest, something far away in him whispers. He grasps for the truth of that, because it might be important, but it’s so very far away from him now. The sentiment slips uselessly through his fingers like the pleasant spring breeze that ruffles his hair as it blows through the trees. Caution flits somewhere at the periphery, but he can’t pin it down and it’s… unnecessary. There’s no need for caution here, not when the calm sinks right down to his bones. It lulls him until the witcher wants nothing more than to wrap himself up in the music, the world beyond the woods be damned.

The trees pass by as Geralt ventures deeper into the woods, never catching sight of the mist that swathes him. If anything, it is a caress, an embrace, something that softens the sharp edges of him and blots out the things that keep him up at night. There is a peace here he never knew he wanted, but he yearns for it, to be allowed to keep this thing as he steps into a glade where the sunlight comes through in soft, slanted bars.

It is there that he sees it, though the creature is tangled up in the shadows where the trees begin again. The claws are the first thing to catch Geralt’s eye, razor sharp and curved like scythes. They’re lost as they fade into sinewy arms, rough and ashen like tree bark on something long since dead. Its limbs come together like twisted vines and branches, framing around its dessicated belly where the thin flesh that stretches across is sunken in.

This is the thing singing him lullabies, he realizes. The sense of danger claws its way closer to the forefront of his mind, but every inch is a struggle as he tries to remember why this should frighten anyone. Shaking something loose, he slowly cobbles together the sense to draw his sword.

“Silver? You can’t hurt me with that.” The music has stopped, but the voice is lyrical all the same, pulling Geralt’s gaze upward where the creature looms a bit over him. He hadn’t seen its face before, but it’s no more pleasant than the rest of it. Teeth like long daggers fill up its mouth, pulling it into a sort of rictus grin. Geralt can see patches of ashen skin underneath, crowded in by branches that fan out at grotesque angles, a mockery of antlers. A short ways beneath them, a pair of blue, blue eyes zero in on Geralt, unnaturally luminous. He’s never seen a damned thing like it.

“I don’t think it’ll tickle,” he grouses, adjusting his stance. It spoke to him though, clearly more than the beast it appears to be, so he doesn’t attack right away.

“You were lost.” It’s not a question, and Geralt isn’t sure if it’s that or the creature’s utter lack of concern about his weapon that puts him on edge.

“I wasn’t until you lured me here,” Geralt growls, because if this is going to end up in a fight, he’d just as soon get on with it.

The creature regards him with a wider smile, probably meant to convey mirth, but mostly only pulling it’s mouth into something more grotesque. It shakes its head, horns catching in the leaves overhead. Worse, the creature laughs. “I watched you all afternoon.”

Had it been so long? There is rumor that time moves differently in places like this, but surely it can’t have been hours he’s been here. For the first time, Geralt notices the sunlight has taken on the drippy gold sheen it wears just before dusk begins to settle in, and he curses under his breath.

“What do you want?” Geralt braces himself, sure he’s not going to like the answer.

At first, the creature is quiet, it’s expression so twisted that it’s impossible to glean any sense of intention. “No one is meant to survive this place, but....”

The response covers the obvious, Geralt thinks but does not say. “If you’re waiting for me to beg for my life, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“What? No, no, of course not. I want to help you.” Geralt had expected some sort of formality in conversation with the kinds of things that live in a forest like this, not unlike the way conversations go with nobles. The cadence this one keeps to is like an old friend though, casual, friendly even, and it’s all Geralt can do not to be swayed again despite what’s looking at him. Almost too late, Geralt realizes it’s making eye contact, but he cannot look away.

“Don’t do that,” he grits out, and perhaps he’s caught the creature in a good mood because the tug at his emotions and sense of reason dissipates until it has faded to nothing. All at once, Geralt is entirely his own again.

“Of course,” it agrees, stepping through the glade, strangely graceful. Where Geralt expects a lumbering gait, the creature moves like a dancer, eerie in the way it glides to where the witcher stands and then right on past him. “Come along then.”

“Just like that?” Geralt arches an eyebrow, recognizing following the creature through the woods for the terrible idea it is now that his mind is no longer clouded. Granted, there aren’t a great many options. Besides, it could have forced him or killed him or just left him in the woods, and it had done none of those things. Heaving a sigh and cursing under his breath, Geralt follows.

The creature leads the way, absently dragging its fingers along bark and branches. Geralt isn’t sure if it’s his imagination, but he swears everywhere it touches brightens, as if this monstrous thing is luring the foliage to flourish the way it lured Geralt to stand before it. It must be a fairy, he realizes, its distorted visage the truth that lurks beneath the pretty picture fae paint for men.

“Do you always hunt monsters? Is it exciting? Do you travel?” the questions come rapidfire, and for something dredged up from someone’s nightmare, it’s shockingly amiable. Chatty too, much to Geralt’s chagrin. The fairy doesn’t actually wait for an answer to any of the things it asks though, before sort of interrupting itself. “I’m being rude. I didn’t even ask. What’s your name?”

Fairies aren’t really monsters, and they mostly keep to themselves, so Geralt isn’t as well versed in their ways as might be useful, but this part he knows. There’s power in a name, and it’s not something he’s keen on handing over to any sort of fae, no matter how friendly it seems. There’s… something about being very careful not to be rude though, he thinks, so Geralt gives it something, a useless moniker as a standup. “You can call me witcher.”

“You really are a monster hunter, then.” If the fairy is put off by Geralt’s answer, it doesn’t show. Quite the contrary. Its mouth pulls wide into the unnatural, sharp edged smile that Geralt is starting to realize is just the fairy’s face and not some kind of threat. And then, perhaps because the name thing doesn’t work in reverse, or because Geralt has misremembered the lore entirely, it replies, “Well, hello then, witcher. I’m Dandelion.”

“Dandelion.” Geralt dubiously repeats, drawing the word out as his gaze sweeps over the fairy from head to toe. If said fairy recognizes that Dandelion is terribly incongruous with his nightmarish countenance, he gives no indication, instead chattering on about something else entirely. He pays little mind when Geralt mostly doesn’t answer, as if the witcher were just an accessory to the fairy’s one sided conversation.

Geralt feels the change before he sees it, when the muggy summer air begins crowding into the woods’ perpetual spring. By the time the treeline comes into view, the sun has nearly sunk below the horizon, the first stars peeking out where the sky has already gone dark. A tension Geralt hadn’t realized he’d been holding finally eases, as he reaches safety once more.

“Thank-” Geralt begins, but the look on Dandelion’s face stops him. His face is always somewhat twisted, but even still, there’s no mistaking the anger in the way the fairy’s eyes narrow at him.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” It comes out far more forcefully than Geralt can imagine there being any call for, and Dandelion punctuates each word with a sharp poke of one clawed finger against the armor in the center of his chest. “Have you no manners at all?”

Belatedly, Geralt thinks he might remember some such thing about thanking fae being rude. Maybe? He can’t really recall because it had never been important, but he holds up his hands placatingly. “I only wanted to convey that I appreciate your help.”

Dandelion lets out an affronted little hmph, but the fairy’s eyes soften around the edges. Geralt can’t help but think he’s narrowly sidestepped something awful. He’s never met another fairy, but he’s heard stories, and never got the impression they were easy to mollify.

“Why wouldn’t I help? Okay, maybe the others wouldn’t have, but that’s hardly the point. It’s not like you deserved to be stuck there,” Dandelion mutters, clawed hand falling loosely back to his side, leaving Geralt to wonder what metric the fairy was judging that by.

Eager to put some distance between himself and those cursed woods, Geralt chooses not to give the fairy an opportunity to drag him into further conversation. He offers up a hasty goodbye and turns on his heel to leave. He doesn’t wait for a response, and Dandelion moves so quietly, it’s only the continued thrum of his medallion that gives the fairy away. Bracing himself for what he assumes are going to be far too many words, he looks at Dandelion, “You’re following me. Why?”

“Oh! I can’t go back,” Dandelion says a little too brightly, waving a spindly arm at the meadow stretched out in front of them. “Seems like as good a direction as any.”

“Why can’t you go back?” Geralt hears himself ask, even though he really doesn’t want to know, even though he’s very aware that he’s going to feel obligated to do something once he does know.

Dandelion’s shoulders lift and fall in what Geralt can only assume is an approximation of a shrug. “You break the rules. You leave. Or you die. Really, it happens so rarely I don’t think anyone remembers one way or another, so probably best to decide for them and be on my way.”

Geralt stops then, because Dandelion appears pretty determined to follow and given how difficult a time he has with humans already, the fairy’s appearance would only make it worse. Dandelion's earlier assertion that no one was meant to survive the woods takes on an entirely different connotation now. It had never been the threat he’d assumed it to be at all. “Why did you help me, then?”

“You were lost.” Under other circumstances, the naive simplicity of that might be endearing. No qualifiers. No caveats. Either Dandelion is terribly manipulative or terribly kind-hearted, and Geralt has an incredibly irritating suspicion that it’s the latter.

“I’d have found my way.”

Dandelion’s features don’t change much, but the glow of his eyes shifts, taking on a softer cast. “You really wouldn’t have. No one does. That’s the point.”

Geralt wants to argue, but they probably both know better when it comes down to it. Resigning himself to having company at least for the trip into town, Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Have you ever even been out here?”

“Nope.” Dandelion’s tone is far too untroubled for someone who’s just tossed aside their entire life, but the fairy glances away, and for just a moment, Geralt spots the sorrow underneath, no more than one last longing look at the trees behind them.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters to himself, already knowing he’s not going to abandon Dandelion out here. Resigned, Geralt gestures at Dandelion’s looming form. “Well, you can’t walk into town like that.”

“Like what?” Dandelion’s head cocks to the side like a curious puppy. A very large, very nightmarish puppy.

“I’m not sure if you’ve if you’ve seen yourself, but-” That’s as far as Geralt gets before it becomes clear that Dandelion has grasped the issue. Geralt had been looking up at the fairy’s face, so the abrupt disappearance as Dandelion shifts into some hopefully less imposing form throws him off.

Geralt’s gaze drags downward until he catches the top of a mop of brown hair framing the high cheekbones and soft curves of a startlingly human face. Only Dandelion’s eyes give him away, and even then, only because Geralt knows the blue of them is a touch too vibrant to be normal. Dandelion’s newly human looking mouth turns up pleasantly, a far cry from the jagged teeth from before. Even his clothes are convincing in that they’re bright and eye catching and recognizably human. “Better?”

“...Better,” Geralt is forced to concede. Pretty, even, if he’s being honest. At least Dandelion hadn’t decided to model this new form after him. Where any of this came from is a revelation Geralt is very, very sure he doesn’t want to partake in.

“Wonderful!” Dandelion claps his very human looking hands together once and sets off in the direction Geralt had been walking.

And it’s fine, really. He’ll get Dandelion to civilization, where he’s sure the curious fairy will find something other than Geralt to occupy his time. That’ll be the end of it, Geralt decides. It has to be because there’s no place for a fairy at the side of a witcher.

While he might prod Dandelion for his thoughts on the matter, the fairy is already incessantly chattering about practically everything else. The stars are so bright without the trees in the way. The grass is scratchier out here. Do you ever wear anything other than black? It’s so warm. How does anyone stand it? What’s that, anyway?

The last in the barrage of commentary and questions is punctuated by slender fingers reaching out to brush over the medallion around Geralt’s neck. Instinctively, his hand shoots up to curl around Dandelion’s wrist and pull it away. “Do not.”

“Touchy,” Dandelion complains, rubbing at his wrist when Geralt releases it. The witcher might feel bad if he wasn’t quite certain that the only thing he could possibly have injured is Dandelion’s pride.

There are a few moments of blessed silence where Dandelion is either sufficiently chastised or maybe just grumpy enough not to keep talking. They’re almost to the road when Geralt realizes another issue and very, very reluctantly speaks up. “What are you going to call yourself?”

“I have a name.” Apparently all is forgiven, because Dandelion’s frown dissipates in favor of open curiosity.

“You can not go around calling yourself Dandelion if you’re trying to pass yourself off as human.” Before Dandelion can argue, Geralt adds, “And you are passing yourself off as human.”

“Fine.” A frown creases Dandelion’s lips again as he shuffles along beside Geralt. The fairy is blessedly quiet as they reach the road. The village is too far away to see in dark, even for Geralt, but it’s close enough to promise an end to all this nonsense. Geralt doesn’t see the way Dandelion abruptly brightens up, but he hears it. “Buttercup?”

Why did he think this was going to be anything other than thoroughly exasperating? Geralt glances over at Dandelion who, oddly enough, seems very invested in his approval. “That’s not better.”

“Daffodil? Oh, I don’t like that one. Maybe Peony?” And Dandelion is off again, prattling on about crocuses and tulips and bluebells and…

“Not a flower.” Geralt finally cuts in when he can’t tune Dandelion out any longer.

That quiets Dandelion for the space of a single breath before he’s pressing, “Why not?”

“Because humans would never name someone after most of those,” Geralt forces himself to explain very slowly and very calmly and very much not beginning to lose his temper. It’s only as he realizes Dandelion probably doesn’t have enough context that something like sympathy creeps in around the edges of his irritable mood. “Just pick something else.”

The fairy protests that if he’s giving up the last thing tying him to his old life, he should at least replace it with something good, and Geralt supposes there’s not much to argue with on that front. They go back and forth a great deal before Dandelion finally suggests something that isn’t a flower. “Jaskier?”

“Fine.” Geralt agrees with an exasperated sigh. He’s so grateful that the fairy has finally suggested something that isn’t completely ridiculous that he almost misses the toothy little smile Dandelion… Jaskier gives him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier sing songs, looking very much like he’s won some game Geralt didn’t even know they were playing. “Nothing at all.”

****

The further they get from the forest, the more aware Dandelion (Jaskier, he reminds himself) is of how horribly uncomfortable it is. The air is too warm and too thick, like tree sap where it sticks to his skin. How does anyone live out here?

He supposes he’s going to find out if he’s meant to make a life beyond the woods, which is fine, really. It’s… fine. It has to be. The only home he’s ever known is no great loss, with the promise of endless adventure stretched out in front of him. It’s what Jaskier tells himself, at least, and he refuses to look back lest the fragile belief crumble.

After all, if he’s going to follow the witcher, there’s a whole world out there to explore. The man doesn’t appear all that interested in having Jaskier’s company, but that’s not exactly a new experience for the fairy, odd by even fae standards. That will all change, he thinks, when the witcher sees how useful it is to have someone around with magic at their fingertips. Surely, there must be something the witcher wants, if Jaskier can just learn what it is.

So, he follows at the witcher’s heels, unsure he particularly likes the wide dirt path humans have cut through the wilderness around them. Grass and flowers sprawl as far as the eye can see to either side, but the ground underneath them is hard, even through the soles of his boots. There’s a reason for it, probably, but the sentiment remains all the same.

Losing interest in the road, Jaskier watches the witcher, silently walking just a bit ahead. He isn’t much of a conversationalist, Jaskier quickly discovers. The fairy tries valiantly, but it’s not until he asks about why the man carries two swords that Jaskier gets more than a vague grunt in response.

“Silver for monsters. Steel for men.” It’s abrupt and to the point, and then the witcher is silent.

That seems… extreme. Jaskier has never actually met a human, mind you, but he’s seen a couple from afar. They looked quite fragile in the grand scheme of things, but if someone like the witcher has a weapon dedicated to them, perhaps he’s miscalculated. “Are humans really so dangerous?”

“You can decide that for yourself.” The witcher gestures ahead as they top a hill. Beyond the crest of it lays what must be a human community of some sort. It’s a collection of buildings silhouetted in the dark, yellow light glowing from within some of them.

Jaskier had somehow expected something more grand. He thinks to ask if all the places humans live are like this, but there’s the slightest dip to the way the witcher carries himself. From everything else he’s seen, it strikes Jaskier that even this very slight show of vulnerability is more than the witcher has allowed, as if there’s just too much exhaustion at this point to hold it all in. So, Jaskier tries to keep his questions to a minimum after that, humming softly as they make their way towards the buildings.

It’s louder here, though not by much. Somewhere off to Jaskier’s right, there’s the din of a number of conversations happening at the same time, but the witcher keeps walking and so the fairy does too. The road is mostly empty, but there are a couple of people out and about. Jaskier does his best not to stare too openly, but he sees enough to decide none of them are individually that interesting. They’re quiet and plain. Even their clothes are muted.

By the time Jaskier stops trying to make sense of their surroundings and thinks to break his attempt at silence to ask where they’re going, the witcher has stopped in front of a door. It’s the grandest building Jaskier has seen yet, which really isn’t saying much. All that sets it apart from the rest is some pretty filigree carved around the doors and windows.

“Don’t say a word,” the witcher insists as he raps his knuckles against the door. Of course, that just brings more questions. Don’t talk to the witcher or to whoever is on the other side of that door? Is this knocking thing some tradition before you walk into a building? Before he can ask anything, the door swings open.

The man that greets them is nothing at all like the witcher. He’s unpleasant to look at with his beady eyes and beaked nose, and even before he speaks, Jaskier knows his voice will be equally unpleasant. It’s the way he looks at the witcher though, that gets the fairy’s hackles up. He doesn’t know humans, not really, but he knows disdain when he sees it, and that won’t do at all.

“Witcher,” the man greets, and the tone of it has sealed his fate as far as Jaskier is concerned. Oh sure, the witcher is gruff and not very friendly, but he’s good. Jaskier knows that much, even if it’s hard to explain why in words. He’s done nothing to deserve this man speaking to him like they’re less than equals, and yet the witcher wordlessly bears it.

Is it always like this? Jaskier wonders only briefly before deciding that if it is, it won’t be anymore. Maybe that is the thing he can do to sway the witcher into allowing him to keep following.

The door opens more widely, and the man hardly spares Jaskier a glance, clearly taking him at face value. That, or he’s too busy watching the witcher’s every move. As if he hasn’t even noticed, the witcher steps past the threshold into the building, Jaskier close behind him.

[heleneplays]

another week over and october by the crane wives continues to be my top song on spotify. here are some songs for the weekend! a bouncy song to jam to- anywhere by passenger. a song that'll leave you feeling bittersweet- windmills by toad the wet sprocket. a friendship song- army by boy. (also i'm sorry if this ask sends more than once, tumblr keeps giving me 'bad request')

it's prolly on the internet connection, but also god big mood! don't worry tho, this ONE did come thru!!! also october is SO good, i'm gonna bet your spotify wrapped will look so cool 😆♡♡♡

on another note mine's repeating tongues & teeth AND icarus aside curses... they're just so iconic UGH👉🏻👈🏻 and i'm thinking of getting their actual albums but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ yea

I really do have to thank u abt recommending them once again tho,,, they saved my ass from post-test stress, I've been laid down on the floor while playing pokemon (oop sorry wips, my beloved,,,) just letting their vibes wash me out for hours now <3

ANYWAYS

I see passenger in ur recs and as a years-old fan i'm doing the eyyyyyyyy! same hat thing rn <3

once again, business as usual now!

Song 1: Anywhere by Passenger

My thoughts: Nostalgia trip to my Grade 10 days where I was neck deep into dissociating for a better time....... not that i do it still these days (if in smaller doses) but OOP-- GOD this song is so old YET so beautiful still *pleading face*,,, I've always associated this with just. about being. about finding life with someone/s special, and living well. Passenger really just has that special place in my heart where it can tug on a range of strings from bittersweet to something hopeful and vibrant ♡

10/10, thank u for reminding me of this gem and!!! added it to the M.C.R. AU gang playlist 💖💖💖

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Song 2: Windmills by Toad the wet sprocket

My thoughts: OH THE VIBES FROM THE START. I LOVE 'EM! and oop I think its being evident im a slut for slow vocals but let's not talk abt that--

The SONG THO, ugh. you say this is bittersweet? i'm actually fully vibing-- maybe it's a lil sad, but it's not... in that level of range for me,,,, maybe being influenced majorly by the instrumental bkg, but UGH. The feeling is more. something suited to a light hurt/comfort fic or a small stone quickly skipping through the water, if that makes sense?

UGH 9/10 tho I am in LOVE with the vibes and the lyrics too ig but makes me. quite seepy 😔👉🏻👈🏻

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Song 3: Army by Boy

My Thoughts: I COME IN AND IMMEDIATELY!!! THE GUITAR AND THE VOCALS HAS ME GOING😏😳!!!!! it's definitely a friendship/squad song and I'M VIBING aaaaaaaaaaaa I LOVE IT???? a lot,,,,

ugh my heart is really out here just suddenly feeling sad i can't pop by my besties' homes so i can get some quality snuggle hours >:0

anyways THE LYRICS ARE LIT!!! can relate majorly to

They're taller than giants // They outshine all the stars // They are the love above love // They're my army of fortune // They win every war // They are the love above love

AND SERIOUSLY!!! 11/10 & once again added to M.C.R. AU gang playlist!

---

Vibes for this weekend is missing bestie squads huh? *continues to lie down on the floor, imagining i was touching water in a pool with infinite tenderness* i think i will miss my friends on purpose ♡

ANYWAYS I hope you're doing okay though and I wish u a super cool weekend as well! Personally i'm just gonna wait for news in regards to my one class that's on Saturdays (i'm gay and aggrieved :( ), finish my Pokemon HeartGold playthrough & work on art ONCE done :3c

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST!!!

*bonk* take care bestie, ily <3

[aesirfalling]

From your writing asks: #1, 8, 10, 26, and 28 :) I wasn't sure if you had wanted me to answer any specific ones myself, but since it was an ask I wanted to respond properly~

I definitely wanted you to answer some specific ones yourself :^)

What themes would you like to write about that you feel don’t get explored very often?

I think this is obvious to everyone who’s read my more recent fics (so like... my fics from 2016 onwards?), but I like to write “realistically,” especially in regards to joys and pain. When people write about angst things like breakups and depression and physical illnesses they are sometimes hesitant (rightfully or understandably so, in many cases) to really get into the nitty gritty, and in many cases, uglier parts of them, but like, they’re a part of life and people in our lives don’t have a good time (or even many good moments at all) when these kinds of things happen to them. Those moments are still important, though, and I personally feel like embracing the dark aspects of those things makes getting through them in the end more emotionally and existentially powerful? If that makes sense. I’m definitely still wrestling with, like, the extent to which I should write such things (esp. since like, in most cases, fic readers are not reading your fic to suffer), but I think my underlying sentiment as a writer is to examine/meet feelings and life unflinchingly and with some kind of grace.

(I’ll get to the joys eventually. I swear. I have that draft of the second chapter of Lost and Found in my Google Drive. There’s Radiance and the mood in that, too. I just don’t like to write too much preemptive joy.)

The other thing I want to bring up as well is a kind of like... infrastructural realism? Or is it like, socioeconomic, worldly things? Like we’ve talked about this as well RE: how I’m covering Hope in my fics and how you worldbuild a lot around missions and such in yours. I think this is mostly a fic thing since to do this well requires a longer fic with a lot of forethought, and most people don’t have time for that. And honestly most people don’t like Hope for the structural engineering work he put into building new planets either

Favorite dialogue in your wip? (If asked more than once, respond with a new piece each time)

Oh man this interlude is going to be CHOKE FULL of dialogue that will kill me and most of them haven’t even been written yet

But the things that I’ve already put down on my dump file are like all dialogue

Here I just wrote up this thing

Snow: Go on then. Tell me that you don’t miss the stars. Tell me that you are okay with just sitting here day by day, pretending that you don’t know anything, pretending that you don’t have regrets and wants. Tell me that you don’t care if I won’t invite you to the wedding with Serah, if Light finds another man, or if some orphanage is burning on the other side of town. Tell me - 

Hope: I don’t think you understand. I never needed anyone to motivate me.

Hope: I needed someone to stop me.

What scene was the most fun to write for you and why?

Hmm... we might have to establish a definition for ‘fun’ :P

I think in more recent memory, I’ve had the most fun writing the dialogue between Hope and E1 in the Intermission, because I relish all opportunities to write him (especially in FWWCH where I’m usually banned from writing in his POV) and writing two of him is just double the fun. I also adore all occasions where introspective idiots have to talk to other versions of themselves because it’s kind of like. The inevitable 404 error when they realize they are actually empathizing with themselves is tearjerker and heartwarming central.

What do you feel like you need to work on as a growing writer? How can you improve?

Oh lordy there are so many things. Lemme just list a few off the top of my head

1) Linguistic ability: There is definitely a part of me that is sad about the fact that leaving my home country at the age of 11 has left me in a place where I am kind of bilingual but kind of... not really “Native” in either. Like, I have this lingering feeling that I’ll never get to the level of a “Native” English speaker/writer, and I definitely hit like language ability walls all the time when I write - things wouldn’t feel naturally lyrical, I’d run out of words, I wouldn’t know how to describe something the way it should be described, the sentence structure variety is pitiful, etc. I think it’s especially apparent when you’re writing a long fic, where like you have to deal with the same things over and over (e.g. writing Hope cooking, or how Lightning physically perceives him, etc) and there’s more of a limit on where natural inspiration can take you. I should read more good prose (since that’s apparently how I get better at English) but, ugh, effort.

2) Characterization: how many times have I whined about how much I suck at writing Lightning lmaooooooo I think the general thing is like, everyone is decent at writing someone they personally relate to, but we struggle when we try to write outside of our comfort zone. Lightning is definitely the poster child of “character unlike me that I’m trying to get a hold of,” but I think I struggled even more trying to write Fang, and I’d probably struggle trying to write someone like Cid seriously. I think a large part of the struggle is trying to morph yourself into that character (or, like, dissociating from yourself and just... “becoming” that character depending on how you view writing meta??) since like, just understanding someone is not enough. Just understanding someone won’t let you write convincing dialogue where they talk and move around the way they usually do. You have to like, become them and that’s really hard when you have a strong writer’s ego (I know, shocking, coming from me.)

3) Worldbuilding: wtf am I even doing with Hope’s White Lotus thing lmaoooooo anyway a world could always be more interesting, consistent, realistic, nuanced etc. And not necessarily through more word count on the worldbuilding-y stuff. I think it’s more about understanding the factors driving the world than anything else. Like what the resources are, who has power/agency, how things are done (e.g., in our world, decisions are mostly made by individual nation states, although large corporate entities often have immense political influence). AND THEN JUST LIKE CHARACTERS THERE’S THE STRUGGLE WITH EXECUTING THEM - like just because I understand there are rich oligarchs behind things doesn’t mean I’m good at writing the Great Gatsby. I dunno, I have a perpetual sense of imposter syndrome when I try to understand and write things about the world, regardless of whether or not the world is real. I feel like a large part of this goes back to the fact that I’m still only in my 20s and haven’t seen much of the ‘real world’ as they say, although I guess I’m technically still way ahead of most fic writers.

4) General writer’s attitude: this influences themes and the heart of one’s writing. When I say that I care a lot about the grace and dignity of my narratives and my characters, it ties back into this - I want to tell human stories, and I want to tell stories that reflect on our struggles and our faith despite said struggles. It’s the kind of lens that I filter all my words through and impacts every word I write. The obvious problem, then, is that my writing’s only ever going to be as perceptive or sympathetic as I am, and that’s something that I can and should always work on. Am I too obsessed with tragedy? Am I honestly far better at posing questions than providing solutions, even when I highly value solutions? How do I become the kind of writer and person that I want to be without driving myself insane or losing touch with the people that I want my writing to speak to?

5) Discipline: Am I ever going to finish FWWCH (or H&L or any of my other WIPs lmao)? Stay tuned.

I think a lot of my self-doubt as a writer comes from just how much I know I can improve on tbh

Do you need background noise to write? If so, what do you listen to?

I wouldn’t say I work with “background noise” - I work with mood-appropriate playlists (did you know I’ve been gratuitously naming all my fic chapters after songs?), or you know, the good ole 2 o’clock cosmic silence. It’s pretty interesting to me actually, since I also have an engineering degree and like... I need silence when I’m trying to logick things like math or the correct wording for a formal writing thing (e.g. a grant or policy proposal). So my creative hemisphere wants stimulation while my mechanical brain wants silence. Figures.

[damiennazario]

The Girl With the Broken Smile

Pairing: Maxwell x MC

Summary: In which Maxwell’s rooftop confession comes a lot later - at Liam and Madeleine’s wedding.

Genre/Warning: Fluff, PG

Words: 4,754

Notes: boi ... i never expected to slide my booty over to maxwell. but y’alls prayers have been answered and now this ass belongs to him. i dont know a liam and neither does the mc in this fic. enjoy this overly-fluffy piece of garbage!

You’re watching King Liam and Queen Madeleine's first dance as a married couple.

The two look as stiff and awkward as ever, despite their obvious skill in the Cordonian waltz as high-ranking nobles. Liam is standing a quite notable distance away from his so-called bride, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist, and her face is pasted with a flimsy smile. Nevertheless, the King Father, the Queen Mother, and all the other nobles that are present look on at the king and his wife as they glide across the floor - if you could even call it gliding, Liam looks as if he’s dragging Madeleine across - with thoughtful reverence.

Of course, all of the other nobles except for the members of House Beaumont, Drake, Olivia, and Hana.

You should be more hurt to see this farcical display than you are at present. But the truth is, you just feel numb, the same way you've been feeling ever since the events of the Coronation; and now even more so, given that Tariq has disappeared without a trace, and took along with him your chances of gaining your rightful place alongside Liam, reigning as Cordonia's true queen.

You told Liam that things would be over between you two once he married Madeleine, because no matter how much you loved him, you couldn't stand any more lies or sneaking around, especially considering that it would only get harder to be together once they got married. He and Madeleine may even be pressured to start a family together, while you remain the other woman with no happy ending in sight for either of you. Go figure - starting a family in a loveless marriage while the woman Liam truly loves is left to suffer. How could you possibly keep yourself in a situation like that?

Deciding you're sick of reducing yourself to watching this charade play out - because, after all, you had to sit through the ceremony - you promptly excuse yourself without a word. Everyone's so busy watching Liam and Madeleine that they don't even notice you leaving, but even if they did, they wouldn't care. You were essentially part of the common rabble, anyway. You didn’t have much of a right to be here.

Suddenly, you hear your name, clear as the peal of a bell over the din of the music. It's none other than Maxwell, running up to you with a bewildered look on his face. His presence - and voice, for that matter - seem to shatter the spell induced around you, and a few nobles break their attention away from the dancing newlyweds to scowl at you two.

"Hey, where're you going? I've been looking all over for you," he says, shoulders heaving with the gasps of air he's taking in from running. The last you saw him, he was sitting beside you at the ceremony, holding your hand tightly in his and rubbing his thumb in circles against the back of your hand for encouragement and giving you tiny squeezes every now and then, while you held his hand lamely and gave him weak smiles every time he looked over at you with sadness in his eyes. He gave you the strongest and longest squeeze when Liam kissed Madeleine on the lips for the first time, officially declaring them man and wife. Since then, you felt like you needed some space, since a usually-cheery Maxwell giving you all these pitying looks was too much for you to handle, so you tried avoiding him as much as possible, along with all your other friends.

You smile a sad smile. "I'm just going out for some fresh air, Maxwell. I'm fine, I promise."

Maxwell pouts, his deep blue eyes darkening dolefully. It pains you to see him like this because he's worried about you. Where's the Maxwell you know and love, remaining optimistic and bubbly in any situation? It definitely would've made you feel at least a little better to see that his mood hasn't changed, but now he's much too preoccupied with concern for you to even bother with his mischief, intentional or not. "But you're not fine. You're my best friend, I know when you're not fine. Drake, Hana, me, and even Olivia - we're really worried about you. At least let me keep you company."

You sigh impatiently. "I don't need you all worrying about me. I'm fine. I just want to be alone right now."

Maxwell sighs in return. He knows better than to argue with his little blossom, especially considering how scary you could get when you get angry. Of course, you’ve never once directed your anger at him, but he didn't want to keep pushing your buttons and find out what it would be like on the receiving end of it. So he concedes - if only a little.

"Okay. I'll let you go... on one condition." His lips split into a wily grin. You roll your eyes, cursing whatever it is you said about missing his mischief, because there’s a time and a place for that, and this is definitely not either of the two. Even so, you cross your arms, knowing there's no way you can stubborn your way out of this one.

At this point in time, Liam and Madeleine have separated from each other completely with a mutual curtsy as their dance and the music comes to an end, and the nobles circled around them begin to clap and cheer.

In the midst of the applauding nobles, Maxwell says, "If you're really fine.." he holds a hand out to you, the corners of his mouth turned up in a full-fledged smile that reaches his once-again bright eyes, "you'll dance with me."

You start to turn around exasperatedly. "Maxwell, I don't have time for this -"

Before you can turn around completely, Maxwell has already grabbed your hand, pulling you back around slightly to face him. "Come on, it'll be fun! Don't you remember how fun it was practicing it together? We can show Liam and Madeleine how the Cordonian Waltz is really done."

You sigh and avert your eyes from his expectant ones. Despite Bertrand's ever-growing list of complaints and critiques about your footwork as he observed you both, you did have a lot of fun dancing with Maxwell; he was an amazing dancer and an even better partner, always encouraging you and patiently guiding you every step of the way, literally. And he always managed to make it fun, what with his goofy faces and terrible puns - that is, until Bertrand would reprimand him to stop and ‘train his face’ so he would regard you stoically, as is customary with the dance - or at least Bertrand thinks so.

By the time you've mastered it enough to do it for fun, it felt as though some of his talent and confidence rubbed off on you, and you were more than grateful to him for being such a great teacher. Perhaps, in a way, this would be paying him back.

Against your better judgement, you sigh again and cave to his demands. He cheers and pulls you to the dance floor without missing a beat, barreling through and knocking your body against clusters of several nobles and evoking annoyed outbursts in the process.

Luckily, the two of you have reached the dance floor by the time the next song begins, all angry nobles aside. You recognize it as a pop song you’ve heard back in America a few years ago - perhaps it was selected for its time signature, perfect for waltzing. It’s quite a strange selection when you consider the people involved, especially since this is a royal ceremony, but the fact that you recognize it will make it easier for you to get comfortable, so you won’t be tempted to look over at Liam and Madeleine every two seconds.

Maxwell smiles down at you and pulls you in closer to him, one of his hands acting as a gentle presence on the small of your back, while you lace one of your hands in his opposite hand and place your other hand on his back just under his arm. The good thing about this dance is that there’s no Bertrand here to nitpick every move you make - you’re not the only ones on the dance floor, nor are you the focus of the dance itself, so you don’t have to worry about ‘performing’. Like Maxwell told you, it’d be fun. You take a deep breath and surrender under his gentle hold, allowing him and the music to take you away and lead you into the first move, the box step.

I’d never gone with the wind Just let it flow Let it take me where it wants to go ‘Till you open the door There’s so much more I’ve never seen it before

You feel Maxwell’s hand applying a gentle pressure on the inside of your palm, and thanks to your various lessons, it automatically registers in your head to begin to move backwards, so you do, and he follows your lead. Throughout all your lessons, though, you’ve never once noticed how soft and warm his hand feels against yours. It had simply never occurred to you - it was like a new feeling entirely. You squeeze his hand and look up at him through your eyelashes shyly, and he responds with a smile, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “You look wonderful tonight."

You giggle and feel heat rushing up to your cheeks from the compliment. You’re more than used to getting compliments from Maxwell, but somehow, this one was different. More.. intimate. “Thank you,” you say bashfully in return.

I was trying to fly, but I couldn’t find wings But you came along and you changed everything.

You lift my feet off the ground, you spin me around You make me crazier, crazier.

As these lyrics play, he quite literally leads you into a spin on your tippy-toes that could dizzy anyone, but you’ve trained for this; you’re accustomed to the dizziness by now, and you know to focus on something stationary to ground yourself, so you pick Maxwell. You feel yourself being lifted off the ground in accordance with the lyrics, and squeal with glee because nobody's stopping you, not even the guests dancing around you, and because Maxwell's never done this during your lessons, lest he get a tongue-lashing from Bertrand. But he doesn't have to worry about him now. It's all about you both, and it isn't at the same time. His bright eyes capture yours as you're giggling and squealing and it's as if you're weightless, soaring through the air, free as a bird - you never knew Maxwell was this strong. But the moment is short lived, because he unceremoniously plops you back down on the ground, winded. Looks like he isn't that strong after all.

Feels like I'm falling and I I'm lost in your eyes You make me crazier, crazier.

Maxwell blows a tuft of hair out of his face and smiles at you sheepishly. "Sorry," he says, quickly taking you in his arms again and leading you into the next move, a slower twirl. You can't help but chuckle and shake your head, saying, "It's okay. I was gonna tell you that I didn't know you were packing so much heat under that button-down, but I guess I stand corrected." Maxwell chuckles bashfully in return, leading you back into the box step.

I watched from a distance as you Made life your own Every sky was your own kind of blue And I wanted to know How that would feel And you made it so real. You showed me something that I couldn't see You opened my eyes and you made me believe.

As the chorus repeats, Maxwell begins to spin you again, but knows better now than to bite off more than he can chew and lift you this time. But lo and behold, you focus your gaze on Liam and Madeleine as you spin, and it's like something's knocked the breath out of you as soon as you see how close they are now. You hate yourself for feeling this way. You know what they have is not, and never will be, real. So why does it bother you so much? You suppose it's because they got their happy ending and you didn't, and it just isn't fair. Watching them for so long makes you lose your footing, so you collapse into Maxwell's arms, dizzy. Luckily, he's quick enough to catch you.

"Hey, hey," he says, rubbing your back and tilting you forward so you can stand on your two feet again, "I've got you." But you don't budge. You keep yourself splayed against his chest, burrowing your head deep enough that you can hear his heartbeat, whose rhythm is slowly but surely picking up.

"W-what's wrong?" He babbles, obviously flustered, but making no move to remove you from his chest. He doesn't wait for an answer, though - all he has to do is look beyond you to see Liam and Madeleine, and he knows. He sets his jaw in consternation.

"I just... wish I never put so much faith in fairytale endings,” you say, your voice muffled from speaking against his chest. “I should've known they could never happen to someone like me."

"What do you mean?" Maxwell questions, sounding genuinely oblivious.

Baby, you showed me what living is for. I don't wanna hide anymore.

You pull yourself away from his chest to face him, tears brimming in your eyes and your voice shaking like a leaf. "Don't you get it, Max? I'm nothing special. I'm just some nobody waitress who grew up in some nobody town. I don't know anything about royalty or being royal beyond Disney movies and Henry VIII's wives. I don't have a title or fortune to my name, and because of that, I lost out on my happy ending. I'm starting to wonder why I even thought I could ever get it in the first place."

Maxwell's face begins to become more sorrowful. "Hey, don't say that -"

You cut him off. "Don't say what? The truth? You said Bertrand had faith in me, but I know he's always seen me as the nobody I've always been, and always will be. So does everyone else in this God forsaken country. They don't think I deserve a happy ending, and it's time I realize that they're ri-"

And just then, as the chorus plays one last time, you feel Maxwell's hands on your cheeks, pulling your face to his and pressing his lips feverishly to yours. You're rendered momentarily immobilized by this gesture, powerless to do anything but close your eyes and relish how soft his lips feel meshing against yours.

But just as suddenly as it started, it ends the same way. Maxwell yanks himself away from you, looking completely startled. You can still feel him lingering on your lips. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I’m such a screw-up, I’m sorry, I-“

“Maxwell,” you cut him off abruptly, reaching up slightly to brush his cheek and to turn his head a little to face you, his longing eyes holding the image of a rolling sea under the moonlight. “It’s okay.”

He uses his thumb to rub away a dried stream of tears from your cheek. “I just can’t stand hearing you talk like that. I think you’re amazing, and you’re the strongest person I know. I’m really sorry you had to go through this tonight, but I know your happy ending is out there waiting for you to find it. That’s a promise.”

As the song comes to an end, you let go of him, offer him a mutual curtsy, and a “M’lord” and “Milady” exchange, but when he looks up, he does not meet your eyes.

“So. A deal’s a deal,” he says flatly.

“What do you mean?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“I said I’d leave you alone if you danced with me, and you did. So if you need me, I’ll be on the rooftop.” He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond - he just pivots on his feet and eases his way through the crowd, towards the elegant spiral staircase to the rooftop. It doesn’t take you too long to lose sight of him completely.

With that, you’re left feeling lost and completely confused, and that damn tingly feeling still on your lips. What kind of guy kisses you like that and exalts you to the moon, only to leave you so abruptly? Sure, a deal was a deal, but you never would’ve expected him to actually leave you alone after something like that - especially not Maxwell. What the hell is up with him?

Meanwhile, out of the corner of your eye, you see two people seemingly fighting over a microphone - or, rather, one person is pushing the microphone in someone’s face, while the other is pushing it away from their face. When you walk towards them to get a closer look, you see that it’s Drake and the wedding officiator, probably fighting over the best man’s speech.

“Look,” you hear Drake say, “If you think I’m going to put on a show and say some bottom of my heart nonsense about that viper, you’re out of your damn mind, friend. I’m only doing this for Liam, so I’ll only acknowledge Liam, got it?”

The officiator shakes his head and shoves an index card in Drake’s face, most likely listing what it is he should say to the royal couple. Drake responds with, “And how am I supposed to wish them ‘fertility and prosperity’? She probably lays eggs.“

At this point, the officiator has given up, throwing the card aside and muttering something about commoners as he walks away. Now that he’s out of eyeshot, Drake, currently nursing a glass of whiskey, spots you and waves you over, so you take a seat beside him.

“What’s up, New York?" he says to you, sliding you a glass of champagne with one hand as his opposite arm is slung around the crest rail of the chair. "Haven’t seen you since the ceremony.”

“Oh, you know,” you say, shrugging and looking dejectedly into the glass, “I’ve been here and there.”

He lowers his head a little to look into your eyes. “You holding up okay? I realize how hard this must be on you.”

You keep your eyes trained on the bubbles in the honey-colored liquid as they drift to the surface. “I’m fine. Just confused, is all.”

“About?”

Finally, you turn to face him, wrapping your fingers around the stem of the glass.“Well… say you were in my situation. How would you feel if your best friend just kinda kissed you after you were whining about never getting a happy ending just to get you to shut up because he thinks the world of you, apparently, and then just runs away?”

Drake raises his eyebrows, his eyes widening almost comically. “Wait.. don’t tell me this is about Maxwell.”

“The one and only," you say into your glass as you take a sip.

He mirrors you and takes a sip of his whiskey, still looking surprised. Then he chuckles. “Jeez. That’s definitely something. Never knew he had it in him.”

“What do you mean?” you ask warily, setting the glass down.

“Well, to me, it sounds a lot like Maxwell’s holding a torch for you, but doesn’t know how to deal with it. Explains why he kissed you so out of the blue like that, and then left you so easily. He might’ve been embarrassed or afraid he’d come on too strong, especially after all that’s happened to you. This might be his way of giving you time to breathe, out of character as it is for him.”

You furrow your eyebrows pensively and stare at your glass again. Maxwell? Holding a torch for you? That couldn't be right. He's acted as nothing but a good friend to you all this time, always there when you needed him. In fact, he was always the first one there when you needed him. When you left for your flight back to New York after the Coronation, he was the first one at the airport - along with Bertrand, of course. But you remembered what he said to you as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders; "We could never forget about you! We came here as soon as we could." It was so like all the other encouraging things he's said to you, yet so.. distinct at the same time. It was exactly what you needed to hear.

After a while, you realize you've drifted off. Drake waves a hand in front of your face. "Earth to New York, do you read me?" he asks in a deadpan tone. You shake your head and blink a few times, apologizing.

"So now that you've had some time to breathe and reflect.. allow me to pick your brain. How do you feel about all that's happened?" he says, crossing his arms. It's now that you realize that Drake could be an excellent therapist.

You shrug noncommittally. "It's.. really strange, actually. I'm.. picking up on little things that happened throughout our relationship." You then go on to list the various sprinkles of things that you've discounted before, like when you danced with him and told him there was no place you'd rather be, and he said you shouldn't talk like that, because you're here to become queen on behalf of House Beaumont. You tell Drake how great of a friend Maxwell has been to you, always there to pick you up when you're down, and how he's always been your number one cheerleader, no matter what. Liam might've wanted to be there for you after the events of the Coronation, but the fact of the matter is that he wasn't. You didn't resent him for it, but his intentions didn't make you feel any less alone or hurt. At least you found solace in the fact that Maxwell was there for you, if no one else.

You also tell Drake about how Adelaide told you two how cute you looked together, and you joked around saying you did, while he got flustered, but played along anyway. Then, when Penelope was looking for a bachelor, she wondered if she and Maxwell would make a good match, but you tell Drake that you disagreed and listed qualities of someone you thought was his type, and how her saying, 'Someone like you?' really caught you off guard. It wasn't what you meant to insinuate at all, but when you thought back on it.. perhaps those qualities did sound a bit like you.

And then.. there was the camping trip. You regale Drake on all that happened inside the tent with Maxwell - how you tackled him and how nice hugging him felt and how you suggested you cuddle to keep the ghosts away. You may not have been afraid of any ghosts like he was, but you still felt safe there with him.

Finally, you tell Drake how you felt something while you danced with Maxwell tonight. Something was different from all the times you've danced with him before. Perhaps it was the way he complimented you - sure, he always compliments you, but something about it felt different this time. It seems to have touched you in a different way.

You don't understand why it took you this long to figure out, but maybe there really is something between you both. Perhaps it was all the crazy things happening at court and you being too focused on trying to clear your name and secure your rightful happy ending to pick up on all of this, but now you know you have to tell Maxwell.. something.

All the while, Drake nods intently, taking sips of his whiskey. "Well, wherever he is, I'm sure he's waiting for you, so..."

You smile and reach over the seat to wrap your arms around Drake's shoulder in a sort of awkward, yet tight, hug. He's stiff against you at first, most likely taken aback by the randomness of the gesture, but he embraces you back after a while. "Thanks, Drake. I won't forget this."

"Heh. As if I'd let you," he says as you get up and wave at him from over your shoulder, heading towards the elegant spiral staircase that leads out to the rooftop.

The rooftop offers a gorgeous, expansive view of Cordonia. Cute little townhomes dot the hills with their lively light. Crickets chirp above the light hum of the music downstairs, and you catch sight of Maxwell standing at the railing, looking out at the deep purple night sky. It shimmers with stars, a quite unusual appearance in a region polluted with light, but beautiful nonetheless.

You walk towards him and place your elbows on the railing, joining him as you gaze out at the full moon. If he notices your presence, he makes no indication.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" You say suddenly. Maxwell jerks away from you with a yelp, startled. Looks like he really didn't expect to see you here.

"Sorry, sorry," you say with a light chuckle, remembering how jumpy he could get.

"It's okay. But, yeah.. it really is." You would think he's referring to the sky as he says this, but instead, he's looking over at you with this longing in his eyes, taking you in as if for the first time. You notice his Adam's apple bobbing.

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, he begins to speak. "Look, I just wanted to apologize. For everything. I know I'm a screw-up, and I only made your situation worse by kissing you after all that's happened. I just.. didn't want to keep hearing you talk about happy endings you won't ever get when it's not true."

He pauses to shut his eyes and take a deep breath, then starts again. "I don't know how it happened, but somewhere down the line, I fell for you. I kept it to myself because I didn't want anything getting in the way of you getting the crown... especially not me. I never would've been able to forgive myself. But now that that's gone.. that just leaves us. I know I don't have everything. I can't give you that fairytale ending. But I want to at least give you a happy one... if you'll let me."

"Maxwell.." you breathe.

He keeps going. "If not, that's okay, too. I know you must want some time to yourself after all this. You can take all the time you need. But, again, I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for confusing you. I'm sorry for being a screw-up. I'm sorry -"

You decide to rudely interrupt Maxwell's pity party with a kiss equally as sudden and passionate as the one he's given you just moments before, cupping his cheeks. Once you trace your tongue along his lower lip, it doesn't take him long to relent at all. You feel his arms encircling your waist as the kiss deepens, and the brisk evening wind is completely nullified with the warmth of his body against yours.

"Stop apologizing. You promised me I'd find my happy ending, and now I’m realizing that it's been disguised as my best friend all along," you say once you pull away, your hands resting on the nape of his neck. You lean in for another kiss, but he places his hands on yours, stopping you.

"What is it?" You ask.

His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bugged out in his traditional flustered expression. Never in your life have you ever seen anything more adorable. "Well, I just.. uhhh.. was wondering if this means you.. like me, like me," he stammers.

"Depends. Does this mean you like me, like me?" You tease.

"It does," he says without a moment's hesitation, smiling as though he's won the lottery.

"So there's your answer, silly," you say, loping your fingers through his hair and pulling him in for another kiss.

[nyxocity]

I want commentary on so much of your writing. Loved your response to the beautiful disaster scene. How did you choose the songs for that fic?

Thank you for asking. You’re always welcome to ask more! :D

This story was originally inspired by my playing a shit ton of the original Rock Band on XBox, just fyi. Music is a huge part of my life, and one of the joys of writing Beautiful Disaster was getting to use so many songs to fit the emotional moods. Sometimes I’d think about the scene and look through my music until I found something that resonated, and other times it smacked me in the face and was like, here, you’re using this. For example, I was listening to a 90′s alt station pretty heavily while writing this story, not for any particular reason other than that I was enjoying it, and after a while, as I was writing, the lyrics of certain songs began to sink in as perfect for certain scenes.

Okay so let’s talk about the songs individually:

Cold Contagious; Cold Contagious, lyrics as written and performed by BushI needed a song to set the stage/mood of the relationship between Justin and Jensen and this stood out to me as a good emotional opener. This one didn’t come to me automatically though and took a little time.

Don’t Believe You; The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove, lyrics as written and performed by Dead Can DanceI’ve been a fan of this song since way back in my goth club days. I just love the lyrics, the middle eastern feel of the music. There’s a sense of a long relationship in this song, one that has come to a bitter place. Again, setting the mood for the Justin/Jensen relationship.God of Wine; God of Wine, lyrics as written and performed by Third Eye BlindThird Eye Blind’s debut album is one of my favorite albums of all time, and this song and Motorcycle Drive By are never far from my mind as two of the best, heartbreaking songs I’ve ever heard. I love the lyrics in this song so much: “Sometimes you let me inand I take it on the chin” and “Looking through, I see youSearching for somethingI could never give youAnd there’s someone whounderstands you more than I do”

This song is incredibly EPIC and the level of sadness in it is just… it makes me hurt every time. It’s about the tragic end of a relationship, and not for any other reason other than they’re not right for each other. He wants so badly to be “the one” for the person he’s singing about but he knows he isn’t.

Justin’s song - End, as written and performed by The CureI expand on how I feel about The Cure, and the album this particular song is from, below. This is the final song on the album and it’s just so full of self loathing and despair. “Please stop loving me, I am none of these things”, is Justin’s plea to Jensen. He feels a lot of guilt that Jensen loves him as much as he does, and he definitely doesn’t feel worthy of that love. 

Unpublished lyrics: Forever Earthbound, as written and performed by The RenaissanceThis song, I went looking for lyrics that would work for what Jensen was feeling in that moment. I don’t remember what parameters I used but it took some time. When I stumbled across these lyrics they just locked into place and fit.Vegas concert lyrics: Motorcycle Drive-by, as written and performed by Third Eye BlindAs I noted above, this song is never far from me. Heartbreakingly beautiful and just so full of raw emotion. So much of the music in this story is about the twisted, tangled up, fucked up thing between Justin  and Jensen, because Jensen is writing most of it.

80’s song Jensen passes out to: No One is to Blame, as written and performed by Howard JonesWhen I was writing this part, I was thinking of the movie Waitress, and this is the song that plays as the married main character and Nathan Fillion’s character begin to fall for each other, and that was when, FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, the lyrics in the song clicked for me. I’d been listening to it since the 80′s and I never got that it was about the guilt and pain of falling in love with someone you couldn’t be with because they were with someone else. And it’s just SO beautiful once you understand it, lines like, “You can feel the punishment but you can’t commit the sin”. So the song was in my mind when I wrote this scene and I felt it fit so well, because that’s exactly what was happening to Jensen.

I’m the One - I’m the One as written and performed by the DescendantsThis was one of those instances where listening to the 90′s alt music stepped in and made the decision for me. I was listening to it and it just clicked in my head and I went that’s it, that’s the song where Jensen is making his frustration with his infatuation with Justin known. And the fact that it’s gender neutral with regard to the person the singer is singing about it just made it all the more perfect.Sick Cycle Carousel - Sick Cycle Carousel as written and performed by LifehouseMy love of Lifehouse is legendary (I may be listening to them right now in fact :D). They have such a way of bringing beauty and soulfulness to their music, in short, they make me FEEL everything they’re trying to convey. Every bit of confusion and sadness and beauty. Sick Cycle Carousel is about not being able to let go of this thing you know is terrible for you, and again, it’s indicative of the relationship between Justin and Jensen. There’s so much passion in it, and it stood out to me as something someone as passionate as Jensen would have written.

Song Jared and Jensen play together - In the Blood as written and performed by Better Than EzraSpeaking of passionate! THIS SONG. OH MAN. Again, it’s 90′s alt, and I hadn’t written it yet, but I was thinking about the scene where Jared and Jensen first perform together, and the lines, “It’s the way you move your hands” and “The passion that you play” hit me SO HARD. It was so perfect. I doubt the writer of the song was talking about someone who played guitar, but the entirety of the song was just completely Jared’s perspective on Jensen at that time. I even had Justin quote back the specific lines that caught my attention initially before I went and dug into the entirety of the lyrics and realized it fit perfectly.Jared’s Song - Lucky Man - Lucky Man as written and performed by The VerveAgain with the 90′s alt. This song was one that struck me as so lonely and sad. It’s basically to me about a guy who’s in love with someone else he knows will never love him back. He’s a lucky man because he feels that love, but it’s also a sad feeling because he’s in it alone. Jared wrote this song about Milo back in the day, and it sums up their relationship to a tee, and how Jared felt about it.From The Edge of the Deep Green Sea - From The Edge of the Deep Green Sea, as written and performed by The CureThe Cure is my favorite band (BTW I love your username for this reason–The Loudest Sound, right?), and oftentimes I have to stop myself from overusing their stuff in my stories. The album this song is from is called Wish, and Wish is one of those albums that coded itself into my DNA. It’s a heartbreaking album and I was going through one of the most heartbreaking times in my life, so even now, when I listen to it I have to be careful because of the emotion it invokes in me. This song in particular is so sad and fucked up that it nearly rips my heart out of my chest (particularly because I was going through something very similar at the time). It about being at the end of a relationship that hasn’t been good for you for a very long time but you just haven’t been able to let it go, and now you’re finally trying but it’s messy and complicated and so very very painful. It summarizes well to me, how Jensen felt at that time. 

When I Can - Mayonaise, as written and performed by the Smashing PumpkinsThis song has always had a special place in my heart since I very first heard it in the 90′s. To me it’s about letting go, finally, even when you don’t want to. Someday you’ll try to understand why this thing went wrong, and when you can, you will. But for now you’re kind of fucked up about it, and you reserve the right to be bitter until you can understand it better. Again, it seemed right for where Jensen was in the story.Spin - Spin, as written and performed by Lifehouse.The first HAPPY song in the entire goddamned story lol Again, my love for Lifehouse is huge, and I was listening to this song when it struck me as being perfect for the story with regard to how Jensen felt about Jared. Everything in Jensen’s life is kind of a mess, but he knows how he feels about Jared, Jared’s just this one true thing that makes sense, and Jensen wants to lock on and follow that, let it lead him into the sunlight as it were. What’s funny is that Jensen writes this very early on in the story, before he even consciously begins to realize his feelings for Jared.

So, the whole thing is sort of this give and take process. Some of it just happens intuitively, and some of it falls into place on its own, and sometimes I have to do a little work before it clicks, but it always does. I’ve always been happy with every song choice I’ve made in a fic, and especially this one.

[othercat2]

fic: two for mirth 40/?

They go to Earth, of course. It’s the home world for humanity and the central seat of government for the United Planets of Terra. Karkat talks to prime ministers and attends hearings. He talks to activists and reporters supporting one position or another. A lot of the conversations are hostile, but Karkat argues them down. It’s not too much different from speaking for the Heiress, while Feferi was looking for allies prior to her Challenge. (It’s also not too much different from the alliance talks during the Challenge.)

Dave is brought up frequently as a bone of contention, or a trump card, as if his arguments were any less true because of Dave. (He’s not surprised that this would be the case.) Karkat finds himself arguing a lot about not only Dave, but Gamzee. Trying to explain Gamzee’s sense of humor and motivations are hard, and also a little exasperating. He doesn’t want to defend Gamzee, but at the same time, he feels he has to. Dave watches this for a few days, looking amused before he steps in during a talk show interview. “Master Makara probably didn’t know anything about the Empress’  plans to have the Emissary investigate the treatment of her gifts,” Dave says in answer to a question to Karkat, John translates. “I say probably because who even knows. I spent a perigee with him and I still couldn’t figure him out.”  

Kamala Nguyen, their interviewer on a late night program frowns. “You have to admit it seems suspicious, that he would attempt to discredit--”

Karkat is about to interject angrily when he’s surprised by Dave making a warning sound. It’s a loud blatting buzz with his mouth and fingers, a fairly accurate impression of the sound that indicates that a hatch or gate hasn’t been closed correctly. Ms. Nguyen straightens, looking surprised. “Nope,” Dave says in English. “Master Makara would never try to discredit Karkat. They’re moirails and that’s kind of important.  This is more of what he’d call a prank from the Mirthful Ones, I think. Something put in motion like we’re all in a romantic comedy being written and directed by terrifying eldritch pranksters.” The rest is translated by John.  

“A romantic comedy?” Ms. Nguyen asks skeptically.

“Well I’m sure master would like to be all ‘this is a political drama with some action’ but no, it’s a romantic comedy. In Which A Former Alien Gladiator and A Romance Author Are Thrown Together by Fate in the Form of the Author’s Highblooded Moirail Who Wants To Manage His Moirail’s Sadly Empty Quadrants. Featuring Pro Emancipationist Rhetoric a Slow Burn Romance a Number of Surprising Revelations Concerning the Highblood’s Actual Motives and Lots of Awkward Discussions About Consent. Warnings For Xenophilia, Quadrant Smearing and Aquadratic Characters,” John translates for Dave.  

“Warning for Aquadratic characters is orientation shaming and inappropriate,” Karkat grumbles, because he can’t help himself.

“Little steps, master. Representation is important but we can’t shock our fan base,” Dave says in English. “Gotta let them know what they’re getting into.”

Karkat snorts. “‘We?’” he asks. “Still not ghost writing your memoirs, Strider.”

“You’ll have no choice; you’ll be lured closer to the pit by the smell of bad grammar and typos. Then my tentacles of prose will drag you under,” Dave says in English.

The conversation turns in the direction of the hypothetical memoir, then briefly back to Karkat’s position as Emissary before it’s time to end the interview.

After spending some time in the green room talking over the phone with  Ampora they head back to the ship, Dave and John talking about the hypothetical memoir. “Are you really thinking about writing a memoir?” John asks Dave once they’re in the limo.

“I dunno, maybe,” Dave says. “I will totally write it as a romantic comedy though,” he says with a teasing glance at Karkat.

“You can write it like fan fiction,” Karkat says. “A coffee shop AU where you stumble into acting as an auspistice for Terezi and Gamzee.”

“Where are you in this fan fic?” Dave asks. “And am I customer at this coffee shop, or a minion of the coffee shop?”

“Minion. I am a mysterious benefactor who you at first only know by the sound of my voice,” Karkat says. “You don’t know until midway through the story that Gamzee is my moirail and Terezi is a good if exasperating hatefriend of mine.”

“Not a potential kismesis?” Dave asks, looking amused.

“Regrettably, I’m still myself in this story, and therefore pretty much all over the place in regards to my quadrants,” Karkat says.  “Also, a mutant and a terrible choice for a concupiscent quadrant.”

“But my hapless flailing because of the ashen flirting awakens a spark of true pity and or sheer exasperation that inspires you to come to my rescue.”

“That and I’m pretty sure Gamzee and or Terezi will kill the coffee shop owner for punishing you for your interventions, rendering the workers’ lives even more complicated and unpleasant.”

“Gotta think about the lives of those ordinary workers, struggling to earn their allowances and buy their retirement,” Dave says, nodding.

“Are you flirting?” John asks, looking a little red in the face. “I’m pretty sure both of you are flirting.”

“That would be a thing that’s happening,” Dave says.

“Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Egbert?” Karkat asks.

“No!” Egbert says quickly. “It’s just hard to tell sometimes?”

“Don’t worry we’re not gonna start macking in the back seat,” Dave says.

“That’s really, really not likely to happen,” Karkat says.

“Master’s shy,” Dave says in a stage whisper to John.

“I have a sense of decorum,” Karkat says in an attempt at a quelling tone. Predictably, it just makes Dave grin.

Dave teases John all the way to the ship and Karkat joins in with an occasional comment of his own. Though there had been a few rocky incidents--like John’s attempt to rescue Dave by purchasing him--Karkat was beginning to feel more than a little hatefriendly toward the human. John was an intelligent if occasionally oblivious individual and watching Dave reduce John to sputtering near-nonsense was entertaining. (John occasionally won the bouts, though not by very much.)

Once in their quarters, they occupy themselves with social media, Karkat on the console, Dave reading on the human equivalent of a husktop, reading the reactions to the most recent interview. (They start a thread with each other on a forum site. Someone asks: Okay so you are both in the same room pretty much? WHY are you arguing with each other in this thread? Dave responds: sometimes is more comfortable to talk in text Karkat writes: YES. THIS IS MORE COMFORTABLE FOR ME ANYWAY AS MOST OF MY EARLY SOCIAL INTERACTIONS WERE VIA TEXT.) The conversation wandered off into the realm of early social development.

After an hour or two on social media they retreat for the couch and the entertainment center. Dave is exploring Terran musical genres so a lot of what they watch are music videos. Karkat notices a certain theme to the lyrics of a number of songs three songs into the most recent playlist and gives Dave a suspicious look. “‘Grind,’ ‘Pump,’  ‘I Want Your Honey’?” Karkat asks.

“Just some songs I want to try out for future dance routines,” Dave says with a little smirk.  

“Pitch dancing to plainly red concupiscent songs?”

“I’m branching out, maybe,” Dave says. “Gonna master all the quadrant styles. Wait, what would ashen dancing look like? Or pale?”

“It wouldn’t look like anything,” Karkat says. “Well okay, there are artistic compositions about moiraillegiance and auspistism but the style you were being taught is a purely concupiscent style.”

“Maybe I should watch them, to practice for Terezi,” Dave says. “Get all pale seductive in her grill.”  

“She gets sad, doesn’t always believe that she’s done anything good or worthwhile, which is plainly idiotic, but depression generally doesn’t make sense anyway,” Karkat says. “Make her breakfast, make her go out to see the moons every so often; she’s actually worse than Sollux if she isn’t on a case.”

“Spilling the beans on your hatefriend?” Dave asks, smiling a little.

“Relaying easily observable facts,” Karkat says, mock-defensively. “Such as a playlist with a theme, and you not answering my question.”

“Your question was literally just repeating song titles, master,” Dave points out. “I have no idea what you mean.”  

“Implied question: are you setting a mood here or something?” Karkat asks. He’s surprised to see a faint blush on Dave’s cheeks.

“Maybe,” Dave says, averting his gaze slightly. “So I figured either you thought I wasn’t ready for the full sex, or you weren’t ready, therefore, mood music.”

Karkat felt his own face heat up, which was ridiculous. He wasn’t some newly Ascended flush ingénue; he was an adult, dammit.  “Mood music. For me or you?” He asks dryly. “You should know my taste in concupiscent music by now; this isn’t it.”

“Well, fight over the remote to make the music stop, kissing, below the pants action,” Dave says. “It’s a romantic classic?”

Karkat pretends to consider it. “It’s acceptable, for a very pre-Ascension style romance like the Black Candy Crush series. ‘Two hatefriends meet for the first time and discover pitch feelings for each other and it’s adorkable.’”

“So you think my mad romance skills are on the same level as a romance book for wigglers?” Dave asks with a frown of not-quite-mock disappointment.

“Only a wiggler thinks there’s something wrong with reading romances written for wigglers,” Karkat says. “Wigglers are so desperate to grow up and matter they think rejecting what they liked as a wiggler is part of being an adult. It’s really sad.” Karkat sighs and shakes his head.

Dave stares at him. “I am not a wiggler,” he says. “Okay, you’re older than me by a few sweeps--”

“Five, at least,” Karkat says. “That’s a pretty considerable chunk of time, for a human.”

“Yeah, I would have been past my prime in another seven or eight sweeps. Maybe I still will be,” Dave says, and wiggles his eyebrows.

“You’ll be just as obnoxiously pitiful and I wouldn’t mind having you around, that is if you still had an interest in my decrepit ass,” Karkat says.

“I’ll push your four wheeled device out onto the patio every evening,” Dave offers. “Serve you soft boiled eggs and cool featherbeast broth for breakfast every morning; mock your collection of literary awards.”

“Heh.” Karkat leans in for a kiss, makes a surprised little grunt when Dave falls back onto the couch, taking Karkat along for the ride. “I’ve gotten one--oh.”  Karkat can feel the line of Dave’s rigid bulge pressing up against him. It makes his bulge shift and press back.  He starts to rise up a little, but Dave pulls him close.

“You’ve got one?” Dave asks mock innocently. “I’ve got one too, and I think it’s past time they had their first play date.”

Karkat sputters, somewhere between laughter and outrage; then Dave is kissing him again, and coherent thought fucks off, never to be seen again.

==>

<==

Note: I have started a Patreon for my original fic (I’d say early chapters of fan fic as well, for patrons, but I’d feel obliged to add all the previous chapters of my current projects which would be a pain. So that will have to wait for new fic projects, that I can start from the beginning.) I could really use the money: and more money means more fic! Check me out and hopefully sponsor me (or fill my tip jar in my blog’s side bar.)

[kirstenorme735-blog]

The Art From Moring than happy

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[handsingsweapon]

For the fanfic ask game, a. For precious things and f.?

A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]? 

precious things is the title of my favorite tori amos song, and when i set out to write the fic and was thinking about victor’s childhood and the song is just like. i don’t know. big mood. in the second verse, among some of the song’s other traumatizing stuff … tori sings about getting discovered, for those unfamiliar with her work it’s worth noting that she’s prodigy levels of talented on piano and that breaking into the music business was ridiculously difficult, and so i think victor would empathize with that? (���he said you’re really an ugly girl / but i like the way you play / and i died / but i thanked him / can you believe that sick / holding on to his picture / dressing up every day’) maybe physical appearance isn’t something he’s had a problem with, but he’s certainly been someone people have grafted ideas onto.

that and it’s just. an incredibly stormy sounding song and it sounds to me the way victor’s head must feel on his bad days. also: i knew i was going to be doing a lot of music throwback in those early chapters, and because of his androgyny i really liked the idea of making him into female singer-songwriter types, so out there somewhere in precious things canon is a victor who has a playlist full of tori amos, ani difranco, fiona apple, portishead, etc. all the chapter titles are taken from tori lyrics.

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

christophe in ch. 19 of silver splendour, which i won’t go into a ton of detail here in regards to the circumstances precisely because spoilers, but this is the key dialogue line:

“I have one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Before I do this,” Christophe said, looking up at Viktor, “I want you to ask yourself one question. Tell me now that you believe he’ll be precisely the same person you love, once the wish is made.”

i like it because that scene is such a highlight moment in christophe’s story, how well he knows victor, how much he’s learned about the two main cultures of silver splendour’s world, how self-assured and comfortable he’s become with himself. what’s happening is also a pretty key part of the plot devices that have been set up in all the previous chapters, and it’s christophe’s agency (to choose to make the wish) and victor’s (to choose to ask for it) that will determine the outcome of history there. and finally: it is, of course, the moment where victor has to come to terms with the fact that loving yuuri means loving even the part he hates and wants to avoid, that while he might have spent an awful lot of time manufacturing a mask for himself, it’s not ever something he’d want to push onto yuuri. so. yeah. a lot of work went into getting to that moment and writing it honestly felt like getting to be proud of a friend (chris), like i knew him and we got to low key high-five after / offstage of the fic / celebrating how much of a badass he was in that particular moment. 

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11 Steps Toward A Healthier You

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