#i know i used the word acoustic wrong i did it on purpose

[visibleclosedeyes]

✧ᴀ ᴛʜᴏᴜꜱᴀɴᴅ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴠᴏʏᴀɢᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪꜱᴅᴏᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙꜱᴏʟᴜᴛᴇ ɴɪʜɪʟɪᴛʏ✧

IX x reader

1k words Ao3 version here

To repeat how and why you ended up in this position would be like trying to recant the story of several centuries of here and there, so at some point, you just let it go—let the words you had once told centuries ago washed away into the ever-flowing stream of the intergalactic void.

But as an emanator of the Nihility —perhaps this suits you best.

Today and yesterday and tomorrow and last year and a century have been blended together like an ever-growing vortex of void—at some point, nothing really matters that much, including your life story. Perhaps this is how IX feels, all the time. Maybe they were a breathtakingly beautiful creature that rivaled that of the Aeon of beauty and the abundance Yaoshi—but then they had touched the darkness that is the pit of this universe, and—and now they lost all those faces because it hardly ever mattered which form they took.

You understood you thought—as you have touched nihilism too. Or, to be accurate, IX has gazed upon you. Only those with an unrestrained arrogance dare to compare their plight to those with Aeonic status. But you thought, at the very least, you get a fraction of how they felt.

“Big or small, all things are touched by the same bottomless meaningless vortex,” Aeon of Nihility told you once, a fraction of truth is still truth nonetheless.

“Why are you planting seeds into the ground?” IX asked. Although their voice was low and acoustic; bouncing all over this fabricated dimension used for holding IX themselves when they went to sleep, you can feel the genuine curiosity behind those blob eyes of theirs.

“ Someone has said to me once that beautiful flowers help people get into a better mood,”

“ Maybe for mortals, but those tricks don't work on us who knows,” IX said. Even with a rather distant and monotone, there is a hint of somewhat concern.

“I know,” you said—your voice, too, was bouncing off the metaphorical wall. It created the signature acoustic sounds that, as you remember, were once disorienting when you first arrived here. Now? It would have been weird to not hear a slight echo in your or their voice.

You kneeled, the gray and tender sand soil you have gathered in your palm felt cold. It shines against the soft light emitting from the other side where IX was crawling opposing it. The light existed alongside the nihility, belonging to the Doctor of Chaos. “—You don’t have to be too worried. This is mostly for them,” when you continued speaking, the sand was allowed to slide past your hand—it flowed down, but immediately dissolved mid-air into nothingness.

“All things that exist would come to its conclusion. And all things exist for one single purpose; to exist, to continue to exist, and then struggle for that existence—against the unknown, against the others. Only when they no longer could stomach this any longer, shall they perish—left nothing behind,” the Nihility said, Their tone was rather melodic despite the absolutely horrifying speech they have given to you. Yet, it didn’t shake you. Perhaps, being their emanator has some interesting and useful additional benefits.

“I understand, and you are right more than wrong. Still, I plant this for them,”

“ If I am right, then who else is them ?”

“ Those who will walk this path, the same path that I did, and those who will receive that gaze of yours,” you said with an amused yet exhausted smile on your face.

“ No, no. There will be no others. You are selected, but there will be no more others. You are my first and the last emanator,” IX burst out—a rather strange demeanor from those who hold the status of an Aeon; but then again—we don’t really know all that much about Aeon after all. They almost sound anxious—almost but you just burst out laughing.

“Are…you laughing? At an Aeon..?”

“Who else would I be laughing at?”

“…why?” The aeon exclaimed with a voice filled with a hint of annoyance. You inhaled—trying your best to suppress the laugh that seemed to be indefinitely pouring out.

“You are wrong about most things, you were wrong then before you gazed upon me, and you’re wrong now that you assumed you won’t gaze at anyone again,” you said. Most of the dirt in your palm was already gone. Turn around to face your Aeon who, to best describe it—seems to be in absolute shock. Mortals or immortals with less significance do not challenge Aeon, and if they do it will be done not in such a flippancy like this. IX has faced hostility by mortals before by the name of ‘annihilation gangs’, it was…something for several seconds…and then they were nothing, swallowed whole by the crushing weight of nothingness. But—you are special, IX recognized that genes the Aeon’s gaze that craved a mental scar of nihility into your mind. Yet, uniqueness does not exempt you from absolute nothingness. In time, you will perish, and the millions of steps you have to take to be at this point will quickly be washed away by the current of time…and the ever-looming, uncaring silence of the universe. Like the dirt that no longer sits among your fingers, your life will soon slip from the grasp of the Aeon.

And yet—yet, this fact did not dim your light, not one bit. You know full well of the approaching darkness at all of the universe’s corridors—they have let you see it yourself. Still, you have insisted on the very same stand you have held before. Despite not chasing foolishly trying to create artificial meaning to life and the universe—you have understood and even believed the same thing IX believed, you have chosen to face such issues with a totally opposite reaction they have expected.

You faced your Aeon now, the metaphorical barren land of gray and emptiness was now occupied by blooming bio-fluorescent white flowers. It shines bright, but not too bright where it hurts—but bright enough to stand firm against the blackest of black sky that enveloped the garden and both entities facing each other.

“Before you crowned me as your emanator, you had none before. You don't believe in bestowing your ‘blessings’ upon anyone—you have seen no point in it, and you believed no beings could tolerate such nihilistic gaze anyway. Then you gazed at me, I suffered from you and I survived, and I got better. You said, in the face of looming darkness, I will understand and change my way—and I have not changed, before or after,”

IX looked straight into the eyes of their emanator and thought— why is she so difficult? But perhaps that is why she interests me…

“You are unbelievable, breathtakingly chaotic,” IX said with exasperation but their gaze was soft, as soft as a freshly cleaned wool. Something rather surprising coming from the Aeon represents coldness and emptiness.

“Now stop bothering me, I want to sleep…” With that, IX closed their eyes—essentially turning themselves into a mass of darkening black hole that seems to suck away all the life force surrounding it. This made-up space for you and them has dimmed its light, the world was asleep now as both you and the garden of light fell into the dark. You sat down, in an environment with minimal light, and closed your eyes too—drifting into a state of inactivity like your Aeon. Still, you and the garden emit soft light like a nightlight for the Aeon to anchor on. IX didn’t need it, and yet… you wanted to do it.

This place should be hell for any other, but for you—you felt comforted by the presence of the Nihility. It’s true that you were now in the darkness swallow but this darkness itself soothed you—just like the Nihility has too. Tomorrow, there will be work to do; but now you just want to rest beside your aeon. Basking silently in each other comfort.

[blookisses]

Im just waiting for my ride on campus and I see 2 dudes riding skateboards, but one of them is using a motorizedskateboard while the other is going acoustic and they were going the same speed downhill, but when the guy with the moto skateboard saw his pal falling behind while going uphill, he grabbed his hand and pulled them both and they were just rolling uphill at a noticeably slower pace while holding onto each other anyway thats what real love is

[lollypopsx]

Flatmate! Harry: I’ll Make It Up To You - Part 1

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst 

Please like if it’s not too shabby, reblog for anyone who may enjoy this and follow if you want to see more! Any suggestions are happily taken for future writing! I love you all! be safe and be kind x

Part 2 - Part 3

—————————

You was going to kill him. This was the last straw and you had used up every ounce of patience today.

“Harry Edward Styles! Get in here right now or I swear to fucking god you won’t ever breath again!” You shout, your hands clutching the towel wrapped around your body. Your hair styled in a bouncy blow dry with a full face of makeup, a brown smoky eye and a nude lip.

The two of you bicker and argue like enemies, laugh like the best of friends and love each other like a married couple. Although you were only flat mates and nothing had ever gone further than friends, you knew Harry would never see you in that way, however the tiniest part of you had always hoped one day you’d be proven wrong. But you knew all along you’d rather have him as a best friend than lose him all together.

You hear the footsteps round the corner and a grin like the Cheshire Cat plastered on Harrys face “Do you mind? I’m trying to write some music Y/N” he smirks.

“Where the hell are all my clothes?! And where the fuck is my guitar?!” You shout angrily. You were no stranger to practical jokes in this house, both giving and receiving them. But today was different. You had the most important audition of your lifetime, and half of your room had been emptied. 

The laughter escaping Harry’s lips was making you angrier and angrier by the second. “I told you that you’d regret stealing my jumpers!” He smirks.

“That doesn’t mean you take everything I own! Now where to hell is it all?!”

“Ah now you see…this is where it gets fun…you see we’ve made you a little scavenger hunt to find it all. All you have to do is-”

“We?! Who’s we?!” You growl through gritted teeth.

“Ok ok…I can’t take all the credit for this…Niall helped. So…here’s the rules!”

“Harry!” You cut him off “I don’t have time for a fucking scavenger hunt! I have my audition in an hour and I’m already running late! Just get me some fucking clothes and my guitar so I can leave!”

As soon as you had mentioned your audition, the smug grin fell from Harrys face and his rosy cheeks had drained to pale “oh shit. T-that’s today?! I…I thought it was Friday” he frowns “w-well all your stuff is in Niall’s car and he’s in Brighton so I can just get him to drive back asap and…” he fumbles for his phone quickly.

“Brighton?! Harry you have 3 seconds to tell me this is a joke before I rip your pretty little head off! That’s 2 hours away Harry! I’ll never make it in time!”

“Y/N I’m so sorry! I am I really am, I would never have done this today if I knew” Guilt filling his eyes.

“You knew Harry! It’s written on the fridge, on the calendar and you helped me rehearse two days ago!”

“Why don’t I just go and buy you something to wear?” He offers, although he was currently terrified to speak incase his head really did get ripped off. He hadn’t seen you this angry since you pierced holes in three of your ex-boyfriends tyres after finding out he cheated.

“Well that’s pointless because I haven’t got my guitar and you don’t even have your acoustic guitar here. Forget it Harry. Just get out.” You mutter, your head hanging low in disappointment. Even if you left now you’d be late, and that was frowned upon. Turning up anywhere late was bad enough, let alone an audition. If you’re going to turn up late, then there’s no point turning up at all because you wouldn’t even be given a chance. The entertainment business was a difficult place to be, and this was your one chance to really make something bigger for yourself and it was ruined.

“Y/N I…”

“I said get out!” You scream, releasing the built up fury “go and join Niall in Brighton for all I fucking care. Leave me alone. I’m so disappointed Harry” you felt the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

The sight of you on the verge of tears was enough to break his heart. He wanted to protest, he wanted to make it all better. But he knew you too well. He knew if he didn’t leave you alone to calm down then it would make everything worse than it already was. He had never felt so guilty. In the 4 years you had lived together, practical jokes never made either of you angry. Sure they were embarrassing at times, but you two always had the best of times. At what made it even worse this time was that he had made you cry…and you’d used the ‘D’ word on him!

Harry had left, shutting the front door quietly as he headed to the studio to get out of your hair for a few hours. Also calling Niall in the process to get him to get the fuck home asap. It may have seemed like a pretty extreme joke, but they didn’t intend it to turn out this way. The plan was that the scavenger hunt would lead you to Brighton with Harry to meet Niall there, and the three of you would spend the day and night by the beach, shopping, drinking, eating...everything that you loved to do.

As hours passed, you found yourself tucked under the mountain of blankets on the sofa, wearing a pair of Harry’s boxers, joggers and a white hoodie. Which you purposely chose because your makeup rubbed off on the collar and the sleeves as you wiped your tears. 

You felt deflated and disappointed. You should have been more prepared...no actually, Harry shouldn’t of been a dick. You knew he didn’t mean to jeopardize your audition, but these auditions didn’t come along often and part of you just wasn’t ready to let this go yet.

Harry crept in quietly, although you didn’t hear him, or at least you didn’t want to. “ Hey...Y/N” he whispers softly, walking through the living room door cautiously.

“Hm?” you mutter, not allowing yourself to speak a word to him, and especially making sure your eyes were glued to Netflix, not giving him the satisfaction of paying attention.

“I...I got you these” He whispers, placing a big bouquet of red roses and white lilies on the glass coffee table in front of you. You looked straight passed them “Oh wow...maybe I should send these over to the directors and producers to say sorry and maybe they can make an exception for little Y/N to try again!” you state sarcastically, but your facial expression staying as blank as possible.

He sighs softly and perches himself on the arm of the sofa, he gently pulls your shoulders back for you to rest your back against his thigh. “I know it doesn’t change what I did Y/N, and believe me if I could of changed anything I would, and if I could turn back time, I’d do anything”

“You really fucked up Harry” you whisper, your voice cracking gently as you wiped your tears on the sleeve of his hoodie. “You don’t get it. You’re Harry Styles and you get everything handed to you on a plate because everyone already knows who you are! You’ve done what like...three auditions in your life and you’ve succeeded every single one. It’s not like that for me. I spent hours and hours practicing. And weeks just writing these songs in hope they get heard one day and now they won’t because word spreads really quick in this industry.” You still couldn’t bring yourself to look into his eyes, because you hated people seeing you cry. 

He sighed softly, staying silent as he pulled you up gently and sitting himself underneath you as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. He was always the first to help you rehearse when you had an audition, the first to comfort you if it went wrong or you didn’t succeed, and the first to celebrate and congratulate you when you did get it. Unfortunately, this time no one will ever know how it would have gone. He knew he couldn’t say much else because he knew you were right.  

You wanted to resist, but instead you buried your face into his chest and whimpered softly. As disappointed as you were, you knew Harry was truly sorry and he’d hang onto this guilt for a while. He held you close as his gentle fingers raked through your hair.

“I’ve put everything back in your room, all folded and neat” He whispers “I’ll make it up to you. I promise” He kept his arms around you supportively, although his chest was heavy with guilt, he already had a plan conjuring in his mind. 

—————————

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

2 Oct. Suptober: No Vacancy

"There were no vacancies for a radius of nearly 25 miles. But I did find one room, finally. I'll text you the address."

"Thanks, Cas." Sam paused. "Have you spoken to Dean today?"

snippetfic; deancas

"Is this what it's like in Norway?" Dean asked, faint horror dripping from every word as he pushed a few cable knit sweaters from one side of a circular rack to the other.

"Sweden," Sam corrected. Off Dean's blank look, he clarified, "The store's from Sweden."

"Well, whatever. Happiest people on earth, my ass." Dean flicked the strings of a gray hoodie on a nearby hanger and sighed. "This place is giving me the heebie jeebies. Everything in here smells like ink."

Sam rehung a shirt the price tag referred to as 'muscle fit band collar' and prayed for strength. "We just need a few new clothes, and this place is closer than the nearest army surplus." And it wasn't like the three-acres large sentient mushroom purportedly threatening citizens two towns away was going anywhere quickly. In theory. 

"There's gotta be a thrift store around here somewhere. Suburb like this? There's probably nine different churches running a yard sale outta their basement."

"We have a gift card, thanks to Donna." Sam shrugged. "May as well use it."

Dean opened his mouth, no doubt to protest again, then spotted something in a far corner. Sam wanted to try on a pair of trousers and he was willing to let Dean work out his aggression towards moderately priced fast fashion by himself for a few minutes. In the cramped, smudged dressing room, Sam decided that maybe Dean was right to be unimpressed. Why did these khakis have elastic bands at the bottom of the legs, like a pair of sweatpants from the 1980s? Why were Sam's bony and pale lower shins so hideous by the glare of fluorescent lighting? 

He was spared further inane inner commentary by his phone bleating in the pocket of the jeans he already owned. "Hey, Cas."

"There are many young athletes in this county." Cas's tinny voice bled frustration. "They are energetic and loud."

"The tournament's over tomorrow."

"That did not help me today." It sounded like Cas was pulling a boulder out of his truck, with more difficulty than an angel should have had. "There were no vacancies for a radius of nearly 25 miles. But I did find one room, finally. I'll text you the address."

"Thanks, Cas." Sam paused. "Have you spoken to Dean today?"

A mirrored pause. "No?" Cas made the word seem multisyllabic.

"Okay." Sam put the terrible trousers back on their plastic hanger. "We'll see you in an hour or so." 

"Wait," Cas said. "Is something wrong with Dean?" 

The concern that radiated from the phone could have powered a nuclear warhead. Sam thought it prudent to keep his smile out of his own voice when he said, "Dean's fine, man. You just left the bunker without telling him you were leaving, is all."

"Oh." Cas was squinting; Sam just knew. "I didn't tell you either, Sam."

Yes, but I'm not butthurt about it, Sam thought. "It's fine, Cas. You found us a case." So far, all the case had really yielded in Sam was a desire to eat pizza loaded with portabellas as soon as he could get his hands on a pie, but Cas didn't need to know that. "No worries."

"All right. I'll see you…when you get here." Cas disconnected.

Sam rubbed a hand over his face to try to remove the exasperation from it. He braced himself for whatever mood he would find Dean in now.

This did not prepare him for how depressed Dean was, still in that one corner of the store, looking at flannel shirts. 

"You can't complain about the selection here," Sam said, nodding at the rack of buffalo plaids. "You own at least four shirts that look just like these."

"I hate this fucking music." Dean rolled his eyes up to the ceiling like he might try to bite one of the speakers embedded between the acoustic tiles. 

The song the ceiling blared, made more grating by a short somewhere in the speaker, was pretty bad, Sam had to concede. Why Dean couldn't just tune it out was a question Sam had no answer for. Perhaps they were no longer fit for mainstream shopping, Sam considered. Perhaps they never had been. A nearby salesclerk frowned at Dean's scowl and hightailed it away from his general grumpiness. 

Sam decided to try his luck with a different pair of trousers, checking the cuffs on them first, and was just about to head back to the dressing room when the disembodied ceiling voice sang, "Used to be that I felt so damn empty. Ever since I met you, no vacancy."

Yeah, okay. Not Sam's cup o' rock-n-roll tea either, he would readily admit. But he glanced over at Dean, and Dean was not grinding his teeth or clenching his jaw or glaring disdainfully. No. Sam saw, with both a pang of sympathy and a generous helping of humor, was that the subpar blah pop lyrics were getting under Dean's skin. 

In the midst of a bunch of mall clothes too trendy for the Winchester boys, Dean Winchester was pining. 

"Cas called," Sam said, casual as a crew neck t-shirt. "He's got a room for us an hour from here."

The transformation Dean underwent in that moment, from despondent Gen Xer disillusioned by consumerist propaganda and the kind of lonesomeness that only afflicted those lonely for a specific person to Man with A Renewed Sense of Purpose, was so instantaneous Sam physically could not keep from laughing.

"What?" Dean said, his expression morphing into a masterpiece of confusion.

"Nothing." Sam let his laugh trail off with a reasonably content, if also defeated, sigh. "I'm trying these on." He hoisted a pair of jeans aloft and headed back to the dressing room. "I like this blue plaid," Dean called out, suddenly the store's biggest fan.

"You should buy it for Cas," Sam called back. "It'd bring out his eyes."

That Dean seemed to be seriously considering the purchase was enough to start Sam smiling again. The dressing room was still unpleasant, but at least he knew the drive to even-more-middle-of-nowhere, Ohio, would be, if nothing else, fast. 

(with apologies to fans of OneRepublic :))

[sibsteria]

all the angels [cast & angels & chuck]

prompts: ''run away with me''

summary: [bare with me, this is a long summary and concept] throughout the decades, y/n and the angels lived in harmony, her being the only being with powers on par with chuck. an immortal life with your angels sounds good, doesn't it? something goes wrong and y/n gets projected into the world of the spn actors. she had never met god, despite being made for the angels because of him. the thing is, she doesn't remember anything of her life with the angels and this messes with reality. the world of reality, along with y/n, are all magically convinced she has always been in their universe as a fellow cast mate. what happens when most of her favourite angels and a certain hellish man team up to collect her in the middle of a con?

characters: Rob Benedict, Richard Speight Jr, Mark Pellegrino, Misha Collins, Mark Sheppard, Sebastian Roche, Chuck Shurley, Gabriel, Castiel, Lucifer, Balthazar, Crowley

warnings: I dreamt something along the lines of this and it's just pure crack, I apologise, fluff, angst, everyone is single because it gets weird. I wrote this at 4am :/

---

''So let's talk about Y/n's character! She hasn't been explained too much but we know her backstory.'' Wow, thank you, Mark Sheppard.

''Well, I'm pretty sure the fans already know.'' I shrug, but a glare from the man before me makes me roll my eyes.

''Come on, don't leave them in the dust, also sharing a name with your character is weird right?'' He teases me, I resist the urge to walk over and playfully slap him.

''Fine. She was created by God to please the angels in whatever way they needed, with her consent obviously. She creates a connection with Gabriel and their connection become the focus of her life, until she meets Crowley-'' I look over at Sheppard and paint a fake scowl on my face, sending the audience into light laughter. ''-who is also vying for her attention, but as you all know, she had been killed off at the end of the last season. Y'all didn't see that blinding golden light and her disappearing act?'' I raise my eyebrow at the crowd. They murmur amongst themselves.

''Are you sure she was killed off?'' Richard snickers from next to me. ''What if her dear Gabe just snapped her away for some-'' He wags his eyebrows to out fans. ''-angel on paragon action.''

''It's literally in the script shut up- or you know, believe this idiot.'' I smile, showing I meant no offense

''Scripts change! You know that!'' Misha reasons, aggressively.

''I suppose so.'' Leaving audiences in an unsolved mystery is the fun of cons.

---

Sitting in the green room, it's sweaty and warm after the panel. We are instantly greeted by our colleagues awaiting their next instructions such as Mark Pellegrino, Sebastian Roche and Rob Benedict.

''Welcome back, you little bastards.'' Sebastian's voice rings throughout the room, I groan, faceplanting onto the couch where Rob sat, fiddling with an acoustic guitar.

We sat, talked, ate, I napped, yknow the usual.

---

''So, do you think they will bring you back for the next season?'' Misha asks, I bite my lip and answer him.

''I have no idea, no one has said anything so maybe not. I'll be joining our widdle Kings of Con if not.'' I give a baby voice when talking about the couple that is R2.

''Hey!'' Rob's voice wavers in his distinct little way.

''Rude of you to call me little.'' Richard winks and I shoot gag at him, he feigns a frown.

''In other news-'' Mark Pellegrino's cut-in is interrupted by a blinding golden light, surrounding the room. I grip onto Rob's arm as the ground begins to shake, burring my head into his chest, I cover my eyes from the light. He holds me back just as tight, hiding in the comfort of my shoulder. One of many weird, intimate moments with him that makes people believe we are together.

A loud, pitched, sound rattles around us. A few of us scream in pain but I just whimper and move closer into Rob.

Suddenly, everything stops and stills.

I can't force myself to move.

''What the fuck?!'' I hear Misha, making me not want to move even more.

''Ha! Look, she's cuddling you. Awe.'' I hear Richard's voice, but it wasn't him, it didn't sound like him. I pull myself away from Rob's chest and look at the scene unfolding.

'What the fuck?'' I whisper, repeating Collins' earlier comment. Stood here, a few feet in front of us are Gabriel, Balthazar, Castiel, Crowley, Lucifer and Chuck. Did I miss something?

''Not happy to see us, darlin'?'' Gabriel smirks, a foot of his approaches me, I look at them in confusion and shock.

''W-What's going on?'' That is the first time I have ever heard Pellegrino stutter.

''We should probably talk...'' Chuck wavers his hands to us all, motioning us to listen to him.

''So, uh, Y/n here? She's our Y/n, from our reality and we kinda want her back.'' Gabriel shuffles his weight between each of his feet, I'm in too much terror to even speak, so is everyone else.

''You hear him, dickbags? We want her back.'' Lucifer crosses his arms, staring dead into Pellegrino's soul, presumably to make him uncomfortable.

''I don't understand-'' I stop myself, leaving it at that.

''Wait, do you not remember?'' Gabriel looks at me, broken eyes reflect his inside pain.

''Of course she doesn't, you bollock! Can't you see the look on her face?'' Crowley rolls his eyes but for some reason I can sense his true sadness.

''I will explain, better.'' Castiel takes a step towards me. ''You are Y/n Divine, our Divine, your the celestial from our existence. Your our...?'' He struggles to find the words, Balthazar answers for him. Not the lot of explaining I need there, Cas.

''Our collective soulmate, so to speak.'' He nods.

''Yeah, that's who I am in Supernatural but- this isn't the show, this is reality. I gotta be dreaming, oh my God-'' Chuck interferes (doesn't he always).

''That's me.'' The nervous laugh from the bearded almighty almost makes me laugh, almost, but the situation was too real for it. ''Would it help if I...showed you?'' He says, unsure of his choice of words.

For some reason, I pour my trust into him, and walk towards the clone of my almost boyfriend, I wished.

''Mind if I show all of you?'' Chuck asks, before ignoring some of the 'no's in the room and he snaps, bringing us into a dream state.

Scenes flow through our brains, ones that weren't in the show

---

Dressed in a white kaftan with golden afflictions, there was Y/n, lay in the greenest of grass. And next to her? Gabriel the Archangel. Almost in a Bella-Edward meadow position, the two looked into each other, reading one another's soul.

''Run away with me.'' Gabriel whispers, lighter than air.

''What?'' She snaps out of her dreamy daze.

''Let's leave, you don't need any other angel that isn't me.'' This breaks her heart, although Gabriel was her favourite and the one she had a special connection with, she had a duty to remain near the other angels.

''I want to-'' Gabe's heart lifts but sank soon after. ''-but you know I can't. I wasn't created to defy my purpose, I would cease to exist if I did.'' A tear rolls down her cheek, the light from the fading sun rested gracefully on her skin.

''I know. Oh, what was I thinking? My father will come after us and- I would rather now think about what he would do to us, to you.'' He looks away from her to relish in his pain.

''Don't be like that, my little Aurelian enchanter-'' She mentions the colour of his golden wings, which lay across the ground behind him, a beautiful sight. ''-the time will come where no angel needs me, then I can devote myself to you, only you.'' She mumbles, pressing a sure kiss to the peak of his nose. He huffs in a peaceful array of emotion.

''At least you don't kiss any other of my brothers or estranged family.'' He nudges back at her, nose to nose.

---

''That was sickening to watch.'' Pellegrino chuckles into the dark abyss of our voices, unable to see each other but still recognising each other within the blindness.

''Shall I show you another one?'' A rhetorical question from the Lord from above, as he whisks us into another memory.

---

She sat on a bench, clad in elegancy, the world was still new and beaming. New angels were being created, not all of them needed a divine celestial to aid them, so she spent her days watching the creations live. The bees harvesting pollen from the flowers was one of her favourite sights.

She felt an angelic presence appear next to her, but a new one, an unknown one.

''Who might you be?'' She asks, not tearing her eyes away from the fuzz of a creature.

''I am Castiel.'' Short and stat, seems like the kind of being he was, without a vessel he could be read more easily.

''No vessel yet, I assume?'' She looks towards the beam of light beside her.

''No, not yet. I hardly think there's a need for such a thing.'' His voice was the most beautiful she had heard, of all the angels, no vessel and no front made him so much more enticing.

''Well, nice to meet you. You're wings...they're black? Pretty though, new as well.'' She smiled at Castiel, his aura positively increased, the interaction helping them both. Just a simple amount of time in company can help an angel.

''Thank you.''

---

''So that's Castiel?'' Misha seems uneasy.

''Would you like to see the encounter between her and his vessel?''

---

She sat, with Balthazar, just grooming his beautiful wings. An act she did for her most favourite angels.

''Have you seen Castiel's vessel?'' He smiles up at her, in his own vessel.

''Not yet but I am excited though, from the comments I'm hearing, he is a most handsome fellow.'' She brushes past a certain spot, making Bal shiver in delight, not in a sexual manner.

''Ugh, like you don't find yourself infatuated with my golden winged brother already, don't go falling for another one.'' He groans in disgust, she laughs, melodically.

''I can promise you, I won't.'' That was a future lie.

''Hello, Y/n.'' A new voice from behind her, sensing the energy, she knew it was Cas.

A wide grin stretches across her features, ''Castiel!'' She shouts, whipping round to face the angel in his new restrictions. ''My, my, good choice, my angel.'' A nickname specifically reserved for the defying being.

''I would say 'thank you', but it would be a most similar and repetitive interaction.'' She sighs in relaxation, reliving her first encounter with Castiel.

''You are always welcome, you're one of my favourites.'' She boops his nose, squeaking 'boop' at the same time, Cas cocks his head in confusion.

''Boop?'' He questions her, she shrugs her shoulders.

''You're cute, so I booped you.'' She giggles, Castiel couldn't refuse the stutter in his 'emotions' as she spoke.

''Okay.''

---

I heard Mark Sheppard's voice throughout the void, ''YoU'rE cUtE, sO i BoOpEd YoU!'' His badgering voice pointing fun at me.

''Shut up.'' I mumble.

---

It was beautiful, the winding waterfall gushing down the rocks, watching it flow. She sat, in deep thought, things between Lucifer and Michael were getting tense, she was scared for the future.

''You don't need to worry about us, my little cherub.'' Lucifer's voice mixed eloquently with the sound of the waves slowly connecting the lake below.

''It's part of my job, I couldn't help it if I tried.'' She shrugged, she stared at the water, taking in the fresh air.

''I know that things aren't simple, they never will be, just know you will always have me. I have never spoken to anyone in such a tone before, you should be honoured, little one.'' This made her accumulate, she leaned back into hold, he was a median temperature. It was nice.

''My Lucifer.'' She grinned in thought. ''You always have been the most intriguing, I will never give up on you, I promise you that.'' She craned her neck to look at the blonde, before pressing the smallest of kisses to his jaw. She had never seen him so vulnerable, so honest with himself, and she wouldn't again for some time.

---

''My dear, this is too dangerous. You are not a warrior, you are a healer and an abettor. I can't let you, I'm sorry.'' Crowley's gruff rumble soaked the thin air, she wanted to fight for her angels- with her angels. She held the power, but not the will.

''I was made for this moment, this is my purpose, I have to do something.'' She pleads, tears stinging her eyes.

''Listen to me, darling, they need you alive more than you're help. Listen to what I'm saying, although I am nonpartisan, I can't remain unbiased. I fear that my little, fascination with you is what keeps you safe. The angels may not love it, but it keeps you safe whilst they handle their own. They want you safe, so that is what I will do.'' His short monologue seemed to flip something within Y/n, she stayed silent for a moment, reeling in thought. Hearing his repetition of the word safe just made her wish the same for her angels.

''I-I guess you're right. I don't want anything to happen to them, you remember last time, when it all-'' She couldn't bring herself to continue, relishing in the agony of remembering when Lucifer was cast.

''Yes, my dear, and you nearly got caught in the crossfire. It can't happen again, there is no other being like you and there never will be. The stories are that God nearly killed himself trying to create you, you are everything he wanted humanity to be.'' She smiled at this, he was trying to cheer her up with a bit of complimenting. ''Even if you are stubborn.'' She slapped his chest, as a farce and let out a small cachinnate.

---

Everyone was silent, things started to get heavy on thought and reason. No one could think of a word to say.

''One more for good measure, then we will asses you, Y/n.'' Uh, what does that mean?

---

The quiet air that surrounded the two was comforting and safe, content and peaceful. Y/n and Gabriel sat opposite one another, his wings lay in her lap as she did what she does best. Her hands traced up the outer lining of his wings, from top to bottom, before moving in the the inner feathers. She rolled a collection of feathers between her fingers each time she moving a few inches down, softly and gently. Working out the stress and the tightness that wound itself within them, he holds onto her knee, using it as a gripping post every once in a while. It wasn't a pain thing though, it was quite the opposite, the gratification and the bliss he was receiving from such a special moment was intense.

''I don't know why, I think your wings are my favourite.'' She hums out, brushing out the feathers she had been fixing in a swoop from the height of his wing and downwards, before moving on to the next section.

''Oh, really?'' Gabriel couldn't resist the playful tone residing in his comment, but that was what Y/n loved, he wasn't afraid to tease her.

''Without a doubt, they're mesmerising. Such a beautiful colour, and shape. They suit you so well.'' Slowly, she leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth, before gently pulling herself back.

''Come on, sweetheart! You can do better than that-'' His voice is cut off by a staggering gasp as she unwinds a knot in his feather,  gripping her knee tight, he swoons.

She doesn't say a word, yet she picks up her head again, craning towards the angel's face. While continuing to brush out his ailerons of flight, she kisses him again, direct and strong. She moves against his lips with such care but much passion, Gabriel couldn't resist the slip of his tongue to her, she wasn't in any way complaining.

---

''Okay, that was upsetting to watch.'' Richard grumbles, we find ourselves back inside the green room, standing in front of us remain Chuck and Gabriel.

''You're telling me.'' I let a slanted expression reach my face.

''You mean you still don't remember?'' Gabriel's frown tugs at my heart, I feel something for him, but not as immense as what we have been watching.

''I have something that might work, but it might...do something?'' Chuck gives out a nervous chuckle, small and barely there.

''Do it, I need her back, I don't care about the consequences unless it hurts her.'' The strain and torment in his intonation is dismal.

''It won't hurt her, but it might- never mind, if it happens then it happens, if it doesn't then you will be happy you didn't know.'' Chuck walks towards me with purpose and I cower back slightly, a stern alarm on my face.

''W-Woah there, what are you doing?'' I reach out my hands in a 'stop' motion, he grabs hold of them.

''Bringing back your memory, I need you to focus on the moments you just watched, think about how you felt during them.'' I thought back, I felt as if I was the girl in the grass, and in heaven and the girl who loved the angels. I revelled in the select memories, the beautiful memories. ''Good, carry on thinking about them and how you felt.''

I felt a warmth surge through my hands, as they remained connected to Chuck's.

''It's working.'' I peek open my eyes and look down at our hands. Mine are white and hold a holy glow, my eyes widen as I look at the magic.

''This is you?'' I ask, Chuck shakes his head.

''It's you, well, it's us. You have your own powers, but this kind can only be used when I am touching you. You know you have angelic advantages, from the show?'' He explains in a way I understand, I nod. ''D-Do you want to remember this world? Along with your true one?'' I bit my lip before answering.

''I would, some people I can't let go.'' I look towards Rob, who stood off towards the side, the group of my colleagues still in shock of the situation, some whispering to each other.

''I see. Are you ready?'' The heat is getting more intense in my hands, a burning hot white light shines from then.

''I think so.''

''I need to warn you, you may not like what could happen next.'' He unclasps our hands before reaching up to sandwich my head between them. It wasn't painful, it was peculiar, my body went numb. This took around a minute before he took his hands of me.

My mind and his instantly travelled to a secluded world. It was barren and empty, but beautiful, Red sand and burnt skies surrounded me, small oasis' patched around. The sun was in a constant set, never going up nor down.

''Where are we?'' I asked Chuck, he was dressed in a white pant and shirt, I looked down towards myself. I was enclosed by a gorgeous lengthy white garment, a golden sash across my waist.

''We're in your head. How are you feeling?'' I smile.

''Like myself, thanks Chuck, nice to meet you by the way- can't believe I haven't said that yet, after all Gabe has told me.''

''Um, okay, this is going to be awkward to ask. What do you feel? When you look at me, that is.''

''Hm...'' I look into his soft eyes. I felt as if I belonged there, like it was home. My whole existence within his soul.

''That's- not good.'' He must have read me, because I didn't say that out loud. I widen my eyes, starting to panic. ''I-I mean, it could be? It depends how you feel on the matter.'' He tries to soothe me.

''Explain.'' Was all I said.

''We- well. I've linked us, not on purpose. You're life's fulfilment is with me now, along with the angels. I'm not your creator anymore, I'm your equal. Yet you are not light nor dark, your the meld of both, a mediator if you will. The love for the angels, can be found within myself now. I'm sorry, I never thought it would actually happen.'' I'm guessing this is the first time he has ever apologised, I don't know how but- I feel like I know everything about him. The almost humanitarian way he dabbles jn his powers is confronting.

''Yes, that's another edge you have, you know everything about me now, you know who I am and what I've done.'' He looks ashamed and off to the side.

''You may not be proud of who you are, but I am-'' I hold his hand and turn his head with my other. ''You're the creator, just because you have done bad things, does not mean you're a bad person.'' I feel like I've known him my whole life, I technically have. He remains silent.

''We will have our time, go seem them. If you ever need to see me and I'm not around, think of this place and I'll meet you here, no matter how far apart we are.'' He extracts us from the sanctuary.

I'm back in my own body, looking around at the awkward faces of my peers. We must have been stood, staring into space for some time.

''Hey-''I turn to Gabe as he speaks, walking towards him before I stop dead in my tracks. I swiftly run back to Chuck, slamming my lips against his, I feel my heart stutter in the shock of my own actions. He kisses me back with much more passion, before I pull away. I look at Rob, his mouth his hung open, using my power I look into his head.

He's shocked and- jealous. He thinks it's invigorating to see a version of himself kiss you. Realising he could've admitted his feelings to you, perhaps you wouldn't have gone back to them.

''Well- okay, that's new.'' Gabriel mutters, his voice cracks in the middle of his speech.

I turn and run towards Gabe.

''Don't worry, you're still my favourite.'' He yanks me into a hug, pulling me into a compact hug, I wrap my legs around his waist.

He whispers some enochian into my ear, I bite my lip and smile. Along the lines of 'should I book the hotel now or later?'.

''You know full well we don't need to do that.'' I couldn't help but tease him back, he sighs in content, happy to have us back.

''I'm- confused, what the fuck is going on?'' Sebastian calls.

''If you want, you can make them forget, Y/n.'' Chuck announces, a valley of yelling and protests wash over me from the Supernatural cast.

''Can I? It could be for the best...'' I trail off, the cast look at me with hurt in their eyes, I decide to communicate with Rob through his head.

'Rob' He looks around, alarmed. 'I'm in your mind, don't panic'

'How could you? I know you aren't meant to be here but please don't make me forget you' I could hear the pain within him.

'I won't completely, you'll know me, but not as who I am. You will know me as your colleague and friend, I'll visit you'

'I love you, I'm sorry I never said it' I heard his heart shatter.

'I love you too, maybe we can develop something in the future' Maybe I was asking too much of myself, maybe not.

''You ready to go back?'' Chuck waltzes toward me and Gabriel. ''Other angels want to see you, I can hear them, it's rather annoying.'' I smile at the thought of seeing them all again, this time knowing who they are to me.

''I think so.'' I turn back to say my goodbyes.

''Misha, you are one of the most genuine and kind people this Earth can offer, I'm so happy I met you.'' I move forward to hug him, channelling my power, as soon as I leave this plane it will activate- leaving them in the state they were before.

''Mr. Sheppard, you smarmy bastard, never change. The world couldn't take it. I'll see you soon.'' I step forward to hug him.

''My, my, Pellegrino, a tear? Not going soft on me, are you?'' He shakes his head, rolling his eyes at me. ''I'll miss you and your karaoke.'' I hug him, he holds on a little longer, refusing to let me go. I look at him with sad eyes, before turning to Sebastian.

''You and your attitude Roche, you're such a light person, you'll see me again and I promise you that. Keep up the humour, you're not yourself without it.'' I hug him, ejecting a powerful wave.

''Richard, I will admit you are my best friend, even when you're trying to sleep with everything that walks. Take care of Robbie for me, I won't be too long before my next visit, so hold on.'' I grip him in my arms, pulling gently on his beard as we part, before getting mockingly swatted away.

I couldn't sat goodbye to Rob, looking at his disheartened face. ''R-Robbie-'' I tried not to cry, saying goodbye to so many friends is breaking me.

''I can't explain how much you mean to me, I love you, in every way you can imagine. I love you all.'' I hug Rob, not wanting to let go.

''Please don't go.'' His whimper makes me finally let out tears.

''I need to. I promise I'll return.'' I think about my next action, before deciding on it.

'Pull away if you don't want this.' I say to him, his head is swimming with agony.

Kissing him, very lightly, I feel tears mix on my lips. I pull away before I get too attached.

''Gonna miss you, so much.'' He whispers to me, clutching my shirt in his hands.

''I have to go, bye Benedict, till we meet again.'' I try to spin a comedic affect into my words, stepping away from my best friends.

Chuck holds out his hands, Gabriel and I connect to them. I shut my eyes, I can't face what I'm leaving behind. I feel a golden illumination against my shut eyelids.

It's not forever, but I will miss them.

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

It's Just a Movie: Part 9 (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 1928

This chapter is nothing to advance the plot and is completely just some feel good lost boys flirting cause I think we all need it

You and Marko climbed down the steps into the cave, having discussed the fact that you could probably help David with his planning since you'd seen the movie more than they have. You could at least help him with a couple of theories.  He carried the food for you, and the two of you caught the tail end of the conversation Paul and Dwayne seemed to be having.

"-such a sap. You couldn't be more obvious." Paul teased, and you were able to hear a loud thwap, which you guessed was Dwayne as it was immediately followed with a,

"Shut up, Paul. I am not." His quiet voice seemed to be louder, but only because of the acoustics in the cave. Marko, perhaps to save the brunette from any embarrassment, quickly shouted,

"We're back, boys." And you watched as Paul sat up. They'd been laying on the other side of the fountain, apparently both of them opting to sprawl out on the floor. Dwayne half-sat up a moment later, and Paul greeted the two of you by saying,

"Good thing you didn't eat her, otherwise Dwayne would've been-" And Paul was quickly silenced with a smack to the back of the head. Paul whipped around gripping his hair and loudly remarked, "Ow, you ass." But Dwayne only muttered back,

"You're the ass." As you and Marko snickered. The two of you sat on the floor with them, and you weren't surprised to see that they had sparked another joint. You looked over to see that David had vacated his chair, and, before you could ask, Dwayne said, "He's feeding." And you gave them a nod. You figured as much. He hadn't eaten with the others it seemed, but he did have to eat eventually. Paul took a long drag, tilting his head back to blow the smoke up towards the ceiling, before he pointed at you with a lazy finger.

"Y'know what I just realized," He started, and you arched a brow at him to continue. He took another drag, letting out a small cough before he said, "You've totally seen our vampire faces." He said, and you gave him a look. Yeah, no shit. Before you could vocalize that exact thought, Marko said,

"Yeah, why didn't you freak out when you first saw us?" Marko asked, and you almost wanted to tell them that you had been. Internally. Instead, you decided to play it cool and gave them a shrug.

"They're not that scary." You commented, and the boys each shared a glance. Suddenly, you felt like that was not the best thing you could've said. Now, you weren't lying. If anything, compared to some of the modern versions of vampires and horror in general, the boys weren't the scariest monster faces you had ever seen. Still, you flinched when you heard Marko growl and turned to see that his face was barely an inch from yours. His face had shifted, his eyes almost sunken in and golden yellow. His brow jutted out, and his fangs, well- He opened his mouth to make himself look more intimidating, showing them off. After the initial flinch, you couldn't stop your smile. You reached out, booping his nose.

"Y'know, your vampire faces kinda make you look like lions." You commented. "Very feline. Especially Paul's." You said, and you weren't surprised to see that Paul had donned his as well. Probably to help Marko scare you, but, alas, you hadn't started screaming like they had hoped. The curly haired blonde leaned back. His brows furrowed, and he stared at you.

"Nothing? Really?" He asked, and you gave him a grin and another shrug. You knew that they were just trying to mess with you. Rile you up. The best course of action was to deny them that, even if they had surprised you. Though, you just had to push it a little too far.

"You guys are too handsome to be scary." You said, and you regretted the words the second they left your mouth. You knew, you knew, that you shouldn't have let them know that you'd been attracted to them. Hell, they already knew you liked their movie, they didn't need to know that you had crushes on them. It wasn't like it was really your fault. They had purposely picked handsome actors to play the characters, and, well, those very same faces were the faces of them in their universe. You could already feel your cheeks reddening before the teasing even began.

"You think we're handsome?" Paul was quick to exclaim, and you shut your eyes and covered your face. You were totally screwed. Paul erupted into a loud chorus of laughter, scooting closer to you and stealing your other side as Marko remained on his.

"So that's why you like our movie so much, huh?" Marko joined in, and you desperately wished that you'd somehow fall back into your own dimension. If you knew one thing for sure about either of the blondes, it was that they were ruthless with their teasing. Hell, they'd convinced Michael he was eating maggots and that they'd fallen to their death. You sighed and pulled your hands from you face. There was only one way to get through this. To get it over with.

"Who's your favorite, y/n? Is it me?" Paul asked, and, even with your flushed cheeks and embarrassment filling your mind, you were able to say,

"I don't have a favorite. You're all-" You paused for just the slightest of moments, having made eye contact with Dwayne. He was staring at you, an amused smile on his face. You instinctively looked away, glancing at the blondes on either side of you and found that their smiles weren't much of a surprise. You quickly looked away and finished, "Good in your own ways, y'know." Your words were quick to flow out of your mouth, yet, it didn't seem to satisfy any of them.

"Oh, c'mon. You gotta like one of us most." Marko said, reaching over and giving your arm a squeeze. When you looked to Dwayne for help, he sent you a shrug. It seemed that even he was in on it, or, perhaps, he was just curious. But you shook your head and reiterated.

"I don't- I like you all." But, again, you found that those were definitely the wrong choice of words. Paul was practically laying on you as he said,

"Oh, you like us, hm?" He purred, leaning in closer. He brushed his hand against your face, and you could see his shit-eating grin out of the corner of your eye. "I like you too, sugar." Before he was brushing his thumb against your bottom lip.

"Shut up." You murmured, and you reached out to push his hand away. You knew he was a flirt, it was obvious from the movie. As much as you had been attracted to them, and wanted to take advantage of the current situation, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. And like they were just pulling your leg. Especially when the boys on either side of you laughed. Marko, who seemed to be just as big of a flirt as Paul, brushed your hair behind your ear and asked,

“Why? Are you getting shy?” Marko teased, having leaned in to whisper it in your ear. Your face was burning red, and you placed a hand on his chest to instinctively push him back. He held your wrist, chuckling in your ear. “If you had to pick a favorite-” Marko started, and you only saw one way out of this. So, before he could even finish his sentence, you said,

“David. David’s my favorite.” And the blue eyed blonde besides you immediately began to whine. Of course, that wasn’t what any of them had wanted to hear, or that was what you assumed. Paul had, obviously, expected you to choose him, while Marko...Well, you couldn’t guess what outcome Marko had wanted. Especially when he started to grin wider than ever. When you looked over at Dwayne, he sent you a shrug. You liked to imagine that he was playing off any disappointment he felt, but then he quickly stifled a laugh. Quickly, you added, “Cause he isn’t a jerk who asked.” Which made the curly-haired blonde chuckle and shake his head. You gave him a confused look, obviously missing whatever he, and Dwayne, was laughing at, when you heard footsteps behind you. You looked up, just in time to see David towering behind you.

“What’s this I hear?” He asked, and you swore that you couldn’t have any worse luck. His face and neck had been cleaned, and the only tell that he'd just returned from a feeding was the slight dishevelment of his clothes. While the terror twins teasing was one thing, having David join in was another. You had lied a bit. David was, in all senses of the word, a jerk. When he wanted to be, at least. You had only made the decision because he was the only one who wasn’t there, but it seemed that even that hadn’t gone in your favor. So, now, you had the blondes, and even Dwayne, snickering at David’s discovery. 

The blondes seemed to decide that your face couldn’t turn any redder, and their teasing quickly died off in favor of letting David tease you himself. Though, they could relay over any information to fill in the blanks. Marko looked up at the spiky haired blonde, and smugly declared, 

“Oh, y/n said that she likes you best. And we think she can help us, y'know, not die." Marko said simply, and you had half a mind to throttle him. Even if all of what he had said was true. The cherub faced boy let go of your wrist, and his partner in crime was quick to add,

"And she thinks we're all handsome. Too handsome to be scary." He said pointedly, and you dared to crane your neck back up to see the look on David's face. He looked amused, his ocean blues staring down at you from his spot above. A gloved hand rubbed his chin for a moment, and a large smile donning his scruffy face.

"Is that so?" He asked, arching a brow at you. You were stuck. You wanted to argue and deny, but it would be three against one. And, you were positive that any attempts to deny it would only further the case against you. Even though you were blushing, you tried your best to play it off. It seemed like that was your only option, and you said a cool,

"Don't let it go to your head." Even though you were sure it was too late. The remark earned a laugh from the leader of the vampires, and he reached his hand down to you.

"I'll try." He promised, but you knew better than to believe him. You placed your hand in his, and he helped you stand with a little less force than Marko had used. Though, it still made you stumble forward, practically into the vampire. He chuckled, steadying you by placing his hands on your waist. With one hand remaining at the dip of your waist, he reached out to cup your jaw and caress your face. Almost as he had done in the beginning of the movie. You tried to stop your breath from hitching, but it was futile. It made David grin, and then his smooth, calming voice rang out, "So, how can you help us?"

[fursasaida]

re: music. please do tell

(for everyone else: this is about my commenting in some tags that the idea that music is "how we decorate time" vs architecture decorating space, or music as something that is pure time or happens purely in time, is bullshit)

there are two ways to look at this. one is practical (and snotty) and one is theoretical.

practical: the production of music depends at least as much on the manipulation of space as it does the manipulation of time (rhythm, pacing, etc). your larynx and vocal chords, string instruments, wind instruments, drums all depend on resonance chambers and distances (length of the string, pipe, vocal cord, etc; dimensions of the drum, shape you make with your mouth, etc). that musical sound of the tinkling brook has to do with the volume of water, size of the stones, length of the drops, etc. this is because music is sound, sound requires vibration, vibration has physical properties that vary with various attributes of extension that are undeniably spatial. even digitally recorded and manipulated music relies heavily on tools for simulating spatial conditions of production--different kinds of reverb, for example. not to mention: you can hear any of it because of your god damn ear, which is another kind of resonance chamber. not to mention: how could anybody make music without any space to move in. even slapping your knee requires fucking up and down. AND HAVE WE CONSIDERED ACOUSTICS.

theoretical: ok ok so we don't have to take this so literally. it can be kind of poetic--or, as in some philosophy etc., illustrative/theoretical. my charge here is that treating music as "pure time" is bad poetics and does not help us explain anything theoretically either. theoretically: space and time aren't separate. i do not blame some random twitter user for not getting this. i do blame somebody like henri cursed-be-his-name bergson. just because it can be useful for certain purposes to think of them separately (like, say, graphing something's speed) does not make it valuable to talk about a pursuit like music in only one dimension or the other. like, the cubists were inspired by bergson; they show you bodies from more than one angle because they're trying to give a sense of duration--the ways you would see it at multiple moments as you move. this is supposed to be full of time instead of static and timeless like perspective. this is also horseshit. there is nothing less spatial about this! it has to do with the fact that the body you're looking at looks different from different angles, i.e. it has shape and directions! perspectival painting shows you actions and processes all the time! arguably it is more timeless to collapse multiple perspectives and moments into a single image! i'm not anti-cubism particularly, it's fine, i'm just saying, like: did anyone think this through actually.

similarly, if you want to use music to talk about the way time passes, how it's always going but does seem to have a present-duration--the present moment is not knife-edge thin--you can use literally any process that happens at a perceptible speed to do this. and you do not need to ignore that whatever it is also has spatial qualities. how would you even perceive time without motion or change in space? music is supposed to be one way. but i'm sorry! a) for practical reasons it simply is not without such motion/change (not even as a digital recording), and b) since time and space manifestly are united in perception, what help is it to try to separate them if you are a phenomenologist (bergson) rather than a (classical) physicist or engineer? henri what the fuck. this has always struck me as mainly a way to completely fail to appreciate music while also being obtuse about time. to speak of music as time only, no space, means divorcing it from the physical process of its production. this means it requires believing in absolute time--something that would pass and would happen even without anything to happen in it. which is just as wild as absolute space (space with a priori locations that would exist whether there was any matter to fill it or not). not even isaac newton, who invented both of them, thought this was something you could perceive or measure empirically. absolute space and time was to him a purely theological-mathematical idea, something that had to exist for the sake of certain premises but could never be experienced as such. your measurements will always be relative, not absolute. so absolute space and time are both bad for theorizing how anything affects us or is experienced--you know, like phenomenology? also fwiw the fact that absolute time can't capture the sensation of duration is still, like, a big problem in physics.

going back to that reblog where i explained that not everybody has always even had the concept of "space" like we do now, there is no empirical reason to believe absolute time or space exists. duration and extension are properties of physical processes (at varying levels of materiality). and many of those physical processes are not better explained but rather impoverished by trying to make them "happen in space and time" rather than things that give rise to spaces and timings. this is why the idea of music as pure time or purely in time leads to such absurd questions as "how can you slap your knee without up and down." it's stupid! it's snotty! but that's because the premise is bonkers!

so. whether theoretically or poetically, music is much more suited to discussion in terms of place. places have or are both space and time. in fact it is to some degree wrong to talk about place as "space and time" at all; rather we get the two separate concepts more by extrapolating from place, in which they are so fundamentally unified that not even a word like "spacetime" really captures it. that is partly what makes place difficult to theorize: places are too much like bodies, or like people, or like communities; you can't pull them apart into axes like "space" vs "time" and not lose what it is you're trying to theorize. (you can, e.g., track and analyze traffic patterns quite well this way, and that can be worth doing! but does that capture the place? does it explain what a place is? probably not. it's a different purpose.)

why were european cathedrals designed to have great acoustics? because those were places for the glorification of ~the divine, which was to be accomplished through both light and sound; both its spatial form (extension, hardness, size) and its nature as a ritual site (repetition, endurance); these qualities or capacities could not be separated. did the music not "decorate" the place just as much as the paintings, sculptures, architecture, stained glass? of course it did. we've all seen videos of somebody stopping in an archway or a big bathroom or whatever and singing; the place is further beautified by that because it is an interaction with the place, its spatiality, its acoustics, its textures, the way it looks, the fact that it invited the singer to sing--whether congruously (maybe a church) or incongruously (the aforementioned bathroom). just like your neighborhood has a distinct soundscape; just like a city has refrains. just like i remember stopping dead in the middle of the old city of damascus because three different calls to prayer had, intentionally or otherwise, overlapped to form a perfect major triad for a moment. i will remember that forever. and i will remember where i was when it happened too. (souq al hamidiyya.) that is part of the place. it happened because of the number of mosques and where they were located. and similarly what kind of sounds, or what kind of music, happens in which places has to do with the normative character of places. some sounds, some musics, "belong" some places and not others, because some actions are held to be appropriate there or not, or because they are or are not held to be characteristic. i'm not saying that's a good thing in itself. it's just the way it is. (and there are some places whose function is specifically to be open to all kinds of music, of course.) but i'm saying it leads to much more interesting questions with much more explanatory possibility. for example we could ask about characteristic rhythms or speeds of sounds in different places and what that means. or look at conflicts over what sounds "belong" or don't and to what degree that is justified in terms of time (time of day, pace of life, epochal ideas like what is or isn't "modern," etc).

tl; dr: explain to me the concept of an echo (which we use as a metaphor for having a strong experience of time quite a lot) using time and no space. explain to me how putting it in terms of time alone, even if you could, captures something that including space, or better, a simple narrative set in a place, does not. now explain to me why you would want to do either of those things.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8

- Chapter 9 -

When Nie Huaisang was old enough to attend the lectures at the Cloud Recesses for what would prove to be the first of three times – they’d only planned to send him the once, when the right time came, but circumstances and an unusually uneasy border conspired to need them to send him early, and Nie Huaisang gamely volunteered to do so badly at his lessons that they’d have no choice but to take him back, as if he weren’t more-than-likely to get that result even if he were trying given that he was too busy using his brain for all sorts of other things – Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue made a point of coming in person to drop him off and pick him up.

The first time, Nie Mingjue loudly scolded Nie Huaisang about needing to do well, while Meng Yao hung around his shoulder with a worried expression that suggested he thought the entire thing was causing the Nie sect to lose face, and then they went to the hanshi to visit Lan Xichen and only just barely managed to hurry through the door before Nie Mingjue started laughing.

“It was a good idea,” Meng Yao scolded him, while Lan Xichen laughed into his sleeve in confused sympathy even though he had no idea what was so funny. “It’s going to work, mark my words.”

“I know, I know, it’s only – his face –”

Nie Huaisang had in fact been perhaps slightly overselling the ‘poor terrified younger brother who’s going to make a terrible fool of himself’ shtick.

Meng Yao’s lips twitched. “I understand that some exaggeration is common in beginning actors.”

“Huaisang can lie to my face without blinking an eye,” Nie Mingjue retorted, “and you taught him that. You were doing that on purpose. Both of you!”

They had been.

“Some points need to be driven home,” Meng Yao allowed. “Not everyone understands subtlety.”

“Do I want to know?” Lan Xichen put in, looking back and forth between them with a smile.

“We’re trying to get people to underestimate Huaisang,” Meng Yao explained. “And to think that he and da-ge aren’t as close as they are. As a matter of strategy.”

“Someone tried to kidnap him,” Nie Mingjue said, his laughter dying off. “He’s too young to defend himself, too independent to feel comfortable being guarded…Meng Yao proposed a middle path.”

“One that takes advantage of his already existing skillset,” Meng Yao put in.

“If by skillset you mean total inability to recall things he doesn’t care about.”

“I do, as it happens. It’s actually rather impressive how thoroughly facts flow out of his head like water, unless they’re about fans, or art, or – ”

Vengeance.

“ – other things like that.”

“He’s going to fail your uncle’s classes,” Nie Mingjue told Lan Xichen bluntly. “He was probably going to fail them anyway, but now it’s certain.”

Lan Xichen’s smile had faded as well, and he nodded. “I wish you did not have to make such calculations.”

“I wish your uncle were willing to make more of them,” Nie Mingjue said with a sigh. He did not mention Lan Xichen’s father, the nominal sect leader; the man hadn’t been seen in years and likely wouldn’t be for the rest of his life. “Even outside of wanting to make sure no one uses him as a bargaining chip against me, I don’t want anyone getting the idea that Huaisang is a younger and more vulnerable version of me.”

Anyone like Wen Ruohan, he meant, and Meng Yao didn’t have the heart to tell him that Wen Ruohan’s obsession with him was still startlingly personal. He’d had to see it again and again during the Discussion Conferences, all the little liberties Wen Ruohan enjoyed taking: sitting too close when possible, stroking his hand with his thumb while passing him a document, all but openly leering at him…

The other sect leaders pretended they didn’t notice, except only Lan Qiren who scowled helplessly whenever it got a bit too blatant – though Meng Yao suspected he might have mistaken the harassment as being mutual flirtation, which was somehow very nearly worse.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Lan Xichen promised. “Can you two stay for a while, or will the Unclean Realm collapse if you don’t return at once?”

Nie Mingjue smiled. He didn’t do that often anymore, and the effect of it had somehow – in some grotesque, unfortunate twist of the universe – only magnified; Meng Yao’s sole consolation was that Lan Xichen seemed as stunned by it as him. “I think we can manage to stay for a little while, just to make sure Huaisang is on the right track.”

They didn’t really have that excuse when they came to pick him up, but Lan Xichen found them a supposedly private place with really great acoustics and Nie Mingjue got to use his battlefield voice to shout at Nie Huaisang in such a way that everyone heard, without the benefit of seeing the increasingly ridiculous faces Nie Huaisang was making in response.

After that, even Lan Qiren had delicately suggested that they stay a few days longer, quite obviously meant to allow Nie Mingjue some time to cool off his temper before a long flight home, and they’d wisely stayed with Lan Xichen the entire time to allow Nie Huaisang to go dramatically lick his wounds where everyone would be able to hear about it.

After all, Nie Mingjue’s ability to keep straight face was good, but not that good.

The second time they came to visit, they also didn’t have any excuse, but Lan Xichen asked them to stay longer anyway, looking very serious, so they did.

He took them to a secluded field and plied them with treats and started in on the small talk and the disclaimers to the point that Meng Yao – who was very good at this sort of thing, but couldn’t stand the increasing distress on Nie Mingjue’s face at the unexpected barrage of excessive politeness – finally interrupted and said, “If there’s something you’d like to tell us, Xichen-xiong, please do.”

Lan Xichen looked uncertain, so Meng Yao added, “Before da-ge explodes.”

Lan Xichen glanced over at Nie Mingjue and snorted with involuntary laughter at his woeful expression. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous, that’s all.”

“That,” Nie Mingjue said, “is what’s making me nervous. Are you trying to break some sort of bad news to us?”

“No! No, not at all – at least, I hope it’s not bad. It might even be good.”

“And it is..?” Meng Yao prompted, amused. The behavior was classic Lan, for all that he wasn’t sure exactly what Lan Xichen was thinking about that had put him on edge to such a degree – one would think, looking at him, that he was about to confess his affections, rather than chatting with his friends.

The two, it turned out, were one and the same.

“Wait,” Nie Mingjue said, interrupting about halfway through the somewhat overly flowery and abstruse speech. “You like both of us?”

“I do,” Lan Xichen said. “Very much.”

Meng Yao’s mind was racing and his breath was a little short: for once in his life he didn’t know how to reach or think or feel or anything.

Because Lan Xichen remained just what Meng Yao had always thought he was, kind and generous, a gentleman, perfect, just what anyone could ever want, someone Meng Yao secretly did want but couldn’t have because it would mean leaving the Unclean Realm, leaving Nie Mingjue, and he couldn’t do that.

Because actually he really had started to get worried that Lan Xichen liked Nie Mingjue the way Nie Mingjue so very obviously liked him back because if he did then there really wasn’t anything Meng Yao could say to oppose it other than but you’re mine and it wouldn’t just be about Lan Xichen, either, but of course that wouldn’t work because they were brothers, though not by blood; that meant it would be wrong and Nie Mingjue didn’t do the wrong thing.

Because he’d never, for all his cleverness, thought of asking for both, because he couldn’t have both.

He couldn’t even have one.

“I thought you liked Meng Yao,” Nie Mingjue said blankly, and Meng Yao felt a shiver of fear crawl up his spine: had Nie Mingjue only been holding back from pursuing Lan Xichen because of consideration for Meng Yao?

“I do. I just like you, too.”

“What are you proposing, exactly?” Meng Yao asked, and he only barely kept his voice even. “Would we trade off visits, perhaps? Set up a schedule?”

Lan Xichen blinked at him. “Why would you need to trade off visits? I had thought we could spend time together, as we’ve always done.”

Meng Yao wondered if there was a polite way to talk about the difficulties of having threesomes in which two parties didn’t touch with someone from the ever-repressed Lan sect. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Lan Xichen, he did, but he might actually die of jealousy if he had to watch him make love to Nie Mingjue, knowing that he could only touch the one and not the other.  

“I thought the same might be true for love,” Lan Xichen said, with only the tightness of his hands in front of him revealing his nervousness now. “If you two would be willing to accept me, that is – I would never presume to interfere with your love for each other.”

Oh, no. Meng Yao was going to have to explain this, and then he would die.

A pity. It’d been a pretty decent life, as they went.

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue hissed, his cheeks bright red, and Meng Yao already knew what he would say: that it was incest, legally speaking, even if they were not related by blood; that he thought of Meng Yao only as a little brother; that he’d never thought of it once, that it was disgusting, that he – “That was shared in confidence!”

Meng Yao blinked. His mind, which had never once stopped moving, seemed to be unable to function.

“But Mingjue-xiong, it’s important –”

“But he doesn’t – I don’t want him to feel like – ” Nie Mingjue’s eyes flickered over to him, panicked, and Meng Yao recognized it from what was now over a decade earlier, that nervousness and anxiety that was all for Meng Yao’s sake, a fear that he would feel like a stranger, unwanted, that he would think that he had to pay something for all that he had received, when all Nie Mingjue had ever wanted was his happiness.

“I think this plan of yours will work,” Meng Yao said to Lan Xichen, suddenly calm.

Calm, and very, very happy.

They both stared at him, and Meng Yao smiled. “I like you,” he said to Lan Xichen, and then, to Nie Mingjue, “I like you, too.”

Words didn’t exist that defined exactly what he felt for Nie Mingjue, something so far beyond love that it went into possessiveness and had come out the other side as liking; he wasn’t anywhere near there with Lan Xichen yet, had never allowed himself to go there with Lan Xichen because he knew his heart had already been taken, but they’d made a decent start and he thought they could get there, one day.

“I think you like him, too,” he told his da-ge, who’d always been bad at categorizing his own emotions and would definitely have no idea that he might have feelings for the childhood friend he’d allowed to grow nearly as close as his own family. “And – me, as well.”

“Meng Yao –”

“I don’t think of it as an obligation, or as something to endured,” Meng Yao continued, not letting him have a chance to speak. Not for the first time, he cursed Wen Ruohan in his mind: he ought to have considered the damage Wen Ruohan’s relentless pursuit had wrought on Nie Mingjue’s view of romantic relationships; it wasn’t really a surprise that even the whiff of a suggestion that consent might be questionable would send him fleeing. “But rather as a gift that I have been honored to be given.”

Nie Mingjue seemed almost dumbstruck by his words, although the fear in his eyes was slowly receding – still wary, but now with the possibility of joy. “I didn’t – it’s not – I don’t feel that way about Huaisang or anything. It’s just you.” A glance at Lan Xichen. “Both of you.”

“You never said anything,” Meng Yao teased lightly, and reached out a hand to hold Lan Xichen’s, squeezing it in gratitude for his bravery. Lan Xichen squeezed back, looking increasingly delighted at the way things were going.

“I couldn’t,” Nie Mingjue said, expression solemn. “I’m older, taller, stronger, with a temper I can’t always control; my political position is stronger, sect leader as opposed to a sect heir and an advisor. It would not be easy to say no –”

As if they couldn’t blow Nie Mingjue around like a paper lantern – he, who folded like a stack of cards at their every request.

“– and any consequences from a relationship would be borne by you. I could not bear to cause either of you pain.”

Lan Xichen, whose uncle would never approve of his having fallen in love with someone inappropriate; Meng Yao, who the world would whisper was just like his mother – yes, Meng Yao could see the problem, and the problem was only magnified by the fact that Nie Mingjue liked them both. How could Nie Mingjue accept Lan Xichen, when Meng Yao was in his heart? How could he speak to Meng Yao, who owed him everything, in a way that would let him know that the response was sincere? And of course if he let them be together instead, he was not so good an actor that they would be able to avoid all the problems associated with that; no matter what they did, there would always be rumors that one or another might be stolen away –

The plan blossomed to life in Meng Yao’s mind, fully formed.

He turned it around in his head a few times, only half-listening to Lan Xichen’s passionate declaration that it was pain he was willing to bear for love, his explanation that he knew that he was not yet in either of their hearts the way they were for each other, that he was only asking for the opportunity to try, but in the end he really couldn’t see any flaws with the idea at all. It would work perfectly with everything he’d already established, the groundwork years in the making, and no one would have any reason to question it.

It would be easy enough to convince Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen that it made more sense for the public aspects of their romance to start with Meng Yao and Lan Xichen – perhaps he could stay longer at the Cloud Recesses, which Nie Mingjue could not, or find some reason to come alone when the time came to pick up Nie Huaisang. He could make his smiles wider, his eyes more shining, paint himself as the perfect picture of a man in love – it’d be easy, given that he was already halfway there.

And when the time came, perhaps next year when all the other sect heirs came for their turn at the famous lectures of the Cloud Recesses, when Nie Mingjue took his turn at being the one who was affectionate, the entire world would think that Nie Mingjue had stolen Lan Xichen away from Meng Yao.

The entire world –

And Wen Ruohan, too.

It was the perfect plan.

[a-duck-with-a-book]

REVIEW // Nevernight (The Nevernight Chronicle, #1) by Jay Kristoff

★☆☆☆☆

So I’m very late to the party, but I just finished reading Nevernight by Jay Kristoff I had such high hopes for this series based off of what people recommending it had told me and what I read about it before picking up. Dark fantasy? Check. Strong leading lady? I’m here for it. Gays? It’s literally my only personality trait. Sign me up. Unfortunately, this book fell flat in all those categories. It reminded me a lot of Sarah J. Maas’s Throne of Glass, which made me take one point off of to begin with simply for making me think of Maas’s writing. Overall, I just found the book to be too predictable, with bad writing, exposition, and pacing, and too many parts that just made me ~uncomfortable~.

In case you are not familiar with this novel, Nevernight tells the story of Mia Corvere, a girl who lost her family when she was a child after her father was convicted of treason. When the book begins, she is 16 years old and embarking on a journey to join the Red Church, a school for assassins, so that she may one day be able to avenge her father’s death. Along the way she meets a bunch of forgettable characters whose names I can’t be bothered to remember and is taught by the most fearsome killers in the Republic. Here she gains many valuable skills, like how to survive being poisoned, how to fight, and how to get big boobs.

+ Side note: by chapter 3 three I started picturing Mia as the crow guy from RWBY and I could not shake that for the rest of the book

I had many issues with this novel that I will try to summarize in some sort of coherent fashion, but to be honest this book sucked the will to live out of me so I don’t know how much energy I can put into this review.

// image: official cover art by Jason Chan //

FOOTNOTES

The footnotes were probably the most jarring element of the book for me, and, unfortunately, there’s a lot of them. Their function seems to be twofold:

they are the form of most of the world-building, explaining several customs, the history of the institutions and peoples Mia meets, and the mythology followed by the people of the Republic.

they allow for the narrator of our story to interrupt with comical one-liners or cryptic foreshadowing

In my humble opinion, both of these are unnecessary and stupid. The interruptions come off as crass and immature and make the other more textbook, boring exposition come off as a joke, especially when it is dealing with sensitive or serious topics. There is one that explains this brothel called the Seven Flavors, which the footnote explains refer to “Boy, Girl, Man, Woman, Pig, Horse, and, if sufficient notice and coin was given, Corpse.” Now, on its own, this passing mention of pedophilia, bestiality, and necrophilia could very well contribute to the world building and tone of the novel, but when placed side by side with the childish, joking tone of the “cue the violiiiiiiiins” or, regarding the acoustics of a room, “…they were, as it happens, exceptional. Falalalalalalaaaaaaaa”, come off as way too light-hearted for the topic at hand. Maybe I’m being way too sensitive, but I’m pretty tired of authors using serious topics as off-hand remarks as a lazy way to make their world daker and grittier. Plus, these footnotes were just so incredibly cringy that I would recoil from second-hand embarrassment every time. They resemble the things I wrote when I was 14 and trying (and miserably failing) to be funny. Also… there are way too many of them. While at first I appreciated the attempt to deepen the lore of the story (I’m a sucker for world-building), after a while it became evident that the author was just forcing information down our throats without taking the time to actually weave the lore and background into the story itself. It came off as a very lazy way to force exposition.

OVERLY FLOWERY LANGUAGE

This story is BRIMMING with similes and metaphors, like every other sentence is some overly complicated way to describe something that could have been presented in three words. When you include so many metaphors/similes/etc., they begin to lose power. They should allow the reader to extrapolate more meaning and emotion from a sentence, but if the book is bursting at the seams with them, they become increasingly ordinary, to the point of losing all of their luster. One prime example appears on page 30:

“It was a bucktoothed little shithole, and no mistake. Not the most miserable building in all creation. [here there is a footnote about some other inn/brothel] But if the inn were a man and you stumbled into him in a bar, you’d be forgiven for assuming he had—after agreeing enthusiastically to his wife’s request to bring another woman into their marriage bed—discovered his bride making up a pallet for him in the guest room.”

So first of all what the fuck is that supposed to mean? That whole paragraph is a fever dream. Let’s begin with “bucktoothed little shithole”. Bucktoothed? Really? What does that mean. Please, someone explain to be right now what a bucktoothed building is. Is it uneven? Is it awkward? Is it half-finished? Is one side longer than the other? Did they do a bad paint job that only covers on side? Are the windows askew? Is the door too big for its frame? We already know from the paragraph above that it is “disheveled” as well, so why the need for another weird phrasing of its appearance? We then move on to that whole JOURNEY of a sentence, where the inn is compared to a man being cuckolded. That is the most insane tale-can you imagine running into someone in a bar and that story being the VERY FIRST thing that runs through your mind??? I know I’m focusing way too much on this stupid paragraph, but basically what I am trying to get at is that even though we spend half a page talking about how bucktoothed and disheveled and cuckolded this building is, we get no actual physical description of it. Imagine if Kristoff had just written that it was a run-down, ill-kept building that looked as worse for wear as its owner did. Done, one sentence. Great. Let’s move on. Instead, we spend so long reading these absolutely batshit descriptions that ultimately tell us next to nothing. Flowery language is placed over actual context. You may think that a description this long and complex means that this inn is a significant or recurring setting in the novel. Nope. It’s not. Mia leaves and that’s that. The reason that I’m focusing so much on this objectively irrelevant paragraph is because it is so representative of the biggest issue I have with the writing in this book. There are so many unnecessary comparisons that function only to make the author feel clever rather than add anything to the story at all. It’s very à la 2010s Tumblr.

THE (IN MY OPINION, BAD) WRITING

For the first half of the book, we are constantly being TOLD things rather than being SHOWN things. With the exception of one of the teachers cutting off Mia’s arm, we rarely see the ruthlessness that the assassins are so feared for, but we hear about it in nearly every other sentence Where are the consequences? I think this book would have been way more enjoyable if there were actually consequences to the characters’ actions. The inclusion of the weaver and the weird vampire guy completely remove any tension regarding the fate of the central cast. When Mia had her arm chopped off, I was shocked, and pleasantly surprised. How was she going to overcome this unexpected obstacle in her training? Then a couple pages later, its reattached with absolutely no lasting consequences. All of the initial tension and shock value of the loss of Mia’s arm is entirely removed because of the two incest-y siblings. Their entire purpose for existing is just to undo all damage to the main characters. Then suddenly, out of the blue, Mia is willing to take on a ton of consequences and completely throw away her chance at becoming initiated in order to avenge her family just to save Tric from receiving like one punishment??? Like why?? As an aside, the only moment I truly enjoyed was when Ash fucking stabbed Tric to death. I assume that when the reader’s favorite moment is one of the central characters’ death, it does not bode well for their reception of the book.

THE THEMES

TW: rape-y subjects

The author seemed a little too keen to include rape and sexual assault in his story. Mia withdrew her consent in the sex scene in the very first chapter, and even if you read it as consensual (which I do not), it is described as incredibly unpleasant on her end. Tric is the result of a rape, which is brought up several times throughout the story. Further, Mia is constantly facing harassment from men. I understand that this is frames the idea that the world she lives in is misogynistic and ruthless, but there are other ways to push that idea through other than constantly putting in her in those situations. As in, this didn’t need to be the ONLY way we explored this subject. Beyond the uncomfortable propensity for sexual assault, I also very much disliked the sexualization of the 16-year-old main character. Oh. My. Gosh. Mia is CONSTANTLY sexualized. Every single damn character makes comments about her body, how hot she is, how much sex she potentially has. It is so weird and uncomfortable. I feel the need to reiterate that she is SIXTEEN. There is, however, a focus placed on the power Mia can gain from seducing her targets. Girl power? Not to me, really. The issue I have with this is the idea that a woman has to be overtly sexual in order to be considered powerful. This is something that we can see in many female assassins and supposedly powerful female characters in fiction (like Black Widow) especially those written by men. Now, there is nothing wrong with using one’s sexuality as a weapon, and I’m certainly not saying that a strong female character cannot be sexual, but the idea that a sixteen-year-old girl is shown having her body painfully modified tp be more desirable, and in a graphic sex scene with another character, in order to for the reader to read her as liberated and powerful does not sit well with me. I don’t really feel like this aspect of her training should be relevant to the overall story. I wish the time that Kristoff had dedicated to hammering into our heads that Mia is a femme fatale to developing her Darkin powers instead. The way she is written now feels more like she is a faux strong female character written for a male audience.

Secondly, Mia is fully written as “the plain-girl-who-is-actually-pretty”. This whole trope bothers me IMMENSELY. YA is full of girls who are described as plain, forgettable, or ugly while their physical descriptions are just the dictionary definition of conventionally attractive. It seems like a way to market off of girls’ self-consciousness while still being able to market the main character as a hot heroine in official art. And there is, of course, the issue of Mia’s boob job Readwithcindy (just “withcindy” now!) did a whole video about this so I won’t get into it much just to repeat what she already said, but I agree that the idea of a 30-something year old man including this completely unnecessary detail regarding the sexualization of teenage girl, who we have ALREADY seen in a rape and being sexualized by other men in the story, made me really, really, uncomfortable. I highly recommend you go watch her video, as she touches on this in way more detail. [Cindy's video

RATINGS

Worldbuilding: ★★☆☆☆

A lot of thought obviously went into the world-the mythology, society, and politics are well-thought out. But the way they are introduced is annoying and bland. It seems like the author put a lot of effort into constructing this world but realized a lot of it would be left out of the book, so he crammed it into footnotes instead.

Tone and writing style: ★☆☆☆☆ for first half, ★★★☆☆ for second half

The tone of the first half is all over the place, like it doesn’t know if it should be dark and gritty or comical and immature. Footnotes and character dialogue ranges from lighthearted and crass to seeped with themes of torture and sexual assault. It is jarring, to say the least, and often feels like the author doesn’t take these ideas of rape or violence seriously. There are so many instances where the scene is tense or gritty, and Kristoff is actually writing it pretty well, I’m enthralled and on the edge of my seat, and then Mia or some other character (or the footnotes) throw in some stupid comment or make the same “Mia is such an asshole lol” joke for the billionth time and completely ruin the mood of that scene. The second half of the book moved much faster and was helped with way better writing, but it really did not do enough to make up for the horrendous structure of the first half of the book.

Pacing and structure: ★☆☆☆☆

The first half of the book really drags on. Once we arrive at the school, there are constant jumps in timeline, marked with periods when a thousand things happen all at once and the plot moves forward at a dizzying rate, and others when the characters just seem to be going about their daily lessons.

Concept: ★★★☆☆

I found the overall idea of the books to be very interesting, even though it is certainly not the most original or unique concept for a YA fantasy book. The issue is that the potential is squandered with a poor execution.

Characters: ★☆☆☆☆

I truly did not care about any of the characters. The token mean girl, the bumbling nice-guy-who-is-definitely-the-love-interest. too many of the characters just sat nicely within their tropes, doing nothing much to pique my interests. I think my favorite overall was Mister Kindly.

[skzsauce01]

Normal Pt 4

Description: For more skilled maneuvers, dragon shifters need a rider to help them out. After rejecting multiple riders, Hyunjin, a traumatized and handicapped shifter, is assigned to you. To add a cherry on top, you’re deaf, so how are you supposed to cast spells to free him from his limitation, let alone the anger in his heart?

Warning: none

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: fem!reader x dragon!Hyunjin

Pt: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5

“Hi half-tailed lizard.” “Careful, he’s a Twilight Terror.” “Oooh, scary!” 

Hyunjin keeps his head down and continues on his way. Win a war with a handicap and you’re an inspiration. Lose one, and you’re a laughing stock for even trying. Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother him as much as it did before. He meant what he said to the boys at the clinic. The tail is special to you, and it is special to him, broken or otherwise.

Still, it isn’t right for them to say such things. “Hey! You three over there! Name, age, which dorm you live in, now. I’m citing you for bullying.”

Hyunjin doesn’t have to turn around to know that the prefect is hollering at the group of gossipy dragons. He’s seen Chan pop up a few times to defend him now. When he is finished taking down their information, Hyunjin walks up to him. 

“You know you don’t have to keep doing that for me. I can take care of myself.”

Chan gives him a brotherly pat on the shoulder, saying “Of course I do! It’s my job to look out for everyone” then walking away with his golden prefect armband swaying with every step.

Ugh, how much more perfect can he get? No matter now; you had asked Hyunjin to meet you today, and he isn’t about to keep you waiting.

You look excited as you stand on the field waiting for him. Well, you look excited every time you see him, and Hyunjin is starting to feel the same when he sees you.

He tilts his head to the side, asking why you called him out today. He closes his eyes when you gesture for him to do so and feels you fiddling with his necklace. When you tap him on his shoulder, he opens his eyes and looks down to see a frame made of white gold clasped snuggly against his pendant.

‘Turn dragon, but add an eee sound to the end of the spell.’

He does as told again and watches the usual purple swirls envelop and transform him. When he is done, however, he feels a new weight on his extremity. He turns around to see a white prosthetic fin attached to his tail.

He huffs a puff of smoke at you in amazement. You beam back at him and hold up your notepad.

‘I thought about how to do this while stuck at the clinic, but it took a while to figure out even after my discharge. I hope this helps you fly with your dragon friends again.’

Hyunjin returns to human form to write. ‘Aren’t you scared that I’ll never let you on again if I can fly by myself?’ he teases.

‘You don’t get appai berries when you fly solo,’ you shoot back.

Hyunjin performs a dramatic display of misery that makes you chuckle silently. Rolling your eyes, you indicate toward a metal can that you have also brought.

‘Transform again so I can paint it purple for you.’

Your companion shakes his head. ‘I like it white.’

‘But it doesn’t look natural,’ you object. 

He raises his previous message again for you to read.

You shrug, nudging the paint away with your foot. ‘Want to test it out still?’

Within seconds, Hyunjin is in the air with a discoloured tail following him. After six years of imbalance, he almost fell from the new fix, but you are there on the ground to straighten him up every time. He recalls this feeling, being able to glide to the side and move his tail however he wanted to. He used to do this with his buddies in the forest before he met-- No, Hyunjin told himself that he isn’t going to dwell on the past anymore, not when you’re here in the present right now, and he can’t bear to drop you from the sky again. It’s still a work in progress, but you promised him a shoulder whenever he’s struggling with it. 

Still, there’s no crime in relishing the feeling of weightlessness in the air. As enjoyable as it is however, Hyunjin knows there’s something missing.

‘How is it?’ you ask once he’s landed.

‘Something’s not quite right…’

You furrow your brows, wondering where you could have made a mistake, but before you can come to a conclusion, Hyunjin chants his transformation spell again. He then knocks you off your feet and sweeps you onto his back.

Hyunjin lets out a roar towards the advanced obstacle course to which you laugh and lean forward in preparation. Before you can even blink, the two of you are cutting through the air, going faster with each stroke of the Terror’s powerful wings.

Much better.

Hyunjin cherishes these practices the most when there’s no one watching and nothing on the line. It’s just you and him. It’s nice, and he wishes he could keep it like this forever, but with the way your eyes twinkle with laughter and the way your hair blows in the evening breeze after he lands and you roll off of him onto the grass, he can’t help but wonder if he can have something more.

What? you ask with a motion of your head, referring to his staring.

He shakes his head. Nothing.

You nudge at his shoulder, and he gives in, turning to sit facing you. He reaches over to cover your eyes, making your breath hitch, so that you can’t read his lips.

“I know I’m not charming like Chan or reliable like Changbin, but I like you, Y/N,” he confesses. “I like you a lot.”

With that, he draws back his hands to reveal a confused expression on your face which quickly turns into a pout. He laughs and knocks your forehead back with two fingers.

‘What did you say?’ you interrogate.

‘I said ‘Take me to the Race!’’ He pumps his fist into the air.

You smile widely and imitate his action. He laughs and bumps his fist to yours. He’s going to compete. After all these years, he’s finally going to compete.

After coming to terms with his feelings and with the annual winter ball around the corner, Hyunjin knows what to do. The winter ball’s sole purpose is to celebrate the past year and the upcoming race, so Hyunjin never really had a reason to go until now. He’s feeling a little nervous about even attending the ball itself and is why he waited so long to purchase a bouquet of gold-tipped, cream coloured flowers mixed with a few pastel pinks and purples for accent. 

He knows you are in the library, so that’s where he went, but he almost doubted his location for a second. Since when was the dusty, ancient place so crowded? He peers past the mob and sees you in the center of it.

But you aren’t alone.

Chan had set up a whole ambiance for you complete with twinkling fire fairies and petals on the ground. He places your hand on his acoustic guitar for you to feel the vibrations as he plays a sweet song and one of his friends nearby signs for you the words he is singing. When he is done, he takes your hand and gifts you a dozen scarlet roses.

‘Go to the dance with me?’ he signs.

No sensible human would turn down something like that. Hyunjin suddenly feels like he can’t breathe when you nod with a shy smile and Chan pulls you into a relieved hug. He slips out of the cheering crowd, unable to bear it any longer.

As he storms down the hall, he hears a familiar voice call out to him. “Hyunjin? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me, Hye Ji.”

“I, um, have something to ask of you,” the girl admits. Why does she look nervous?

“Go for it,” Hyunjin nods. 

“Will you go to the winter ball with me?” she squeaks. 

Hyunjin looks at the bouquet of flowers in his hands with a sigh. Slowly, he lifts his eyes back up to face her. “Sorry, Hye Ji. I don’t think I’ll be going this year. I’m sorry.”

“It’s Miss L/N, isn’t it?” she calls as he tries to leave.

Hyunjin turns around, surprised. Hye Ji is looking at her boots with her hair covering her face.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin repeats. 

“I-it’s fine,” she chokes. “Y/N’s really great and all. I would choose her too if I were you.”

“Hye Ji--”

“I said it’s fine!” she yells and runs away.

Three nights later and Hyunjin is moping alone in his dorm room, picking at his recipient-less bouquet. The prefects’ opening dance should have ended by now. He imagines you in your rose gold gown and silver heels looking like you stepped straight out of a fairy tale. He imagines you swaying gently with Bang Chan as the prefect leads you to the beat of the music.

There’s no crying over spilled milk now, he decides with a sigh. What’s someone as talented and sweet as you going to do with someone as broken and angsty like him anyway? Someone who’s charismatic and top of his class, someone like Chan, looks a lot better next to you.

There’s a sound at his door to which his ears perk up excitedly. He had ordered two portions of lamb rib stew to hopefully eat himself into a coma. 

“Coming!” he calls, pulling out a bottle of cider.

Once he opens the door, he almost slams it back shut in shock. 

Instead of a delivery man, you stand in front of him in all of your perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect nose, perfect lips, perfect everything glory. Not to mention you are complete with a bag of lamb rib stew in your hand.

‘I met the delivery mister on the way. Can I come in?’ 

Hyunjin swallows with difficulty and steps to the side for you, nearly passing out when the tulle of your dress brushes against his leg as you walk by.

‘What are you doing here?’

You shrug your pearly shoulders. ‘Chan got called away for some duties after the opening dance. Apparently there’s something wrong with the course for the Race. It doesn’t seem like he’ll be back before the ball ends, so I left after telling Changbin. I’m not intruding or anything, am I? It looks like you bought two servings of lamb. Were you expecting someone?’

‘I must have ordered it wrong,’ he lies, rubbing the back of his head. ‘Have you eaten?’

You shake your head and he immediately offers you a takeout before getting two glasses for the cider. You thank him, and the two of you begin eating. After dinner, he excuses himself to toss out the trash, and you notice the cream bouquet by his bed.

‘Were you going to ask someone to the dance?’ you ask when he returns.

What was he supposed to say? That he randomly sports flowers in his dorm?

‘Something like that. Someone else asked first though.’

‘Hye Ji came alone today though.’

‘It’s not Hye Ji!’ he writes a little too quickly. ‘They… they can be yours if you’d offer me a dance. You know, since it’ll be a waste of such a pretty dress if you only do one waltz in it.’

You giggle, and he can’t tell if it is because of his words or how red he must be right now.

‘Sure. They’re gorgeous. Thank you.’

You place your right hand in his left, and he takes you to the center of the room. You put your other hand confidently on his shoulder, and he timorously finds your waist. After a few awkward steps, you begin singing to ease his tension. As expected, he moves elegantly with your tune as if you’re on the training grounds, flying. It’s a lovely sound, he thinks, and even more so when you’re singing it just for him in the air or like right now.

‘You’re staring again,’ you trace into his back, the motion sending shivers down his spine.

He doesn’t know where the courage came from, but Hyunjin decides to give you a proper explanation this time. He points at you, taps his cheek, then draws a semi circle around his face.

‘You’re beautiful.’

~ ad.gold

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Chapter 10 -- Perfect Harmony | Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Emily Fox is a talented 17-year-old with a passion for all things music. Her dream is to become a successful singer-songwriter one day. But to achieve that dream, she needs to get into one of the most prestigious music schools in her district – it’s all been part of her plan since she was six. Sadly enough, those schools cost a ton of money that her parents don’t want to invest. They don’t even want her to pursue her dream. So, now Emily’s hustling, working at the music store to save up to get into college. That’s until she meets Charlie, an annoying seventeen-year-old boy with the same dream as her. The only difference is, he’s just doing it. He doesn’t need a fancy college to pursue his dream to become famous with his band. He just writes his songs and books small gigs here, there and everywhere. Will meeting Charlie defer her from her dream college, or will he actually help her achieve the dream?

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x OC (Emily Fox)

Warnings: mentions of death, sexual assault

Important note: the characters of Charlie, Owen, Jeremy and Madison are based on the characters they play on the show and i do not own their names, only OC are mine. The songs aren’t mine either, they’re all from the show except for one.

Chapter ten 

~|Emily Fox|~

I see Charlie again on Thursday and Friday. He sorts the invoices since he’s the pro at deciphering Ash’s handwriting while I clean up anything that’s askew and sweep the floor. We steal glances every now and again, but neither of us says anything. We just smile at each other, knowing exactly what we want to do, but not daring to do so. Maybe for now, the knowing is enough. On Saturday evening, he brings the boys with him, just as he promised on Wednesday. It’s an hour before closing time, so they have to keep themselves busy while I handle the very last few customers. Which they do by keeping their eyes on me and laughing at my customer-service-tactics. Balling up the fists, the fake laughs, the straining against the eyeroll. “There you go,” I say to a middle-aged man, shopping with his son for some essentials for his guitar. “Have a nice day. Bye!” My smile immediately vanishes as soon as the customers have turned their backs to me, which sends the boys into a laughing fit. Now I don’t hold back rolling my eyes. “Can you guys not? A girl’s working!” They immediately shut up, trying to keep straight faces. “You might want to tell her the same,” Jeremy says, pointing to the guitar section where a young girl is reaching for a guitar that’s way too high up for her, meaning she’ll probably drop it from five foot high. “Don’t touch the instruments without supervision!” I yell, causing the girl to turn her head. Her eyes widen, like a deer in headlights. When I approach her, I recognize her as Kayla. The girl who’d asked me for piano lessons. “Oh, hey Kayla!” I greet with a smile. “Changing instruments?” I reach for the one she wanted. “Yeah, he said he was going to teach me,” she points at Jeremy who’s now the one that looks like a deer caught in headlights. I raise my eyebrow at him while he slowly collapses in shame. “Jeremy, really? This is a fourteen-year-old girl!” He now raises his hands, going for the defense. “It was meant to be purely professional!” “Nothing is ever professional with you,” Charlie chimes in, agreeing with me. I glance at him, and we exchange smiles, the ones we’ve been sharing for an entire week now. “Kayla, sweetie,” I turn back to the young girl when I’ve recomposed myself, “Don’t take guitar lessons from complete strangers. Especially not when they’re named Jeremy Shada, okay?” Kayla nods her head ferociously and leaves the shop at once. “A fourteen-year-old, Jere? Really?” Owen asks now that the little girl’s gone. “You guys are acting as if I’d do something bad to her. I swear I was going to teach her how to play the guitar,” his bandmates stare at him with raised eyebrows. “And I didn’t know she was only fourteen…” The words come out in just above a whisper. I shake my head at the boys and then check my watch. Closing time. Perfect. I walk over to the door and turn the little board at the window. “So, Emily…” Owen starts as the three boys hop off the piano they’d been sitting on. “When are you going to join our band?” I instantly glare at Charlie, telling him off for telling them. “I didn’t say anything, I promise,” he says, hands up. “Say what?” Jeremy wants to know. I take a deep breath and let it out into a sigh. “That’s she’s thinking about joining the band,” Charlie admits. The boys erupt into cheers, and Jeremy even wraps me up into a hug, almost the same way Charlie did earlier this week. Only less “I want to kiss you” vibes. “I’m thinking about it. Don’t get your hopes up,” I warn them but can’t help smiling either. It warms my heart to see how excited they are to have me in their band. “There’s one way to try and convince her,” Charlie suddenly says with a teasing smirk on his face. He walks past me and towards the electric guitars where he grabs one. “Cables?” he asks me, and I point to a wooden chest behind him where we keep all of our cables for amps and stuff. He sets up his guitar, tunes it a little, then plays a sick riff I’d heard before. I go to grab all the other equipment from the back, three microphones and stands for each of them, while Jeremy grabs a bass and Owen takes a seat behind the displayed drums. They help me set up the microphones and they’re good to go. Charlie plays the riff again, then Owen counts them in and they’re off singing Now or Never again. I watch them while I start cleaning up what’s left to clean up. I sing along every now and then when I remember the lyrics from the Open Mic Night. By the time they hit the bridge, I’m sweeping near Jeremy, and decide to surprise the boys. “We ain't searching for tomorrow,” Owen sings, and I take this as my cue to move closer to Jeremy – and his mic and sing the echo with him. “Tomorrow,” All three the boys look at me with surprise, but that doesn’t stop us. “'Cause we got all we need today,” goes Owen again. And then Jeremy and I echo together, “Today.” “Living on a feeling that's been running through our veins” Charlie sings without taking his eyes off me and without wiping that smile off his face. Jeremy now steps aside, leaving me to have my favorite line in the entire song. “We're the revolution that's been singing in the rain!” For the last chorus, all four of us begin clapping, like they did on Open Mic night. To finish it off, Jeremy, Owen and I take care of the backing vocals for Charlie.   “Don't look down 'Cause we're still rising Up right now And even if we Hit the ground We'll still fly Keep dreaming like we'll live forever But live it like it's now or never It's now or never” The three boys pant a little after giving their all while I continue sweeping as if nothing even happened. Although, I can’t hide the smirk that’s tugging on my lips. “Wow, that girl can sing!” Jeremy compliments me with a little smile. “Emily,” Charlie’s voice beckons me to look up, “Please, join Sunset Curve?” “Still thinking about it,” I tell him, but I already know I want to. Jamming with these boys feels amazing and I’d do it forever if it wasn’t for my uncle. I need to figure out how I’m going to be okay with singing and writing music with other people. Until I do, I’m going to keep them in a little bit of agony. “Come on, Emmy?” The nickname rips my heart out, even if it’s coming from Charlie’s mouth. “Don’t call me that,” I snarl, startling him a little. I shut my eyes for a second. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s my default reaction to hearing that nickname when it’s from the wrong person. “Sorry, but please, don’t call me that. Anything but that.” I send him a knowing look, hoping that’ll say enough about the why. “Sorry…” he whispers, then wets his lips before continuing, “But Ems, we just rocked that with you. Have we really not convinced you yet?” He has that same puppy-dog-eyes look on his face. Does he know how much that has an effect on me and is he doing it on purpose, or? “Give me a week, okay? I just need to find a way to be okay with… You know…” Charlie nods his head, respecting my decision. I offer him an appreciative smile, hoping that would do. “No, I don’t know. Okay with what?” Jeremy earns a slap on the arm from Owen on that one. “Do you ever think some things aren’t your business?” The dark haired boy simply shrugs. “Hey, why don’t you guys let me hear that new song of yours? Finally Free? I heard it’s good,” I glance at Charlie for the last part, and exchange a smirk with him. He knows. We both know. “Uhm, sure?” Owen says, seemingly confused. “Version two, guys, don’t forget,” Charlie tells them just before Owen counts them in and they’re off playing the song. It sounds amazing. Such a fun song when you add the drums, bass and electric feel of the guitar rather than the acoustic guitar Charlie played it on for me. While I clean up the rest of the store, I mime the song along for as far as I still remember it, hoping the boys won’t see so I don’t have to sing along with them. What I do show them are my killer dance moves with the broom, which really does make them laugh. “That sounds awesome, you guys!” I say excitedly when they’ve finished. Charlie places his guitar on the stand, calling in a break. “I think Sunset Curve might have a hit with that one.” The boys all give me a shy smile as they all gather at the piano again, having ditched their instruments. “Now you,” it almost sounds like a dare. “Now me what?” I ask, keeping my eyes on him. “Show me your song!” The boy sounds way too excited and looks the part too. With his eyes wide and his smile nearly reaching his eyes. I glance from Charlie to Owen to Jeremy and back. “I mean, it’s not really fi—” Owen interrupts my excuse by coming up with one of his own. “Who’s hungry? I’m hungry! Jeremy, let’s get some food for all of us!” Without even asking us what we’d want for dinner, Owen grabs a hold of his best friend and yanks him towards the door and out the store, leaving Charlie and I to our devices. “Will you play it for me now?” he asks, a bit more careful than before as if not wanting to overstep anything. I swallow a nervous lump in my throat before nodding and going to grab my songbook. I place all the loose papers onto the piano and then turn to him. “Grab your guitar,” I order sweetly. The boy obeys and quickly grabs the black Fender from the wall. “Remember what you played the other day when we kind of wrote it together?” He simply nods his head before starting to play the chords he did that first day of writing together. He stands beside me, our shoulders touching, as we look at the song on paper. Then Charlie starts singing, his voice sending shivers throughout my entire body. “Step into my world Bittersweet love story about a girl Shook me to the core Voice like an angel, I've never heard before.” I take a deep breath and start singing my part of the first verse. “Here in front of me Shining so much brighter than I have ever seen Life can be so mean But when he goes I know he doesn't leave” A soft beat and a melody sounds through my mind now, intertwined with the sound of his guitar. Just as our voices intertwine too during the chorus. Like the perfect harmony. “The truth is finally breaking through Two worlds collide when I'm with you Our voices rise and soar so high We come to life when we're” I turn to him, finding myself confident enough not to stare at the papers. “In perfect harmony Woah, woah Perfect harmony Woah, woah Perfect harmony” Charlie smiles down at me with the brightest smile on his face. He, too, feels confident enough to sing without looking at the lyrics. “You set me free,” he sings, not taking his eyes off me. “You and me together is more than chemistry.” Without realizing it, I take a step closer towards him. “Love me as I am I'll hold your music here inside my hands We say we're friends, we play pretend You're more to me, we're everything Our voices rise and soar so high We come to life when we're In perfect harmony” Charlie places his guitar on the piano, letting the melody and rhythm inside our minds guide us instead as we walk around the piano, each in different directions until we’re on opposite sides, looking at each other. “Woah, woah Perfect harmony Woah, woah Perfect harmony” I lean forward on the piano as I sing the first line in the bridge. “I feel your rhythm in my heart, yeah” Charlie walks the other half of the piano, quickly this time, until he’s reached me. “You are my brightest, burning star, woah-woah” I place my hands on his chest as he inches closer. “I never knew a love so real” “So real,” Charlie echoes, pressing his forehead to mine. “We're heaven on earth, melody and words When we are together we're In perfect harmony” I step back slightly, offering him a teasing smirk more so because I’m not ready for what’s about to happen next. “Woah, woah Perfect harmony Woah, woah Perfect harmony” He takes my hand in his and pulls me towards him again. My hands find their way to his chest again while he places his on my waist. “We say we're friends We play pretend You're more to me We create a perfect harmony” The music in our minds has stopped. All that’s left now is our panting breath and beating hearts. Tingles erupt in my body, going from my head all the way down to my toes. I know what’s going to happen and for once, my brain isn’t telling me to pull away or abort the mission. For once, it’s silent. And then Charlie kisses me, and an entire orchestra breaks up the silence in my mind. “I’m seeing fireworks!” Jeremy’s voice makes us break apart, but we don’t go too far. Just our lips disconnect. “Are you seeing fireworks?” Owen nods his head in agreement with his best friend. “Because I’m seeing all the fireworks!” If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the dude is high. I shake my head at Jeremy and turn back to Charlie, who’s already looking down at me. This feels right. This feels like how it should be. All the planets aligned. Just perfectly right.

Taglist: @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @hannahhistorian92 @gingerxarmy @marinettepotterandplagg​ @lovesanimals​ Lemme know if you want to be on my taglist for this story/any of my other works!

[moonlit-han]

a truth universally (un)acknowledged | chapter one

(artwork credit to @jisungieart​)

genre: rivals-to-lovers, fluff, college au, theatre au pairing: han jisung x reader chapter word count: 1.9k warnings: suggestive, swearing request: yes (@jisungsjheekies)

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

{prologue} {chapter one}  {chapter two}  {chapter three}  {chapter four} {chapter five}  {chapter six}  {chapter seven, part one}  {chapter seven, part two}

chapter one

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” — Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen (1813)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

It was in freshman year of college, the sixth week of classes, in Shakespeare for Theatre Performance Majors (THEA 200), halfway through the class period, just as the class prepared to perform their first monologues. You’d wanted to be assigned one of Prospero’s speeches from The Tempest. Instead, Jisung got to play Prospero and you ended up with one of Rosalind’s clever monologues from As You Like It. Not that you disliked Rosalind as a character, you simply wanted to have the fun of 1) not playing a girl for once in your life, and 2) wearing a long robe and getting to wave around a long staff. (There are few things that delight more than strutting around like some self-important wizard). 

You did your best with the monologue, pretending to hide behind a tree at times and speaking to an imaginary Orlando at others. You were as pleased as a cat who’d caught a canary with how well you’d performed, and the fact that your professor gave few notes made it all the better. You liked being the best at anything you did. Jisung was called up to perform after you, and he had brought a robe and a staff. You scoffed a bit because, until that day, he’d been a fairly good actor but nothing extraordinary. Oh, how wrong you were. Yes, his participation in class thus far had been exemplary, his integration of notes seamless, and his general affect lighthearted and kind. But again, he’d only been a fairly good actor, nothing extraordinary. So, seeing him play Prospero as he called down the elements to wreak havoc at sea was unexpected, to say the least. Jisung seemed to put every ounce of energy he had into the performance, and the class clapped when he finished. He, like everyone else, had received notes from the professor, but they were cursory comments. Jisung had done the proper research to play Prospero as well as he could, and then presented the monologue better than you ever thought possible—from a college freshman, that is. And, you hated to admit, better than you could’ve done.

Thus, your rivalry with Han Jisung began. 

At first it was distinctly one-sided, but you performed so well on the mid-term that Jisung noticed he wouldn’t be the sole star of the class. From then on, you and he vied for many of the same scenes to perform, the leading roles in the plays and musicals, and even the chance to mentor younger students once you were upperclassmen. Also, you consistently tried to perform better than each other in everything you did. The unofficial title of Best Actor in the Department (created by you and Jisung for your own purposes and, somehow, represented by a child’s gaudy tiara) bounced between the two of you. It must be said, though, it became more and more like a game with your steadily maturing attitudes and values. However, the one thing you both flatly refused to do was play love interests. If the two leading roles in a play were love interests, you would find different roles for which to audition to avoid that awkwardness.

And now, you were a senior and the reality of your impending graduation had just set in. 

As you walked down the hall to the costume shop for your shift, your best friend and roommate, Miri, caught your arms and swung you around.

“Y/N! Babe, did you see the posting? They’ve announced the next production!!” Miri was practically bouncing up and down as she spoke, which wasn’t unusual for her. “It’s a new adaptation of Pride and Prejudice—who are you going to audition for?” 

“Wait, really? Pride and Prejudice? I didn’t even know there was a stage version of that,” you said as Miri swung your now linked hands back and forth. “Hmmm, I guess I could audition for Jane? I don’t think I’d go for Elizabeth, since I really don’t feel like carrying a show next semester, you know?”

“But you’d make such a good Elizabeth Bennet! You have to audition for her!” Miri pressed you.

“Mir, no, I don’t want to have too much going on. Jane will be enough for me. Plus, I’m sure everyone will want to play Elizabeth—she is the lead, after all,” you said, finally extracting yourself from your friend’s grasp.

“But Y/N—” Miri whined.

“Come on, I want to ask if we’ll have to do extra shifts in the costume shop with the show coming up,” you interrupted and continued down the hallway.

When you got off from your shift sewing and repairing garments used in the last show, you went to the audition sign-up sheet on the Theatre Department Message Board. You saw a small knot of people huddled in front of the board, all waiting excitedly to put down their names. You joined the group just as Jisung sauntered up and stood beside you.

“So, Y/N, should we break our rule and go for Elizabeth and Darcy?” Jisung asked, knowing full well you’d never agree to it. He liked to tease you and you liked to tease him, just as long it didn’t end up as flirting. That would be bad.

“Jisung, you know that’s never gonna happen. I am never going to play love interests with you. My first choice is Jane, and after that I’ll just let Professor Greystone decide,” you said as you rummaged in your bag for a pen.

“Ah, the calm and lovely Jane . . . so you’d rather have a simpler role, huh? Too busy this year?” Jisung teased.

“No,” you replied sternly, “I’d just sooner have less to worry about than more. Who are you auditioning for, anyway? Wickham?”

“Nah, I think I’d do best as Mr. Bennet—play to my natural wit,” Jisung said casually, sweeping his hair up off his forehead. “It’d be perfect!”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Jisung.” You’d finally found a pen and began to write your name and your role of choice under an audition time. 

Just when you’d finished, Jisung snatched the pen from your fingers. You were about to protest, but he’d already added his name to the list. Handing the pen back to you with exaggerated care, Jisung said, “See you at auditions, then, Y/N,” and strolled down the hall like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

You quickly glanced at the audition sheet again, and sure enough, Jisung had signed up for the slot right after you. Damn, that had to be the worst luck ever.

Two weeks later, the Department held auditions on Thursday and Friday afternoon in the main theatre. Most students auditioning were familiar with the space, especially those, like you and Jisung, who had performed in it before. The director, Professor Greystone, clearly wanted to see how each person reacted and adjusted to the size and acoustics of the theatre throughout their audition. The long hallway along the back of the theatre was full of students waiting for their time slot. It was eerily quiet, save for the occasional mutter as someone cursed themselves or their chosen monologue for one reason or another. Every fifteen minutes, the door would open to free one student only to swallow another into the maw of the theatre scant minutes later. All looked less stressed coming out than when they went in, but the tension in the air was thicker than strawberry jam. 

You’d been thinking about the auditions for nearly every waking moment over the past two weeks. Jisung’s comment about playing Elizabeth and Darcy had, somehow, stuck in your brain like the worst kind of repetitive song. There was a part of you that wanted to play Elizabeth—she had some of the wittiest responses to the hidebound and often dull comments made by those of her social circle, and you aspired to be as quick-witted. But, you didn’t want to risk being cast opposite Jisung. You didn’t think you could bring yourself to act, truly act, even remotely interested in him as a lover. You leaned against the wall, reading through your monologue and your notes for comfort more than anything, trying to clear your head of all else. The temptation of playing Elizabeth just would not go away, though. After another five minutes of fruitless reading and rereading, you paused. What if I did audition for Elizabeth? you thought, scarcely daring to even think it. Jisung surely wouldn’t audition for Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, right? He wanted to play Mr. Bennet so he could, in essence, play himself. It wouldn’t hurt for you to add Elizabeth to your list of potential roles—it was just another option. You’d been cast in enough leading roles in the past that there was a good chance Professor Greystone wouldn’t cast you in one again. Right?

“Y/N,” came the sing-song voice in your ear. You had to fight the urge to hit Jisung in the head as you glared at the young man who made it his business to annoy the daylights out of you.

“What, Jisung. What do you want,” you hissed under your breath, trying not to disturb the ten other people still waiting for their turn. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Oh, just saying ‘Hi.’ Break a leg, Y/N! Hope you get the part you want.” With that, Jisung walked back down the hall to sit on the floor with his ever-present headphones pulled down over his ears. You guessed it helped him filter out distractions. Although, it did make Jisung seem especially cocky, though, as if he didn’t need to study his lines or do anything else before an audition.

After twenty minutes or so, your audition time arrived. Of course, Professor Greystone and the other faculty had some general questions for you before you performed. They made it seem like part of the audition process, but the questions were really an excuse to let students adjust to the space. No matter one’s years of experience, the additional time always helped. Thus, the questions were simple. Yes, you’d read Pride and Prejudice—several times, in fact. No, you hadn't been aware of a stage adaptation before it was announced for the spring. No, your spring schedule was not full yet.

“Do you have any other questions, Y/N?” Professor Greystone asked, setting down her pen for a moment.

“Well, yes. Could I add Elizabeth to my preferred roles, please?” You smiled sheepishly, knowing Professor Greystone had probably expected this. 

“Of course, Y/N. I’ll consider you for the role, in addition to Jane,” replied your professor. “Could you perform your monologue for us now?”

With that, you took a deep breath, lowered your head, then raised it in character.

And then, you were done. You emerged from the theatre, a bit tired but happy with your performance. Jisung, who really was acting like your shadow these days, waited outside the door for his own audition.

“Break a leg, Jisung. You’d do wonderfully as Mr. Bennet,” you said, surprising even yourself as you gave the compliment.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jisung said bemusedly as he watched you gather your things, settling your sweater and backpack on your shoulders. Still staring into space even after you rounded the corner at the end of the hall, Jisung bit his lip. Should I go for Darcy? he thought. There’s no way Y/N would audition for Elizabeth. She’s too scared we’ll end up being cast as lovers. Chuckling to himself, Jisung methodically put away his headphones, straightened his clothes, and took a deep breath. Opening the stage door, he thought, Hell, I’ll do it.

[shinidamachu]

Neighbor Crush (The Thread)

Summary: modern AU, anyone? This was heavily inspired by a twitter thread I read a while ago, about a guy who developed a major crush on his neighbor’s voice and, with his roommate’s help, managed to ask him out.

Word Count: 2.015  Genre: fluff  Fandom: InuYasha  Pairing: Inukag  Format: oneshot  AO3 Link: 🌹  Fanfic.Net Link: 🌹

“I’m home!”

The abrupt sound of Miroku throwing his keys and briefcase at the table made InuYasha jump on his sit. It was a rare thing to do, taking him by surprise that way.

Unfortunately, Miroku knew so.

“You’re eavesdropping her again, aren’t you?”

It was hard to say what pissed InuYasha off the most: that Miroku had startled him, that he got caught in the act or the infuriating smugness in the bastard’s tone.

“Mind ya business.”

Ignoring his temper, Miroku went to their refrigerator and returned with a loosened tie and a couple of beers. He handed one to InuYasha and sat beside him on the couch.

“Come on, this is getting ridiculous. You have been obsessing over this girl for what? Three weeks, now? Just go downstairs, knock on her door and ask her out.”

Miroku took a long sip of his Heineken, as if rewarding himself for giving the world’s greatest advice. InuYasha wished he would choke on it.

“I’m not knocking on her door and asking her out, dipshit! We have no idea what the girl looks like!”

“Then do us both a favor and go find out!”

To be totally honest, her appearance was what mattered the least about this girl, although he couldn’t deny his curiosity.

Her voice.

It was her voice that started it all.

For two years he had been sharing this little apartment with Miroku and for two years it had been easy for them to ignore each resident of the building without a second thought. InuYasha was in no way a social guy and even though Miroku had a weak spot for the ladies, he had vowed not to get involved with a neighbor, ever.

“Location, location, location.” InuYasha remembered Miroku explaining once. “It’s simultaneously the best pro and the worst con. I’d rather not risk it, it could get pretty ugly.”

Knowing his tendency to hit and run, it was probably the smartest call.

And life went on as usual.

Until InuYasha heard her voice.

It was exceptionally loud. That was the very first thing he noticed. The second thing was that he incredibly didn’t mind at all. There was a sincerity tone to it that was ever present. Almost as if physically unable to lie. Sweet. Gentle. Smooth. But not in a generic way. He could download it into his GPS and drive forever. Her laughter had over him the same effect of sunbeams reaching out the untouched ground of a frozen forest and when she talks too low, something primal and urgent wakes inside him, letting him dying to know what his name would sound like between her whispers.

Then it became less about how and more about what she talked.

Her name was Kagome. She was in her twenties and had just graduated from pedagogy school. Three weeks ago, she had moved in with the girl who lived precisely in the apartment below theirs to save money as she adapted to the new job of substitute teacher. She had a cat named Buyo, couldn’t swear for the life of her, sang a lot, a bit clumsy, definitely a half full kind of person... Single, as far as he could tell.

Kagome had the most hilarious stories, most of them starring her little brother, her grandpa or her friends. He was especially fond of the ones in which she tried to be nice and it ended up blowing on her face spectacularly. Her heart was too big for her own good.

On the floor below, the girl in question left what InuYasha assumed was her kitchen and walked to the living room, turning the TV on. Even now, when the current conversation was supposed to be his focus, he found himself painfully aware of her moviments.

Miroku didn’t have to know any of that.

“That’s insane.”

“Why? How is that insane?”

“Hi, I’m InuYasha, your upstairs neighbor. You don’t know me, but I’ve been listening to everything you say or sing in your apartment since the day you moved in. Often on purpose, like a creepy person. Anyway, wanna have dinner sometime?”

“Lose the ‘creepy’ part and you’ll be fine.”

“Drop it, it ain’t happening.”

“Well, at least you recognize your obsession. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recover.”

“You’re my problem,” he mumbled.

“Wrong, my friend. I’m the solution. You just gotta listen to me.”

“Yeah, don’t count on it.” Miroku laughed. “So how was work?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Damn straight I am.”

They made small talk and drank for a while, then Miroku pulled out his phone to check his notifications and InuYasha searched Netflix for an action movie they haven’t seen yet. The girl was binge-watching a sitcom. A good one, judging by the way her laughter reached his ears every now and then.

He smiled.

In moments like these, it was crazy tempting to walk down the stairs and go for it, but InuYasha wouldn’t dare. He was perfectly fine just hearing her life from a safe distance so they couldn’t hurt each other, because this is what love inevitably leads to — and that was assuming she wouldn’t reject his advances, in the first place.

Might as well save them both some pain.

“So what do you say? Shall we eat ramen for the third time in a row or order some pizza? InuYasha?”

But he wasn’t listening. In the apartment below, a door opened. Her roommate, Sango, had arrived.

“Hey!”

“Hey!” Replied Kagome. “I hope you’re hungry, ‘cause I just made lasagna.”

“And I hope you’re thirsty, ‘cause I just bought Tequila.”

“Tough day, huh?”

“Tough week.”

“Balcony?”

“You bet.”

The girls turned the blender on.

The balcony was their favorite spot to chat. It was also where the acoustic sounded better. To the point even human ears could catch the words.

One look at InuYasha and Miroku realized what it meant.

“Is she going to the balcony?” He asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.

InuYasha ran, intercepting Miroku just in time. One hand securely covering his friend’s mouth, the other holding him still. They were now in their own balcony.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

There was an attempt to speak, but it came off muttered. Even so, InuYasha refused to budge his hand. Until Miroku licked it. “Ugh!”

“What does it look like?” He questioned while InuYasha compulsively wiped his hand on his jeans. “I’m being your wingman.”

“I don’t need a wingman and will you shut up, already?” His whispered, angry. Miroku was ready to deliver a cunning comeback when the blender stopped and the girls stepped into the balcony.

“So I had to break up with Kuranosuke today.”

“Break up? I thought you guys were friends with benefits or whatever.”

“YES! WE WERE! THANK YOU! Now could you please be a lamb and go tell him that? Maybe I didn’t make myself clear the first four hundred times! Oh, stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Go on.”

“It was a nightmare! The whole week he kept sending flowers and Valentine’s Day cards to the precinct. It’s not even february!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get him arrested.”

“Believe me, I was this close. It’s hard enough getting their respect, you know? Being a female cop and all. He wasn’t helping.”

“I know. But hey! Someday you’ll find the guy for you. Someone who’ll understand how much your job means. I’m serious! You will!”

“Nope. That’s it for me. I’m done with men.”

“Funny, I’m in the opposite vibe.”

“Really? Now that’s interesting.”

“It’s just… I haven’t dated anyone since Koga.”

“Damn, you’re right! I haven’t realized it.”

“You know what? You should set me up with someone.”

Miroku playfully punched InuYasha’s shoulder, getting his attention. “That’s your chance,” he mouthed. The half demon shook his head.

“Hmmm… Wouldn’t Ayumi, Yuka and What’s-Her-Name be a better option for that? I’m usually cuffing most guys I meet.”

“Eri. And no way! They would just set me up with Hojo.”

“Right! And why won’t you date him, again?”

“Because he’s my friend!”

“He is cute.”

“A cute friend.”

“He likes you.”

“Not my fault.”

“Fine. I’ll d—”

“HEY, NEIGHBORS! NEIGHBORS!”

Mortified, InuYasha watched Miroku make a fool of himself. Like in a movie, his body seemed to forget how to react.

“Hi!” Greeted Sango. “I’m sorry. Were we being too loud? We’ll keep it down.”

“No, it’s okay, the walls are really thin. Listen… I have this friend. And he’s really into your friend’s voice. I was wondering if she would be interest in going on a date with him.”

“What?” Kagome let out a shaken giggle.

“Is this for real?”

“Yes! I gotta go, but check his Instagram out. It’s @InuYashaTaisho.”

Apparently very pleased with himself, Miroku walked inside.

“You’re a dead man!”

“What do you think?” Kagome asked, while InuYasha chased Miroku around the apartment.

“It can’t hurt to give a look,” Answered Sango.

“Five years from now, when the two of you get married, you’ll be thanking me for this.” Miroku dodged the pillow InuYasha threw on his direction.

“Don’t ya worry. Imma make sure to write this on your tombstone.”

“Sango!”

“Wha—Wow! This is him? What are you gonna do?”

InuYasha threw another pillow. Miroku caught it in the air. He was cornered on the wall and nothing could save him now.

Bzzt! Bzzzt!

Impertinently, his phone choose that exact minute to vibrate. InuYasha fished it off his back pocket and the notification took his breath away.

Kagome Higurashi started following you.

“Is that her?”

InuYasha ignored him. The only important thing was the dark haired beauty smiling brightly on his screen. Her eyes were big and warm, framed by extremely long black lashes. She had adorable bangs and sharped cheeks. The perfect shape of her lips rivaled those from a greek statue and they seemed to be painted in a natural shade of pink in almost every picture. Except when they were burning red.

He couldn’t have put a better face to the voice if he tried.

Scrolling down her feed, InuYasha continued to connect the features he didn’t know with the names he did. Sango. Her mom. Sota. Buyo. Her grandfather.

“Let me see!” Miroku ran to his side and hang on his shoulder like a parrot, whistling in approval as InuYasha went on. “Woah, wait, wait, wait! Who is that?”

“That’s Sango, the girl you just embarrassed me and yourself in front of.” He followed Kagome back.

“I think I’m in love.”

InuYasha glared at him.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“He followed me back!”

“Oh, it’s going down!” Sango laughed.

“Watch me.” Defied Miroku.

“What the fuck happened to the ‘not dating neighbors’ rule?”

“If four years of law school taught me something was that every rule has its exceptions. In this case, the exception is the absurd level of hotness of said neighbor.”

“On a second thought, go ahead and date her. It’s about time someone put you in jail.”

Miroku smirked.

“Should I say hello?”

“Definitely!” Encouraged Sango. “Don’t schedule anything until I check him for bad precedents, though.”

“You’re such a cop.”

Bzzt! Bzzzt!

Hi!

Hi! I’m sorry about my friend. He thinks ‘boundaries’ is an indie band.

She chuckled.

“Hey!”

“Don’t you have a pizza to order?” InuYasha faced him, eyebrows raised. Miroku narrowed his eyes and left.

“This isn’t over.”

That’s okay. So... you’re a dog demon. I’m assuming this is how you can hear us down here?

Actually I’m half demon, which means I’m only half responsible for invading your privacy. The other half is on you for being so damn loud.

Excuse me?! I thought you liked my loud personality! Wasn’t that the whole point?

To be fair, what I liked was your killer cover of Livin’ On A Prayer.

OH MY GOD! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU HEARD THAT! Okay. This isn’t fair. You’ve been listening to my voice since I moved in, but I have no idea what yours sound like.

The next text he sent her was his phone number.

A/N: it’s been a while, yes? Tell me if you guys enjoyed this one. Fluff is not really my thing. Let me know if I can interest you in a Part II of them dating and send me sugestions of where they could go, if you want to. If I liked them better than the ideas I have in mind, I might end up writing it (is not a priority, though).

Also, I want to dedicate this piece to @xfangheartx​. Thank you for always being a sweetheart.

[that-one-girl-behind-you]

Illicio 6/?

Part 5

"Wh- no, not at all," Jon shakes his head. Great, just great. Just go ahead and screw it up with the only person who for whatever reason seems to like your presence anymore. "I was just wondering."

"Yeah I just thought with the Dark people coming closer-" Gerry's voice fades gradually, until he's looking at the coffeepot in a sort of contemplative silence. He turns his head to look at Jon again after a moment. "I just like being here."

Jon feels his mouth dry up, and the space where his missing ribs should go aches as if to remind him he's betraying Gerry's trust even as they speak. He'll- he'll probably stop liking it -liking Jon- when he finds out he's been lying to him.

"That's- that's good. I like having you here," Jon mutters.

VI

Basira's capability to work through bullshit is, it turns out, incredibly high.

It's basically a requirement for all sectioned officers, but Basira's been steadily pushing her threshold back since she started noticing her partner and friend with benefits could track down a suspect better than the K9 units. As it stands now, she looks at Sylphie Fairchild, and ignores the way her ears feel blocked, like every sound is dimmed and muffled before it reaches her. She knows they're standing in a shop on a busy street, the avatar's acoustic tricks are not going to fool her.

"A diving school?" Basira asks. The shop is all painted a single hue of deep blue, from the door and the floor to the counter, and if Basira loses her focus for a moment it becomes unclear if the walls are even there at all.

"Best one in Malta," Sylphie smiles. It's difficult to believe there's something inhuman about her, when she's not spewing bugs or sprouting limbs. "We specialize in nighttime excursions. Only you and the sea and the stars above yo-"

"Sounds charming," Basira interrupts. The woman leans across the counter slow and flowingly, like she's moving through water. The folds on her flannel continue moving long after she's stopped, as if pushed around by currents Basira can't see. "I thought drowning was a Buried thing."

It's why she'd come here in the first place. Surely a Vast avatar that deals in the Buried's domain will know something about the coffin, or how to crack it open.

"Hmmmmm, it depends on what you get from it." Sylphie, voice turns amused. "Should you be asking questions? I thought that's why you had an Archivist."

Basira sighs. That does explain why this feels so wrong. When Elias gave her the name, it had been easy to find Fairchild, her path illuminating in her mind like a neon trail. But that's it. She's meant to find information, not add it to the Archive, she guesses.

Whatever. This is not about Basira and what she may or may not be turning into. This is about Daisy, and that makes it worth it.

"He's busy. I want to-"

"Ah, pity. I wanted to meet him! Michael always gets all the fun- or he used to." Sylphie chuckles darkly, and it sends Basira's nerves on edge. A good reminder that this is not just a young woman playing dumb, but a predator. She wonders how many people have jumped into the sea in the middle of the night and then never found the boat again. "You Eye folks really like sticking your noses in everybody's businesses don't you?"

Basira's nape prickles. The counter is gone, and she's standing in the middle of a deep blue expanse, much colder than it ought to in the middle of the Maltese summer.

"I'm not scared," says Basira, and she means it. She rationalized her way out of the Unknowing, it takes a lot more than a Fairchild with bad taste in decoration to mess with her mind. "Do you know anything about the coffin?"

Sylphie rolls her eyes. "Tsk. You're no fun at all." She snaps her fingers, and the reassuring presence of walls and floor and ceiling start to fade in again. "It's a pocket dimension, I don't deal with those. Too constricting. Couldn't help you if I wanted to, sorry!"

"Do you know anyone that could?" Basira asks, and Sylphie gives another laugh, delighted this time.

"Sure, don't know if he would though. Go look for Matthew."

The words light up like a beacon in Basira's mind and all of a sudden she has a purpose again. This is what she's supposed to do, and the first steps of the way towards finding the next target are already forming in her head.

"Not even a thank you?" Sylphie's amused smile is audible in her voice as Basira walks towards the door. "Come back when you get whoever it is out of the coffin! We do couples outings!"

Basira slams the door so hard that the glass panes of the windows vibrate furiously, even after she walks away.

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

The depression on his ribcage is fairly noticeable, when the steam on the mirror clears. Jon is not too used to looking at his own body, especially in the past years, when every time he looks there's a new scar to hate.

He presses his hand to the skin, and the beat of his pulse is much easier to find without the protective barrier of the ribs, and much more comforting than it should. It has to mean something, that he still has a beating heart.

"You've been staying the night a lot more lately," Jon observes when he walks into the kitchen to find Gerry brewing a pot of coffee. Gerry looks at him for a second and then immediately back at the pot. Jon goes to push his wet hair away from his face, suddenly self conscious.

"Does it bother you?"

"Wh- no, not at all," Jon shakes his head. Great, just great. Just go ahead and screw it up with the only person who for whatever reason seems to like your presence anymore. "I was just wondering."

"Yeah I just thought with the Dark people coming closer-" Gerry's voice fades gradually, until he's looking at the coffeepot in a sort of contemplative silence. He turns his head to look at Jon again after a moment. "I just like being here."

Jon feels his mouth dry up, and the space where his missing ribs should go aches as if to remind him he's betraying Gerry's trust even as they speak. He'll- he'll probably stop liking it -liking Jon- when he finds out he's been lying to him.

"That's- that's good. I like having you here," Jon mutters. At least he isn't lying about that. Having Gerry around makes him feel a bit more human, and the man is awfully patient in the face of Jon's awkwardness and bad habits. "I- do you need me to read something tonight?"

Gerry rolls his eyes as he pours coffee in two mugs, and Jon feels his stomach do a flip. The gesture doesn't look annoyed at all. It's the kind of eye roll Georgie used to give him before, all fond exasperation he doesn't deserve.

"I don't come here just to get my fix, Jon," Gerry smirks, passing him a mug. "Let's just watch a movie, I could use the distraction. I'll even let you sit on the sofa, come on."

He walks out into the sitting room, and Jon watches him go. The warm drink in his hands brings to mind a comparison he doesn't want to make, because it didn't end well for Martin.

Jon follows, and finds that Gerry has indeed left him a spot on the sofa, just wide enough to sit with his legs under him, which Jon miraculously manages without spilling hot coffee on himself. "How considerate."

Gerry winks. "Your own fault. Don't go adopting stray undeads if you don't have enough sofa space."

Despite himself and his earlier thoughts, Jon smiles. He often finds himself relaxing around Gerry.

"Terribly sorry, the Eye didn't mention anything about your furniture hoarding habits when it dropped you off." Jon sips at his coffee as Gerry snorts.

"I do wonder sometimes, you know?" Gerry asks after a while. The remote sits untouched on the coffee table before them. "Why exactly did the Eye choose me. I mean, we know it was putting on a show for you, so why bring back the sad book ghost instead of your actual friends?"

"I don't think it wanted to lose another Archivist so soon, and you were the only option that wouldn't try to kill me as soon as you woke up," Jon shrugs. It's a tough truth, but a truth nonetheless.

"Hm. Well yes, but it still, " Gerry's started spreading over more and more of the sofa as he speaks, and Jon gets the feeling he's going to end on the coffee table again after all. "It would've made you happy to have them again, and I think that was the point in-"

"It chose just fine then." Jon looks stubbornly at the dark coffee in his mug. He's aware enough that he's just on the verge of making things awkward- Gerry's already gone suspiciously quiet by his end of the sofa, but he needs to say it. "I'm just- I'm sorry it wouldn't let you rest. Having you around is- but you earned it. You deserved a chance to be free of all this."

Gerry clears his throat. "That means a lot, Jon." His voice is a little strained, and Jon sighs. Another interaction turned uncomfortable, great. "So- how about a comedy? I'd suggest a thriller, but we'll both probably Know the twist before it happens so what's the case?"

Jon's head whips up at the change in tone. Gerry's stopped slipping down the couch, his socked foot just shy of touching Jon's knee, and he's reaching for the remote. Usually these conversations end with the other person storming away from him, not just- moving past to the next thing.

Maybe Jon is right, and the Watcher brought him Gerry because he's the only one that could possibly sit down and watch a movie with a monster.

The gap in his ribcage aches again, and Jon has to remind himself that Daisy's life is more important than his regret.

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

She hadn't expected to find a Vast avatar in the middle of New York's downtown, where every space is crowded to its maximum capacity. Perhaps this is a more metaphorical empty space? The unbreachable distance people build around themselves, that sort of thing.

"Matt," says the man at the top of the line, handing the barista a crisp hundred dollar note. "Keep the change."

Basira rolls her eyes before approaching him. The duality of these monsters is without a doubt their most vexing aspect, tipping a barista 95% on a mocha before shoving another innocent off a bridge or however this one does his business.

"Matthew Fairchild?" she asks once she's within a few steps' range. "I have some questions."

The man -teen, really, Basira doubts he's a day over twenty, if he even reaches the number- gives her a sideways look, before his eyebrows arch in recognition.

"Oh you're the Eye fella aren't you?" He smiles. Basira blinks. Suspects aren't usually this thrilled to see her. "Sylphie told me you'd be coming, that was quick! Let me just get my coffee and we can move somewhere more comfortable."

"Thats- no. I just want to know-"

"Matt?" Another barista calls from the end of the bar, and Basira has no doubt the extra ninety something dollars helped push Fairchild's order to the top of the queue. Matthew grins and dashes away to pick up the steaming cup, leaving Basira's ears whistling a little.

"There, thanks for waiting," the young man returns to Basira's side with a whipped cream monstrosity, and she can feel her lower lid begin to twitch. "So where's your Archivist? I heard he killed Mike-"

"He didn't," Basira interrupts him immediately. "That was a hunter. The Archivist was just lucky she stepped in at the right moment." It should feel wrong, using that term to describe Daisy, or praise her kills when she's so much more than what the Hunt made of her, but Basira won't let her achievements go uncredited.

"Hm. Yeah makes more sense I guess," Matthew shrugs. "Anyways, what do you want?"

"The other- she said you knew about pocket dimensions," Basira says carefully. This one seems a bit more cooperative than the last, but she knows better than to trust avatars.

Matthew laughs. "Well, I got mine. Is that what you mean?"

Basira looks around. The Starbucks is gone, and they're standing at the edge of a sickly yellow grass field ending on a cliff, a mirror copy of it a thousand miles below them. That one too ends in a cliff, and Basira can just about see the same field and the same cliff repeating over and over again as far as her eyes can perceive.

She rips her gaze away from the unending space and focuses on Matthew, who's watching her with an amused smile edged in milk foam and chocolate syrup.

"Yes, this is what I mean." Basira hopes her words and tone can convey just how not impressed she is, but the avatar seems far from offended. "How would one break out of it?"

"Now, it wouldn't be too smart of me to tell people that, don't you think?"

Down by the third cliff -or the fourth? Sixth?- Basira catches the movement of a lonely figure as they fall to their knees and begin tearing at their hair, calling out to the empty expanse of white sky above them.

"I don't care about them," Basira says. She should feel guilty, and in some way she does. But they aren't Daisy, and she can't save them. "I'm talking about the coffin."

"Ew, don't talk about that thing!" Matthew cringes, and the sounds of the busy coffeeshop around them start again like someone just pressed play on a recording.

"I need something that will work on the Buried," Basira says. Matthew rolls his eyes.

"Don't know, don't care. You really should've brought someone who could get answers, if you really wanted them," he takes another sip of his coffee, "I'm gonna go no-"

Basira's hand shoots forward to clamp down on his wrist. "I will find you again," she warns, "I am not the Archivist, but I am good at finding people. And I will keep finding you and yours again and again, until you. Tell. Me."

Matthew arches an eyebrow at Basira's white-knuckled grip on his forearm, and Basira feels wind whipping up around her again, smells the sickly grass and hears the faint, distant screams. She doesn't look away from him. If this is a pissing contest, she will win it.

It feels like an eternity goes by before Matthew sighs, and Basira's once more assaulted by the scent of overpriced coffee and the sounds of people purchasing it.

"Like a dog with a bone. Are you sure you're not with the Hunt?" he asks. Basira doesn't move an inch, and Matthew rolls his eyes. "Fine. The ones your sort gets statements from are the ones we let out, usually. They have anchors. Don't know if it'll work in the coffin. My thing is a gateway into the Falling Titan, the coffin is the Buried. Can I go now?"

Basira narrows her eyes. "If you lied, I will find you, and I will bring him with me. You won't like how he asks questions."

"Bring him, I have nothing to hide." The man snatches his wrist free, and as he walks towards the crystal doors they slide open with a burst of air and he's gone, Basira suspects back to his own little reality.

There's... A lot to think about.

She takes a seat on an armchair by a corner. An anchor. This should make things easier, but it really doesn't. Basira lets out a low, slightly hysterical cackle. Now she just needs to find an anchor to go save her anchor from the damned box.

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

He needs to stop coming here, Martin thinks.

The scent of brewing tea, the warmth from the mugs and the steam from the kettle -so different from the white fog that's started following him, even outside his flat- serve only to bring him back. To the time when the break room meant life and company; or even worse, to the time when the break room was already either empty or full of tired, wary looks, but it meant a preamble to a small lopsided smile and a single muted thanks after handing out a warm mug, and that brought Martin all the strength he needed.

The hope's still there, however faint, but Martin doesn't want it anymore. Doesn't want to want it, if it makes sense. Peter isn't lying when he insists life alone is much easier, but something in Martin keeps clinging stubbornly to the feeling of belonging. There's a click behind him, and Martin sighs and turns to give the tape recorder another reminder that he needs to be left alone.

Jon's startled eyes meet his from where he's frozen by the door, and Martin wants to scream.

"I- sorry," Jon apologizes immediately, "I thought Melanie-"

"She's out. She left with Gerard this morning." Martin saw them leave through the cameras, but he also felt them leave. He can often tell how many people are still in the Institute lately.

"Uh- yes I- they've been going out, I forgot," Jon mumbles and Martin feels that ugly, useless, misguided hope rear its head up again. "They've been hunting. A Leitner, I think Gerry said." Oh, there it goes. Dead again.

"Back on his old business, then."

"Yes, he's- I don't think he knows how to give up on helping people," Jon says. There's an undeniable warmth in Jon's dark eyes when he says that, and Martin has the thought that maybe he came here today because the Lonely wanted him here for this very encounter. "You'd know about that, I guess."

Wait, what?

Jon's eyes are still soft, fixed on some point behind Martin, and he realizes with a start that he still hasn't poured the extra mug of tea down the drain.

"I-" Martin starts, but he has no idea how to follow it. 'I love you, please forget about me' is maybe too on the nose.

"You need to go, that's-" Jon's resolve, whatever it was, seems to deflate. Martin winces. "I understand, I need to go out anyways, I- sorry. "

He turns to leave, and Martin is left alone with the bitter thought that the only thing worse than Jon not respecting his wishes is apparently Jon doing just that.

He needs to stop coming here.

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

"You look distracted," Melanie says when they stop for lunch at midday. She's got some fish and chips, and Gerry is -as usual- picking unenthusiastically at the smallest item in the menu. She often wonders if he doesn't really need to eat and does it only to appease her- in which case his solution does a lot more to feed her suspicions than to ease them. "What is it?"

"Hm? I mean, we're hunting a book that makes you grow organs until they start coming out of your body cavities, isn't that enough?" He flicks a chip around the plate, glaring down at it like it personally wrote the offending book.

"Yeah, and we know exactly where it is. We just need to wait until tomorrow when the shop's open. That's not what's worrying you." Melanie's not sure where the certainty comes from. She's either been spending too much time with Gerry, or the Eye's mark is starting to affect her more now that the bullet is gone and she spends most of her day out looking for leads on avatars and Leitners. "Gerry?" she asks again, because he clearly stopped listening to her about a word in.

"I don't know. I'm just on edge, for some reason." And his eyes drift away in the direction of the Institute again. Melanie groans, because she thought she was done listening to relationship trouble involving that freak forever, but her life is a joke and she's two Jon-related comments away from inviting the Slaughter back in. "What?"

"Did you two get in a fight? Is that it? You're trying to save who knows how many people from vomiting their organs until they're empty meatsacks, and you're worried about Jon?" she snarls, stabbing at the piece of fish on her plate so hard she hears the fork clink against the plate underneath. Therapy, Georgie, Gerry and bullet removal have done a little to fix her animosity towards Jon, but she seriously doubts she'll ever like him. She never did in the first place, so she figures it's ok.

"I- no? We're alright," Gerry frowns at her like she's the crazy one. "...but maybe? It does feel like there's something back at the Institute. But I don't know what. Maybe the Eye wants me there for some reason."

"Got it. Then we should keep you away, right?" Melanie looks at Gerry. Gerry looks back. The silence stretches. Melanie narrows her eyes. "Right?"

"Melanie..." Gerry's look turns pained, and Melanie groans again.

"I thought we weren't doing what the entities wanted!"

"We're not, it's just- last time it felt sort of like this, you know?" Gerry shrugs. He looks apologetic, biting at his stupid lip piercing with a thoughtful frown. "When the deliveryman went in. They might be in trouble."

Melanie rolls her eyes. Since Basira's away on whatever lead she's chasing there's only three people at the Institute that would theoretically be in danger, two of them are technically unkillable, and she really only cares about the one that could escape most easily.

"Helen will let him into her door if it's anything too bad," she tries. It's probably true, but Gerry's frown doesn't fade.

"I'm not too sure about that," Gerry says, and Melanie remembers in that moment that they lied to him to cover the ribs thing and he thinks Helen and Jon got into some sort of monster brawl. Funny how lies come back to bite you in the ass. "We can't do anything else about the book today. Let's go back early."

Melanie pinches the bridge of her nose. Gerry probably won't leave her alone and go back by himself. Outside the Institute the only safety they have is their numbers, and he wouldn't just let her get taken, she's sure. She's also very sure he'll be insufferable until they go back. She was enjoying the break, goddammit.

"I hate you." She lifts a hand to call the server over, and pulls her phone out to send a text.

"Your ex continues to ruin literally everything in my life" she texts Georgie while they wait for the food to be packed up. Gerry's not even trying to peek at her phone, so he must be genuinely worried. Georgie sends back some kissy emojis, and Melanie feels a little less murder-prone. "Some insight on this? You hid him in your house during a murder investigation. Is it mind control?"

"I'm very weak to cute short people who make bad decisions. Lucky you." Georgie responds. Melanie smiles. She'll take the compliment and the implication, even if it's lumping her in with Jon.

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

"I thought you were going to wait for Basira," Helen opens her door on the ceiling this time. It's fun to inconvenience the Archivist, she thinks, as he twists his neck to look up at her. The chains are undone, and the coffin hums a delighted purr, having been promised a willing meal.

"I can't anymore," Jon mutters. There's no animosity in his tone when he looks at Helen, which is both new and pleasing. "We don't know what Daisy's going through in there. Waiting however long until Basira comes back when I've been ready for days... it feels unnecessarily cruel."

"Hmmm... had some snacks for the way, didn't you?" Helen asks. The Archivist's eyes are not usually green, but they're glowing like neon since he walked back into the Institute.

"Don't- don't mention it, please." Jon closes his eyes, but the lovely green glow is visible even through his eyelids. "I'm- if I don't-" he starts again, before cutting himself short with a huff.

Helen arches an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"I... I know you're not her. Helen, I mean," the Archivist starts again. "But- they're all human." He says it as though he expects her to understand, and Helen nods. They're all so easy to break, thin boned and fragile minded, so fascinating to watch in this world of nightmares they've stumbled into. Helen likes them an awful lot.

"And you trust me to keep them safe?" Helen asks. Truth is, the Archivist is not wrong. She's not Helen Richardson in the way a hand is not a body. She's not even really an avatar either, because the Distortion spawned from the Spiral itself, but sometimes she wonders if there is too much human in her now, polluting the purity of her concept. The Distortion likes humans, but not in the way that Helen does, and the clash is... disconcerting.

Jon gives a soft, humorless laugh. "I don't know that I trust me to keep them safe. But I'm all there is... and if I'm gone, then-"

"I'm not exactly a fighter, Jon."

"You found a way to help Melanie- a way to help me." Jon looks up at her, and Helen averts her gaze. His eyes are too much, this up close. A recently fed Archivist is not something to be taken lightly.

"I thought you said I wasn't Helen," she says. Jon bends down to lay his rib on the ground next to the coffin.

He shrugs. "I still feel like Jon, sometimes." He straightens up, and takes a deep breath, before stepping into the coffin. "Goodbye, Helen."

"Good luck, Jon." Helen waves him goodbye, the tips of her fingers grazing strands of his hair before he descends too far for her to reach.

The coffin closes.

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

Gerry likes to think he's both fairly smart and intuitive. The Beholding wouldn't have marked him otherwise, tattoos or not. The uncontrollable curiosity was always a part of him, and his mother loved it. As Gerry grew older he realized it was because she thought his Beholding mark would make it easier for her to get information for her ritual; very on brand for Mary Keay, to encourage her six years old into becoming bait for an entity of eldritch horror.

He's no Pupil, no Archivist and no Detective, but Gerry knows things others don't. And as they get closer to the Institute, what he knows is that something is deeply, impossibly wrong.

The Eye is calling him back at full force, the tether born where his heart used to be pulled taut like a harp string, and Gerry realizes with a start that this has something to do with Jon. But it makes no sense, Jon was just fine this morning, and judging on what he did to the Stranger's errand boy a few weeks ago, he's powerful enough to handle whatever comes his way. Jon will be fine, he has to be fi-

"Slow down!" Melanie snaps, and Gerry realizes she's almost running to keep up with his longer, hurried strides.

"Sorry. It just- it's bad," Gerry grunts out as they bend around the corner, and the Institute comes into view. His worry seems to have caught on with Melanie, and she keeps up with him without another complaint. "I don't know what it is, just-"

"I still feel like Jon, sometimes." Jon's voice is as clear as if he was talking by Gerry's ear, even though he's nowhere in sight. This is definitely the furthest he's been able to hear Jon, provided he's all the way down at the Archives, but Gerry doesn't give the realization much thought, focused as he is on the serious, resigned cadence of Jon's voice. He certainly doesn't sound like he's in danger, but Gerry still doesn't like- "Goodbye, Helen."

And it all clicks in Gerry's mind.

"Fuck-" Gerry takes off running towards the building, not knowing or caring if Melanie keeps up. Jon promised he wouldn't do this, Jon knows this is crazy, it-

He hears a sound like a slamming door, and Gerry falls like a puppet whose strings have been snipped in a single cut. It's only his remaining inertia that takes him a few last inches towards the Institute, before he's collapsing on the pavement. He feels his lip and forehead split against the entry steps with awful clarity, but he couldn't care less, because whatever pain his body's experiencing pales in comparison to the agony inside him right now.

It feels as though they have taken all the air from his lungs and replaced it with red hot nails, like someone is digging at his brain with an awl, like his very soul is being ripped out of his chest, and he knows this is a punishment. The Eye tried to warn him, and Gerry ignored it, and now Jon is gone.

"-rry? What's going on?!" Melanie's voice is frantic, like she's looking for something she can kill to fix this, and it's the last thing he hears.

--

When he comes back to, Melanie's half dragging, half pushing him -he thinks, detachedly, that it must've looked funny as she dragged his semi conscious bulk around the Institute, Gerry's not a small man and Melanie hides a surprising amount of power in her tiny frame- onto the break room sofa. Gerry tries to support some of his own weight, and she drops him with a start. Whatever injuries the pavement gave him ache at the sudden movement, but he's got bigger things to worry about.

"-ffin. Coffin," Gerry mumbles. Melanie gasps, and when he parts his eyelids he finds her looking at him in concern. It's not a look he's ever seen on Melanie, and he has enough presence of mind to feel flattered. "He's gone. He-"

"Gerry, it's alright," Melanie tries, as clumsy as Jon in her attempts at softness. "He- he said he'd be, he has his rib-"

"His what?"

Melanie's expression quickly turns to guilt, and she squeezes and pulls at her fingers in what must be nerves. "He wanted- I took him to the Bone Turner. He was trapped in Helen, and Jon got him to take out a rib. He said it would work as an anchor, and he'd be able to come back with Daisy."

"Oh god-" Gerry groans. Of course, of course Jon would- "That won't work. That's not- Melanie it has to be something he loves!"

He'd thought Jon understood that much at least, but apparently he misunderstood just how oblivious Jon is. Gerry knows with devastating certainty that a rib -or any other part of his body- just won't cut it, because he's never met anyone who hates himself so stubbornly and undeservingly as Jonathan Sims.

Melanie arches her eyebrows at his outburst. "Well, then you could-"

"Where's Martin?" Gerry cuts her short, pushing heavily off the sofa. His energy's coming back, and he thinks bitterly of how Jon practically insisted on reading to him for hours these past days. The Flesh mark, the sad looks… a lot of things make a lot more sense in retrospect. He hears Melanie call out after him, but he's already off the door.

This is a terribly Jon thing to do, he thinks as he stumbles down empty corridors, using a bit of juice to Know the way towards Elias' office. Gerry's fuming. For all her oversights as a person, Gertrude was at least aware of her importance. To the world, and the people around her, regardless of whether she considered the latter nothing but a handy tool. Jon thinks his only value lays on the people he saves, and Gerry's going to kill him if he gets back.

When he gets back, Gerry corrects himself fiercely as he bangs on the luxurious oak door. The only signs of life behind it are the thin wisps of fog curling out from below it, and the gold plate with Elias' name reflects his face mockingly.

"Open the door!" Gerry bangs harder. "I know you're there, I'm not leaving!"

Once again there's no answer, and Gerry starts backing up to the opposite wall. He's going to get Jon back even if he has to break the door down and hoist Martin over his shoulder to drag him to the Archives.

The door swings open. "What do you want?" Martin asks, still mostly translucent other than his white-knuckled hand around the doorknob. "You're bleeding. Or something."

"Jon went into the Buried." Gerry wipes his hand against the cut on his forehead. It comes back stained in a pitch black fluid with a tangy metallic smell he recognizes quickly enough, and he wipes it clean on his jeans. He'll worry about that later.

"He what?" Gray seeps out of Martin's eyes, leaving behind a nice forest green, and Gerry feels a crashing wave of relief wash over him. His suspicions were right; whatever the hell Martin thinks he's doing with Lukas, he loves Jon, and Gerry's not alone. "Why would he do that?"

"Apparently there's a Daisy in there? Come on, the coffin's at the Archives," Gerry shrugs, and he gestures back the way he came.

"... Daisy the cop? The one who tried to slit his throat?" Martin arches an eyebrow as they walk, and Gerry has to stop and take a grounding breath. Of fucking course.

"I'm guessing that's the one." Gerry pinches at the bridge of his nose. Maybe this is actually how Archivists hunt- maybe they don't need any statements, they just drive you crazy. When he opens his eyes Martin is looking at him with a decidedly amused glint in his eyes.

"It's not an easy job, eh?" Martin asks with a soft smile, and he starts walking again. "What do you want me to do?"

"You're his anchor. Call him. If he's not too far already, he should be able to hear you." It has to be enough, Gerry thinks. It has to, because otherwise he'll have to accept that Jon slipped through his fingers when he should've seen this coming from a mile away. That Jon is gone because he couldn't stop him.

"Oh." Martin stops on his tracks, the determination on his face giving way to something more guarded. "I'm- I don't think I can help, then-"

"Oh my God! Are you kidding me?" Gerry groans. These two are pathetic. Gerry's lost count of how many times he's had to bite back on how he doesn't think Martin deserves the sheer longing and pain that radiates from Jon's face every time he even mentions the man. "This is ridiculous, and I don't have time to discuss with you. For whatever reason, he-"

"You're still bleeding. Why is it black?" Martin interrupts him, and Gerry holds back the urge to scream. Is this why they like each other? Because they're both stubborn and mulish and refuse to accept they might have value for someone else?

"Fuck it. We don't have time for this." He's going in himself, he's tied to Jon, that has to count for something. He goes to sidestep Martin, when a hand clamps down on his wrist. Gerry looks back at him, and Martin's bright green eyes are filled to the brim with intense suspicion. "Martin, Jon doesn't have time for th-"

"How do you know he can still come back?" Martin asks, his voice heavy with mistrust and hope in equal measures.

Gerry wants to say something scathing, or at least something that will get Martin moving, because Jon needs them. And if the truth is what it takes, then so be it.

"I don't know. Nobody knows. But I'm still alive, and that means he still exists," Gerry says. The acrid smell of ink fills the space between them as it drips from the cuts on his face. Martin's eyes are sharp as he starts connecting the dots, and Gerry has no trouble whatsoever believing that this is the man that outsmarted the Eye's Pupil.

"So- so what does that mean? You know how to find him?" Martin asks, and Gerry shakes his head.

"I can't hear him anymore," Gerry sighs. A fat drop of ink runs down the side of his face. "He's no longer here."

"That's- don't say that." Martin says firmly, and there's something steely under his soft, gentle features. "He'll find a way back, Jon always does. We just have to trust him. Now is there anything we can do so you stop bleeding all over the place? Inking? Whatever it is, let's- let's stop it."

Gerry blinks as Martin pulls out a package of paper tissues from his pocket and offers it to him, a man he neither likes nor has ever been even remotely kind to him. Knowing Jon like he does now, this explains a lot.

"I doubt it's going to stop anytime soon," he says, grabbing the offered tissues. "Not without Jon here to talk to me. His voice is what keeps my body working."

Martin seems to mull this over for a bit, as Gerry soaks up tissue after tissue. Is he made up entirely of ink? Should they be like... keeping this in a bucket, if only to use it later? Gerry gives his hands a quick once over, and sighs in relief when he finds his tattoos are still there.

"...Oh" Martin lets out a little surprised exhale. Gerry whips his head up to look at him.

"What? What is it?" Gerry asks. A slow smile is spreading over Martin's lips, and Gerry can't help but to feel hopeful. Martin might be a naive idiot who thinks he can play the Lonely to his favor, but if anyone has the slightest chance at saving Jon-

"Come with me."

[drjackandmissjo]

Watch me make ‘em bow one by one by

Feysand Masterlist

Feyre’s first time in the Hewn City, Rhys-less

“You don't have to go in alone.” Mor said with a grave tone. Her friend was willing to go straight into the worst place in the universe for her, in case she didn't feel comfortable.

Feyre’s heart constricted at the idea of putting the blonde in that position, even Rhys tried to limit her time under the House of Mist.

“I'm not going there alone. Do you think any of those Illyrians are letting me out of their sight unsupervised? I could try to tell Az to stay here and take you with me, but we both know he wouldn't stay put.” she laughed, fretting nonchalance although her heart was already racing and her hands were clammy, toying with her bracelets and rings to keep from shaking. Mor noticed, of course, as did the warrior behind her.

A year had passed since they defeated Hybern. A wonderful year of going to court meetings and patching years of damaged history and rewiring the mental links that kept people believing that the Night Court, her court, was wicked and cruel and violent and ruthless. Feyre worked hard, studied harder, to make sure they made their world a better place. As did Rhys and everyone of her new family. Her sisters were still adjusting, Elain better than Nesta, but slowly and neither wanted anything to do with official business. She was secretly glad about it, since it meant less conflict with her eldest sister who had an opinion, sometimes wrong or simply bad, about everything, and less pressure on the other, who was still learning how to handle her new powers.

Although maybe with Nesta by her side, Feyre would've been less nervous about the meeting.

Feeling a stroke of concern through the mental bond she had with her mate, she replied back with a calming and encouraging one.

Taking in a deep breath of the cold air, she looked up at her friend, :“Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. If something goes wrong I'll simply destroy everyone in that throne room.” she said, a wicked smile appearing on her painted lips.

Her whole outfit was picked for the sole purpose of flaunting her position as High Lady: a tight black bodice, sleeveless to reveal her tattoos that expressed her power over the court and completely backless, to remind everyone of her alliance with the monster Bryaxis; several layers of ruffled silk, rigorously black, that made her look like she was a walking storm cloud, ready to unleash rain and lighting, which she could do easily; a diadem made of onyx and silver, crowning her as High Lady, matching with a ring that signaled her imminent wedding with the most powerful of High Lords. Her eyes were lined with black kohl and lips stained blood red. She had hidden her wings, choosing instead to use Spring's powers to elongate her canines, giving her an extra cruel look. Even if he was useless as a ruined rag full of holes, she had to admit that Tamlin’s powers were quite helpful in more ways than one.

She looked powerful, felt nervous and was ready to kill. ‘Just a regular Friday, then.’ said her mate through the bond.

Mor still didn't look convinced, but patience was not amongst Feyre's virtues, so she simply waved at the other female, before turning to Azriel, who was dutifully ready. His bright blue siphons contrasted his dark clothing and his shadows circled around his body, whispering to him and following his command. He shoot them out before silently winnow away, to announce her surprise visit.

No one in the Court of Nightmares knew of this impromptu meeting, especially Mor’s father, Keir, who recently was causing some commotion. Voices travelled fast to the spymaster’s ears and were immediately reported. Rhys, who was in Winter to fix the dent in his and Kallias’ relationship, asked her if she was ready to terrorise them herself, and Feyre was rather glad of the opportunity to prove herself.

When one of Azriel’s shadows came back, she simply turned once more to her friend.

“Good luck. Don't kill them all in one sitting.”

Laughing, Feyre took off winnowing to her other formal residence.

@@@

The first thing she noticed, as always, was the cold wind. She could feel the mountain below, the life and depraved actions of the many vile creatures that inhabited the lower levels. She had appeared on the upper levels, on the mansion atop of the mountain, where she once had to stay once a month for a short period of time.

Slowly, she let a little of her powers run free, reach far into the core of the mountain. She made in tremble with a single thought and felt the panic rise fast in the minds of the Fae below her. Long gone were the days when she was the one afraid of them, a different life far away from the reality she now lived in.

A shadow patiently waited for her, leading her way as guards with stiff spines tensed and bowed at her as she walked past them, not giving a single glance to any.

When she reached the massive and heavy doors, she viciously smirked at the two other guards, that quickly opened them for her, pungent fear drenching their scents. Her Shadowsinger appeared behind her, manifesting easily out of his shadows with an unreadable expression on his stoic face.

‘Everything okay?’ he mentally asked her through the small opening she had left for him, knowing neither him nor Rhys would've let her go to the Hewn City without an emergency hidden signal for Az to read immediately.

Imperceptibly nodding, she sighed deeply before loudly complaining languidly to none in particular, :“It is rather humid in here.”. With a wicked grin, she used her Day wind, eliciting terrified screams and making cups and papers and skirts fly in a turbulent haze.

Genuinely smiling at the havoc she wrecked, the High Lady of the Night Court began to slowly walk towards the two equal thrones at the end of the room, deliberately taking her time and looking at everything and everyone. The high Faes parted on her wake and bowed deeply, averting her piercing gaze. She could easily feel their thoughts, scared and confused and silently begging the Cauldron for mercy.

‘Good.’ she simply thought.

A proud wave washed over the bond, encouraging her to keep going.

When she reached the dais off the two thrones, she casually glanced back: the inhabitants of that corrupted court were still bowing, some kneeled to the ground, all with low eyes staring at the ground. Azriel was still behind her, advert to any possible danger but looking extremely bored. She immediately spotted Keir, who was bowed next to the thrones but openly staring at her, challenging her.

Feyre had came plenty of times there with Rhys, to torment and rule beside him. But this was her first time alone, the most important of those visits. And Keir was trying to get on her nerves, to make her lose focus and slip.

‘He is an utter fool.’ she thought, sharing the message with the shadow singer, the corners of whose mouth tugged slightly upwards.

‘Show time, Feyre.’

Facing again in front of her and walking up the steps to her thrones, she called back :“Why don't you make yourself useful, dear Keir, and bring us something to drink.”, stressing her way of addressing him, the importance of the explicit delivery of the action clear.

She knew he had bolted upwards, offended by her words and speechless to reply, before she had even turned to the room. Indeed he was staring at her, pure hatred in his eyes as they burned with rage. She simply smiled sweetly baring her fangs at him, waiting for his move.

He had three possibilities, three paths laying ahead of him: retort back, commenting how he was not a squire rather rudely, and thus disobeying to a specific order from his High Lady; sending another to attend the task and, again, not completing fully her command; doing as she had politely asked, without commenting. He looked more inclined for the first choice, but he managed to regain composure, apparently remembering that she still had not dismissed them from their slouched positions and bowed once more, falsely and deep to the waist. His scent full of hatred.

‘Poor fool, he believes he's running the show!’ she thought to herself.

“Today, Keir. Unless you have something to object.” was all the attention she gave to the older male, before casting a broad glaze at the crowd beneath her. She was torn between leaving them like that for her entire stay, conscious that only few would dare defy her and ready to strike them down. Instead she simply said “Carry on with your usual stuff”, adding a dismissal wave of her hand that they might’ve missed and they quickly reverted back to their activities, the majority of their scents dripping fear.

She noticed some musical instruments on one corner of the room, undoubtedly the most acoustic place that guaranteed the sounds to be carried to all the four corners, behind stone pillars and to the walls. “Someone play.” she ordered and immediately a few inhabitants of the court of Nightmares began to stroke the cords of the harp and the piano, creating a smoothing melody that reverberated throughout the spacious area.

Pleased, she moved from her poised sitting position, sprawling on the chair like a cat on a couch, and began to stare at her black coated nails, the perfect picture of boredom.

Not even a minute had passed that she turned to her spymaster, who was casually leaning against one of the pillars of the ceiling, another picture of complete annoyance, were not for his hyper vigilant eyes. “If he's not here in a moment, break his fingers.” she said, loudly enough to be heard by all and elicit terrified gasps from the court.

The Illyrian warrior simply shrugged.

Unfortunately for them, Keir appeared to the dais off the thrones in that same instant, eyes wide at the treat. “Shame” she said, again loud enough to be heard and let him approach. She took the cup of wine he was handing her as Azriel moved up the stairs to collect his.

Keir grew bolder, “What do we owe this unexpected visit, Milady?” he asked. His tone was not openly hostile, but masqueraded poorly his blatant disdain towards her.

Ignoring him completely, she swirled her glass, focusing her interests to its red content. “Should I have it checked for poison, Steward?”

Keir nodded furiously, “Of course not, Milady. I would never hurt you.” he said, although his eyes told another tale.

Azriel moved back to the bottom of the stairs, viciously eyeing Keir and silently ordering him to do the same, but the male stood still, stiff as a wooden board.

“Milady.” he pressed her again. She merely waved her hand, sending wind towards his direction and making him tumble off the stairs, his fall ending with a loud thud. Everyone in the roomed abruptly stopped, waiting for what was to come next.

“Cheers” she said pointing her glass towards Azriel before sipping the dark beverage.

Turning towards the steward of the Hewn City, she eyed him rather violently, letting her rage show through them in the way Nesta had taught her. When it came to glaring, her sister was a professional.

After having taken another sip, she began to speak, :“We heard some interesting stories lately. I thought it might be something to report back to you, Keir, considering you are in all of them.”

She sent down the bond the image of the male below her, of how he immediately paled, of how his eyes widened almost comically and of how his hands began to shake. A wicked enjoyment ran through her and she could've swore Azriel felt the same.

“I... Milady, I have no idea…” he began to say, but she simply silenced him with her Daemati powers. His hands flew immediately at his neck, as if to protect it from her magic.

“I don't remember giving you permission to talk,” she told him, leaning forward and showing her teeth, “and I don't think you were allowed to stand up.” she continued viciously. Immediately Azriel was behind him, fast as lighting, forcing the older Fae to his knees. He fell down hard, a loud noise of bone breaking echoing in the room.

“Cassian has to pay up.” her mate said through their bond. She sent a wave of confusion back and then came the explanation:“We bet on who would break the first bone.”, he said smugly. “Illyrians.” she simply replied, before shutting him up and moving back to the scene in front of her.

She leaned back on the throne once more, resuming her drinking with a grin plastered on her blood red lips.

“As I was saying, before being such rudely interrupted,”, a harsh look thrown at her and a smirk shot back, lifting her spell, “we wanted you to confirm those stories. Apparently you're not happy with our arrangement?” she asked lifting her free hand, the one with the tattoo that declared her High Lady of the Night Court, and letting it rest dramatically on her chest, above her heart, her face a mark of mocked hurt and confusion.

When Keir didn't reply, she simply reminded him that she had asked a question, although his silence could be taken as an affirmation. “It is also not polite to avoid answering. What are you so afraid of, dear Keir?” her voice saccharine and lethal at the same time.

Slightly panicking now, he began to explain that the situation was different and making up excuse left and right, but Feyre simply raised her hand to shut him up, “It's a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ kind of question, Keir. Don't waste your breaths, Cauldron knows how many more you have left in you!” her veiled treat hitting him in full force.

He shut his mouth immediately, nostrils flaring as he slowly nodded.

Sighing loudly and dramatically swinging an arm over her eyes, she continued, “That’s what I thought you'd say, you dumb fucking horse!”

She could feel Azriel’s amusement and a smile appeared on her lips on its own accord, in her mind almost ruining her facade but probably strengthening her character.

“And tell me, dear Keir, why is that?”

“I do not think...” he began but she interrupted him abruptly, the occasion too good not to be taken, “Yes, we’ve established that quite a number of times now, go on.”. He gave her his own version of ‘if looks could kill’, but quite frankly it looked and felt mostly like he was holding back tears.

With a sudden wave of newfound courage, he straightened his spine and proclaimed loudly:“Me and my Darkbringers should be allowed more frequently into Velaris.”

“Mmmh...”, another sip of wine, “And why is that? Don’t you have the sun and the night sky here as well? You simply have to crawl your way like the worm you are, Keir, to find them waiting for you.”

The Steward froze in place, shame colouring his features as he passed such a great number of shades of pink and red. She took the time to scout the room with her eyes.

She knew that everyone was staring at them, concern written on some faces, pure terror on others. A few held disgust, whether towards her of the poor excuse of a male in front of her she couldn’t tell.

“Do you agree with him?” she asked to the crowd. Murmurs began to fill the room, male soldiers nodding eagerly as the females remained more distant to the topic, dutiful as always. Submissive as always.

That was what truly irritated her of this place, more than the depravity and corruption. The state of borderline slavery the females of this Hellhole were subjected to. The Illyrians were slowly getting around to it, incorporating them into training activities and letting them have more and more control over their own lives, partially because, if the camp lords didn’t behave, her oldest sister would wipe them off the spot completely.

But they weren’t. They kept on mistreating them and using them and it made her stomach turn. To allow them more time in Velaris...

Suddenly, a plan began creating itself in her mind. Curiosity brushed her mental walls, and she let her mate in, cautious and asking for permission.

‘You’re the High Lady, Feyre Darling,’ he purred into her mind, ‘you don’t ask permission to anybody. By all means, do as you please. I will be here, sulking over how I hadn’t thought of this before.”

She couldn’t help but laugh out loud at his answer, scaring even more the already trembling high Faes in front of her.

“Of course you do!” she said, both to the crowd and her mate. Azriel lifted a brow in her direction, a silent question, and she merely sent him the full image of her plan. He nodded once, the corners of his mouth lifting just barely. That was all she needed, before she shot another fiery question to the Faes below her, “Have you brought your females so far?”

Puzzled look replaced the optimistic ones that her previous question had created, and no one dared speaking, not even a murmur this time.

“C’mon” she nuzzled them, encouraging them to reveal themselves as monsters and to give her all the leverage she needed, “I promise I won’t bite.” she said, while barring her teeth and making sure the light reflected from her shiny fangs, sharp enough to easily bite pieces of muscle.

“If nobody answers, then I must assume that the females of this Court have never seen Velaris.” she said while reclining back on her throne, before burying her gaze onto the closest Fae. The young male paled immediately and bowed deeply as she motioned for him to fill her cup once more. “Tell me, how many times have the Darkbringers been to my city?” her voice sounded bored, nonchalant and even, although rage was boiling inside of her veins at her pre-existent knowledge of the answer. Those three days had been the hardest since the war, for her family and the whole city. “Three, milady.” he said quickly, trying to hide poorly the shakiness of his voice as he filled her cup.

“And they have never brought a single female with them?”, again, she knew the answer, but all this was to fortify her show.

The poor Fae simply nodded, before he was dismissed from his positioning and all but sprinted down the obsidian dais, pure primal fear drenching his scent.

Taking a sip of her wine, she turned once again towards Keir, who was still kneeling on the hard ground with Azriel behind him. She smiled at the scene. “I don’t think those were the accords, dear Keir. What did we agree on, Azriel?” she asked to the shadowsinger, who regarded her with something akin pride in his eyes.

“That anyone who wishes to leave the Hewn City for a chosen day, every trimester, can do so freely, except for the Steward, who has to remain to protect the Court.” He finished, the edge on his voice so sharp it could slash a throat in one effortless motion.

“Indeed.” she put down her cup, clasping both hands on her lap, “So, first of all, you knew the amount of time you were given. Quite frankly, if you had something to say, you should’ve done so back then, when we were still negotiating.” She couldn’t help feel like a teacher scolding a small child, stubborn and that still hadn’t fully learnt the meaning of a negotiation. “Me and your High Lord, along with Morrigan, Commander Cassian and Amren, settled down with an agreement with you several months ago, when our duties allowed us to make time for such an important decision.”

Truth to be told, they delayed the meeting for as long as possible, but Keir and his army were growing impatient. Mor suggested one visit a year, not on holidays or festivities, but realistically it was too little: they had indeed held on their end of the bargain by fighting alongside the Illyrians and the other courts in the war against Hybern. Surprisingly enough, it was Cassian who had the most brilliant idea: four times a year, once every three months and Keir only once a year, to ‘keep the fort protected’ he had said with a wicked smile on his lips. Keir had complained and proposed once a month, but Rhys was adamant; two days after the meeting, the Hewn City sent a letter, agreeing to their conditions, and the deed was done.

“With all due respect, Milady, we were not given much choice.” said the Steward in a pleading tone. His leg must’ve been sore and hurting like crazy, but she still wouldn’t let him up, not yet anyway.

Smiling viciously at him, she replied :“Would you rather we retort back to our original idea? Once a year?”. The crowd murmured and nodded their dissent eagerly. “Of course not, Milady. Yours was a generous offer...”

“I was not finished.” she cut him off abruptly, sending cold air in his direction to increase his discomfort, avoiding purposely the spymaster. “Or we could simply terminate the contract right now, since one side isn’t fond of its reward. After all, even with all your help, it was mostly the Illyrian cavalry that helped us win the war before it reached land.” She spoke freely, choosing her words to hurt them most, in their pride. She continued sweetly :“After all, we never specified how long this agreement stood for.”

Delight in the baffled looks that were thrown at her by stunned creatures, she leaned back on her throne and held the cup once more in the clutches, drinking the dark liquid while scanning the room with a predatory gaze.

Keir cleared his throat, once, before whispering :“We do not wish to revise the bargain.” A little was better than nothing, after all.

She had heard him easily, as had every Fae in the room, but she still nudged him to speak a little louder, blaming her former human ears. She knew it drove him mad, truly, knowing that the High Lord of the Night Court had chosen a born human, made High Fae female as his bride, instead of one of the girls that was conceived and raised in that Cauldron Forgotten place with the sole purpose of marrying high up on the social system and play Lady of the House, as Tamlin had once tried to reduce her. It also enraged him to no end knowing that she was his High Lady, meaning that she had full control on him and the Court he supervised.

‘Not bad for a once lowly human, uh?’ her mate asked down the bond. ‘At least he is smart enough not to complain about it much. It would be a burden to train another puppy like you did him.’ came her reply, which was met by a dark chuckle and a soft whisper of love.

After having repeated his statement, much louder than he was comfortable, admitting his defeat, Keir relaxed momentarily, believing that the worst was over. But he was wrong: he was in the eye of the hurricane, the calm before the actual storm.

“Now that one issue is over, let’s go back a little, shall we?”. ‘Poor Keir’ she thought to Azriel, ‘He has probably never been through so many emotions in one sitting’.

The spymaster grinned at her and shook his head a little, his amusement filling her mind.

‘I don’t like that you have another male’s thoughts into your head.’ her mate told her, ‘Territorial Fae Prick.’ came her reply.

‘You wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.’

“You said it before, that your females weren’t with you during those visits. Am I wrong?” she asked, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

“No, Milady.” The older Fae cowered, bowing his head trying to his the tremor of his limbs.

“And didn’t we agree on sending whoever wanted to be in Velaris, without restraints?”

“Yes, Milady.”

“So, what’s up with that? Why didn’t you girls come?” she asked the whole room, now, moving her eyes to the females in question.

“They choose not to, mil...” tried to answer for them Keir.

She blocked his mouth from moving, open on one of the vowels of the title, “I wasn’t referring to you, Keir. Keep that tongue in place or I’ll remove it.” He knew her treats were not empty, so he stopped immediately, fear in his eyes.

Her gaze landed on a female in the middle of the room, busy looking at the ground with a pincher in hand. Probably for the husband she was forced to marry.

She beckoned her to move closer and answer her question; after a moment of uncertainty and a glare from the male next to her, she did. “We all choose not to, milady.” she said while doing an exemplar curtsy.

She felt for her, sorrow and pain at her situation, one the now powerful High Lady could’ve easily been trapped in, were not for her dark prince, coming to the rescue. But, although her emotions were rather soft for this female, her stern mask didn’t come off. “Don’t lie to me. We don’t like liars. Tell her, Keir” and with a soft twirl of her fingers she made the male crumble down on the cold stone, holding his injured leg close to his chest.

The poor female jumped back scared, but stood her position.

“Why don’t you try again. This time, I want the full truth.”

Nodding, she replied, her voice thick with emotion :“We wanted to, but our duties and our families suggested we stayed behind.”

Her face softened and smile became welcoming as she thanked the female. ‘Make sure no harm is done to her for her words.’ she told Azriel, who dissolved in his shadows to follow her order.

“Well, then.” She stood up from her throne, “I will settle this once and for all. No one of you gets more trips to Velaris, the ones already agreed upon are sufficient and enough.”

The room collectively breathed in relief, sighing at the somewhat positive news.

“But...” her smile turned wicked once more and it almost felt like her Winter ice had frozen the crowd, “if I find out that you’re refusing your females from participating to those visits...” her icy glare ran over the shocked faces of the Faes below her, “you will all see our warm invite denied. For eternity.”

And with that, she disappeared into darkness, the room exploding in outraged and scared cries as she winnowed upstairs, on her and her mate’s other residence. Memories of a different lifetime washed over her as she patiently waited for her spymaster to reach her in the designated meeting point, from where they would’ve flown back to Velaris.

A soft stroke of love and pride washed over her. ‘You are amazing.’

She shrugged, ‘You would’ve done the same. Except for my exit. That was pretty amazing’

‘I gotta concede you that, Feyre Darling. But you had a great teacher.’. She could see his annoying smirk, felt that it was plastered on his soft lips.

Her own parted in a genuine smile, such a contrast between her previous mask, quickly discarded. ‘The best when it comes to being dramatic.’

‘You wound me so, my beloved!’

Both sides of the bond remained silent, each other content of their mate’s presence in their minds.

‘When are you coming back home?’ she asked eventually.

‘Tonight. We’ve been apart for too long.’ She felt the hunger in his voice, the longing.

‘Good.’

But it wouldn’t do to end all the fun so suddenly, and so she added :‘Because if you don’t then I might have to ask Azriel to stay in my mind a little bit longer.’

Her laugh resonated all the way to the center of the mountain as her mate’s territorial growl filled her head, before feeling him open his wings and fly high in the sky, towards her as quickly as he could.

[ubernoxa]

The Dare: A Guns N’ Roses FanFic

Chapter 30: Little Things

Chapter Summary: Sometimes the little things in life make the biggest of differences.

(Masterlist)

Taglist: @gingerspicetalks @str4nge-haze @queen-crue

The guys had all decided to stay in that night, which was music to Delilah’s ears when Duff called her inviting her over. She was looking forward to a quiet night not being surrounded by strangers. She wondered if tonight Duff was going to pull her aside and finally tell her about Seattle. It was getting harder and harder for Delilah to ignore the torturous voices that filled her head.

He doesn’t care for you.

He is only with you because he is bored.

He is going to break up with you before he leaves for Seattle. Why else would he not tell you about the gigs?

Once another girl comes along, you’ll be yesterday’s news.

Honestly, who could love someone like you?

Who could love someone as broken as you?

The memory of her and Mag’s conversation before Stef picked her up filled her head.

(Flashback)

“What did he say?” Mags had given up at beating around the bush. She needed answers. The fact that Delilah hadn’t confronted Duff about Seattle blew her mind. She would have confronted Duff the moment she found out about Seattle if she was in Delilah’s position, but she wasn’t Delilah.

“Well...here’s the thing Mags...”

“You didn’t ask him? How could you not ask him? He is leaving in like 3 days for a week to Seattle and he hasn’t said a word! How have you guys not talked about it?” Mags wanted to scream at Delilah, but she couldn’t. For one thing she didn’t want Tonya to hear, but Mags also saw something in Delilah. Fear.

“No Mags I didn’t because I’m not supposed to know. What if he takes it the wrong way? What if he thinks I’m being needy or that I’m stalking him? I just.........I just...I don’t want to lose him. He was acting weird last night. He wouldn’t let me leave his side. It was so out of character, so I didn’t want to...make thing worse,” Delilah snapped back the words coming out as harsh as she had meant them. She remained staring out the window as the tears quickly ran down her cheek.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to press. I was just worried ok? I worry about you almost as much as my idiot brother,” Mags said trying to get a laugh out of Delilah.

Silence filled the room as Delilah continued to stare out the window.

“What if I bore him,” the words left Delilah’s mouth barely audible.

“No no no Delilah you don’t bore him,” Mags swiftly sat down next to Delilah and wrapped her arm around her. Any fool could see how he looked at her. One might speculate that he was in love. Mags hoped that one day she would find that. Maybe she should try praying? If that’s how Delilah found Duff then why not try talking to this God guy?

“Really? Explain to me this, why would he want to be with someone like me? Just look at me! He is this amazing bassist and could probably have any girl he want. There are hundreds of chicks millions of times hotter than me, but he chose me. Am I like a pity date? Is it because Trixy called me a whore and he feels bad,” Mags remained frozen with eyes wide open trying to understand what the hell Delilah was going on about. The longer Mags thought about what Delilah said, the more confused she became.

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Mags snapped back.

Delilah ignored Mags as she continued to stare out the window. There was no changing

her mind.

“Jesus Fucking Christ Delilah,”

“Don’t say that. Don’t use his name like that,” Delilah stood up and sulked over towards the kitchen.

(End flashback)

She had never felt so alone as she sat on the old couch in Duff’s lap as she snapped back to reality. This party was more packed than any party she had been to before. It was worse than the Motley party Duff took her to not too long ago. Just like that party, she wasn’t enjoying herself. She wished she could have brought Mags or even Tonya along, but Mags was still hungover or sick from the night before and Tonya didn’t want to leave Mags alone.

“Hey, want another?”

Delilah turned to Duff and offered him a quick nod. The pair left the packed room after while Duff offered his hand for her to hold while following him towards what Delilah could only assume to be the kitchen .

“This doesn’t look like the way to the kitchen,” Delilah smiled as she stared at the window at the end of the hallway. It was clear that Duff was up to something. He felt relief flow through his as Delilah sent him the first genuine smile of the night.

“Hmm, that’s strange. I could have sworn that the kitchen was this way,” Duff let out a laugh before he climbed through the window onto the fire escape. Delilah was right behind him, ever curious to where he was headed.

“I guess I made the right choice and wore pants,” Duff’s heart fluttered as he heard Delilah giggle at her own comment.

“Axl said that him and Slash would only invite a couple people over, and before I knew it four people turned into half of the fuckin’ strip,” Delilah smiled at the thought of Duff wanting to have just a quiet night of drinking. It was calming to her.

Delilah could finally hear herself think when Duff brought her to the roof. She felt a sense of calming flow through her as the memories from the last time she was on this roof filled her. The memories of their first kiss.

“Did you plan this?” Delilah motioned towards the red blanket that was placed on the roof. A pile of dandelions resting on the blanket with a couple of sunflowers in the center.

Duff nodded as he held her hand guiding her to the blanket. There was nothing in the world that could remove the smile that formed on Duff’s face.

It had taken hours to find the dandelions and steel the sunflowers, but it was worth it. The look on her face was worth every second.

Delilah giggled as she picked up one of the of the dandelions and placed it behind Duff’s ear.

As she gazed into the sunflowers, she wondered if he knew what they were to her. Did he know what they meant? It was always the little things with Duff. It was the little things he did that made the big difference.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet all night,” despite Duff’s non sober state, he could tell that Delilah wasn’t acting right. Her smile was off, the way she laughed was off, hell, even the kiss she gave him when he first saw her today was off.

“It’s just......a lot,” Delilah knew she couldn’t lie to Duff. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it, so she decided on saying a partial truth.

Duff nodded his head as he took another sip of his drink.

“I’m sorry Duff, I just....” Duff pulled Delilah in for a kiss before she could continue talking.

“Wait here,” Duff whispered once he broke the the kiss and headed off the roof.

Delilah let a groan escape her as she laid down on the blanket.

It was one word, one stupid word. All she had to say was Seattle. She didn’t even have to make a sentence. SEATLE SEATLE SEATLE.

“Did ya miss me?” Delilah perked her head over towards Duff when she heard his voice.

She smiled as she saw a blue acoustic guitar in his hand, “Ohh am I gonna get a super exclusive personal show from the famous rockstar Duff McKagan?”

“Maybe,” Duff kissed her forehead before taking a step back.

Delilah shoved all thoughts of Seattle to the back of her head as she watched Duff begin to play the opening to a song she had heard countless times. She wondered if Duff chose her favorites song on purpose.

“Take me down to the Delilah city where the apartment is clean and the girls are pretty.

Take me home, oh won't you please take me home.

Take me down to the Delilah city where the she makes cuisine and the she is witty.

Take me home, oh won't you please take me home,” the smile on Delilah’s face never faltered as Duff continued to sing with the altered lyrics.

It wasn’t until the last chorus that the butterflies went to complete chaos in her stomach.

“Take me out of this idiot city,

Where Duff ain’t stupid and life ain’t pretty

Take me home, oh won't you please take me home.”

Duff placed the guitar down once he finished the song. He promptly sat down next to Delilah and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Thoughts?”

“I like the bit about Duff being stupid. I think the scarves or bandanas he wears around his head sometimes cut off the circulation to his brain,” Delilah teased leaning into him as she spoke. They sat in silence for a few minutes, surrounded by the noise of the Saturday night on the strip.

“I should have told you the moment I found out,” Duff kissed her forehead once he finished talking.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I overanalyzed the shit out of it. I was worried you would think that I didn’t want you to meet my parents,” Duff felt a weight off his chest once he told Delilah. Steven and Izzy were right, he should have done this days ago.

“Well I overanalyzed the shit out of you not telling me about it,” Delilah played with her thumbs as she spoke back.

“I should have told you the moment I found out you were going to Seattle,” Delilah could hear Mags and Tonya screaming at her to not apologize. They believed that it wasn’t her fault, and there was no need to apologize. Delilah still blamed herself.

With a smile on his face, Duff leaned in and began to slowly kiss her. It was gentle like the countless ones they had shared before this one, but there was something different.

Delilah sat with her hands in her lap frozen as Duff began to kiss the sweet spot on her neck causing a small moan to escape her lips. She was frozen in place as the butterflies flipped not only her stomach, but her brain as well. She was frozen in place, unable to move.

Delilah was naive, but she wasn’t a fool. Once the butterflies calmed down, she could clearly think again. She knew what Duff wanted. She placed her hand on his knee and he placed his hand around Delilah’s slowly inching it up.

Electricity shot through Duff as she gently held her hand on his member. Delilah watched as his eyes widened with excitement as he deepened the kiss.

“Let’s....lets go downstairs shall we?” Duff motioned towards the fire escape as he helped Delilah up. Delilah picked up some of the flowers, along with the blanket, and headed back into the apartment.

Duff motioned for Delilah to wait in the kitchen, not wanting her to see Slash potentially naked having sex with some chick.

Duff felt a sigh of relief as he saw Slash sitting on the couch in the living room. All it took was a look across the room for Slash to know what Duff was asking. Slash nodded his head and quickly whispered something into Steven’s ear earning a giggle was him.

Delilah picked up the phone as it continued to ring for the third time.

“Hello?” Delilah was thankful that the cord was just long enough for her to take the phone in the bathroom.

“Is Delilah there? I’m her roommates Tonya, I have something I need to tell her,” Delilah smiled as she heard Tonya’s voice.

“This is me!”

“You need to come back to the apartment Del, it’s Mags..”

“What’s...what’s wrong with her is she okay?”

“She’s fine Del, perfect health. She might need your....emotional support,” Delilah’s heart sunk as she heard those final words.

Mags laughed at the rain that poured around her. How fitting, how fucking fitting. The one silver lining is that he couldn’t see the tears that had been running down her face. Tonya and Del has offered to go with her, but Mags was afraid that he would feel like they were ambushing him.

The loud bang from the thunder filled the air matching the storm that lived inside Mags. The thunder was followed by the echoing of footsteps.

He was here.

“Are you okay,”

Mags wanted to speak, but her voice had disappeared.

“What’s wrong Mags, it sounded urgent. I have a deadline to make, and I need to get back to work. What’s wrong?” Drew stood in front of Mags in the pouring rain. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

Mag’s arm shot out in front of her as she handed Drew the white plastic. Such a little thing, such a little thing made such a big difference.