#he had music written in his journal on hand and ready to give to the quartet!

[wereshrew-admirer]

thinking about chine as somebody that casually sings to themself often, excited to have a baby for the excuse to make up little songs for it as they travel.

[reqxxyt]

talent i never knew

pairings: charles l. x f!reader

warnings: none just max being adorable :)

masterlist requests are open!

[unedited]

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

I grew up around music. Since I was born, my mother would play music for all to hear but not many paid attention so she kept it to herself and her kids. I learned how to play the guitar when I was 10, writing my own music with small vocals but I never allowed anyone to hear. 

My mom tried to get me into the choir group for high school but I refused and settled for the band group pretending to be a beginner. I started to take piano lessons and I began to fall in love with the instrument, the more I played the more comfortable I got with allowing people to hear, starting with my mom too now my close family at small parties. 

I met Charles in my last semester of college and began as friends before he asked me out and we’ve now been dating for half a year. After all these months, I’ve hidden my musical hobbies trying my best to keep them to myself only allowing myself to hum to music on the radio if listening to any. But now, I would introduce him to the family that will never stop talking about my ‘raw talent’ that is being wasted on pursuing a journalism career. 

“Nervous?” the smooth voice walked over to where I had been getting ready in the bathroom, I glanced at him through the mirror seeing him with a small smile. I only shook my head, wondering if I should bring it up before someone else does but I decided not to. 

“I feel as though I should be asking you that” I teased him and he gave me a kiss on the cheek, 

“A little but it will be fine once I adjust to it” he said before leaving the bathroom to get his shoes. I let out a sigh still debating but I dropped it, maybe this will be a pleasant surprise. 

later

“Mija, it’s been too long” My cheeks were pinched and I only laughed it off before greeting my aunt, not forgetting to introduce Charles. He gave everyone the same introduction with a gentle smile and those who wanted a hug were respectful and followed me inside the house still not spotting my mom. 

I heard a squeal and immediately recognized it as my little sister ran towards us giving me a loose hug before running towards Charles embracing him in the tightest hug I’ve seen her give anyone. I smiled at the sight but remembered why I came in here in the first place. I walked into the kitchen and spotted my mom cutting some cilantro and onion. 

“Hola mami” I greeted and she gave me a small smile as I kissed her cheek. Charles greeted her with a side hug offering to help out but of course she refused. 

“Y/n when are you going to show us your new song” my aunt barged in and I immediately froze into place not daring to glance at Charles but could already feel his confused stare, knowing how his eyebrows would furrow and his eyes would narrow not liking the feeling of being excluded but didn’t say anything. 

“Not finished” I shrugged, finally taking in the courage to look over at Charles. 

“The piano is right over in the living room. Give us a sneak peek” my aunt pleaded, I clenched my jaw ready to refuse before my mom encouraged me practically pushing me to sit on the piano. 

Again, I didn’t dare look at anyone as my hand landed on the keys. Before I heard another encouraging chant from my aunt and mom, I pressed on the first set of keys allowing my hands to roam to their designated places whisper singing the lyrics barely audible to a regular audience but considering the only other people in the room were my mom, aunt, and Charles my vocals shined through the room not allowing a sound to interrupt them. 

I finally finished what I had written and let out a breath feeling my chest tighten before I felt a hand on my shoulder, giving me a tight squeeze and sensing the tension in my body. I looked up and saw his usual smile but with glinted eyes, showing encouragement and support. My shoulders relaxed and I gave him a small smile, feeling safe. 

“That was absolutely gorgeous” my aunt complimented, running to give me a tight hug and having to shove Charles out of the way. I giggled at the compliment feeling heat rush to my face. 

I gave my thanks and the rest of the night was spent eating food while Charles kept asking questions about my musical past. I told him everything, feeling the most comfortable and safe near him. The questions didn’t stop after the party, asking me if we should get a piano and I denied knowing how expensive they can be. 

The piano arrived the following week, already built after a tiring day at work. 

“Charles I can’t possibly accept this,” I said shaking my head knowing inside I wanted to play my heart out, using every key imaginable. 

“It’s too late, there is no return policy,” he said and my jaw dropped. “Kidding, your only price is writing a song dedicated to me” 

“That will be all I will be writing” I mumbled as I sat down pressing the first key, feeling the vibration first before hearing it a millisecond later. My heart twirled and flipped, walking back to Charles giving him the greediest kiss as he deepened it. 

I’ll write the song later. I thought to myself as he lifted me up and walked us to out shared bedroom. 

[beauteousevil]

Recap, thoughts, summary of the show. Spoilers and opinions abound!

to literally set the stage

Billboard (can change depending on song)

Orchestra ____Train lines/scaffolding____Orchestra

● <Vocals on balconies, wearing insect wings> ●●

|small town nowhere\Chicago\NYC\Seears Tower|

^all written on a wall that moves to reveal the field

(I think) show opens with two figures on stage in a sleepy embrace, Henry and Douglas, who share a resemblance to Sufjan Stevens and Evans Richardson. Henry disengages and gets his shoes, jacket, and bag and prepares to leave the freshly awoken Douglas.

From there he journeys alone from NYC to Illinois, we see structures relating to the train lines give way to a field that he makes his way through. Here we see him write in his journal (one of many in the show with different colors and winged insects on them) and he is surrounded by three stars. As he writes the stars intermittently take the forms of:

Carl, Henry's childhood best friend and first love.

Shelby, Henry's childhood best friend and Carl's first love.

Douglas, Henry's first adult love whom he doesn't feel deserving of.

This is where my memory may be failing me because I'm not 100% sure it doesn't start with the stars>sleeping>journey and not sleeping>stars>journey but I forgot to write this down that night so here we are two weeks later and my brain is scrambled

From here we see Henry joined in the field by a community of friends as they make a campfire and share the night together. They try to get him to tell his story but he isn't ready. Instead they take their turns.

First up is Jacksonville. Absolute powerful number that got an applause break before the piece was even finished. Has the primary storyteller, Morgan, sharing the stage in a stunning give and take with a tap dancer. Such a high note for the show I felt bad that the other stories kind of had to pale in comparison. From this point on Morgan drew my attention during any other group piece, they were absolutely magnetic.

Next is Zombies! The best bits of this were the physicality of the dancers to portray the zombies or the running/fighting them off. The zombies are masked and costumed as politicians and business man, telling a really cool story. At one point they literally hold up signs with their names which felt a bit on the nose but can for sure be refined in future versions. The grief/horror/exhaustion of the story teller, Jo Daviess, was really amazing.

Next is John Wayne Gacy, Jr. told by Wayne, a murder balladeer, and as said in the program guide, is about "the damning cycle of exclusion borne of outcasts forced to sympathize with monsters". That I feel is the heart of the performance... and if I hadn't read it before hand I'm not sure it would have come through the dance alone. By the nature of the story there is a grotesque energy with the dancers wearing sailor collars to let us know they're his child victims, and JWG is wearing a clown mask and completely see through tulle (like you can see the seams in the underwear beneath it) vaguely in the shape of a clown costume. There is no sexual element to the movements, they start vaguely playful and become increasingly violent as he picks off his victims. At the end the storyteller is shaken clearly by the "and in my best behavior/ I am really just like him" and needs to be calmed by his friends at the fire.

On the lightest note is the story of The Man of Metropolis by the story teller Clark (of course haha). A fun number with some amazing physicality by Clark who, at least on the opening night, was played by a dancer that was very tall but exuded a lightness and joyous energy in his performance. A bit gimmicky but cute. First he reveals a Superman shirt, then the rest of the dancers do, and they use a picnic blanket to make a cape for him. It felt like the dancing lagged a bit with the singing taking center stage as it went on, which I'm not mad about, the music and vocals were fucking amazing. I'm hoping against hope for a cast recording 🥲

This begins Act II, Henry's story! We see the field drop away to Small Town Middle of Nowhere where the young Henry, Carl, and Shelby play around and dance together. There's a fun bit where they're like balancing on things and jumping around. Henry is drawn to Carl but Carl can't look away from Shelby when she appears. The guys plan a road trip to NYC (Carl spray paints it on to the stage settings board in real time) but Shelby stays behind.

Henry has a run in with Douglas, and kudos to the dancers for portraying that immediate connection, as Carl is on the phone back home. He needs to go back for Shelby but Henry stays to see through his potential with Douglas. It's clear this is the last time Henry ever saw Carl.

Carl goes back and him and Shelby dance to Casimir Pulaski Day. As the song goes on her illness weakens her so Carl supports her more, but in doing so she pushes him away, until eventually she is being pulled into the afterlife. Very moving, the dancer for Shelby was phenomenal in portraying the grief and anger of being betrayed by your own body.

As Carl struggles with the loss we see Henry struggling with his decision to stay. This leads into Palisades where we see his relationship with Douglas flourishing. The beauty of it and the inspiration being pulled from Sufjans love for his own partner brought a lot of the audience to tears, sniffles heard all through the quiet moments. We see Henry getting ghostly glimpses of Carl (memory? spiritual?) as he falls into a depression and self harm. Douglas joins him and they sway and breathe together in a way that has me choking up just thinking of it. Their love was potent as was Henry's doubt that he deserved to be loved.

The spectre of Carl makes himself clear to Henry and passes right by through him at several points. The play by play of this bit is slightly lost to me as to when Henry knows what happens, if he knows before the audience, etc. This brings us to The Seer's Tower. Carl is distraught and is led by a whim, portrayed as a dancer in all black, up to the scaffolding above the stage. One by one, with decreasing time between them, we see dancers in all black go up to Carl, float their hand above his as if connected by an invisible tether, and then fall off the edge of the tower to the back of the stage. There is something so curious and questioning about the way Carl plays the suicidal ideation that felt very real to me and makes the bodies falling chilling. Carl takes his own leap, the stars reappear, and we're back to the beginning of the play

Henry wakes up cradled with Douglas and slips away to his journey. We see his travel again, the campfire, and his friends reacting to the vulnerability of the story he has lived. This time though we also see Douglas has made the trip as well and makes his way through the field to the campfire. The community rejoices in their connection and we get fantastic final dance numbers as a group as well as with Henry and Douglas, with Henry made lighter by having told his story. The final shot is Henry handing a book to the audience.

Opinions! Notes! Things I might forget if I don't make this list!

● Went to the opening night of the Park Ave Armory show, March 7th 2024. Pretty good mix of Sufjan fans and Very Fancy NYC theater people that had come to support the show.

● To match the journals in the show the show program covers are bold covers with a moth or butterfly split by the seam of the book (half on each cover). Different colors/insect versions were laid out on the seats. I got a red one with (I think) a tiger moth.

● The program contains journal entries by Henry written by Jackie Sibblies Drury with some Sufjan lyrics mixed in. The end of the program is blank lined pages.

● The vocalists were above and beyond. Absolutely killed it. Made the songs their own in a way I didn't think possible. I really hope there is an album recording for the show now that it's going to Broadway.

● I can not overstate how amazing the energy of the show is, completely contagious in the room. I know a filmed version is unlikely beyond a bootleg but PLEASE it is so inspiring and I'm not at a place where I can draw a dance from memory. I was itching to sketch the entire time.

● The only bits that took me out of the show even a little were the cheesy kind of heavy handed bits that dragged on. The "now YOU write your story" ending is a bit much but the show earns it so 🤷 I won't say it works for me but I don't mind it.

● I would love to see some different costume choices in the story bits. Either more ramshackle costumes pulled together with the camping equipment or fully realized costumes. Having the founding father zombies both have the full face masks but also just be wearing suit jackets they pulled over their head like Beavis and Butthead is a choice that I don't agree with. I was hoping the move to Broadway might net more attention to costuming, but the turnaround is so quick that I'm doubtful. Not enough to ruin the stories but definitely the weakest aspect in a way that lessened the less powerful stories.

● I really can't overstate how electric and magical the Jacksonville performance was. Much smarter people have captured the vibe and explanation of the original song in regards to the exploration of history and ancestry. I can not put it into words but the feeling was communicated so cleanly.

[nervoushottee]

An Itch I Can’t Scratch

Steve Harrington x Reader [1.9k]

Summary: After their battle in the upside down, Steve was left with memories that he didn’t like to remember.

Warning: Scars, Bruises, the word “Bleeding”.

A/N: HELLO! This is my first ever fanfic and tumblr post. I’ve been reading a lot over here and always wanted to create one of my own but was too scared to do it. But last night I thought, “screw it” and finished this imagine that I had been thinking about for weeks and never had the courage to post. Please note I’ve never ever written a fanfic at all so please be nice as it is my first time and if I continue to do this I will get better!

…………………………………………………………………………

There it was again. That tingling sensation, the itch Steve couldn’t scratch. The constant reminder of what Steve had endured. His body marked forever with memories he’ll never forget.

If he was being honest with himself, he felt the itch this morning. A small tingle, a faint whistle in the wind that he kindly ignored and snuggled up closer to you underneath the morning light.

Within each hour it got worse. His hand hovering over certain spots that tingled like no other. An occasional accidental scratch when he wasn’t paying attention. Scratching made the itching worse. Steve knew that, you knew that.

But Steve didn’t go to you for help until it was unbearable.

It was late now. The night was cold with the sun gone. The hum of the yellow illuminating street light was all that was left for noise. The two of you were at Steve’s, his parents off on another trip that you both never spoke about.

Steve was in the kitchen, you in his bedroom. He could hear the soft sound of the record player from upstairs. It had been a minute or so of him staring at his bowl now. A quick bowl of cereal before he headed up to where you were. The small nudge became more than just something he could ignore. He stopped eating the sugary cereal, metal spoon clanking against the ceramic as he pushed himself up from the chair to go find you. The sensation was unbearable now, making him antsy and his eyebrows furrow.

The house was partially closed for the night. Almost all the lights were turned off downstairs beside the hallway and stove top light.

He walked up the stairs. A grunt and groan leaving his mouth every few steps. The yellow hue of the bedroom lamp illuminated the wall adjacent to it. The soft music getting louder as he got closer to the door. Steve stopped in the door frame, His side slanted against the frame but quickly standing straight from the friction.

Despite the pain he was in, Steve couldn’t help but smile at you. You in white fuzzy socks and his old gym tshirt from years ago. Bonnet over your head, ready for a deep slumber. Humming along to the slow song that played softly from across the room. The said lamp was on the floor where you sat. You were sketching in the journal he got you a while back. A new one since you finished the last journal a few months ago. He could see you were concentrated and it pained him to ruin that but he needed the help.

“Hey sweetheart.”He finally spoke

You instantly perked up at the sound of his voice. A small lazy smile placed on your lips. Steve’s heart could help but swell. Watching you stare at him so pretty.

“Hey Stevie.” You said softly.

You expected a better smile, maybe even a remark about moving his lamp to the floor again but you noticed that his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Placing the pen down and sitting up from your bent position.

“You okay?”

It took Steve a few seconds to actually tell you what was wrong. Debating whether or not to bother you with it. “It’s happening again”. He mutters. So soft and quietly that you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t giving him your undivided attention.

For a split second you would think that maybe he meant something different. For so many years those words, “it’s happening again” could mean that the disastrous monsters that you and your friends risk your lives for where back. But that was only for a split second.

You could tell what he meant. From the way he was standing, from the way he couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke. You smiled softly at him, simply turning to the nightstand in front of you to pull out the cream that helps for these moments. You got up off the carpet floor to walk toward Steve.

Arm stretched, hand out and fingers wiggling out for him to take.

He didn’t hesitate to follow you as you went to the bathroom. Flickering the yellow light on. Placing the cream on the bathroom counter, you turn around to Steve whose eyes were still toward the floor. You rubbed your thumb softly against his forearm in an attempt of comfort. “Arms up love.” You say to him as you let go of his hand.

You grab his yellow crewneck and lifted it up slowly. You could hear him groan when his head was covered by the shirt before you could finally remove it.You could tell it had been bothering him for a while. Certain scars were red and irritated from scratching and the rubbing friction from his top.

Grabbing the cream to go to work, you aimed to apply it to the most rigorous scars. The ones paint pink and red, almost bleeding. You applied the ointment as light as your finger could let you. In certain times you could hear Steve groan and you’d look up to see if he wanted to stop. He simply would shake his head before closing his eyes. You went around his side to get the ones that were almost closer to his back. Prepping a light kiss onto his shoulder in comfort.

Steve never enjoyed this. When the doctor told him that the cuts would scar he didn’t think too much of it at first. He was just happy to be alive, that his friends were okay for the time being. But a week or so went by and the pain started. The doctor saying it’s a phantom pain from whatever he had indured. Of course he couldn’t tell the doctor he was mauled by multidimensional demon bats so he opted for something more believable that could be put in a medical file.

The doctor prescribed him to apply the ointment when needed. And in the beginning he didn’t really need it. Really due to the adrenaline still in his system. The pain tolerance still extremely high from fighting for his life, for his family. But one night when you didn’t stay over, it creeped up on him. Woke him up from his sleep and walked over to the bathroom to apply the ointment in the mirror.

But it hurt Steve to do it. To look at himself in the mirror in such a raw and vulnerable way. His shirt off, in nothing but his boxers. His scars screaming at him from the bathroom mirror. He couldn’t apply the ointment without tearing up.

He felt different and his body looked different.

When he called you that night, you heard his voice strained and shaky. You didn’t live far and despite Steve’s protest of you not coming. Excuses and worries of it being too late or he didn’t want to be a burden brushed passed your mind. You didn’t care, you wanted to help him.

When you finally got there, using your spare key to get into the house. You walked up the stairs in haste. Steve’s door was still closed but you could hear him sigh from the outside. You opened the door softly to see the unmade bed empty. But the sound of sniffling made you turn your head towards the bathroom. “Steve?” You spoke softly.

“In here.” He whispered.

You could hardly hear him as he spoke, his voice still weary like it was on the phone. You lightly pressed on the cracked bathroom door to see Steve. His back turned from the mirror, his arms crossed as his eyes were closed. He turned to see you in grey sweats and a jacket. He had been crying. “I’m sorry you had to come over here.” He said you quietly.

You shushed his apologies away as you walked further into the bathroom. Arms out to comfort him but faltering when Steve tried to step back.

“What’s wrong?”

It took a minute for Steve to tell you. His eyes staring at the yellow painted wall. You let him take his time as your eyes looked around the room and stopped at the tube of cream on the white bathroom counter.

“I can’t do it.” He finally says. Your eyes turning up at the sound of his voice. “It-it hurts too much.”

You knew what he meant. The scars hurt like the doctor said it would. It hurt too much to put the cream on himself. It hurt too much to see himself like this. You nodded your head, but knowing that Steve hadn’t looked at you, you whispered. “Okay.”

You grabbed the tube, unscrewing the cap off and placing back on the counter. You looked over at Steve who was already staring at you.

“Can I help you?” You asked him. His eyes flickering down to the ointment in your hand. His mind going over what he wanted to do. Finally he nodded softly, muttering a groggy “yea”.

With that confirmation you told him to let you know if it was too much before you began to lightly placing the cream on the spots that were bothering him. The two of you didn’t speak. You eyes never meeting his as you just placed the cream where it needed to be while Steve took deep breath.

After a few minutes, your finally finishing up is when you hear sniffling. You look up to see tears running down his cheek. You immediately stop, closing the cap and placing the tube back on the counter. Wiping the leftover cream residue on your jacket. “I’m sorry did I hurt you?” You ask him. He quickly shakes his head, his arms still crossed.

“No, I’m just- I’m just glad you’re here.” He says to you, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

You smile softly to him. Lifting your hands to place on both sides of his cheeks. Wiping the tears that fell as he stares at you. “I‘ll always be here for you. Whenever you need me.” Steve nods at the reminder, his eyes going back down but you stop them. “Hey.” You use your hands to lift his face so his eyes meet yours. “I’m sorry this happened and- and I know there’s probably nothing I can say will change the way you feel right now but I will anyway.” You say to him, rubbing the side of his cheek as more comfort for the both of you.

“I love you, all of you. Nothing, and I mean nothing can change that. And if you don’t feel that way about yourself right now. I’ll just love you more for the both of us until then. Whatever time you need, no matter how long. I will be here for you whenever you need me. Okay?”

And you’ve been helping him ever since. Steve’s mind goes back to the present as you walk back to stand in front of him. Giving his lower stomach a final once over closing the tube and rubbing your hands filled with ointment on your shirt like you’ve been doing from the start.

“All done.” You say to him as you look in his eyes. He’s already staring at you. His mind going over how much he loves you and how he never knew he could ever be this lucky.

You see his eyes were filled with adoration and love already knowing what he was going to say. You spoke up before he did.

“I know.” You say to him with a genuine smile, leaning up to peck the corner of his mouth as you walk out the bathroom.

Yea. Steve didn’t know what he did to deserve you.

[justjams2003]

Blossoms-11

Pairing: Erik Destler x OFC (Mariposa Claremont)

Summary: A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Warnings: Haircutting? Kidnapping? Mentions of sexual themes, angst, and fluff too. Tell me if I miss anything

Word count: 2,2k

Masterlist

Part 10~Part 12(coming soon)

Dividers: @yaynowimglad @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

The sight is absolutely glorious. Erik paddled me through a cave entrance, through a large steel gate. That’s not the part that amazes me.  Huge archways built of stone, steps leading up to the beautiful sight of hundreds of candles. In the middle is a huge organ. It’s scattered with papers and melted wax and yet still its huge sight takes my breath away.  

More than that, I can see several tunnels leading into the depths that I know nothing about. The sight makes my mind itch and flow with a million story ideas. My mind feels full. Erik steps out of the boat and holds out his hand for me to take. There is no other option in my mind, I need to know more of him and his home.  

The tunnels, the caves, the music sheets and instruments are incredible bit what he showed me next is truly the pinnacle of it all. A huge library, a collection of every opera, musical and ballet ever written. Not only that but a collection of every piece of classical, fantastical and biography books ever written. The most comfortable seat too in the middle.  

A gasp escapes my lips, and I can’t seem to control my body. I jump up the stairs, looking in and out each tunnel. “This place is so fantastical!” The words fly from my mouth and the need to read each book aches in my body. Erik seems to truly smile, similar to that day in the woods. “I am glad you enjoy it.” He says, watching as my eyes scan the cave.  

“This is where I stay. This is where I write. This is where I create. I do welcome you to use this space in a similar manner.” He motions for his space, he seems almost shy to ask. A joy rises once more in my stomach, the thought of getting to spend so much more time in such an inspirational area brings bubbles in my stomach.  

Like so many times before, my body reacts before I have control. I jump down from the stairs, placing my trust in my prince. And without even hesitating, he catches me and spins me around. “Oh thank you, thank you!” I call out, and like each time that I am held by the opera ghost, my writing merges into real life.  

When he lefts my feet touch the floor, my prince tucks a piece of, now short hair that has gone astray, behind my ear. “Oh course, my Clemintine. I’d give you the world if you asked me.” He says, quoting the song I had sung earlier on the river. An uncontrollable smirk creeps onto my face.   

“Can I start now? Do you mind?” I ask, needing to get a full month of ideas out of my mind and onto paper. He nods, “Yes, yes of course. I too, am ready to create.” And with that I made myself comfortable on the big chair. Surrounded by books and the person who’s gaze makes me feel safe, the words flowed without much control.  

I don’t think she knows. I don’t think she knows how much her touch makes me grow hot. I don’t think she knows how much her smile erases the darkness. I don’t think she knows how much how much I love her. I don’t think I know how much I love her. Is it comprehensible? Is our love able to be put into music notes or words on paper?  

I am interrupted from my composing my light, airy snores coming from the beautiful blonde-haired girl. The sight is truly majestic. The journal she’d been writing in lays on the floor next to her ink and quill. In her lap is the score for, The Fairy-Queen. The candles glow around her, causing a slight halo around her sleeping form.  

I scatter for my paper and charcoal; I must capture her. My scraps and scribbles seem like child’s drawings next to her beautiful form. I am not sure how long I’d been trying to draw her, but I’m interrupted by a groan. Mariposa mumbles something in her sleep before turning to her other side. Curling into a small ball.  

A pang of guilt hits me. I’d let her sleep in that uncomfortable position for who knows how long. Her delicate form might wake with bruises and a crooked neck. I drop everything, and carefully pick her up. I so gently place her down on the bed. I feel so grateful just to be allowed to touch her. Much less tuck her in to my own bed.  

I hope she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t care about the music; she cares about the story it tells, like me. That is the exact and precise difference between her and Christine. Christine misses her father, and that is why she sings. The curly haired girl only cares for music because of the connection it holds to her father.  

But my Mariposa is so engrossed in music purely to share it. To transport people, somewhere the daily struggles don’t have to bother you. Where you can float away. Even as she sleeps, her beauty tells a story of someone who is wild and free. Of someone who doesn’t care what people expect of her and only longs for adventure.  

The music notes flow before I can even consider waking her.  

I’ve been watching him for at least half an hour now. He hasn’t realised. I quite enjoy it, seeing the furrow in his brow and the way he would almost growl in frustration. Not only that, but the music notes he are playing seem to somehow show exactly how she feels.  

He’s been stuck on the same line for about 10 minutes now. I know exactly how to fix his frustration, but I enjoy seeing him try to wrangle the notes. Until, finally, when he throws the sheet music from the piano, I cave. His back is turned to me, he’s heaving in anger.  

My steps are softer than a mouse, and my touch much the same. The moment my fingers land on his shoulders, the tension he carries melt away in a moment. “You’re awake.” He whips around, his eyes once again filled with guilt but his touch is soft on my waist. My heart thumps in my ears.  

I nod, “Long enough to know exactly what is wrong with your piece.” I smile at him, moving away in order to hear my own thoughts. Also, of course, to pick up the sheet music. He furrows his brows, but doesn’t say anything. I see it now, “Here, after the G7 there needs to be a hard shift in the tones. Here, I’ll add the next few notes and lyrics too.”  

I take the pencil from his hand and sit down on his piano chair. It takes me less that 5 minutes, I’d thinking about it this whole time. My prince sits down next to me, again my heart pounds, our thighs touch and creates a similar heat to my cheeks. I do hope I’m not too pink right now.  

He takes the paper from me, once I’m finished. “My Clementine, this is perfect. You can read the sheet music?” He ask, his brows furrow at me. I can’t help but giggle. Even he too underestimates me. “Yes, of course I had to learn behind my parent’s back and there are still somethings I cannot understand.”  

Erik seems to be amazed and this time I cover up my face. “Why do you hide yourself?” He takes my hands into his own. “I don’t like it when you look at me like that.” I mumble, it’s true, no one has ever before made me blush like this. I do allow myself to show emotions, but I can control if need be. Not with him, he makes me blush.  

“Like what?” He seems so innocent to his wonderous look. “You look at me how I look at the wildflowers. How I look at the snow falling and the butterflies emerging. How I look at blooming flowers and a freshly pealed tangerine. You look at me how I feel when I listen to the plays. You look at me how I look at you.” Why am I saying all this?  

No control, nothing! I’m blabbering on about my likeness to the man in front of me. I’ve known him six month yes, but I haven’t seen him the full six months. Not to mention I’ve invited myself into his house, and slept in his bed! The realisation hits me. A gasp escapes my mouth. “Oh, if my mother is going to be so ashamed of me!” 

I pull my hands from his own, my hand on my chest as my heart just seems to not slow down! My breath is short. “I must apologise, Monsieur, how very unladylike of me.” I fan the blush from my face, pacing up and down as I realise where I am, what I’m doing and I’ve just said.  

“I must tell you, my mother did not raise me like this. No matter how hard she tried, she meant to raise a proper lady. If she heard me now she’d never let me house again.” A faint laugh escapes me. The composer rises from his seat, and grabs my hands.  

Then, his no longer gloved hand, raises my chin to look into those beautiful green-brown eyes of his. “My dear, you are a writer, and an adventurer, a dreamer. I might not have known you when you were a young girl, but I know you now. I do know that calling you a lady, would be an insult to your magnificence.” Again I blush but this time I cannot hide my face.  

My hand does free itself from his, however and lands on the masked side of his face. “Would you allow me to dream? Would you allow me to dream of your love, of our life, for us to have a future even if it might not last as long as we’d like?” My other hand moves like dust in the air and carefully lands on his other side.  

The tear that rolls from his cheek is swept away by my thumb. His hands find my waist and pulls me so close to his body. His face in the crook of his neck, the collar of my neck is wet with his tears. A frown forms on my face, but I comply and pull him closer.  

“Why do you cry? Did I say something wrong? Do you not want to be my lover?” It hurts to think but I must know. And yet he his sobs only grow stronger. He’s a big man standing at much taller than 180cm with well-built muscle, I, however, am not. I pull him over to sit down on the piano chair.  

Must I leave? Have I offended him? Was he scared that I would take his mask off? “I...I’ll easily leave if that is what you wish.” I mutter out, not entirely sure how to leave this place, but I’ll figure it out if it makes him happy. He removes his latch on my body, “No! Please....”  

My heart jumps again, “You want me to stay?” I furrow my brows, I feel like my emotions have been thrown around. “I do not deserve you. You deserve more. A future with me is a future with a monster. A future filled with darkness, evading the light and the sight of others. You, my Clemintine, should be allowed to explore the world, bloom as the flower you are.”  

That hurts more than him just not wanting me. His confidence so low that he believes it matters what he thinks of himself? “Okay then,” if he believes that he is so terrible that I could never possible be happy with him, then I’ll believe him. “If you believe it to be true, it must be so.”  

I stand up from the stool and go down the steps. I grab my journal, which I always carry with me, and walk further down the steps. “I should listen to my mother, right? Get married to Count Carson and sit and sew all day while I pop out one baby after the other. Is that how you would also want it?” I stand in front of one of the tunnel entrances.  

I turn to face him, hoping just maybe he’ll change his mind. “You say you’re a monster, then I’ll treat you like one. I’ll leave you here, I’ll go back to London, I’ll stop writing and live the life my mom wants. Because that’s what you think I deserve.” I stand firm, it might be similar to a child’s fit, but honestly I feel like crying like one too.  

He stands at the top of the stairs. His mouth stands agape, and his fists are clenched by his sides. And yet, he is like a stone pillar. “Nothing?” Tears escape me, I wipe it off as best as I can. He goes to defend himself but I hold my hand up. “If your next words aren’t, I’m sorry and I am enough, I don’t want to hear it.” His tears continue to flow. 

“I’ve learned from previous experiences that I can’t make someone love themselves. And if someone doesn’t have the capacity to love themselves, how can they ever find it in themselves to love me.” Now I cry even more, remembering previous loves in my full 18 years of life who have shattered my heart because I let them.

[azures-grace]

i give you two options

a. the entire list of questions

or

b. 2, 5, 14, 20

Challenge MCFUCKING accepted

Questions at the end

1. 4 published, but technically I worked on The Shadow of the Wicked but didn't publish anything for it.

2. One shots!

3. Fallout lmaoo

4. 2, Skyrim and Fallout, 3 if you wanna get technical and say My Father's Name is FNV and Too Much has Fallen in Mine is Fo3

5. Butchicity.... Goober n Gore......

6. Butch DeLoria and Moira Brown

7. Yeah! Started writing for Fallout, and the new ships would be Moira and Lissy and Butch and Lissy but that technically hasn't actually come up in any writing yet. There's stuff I've been writing for it tho.... But for later.....

8. TMHFIM, it was really special to me because it was like... The first thing I was able to write after being really depressed for a long ass time. God bless antidepressants.

9. Ooh... Hard question. I was really happy to work on all of them, but I think Let me hold you until I soften your hands made me the happiest because it's just. Pure fluff.

10. One of the oneshots, I'm a whore for unfinished long fics nshdjejdbd

11. Uncanny Blood, mostly because I wanted to work on later parts a lot and had to figure out travel times and then had to write a whole extra chapter even though technically I had 2 chapters after it written, so currently the fic is at a standstill because I have to write chapter 3, even though I have 4 and 5 ready to go 😔😔😔

12. None of them lmaoo. My Father's Name, probably. I know the beginning of New Vegas pretty well.

13. Shortest: My Father's Name, Longest: TMHFIM

14. Depends on when in the year I was? I've got a couple character playlists n stuff sorry for the terrible answer lmao djsjjzbd

15. TMHFIM, I was stuck between several titles, but I'm using at least one of them for a later chapter, so all is well.

16. Let me hold you until I soften your hands. Makes me emotional

17. "Evenings by the fire were always their favorite part of the evening." Or "Her father had been… distant lately." I feel like both of those set up the tone of the story pretty well. And I giggle at the sentence mistake in the first

18. Well. I've only got two of those. But it's " “I think I'd like that, blood.” " which makes more sense in context. I'm gonna go cry about it now.

19. Eheheheh my favorite part. I have 2

“Hey,” Amkar said lightly. “Even if there's no real information here, at least it's very pretty to look at. Those Nords sure were on to something…”

“Weird to hear that from a Thalmor soldier,” she pointed out, pulling out her journal and beginning to sketch the crarvings.

“Just because I'm a racist doesn't mean I can't enjoy art,” he said.

She took a long pause trying to figure out if he was being serious or not. “Are you joking?”

And

“Hey!” a voice shouted from above.

She looked up, shading her eyes with her good arm. “Hi?”

“Are you a raider?” the voice called down.

“What's a raider?” Felicity asked, flabbergasted.

“Sherrif! You should get over here, there's some weird girl covered in blood at the gate!”

20.

“Oh? Family? You're not some deranged lunatic who spawned into Tamriel with a poor haircut and a strangely lovely taste in music?” Caryalind had pushed himself up onto his elbows to look at her.

21. I don't think so...? I think what surprised me most is how terribly Bethesda's characters in Skyrim are developed, I guess? At least for the minor ones and the general factions. Too many bandits. So I gave them personalities.

22. Google docs 😔

23. Felicity punching Moriarty, no question about it.

24. Nope

25. I didn't, I guess? Just... Fell into a writer's block and then came back months later.

26. Looooots of fanart, my azure arted tag has almost all of it.

27. None in the fanfic world, but I had 2 art trades this year and that was fun! I'd love to do more in the future.

28. My friends who listened to me ramble about my characters :]]

29. Finish up Chapter 6 of TMHFIM!

30. Oughg more TMHFIM and maybe a New Vegas fic or prequel that covers Celeste? Those would be fun...

[forest-falcon]

WIP Wednesday

Given that Virgil is into music and art, I thought, why not writing? I have a fair bit more written for this fic but I'm still tweaking it. Anyway, a bit of FishTank for WIP Wednesday!

Night Shift 

An alarm sounded and Gordon Tracy woke, ready for duty. Thankfully, it wasn't the piercing IR alert designed to wake even the likes of Virgil; so he stretched, kicked off his covers, then lay back, allowing himself a moment or two to appreciate his diverse collection of tropical fish, despite the ungodly hour. Most of his diurnal species had chosen to tuck themselves away into various crevices within the coral. He envied their option to rest as he forced himself out of bed and grabbed the nearest clothes to hand. 

The aquanaut followed his feet towards the comms room; his brain slow to shake the dregs of sleep. A warm breeze greeted him as he entered. 

Damn, does Scott never sleep?  

He looked to his Father's desk, but found it empty so scanned the balcony and spotted Virgil scribbling away. Grabbing a bowl of cereal, he headed over to join the brother who should have long been in bed. 

"What are you drawing?"

"Not drawing. Writing...well, trying to." 

Gordon attempted to read the room...balcony. Virgil didn't seem to mind his intrusion, so he perched on the neighbouring lounger and took another bite of his cereal.

"I thought you were an artist?"

"Can't I be both?" 

Virgil's baritone was mumbled out from around a pencil held between his lips. If Grandma could see them now, she'd clout the pair of them.

"Besides, I wouldn't really call myself an artist. I dabble..." His older brother shrugged.

"Don't you sell your art to studios for like four figures?"

"Sometimes five."

"Wow, imposter syndrome much?"

Virgil snorted.

"Who made you my therapist?"

"Just calling it as I see it bro. You should give yourself more credit."

He was rewarded with one of his brother's heartwarming smiles.

"Thanks." 

Virgil returned to silently re-reading one of his pages for possibly the fifth time in as many minutes. The paper was littered with arrows leading to hastily scribbled notes and no shortage of question marks. The engineer made a couple of sharp intakes of breath, as if calculating possible additions to his plot, before letting out a long exhale in defeat. The dog-eared journal, discarded in disgust, fell open at the floor. Gordon was quick to scoop it up.

"Don't!" A wall of muscle scrambled off the chair.

It was a weird combination to see something so big and powerful so...vulnerable? His brother gave the impression of a startled horse ready to turn and bolt.

"Aren't stories meant to be read?"

"It's not finished yet."

"I don't mind."

"Yeah but I'm not sure I want anyone I know reading it."

"Why, is it about us?"

"No."

"Then why?"

Gordon wasn't entirely sure why he was pushing his brother on this. Virgil's art was exquisite, so a part of him was genuinely curious to know what new masterpiece his brother had created. Another part of him almost felt the need for his brother to trust him. They put their lives in each other's hands on a regular basis. Why would Virgil not trust him with this?

"I...don't know." The engineer in Virgil always liked to give people a proper answer to any queries, but his brain denied him any real reason not to share his work, maybe other than the quiet fear of being judged. But Gordon wasn't like that. His brother had an arsenal of practical jokes, but they were matched by just as many compliments.

"Isn't your art 'n' music the same sorta thing though?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

A shrug.

"Somehow, it doesn't feel the same. I can't explain why. I guess...I'm new to writing. I'm used to you guys hearing me play."

Gordon smiled. Trust had to be earned and he had no intention of pressuring his wingman to dive beyond his comfort zone.

"Fair enough. I won't pry. You have your secrets and I have mine."

"What secrets?"

Truth be told, he didn't have any, but it was fun to keep his brother guessing, so he gave an impish grin, and wiggled his eyebrows for good measure. "Wouldn't you like to know?" 

"Fine." Virgil shrugged with a smile.

Gordon shoveled another spoonful. "Doesn't look like much fun though. Looks like you've more variables to solve in that little journal of yours than Brains tackles in his lab."

"Meh, the characters keep taking charge of the story and it derails my plot."

"Virgil?"

"What?"

"They're. Not. Real." He whispered emphatically.

"That's what I keep telling them."

"Dude..." Gordon shook his head with mock disbelief.

Virgil ignored him, but continued to erode the end of his pencil with his teeth. 

"You know you'll be blaming Brains for how those look in a few days. Why don't you take a break? Sleep. You'll be fresher in the morning."

"Can't sleep."

"Peru?"

"All of it."

There was a pause.

Virgil's shoulders slumped, his eyebrows knitting in a way that darkened his already silhouetted features. "It's never... about the one bad rescue though, is it? ...They're just the catalyst to unleash the rest of the sh*tty iceberg we keep trying to bury below the surface." 

"Just as well you have the most talented and by far the most handsome aquanaut here to come 'n' pick you up! I'll have you know that navigating treacherous seas is kinda my speciality."

[and-then-there-were-n0ne]

For more than 70 years, a slender volume written by a dockworker who died in 1983 has been handed around by presidents, would-be presidents, journalists, students, and more as a guide—decade after decade—to epochal and baffling events. 

Published in 1951 in the shadow of World War II and the rise of the Soviet Union, Eric Hoffer’s The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements became one of President Dwight Eisenhower’s favorite books. As the former Supreme Allied Commander of European forces during World War II, Eisenhower saw firsthand the rise of mass movements and how they turn destructive. During one of the nation’s first televised presidential press conferences, he cited the book, turning it into a bestseller. 

Hoffer, often called “the longshoreman philosopher,” was admired across the political aisle. In 1967 he was an overnight guest of President Lyndon Johnson at the White House. In 1983, President Ronald Reagan awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

Years after Hoffer’s death, his book was rushed back into print and sold briskly when, in the new millennium, people turned to The True Believer to explain the attacks of 9/11. Decades before the terrorists commandeered the planes, Hoffer wrote: 

All the true believers of our time declaimed volubly. . . on the decadence of the Western democracies. The burden of their talk is that in the democracies people are too soft, too pleasure-loving, and too selfish to die for a nation, a God, or a holy cause. This lack of a readiness to die, we are told, is indicative of an inner rot—a moral and biological decay.

Since then, journalists have cited the book as a source to explain both the creation of the Tea Party on the right and the Occupy Wall Street movement on the left. 

In 2016, presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, to better understand her opponent Donald Trump and his followers, read what she later wrote was Hoffer’s “exploration of the psychology behind fanaticism and mass movements, and I shared it with my senior staff.”

For readers today, Hoffer’s descriptions of the nature of these movements and the people who join them are timelier and more trenchant than ever. The book—the paperback edition is fewer than 170 pages—is divided into 125 “chapters” ranging from a few sentences to several pages. These are mostly epigrammatic observations that build into a portrait of the personalities and forces that create mass movements.

As The Wall Street Journal wrote: “If you want concise insights into what drives the mind of the fanatic and the dynamics of a mass movement at their most primal level, may I suggest an evening with Eric Hoffer.”

I first learned of The True Believer in the summer of 2020. I was out of the U.S. getting my PhD in psychology at the University of Cambridge. I had already begun publishing my own social observations, which led to an interview with a Dutch media outlet on cancel culture. The interview was posted and got a lot of views, which prompted the head of the outlet to take it down because he felt I was too sympathetic to the canceled.

I wrote a piece in Quillette on the irony of being canceled for expressing my thoughts on the canceled, and noted, “The U.S. used to export Coca-Cola, television shows, and music. Today, we export outrage, deplatforming, and social mobbing.”

A fellow student in my program saw the piece and told me I had to read The True Believer. I did, and like Eisenhower, it quickly became one of my favorite books. There were passages—published in 1951!—that seemed to describe how the rise of intellectual and social orthodoxy on campus, and across a growing number of institutions, stifles debate and free expression. More than that, Hoffer captured how in the age of smartphones and social media, people fear the consequences of uttering a single wrong word. He wrote:

[I]n a mass movement, the air is heavy-laden with suspicion. There is prying and spying, tense watching, and a tense awareness of being watched. The surprising thing is that this pathological mistrust within the ranks leads not to dissension but to strict conformity. Knowing themselves continually watched, the faithful strive to escape suspicion by adhering zealously to prescribed behavior and opinion. Strict orthodoxy is as much the result of mutual suspicion as of ardent faith. 

[...] Hoffer also described how language gets enlisted as a marker of who really is a true believer:

Simple words are made pregnant with meaning and made to look like symbols in a secret message. There is thus an illiterate air about the most literate true believer. He seems to use words as if he were ignorant of their true meaning. Hence, too, his taste for quibbling, hair-splitting, and scholastic tortuousness.

I wonder what Hoffer would make of a world in which some words are so pregnant with meaning that the phrase “pregnant women” has become verboten. […]

One of the key and enduring insights of The True Believer is that frustration is the fuel of mass movements. Frustration, though, doesn’t arise solely from bleak material conditions. Hoffer argued, “Our frustration is greater when we have much and want more than when we have nothing and want some.”

He points out in the years leading up to both the French and Russian Revolutions, life had in fact been gradually improving for the masses. He concludes, “The intensity of discontent seems to be in inverse proportion to the distance from the object fervently desired.” […]

In a passage in The True Believer that is reminiscent of today’s idea of the “horseshoe theory”—that is, political extremes have more in common with one another than with moderates—Hoffer wrote, “When people are ripe for a mass movement, they are usually ripe for any movement. . . . In pre–Hitlerian Germany, it was often a toss-up whether a restless youth would join the Communists or the Nazis.” One of his most famous aphorisms is this:

“Hatred is the most accessible and comprehensive of all unifying agents. . . . Mass movements can rise and spread without belief in a god, but never without belief in a devil.”

[articskele]

SPEAKING of playlist analysis! Here is my Meta Knight playlist, my favoritest playlist, my pride and joy-

Plus all of the explanations and meanings and stuff under the cut, in case you wanna go in blind first ouo!!

This Will Be The Day: This is Meta Knight joining the GSA and meeting Jecra and Garlude and stuff! He's young and reckless and doesn't yet realize just how serious and dire the war is- So this song is a pure representation of Meta’s current outlook! This is an adventure, a challenge, a revolution, an epic anime fight scene just waiting to happen! And the mention of fairytales and legends refers to Arthur and the knights (Falspar, Dragato, and Nonsurat) and how Meta idolizes them!

Eleanor Rigby (feat. Dream Jumpscare): OHOHOHOHO THIS ONE- And here the bright outlook is shattered as the reality of war sets in!! This one has the most animatic ideas bouncing around- Basically Jecra’s been missing for weeks but he comes back possessed, ambushing a GSA camp in the middle of the night and Meta’s forced to kill him-

AAAAAUGHH THESE LINES THIS IS JECRA AND META KNIGHT IT’S LITERALLY THEM- THE GSA NEVER HELD A FUNERAL FOR JECRA BC HE WAS POSSESSED AND THERE WAS THIS UNSPOKEN WARINESS ABOUT IT- SO META HAD TO DIG HIS GRAVE AND OUGHHHHH AGONIES

And that part at the end where the music slowly builds up is Meta alone on a rocky ledge (the whole thing takes place in like a mesa desert) looking through a journal with photos of him and Jecra- Tears fall onto the pages and it just cuts to him with his mask off just crying as the sun rises over the horizon-

Experience: The fall of the GSA. It becomes more and more obvious that this is a fight they just can’t win. Meta’s forced to watch as ships crash and troops are obliterated around him. Just utter destruction as the few survivors left are scattered across the galaxy. It’s over… What do we do now?

Hush: The start of Meta’s crew, and maybe also his plans to take over Dreamland? Super intimidating, almost secret society vibes as the group grows and they begin construction of the Halberd. This one reminds me of Smash Bros Meta Knight’s almost regal aesthetic with the frilled cape and the detailed armor- I imagine the ending is the crew taking in a young Sailor Dee, like they’re trying to be comforting but it just comes off as menacing lol-

Settle It With a Swordfight: Tonal whiplash time! The other side of Meta's crew and a representation of Revenge of Meta Knight!! Note the more energetic electronic vibe and the guitar, as a callback to the first song and representing Meta’s readiness for a challenge!

Take Off: Meta learning to Chill Out after Revenge of MK, just being with his crew bc the Knightmares are a FAMILY and they LIVE ON THE HALBERD together and they do KARAOKE ON FRIDAYS

Awoken: META KNIGHT IN PLANET ROBOBOT- Both the effects of getting cyborg-ified and all of the guilt and angst involved, and breaking out of it through sheer willpower and Kirby's help! It's very electronic but there's no guitar, like trying to emulate Meta Knight's power but it's noticeably forced and artificial

Pain: OK I KNOW THIS IS LIKE. THE EDGY SONG EVER. But the way I saw it, it represents Meta Knight's will to fight and struggle and improve and keep going and live! There's the full on heavy guitar this time, just the very essence of those burning feelings!! I imagine the "take my hand" parts are him in the New World saving a Waddle Dee from an abandoned building full of beasts

Sword of the Surviving Guardian: Ok this theme was just too much of a bop not to include- But it also shows just how far Meta Knight’s come! As a warrior, as a friend, as a legend. This is a testament to his growth and a toast to his future!

Legends Never Die: OK I ALWAYS IMAGINE THIS SONG IN 3 PARTS FOR EACH CHORUS AND EACH GENERATION; Arthur and his knights (plus Galacta Knight), Meta Knight, and Kirby with the Ultra Sword- OUGHHH it’s so cool and gives me chills every time- Legacies written in the stars and the immortal call of heroism, to protect and persevere and stand up for what’s right

AND THAT'S IT :D The autism was STRONG when I made this as you can probably tell lmao- But for real, I'm extremely proud of this! It tells Meta Knight's story through the music, every song plays a role, I even took the instruments into account, it's great ouo!!

[inevitablemoment]

who hogs the duvet I feel like this applies to both Jamie and Vicky. They both grew up in northern states (Pennsylvania and Massachusetts), so they're not just used to it freezing at night, they LOVE it. Even during the winter, they turn up the A/C and burrow themselves under the bedspread.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going After their daughters, Olivia and Lily, were born and Jamie has earned enough in royalties for his novels that he can stay home with the girls, Vicky usually calls him during her lunchtime to check in. They tell stories about their day so far, talk about dinner plans, etc.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts Jamie. I mean, he's a writer. It's in his nature to be creative.

who gets up first in the morning Jamie. He jots down whatever ideas came to him during the night, makes breakfast and coffee, and gently wakes Vicky up (she's not NOT a morning person, but she's slow to waking up)

who suggests new things in bed Vicky. Despite Jamie being married first, his sex with Amanda was very vanilla, so he wasn't as experienced as she expected him to be.

who cries at movies Both.

who gives unprompted massagesWell, Jamie usually rubs Vicky's back after she's had a bad day, but she loves to massage him when he's been hunched over his desk writing for a long time.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick Oh, they both mother-hen over each other. Vicky deals with some pretty rough morning sickness during all of her pregnancies, and Jamie refuses to leave her side unless he has to get something for her.

who gets jealous easiest Vicky is a little insecure considering that Jamie's ex-wife was a model, but Jamie is always quick to reassure her that he loves her and only her. Jamie is a little prone to jealousy whenever one of Vicky's students flirt with her, but she always smartly turns them away.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music Jamie.

who collects something unusual Jamie has an arsenal of notebooks and journals that he hasn't written in at all. Vicky is almost afraid that it's replaced his other addictions.

who takes the longest to get ready Neither of them are fussy when it comes to looks.

who is the most tidy and organised Vicky.

who gets most excited about the holidays Jamie. Vicky, on the other hand, associated Christmas more with her mother's holiday parties and family drama until she met Jamie. Now, she looks forward to the holidays.

who is the big spoon/little spoon They trade off equally, depending on how their days are going.

who suggests that they buy a pet Vicky already has a cat, Betty, by the time she and Jamie meet.

what tv shows they watch together They love Little House on the Prairie, The X-Files, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Murphy Brown, Full House, Who's The Boss?, Beauty and the Beast, and Twin Peaks.

[aleburton]

As Zach’s laughter filled the room, Alex found herself momentarily consumed by the sound. It drowned out the repetitive guitar strokes, the steady pulse of the drum, and the colorful lyrics he had woven together in her honor. In that moment, it was all she could focus on. The end of their relationship had been plagued by their incessant need to argue, their stubborn refusal to see eye to eye, and their firm commitment to misunderstanding one another. It had been a painful and gruesome ordeal, leaving little room for anything but bitterness and resentment. Amidst the chaos and the heartache, however, there had once been a simple love between them — a love that had been content and uncomplicated. It was just difficult to sustain. When she considered why she had endured it for as long as she had, she supposed it was because she clung to the belief that they would learn to. But as time wore on and the challenges persisted, Alex grew weary. She had a heart that yearned not only to give love but to receive it in return, and she felt neglected as Zach quietly navigated through his own struggles. It may have seemed selfish, but she struggled to find her place in his world. What was her purpose, she wondered, other than to be there at his beck and call? When the women he rotated in and out of his hotel rooms were not enough to fulfil his emotional needs? While she was allowed to entertain the attention of other men, there was an unspoken understanding that none could ever threaten the place he held in her heart, a place that had been reserved for him, and him alone, whenever he was ready to claim it. In many ways, Alex felt stuck in purgatory, a limbo of her own making, trapped between her desire for something more and her unwillingness to let go of what they once had. The drama and tension that had defined their relationship had overshadowed the positive memories they had shared, and she had forgotten what it was like to see him happy, blissful, and truly at peace.

Despite the intensity of the emotions stirred by the song Zach had written, Alex knew better than to take its content too seriously. If she had been blessed with any sort of musical ability, she was certain she would have responded in much the same way, using creativity as a means of expression and release. In her own way, she had. While she may not have been responsible for composing music, Alex had found her own form of artistic expression through dance. Through movement, she communicated stories and emotions, reflecting the intensity of the music in her choreography. It was a medium through which she could convey her innermost feelings, whether it be through the delicate strains of Clair de Lune bringing her to tears or the fierce energy of a Heels Class inspiring a more biting choreography. She understood precisely how cathartic it could be, but she never imagined she would find herself confronted with such raw emotion firsthand, and in his presence no less. Zach deftly caught the pillow Alex flung across the room and returned it with equal ease, the soft thud as it landed back on the couch cushions punctuating their playful exchange. Alex shook her head, still in playful disbelief at the notion that Zach would write something like that about her, a sentiment that seemed reminiscent of an angsty teenager scribbling inside his journal. As Alex called out to the device in the room, she was surprised to hear it respond, her eyes widening with delight as the music began to play. “I had no idea he even had one of those in here,” she defended herself, a hint of amusement in her tone. The music played at a healthy volume, reverberating through the speakers and enveloping the room in its melodic embrace. For a moment, Alex was transported back to the first time she had ever heard the song. Back then, she had been less than thrilled by its lyrics. The evening had left her with a bruised hand, a bruised heart, and a panic attack that she had to be awkwardly coaxed out of.

Now, they could laugh about it. Zach joined in singing along to the disparaging lyrics, fully embracing the mockery of the song as he rose to his feet. Alex shook her head in amazement at his unshakeable demeanor, marveling at how little seemed to faze him. Each jab from the song seemed to roll off his back effortlessly, as if he were impervious to the sting of its words. “Really?” Alex taunted him, watching him begin to sway to the rhythm of the music, gradually drawing closer with each step. Despite her best efforts to stifle her giggles, she found herself unable to resist, her full lips pressing together in a failed attempt to contain it. Before she could object, Zach outstretched his hand, a silent invitation for her to join him. Alex allowed herself to be lifted from the comforts of the couch, her laughter bubbling up as he twirled her gracefully in time with the music. She sunk into his embrace, his arm wrapping around her waist with a sense of familiarity that felt both comforting and unsettling at the same time. She felt entranced, pressing her chest gently against his. Her fingers curled around his inked forearms in effort to maintain her balance, and as her gaze met his, it languidly floated toward his lips. A soft smile played at the corners of her mouth as she stood there, suspended in the moment, her heart racing in tandem with his. She then reluctantly forced herself to let go, her hands smoothing over his forearms to his wrists before she released him entirely. “Who would have thought that all this time later, we’d be here..” she mused in a hushed tone. Her inclination to lighten the mood and cut through the tension overcame her, “Listening to Lola Fonseca willingly, together. I guess we have grown up a bit, hm?”

Zach bit his lip, grinning over at Alex, a swell building within him as it dawned on him they were having fun. And it was allowed. Yes, perhaps they cheated a little, lied a little more, to get there, but it was allowed. Of all the things about her he’d afforded himself to miss, genuinely indulging in the joy of one another’s company was one he simply hadn’t ever touched. It was just too painful to do; the kind of reminiscing that could kill him. He lingered instead on their untouchably wrought sex life, the passion of their disagreements, the unbelievable wound jealousy had left in him and how that must equate, somehow, to a great love. But it came down to moments like these, really. The thing that welded them together and kept them solid through the hardship had not been their intensity but their quiet, private, shared intimacies. The making her laugh until she wiped eyeliner-washed tears from her doll eyes. Trying to make her stay up as late as he did, watching a movie, only for her to fall asleep on his chest. Driving home late at night and talking shit about everyone they’d suffered through all evening. Now that she was returned to him, in a more ethically delicate manner than he would’ve liked, it didn’t feel so terrifying to ruminate on those old pleasures. It didn’t hurt as much to admit how rabidly he’d missed them now that he had an ounce of them back. “Excellent point,” he laughed, shaking his head. “But it doesn’t fit perfect anymore; I can’t imagine Matthew has a bad word to say about old pal Dupree.” His tongue clicked. “Unfortunately, Alice is set in stone.”

He skated around Kylie somewhat, cognizant that lingering on their respective partners too long might burst this perfect, fickle bubble they’d inflated. He wasn’t sure if this made him a bad person or not; was being more protective over his hung-in-the-balance relationship with Alex than his actual relationship a damning offense? It was only when he left the intoxicating perfume of her presence did clarity sear him open, shining a light upon what he had done. What he was actively doing. Though Zach was yet to admit it to himself, it would become clear eventually that he was attempting to wean his way back into Alex’s protected heart; plant seeds there, nurture them, watch them grow until there was no longer space for Andrew. If it didn’t work, at least his self-denial would leave him the option of claiming ignorance. Avoiding these topics left him only with his songs to divert attention, and appease her wishes. Zach’s mindset back then, making the song he was to play her, seemed laughable to him now. His anger was stereotypical, childish, but fatal if unexorcised. So that’s what he had done; none of it was particularly true to heart, but rather the lashing out of a wounded boy. An inner child that had never been pacified doing what he knew best: yelling nonsense about it. 

It had been a long time since he’d listened to it. Maybe over a year, or more. It was rough and unmixed, his vocals raw and jagged and pierced with breathiness and laughter, making the present Zach cringe a little as he laughed along. Turning to her, the noticed he first sign of a response was her blatant shock at hearing her own name called out, piercing the speakers thanklessly. The rest of the humor seemed lost on her. Fortunately, the song front to back lasted barely a minute. As the final throes of his voice thinned out, a pillow was launched at him from the sofa, and he laughed as he caught it against his stomach with ease. “I’m sorry! I thought you would think it was funny,” he wheezed. “None of that shit was serious. I was just venting and saying whatever bull came to my head first. Like when people pay to go into those rooms where they can just smash shit up to get their anger out.” He tossed the pillow back, but did not aim for her, and it landed with a soft thud on the other end of the couch. Zach smirked, eyes rolling. “Oh, I don’t doubt it,” he assured. Because it was true; he couldn’t imagine the ways in which he’d be dragged up and down Beverly Hills if Alex were to put pen to paper and write about him in return. Thousands of hours of disparaging lyrics could be conjured about him if she tried. Alex taunted him, calling out to an invisible tool to play Lola’s now five-year-old song written to do exactly that; call attention to his insidious habits, and the warpath they paved, the bodies they left behind. But the world had hated him as much as they’d loved him, back then: this revelation had come as no surprise, and though the song had done well independently, public opinion of him barely shifted. 

Still, its lyrics were cutting. He had dodged it where possible, but it had been something of a hit. Unavoidable. As though some cruel, amused entity heard Alex's call, a smart device tucked behind his laptop picked up her request, the screen illuminating with triggered life. “Sure, here’s “Your Woman” by Lola Fonseca,” it consented, and immediately, the low, swooping strings flooded the room. “For fucks sake,” Zach genuinely belly laughed, tickled. He hoped he could recover; playing her his song had been a misstep. “Baby, tell me what you’ve got to say to me. You’re such a fucking liar, just tell the truth. You came as a surprise, but now, I see… So cut the shit, admit you always knew…” Lola crooned, and after the second line, Zach leaned into the humor of it all, singing along with the few and far between lyrics he’d picked up from its constant airplay. He stood from his chair, and in a theatrical ploy to make her laugh, began to dance along. At first, he held only air; a waltz with an invisible partner. Zach cartoonishly made his way over to Alex, beckoning her, singing where he could. “And you’re such a charmer, such a man. Now I think I finally understand. Is it in your genes? I don’t know, but I’ll soon find out, that’s for sure. On my knees, but ain’t no prayer…” Zach made a bold move with little forethought; he proffered his hand and plucked her up with relative ease from the couch, her being such a featherweight, and spun her deftly in time with the song. Before she could lose her Gucci-pumped footing, given he’d taken her by surprise, Zach caught her with an arm slipping firmly around the slight of her waist. They fit together in the cruelest manner; her back arched with his touch, and he leaned into her instinctively, his heart gone awry in his chest as he realized he had jeopardized his own golden rule; don’t get too close. His jaw went slack, gaze rolling over her devastating face like a desperate touch, and slowly he righted their posture as he seemed to be paralyzed by the rays of her. Lola sang them out, ironically, “...lord help the girl who is your woman…” Then they were perfectly upright, and Zach released her a little breathlessly; she could stand perfectly well on her own two feet. 

[sweetmusingss]

“I get that, baby. I would understand if you wanted to do that. I know I can be pretty distracting and I don’t want to take you away from your writing, babe. It’s really important that you are able to have that focus and get your work done,” I say to you. I knew I’d miss you if I didn’t get to see you for a whole weekend but it was also important to me that you were able to solely focus on your novel without me distracting you completely. I knew sometimes when I was at work, you were catching up on sleep or too tired to write so I could see how it might be difficult for you to get work done. “I don’t want you to push yourself if you’re not feeling it but I also want you to be able to move forward with it, baby. You’ve been working hard for so long. I know it’ll happen for you and I can’t wait to read it and hold it in my hands,” I smile softly at you.

“You’re not distracting... okay, you’re totally distracting but in a good way. You... you help with the writer’s block. You give me inspiration and muse...” He blushed profusely at that confession, never having told anyone that, that being a sentiment he held in his heart and never voiced, not even telling his own mum that she had inspired him at any point. “Maybe I should do that, yeah? Go away for a weekend... maybe go Upstate, stay with my mom, get in touch with some nature and some home cooked meals... sleep in my childhood bedroom. Maybe that would open up my mind a bit more?”

__

Frank lays back down on his pillow, smiling when seeing your next text come through. He read your words, smiling to himself. He loved that the two of you had yet another thing in common and something that you could talk about. ’Well, it’s definitely a fantastic outlet for you because it comes so naturally to you, obviously. I always knew you were a brilliant writer and having it set to music just makes it hit that much harder. But yeah, of course I have. I’ve written quite a lot actually.. I really enjoy it. You know me, had to put those worn out old journals to use and it’s been fun writing new material too. I think it’s the best outlet there could be.’ He knew he felt much better about himself when he put his feelings to paper and to music compared to how he used to get completely trashed and act like that helped him cope. He truly felt like music saved him because it was the only thing that finally pulled him out of bed and got him back on his two feet. He sent the text to you, getting comfortable but definitely feeling wide awake, loving that the two of you were still not done speaking tonight that you had to text into the late night hours.

We texted for a while into the night, not ready to say goodnight and not wanting the conversation to end, this feeling very reminiscent to the early days of our relationship, how he’d stay up while his wife was sleeping and text me. Back then, it was usually love quotes back and forth, but talking about music was just as good... kinda. I hoped that we could do this every night, not even thinking about my fiance and how I hadn’t heard from him since before Cobra’s set hours ago. By the time I fell asleep, it was nearly 5am and the buses were already on their way to the next big city. I woke up later than usual, rushing around to get everything ready for my set, not having the chance to text Frank at all.

Mikey could sense that things were off with Gerard and Frank, the younger one making it obvious that he was mad at G, Frank always having a way of acting like a petulant child and Gerard hated it. Gerard had asked Mikey privately to follow Frank to Renee’s set, needing someone to have eyes on him so he didn’t make any mistakes or dig himself into a hole. Unfortunately for Gerard, Mikey wasn’t as afraid of Frank’s temper, so when Frank walked off the bus with some weak excuse of ‘taking a walk’, Mikey followed suit. “You sure did a lot of primping and preening for a walk... you trying to look good for the sidewalk?” Mikey knew Frank would be annoyed that he had a chaperone, but he didn’t care. He had seen his best friend at his lowest all because of this woman and Mikey couldn’t bare to see him like that ever again, he was just finally starting to get back out into the world and he had Kayleigh now. Mikey didn’t want him to throw everything away. They both showed their passes once they got to the stage area, them arriving just as Renee was walking onto the stage, already able to tell that Frank was totally zoned out and solely focused on her, causing him to sigh to himself.

Gabe was standing with me side stage before I got the signal to go on, giving him a spin to show off my outfit for him to tell me once more how good I looked, going up on my tiptoes and giving him a kiss before turning and walking onto the stage, waving at the crowd and smiling as they cheered for me. I take my acoustic guitar from one of the roadies and walking up to the microphone, never usually feeling nervous on stage anymore. 

[readyforthegarden]

Bubblegum - Part Ten

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female OC

Warnings: Shady management? Other than that, nothing!

Synopsis: When Eden signed her recording contract to become a pop superstar, she hadn't realized she wasn't just signing her creative freedoms away, she was signing much more. Her control over social media, her diet, and even her relationships. When she gets contracted into a relationship with some wannabe rockstar name Jake Kiszka, will she finally find her freedom?

🎶 🎶 🎶

Eden sat in one of the conference rooms of the record labels building, across from Louise, Matt and Bryan, listening to them talk about her album. It gave her a small smugness, knowing that she had an album already done and up her sleeve. Her phone buzzed in her lap, and she glanced down, seeing a text pop up on the screen.

‘Can’t wait to see you tonight xx’ Eden smiled at the message from Jake, quickly typing back the same sentiment. 

“Eden, dear, please pay attention, this is your career we’re laying out in front of you.” Bryan tapped on the table in front of her. She put her phone into her purse, folding her hands on top of the table. “Thank you.”

“So, Eden, we have a couple of songs written, and this one, we’re really excited about!” Louise slid the paper across the table for her, lyrics written on it. Matt pulled up his phone, and music started playing. It was sad, melancholy and Eden read the lyrics on the page.

‘You came into my life and changed it, 

now you’ve disappeared and I’m lost.

I thought you were going to be a perfect fit,

I took a chance at love and look what it cost.’

“Wow, that is….depressing.” Eden glanced up at the writers. ‘And not very good.’  she thought to herself.

“Well it’s a breakup ballad, it should be depressing.” Matt rolled his eyes. He was the least patient person on her team, having bickered with her over his writing the last time he and Louise wrote for her.

“No offense, but this sounds like something a third-grader would’ve written in their journal when their crush didn’t tag them on the playground.” Eden tossed the lyric page back on the table.

“Eden!” Bryan snapped. “That’s an incredibly rude thing to say.”

“It’s also the truth.” Eden shrugged. She was feeling more comfortable and confident in her skin since her trip to the mountains with the boys, and knowing that her own music was in her hands, ready and waiting for the moment to shine was the icing on the cake. “This is my third album. Are you guys trying to make sure it’s going to flop?”

“We’ve been working really hard on this, Eden.” Louise shot a glare across the table towards you as Matt paused the music on his phone. 

“Not hard enough. This is disney channel drivel.” Eden pushed back from the table, standing up and grabbing her bag.  “Bryan, you should look into new writers. Louise and Matt are past their prime, and they’re not going to make you any money on this album.” 

As she walked across the room she turned and looked at Bryan again, giving him a sweet smile.

“Is Mark Ronson still a thing? Maybe give him a call, he’s done wonders with Miley Cyrus. Or get that Ed Sheeran duet, that’d be great, thanks! I’ll see you next week.” and with that, Eden left the conference room, squealing internally at how cooly defiant she just was. As she waited for the elevator, she heard her name being called, and turned, seeing Bryan storming towards her.

“What on earth has gotten into you?” Bryan hissed, lowering his face to be eye level to her. “That was completely uncalled for!”

“No, Bryan, it’s absolutely called for.” Eden seethed. “For six years, I’ve played the part of the sweet, doe-eyed pop princess. I played along, recording songs about gyrating my hips against random men at clubs and trying not to puke at the not-so-subtle allusions to sucking their dicks. I’ve had my clothes, my hair, even my food choices made for me and I’m done, Bryan.” the doors had opened and Eden stepped in, pressing the lobby button and the close door button. As they shut, she spoke once more, standing firmly in her resolve. “You get one more album from me, we’re at least going to make sure it’s not the absolute fucking garbage you normally shit out.”

As she drove home, Eden pulled through a fast food drive thru, ordering the biggest burger and fries meal she could, with a sugary sweet soft drink. She knew her stomach was going to give her hell for it, but her defiant streak was raging and she couldn’t let it stop now. She pressed a few touch buttons on the car screen and waited for her call to pick up.

“Hey Edie, what’s shakin’? she could hear Sam’s grin through the phone and it made her smile. 

“Just got out of a label meeting, got the world’s biggest cheesiest cheeseburger, and am thinking about doing something impulsive. I need a partner in crime.”

“Well I’m always down for a good crime.” Sam laughed. “What did you have in mind?” Eden thought for a few moments.

“I’ll text you the address, can you meet me in like, half an hour?”

“Sure…” Sam now sounded skeptical. “Eden, this isn’t really a crime, is it?” Eden laughed loudly, shaking her head even though she knew he couldn’t see her.

“No, not technically.” she giggled. “I’ll see you in a bit, okay?”

“‘Kay, bye.” 

🎶 🎶 🎶

“Are you sure you don’t want one?” Eden looked at Sam as she sat in the chair, trying to ignore the nervous shaking of her stomach. Sam crinkled his nose, shaking his head.

“And mar my perfect skin? Absolutely not.” he took a sip of the latte he’d brought with him as he paced, looking through the different tattoo designs on the walls of the shop. “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean….they’re permanent.”

“What? Oh god, I had no idea!” Eden rolled her eyes, mocking him. Sam shot her a look before she continued. “I’m sure. Technically, I’m not supposed to get a tattoo while under contract, but who cares anymore?”

“You little rebel.” Sam smirked at her as the tattoo artist finished setting up next to her. “What are you getting?”

“Property of Jake Kiszka, right on my left butt cheek.” Eden answered. Sam snorted into his coffee, and Eden laughed. “It’s a flower, on my thigh and hip area…you’ll see it’s gonna be gorgeous.”

“Of course it will be.” Sam finally settled himself on a chair next to you. The flowy light weight skirt she had changed into from her meeting was pulled up on her left thigh, tucked into the leg of her panties. The tattoo artist was walking Eden and Sam through the steps of her placing the stencil on her skin, letting them know what parts were going to suck the most. Sam watched as the color began to drain from Eden’s face, and took her hand in his, squeezing it. “You’re gonna do amazing.”

“Thanks.” she squeezed her eyes shut as the needle gun started buzzing and took a deep breath when the artist began their work. “Okay, this isn’t so awful…it’s bad, but not terrible.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked. Eden nodded. “Then can you loosen up your grip a little? I still have to play music later.”

“Shit, sorry.” Eden let go of Sam’s hand and rested it on the arm of the chair. After a few moments, Sam pulled out his phone, taking a few photos of Eden in the chair, watching the artist work, before grabbing her attention and taking a few selfies with her, fake scared faces and big cheesy grins. “Don’t send any to Jake! I want to surprise him.”

“Got it.” Sam quickly backspaced after putting in Jake’s name on the text, then erased Josh’s too, knowing the twin would definitely show his brother. Danny was the only recipient of the photos, and he immediately responded with a shocked face emoji, and asking if Sam had dared her to do it. “Danny thinks I put you up to this.”

“I mean, is it totally unimaginable?” Eden raised an eyebrow to Sam. 

“Noo.” Sam huffed. The rest of the appointment was spent with Sam pacing anxiously and Eden near falling asleep in the chair after getting used to the needle. When the tattoo was finished, the artist wrapped it, and gave Eden tips and advice on how to let it heal, and sent them on their way.  Once home, Eden grabbed Elton from his cat tree, feeling the soreness from the tattoo come on and just wanting to lay down on her couch. As she got comfy, her purse began to vibrate and she stuffed her hand into it, searching around for her phone while trying not to disturb the orange tabby on her chest.

Her phone was blowing up with texts, barely being able to register what the messages were, just seeing Danny, Sam and Josh’s names popping up over and over.

“I can’t believe this!”

“This is absolute bullshit. I hate them.”

“The karmic retribution will be deliciously horrible.” as Eden tried to catch up on what was happening, Jake’s face appeared on the screen, and she answered the call.

“What’s going on?” he said as soon as Eden said hello.

“Funny, that’s what I was going to ask you. Your brothers are going crazy.” Eden asked confused. “What is everyone talking about?”

“You didn’t see?” Jake asked, exasperated. 

“I’ve been busy for the past few hours, see what?” Eden groaned.

“Apparently, you’re cheating on me.” Jake huffed a laugh, and soon a link to an article was texted to her from him. There was a photo of her at the tattoo shop through the window, standing next to one of the bigger, burlier tattoo artists that was there. Sam was also in the photo, looking uneasy at her side. The article wasn’t talking about Sam, though, it was saying that Eden was flirting with the artist and “sparks were flying”.

“Christ.” Eden sighed. “This is all my fault.”

“How could it be your fault?” Jake scoffed. 

“I may have mouthed off to Bryan this morning at my meeting.” Eden shrank into the couch, waiting for him to go off on her.

“Good, he probably fuckin deserved it.” he said.

“You’re not mad?”

“Eden, I wish I could’ve been there to see it.” he laughed. “Now, are you going to tell me what you and Sam were doing at a tattoo shop in the middle of the day?”

“Well,” she began, biting her lip. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but I got a tattoo, and I really love it.”

“What did you get?”

“Mmm, I’m going to keep that a surprise.” she giggled softly, petting Elton distractedly. “You can see it when you come over tonight.”

“Let me guess,” Jake said excitedly. “Oh, is it my name on your ass?”

“Did you talk to Sam?!”

“No! Why, am I right?”

“Not at all, but I did joke that that’s what I was going to get!” Her and Jake laughed together, and a knock on her front door caught her off guard. She got up from the couch, listening to Jake talk about how he couldn’t wait to see the tattoo, and that next time, he wanted to go with her, and get one himself. As she opened the door, she saw Bryan, looking incredibly pissed off. “Hey, I have to go.”

“Alright, see you tonight.” Eden hung up with Jake and stared at Bryan.

“We need to have some discussions.” Bryan said. “And we’re having them now.”

this is the tattoo that inspired the Eden's:

Taglist: @trafficwasabitch, @obetrolncocktails, @streamsofstardust, @sammiejane22, @myownparadise96, @gretavanbitches, @mamavanheat, @lunaindigoraven, @shutupdevvie @jakewhorecore @josiee-gvf @shesawomaninadream @writingcold @spicedandicedtea @niallsboxx @baguettejuliette @lallisonl @josh-iamyour-mama @gretavanflowerpower

[jamespotterthefirst]

Prelude (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart, Book 1 Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1.5 K Premise: Three moments leading up to their fateful meeting.

Author’s Note: In which I try to explain why MC didn’t know what Ethan, her medical hero, looked like. Also, my (late) fic for the book 1 replay. Thank you @aestheticartsx​ for pre-reading!

Three.

Harper frowns down at the file in her hand, her sharp gaze burning into the collated papers as though coercing them to solve their dilemma once and for all. From the end of the table, Cyrus lets out an inpatient sigh.

“It's very simple, Harper,” he drones. Ethan's fists clench reflexively at his sides, urging to remind Cyrus that Harper is the chief now and warrants more respect than his insufferable tone is offering. “The last spot should go to the candidate from Harvard. We are the best hospital on the east coast, after all. It only makes sense.”

Harper looks unconvinced and still, her pensive expression remains fixed in the file.

“An ivy league degree does not a good doctor make,” Naveen adds sagely into the ensuing silence. His smile is placid enough but Ethan knows the older doctor well enough to hear the warning edge in his voice. Evidently, even Naveen disapproves of Cyrus's lack of respect for their new chief.

Cyrus scoffs.

“And if you need further proof of that, Doctor Cyrus,” Ethan begins dryly, eyes boring into him. “Then look no further than your side of the conference table.”

A few attendings—at least the ones who have become increasingly tired of Cyrus's boastful proclamations about his alma mater—laugh quietly at the jab. Cyrus splutters, his face an unpleasant shade of red as he glares daggers at Ethan.

“This candidate,” Harper says at last, unaware or uncaring of what she had just interrupted. Her two lone words are enough to command the room's attention at once, but her hazel eyes are on Ethan. “You're convinced she's the best fit for Edenbrook?”

Ethan meets her eye and pauses.

It's the first time they look at each other directly since he ended their relationship two weeks prior. Despite the brief time apart and an unshakeable resolve to be professional, his stomach sinks heavy, like a stone.

Harper looks as graceful and dignified as ever, keeping every emotion in check. Yet, as she holds his gaze, Ethan can see a small flicker or sadness and his stomach twists with guilt.

“I'm positive, Chief Emery,” Ethan responds. “This candidate exhibits the type of potential we look for at Edenbrook.”

The use of her new title seems to snap Harper out of a reverie.

“She graduated top of her class and ranked in the top percent among our chosen cohort of interns,” Ethan continues. “I've also looked into her research and it's among the most promising I've seen. I recommend her without reservations.”

With a single nod and a sense of finality, Harper closes the file.

“Then it's settled. We have our last intern.”

“You're joking, Harper,” Cyrus blurts out, incensed. “We're giving a coveted spot to the candidate from UCLA?”

He says the name of the school with so much derision, Ethan feels his ears flare up.

“That Doctor Ayala?” Cyrus continues.

“Doctor Allende,” Ethan corrects, jaw clenched.

“Don't we have enough charity cases in the cohort already? This is token—”

But the vitriol is quickly interrupted by several things happening at once: Ethan darting forward, fists ready; a startled, collective gasp from the other attendings; Naveen, quietly intercepting Ethan and halting his steps with a steady hand, a feat that is impressive for a man much older and shorter; and Harper, also on her feet, directing a disgusted look at Cyrus she doesn’t bother to disguise behind professionalism.

“I would think very carefully about finishing that sentence if I were you, Doctor Cyrus,” she says, her voice low but with the impact of a clashing gavel. “And I ask that you address me as Chief Emery moving forward.”

Two.

“If you end up marrying someone with a Boston accent,” Laurel is saying with a devilish grin. “I will never be able to keep a straight face when they talk. Pahk the cah in Hahvahd Yahd.”

Her older sister peers at Lilac over the flaps of an open cardboard box, the glint in her eye growing wickeder still. “Imagine what they’d sound like in bed. You're so fucking gawgeous, dawctaw—”

Before her sister can escalate that impression into disturbing territory, Lilac silences her with a well-aimed pillow. It succeeds in hitting Laurel straight in the face but also in turning her laughter into a cackle.

“Are you going to help me pack or not?” Lilac says sternly, though the effect is entirely ruined by the smile that manages to break through.

Laurel raises her hands in defeat and returns to packing Lilac's books neatly. They work in companionable silence for a few minutes with nothing but their favorite music blaring from the speakers of Lilac's phone.

“Is this the book?” her sister asks suddenly, turning a worn textbook in her hands and studying it closely. “The one written by your medical crush?”

For some inexplicable reason, Lilac feels her face flare with heat. “He's not my crush.”

“You just worship the ground he walks on,” her sister returns, flipping through Diagnostic Principles. “Though, you're right. In order to have a crush you'd need to know what he looks like.”

Laurel reaches the back cover, frowning. “Why wouldn't he add an author picture?”

Lilac says nothing, biting the inside of her cheek. She can't blame her sister for being curious and a bit disappointed at the lack of visual representation. After all, Lilac had felt crestfallen when all she found in the author's information section was the green and blue Edenbrook logo.

“Maybe he's a private man and doesn't like his picture out in the world? Maybe he wants aspiring doctors to focus on his research and not his looks?”

“So he's either really hot or really ugly,” Laurel returns, unmoved by Lilac's impassioned speech. “Have you ever tried looking him up online?”

Lilac had been tempted many times, but she was fiercely adamant about keeping her medical hero a mystery outside of his work. It already felt invasive enough to track down his undergrad research and every other minor paper he'd ever written. When it came to Ethan Ramsey, Lilac had searched every corner of scholarly journals and databases, absorbing every piece of his work with an adoration that was already embarrassing enough.

Plus, she would never admit it out loud, but she was also afraid that knowing what the brilliant doctor looked like would somehow ruin him for her. Or at least, alter the image of him she had constructed in her head for so many years. It felt right to continue seeing Dr. Ramsey as the brilliant force that pushed her into her dream career and not as a definitive set of features.

“It doesn't matter what he looks like. He's the best and I'm going there to learn from him, not to judge his appearance.”

“I'm Googling him,” Laurel announces, already typing furiously into her phone. After a few seconds, her phone returns results and her eyebrows shoot up, staying suspended for longer than normal.

“What?” Lilac asks despite herself.

“Wow.”

“Wow what?”

“Just… wow.” Laurel stares down at the screen with such awestruck amazement that Lilac feels a powerful wave of curiosity. “He’s shirtless in some of these.”

“What?” Lilac yelps, feeling her face flare up at once. 

“Yeah, apparently you’re not his only fan. Tons of people have taken his picture.” Her sister seems to blink out of a trance, turning the screen toward Lilac. “Here, see for your—”

But Lilac turns her gaze away almost out of reflex.

“No!” 

The word comes out far more impassioned than Lilac intended. Still, she resolutely turns her head. “That feels...invasive, somehow?”

“Come on—”

“I'm serious, Lau. I don't want to see. I'm already nervous enough about this whole thing without having to worry about this wow-worthy revelation. And besides, taking someone’s shirtless picture without their consent and posting it online is already bad enough. It feels wrong supporting that.”

Laurel rolls her eyes.

“I'm going to see him in less than a week anyway. With clothes. In a professional setting. As I should. If I waited all these years, I can wait that long.”

A knowing, devious sort of smile pulls at her sister's face. She mumbles something over the music and Lilac can swear it sounds oddly like: “...worth the wait.”

One.

Ethan should have taken the broken and sputtering coffee machine in his apartment as an omen. His morning definitely declined from then on, starting with gridlock traffic and ending with an infuriatingly long line at his favorite coffee place.

The ultimate lack of coffee is probably his fault because Ethan had spent too much time deliberating whether or not he wanted to go with store bought coffee on what promised to be a grueling day. When he had finally made up his mind, however, the line was already out the door.

Irritated and caffeine deprived, he drives back to Edenbrook.

“You're earlier than we agreed,” Naveen says as soon as Ethan accepts his incoming call. “What was the point of rearranging the whole schedule if you were going to come in when you pleased anyway?”

“I'm not even through the gates yet. What are you spying on me?”

“No need. You forget how predictable you are.”

Naveen chuckles as he says this which eases some of Ethan's irritation. The older doctor had purposely scheduled him later in the day to give him some peace on the first day of the new intern cohort.

Naturally, Ethan arrived several hours early, as per his custom.

“Or maybe you know me too well by now.”

Naveen's benevolent laughter turns into a dry but lingering cough on the other end of the line. Instantly, Ethan's insides freeze over, his stomach sinking unpleasantly.

He opens his mouth to question his mentor about this persisting symptom, when sheer reflex prompts him to stomp on the breaks so suddenly, his body jerks forward then slams against his seat.

“Shit.”

Something—or rather someone— had crossed the parking lot road right in front of his car, standing mere inches away from his front bumper.

“Ethan?” Naveen asks through the speaker.

When Ethan recovers and regains movement of his arms and legs, he feels the spike of adrenaline give way to pure annoyance.

The offending pedestrian is a young brunette clad in blue scrubs, a medical intern by the looks of it. She stands there in the middle of the road, her mouth hanging open in a way that would have been comical to Ethan if he wasn't so irritated.

They stare at one another, though Ethan is convinced she can't see much through the tinted glass.

Then, right before his eyes, she seems to recover from the shock. Drawing herself to her full height, she glares at Ethan. At least, he thinks she's glaring through the dark lenses of her sunglasses.

Ethan almost scoffs.

She has the audacity to be angry when she was the one who made the rookie mistake of aimlessly crossing in front of him?

Who the hell does she think she is?

“Asshole,” she mutters, the word quite audible through his windows.

Before a stunned Ethan can respond, she turns on her heel and rushes toward the hospital, a curtain of dark hair dancing behind her.

“What was that?” Naveen asks, still on the call.

“I hate interns,” Ethan responds much to the older doctor's amusement.

Bonus:

Author’s Note: In other words, my MC was late to her orientation because of Ethan and that’s how she met him in the waiting room lol. Thank you so much for reading! 

*Tagging Separately 

[lilith-of-rivia]

The Bards Sister  Geralt XFemale!Reader Part 1

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

Masterlist 

Summary: Geralt of Rivia and his long time travel companion Jaskier find themselves in Jaskiers home land. A place geralt had not only never seen nor heard of. Jaskier is ready to reunite its his family after traveling and exploring the world for 20 years. The one person he missed the most was his baby sister (Y/N). Who he hadnt seen since she was 5. The journal is long, but the pay off is grander then they would ever be able to predict. I know i am trash at summaries.

Trigger warnings: NONE a lot of Geralt and Jaskier in this first part. Your charicter doesn’t come in till closer to the end.

Pairings: GeraltxReader JaskierxSister!reader

Word count: 6,095 longest fanfic I’ve ever written!!

A/N: hello my loves!!! I got my Insperation back!! I’m hopping i will be regularly posting agin!!! I ove you all so much you consistent love and supoort has not gone unnoticed. The constant likes and reblogs truly means the world to me. I love every single one of you so much. Thank you for believing in my writing the way you do. All my love -Lilith ps. I have reviewed and edited but I will be doing a more in-depth review soon!

“Where are we going, Jaskier.” The Witcher’s brooding voice echoed threw the flowered valley. His horse trotted not far behind his companion. Jaskier looked back at him and just rolled his eyes.

“How many times have you led me on endless roads, towards the middle of nowhere speaking little to no words to me no matter how much I ask?” Geralt said nothing. Jaskier snorted looking back towards the road.

“Exactly. No shut up, your brooding is giving me a headache.” The bard was giving the witcher a taste of his own medicine. The idea that Jaskier was leading him to somewhere he had no idea of the location, made him uneasy. Did he trust his bard? Absolutely without a doubt. Would he ever admit it to him? No never.

Their travels continued till the sun was barely hanging in the sky. The air had grown crisp replacing the harsh burning of the full summer sun. Jaskier pulled his mare to the side of the road, climbing off her, tying her to a tree. Geralt followed, realizing they were stopping for the day.

“We still have a couple hours of daylight left.” Geralt said as he took Roach’s saddle and tack off.

“We don't need a couple hours, we are nearly there. Maybe an hour and half.” Geralt cocked an eyebrow at Jaskier.

“Then why did we stop?” Jaskier pulled his saddle bags off his horse, putting them beside a log as he gathered some sticks for the fire.

“Because I have to debrief you as to who we are going to see and you must bathe before we do so. The stream here will do the trick.”

“Gods Jaskier, will you just tell me where we are going? The secrecy is bullshit.” The broot of a man was losing his patience with his friend.

The duo had been on the trip for nearly two weeks. They left Tramieria and headed east. Much further east than Geralt could ever remember traveling. Yet the bard seemed to know exactly what turns to take and when. The closer they drew to their destination the more the witcher could hear his heart beat faster.

“Jaskier if this is some stupid plot for me to protect you from some man who’s wife you slept with again-“

“It's not Geralt-“ Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose, his stress causing a minor headache. “Just go bathe then I’ll tell you everything.” Geralt studied his friend, his eyes searching his face, his ears tuning into his heart beat trying his best to figure out what he was getting himself into.

With a low grunt the witcher grabbed his last set of clean clothes and the bar of soap from the bard's hand before stomping off to the river.

“Clean EVERYTHING!” Jaskier yelled over his shoulder. Only getting an unfriendly finger in return.

Nearly an hour later, the sun was completely hidden behind the canyon, the glow of the fire Jaskier started illuminating their small camp. Jaskier’s fingers strummed mindlessly at his lute, his eyes fixed on the stars that were making their presence known more, humming to himself softly. He heard his friends footsteps as he approached, his hair was wet at his shoulders. A fresh white Cotton tunic hugged his muscular build, black trousers hugging his legs. He smiled nice for once. All thanks to the lavender and honey soap Jaskier had received as a gift.

“Now don't you look better.” Jaskier said with a chuckle. The witcher sat down across the fire from him, his golden eyes staring heavily at the bard.

“Spill your guts Jaskier.” Jaskier rubbed his hands over his face and nodded. His eyes looking anywhere but at his friend.

“I haven't been completely forward about my family life.” Jaskier’s eyes landed on the moon above them. It was nearly full, he was doing well with time. He knew they would reach their destination well before the next full moon.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s harsh voice broke the silence. With a loud sigh Jaskier finally looked his friend in the face.

“I’m royalty Geralt.” The Witcher’s expression did not change. He just looked at his friend. He could hear Jaskier's heart beat become uneven and unsteady. At first he thought it was a joke but the nervous energy radiating from his long time friend made him think better.

“My family, they are wonderful people. My mother, bless her, taught me everything I needed to know about writing and music. Convinced my father to let me train at Oxenfurt Academy. My father is a noble and loyal king. He served our people well. Still does to my knowledge. I haven't been back in nearly 20 years…” the bard trailed off, his eyes fixated on his hands, his fingers twildilling with a ring he had on. The ring was that of his family. Their crest engraved into the gold.

“I was never meant to be a noble. I lived for adventure, for more than just sitting on a throne and watching people come and go. I was never fit to be king. My parents knew that. They understood. Understanding people they are.” His voice trailed off again, hopping his friend would say something. Ask a question. Anything. He didn’t know where to go next.

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” Geralt finally asked.

“Because it never came up. My family never needed me. I never needed them. I love them all dearly of course. But we were never the closest people in the world. Well, my sister and I were.” That caught the Witcher’s attention. His eyes narrow slightly, he made sure to not let his expression scare the bard into not telling him more. He was genuinely curious about his family. But he couldn't lie and say he wasn't disappointed that in the 7 years they traveled together he never heard of them.

“You have a sister?” The bard's eyes lit up. His memory raced with images of his tun little sister chasing him around the courtyard screaming, yelling his name. Her giggles and laughs pulling at his heart strings.

“Yes. Her name is (Y/N). She is about to be 25. Big age for a princess. I havnt seen her since she was very little.” His heart started to break softly. His neglect to his baby sitter weighting heavily on him.

“I write her often, as much as I can. She was...well, a surprise to my parents to say the least. I was 15 when she was born. I left home at 20. I was only around for her toddler years. I never got to see her grow, blossom into a young woman. I missed so much.” Jaskier had to fight back the tears, his throat becoming tight and dry. His body filling with regret.

“I just kept pushing it back Geralt. I alwasy said I’d make it home. I alwasy had it in the back of my mind to go back and see her. But I never did.”

“Why now?” Geralt asked.

“She wrote me a few months back. It was nearly a book. It was filled with tales of her new travels around our country. She had been training heavily with an unmanned matester of combat. She traveled the countryside with the man. She referred to him as an uncle. In the letter she asked me if it was true that I’d been traveling with you. She said the songs and tales of Jaskier the Bard traveling with the White Wolf made it to her ears.” Jaskier stopped talking for a brief moment, rummaged around his rut sack and pulled out a notebook. He untied its string and a large pile of papers fell out into his hand. He unfolded the parchment and scanned the writing.

“I wrote her back that week. Only to receive this in return.” He began to read;

“Oh dear Jaskier!! I cannot believe its true. I thought he was only a legend. The white wolf. Please tell him he is a hero here. We love his stories. Many have written books of him. Children run round calling themselves the butcher of Blaviken here to save the damsel and distress. I love his stories, mainly because they involve you. Please come visit me this year. I miss you terribly. I want to hear of your travels with the wolf. Mother said he is more than welcome to stay if he wishes to travel with you. I do miss you Jaskier. More than I think you know. I do not mean to guilt you or make you feel bad as i know you are traveling the world to your heart's content and would never want you to feel as though I do not support you-“ Jaskier stopped reading for a brief moment. A small tear dripped onto the page he was reading. Geralt listened to every word he read. He couldn't help the small tug of his lips when he read about the children pretending to be him. It was a breath of fresh air for the witcher. He had constantly been told he was a monster. To hid your children from him. Yet here was an entire country that loved him, yet he had no idea. Jaskier cleared his throat and continued. “But i miss my brother. And maybe, just maybe. I could come with you. If you deem me fit. I have been working tirelessly with a friend of fathers. He trains me in not only swordsmanship, but Herbology, and monsters as well. I can name nearly every monster that has inhabited the Continent and how to slay it. He thinks I’m ready to leave the nest and I think mother and father are getting a bit tired of me as well. I cannot stand another somber, dull, dinner party with nobles who look at me like a piece of meat. So please. Visit me soon. Come and stay a few days. Catch up with your dear sister and maybe, if he isn't too busy and if it doesn’t inconvenience him, bring the Wolf with you. He’d be a welcomed hero. All my love dear brother. Xoxo Love always, (Y/N) Irene Pankratz

Jaskier folded the letter, placing it inside his notebook before safely storing it inside his sack again. He ran a hand over his face, his eyes slowly moving from his hands to his best friend. They sat in the silence for a while. Geralt’s brain replaying the words he had heard from his friend.

“You could have told me about her Jaskier. Why didn't you? You’ve been in contact with her all this time, planning to see her and your family again. Bringing me along for the ride, yet not a single word in 7 years. Do you not trust me with such a secret Jaskier?” Jaskier was taken aback by his friend's words.

He never knew his secrecy would have such an impact on his friend. When it came to Geralt he learned long ago, the little words, the better. The witcher can only handle so much before he loses interest and stops listening or walks away. He never in a million years would have thought he cared about his life that much. It warmed the bards heart to know his dear friend, the only brother he ever had, cared that deeply for him.

“It has nothing to do with not trusting you Geralt. Is has everything to do with the shame I hold for not seeing her sooner. For treating her like a dirty secret form the world. There is no logical reason for me to keep my family such a big secret. Yet I have. For 20 years.” Geralt’s hands rubbed together softly as he listened to his friend. He understood the secrecy. He was a box full of secrets that nobody could get into.

“Its okay Jaskier. I understand the secrecy. Is that where we are going tomorrow?” Jaskier nodded, a smile appearing on his face.

“Her birthday is the next full moon. I’m hoping my gift will be a good start in time lost.” Geralt looked at him curiously. He hadn't noticed any major item in Jaskier’s possession that could make a good gift for a young princess.

“You’re her gift Geralt. I wrote her back after that letter and told her I’d be back for her next birthday. But that you simply were to busy with your work. I told her that you greatly appreciated her support and that youd consider writing to her in the future. She has no idea your coming with me.” Geralt didnt know how he felt about being a gift. He never ever saw himself as a gift to anyone. More of a burden the a gift. He shook his head at Jaskier and tutted at him.

“Jaskier if your that broke you could’ve asked me for a few extra coins for a real gift.” The witcher attempted to joke with the bard. It made Jaskier smile more. Geralt could be funny, but his humor was incredibly dry, much like Jaskier’s father.

“Geralt! Did you just try and joke around with me??” Geralt rolled his eyes, laying down stretching his muscles as he looked up at the starts.

“Best get some sleep Jaskier, you’ve got a rather big family reunion tomorrow.”

The next morning Jaskier was up and awake before Geralt, a rare sight. He truly hadn't slept more than a couple hours that night. His nerves kept him awake. He feared his sister wouldn’t be as loving as he pictured, she had every right to be mad at him, hate him even. By the time Geralt was up, Jaskier had bathed, changed and had his horse completely ready to go.

Geralt had to do everything in his power to not laugh at his friend. He looked rather ridiculous. His normal bright attire was replaced with a royals outfit. A green and blue velvet tunic and some extremely uncomfortable looking black trousers. His hair was combed back and his face was freshly washed. He even cleaned under his fingernails. He looked rather ridiculous in Geralt’s opinion. He couldn't help the low chuckle that left his lips as he put his bed roll away.

“I don't understand why you're laughing. I have some clothes for you to put on as well.” Geralt’s expression changed instantly, from humorous to angry.

“No. Absolutely not. What I’m wearing is perfectly fine. I’d wear it to meet any king or queen.” A bag was chucked at him, he barely caught it before it smacked into his face.

“This isn't any normal king and queen Geralt. This is my family. And besides, you are no ordinary witcher in my kingdom, you’ll be treated as royalty there. You may as well look the part.” Geralt huffed and threw the bag of clothes back at his friends feet, glaring daggers at him. He hated dressing up with a burning passion. Everything was too tight, not easy to fight in. If anything happened he’d have to rip the seams on every piece of clothing to be able to maneuver his weapons properly. And fancy clothes dont have space for weapons. He didn't like that one bit. Jaskier looked at his friend. His eyes pleading with him.

“Please Geralt. Just for today and her birthday. I couldn't care less what you wear at any other point on this trip.” He had walked closer to Geralt now. About a meter away from him. He extended his hand, the bag in his hand. Geralt looked from the bag to his friend. His teeth and jaw clenched.

He let out a loud huff and grabbed the bag from the bard.

“Fine.” He said through gritted teeth and began taking off his clothing. Jaskier smiled before turning his attention to Roach, getting her stalled and tacked so when Geralt was dressed they could leave.

“If we move with a bit of a haste we could make it there before breakfast.” Jaskier said as he mounted his horse, looking at his friend. His hand slapped over his face. The witcher looked utterly ridiculous in his new attire. The bright red and orange vest a-top a cream tunic, his legs tight in some disgustingly ugly corduroy pants. The pants were obviously smaller than the seamstress he bought them off claimed them to be. The ends of the pants came nearly mid calf on Geralt’s legs. His pasty white ankles and feet shining in the early morning sun.

“Jesus Geralt. Those are worse than the ones I got for Pavetta’s party.” The bard could no longer hold in his laughter. Did Gerarlt look like a nobleman? Sure, but his size, white hair, and bright yellow eyes really didn't help the situation.

“Jaskier, I will kill you for this.” Geralt grumbled angered as he pulled his socks up his feet and over his calves. Luckily for him (and Jaskier) his boots went higher than his pants, making it harder to notice that the pants he was wearing were way too small.

“At least I’m not making you wear a big hat with a feather, those are truly hideous.” Geralt mounted Roach, more carefully then he normally does in fear his pants could bust at the seams.

“I had to wrap you up nice and pretty to present you to my sister.” Jaskier commented as he led his horse; Napoleon to the main road, Geralt and Roach in tow.

The two men rode in a comfortable silence for some time, but as they got closer and closer to Jaskier’s home, all Geralt could hear was his frantic heartbeat. Jaskier’s palms get sweaty and his throat dry, no matter how much water he drinks from his water skin.

“Jaskier. You need to calm down. Your fucking heart beat is driving me insane.” Geralt hissed. They could see the end of the valley they had been traveling in. Geralt looked out in the distance, his eyes saw the castle first. It was very far, but he could tell how beautiful it was from where they were.

“Maybe you just shouldn’t listen to it then.” Jaskier barked back.

“You know I have no control over it, idiot. Take a deep breath. I know you're scared, I understand. But from the sounds of it your sister desperately misses you, I don't think she would ask you to come see her if she was going to hate you.” Geralt didn't talk much at all, that everyone knew. He was a man of few words. But when he did speak it was wiser than most people ever expected. People tended to forget the age of the white haired man, as he stopped ageing physically in his late twenties.

Jaskier smiled softly at his friend's words, he listened to him and took a few deep breaths, calling himself down. Geralt was right. His sister seemed eager as ever to see him again.

The two men approached the entrance to the city. Geralt was more than shocked. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen a city so beautiful in his entire life. The streets were lined in beautiful stone, flowers, vines, greenery all around every corner. The banners that were hanging on the outside of the main gates caught Geralt’s eyes. The crests on them were brightly colored in greens and blues, a very large diamond in the center. Their horses rode into the entrance of the town. Jaskier’s heart was calm, steady, his face was bright and had a smile Geralt had never seen on him before. He was finally home.

“Welcome to Inritha (In-Rithe-A) the capital of Unthya (Un-The-A) Geralt. Welcome to my home.”

Their horses traveled down the stone brick road slowly, the city was buzzing already even with it being the early hours of the morning. Geralt was surprised to see everyone look so...happy, care free. Enjoying their lives. They looked as though nothing was a fret, no monster looming. Geralt was mesmerized by the city. The buildings were built out of what looked to him like limestone, a building material he so rarely saw in other parts of the Continent. The buildings were being taken over by vines and moss, flowers all over. He’d never seen so many butterflies in his life.

“Jaskier-'' his voice was barely a whisper, the bard turning to look at him as they rode side by side. Jaskier couldn't help but smile as his friend admired the beauty he himself had so easily forgotten over the years.

“I know, it's beautiful. I've forgotten myself.”

The two men continued riding their horses up the road closer and closer to the castle. The longer they road tho more attention they got from passer buys. Geralt could hear their whispers.

It couldn't be. Could it?

THE Geralt of Rivia? Here in Inritha?

Mummy look! It's the butcher!!

Has Prince Jaskier finally returned home?

For the first time in what seemed like his entire life, the hushed whispers Geralt heard as he rode through a city were not of hate and disgust. But of admiration and curiosity. The entire time Geralt and Jaskier rode through the city, he never once had the urge to grab either of his swords that were at his side.

The two men approached the gates of the castle, four armored guards stood outside. The put their hand up in motion for the men to stop. One who looked as tho to be the commander of sorts stepped forward poking between both men. Eyes lingering for a long while on the two.

“State your name and what business you have in Inritha at this early hour.” Jaskier dismounted his horse, waking a few feet forward.

“My name is Jaskier Alfred Pankratz son of Dastrill and Alvere Pankratz. This is my companion Geralt Of Rivia, we are here on behalf of my sister, (Y/N) Irene Pankratz’s 25th birthday.” Jaskier bowed his head lowly, keeping eye contact with the commander in front of him.

“Prince Jaskier?!?” The man clearly looked flustered and embarrassed for not recognizing the prince of his own kingdom. All four men quickly bowed their heads.

“Please accept my apology your highness, we welcome you home. As do we welcome your honored guest.” Jaskier smiled and told the men to not trouble themselves with an apology. Geralt continued to watch from atop Roach, still not use to being idolized instead of feared. Honored guest. Geralt thought to himself. He could get use to the new treatment. Jaskier remounted Napoleon the gates to the castle walls opening. The both road threw, all four men bowed their heads as the two walked threw. Not once did they threaten Geralt’s life. They were led by a guard to the stables where they left their horses.

Geralt could hear Jaskier heart beating again in his chest as they were led inside the castle. Geralt tried to concentrate on his friend, to be there for him but he couldn't help but let his eyes wander all over the castle's walls, it was a bright exterior. The walls polished, candles everywhere. Large windows allowing for natural lighting. Nothing dark or gloomy about the castle at all. He felt uplifted..cheary almost. As they neared the entrance to the grand hall where the King, Queen, Princess along with some others were. Geralt could hear the light conversation, and the clicking of silver on plates, they were eating breakfast. But he could still hear Jaskier’s heart beating in his chest. Geralt placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder as they walked, giving it a soft squeeze. The action made Jaskier more worried if the witcher was feeling alright, as it was abnormally out of character for the man. But he said nothing, appreciating the gesture.

They got to the door and just as the guard was about to push the doors open Jaskier grabbed his arm.

“Could we maybe skip the loud over dramatic announcements of my arrival? I have not seen my family in years.” The guard only nodded, bowed his head and walked back outside to his post. Jaskier looked over at his friend, as he put his hand on the door ready to push it open.

“Now or never.” Jaskier said as he opened the door. Both men walked into the large room, the talking stopped almost instantly. Geralt stood at the door, not wanting to impose on the important reunion of his friend and his family. He followed Jaskiers gaze to the table ahead of them in the front of the room. The room was lined with huge floor to ceiling windows, the light of the early morning sun shone brightly making the marble floors glisten.

“JASKIER!!!” The loud scream of a girl nearly made Geralt jump out of his skin, his hand reaching back for a sword that wasn't there in instinct.

It made Jaskier jump but the smile that covered his face was even bigger than the one he had seen as he walked through the city. Geralt followed Jaskier’s gaze to a young woman. The sight of her alone made Geralt want to pass out. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen someone so beautiful in his entire life. Her hair was the same chestnut brown that Jaskier had, but it was long, hip length. She had it pulled back slightly out of her face, a few baby hairs framed her face. Oh her face. Geralt thought as though he was looking at a living breathing angel. He heard her chair scrape roughly on the ground before it loudly crashed on the floor. She raced around the long table from her mothers side and sprinted to her brother. She practically threw herself on him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He quickly wrapped his arms around her, stumbling back a few steps. Everything was quite as the two embraced. Geralt's eyes went to the king and queen who were now standing. The queen looked just like (Y/N) but her hair was black, long stripes of grey peeking through her hair. The crown atop her head glistened in the light. Her right hand was tightly around her husband's arm, her other hand placed softly over her mouth as she looked at her children. Her husband looked much like Jaskier. His hair was the same color as both of their children, but much like his wife’s, much of it had turned grey. His eyes were the same cornflower blue that Jaskier had.

Minutes passed in silence before Jaskier put his hands on his sisters shoulders, pulling her away from him. He put one hand on her cheek as he examined her features. Her pale cheeks were damp with tears. But not sad tears. Tears of joy.

“My sister, how you’ve grown.” Geralt could hear the tears in the bard's voice. He couldn't see him but he could hear everything.

(Y/N) fingers gently brushed over her brother’s face as she smiled at him.

“My brother, how you haven't aged a day. You look just as I remember you. Maybe a few more wrinkles.” She teased. He laughed softly. Wiping his eyes with his hand before pulling her into another bone crushing embrace. She was much shorter than Jaskier, barely shoulder level with him. Geralt was shocked to remember she would be turning 25 in two days. She was still young in the face, beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to see her more up close.

While the siblings spoke their parents moved from the spots at the table, standing behind (Y/N). Alvere was the first to pull him into a tight embrace after her daughter let go. Her fingers gently combed through his hair as she inhaled his scent deeply.

“My dear son how I've missed you.” She whispers slowly into his ear. Geralt was starting to feel bad for eavesdropping. Not that he could help it. He was still standing at the entrance to the grand hall yet he could hear everything.

Jaskiers father hugged him next, it was not nearly as long as the outer two but both men were okay with it. Understanding that their relationship had never been one for long father son hugs.

“It is good to see you again my boy.” His hand clasped down on his son's shoulder.

The four of them stood close together, smiling more than Geralt ever thought possible. It almost made his heart turn. Deep, deep, deep, down the witcher longed for a family that would look at him the way they looked at Jaskier. He often cured the universe for not giving him an option when it came to what he had become. He clung to the few memories he had of his mother. But as years passed they became harder and harder to remember, more painful. But he had. Made a new sort of family over the years. From Jaskier, to his brothers at Kaer Morhen.

“(Y/N), mum, dad, there is someone I’d like you to meet.” Jaskier turned his head towards the door to the hall. Geralt stood tall, shoulders pressed back, his hair framed his face gracefully. Even in the entirely ugly attire he was in, he made himself as presentable and as proper as possible. (Y/N)’s eyes grew bigger when her eyes met his. He once again was taken aback by her beauty. Her eyes were a powerful emerald green matching similarly to the color of her brother's tunic, but brighter. Her mouth fell slightly agape when she realized who it was. The eyes were a dead give away that he was in fact a witcher, but once she saw the silver medallion that rested on his chest, she knew.

Jaskier nodded his head for Geralt to walk forward and he did, his footsteps were light, his pace slow and steady as he walked closer to the royal family. (Y/N)’s hand gently covered her mouth in excitement. Her eyes flickering to her brother who grinned at her.

“A bit of an early birthday gift.” He winked. Once Geralt was closer to the group Jaskier turned so he could introduce them, at his sister's side. All eyes were on him. Even the few people who were still seated at the table were looking at him. He started to feel a bit more uneasy. He started to remember how far away his swords were if he needed them. This alone was beginning to make him panic. He was not used to being welcomed into royal courts unless it was specifically for a hunt.

“This is Geralt of Rivia, one of the most feared, renowned, and skilled Witcher’s the content has to offer. And also my best friend.”

Geralt's eyes were back on (Y/N)’s, his worries dropped more when she smiled brightly at him. Her eyes gleamed.

Geralt bowed his head to the three of them, “ it is an absolute pleasure to meet you, your highnesses.” (Y/N) was nearly blown over by the sultry sound of his voice. She had only heard stories of the witcher. Never see him for herself and definitely had never heard him speak. She never expected a monster hunter to be as handsome as he was. She admired every feature he had. Her eyes fixating on his chiseled jawline, the light gray stubble across his chin and cheeks.

“My, what a pleasure it is to meet such a famed warrior as yourself Geralt!” The king spoke before (Y/N) could, which she was happy about as she did not trust her voice to not waver at his beauty in that moment.

“You my dear are very popular around here. Your stories are legendary. The school children even host yearly plays, Reenacting your most beloved stories.” (Y/N)’s mother added her finger pointing light hardly at Geralt. Her hand came out gracefully from her side to shake the Witcher’s hand. He gently took it, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His attention returned to (Y/N).

“I’m terribly sorry I’m the birthday gift from your brother this year.” She shook her head almost as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Do not be sorry Geralt-'' the way she said his name made him feel as though he could keel over. “I would like to thank you, for protecting my brother for the years you have. He never skips on his gratitude for you in his letter to me. For that we are all eternally grateful for you.” She reached her hand out. Geralt wasted no time in grabbing her hand, shaking it gently. He was dying inside, but he couldn't let her or anyone else see. He took a gentle step towards her, his head lowering softly, his soft lips were placed on the back of her small hand. The small action made the young girls' faces burn red. Her eyes flicked to her brother who smugly smiled, knowing danm well his gift was going to take the cake.

“Well, you both should come join us, we just started eating.” The king said with a smile, with a quick wave of his hand two more places we set.

(Y/N) gently removed her hand from Geralt’s. Walking towards the table, both men in tow. As she reached her spot she moved her plate and glass to the middle seat that had been prepared, leaving Jaskier a seat next to their mother and Geralt a seat next to her. They all sat and waited as food was served to them. (Y/N) could feel Geralt watching her as she ate, her brother deep in conversation with her parents about his most recent travels. But she wasnt listening. Her attention was only on the man seated to her left. She looked over at the man, eyed him up and down then turned to her brother. For the first time she noticed how ugly their attire was.

“Gods Jaskier who dressed you two?” She asked as she sipped her orange juice. Both men looked at her. Jaskier looked a bit hurt and Geralt only snorted.

“I told him the clothes were horrendous.” Geralt said beside the young woman making her giggle. The sound made his heart beat faster. This was also when he realized how sensibly everyone else in the room was dressed, and how much they stood out. (Y/N) was in a thin white cotton dress, it was around knee length and a light sweater was on her shoulders. Her mother and father dressed similarly. Their clothes looking normal, comfortable.

“Oh my dear brother. What have you done to the poor witcher.” She laughed, turning her attention to him. She could see how uncomfortable the clothes made him. The vest was way too tight and he was practically bursting out of his pants, not that she minded, she gladly enjoyed the view.

“He is torturing me. That's what.” Geralt scoffed and she couldn't help but giggle again.

“You're so dramatic Geralt it's truly not that bad.” Her head flicked to her brother.

“Jaskier don't be rude.” She tutted him like a mother, it made Geralt snort under his breath as he took a bite of his eggs. She stood and walked behind him. He was stiff at her movements.

“Do you mind?” Her fingers were on the strings of the vest. He shook his head no and she quickly untied the tight strings, and it fell from his shoulders. She took it off and handed it to one of the maids

“You can burn that horridly ugly thing.” She said as she sat back down.

“I do not remember you being so rude, little sister.” Jaskier quipped.

“What I think is rude is how you made sure you got the more presentable clothing and dressed your poor friend in those horrendous colors. Have you seen his pants, Jaskier?? It's a miracle he can still breath.” Her eyes looked towards the witcher who was already looking at her with a cocky smirk on his face, glad she was putting Jaskier in his place for the ugly outfit choice.

“I can take you to the seamstress later today, if you’d like Geralt.” Her smile was like a drug.

“I’d appreciate that m'lady.” He said softly.

“And I can show you around the city, both of you. But in return I would like to hear some of your stories, first hand if that’s doable.”

“That sounds like a reasonable trade.” Geralt quipped back.

“Then it's a date, Witcher.”

“A date it is.”

[annenhypen]

Falling

jay x reader

high school au! strangers to friends to lovers au!

word count: 2.8k

writer’s note: this is the longest work i have written so far and I ENJOYED WRITING IT SO MUCH! I really want to write drabbles for this pairing if this does well!!! let me know what you guys think.

tags: @gratefulmaria @azeugirdor @eggbutnotyolk @jungwon-luv-bot-pt3

Before Meeting Him

You and your boyfriend, Daniel, had a steady relationship. Growing up together and ending up going to the same schools, it was like you guys were destined to be together. You were best friends until one day he asked you out and decided to change your title to his “girlfriend”.

You were seated next to him in the first period as he turned his head to face you.

“I heard there’s a new transfer student in our class” he informed you, causing your eyebrows to shoot up. Students rarely changed schools in the beginning of the senior year, so you got curious about the new presence in your class.

He entered the classroom on his first day, dressed in a black hoodie in contrast to his bleached hair but matching his black jeans. Every clothing he put on that day was black except for the four silver rings he put on his hands. He stood next to your teacher and introduced himself to the class. Despite his dark style, he introduced himself with a bright smile that caught your attention for a little too long. Jay. His name fits his appearance you thought. You watched him walk to the only empty seat in the classroom which was the seat in front of your boyfriend who was sitting next to you. You looked away when he made eye contact with you, catching you staring at him.

Meeting Him

Turns out that Jay was not just your classmate. He was also the son of the family who moved in next door. You were surprised to see him open the door when your mother sent you to give your new neighbors a welcome gift, freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. You collected yourself and smiled brightly, holding out the plate filled with cookies in front of you.

“Hello, I am Y/N. I live next door and my mother sent these for you to say welcome to our neighborhood.” you explained, finally looking at his eyes. He smiled back at you, taking the plate out of your hands.

“Thank you so much, it’s very nice of her and you. I am Jay. I am pretty sure we are classmates as well.” he answered. You nodded at him.

“I’ll see you in class then” you said and took one step back to go back to your house. You saw him wave a goodbye at you before turning around.

An Offer

Many things were unpredictable in your life. For example, you never expected your relationship with Daniel to come to an end so quickly but it did. You also did not expect your long term friendship with your -now- ex boyfriend to get ruined, following your break-up. You were still seated next to each other in class but you rarely talked. He never texted you about anything other than your classes. It was a hard time for both of you. You were sad because losing a friend who has been there all along was not easy to take it in.

“I am going to assign all of you into study groups today. I am expecting you guys to meet outside of class to encourage each other to study for the upcoming exams” announced your homeroom teacher on the third Friday of your senior year, causing your classmates to whine to voice their complaints out. You opened your notebook as you waited for your name to be called.

“Ruby, Luke, Y/N, Jay and Daniel, you guys are Team B” you heard your teacher added after checking his journal.

Here’s how these “study groups” worked: every group member had to do their best and get a good grade on the exams. After the exams week, the average grade for each team was calculated by your teacher and the team with the highest average score received a prize in return. This way, your teacher made sure everyone helped each other to increase the average grade for their teams.

“Make sure to exchange phone numbers and make a group chat to discuss your study plans and meetings” your teacher suggested.

You pulled out a loose-leaf and tapped on Jay’s shoulder who was seating in front of Daniel. He looked back with a questioning expression.

“Write your phone number down and pass the paper to Ruby” you confided and he nodded back at you before taking the paper from your hands. You took the paper back after Ruby and Luke wrote their numbers down. Of course you did not have to ask for Daniel’s number.

“I’ll create a group chat after school, we can discuss the details there” you reported, gaining a nod from every member of your study group.

You were a competitive student. Your grades were always above average and these study group contests made you even more ambitious. As nerdy as it sounded, you wanted to make sure everyone in your team performed well on the upcoming exams.

You knew Ruby was a bright student. Daniel studied regularly as well. Luke was okay as far as you knew. However, you did not know about Jay’s academics. You were determined to learn about it and help him if he needed your help.

“Hey Jay, do you want to walk home together after school?” you asked, smiling politely. He turned to you in surprise and took a look at Daniel’s face. He smirked at Daniel’s clenched jaw and accepted your offer.

Plans

You saw Jay playing with his phone in front of the school gates when you exited the school building. He was wearing his leather jacket, making you look like a child next to him with your fluffy pastel pink cardigan and white outfit. He put his phone into his back pocket when you reached his side.

“You ready?” he questioned looking down at your face. You looked so short compared to his tall figure. You felt intimidated by his eyes and chose to look down at your shoes before nodding your head.

“So… How are you?” he asked, breaking the dead silence as you walked side by side.

“I’m good. I should ask you how you are. Were you able to get used to living here?” you asked, feeling, less nervous as you walked.

“Yes… Actually, I couldn't explore much since I don’t have many friends around here and I usually just go to school and return home during the week” he explained and scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. I probably sound like a loser, he thought. You thought for a little before speaking again.

“Hey, I can show you around this weekend if you want? I didn’t have anything planned anyway. Also, this is like the last weekend we can enjoy before studying for the exams. That is… if you want to, of course… I get it if you don’t-“ your rambling got interrupted by Jay’s little chuckle. Cute, he thought.

“I would like that,” he answered. You couldn’t help but smile at his acceptance of your invitation.

“This is kind of random but do you like pancakes?” you asked out of nowhere.

“Who doesn’t like pancakes?” he answered your question with another question causing you to chuckle. I already like this guy, you thought.

“Alright, then we can go to this local diner I know for breakfast tomorrow and start our little tour afterwards” you suggested while looking at him to wait for his answer.

“Alright, sounds like a plan” he concluded. Jay couldn’t help but think how much he wanted this “little tour” of yours to be an actual date.

Getting to Know Him

“Oh you should meet Mr. Bubbles” you insisted as you watched Jay take another bite of his blueberry pancakes. You wanted to introduce your fat Scottish fold to your new friend who apparently loves cats.

“I would love to…But unfortunately, I am allergic to cats” he replied, looking a little sad. You felt the need to comfort him inside you.

“Don’t be so sad! I can just show him to you through the window of my room” you suggested. You heard his small chuckle before nodding at your direction.

From this morning, you learned that Jay is not as intimidating as he looked from outside. He moved to your town from Seattle because of his father’s job. He was good at subjects like English and History but he said he could use some help with Math. His favorite genre of music was Rock and he took dance classes back in Seattle. He was interested in fashion and he liked cats. He had an easygoing personality and a pretty smile- wait, a big smile you meant.

In addition, Jay learned that you liked many more things other than studying: you enjoyed watching romantic comedies the most but one of your common interests was that both of you liked watching anime. You also liked cooking even though you were not as experimental as Jay when you entered the kitchen. Jay was stunned when he learned your favorite rock band: ONE OK ROCK because that was his favorite band too. He was surprised to find similarities between you two when you looked so different from outside. He also learned how much he liked your laugh and how hard he wanted to try to make you laugh more often to just listen to your laugh.

Not so long after, you paid the check and headed to your next destination.

“We’re going to the beach, I hope you know how to ride a bike” you chimed while walking backwards in front of Jay.

“Of course I know how to ride a bike! Who do you think I am?” he fought back right before you tripped on something and almost fell on your butt. He reached forward to catch you by your waist, saving you from both: the pain and the embarrassment of falling in front of Jay.

You both went silent when you were chest to chest. You looked up to Jay’s face while holding your breath. You looked at his eyes and he stared back at yours. You saw his eyes flicker to your lips and that was the signal you got before pulling away from his hold.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m so clumsy” you mumbled looking down at your feet, continuing to walk next to Jay. He strolled next to you but he did not miss the pink shade on your cheeks before looking ahead.

***

Oh my god Y/N! Get your shit together! What is wrong with you, you just spent a single day with the guy! You told yourself that night, laying down on your bed when you came back from your day with Jay.

Okay, he was attractive, funny and nice to you. He also was a good listener and he was talkative as well. You felt comfortable spending time with him and you felt bad when you said goodbye to him in front of your house before you got in. You sighed before rubbing your eyes and tried to fall asleep without thinking about your cute, hot, funny and sweet classmate.

Study Group

You opened the gates of the coffee shop you were supposed to meet with your study mates 10 minutes later than your agreed meeting time. You hurried your way upstairs where it was more quiet than downstairs and you saw your group members sitting on a table in the left corner of the room. You apologized for being late when you reach their table and took the only empty seat next to Daniel, across from Jay.

You opened your backpack to take your materials out when you realized a cup of coffee was pushed in front of you. You looked up to see Jay grinning at you. He went back to taking notes on his notebook when you reached for the cup to take a sip from it. You realized it was a latte with unsweetened vanilla. Your usual order. He remembered your order from the coffee shop you went on your little tour right before you went to see the local art gallery. You looked at his face to see him watching your reaction. You gave him a small smile while mouthing "thank you" and he returned your smile with a little nod.

Confession

It was right before the Christmas break started when Jay came to terms with his feelings for you. Between the walks you took home together, the shared snacks between classes, the laughs shared during the lunch periods, and the times he snuck into your room to watch your favorite anime together at night when you were both supposed to be sleeping, he fell for you.

Jay was a straightforward guy. If he feels something, he might as well tell you about it. Worst case scenario: you would kindly reject him and he would move on. So he grabbed his phone from his nightstand and texted you.

You grabbed your cardigan from your closet and opened the gates of the kitchen which looked at the backyard as quiet as possible to not wake your parents up. You saw Jay putting his hands in his pockets while waiting for you in the middle of your backyard. His back was facing you so you thought you could have a little fun.

You reached him while tiptoeing silently and grabbed his waist from behind.

“BOO!” you whisper screamed. He jumped and pushed you away while you tried to hold your laugh, but failed miserably. He watched you laugh while he shook his head in disbelief.

“I knew it! You’re still scared of the ghosts” you accused him, stepping forward and putting your pointing finger on his chest. He watched you having fun with an amusing smile plastered on his face. He reached for your waist with his both hands while still looking at you with the same amused smile.

“Why do I even like you?” he muttered in disbelief. You froze. He watched your surprised expression and realized what he just blurted out.

“What?” you asked looking down at his chest because looking into his eyes was very hard at that moment. Jay took a deep breath before continuing.

“I thought I was pretty obvious” he said casually. Your heart was beating so fast that you got scared that Jay might have heard its banging on your chest. You bowed your head down and your forehead touched Jay’s chest. You were shy.

“Ilikeyoutoo” you mumbled so fast, Jay almost couldn’t catch it. Cute, he thought and you felt his lips press on your forehead. You hugged his waist while he nuzzled his nose in the crook of your neck under the light of the stars.

Secrecy

Ever since you started going on dates with Jay, it was during the Christmas break. You went to cute cafes to drink hot chocolate, went ice skating, and did all the holiday activities together. One thing you didn’t talk about was how you were going to act when you got back to school. So you started sneaking around instinctively.

It was another study group meeting before the upcoming exams. You were seated between Ruby and Jay at one of the tables in your local library’s study hall when you felt Jay’s hand grabbing yours under the table. You turned to look at his face but he shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t care. You intertwined your hand with his and put them on top of your thigh. He rubbed his thumb on the back of your hand as both of you continued reading your textbooks.

When you were done with studying for History, you had to grab another book from the aisle where English textbooks were put. You got up, letting go of Jay’s hand in the process and went to the English books section. You searched through the bookshelves to find the book you needed. As you were focused on reading the names of various textbooks, you felt a small kiss pressed on the exposed skin of the back of your neck. Your breath caught in the back of your throat when you turned around to see Jay smirking at you.

“They could have seen us” you whispered to him, slapping his arm.

Not So Secretive

Jay entered the class, playing with the straps of his backpack when he saw you sitting on your seat while playing with your phone. He reached his seat to find Daniel sitting on it.

“Why are you sitting here?” questioned Jay, tilting his head to the empty seat next to you where Daniel seated every day except for that day. Daniel let a sigh before looking up at Jay.

“Don’t you want to sit next to your girlfriend?” he asked, already knowing the answer to the question.

Jay did not respond before sitting next to you. You turned your head to see who was seating next to you in surprise before he leaned forward to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek in front of your classmates.