#i will never know perhaps...although last night i did dream succession came back and was disappointed upon waking like a child the

[steelycunt]

good morning all. today i find myself filled with a thousand tiny stresses like pebbles clattering around in my shoes. and yet! i unlace my shoes and take them off and find them empty. another cruel deception and by my own mind no doubt

[rhiezus]

“ are you going to kiss me again, or do i have to do it myself? “ // bowen x vince

this night like any other night before this one for the past few months had been extraordinary at best. he could almost use the word magical, but he never really liked using other world aspects to describe real feelings because he had to believe this was real and it was happening to him. vince had given up most of his hope of success for his career so this was living in his wildest imagination. sometimes he would still wish for someone to pinch him or drop a bucket of cold water on his head so he could wake up and start facing reality again. this is reality, he would often remind himself. this is reality and it's time to live it all, to its fullest. which means not holding back your feelings anymore 'cause apparently luck is on his side and he is going to cherish it in order of it never letting him go.

he often pops up the question on his mind — while he is getting ready in the morning and then sits up for breakfast in the hotel or gets to the studio on time and waits for the other to arrive — he gets one look at him and thinks if luck is not a superstition but instead a person. could it be him who's been missing in his life this entire time? not just for making this band a real thing, for putting them on every radio, creating a chance for every possible award but for also making his heart alive. the blood in his veins pulsates insanely whenever he gets this feeling as if he is the most brilliant person in that room. he feels his heart race beating along the instrumental of each song, earning for it. this urge to live this dream with him, to make him see the starts that he sees whenever his vision goes blurry when he can finally touch him that night and kiss every surface of his skin that is just as hot as his own. no one has ever craved for someone as much as vince does bowen every night, every morning, and every moment they are together.

tonight after another glorious performance in a foreign city with the certainty that they were made for that state and for those crowds, at least they are almost in their hotel suites for a due rest. although that's pretty much the last damn thing on their minds. they couldn't keep their hands off each other ever since they got off stage, bowen put his finger in the hem of the jeans just slightly to push him towards him which sent vince in a spiral. they still had to take pictures for social media, talk to some famous locals who came to their show, and survive the twenty-minute ride from the venue to the hotel but they made it in one piece, and once they finally had no more eyes on them in the elevator they gave up all decorum and anguish — not that they ever have much. vince wanted to make a run for it, grab his hand, and push him towards his suite without thinking twice. however, he did. his hesitation in doing so didn't go unnoticed by bowen and thank god it didn't because he wasn't ready to spend the night alone. "you know much better than to beg for me to kiss you." vince had his eyes closed when he said that, yet he could still picture every detail from bowen's face and also the expression he would make when he opened his eyes again. this was part of their proximity, knowing so well each other's do's and don't's, it was almost engraved on his mind like a tattoo. bowen was unforgettable if only he knew — if only vince could show him.

he was drenched in so much affection with an air that again felt almost mystical. swearing he didn't touch any alcohol that night, not like on the first night he kissed him, but it always felt as though bowen's presence made him drunk and out of touch with reality. maybe that's why they made so much good music together, they wanted that excitement to be perceived by their listeners thinking perhaps they would be just as lucky as they were. with his confidence back and his core irregularly beating up his soul, he opened his eyes again to find that exact expression he had already projected on bowen's face — a smile, mischievous and devious just as he intended to be. the elevator opened at the same time as he grabbed vince's pulse out of there and instead of making that run for it, he walked them slowly out of it with a newfound trust in his senses. then he grabbed his waist back when he tried to bolt for the door of his suite and forced his attention on his lips without needing to close it with his yet. "whenever you want, yeah. you should do it. kiss me yourself, kiss me anywhere, everywhere, all the time. fuck it, just do it." and then he breathed him in, his glamorous scent and diamond eyes but without doing what vince wanted him most because that was his to take it whenever he wanted and right now seemed as if they wanted more than ever.

[kinetic-elaboration]

April 19: Coyote Ugly

I did a lot of sleeping today, which I suppose is something I needed. I fell asleep on my couch last night, so that’s like not great is what I’m saying. But I think this was good for me and I hope to feel better tomorrow.

After dinner, I watched Coyote Ugly, which I had never seen before although perhaps I would have been better off seeing it when I was 11, when it first came out. I think it’s the sort of thing that needs to imprint on you early and then its extremely timely look and sound will make you feel nostalgic forever. Not that it takes much to make me nostalgic for the late 90s. That was about half the reason I watched it: I wanted some lighthearted stuff from that era. The other half was that I wanted to see hot women dance on a bar.

Overall, I liked it. It was fine. I think it had too much romance and general drama centered around Violet and too little hot women dancing on the bar. That’s actually a semi-serious critique. Like, Violet’s underdog chasing a creative dream story is fine, very standard, very common in that era of teen/young-adult-centered film, but it’s also just not that complex. I wanted to pretend to be at the bar, I wanted to see more of the other coyotes, I wanted the whole found-family feel around the bar itself. Truly. Those were the best parts. Although it was very obvious that the dancers and the actors were not the same people and the frenetic cutting to separate face shots from body and feet shots was a little dizzying. I liked Lil a lot and I wanted her to be my scary/hot boss/older-sister-figure. And I want to hear more about Tyra Banks in law school.

Also I don’t think she got enough credit for running a successful business as a woman, and for all of the work she and the other women did in like… fighting back men who are always on the edge of assaulting them. Like….girl, you couldn’t make this in 2024, there would be #discourse. Instead, we have the two biggest male roles judging Violet for her job—a job she’s good at, where she’s kept safe by the power of her female boss, and where she pretty obviously isn’t doing anything with which she’s uncomfortable. And neither of them really apologizes for it? Like maybe there is sort of a critique to be had of her choosing the bar over her chance to play live and further the career she actually wants. But she’s fired the same night so there really isn’t any resolution to that idea, any chance for her to actually choose priorities. I suppose it comes belatedly in her choice not to return to the bar—but that’s an easier thing to do than to quit, or to scale back, or to recalibrate her priorities on her own. Neither she nor Kevin really apologizes or resolves anything. Both Kevin and Violet’s dad are at the bar at the end, so I guess they basically got over it. But that works with the dad more in my opinion, because he really got into it, he saw just how ultimately it was harmless fun, and that was rather heartwarming. Kevin just kind of… sails along as “the boyfriend” and tbh I feel like he’d pulled out the sexist critiques in a moment if given the least provocation.

I think the implication was that he was an undocumented immigrant and I was sort of curious why they walked right up to that but never actually said it. I don’t know. Even though the romance was probably fully 40% of the film, it still felt very obligatory and paint by numbers to me. The men in these films are never worth shit.

But I did get my 90s aesthetic for sure. Random actors I fully did not expect to see showing up (Melanie Lynskey’s Jersey accent… I’m glad she chose a different American voice for Yellowjackets because can you imagine). The fashion. The color scheme. The music. The music! That list of bands appearing at the Bowery alone SENT me. Vertical Horizon. Edwin McCain. Suicide Machines. I need my 90s playlist immediately.

[aminiatureworld]

Disappearance III

Character: Childe, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,581

Warnings: None

Premise: In which there is an argument and the reader disappears.

Author’s Note: Childe my favorite character, how I love to torture you.

But genuinely I really like how this one came out.

Childe

Childe craned his neck to stare at the clock on the wall behind him. Sighing at the lateness of the afternoon he turned back towards the papers in his lap, trying desperately to focus, to not let his thoughts drift off to the argument that had taken place in the morning.

It had started out simple enough. Childe had informed you that he might be gone for some time, as the Tsaritsa had requested a high-level reconnaissance mission, and Childe was to be the one to lead it. He thought that you react much the way that you always had, assurances of his success, light-hearted reminders to stay safe, and a goodbye kiss as you two settled back into a normal routine before the day of departure. Instead however, your lips had slanted into a frown, and you stopped making your breakfast to turn and face your partner.

“Childe, I wish you wouldn’t always take things on yourself.”

“What do you mean darling?” Childe felt a wave of surprise wash over him. After all, what else was he supposed to do?

“I mean that you’re being entirely too reckless Childe. You know that you have too high a profile to be doing stuff like this. I… I would like you to sit this one out. Just this one.”

Childe couldn’t help but laugh, whether out of irritation or genuine amusement he wasn’t sure of. “As much as I appreciate the concern, I can’t do that. No leader worth their salt would send their underlings off alone, even if they are some of the weakest underlings in the world. No one’s been able to pull the wool over me yet darling, it’ll be perfectly alright.”

“You’re not listening to me,” your voice picked up in intensity. “Childe I really try, I try to remind myself that you’re a Harbinger and able to take care of yourself; but sometimes it’s just too much. This is too much.”

“You’re being silly,” Childe said, trying to keep his tone light. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I can’t disobey the Tsaritsa. She wishes me to do this so I will. It’s as simple as that.”

“The Tsaritsa is far away, she has hundreds, thousands under her command. She won’t bat an eye at your safety.”

“Like you said, I can take care of myself.”

“But what if one day you can’t? What if, what if one day you don’t come back. Please, just this once; just this once don’t go.”

“I know that the length of time is upsetting, but you can’t react like this every time I have to go away for a while. I promise that you’ll have me all to yourself afterwards.”

“It’s not about that Childe! Please, please listen to me. I’m worried about your safety. I’m worried one of these days you’re going to end up in a fight too big even for you. What will you do then? What will your underlings do? What will I do? Please, tell the Tsaritsa you have to stay and make sure the Bank stays out of trouble, or that nothing happens in Liyue. Please, don’t go this time.”

“You’re being irrational.” By now Childe was definitely irritated.

“No, I’m being realistic. You don’t take care of yourself enough.”

“You’re just underestimating me. Besides, I’m a better fighter than you’ll ever be. It’s not like you can protect me even if I stayed here.”

“What?”

“It’s not like staying in Liyue would be any safer, better to face things head on. For the Tsaritsa, for Snezhnaya, that is the most important thing. If you can’t see that, you’re just being stupid.”

Although Childe regretted the words almost immediately after they left his mouth he could see that saying that would’ve had no effect. So instead he watched silently as your face clouded over and you stormed out the door, not bothering to grab your food as you slung your pack around you back and walked out. A part of him wanted to call after you, but he knew that even if he did you probably wouldn’t listen. Even if you did, what could he say? After all, he had simply spoken the truth; even if you couldn’t accept it as such.

Now Childe sat on the couch, eyes glazing voer as he stared at all the paperwork that needed to be done before his mission. He had already spent a hectic, uneasy day at the bank. Though he knew that none of his underlings would be foolish enough to try to pull something while he was gone, Andrei would make sure of that and Childe would make sure of Andrei, it was still tedious, boring work. This was in no way helped by the lingering ill will from his fight with you earlier. Though Childe ultimately forgot fights relatively quickly the time right after was always an uneasy one, filled with sudden flashes of irritation replaced suddenly by the wish for it all to have never happened.

He had hoped that you might be home by the time he arrived, but your absence wasn’t truly much of a surprise. Besides the fact that you were still probably angry with him, something Childe couldn’t really fault, you had recently been involved with some project near the Chasm, and it was hardly surprising that something that big caused you late hours. Still he couldn’t deny the fact that he was somewhat disappointed, or maybe disheartened was a better way to put it. He hated fighting with you, especially fights that lasted. Even if he was irritated with you, even if he thought that you had demanded something impossible, he still regretted snapping at you. He just wanted you to come home now, that way he could apologize and explain the situation better. That way he wouldn’t leave with any ill will behind him.

The clock was excruciatingly slow, but the insult of that wasn’t registered until Childe dozed off. Waking up in the middle of the night he was surprised at your continued absence. Though he had expected that sleeping on the couch might’ve happened, your total disappearance was certainly something that threw him for a loop. Making his way to the bedroom and flopping down on the bed Childe closed his eyes, pushing away the anxiety that clustered at the edge of his thoughts.

Perhaps you’d ended up staying with Hu Tao, or maybe you’d gone back home to your family. He had been awfully mean after all, and you were never the kind of person to take his insults sitting down. Still, if that were true why hadn’t you packed more, or come back to collect your things? It didn’t make any sense. Questions and half baked reasonings floated through Childe head as he tried to delay the inevitable pull of sleep. The last conscious thought he could remember was the knowledge that at least you would be back tomorrow.

You were not, in fact, home tomorrow. The Harbinger’s time spent at the Northland Bank was almost completely useless, the meeting with the people he’d be going on his mission with even more so. Though Childe wasn’t necessarily the most attentive listener, often letting his mind wander when his fellow Fatui members fell into arguing about the most insipid things, he knew that paying attention to a plan as a whole was critical to its success. Even so he couldn’t bring his mind to focus on the maps and profiles that sat in front of him. Where were you? It seemed like such a silly question, but the longer it floated in Childe’s head the colder he felt.

Finally the meetings and the menial tasks ended and Childe could go home. Sprinting down the winding streets of Liyue, not bothering to hide the fact he was in a hurry, Childe burst into the apartment. His heart sank as he was met with the same image he’d seen when he’d left that morning.

Afterwards Childe wandered around the docks of Liyue, trying to keep the quickly fragmenting pieces of his mind together. He knew that he was probably overreacting, knew that you were simply staying away because of what he said, knew that it wouldn’t be forever – you would have definitely told him if that were the case. Still he couldn’t help but feel dread crawling over him, saturating the cracks of his brain as he wondered how he’d managed to fuck everything up so much. He had underestimate how much his words must have affected you, and that only made him feel worse. Finally exhausting his walk along the pier Childe set off towards the edges of the city and into the vast wilderness of Liyue. He needed to find something to fight.

The nightmare continued on into the next day, then into the day after that. Childe could barely remember what he did during those days, walking around as if possessed, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a few moments before his thoughts inevitably found their way back to you. Mostly Childe ended up sleeping, dozing off at his desk or on the couch, papers fluttering from his hands onto the floor. Mostly Childe dreamed of you.

They weren’t dreams of any particular note, their contents incredibly mundane. Not that it matter to Childe; within those dreams he felt nothing but happy domesticity, a calm that washed over him as he walked with you to the market or lay next to you under the stars. Always you would appear in his dreams suddenly, and always he would throw his arms around you, clinging to you as if even an embrace wasn’t enough. Always he woke up with a sense of desolation so vast it threatened to consume him.

Finally on the fifth day Childe couldn’t take it anymore. Waking up at almost the crack of dawn the Harbinger rushed to the Bank. He wouldn’t stay long, only enough to inform Andrei that he’d be out for the day. Then he’d go to the Guild and check and make sure everything was okay. Then, well he’d figure out what to do then. It seemed pathetic to chase after you, not to mention gross. He wouldn’t become a stalker, wouldn’t let himself fall into such pathetic behavior. Still, he had to make sure you were at least okay. As long as he did that, well, the rest could come later.

Striding into the Bank Childe was met with a surprising sight. Normally Ekaterina stayed firmly tucked inside her receptionist cubby, even more antisocial than the likes of the Balladeer or the Fatui that guarded Dragonspine. Now however she stood at the front of the booth, wringing her hands this way and that as she stared at a piece of paper in front of her. Feeling a sudden sense of dread Childe walked up to her.

“Ekaterina?”

“Oh!” Ekaterina whirled around, look on her face one of utter anxiety. “My lord, I was horrified to hear of the news, tell me, do you know if they’re almost free?”

“What are you talking about?” Childe narrowed his eyes.

“Why, your partner. I only heard today from Nadia; no wonder you’ve been so distant recently, if it’s not too much for me to say so. I only hope that they’ll soon be rescued, I’m sure you know about the situation better than I do though.”

“Ekaterina, what in the Tsaritsa’s name are you talking about?”

A shadow passed over Ekaterina’s face, a look of utter dread. Swallowing slightly she stared at a spot in the wall right to the side of Childe. “You partner, my lord, I’ve been informed that they have become trapped in one of the caverns of the Chasm. I thought that you knew about it, it’s been five days after a–”

Childe didn’t hear the rest of what Ekaterina had to say. Whirling around the Harbinger slammed his way out of the bank, aiming towards the nearest waypoint. Cold dread washed over him and with it desperate determination. He’d rescue you. If he had to tear apart the entire Chasm and raze all the mountains in Liyue to the ground so be it.

  Approaching the Chasm Childe felt a rush of adrenaline wash over him. He was terrified. By the Seven, he was utterly terrified. Images of you flashed in his mind, images of you cowering in the dark, stuck at the bottom of an endless pit, lying on the ground with no air or food or life in you. How could he have let this happen? How could he have not known of this before? Anger burned within Childe, anger at himself. He should have never let you walk out of your apartment without apologizing first. He should have enquired after you after the first night you didn’t show up. He should’ve been the first person there for you, instead of the last person to know. He was so utterly stupid.

Approaching what must’ve been the site of the accident Childe felt his stomach drop to his feet at the sight of you. You were covered in dirt, cuts spread across your arms and legs as you slumped against a Guild member, dragging your feet in an awkward shuffle towards the stretcher that must’ve been meant to bring you to the apothecary. There were a variety of Guild members flocking around you, along with one of the doctors of Liyue, who was scribbling notes down furiously. Your expression was utterly dazed, as if you weren’t exactly sure of what was going on, something that tore Childe apart.

Stepping towards you Childe called out your name. At the sound your head jerked up, and you gave a hoarse sort of cry before turning to make your way towards him. Sprinting towards you Childe stepped backwards as you fell awkwardly into him. Steadying you for a moment before wrapping his arms around you Childe felt all his emotions crashing over him, so intense that he couldn’t control them anymore. Ignoring the tears that tracked their way down his cheeks the Harbinger let out a shudder.

“Thank the Seven, thank the Seven you’re safe. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, alright? You don’t have to forgive me, but by the gods I’m so sorry.”

“I wish you had been there,” you mumbled softly. “It was so dark, I couldn’t see anything. I thought, I thought that I might never see you again.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said all those things to you, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. You should’ve fold so easily you know, you should be really, really angry at me.”

“I don’t want to be angry at you though, I just want you to stay.”

“Then I will,” Childe tightened his embrace around you. “I promise I will.”

“Okay.”

Having apparently said everything that had to be said you let Childe sling you onto his back, refusing to be carried to the hospital in the stretcher. As you appeared to doze off on his back Childe made a promise to himself. Even if he couldn’t disobey the Tsaritsa, even if he couldn’t change who he was, he would never leave you when you needed him to be there.

You would never find yourself needing him to be there without the chance of your need being met. That he promised you.

[stopeatingwhales]

second chance x damon albarn

i'm surprised i haven't written anything about dilf damon yet bc i've been so obsessed with him recently wtf. anyways enjoy x

i might do a second part to this, idk yet tho

Pairing: dilf damon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 2.786

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

“Do you want to come over?” I abruptly asked, the silence pouring through the line deafening my ears as my fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt. The desperation and moment that led to me ringing my ex-boyfriend at what was nearing eight in the evening seemed as though it was a fever dream, the words rolling off my tongue so delicately out of apprehension only a fragment of that trance. In all honesty, I had no idea as to why I rang Damon, or to what extent the string of thoughts guided me towards the action of calling - we had been broken up for around a year, and it came as a much larger shock that I was able to muster the amount of courage to tap his contact on my phone and attentively listen to the thunderous rings as the landlines attempted to connect, instead of quickly shutting the phone off before he was able to receive a missed call alert.

“Uh, um - are you sure?” he questioned, the stutter escaping his mouth insinuated that he was just as dazed at my sudden offer as me, the demeanour of his voice accentuating the idea that he was entirely finished with the ephemeral chapter of his life which had me intertwined inside as his partner; that he had gotten over me quicker than the momentary period our relationship lasted. My heart sank, realising how indigent I sounded, as if I had never gotten over him throughout our time apart - which I did, learning to live with myself was easier than I had thought it was going to be; the weeks leading up to the breakup stemming from the distance we shared apart due to Damon consistently being on tour and never providing enough time for me, for us, to consider one another as more than romantically acquainted, though that didn’t mean the gap in my heart had been sealed shut, it was simply brimmed with other, unspecial fragments of things which could only distract the thought of him for so long, until I’d discover myself adventuring for something else to hyperfixate my thoughts upon, though he always returned.

“Yeah…” My voice trailed off, so quiet that I struggled to sustain the volume. Though we had only just spoken, the trance that he had obtained over me for all those months we were with one accord, returned in an instant, having the same rush that a recollection of memories, pastimes that were once forgotten, crumbled to dust, had been reborn; ignited into a new bloom in the height of a harvest, resulting in the scolding of yourself upon how you granted the ability to forget such a thing. It seemed as if all those thoughts, ideations convinced to the point that I had gotten over him, were myriads of masks attempting to say it enough to believe it. Without a doubt, I had never overcome the strains of the acquaintance we shared - and I could only hope he felt the same way.

I heard his throat clear itself before his voice echoed through the telephone speakers once again. “Alright… I’ll be there in a bit.” he mumbled, those words bringing a soft, yet apprehensive grin to my lips. I had no idea what I was doing, or why, but it felt right.

It felt as if only the sum of a few minutes passed when I heard a distinguishable knock on the door; one that had not rang through my ears for an interminable amount of time, one that was able to send me months back in time to a period where he had significantly been a figurehead dictating the story. As I jolted up to answer the door, it felt as if things were normal again, back to how they used to be so many nights previous; me waiting for him to come home after he spent a long day at the recording studio, crafting what could only be assumed was the pure essence of talent, unlocking the door to allow my arms to envelop into an embrace cherished with affection and warmth, proving he longed to have my presence just as much as I craved his. Once my eyes met the sight of him, my heart dropped at the overwhelming feeling of my reminiscing about what once was, the nostalgia for a moment so authentically shaped with what could only be described as true love, my body yearning to relish in the sensation of his arms protectively wrapped around my body, a feeling which could only fulfill one’s heart with all that it desires. "Hi..." I trailed off, stunned by how similar, yet different his appearance was from when we last saw one another. His hair had the same shape, though it seemed a little shorter, his eyebags still prominent on his features, though it seemed as if they had sagged down slightly, posing the idea of whether he had been sleeping alright. His torso still adorned shirts with dark colours, amplified with one of his leather jackets which only made me more attracted to him. Widening the door, he set foot into the apartment, nodding his head lightly as a greeting. Although I was very elated to the fact that he was in my apartment, it felt eerie having him back here after so long, stepping foot into the space that was once served merely as a homely and secure space where we both could simply live and enjoy our time together, no distractions included.

Once I had followed him into the living space, he took a seat onto the couch facing the television. I attempted to make my footsteps omit as little noise as possible, as if to avoid damaging the awkward silence that had been shared between the pair of us. It went without saying that neither of us knew how to break the ice, or where this was going to head. One could only hope that the outcome of this meeting was positive. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, ushering over to the cabinet adjacent to the television, supplied with all sorts of alcoholic beverages in which I had not touched, simply there as a point of manners to offer when somebody had come over. “White?” I offered, pulling out an almost-full bottle of white wine. I knew he hated it.

"You know I’ve always hated white." he mumbled, a small smile playing upon his lips. Something about that little grin plastered on his lips made my stomach flip and turn, welcoming a swarm of butterflies to accentuate the nervous pit that had formed within myself. The intense feelings reminded me of the same bewilderment your body undergoes during the first date; there is such a raw attraction to somebody that you know far too little about, but you are so hypnotised by their presence it is as if they’re the only thing in the world that matters, to the point that they obnoxiously overtake your mind, every little thought occupied with their name, wondering whether they may like such and such, like an infection spreading without you knowing such cure for it. The atmosphere was intense, carrying the same ambience of two strangers meeting for the first time in an isolated space, though there was also a refreshing element of familiarity that neither of us wanted to admit that we appreciated so deeply.

"Red?" I asked, snatching the half empty bottle as I placed the other wine bottle back in its designated place, turning my head back to fix my gaze onto Damon, raising my eyebrows as a form of derise for the drink. Nodding his head in response, I quickly took two glasses from the cabinet, brimming them both with the alcoholic liquid before slowly making my way to sit next to him on the sofa, handing him one of the glasses as he thanked me in response. The same devilish silence echoed in the room once again as we granted the situation to truly sink in - thankfully alcohol was present. As I took a sip of the beverage, I tried to gulp down as much liquid as possible before I spoke once again. "So... how have you been?"

"Good... Just came off tour actually. Was a really successful one." he replied, his voice laced with a slight tone of doubt, edging the regret of so eagerly returning back into a place that was once so attached to his occupancy. He carried on talking about how the tour had been, my head subconsciously nodding, attentive to what he was talking about. Each time he had told me about something new they had added, or something they had changed surrounding the live performance set-up, it never failed to blow me away. Him and Jamie together, working on such a creative idea and putting it to life on stage was truly something out of rare virtuosity, disregarding the lengthy old ramblings from Damon almost every night he had returned home about how much Jamie had pissed him off, having a petty argument as if it was a be or end all in their friendship. It was actually a good form of entertainment, seeing how riled up Damon had gotten simply because of something that Jamie joked in an interview.

Once he had finished talking, our eyes connected, uncertainty clouded in his eyes as he searched for the reason behind him needing to come over. "Y/N, why did you ask me to come over?" He said, abrupt, almost as if those words had been lingering at the back of his mind the entire time we had been in one another’s acquaintance; the ease of the sting of words rolling off his tongue softly implied that, perhaps a try to prevent the harshness of the asking from offending me in the slightest. "We haven't seen each other for a year, why now?"

Both gazes never dared to break contact as if we had attempted to communicate telepathically - the ideation of instigating a conversation as awkward as how this had become, the two of us simply wanting the ground to swallow us whole. His gaze had the ability to put me into a trance upon which I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else except for the utter magnificence that was birthed into his loving eyes. Inhaling sharply, I tried to collect the thoughts in my brain that had been travelling in all directions, searching for all sorts of different possibilities that the conversation could reach. "Can we give it a second chance?" I asked absentmindedly, the realisation of what had just rolled off my tongue not settling in my mind until his eyes widened, speechless and shocked at my sudden questioning.

Sighing, he cocked his head to the side. “Love, we didn't work out the first time..." he began, my heart dropping to my stomach as the thought of him breaking my heart again entered my mind. His expression quickly softened once he saw my face drain colour, explaining all that he needed to know about how I had coped since he had left the picture. "I don't want to hurt you again."

Breaking away from the stare, I gawked at the dark shades of red that had adorned the transparent glass clasped in my palm. Holding in my emotions wasn’t going to do me any justice, and since he was here, it would not make sense for me to stupidly avoid the whole reasoning behind me needing him inside my apartment after so long. “It’s been so hard trying to get over you,” I mumbled, my voice almost inaudible out of embarrassment, though I knew he could hear me. “I need you.”

What I didn’t see from my shameful gaze at the ground, was the miniscule beam that broke out across Damon’s features. What I was unaware of, my body encompassed in such a impotent state of pure isolation, was that Damon had been as dependent on hearing those words escaping my mouth before he could admit the same to himself. Though it had all been answered to me as he softly brought his arm to caress my arm, gently squeezing the skin as a form of reassurance, implying the notion that he understood, that he felt the same way, after all this time. We broke up not because we lost feelings, but because the emotions we carried for one another were too strong to handle, too intense to progress with, that when he was gone for those long hours it had left me in such a stupor of helplessness and melancholy that it was unbearable to handle without it tarnishing my health. Unsurprisingly, at this point we knew where the conversation was headed; my desires to be swathed in his arms once again that I had tried so hard to banish to the back of my mind, to the depths of my distant memories in which by reliving such a hug came flooding back, my body leaned into his touch almost instantaneously, a subconscious reflex that I had craved, such an embrace that no other person could give, the mere side hug from him was able to banish all the pain that I had tried so diligently to mask away for the past few months.

We sat there for a short while, taking in the moment as it had played throughout, our breathing syncing together as comfort relished in the atmosphere, our minds now finally at peace while all the conflict that had battled our minds over the time we weren’t together. "Let me come on tour with you." I said, my head resting against his shoulder.

A chuckle erupted out of his throat. “It’s not that easy love.”

"Why can't it be? You're literally the frontman!" I exclaimed, lifting my head off his shoulder to connect eyes with him. "Damon, it would be so fun!" I exclaimed, attempting to encourage him.

It was as if things had mended back together, all the cracks in the pavements had been glued together to mend the time lost, as if it had never occurred. Through all the hardship I had faced trying to find the remedy to my heartache, I was dumbfounded to realise that it had been sitting in front of me, at the top of my phone’s contact list, right in front of my eyes this entire time. His eyes were calling out to me, enveloping my heart in comfort and warmth, the hunger radiating out eager to the ideation of starting anew and preserving the time in which we had lost, building new memories, unfastening the lock on the clock dictating the length of the relationship, allowing it to elongate, carry on as long as we could. My heart brimmed with homeliness - the house I was inside finally feeling normal to me once again.

"I'll see what I can do," he grins, the beautiful sight causing a small smile to erupt on my face as my body melted back into his arms once again. "No promises though."

It felt nice to wake up next to someone again the next morning, on the mattress that once was a carcass of many tears of sadness and melancholy, authentically conveyed by the essence of nihilism embodied from isolation, the kind of philosophical beliefs one could only develop an understanding towards subsequent to irrational thinking as the hours fell still, leaving you sat there, reliving the last moments from your memory bank with the significant other you had soiled ends with, a person who had supported you from the very beginning, even when things formed a bitter congestion to the relationship devoured by both participants, perhaps from the acceleration of argumentation shared, or the distance that had started to weave its way between, leaving you both stranded to conclude, as if you were both on separate, desolate islands fighting against the starvation of progressing through your lives and starting anew, departing from the old knots and attachments formed once epitomising pure adoration and love, though over time spawning to be the offspring of the devil. A person whom you knew would make your bed every morning, cradle you in his arms at the darkest hours to baptise the negativity coiled in your brain, whispering what seems like sweet nothings, merely sounding like soft raspy groans due to them being exhausted out of their mind, but you knew they were saying something to you, you could hear it, acknowledge it in a language that nobody else was able to understand. I relished in concession that he who lay beside me was the one that bestowed and epitomised all the things that I once lacked a night before. A lover.

[comfortwriting]

Unbreak My Heart - F.W

Fred Weasley X Reader Part 2 of ‘Call Out My Name’, inspired by the song ‘Unbreak My Heart’ by Toni Braxton.

Part 1 , Part 3

About: Fred realises he has everything wrong. His heart aching for the reader after pushing her aside for someone else, he searches for her to apologise for what he’s done and to admit his true feelings for her.

Theme: Heartache, sadness, moving on, relationships, rumours.

Warnings: mentions of raw emotions, *incredibly light* smut, depression, body image issues and swearing.

Don't leave me in all this pain Don't leave me out in the rain Come back and bring back my smile Come and take these tears away I need your arms to hold me now The nights are so unkind Bring back those nights when I held you beside me

The first thirteen months without Fred were the worst. You couldn’t face visiting Weasleys Wizard Wheezes no matter how many times George asked in his letters which you ignored. You couldn’t go into Diagon Alley without hearing news about The Weasleys - more importantly, the news about Fred and his darling; they were now engaged.

You kept to your bedroom, crying to sleep every night, looking through all the pictures you had taken of and with Fred over the years that you were with him. Letters you had written to him laid scrunched up all over your floor like an author going mad over a sticky, confusing, part of the story - but that was exactly what this was. 

Everywhere you went as you entered Diagon Alley, you were forced to listen to the news over and over again that the shop was a success. You wanted to congratulate George, but after ignoring him for so long you couldn’t bring yourself to pick up a pen to reach out to him.

Too afraid to let anyone in after the damage Fred inflicted on you, you didn’t bother meeting anyone new.

Plenty of people offered and even your sister tried to match you up with a friend of hers from work, but you declined and allowed Fred’s damage to take over you.

You only left the house for work which was torture enough as you worked with Percy at the Ministry. You ate one meal a day which was an apple on your lunch break. You didn’t dream of moving out despite your parents encouragement and you simply just collapsed in on yourself whilst your family constantly complained about Fred, swearing that you chose the wrong twin.

Although you hated Fred - or at least convinced yourself that you did - you still thought about him every single day, and at bedtime you would envision yourself back on his sofa in his arms underneath that scratchy patchwork blanket you shared many memories under. 

Laying awake staring at the ceiling, you took a deep breath. It had been over a year. You couldn’t go on like this. You needed to claim your life back, one step at a time. Sitting up in your bed, you grabbed the last of your parchment and leaned it against an old book. Dipping your feather quill into your ink pot that rested beside your bed next to the framed picture of you and Fred, you wrote to George.

You began apologising for not replying and for not visiting the shop, explaining why, and asked how everything was going - you missed your friend and it became suffocating to ignore him reaching out.

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many nights Un-break my heart My heart

It had been another five months since you wrote your letter to George and you were still waiting for a reply. You told yourself that perhaps he got too busy with the shop or he just didn’t want to mend things after you ignored him for so long. Either way, you didn’t ponder on it, sprayed yourself with some perfume, and got ready to leave for your third date this week.

George wasn’t ignoring you on purpose. He truly was too busy with not just everything at the shop, but also helping Fred plan out this so-called wedding and engagement party that came out of nowhere. He planned to write back but time got the better of him, he knew you wouldn’t take it personally.

“Oh look at you!” your sister grinned, “Same guy?” she asked enthusiastically. 

“No,” you shook your head and grabbed your coat, putting it on, “I don’t see the same guy twice if the spark isn’t there.”

Your sister smiled to herself and told you to have a good time. You enjoyed yourself temporarily until you remembered Fred Weasley and what he did. He was the reason why you decided against seeing the same person twice. If there was no chemistry during intimacy you moved on. Speed dating was the perfect temporary aid you needed at the moment.  

And just like Fred and his fiancé, word got out about you and how desirable you were. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, you started looking after yourself and forced yourself into the limelight. Even if it didn’t result in finding your true love, you still wanted to have fun along the way.

Your parents went to The Leaky Cauldron, and just as they were leaving, they bumped into Molly and Arthur Weasley. Your parents flinched at first sight, but swallowed the anger they had towards their son Fred.

“Oh Mr and Mrs Y/LN! what a lovely surprise to see you!” Molly chirped up. George turned his head and stood up to greet your parents. Unlike Fred, they loved George.

“And you.” Your father replied, his voice monotone.

“We haven’t seen your daughter for ages. We missed her last summer, please ask her to come and see us. George misses her and it’s our Freddie's engagement party tonight!” Molly babbled on, pointing to George when she mentioned him and Fred.

Molly and Arthur loved you coming over to the burrow. They loved you even more seeing how happy you made their son. In their eyes you brought out the best in him. On the other hand, they weren’t keen on the girl Fred decided to marry, she was inconsiderate, selfish and didn’t know what hard work was - she was handed everything she ever wanted, the exact opposite to you.

Your fathers face flushed with frustration. Didn’t they know why you never came around anymore? Were they not aware that Fred was the reason she screamed and cried every night for over a year?

Your mother hesitated but decided against holding back. She liked the Weasley family, but she couldn’t allow Fred to get away with what he had done. 

“Maybe you should ask your darling boy, Fred. Or maybe George will tell you, he’s the decent one of the two.” 

Your mother said no more and stormed out of the packed pub, your father trailing behind nodding a goodbye to George. Molly and Arthur stood there speechless and looked over at George, demanding that he tells them what happened as soon as they arrive home when everyone has gone to bed.

Fred felt strange throughout the whole party. He didn’t feel happy like he thought he would - he hadn’t been feeling happy for the past five months. Something in his life just didn’t feel right and he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong -waking up next to his girlfriend made him feel sick and he realised how stupid he was thinking that getting engaged would make everything better.

Molly, Arthur and George sat at the dining table when everyone else was in bed. “George you better tell me what happened, now!” Molly hissed in a low whisper.

George spilled absolutely everything, from beginning to end. As much as he loved his twin, he didn’t shy away from any details even if they showed Fred for exactly who he was, and the awful things he did. Molly and Arthur were outraged at their child's behaviour. Molly had to restrain herself at the table whilst she sobbed into her hands.

Far away, you panted heavily as you came down from your high with your date. Unmounting him, you laid beside him in his bed. He took off his condom and breathlessly offered taking a shower with him. You accepted his offer knowing that you could go home straight after, you wouldn’t need to stress about hurrying in the morning to get to work on time. 

Take back that sad word goodbye Bring back the joy to my life Don't leave me here with these tears Come and kiss this pain away I can't forget the day you left Time is so unkind And life is so cruel without you here beside me

Work at the ministry became more tolerable over the next six months. Percy smiled at you more often and you couldn’t understand why. You didn’t look into it and simply smiled back. You flourished even more within the same time - you had got into a relationship with the one night stand you shared a shower with. The curly haired bookshop assistant grew on you and you didn’t mind, he often made you laugh so hard you burst into tears.

Whilst you were finding yourself, running with the wind, Fred had fallen apart completely. He overheard George spilling his guts, and finally realised why everything felt so wrong, why he wasn’t happy. You were the missing piece. His guilt and mistakes were eating him alive. He broke off the engagement - to his parents delight - and vowed on finding you and making everything right. George felt relieved that he had his own room because Fred’s cries were enough to make anyone feel ill.

Fred slept with the Irish scarf he bought you from the world cup, and he kept the patchwork blanket on his bedroom, refusing to bring it back downstairs.

Memories flashed back to him, the two of you in the tent, “Oh Fred are you sure?” you asked him as he put the scarf around your neck.

He chuckled and kissed your head, “Anything for you, my love!”

Then memories from the sofa flooded in, hurting him even more. 

“I’m so in love with you,” you moaned, cupping his face while he made love to you. 

He shook his head and came to his senses, angry that he put such a lovely girl in the firing line.

“Percy, Y/N works with you doesn’t she? Can you tell her I need to see her.” He later begged.

Percy refused, “That would be an incredibly inappropriate thing to do in the work place!” 

Fred wrote you letters, but you never got them. The family refused to lend him their owl and Fred couldn’t understand muggle post. Getting desperate, he would stay in Diagon Alley trying to see where you were lurking after work, asking strangers if they had seen you, showing them the only picture he had of you.

“It’s going to be perfect here!” Your mum smiled looking around your large half unpacked apartment, “When will he be moving in?” She winked.

You finally saved up enough money to move out and you were planning on asking your boyfriend to move in if things continued to run smoothly. You had got your furniture, all you needed were the items left in the big green box from your bedroom. “I’ll collect them next week.” 

Feeling brave with your partner, arms linked, the two of you visited George’s shop. He had sent you a letter letting you know when Fred wasn’t working and you felt confident that you wouldn’t bump into him.

“I’m so proud of you!” You cheered for George, giving him a hug.

After paying for your bits and bobs you previously saw in the design stages, you walked out of the shop and bumped into someone. Looking up to apologise, you realised it was Fred. He stared at you - both of you mirroring each other looking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

You shook yourself out of the immediate shock Fred was still stuck in. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, walking away, your boyfriend asking what his problem was.

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many nights Un-break my heart

Another week went by and Fred was going stir crazy. Customers in his shop who knew you both were whispering about how happy you were now. Him and George argued when he discovered the letter between you two.

Fred rifled through the stacks of letters and found your parents address where you no longer lived. He got on his broom, not caring if muggles saw him, and landed on the roof. He crawled down to your window and gave it a tap with his wand with a soft “Alohomora”.

Expecting to find you asleep, he discovered only disappointment that your room laid bare and empty. The bedside table had nothing but a folded photo lying face down on it, the bin on the floor full of parchment balls.

He unfolded the photo and put a hand over his mouth, seeing you and him moving during your morning walks. He bent down and grabbed a ball from the bin, unravelling the parchment. He cried reading the letters you had written him but never sent. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the green box on your bed and he went through it, more tears spilling down his face.

“I’ll just grab my box!” He heard you yell, walking upstairs. 

Without giving him time to hide, you opened the door, revealing him standing in front of you. You held back a scream of shock and took a deep breath shaking your head, “Fred please - you can’t be here.” 

Fred shook his head and cried, “I’m so sorry, for everything,” he made his way closer to you, “I got everything wrong, her, everything.”

Not wanting your parents to see him, you closed your bedroom door and locked it, your heart pounding. Tears fell from your eyes, the walls you put up against him crashing down, your hate for him melting away and your love for him surging inside.

“Why are you here?” you questioned him through your cries.

Fred walked over to you slowly not wanting to scare you off. This was the closest you had been to him since you bumped into him at the shop. The young man you fell in love with wrapped his arms around you, tangling his hands in your hair. You stayed still with your hands by your side.

“I’m in love with you.” Fred choked out between sobs. He pulled away and gently put your hands in his, your tear filled eyes getting lost in his.

“Fred- I can’t!” you shook your head crying, feeling weak at the words he said and the ones you replied with. 

“Please,” Fred begged getting onto his knees, staring up at you, “please let me make things right.”

Don't leave me in all this pain Don't leave me out in the rain Bring back the nights when I held you beside me

“I think you look stunning,” Fred complimented you, soot spread out all over your nose.

You chuckled and sneaked a kiss on his lips, only to hear a loud thud on the desk in front of you.

“One weeks’ detention for the two of you,” Professor Snape snarled, “and fifty points will be deducted from your house.”

Un-break my heart Say you'll love me again Undo this hurt you caused When you walked out the door And walked out of my life Un-cry these tears I cried so many, many nights Oh, un-break my

“What do you mean you’re taking her instead of me!” you freaked out, throwing your earrings at the mirror. 

“It’s just a bloody Yule Ball. Y/N. It doesn’t mean anything.” Fred argued.

“Well it does to me!” you argued back, “I’m guessing I was just your back up plan if she said no.” 

Un-break my heart, oh baby Come back and say you love me Un-break my heart, sweet darlin' Without you I just can't go on

Fred held you in his arms, the two of you watching the muggle horror movie in amazement. You nuzzled your head into his neck, planting kisses on it softly. Fred let out a soft shaky moan, his hand making its way up your thigh. “We’ll need to be quiet,” he whispered, pulling your underwear off.

Can't go on (Say that you love me, say that you love me) (Tell me you love me, un-break my) (Say that you love me, say that you love me) (Tell me you love me, un-break my)

You stared at Fred, still trying to process what he said. You pursed your lips and stayed quiet getting lost in your thoughts. Fred noticed you were in shock and lost for words. He pulled out the scarf from his coat pocket and walked over to you, wrapping it around you.

You stared up at him, getting lost in those gorgeous eyes that you missed so much. You looked down at his lips and kissed him impulsively.

He kissed back.

[alonelysimp]

Genshin Band Au

Characters: Yanfei, Xinyan, Barbara, Y/N (reader)

WC: 1975

Warnings: No beta we die like hilichurls

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, No Ships, Headcanons, Bulleted

Spotify Playlist: Pov: you're in a band with Xinyan Yanfei and Barbara

《 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓸𝓬𝓴, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓵 》

Once when you were having lunch with Xinyan and Xiangling, Xinyan said something along the lines of “wouldn’t it be cool if i had a band?” and you, of course, jokingly said “if you started a band, then I wanna be the first member to join” and that’s basically how it started

You offered Xiangling if she'd like to join as well but she declined. As tempting as a life like that sounds, she’s set on her dream to be a chef. “I’d rather be your biggest fan!”

Not really knowing where to go at this point, you suggested posting a notice to the bulletin board beside the long-unused alchemy table and the one beside the adventurer’s guild typically reserved for commissions, but Katheryne gave you permission to put it up.

Xinyan had already begun to have the beginnings of a fanbase at this point, but it wasn’t really much of a surprise you hadn’t heard anything in a few days. You had even gone so far as to ask the traveler to keep an eye out.

Thankfully, the traveler was more successful than the both of you, bringing back a letter from both the top legal advisor in Liyue and the Idol and Deconess of Mondstadt. When you asked them how or why they put in so much effort, they just smiled and waved you off. The only payment they wanted were some small shiny rocks you had laying around as paperweights that you got from a hilichurl. Odd, but you insisted they accepted mora as well.

And so, on the agreed date mentioned in both of the letters, courtesy of the traveler setting up, you sat around a table at Wamin with a few assorted dishes of Jueyun Chili Chicken and Crab Roe Tofu. By the end, you were able to convince both of them to join. It was a bit.. really hard in the beginning, with Barbara and Yanfei having jobs. Barbara living in Mond didn’t help much either, but after some work it became manageable. You agree to meet every week at Pop’s Teas, one of the vendors at the stone gate. It would only take half an hour-ish each way.

“What should we call it?” You ask, languidly setting down your tea. Xinyan looks at you, still hunched over a few sheets of paper with her head propped up on her hand. “The band,” you clarify. Barbara hums from across the table, pressing a finger to her lip.

“I have a few ideas.” Xinyan pulls a blank sheet from the pile and scribbles BAND NAMES at the top. “Let’s brainstorm them while we’re all here.” One by one, you begin to throw out ideas.

Firelytical

Rockin Resistance

Wildfires

Illuminated Flames

Inferno

Sudden Freedom

She taps the pen to her lip, thinking of other names to suggest.

“These seem a bit.. fire-centric, even for a pyro-based band,” you comment. Yanfei nods, still deep in thought.

“Oh that’s a good idea, y/n.” You glance over, seeing Xinyan write down “Pyrocentric” on the list.

“Maybe it’d be best if we came up with ideas and shared them next week?” You nod at Barbara’s suggestion.

“I’ll keep a notepad with me in the office…” Xinyan tosses the pencil back on the table, watching Yanfei pull out what you assume to be the notebook and flip to a page, moving on to the next topic of discussion. “Costumes,” she says as her lips twist into a slight frown.

“Oh! I have some ideas for that,” you pull a sketchbook out of your bag, showing them your ideas. “I’m not very good at drawing but.. I wanted to keep some bits of your normal clothing too, I hope it’s not too much.”

“Y/n these look so amazing!” Barbara smiles, moving one to get a better look.

“Aw these are so awesome!” Xinyan slides over the one for her, grinning. Yanfei nods, looking over hers. “I could totally make these.” Her eyes sparkle with interest, radiating in the sunlight. “Oh,” she looks back up at you. “If you don’t mind, that is.” You wave her away, giggling under your breath.

“If Barbra and Yanfei don’t have any adjustments to make, I’d love to see my designs come to life!” You sip your tea, which has long gone cold by now. Barbara turns the paper around, pointing at the skirt on the page. “What if we add another one under it? If we make it a different colour, it’ll pop more.” You nod, pulling out a sheet and writing it down.

“Oh, oh y/n what if we added something here too?” Yanfei points to a slightly emptier spot on the hip. “Like an uhm…” she trails off.

“What if we put something like this from Xinyan’s?” You put your finger on a braided cord. “Like a belt, I guess?”

“Oh yeah yeah and I could put my vision on it–” she unconsciously reaches to touch the pyro vision at her side.

“Y/n?” Barbara sets aside her tea, as if she just found out the hard way that it’s cold. You hum, the pencil in your hand tapping against the page as you note details for Yanfei’s costume. “Thank you for working so hard on this!”

A few other names had come up during the week; BXY, Fiery Vale, and such, but you settled on Fervent Apricity. An odd name, but it’s meaning was able to win everyone over; the intense heat of the sun in the midst of winter. It fit the band well, you thought. Perhaps one day you should be able to live up to the name.

After a few months of dragging Yanfei away from her work to teach her the bass, which she picked up scarily fast (perhaps it's an illuminated beast thing?), you were able to arrange something with the millenith to not crash your debut concert. Yanfei suggested she just continued practicing for a while before she performed with it though.

You agreed that since there were only four of you, it wouldn’t be too much to have all of you as vocalists. Barabra lead vocals and choreography, Xinyan with lead guitar and harsh vocals, Yanfei rapping and eventually bass guitar, and you playing drums.

Tonight was the night. The night that Fervent Apricity would set foot on the stage for the first time. To be completely honest, you were a nervous wreck. Ignoring your worries didn’t make them go away, much to your annoyance.

Xiangling set up a food cart nearby, though she got distracted listening more than she cooked.

You sat in front of the drums, only moments left before you started. This was it. You’ve practiced so many times, it’ll be a breeze. Xinyan counted down, the strums from her guitar filling the summer night air as the concert began.

You would’ve felt bad being this loud so late at night, but by the time you had finished, you attracted not only a good portion of the residents in the harbor, but the wholehearted support of the largest fleet that docks in Liyue. The Crux and her crew! You recognize a lot of people from Xinyan’s previous concerts, loyal fans you assume she’s gained, and a good few handfuls of new faces. Travelers, probably.

You played into the night, without a care in the world for who may be listening. It lasted almost half an hour longer than one of Xinyan’s normal concerts. If you had to put the experience into one word, it was freeing. You were alive. The feeling was… incredible. But, as the adrenaline wore off, you came to realize how undeniably tired you were.

And so, that breathtaking performance marked the day that you would start your, Fervent Apricity’s, journey of becoming one of the most popular bands in Teyvat

For the week after, you had been working out the details of the next large concert. Xinyan carried on with her nightly performances, you caught word of Barbara still performing in Mond, although slightly less than usual, and you had been exchanging ideas with Yanfei. Despite her job and work schedule, she proves to be a great help, almost overwhelmingly so. After the second day, it felt more like her setting it up and running it by you instead of the other way around. Not that you could really complain, just a little less work for you.

After a few months of performing regularly in Liyue Harbor, Barbara suggested that you come to Mond. It’d be a new experience, since you had never really traveled outside of Liyue, but you were concerned it might affect Barbara’s reputation. She insisted. Playing with the band is something she’s proud of and the message your music brings is something she supports.

Was it running away? Finding a new audience that would love your music just as much as you did? No, just the opposite. It was finding a new audience, one that was just as foreign to it, and lighting it up one spark at a time.

You started working out the time with Yanfei and Barbara to fit their schedules and Xinyan started picking out songs she thought would be more… well accepted by the northern people and bouncing some ideas off you. The instruments weren’t much, so you were able to transport it easily. Barbara said to come to the plaza at the top of all the stairs a few days prior.

Xinyan had to tell the sentries you were here to perform with Barbara, to which they let you through with no further difficulties. People stared, and whether it was a good or bad thing, it was almost.. empowering? You met with Barbara and the other sisters, introducing yourselves as the other members of Fervent Apricity.

They were a bit weary of you, a ragtag group of musicians with a vaguely red and black colour scheme with Barbara, who had run off shortly after you arrived to change into her costume.

By the time she had returned, the makeshift stage had already been set up and a crowd began to form. It appears Barbara was quite popular here. You could tell they were a bit cautious though. Perhaps it’s because it’s pretty clear that your music was different from what Barbara usually played. All the better to prove how amazing rock could be.

There was but a few minutes left before you were scheduled to start. All the fireproofing needed was complete; you were ready to light up the city of freedom.

It was just like one of your normal concerts, a handful of songs you had played many times before. The crowd was a bit taken aback by Xinyan’s screaming, you had to hold in a laugh. You made a note to after, bring it up to her to get the crowd more fired up before choosing one that… intense. No matter how many times you performed, it was always just as lively as the first time.

Having mentioned your thought to Xinyan after the show, Yanfei came up to the both of you. She said she wanted to play her instrument in the next concert. Xinyan replied that if she wanted to then that’s a-okay but she shouldn’t feel pressured into it before she was ready

You overheard the “Barbara fan club,” as Barbara had mentioned earlier, crowding her and asking so many questions, it made you want to kick their asses to Inazuma.

“Barbara-sama, are you joining them permanently?”

“Barbara-sama, will you still be performing on your own?”

“Barbara-sama, how long have you been with them?”

“Barbara-sama, is this why you don’t let me join you to the stone gate?”

After a bit of rescuing and creep-yelling-at, Xinyan made a final announcement, mentioning the band’s name and the upcoming concert dates in Liyue.

Oh, how quickly time passes

ohmygod THANK YOU SM FOR 200- SHAWTYS ILYSM- ugh I might actually take this blog seriously soon..

Fervent Apricity Masterlist [ X ]

[joonapeach]

skylines (nj)

college!au, where namjoon openly chases you and you love running from those advances. that is, until everyone in your architecture department finds out you’re the daughter of the man behind the biggest architecture firm in the country. 

alternatively... namjoon is a simp for you until he’s suddenly not 

author’s note: sometimes i just wanna write for the fun of it and not take life so seriously so this is what i churned out. 8.8k words of some minor pining and mini character development for our oc because tbh, being a student sucks and you get so caught up in your insecurity sometimes

also reposted on ao3

[this is fluff and light-hearted, with a bit of a rivalry trope, 8.8k words]

You love skylines.

From when you were six years old with short legs, you remember craning your neck up high to see each building that surrounded you. At that age, the world seemed big and you seemed small but you loved it. You loved seeing the world build and function around you. 

From then on outwards began your decades-long relationship with your first love - buildings. 

Well, you called it buildings and your father called it architecture. You were the daughter of his dreams, his proclaimed legacy. What luck I have, he would say, that I have a daughter who will grow up to work beside me.

Growing up, those comments were your food for the day. You would eat up his encouragements and cheers throughout high school, serving him back your high grades on a gold platter.

This is the way you’ve worked through your past nineteen years. It’s a little basic, maybe, but you’ve operated on your father’s ambition for you. 

But like all good things, even that seemed to come to an end. Since entering university and embarking on your path as an architecture major, the once comforting encouragement has slowly changed to a choking chain around you.

You’ve learnt a lot in two semesters at university. You’ve learnt how to finish assignments the night before, how to memorize historical names and dates minutes before an exam, you’ve learnt how fun it can be to be with your friends.

But most of all, you’ve learnt that… you’re not special. 

You’re surrounded by overachievers, all like you, all perhaps better than you in some way. You’re the daughter of the man behind HN Architects, but some of your classmates look like they’re on their way to the top of the chain.

You always thought you deserved your seat, your privilege, because you’d worked for it. These days, it doesn’t seem much like that. And you worry that your father is thinking the very same thing.

Let’s finish this assignment, you sigh, there’s not much left. Let’s do it, you give yourself a pep talk, fighting back a yawn at the practically empty library before dawn.

Books crash down on your table, right beside you. You shake, being pulled so abruptly out of your reverie. Although maybe you should be thankful, for the sleep that was threatening your productivity seems to have run away from the sound. 

“Excuse me,” you scoff loudly, making your presence known to the disturbance.

From above the tower of books on the desk, peeks out a familiar dimpled smile. His eyes glint with mischief and despite the early hours of the day, his face reads no exhaustion.

“You’re excused.” 

You groan. “There’s an entire empty library, you can only sit here?”

“Studying is more fun with company,” he retorts with a grin.

“It’s studying. It’s not meant to be fun,” you reply, hostile. “Didn’t I tell you to stop showing up in front of me with no purpose?’

He smiles again, confidently with his eyes unmoving from you. It’s almost unnerving, how much you see Namjoon smile in front of you. Architecture students are not meant to be this happy. They aren’t meant to carry a warm smile everywhere they go, looking at people with such attentive intensity.

“I haven’t shown up without a purpose though,” he says. “I came to ask for help with the assignment.” 

This time, you smile. But your smile is one of disbelief and amusement.

“Yes, that’s very believable, Namjoon,” you cock a brow. “You’re the one finishing assignments a week early and screwing up the curve for everyone but I’m sure I could help you with whatever you need.”

He grins, taking a seat next to you. “Hey, sometimes even I need help,” he replies but then pauses. “Ah, you’re right. I should’ve gone with coming to offer you help. That’s a lot more believable.”

“I don’t need your help,” you argue. “Stop showing up in front of me. And stop subtly flexing in front of me. It’s nauseating.”

He throws his head back and laughs. He looks so happy that it almost stirs a scary, fluttering feeling in your stomach. “You should be the last person to feel jealous of me, _____.”

You glare at him. “Yeah, because I’m the one who threatens your ranking?”

He shakes his head. “No, because I would help you with everything if you just asked.”

You still, for a moment. His words lull over in your head and they feel a bit weird. Your major is competitive and cut-throat, even if it doesn’t appear it. To you, Namjoon is your biggest rival, your biggest worry because you can never match up to him.

“Well, I’m not asking you for a thing. Is there really nothing you stress over?”

“No, there is. I just don’t cry over my textbook the nights before exams.”

“That was one time,” you mumble, infuriated. “And I had every right to be crying that night. It was the hardest exam that term and I have big shoes to fill. I can’t afford to be bothering people, like you,” you say with an intentional offense.

He takes none. “Big shoes? Who’s putting expectations on you?”

“Just some family. Stop being nosy,” you say swiftly. “And you didn’t even tell me. What do you stress over?”

He pauses, not giving a response for a moment. You wonder if it’s because there’s really nothing he stresses over. You wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. While you and your friends have all cracked under the pressure of your degree, you especially with the added burden of your father… Namjoon has not once shown signs of struggle. He walks through life with that smile every day.

“Finding work,” he says after a while.

“Huh?”

He meets your eyes. “You asked me what I worry about. I worry about finding work when I graduate,” he says sincerely.

You bite back a rude laugh. “Please, Namjoon. Get real,” you roll your eyes. “You really think you can worry about that? You were the top of our class all last year.”

You don’t do a good job of hiding your envy, but it’s beyond you to care at this point. You’ve become this person now. The one who seeks everything out of their number on the paper.

“But I don’t have any connections. I come from a village, practically, as you like to call it,” he says with a chuckle. It stings you a little, he’s referring to the time you and your friends had put him down out of jealousy with those words. But he doesn’t say it like it bothers him. He says it like it’s true. 

“So?” you say, looking away from him and back on your sheet. “You don’t always need connections.”

“Not always, but a lot of the time,” he shrugs.

“Any company who takes a look at your record and speaks to you for five minutes would want you, Namjoon,” you exhale, knowing your words are 100% true. You think about your father, about HN Architects. Namjoon’s the kind of guy who your father wouldn’t think twice about hiring. He’s the epitome of someone who could fill any shoes you gave him.

You scoff bitterly. “Wait a second. Why am I comforting you right now? You’re a success story in the making,” you snap and he laughs, even though you didn’t intend it to be a joke. “You should be comforting me, you idiot. I don’t even know if I’ll have Mr. Labadee’s assignment done in time for submission!”

He puts his hands up. “Okay, okay, don’t worry. Why do you think I’m here?” he looks away, still smiling as he takes the pencil from your hand and moves closer to the sheet.

“What?” you say, watching the way his eyebrows furrow and his eyes scan the paper. He’s losing himself in the sheet now, and it feels like watching a prodigy at work. You picture this is what it would feel like to watch Bill Gates code on a computer before he formally started his career or watching The Beatles pen a song before they made it big. 

“Hm?”

“Did you come here for me?” you ask and for a split second, you see his eyes shift. “Did Chae tell you I was here?”

He doesn’t respond, instead focusing on the assignment. “Your calculation is wrong here. Look,” he says, pointing at a section. As he explains your mistake, you smile satisfied. 

He doesn’t need to admit it. You two have gone through this very situation so many times now, that you both know it’s true. Namjoon always comes for you.

/

You have kept your background, your family, extremely private since joining university.

In high school, you made the mistake of letting people know that you were the daughter of HN Architects. It resulted in years of people smooching up to you, gossiping behind your back, mean assumptions, and just a general nightmare.

That nightmare would only multiply if your friends here found out about it. They were all architect majors, all in the same cut-throat degree, and you came from privilege. 

It scared you, knowing what could happen if they ever found out. You begged your family to make sure that nothing would tie you to them here, keeping your name different on the registrar, not publishing photos of you in the paper. You couldn’t risk all the friends and relationships you made. Even if they said things won’t change, you know they would. They always do.

“I need to sleep for 10 years,” you mumble, falling on your bed. 

“Fuck this, I wish I was you right now,” Chae cries from her side of the room. “I’ve got one more submission.”

“I woke up at 4 to finish it so you should be fine,” you laugh, looking at her. “And did you send Namjoon to me?”

Chae fights a smile on her face. You sigh, knowing you’ve opened Pandora's box.

“He came to me asking about you last night. I told him you were sleeping, but you’d be at the library at 5 working on the assignment,” she smirks cheekily. “Why, did he come?” she asks, not hiding the overly inquisitive edge to her question.

You say nothing, deciding to turn on your laptop.

“He did!” she screams and your eyes widen, telling her to be quiet. “Sorry! I just can’t help it. That’s so sweet,” she squeals.

“Stop sending him after me. You’re encouraging him.”

“You’re encouraging him!” she counters. “You let him help you with your assignment, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“And you showed up at his dorm last week for notes, didn’t you?”

“Okay, but-”

“And you told him off for helping Eun like four days ago, remember?”

“Chae,” you stop her, sternly. “Have you lost your mind? Don’t you realize what all those things have in common?”

“They all are evidence of the fact that you reciprocate his year-long courtship?”

You roll your eyes. “No, idiot. All these things are work-related. I can’t afford to be falling behind, and I need his help.”

“Okay, but you were jealous of Eun-”

“I was annoyed that he was helping other people score higher! The last thing I need right now is the lazy kids of the class becoming my competition too,” you complain, grumbling.

Chae stares you down. “_____, not everything is about your degree,” she says light-heartedly, but you know your statement bothers her. 

Exhaling, you shut your eyes. You hate it when conversations come to this. Sometimes, you wish you could just tell people which family you came from. Maybe it would do them good, to make them realize that yes, for you, everything is about your degree. Everything in your life revolves around being successful in this path. 

You were cynical but at least you were real. You admitted things the way they were, when competition was competition, you said it, and when you needed something, you asked for it. That made it okay, you told yourself.

And when it comes to Namjoon… it’s especially okay. He’s both the only reason you’re hanging on okay in your degree, and the reason you feel insecure. You wonder how it can be that someone like him exists.

“Anyways, are you really gonna leave talking about Joon there?” Chae scoffs. “He’s liked you since we started. You really won’t do anything about it?”

“Namjoon is nothing but another classmate that stresses me out, Chae. I don’t see him that way. I just like his work ethic.”

Chae laughs. “You’re so skewed, honestly. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Why, are you planning on ratting me out to him again?”

“No, silly,” she laughs, although you both know it’s likely she’d do it again. “Let’s go to the Autumn fair tomorrow. After I submit.”

“The fair? You mean those three stalls they set up and call it an event?”

She frowns. “Don’t be mean. Hobi and the others have really been working hard on it this year. It’ll be nicer than the last, I promise.”

“As long as there are at least 10 booths this year.”

“You’re too mean for your own good, _____,” she says, tsk-ing. “One day, you’ll see what it’s like to be on the other end.”

/

Your overactive imagination always paints a skyline for you, where there’s an empty space. You can always picture different styles of buildings, standing together, making a city. 

It’s at times like those you realize that even if you wanted to give up, even if you tried to pursue something else, your heart will always come back to this. There is nothing more that belonged to you than this.

Even if it’d become difficult now, it didn’t matter. It became a source of worry more than an outlet of passion, but it’s still your calling. You can’t give up on something you love this much.

“Your toffee apple is dripping,” you hear his voice before you see him.

You want to turn and snap at him but the sticky toffee syrup that falls onto your fingers stops you.

“Ugh,” you groan, trying to fix it. Namjoon’s hand comes out with a tissue, quickly wiping your fingers without a word. Even after he’s done, the sticky feeling remains. “I should just throw this away.”

He laughs. “Let’s get candy corn.”

“No, thanks, I have to go find Chae and Yuna.”

Even though you step away, you hear his footsteps almost immediately behind you. 

“What’s the rush?” he says, catching up beside you. When you two walk together like this, his tall figure towers over in a way that makes you feel small. “Shouldn’t you offer to buy me candy corn? Did you forget how I helped you at 5 in the morning two days ago for Professor Labadee’s class?”

“You chose to wake up at that time, not me,” you say, keeping your eyes trained ahead. You weren’t expecting much from this fair, but the students had done well. Bright fairy lights decorate the lamp posts around you and along the long path, dozens of stalls are set up. It all feels a little bit like a movie.

“As long as you got it done,” he says under his breath. You dare to take a glimpse of him and inhale sharply. He’s wearing his smile, he always is, but the fairy lights reflect on his face, illuminating him like an angel. Everything about him feels good.

You look away almost immediately. “Stop following me Namjoon,” you say, stopping at a trinkets stall and smiling at the girl behind the table.

“But I like seeing you outside of architecture things,” he grins confidently.

You opt to ignore him, asking the price of something that catches your eye.

He cranes his neck to see what it is. “Want me to get it for you?”

You quickly counter. “Absolutely not,” you say, handing over your money notes. 

“You’re really buying an ornament of buildings?” he cocks a brow. “Don’t you want something like this instead?” he picks up a small snow globe, shaking it so the snow moves. The globe is miniscule to begin with, but you notice how in his hands, it looks almost tiny.

“What can I say? I like buildings.”

He smiles. “More than people, maybe.”

You sigh, ignoring his statement. Once you get the paper bag with your purchase inside, you keep walking ahead. You count to three before you hear his footsteps mimic yours.

“I’ll buy you candy corn, then you leave me alone,” you turn to say to him. “It’s not good that you’re always showing up where I am.”

He nods like an obedient puppy. Then he frowns and asks, “why is it not good?”

When you don’t respond, focusing on walking to the candy booth, he adds, “is it not good for you? Getting attached to me now?”

You don’t have to see his face to know he’s doing his goofy smile again. “It’s not good for you to keep going through these many rejections in a lifetime.”

He laughs, your words not bothering him the slightest. Standing in front of the candy booth, Jungkook and Jae, two of your architect classmates greet you.

“Hey Joon! Aw, you two hanging out again?” Jae smiles widely as if he’s in some big secret. You roll your eyes, not saying a word but pointing to the candy corn.

“_____ is treating me to candy corn. Isn’t she sweet?”

“I’m not treating you out of kindness, I’m doing it so you feel compensated for your efforts with my assignment.” 

Jungkook and Jae share an amused look that you almost miss. Shuffling through your pocket, you start counting the money to give. As you hand over the money to Jae, Jungkook places a brown paper bag in Namjoon’s hands.

“You two enjoy yourselves,” Jungkook beams brightly.

You scoff. “Is there really such a thing as enjoyment when I have him on my tail?” 

Without bidding them a proper goodbye, you walk away from the stall, leaving the three standing. Like clockwork, Namjoon is beside you again.

“Here,” he says, and suddenly the bag of candy corn is in your hands.

You raise a brow. “What are you giving this to me for? You were the one who wanted it.”

“You were eating a sad, overpriced toffee apple. This should be for you too.”

“Namjoon.” You give him a look, but he pays no mind. 

Without saying anything more, you two walk together in silence. It didn’t intend to be this way, but it feels nice now. You feel good that you were dragged out of a cycle of the bedroom to the classroom to the library for once.

Of course, it’s weird that amidst all this, Namjoon is the one beside you. Usually, when you see him, your mind wanders to the place that curses him for being everything you wish you were. But tonight, you’re laying off those thoughts.

Staring at the crowd around the speakers, you two pause for a bit. You see Chae and Yuna, along with your other coursemates all together.

Still beside you, Namjoon speaks out of the blue. “Why don’t you call me Joon?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t realize I was required to,” you shrug at the random question. “I don’t know you like that.”

“Everyone in our class calls me Joon. Even your group member who I met that one time is calling me Joon,” he argues. “You know me better than all those people. If anything, you should be the only one.”

“What are you on about? I don’t know you at all,” you throw a blank look his way. “And don’t argue that we spend a lot of time together. You follow me around and show up where I am. That’s not spending time together.”

“We’re spending time together right now, aren’t we?” 

“It’s a first. Don’t get used to it.”

He laughs as if your cold remarks are something affectionate. “I don’t think I really could get used to seeing you outside the library, _____. You’re there more than me and I’m always studying too.”  

You scoff cynically. “Are you flexing your rank again on me?”

“_____, if I cared so much about my rank, I wouldn’t be helping you with work all the time,” he laughs, amused.

“I don’t know. Maybe helping me is all part of your plan to keep beating me,” you say. “Isn’t this just a power move? You always showing up to help me.”

He laughs again before his stare stills on you. His eyes are bright and sparkling… or is it just the effect of the stupid fairy lights? You can hardly tell.

Despite yourself, it all makes your stomach drop. You hate it when Namjoon shows up unannounced in your life, but more than that, you hate it when he gives you this kind of look. Like he can’t look anywhere else but at you.

“More than a power move, it’s just a gesture for you.”

The fluttering feeling worsens and you blink. You choose to say nothing, instead staring ahead at the view. “That is the ugliest building I’ve ever seen.”

For a second, he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Eventually, he humors you. “It’s not all that bad.”

“In my professional opinion as a future architect, that is the exact type of building I would want to bulldoze.”

“Well, in my professional opinion as another future architect, I’d say your standards are far too high.”

“I’m allowed to keep my standards high. It’s me,” you smile with a glint in your eye.

He laughs, staring at you softly. “That I can agree with.”

You taunt him playfully. “You’re so predictable. Does it not get tiring hanging off my every word?”

He shakes his head loyally. “Absolutely not. I think everything you say is valuable and worth hanging off.”

“How lame,” you joke although you two share a smile. It’s true, he is a little predictable. But it’s Namjoon’s predictability that at times, catches you off guard. It’s fun, knowing that he’s two steps behind you wherever you are.

A warm feeling stirs in your body and you wonder if it’s the autumn air. Glancing up at Namjoon, the same air ruffles his hair endearingly and you tear yourself away from staring at it.

“I’m only gonna say it once so if there’s any word of mine you wanna hang off, it’s this,” you say before shoving the bag of candy corn back into his hands. “Power move or not, thanks for helping me. I really need it sometimes and I appreciate it.”

The grin on his face widens. “One more time, I didn’t hang off it enough!”

“I told you, only one time.”

“But the music was so loud, I couldn’t hear you well.”

“Too bad.”

“Come on, _____, take pity on me.”

“Shut up and eat your candy corn.”

/

You find yourself quickly back in your routine after the Autumn fair, working on new assignments and projects till your worst nightmare comes to life unexpectedly.

“Please be on time, _____!” Chae repeats to you for the fifth time that morning.

“Chae, I’ll be there. I’ll literally run from the design building to the auditorium, okay?”

She clicks her tongue at you. “Stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up. You should be excited.”

“I am. But… I mean, do we really need this kind of random assembly for our architecture department?” you groan, slipping your laptop into its case. “Can’t they just give us the extra time to work on our homework?”

“But there’ll be companies there!” she retorts, wide-eyed and excited. “Just imagine. This is like those movies, where they come and scout students and then bam, life is sorted.”

You nod, forcing a smile. You remember your privilege, knowing your worry has never once been finding work but living up to the work that was set out for you. But you could never explain that here. How could you cry about the burden that kept you so troubled when it was a burden any one of your friends would happily want?

“Okay. I’ll see you there,” you settle for a wave, walking out to leave. You rush with your bag on your back to your classroom, immersed in your lesson till the hour finishes up.

For the moments after class finishes, your mind is blank. You’re going over your homework in your head, packing your things and your eyes widen. The meeting. You almost forgot.

True to your words, you actually do end up running from the design building to the auditorium. Sprinting from your class to the auditorium proves to be a harder workout than you anticipated and your heart can’t stop racing.

Stepping inside the auditorium, you jump into the first empty seat you see at the entrance.

“Where is she?” you mumble under your breath. Your eyes shift around the room, looking for a familiar head of short black hair. Catching sight of Chae, you wave to her but she doesn’t notice you at all. Instead, she’s busy talking to a group of students all from your year.

Everyone’s sat together, cozy and comfortable in a conversation together. You can even see Namjoon in the row above Chae, chatting energetically. Your heart strangely pangs.

Sometimes, seeing everyone like this, everyone from your major and year together, made you feel more like an outsider than anything. At first, you’d chalked it up to be because of your obsession with studying and academics… but students better than you, students like Namjoon and Mina, all seemed to be doing fine. 

In the end, you realized it isn’t anything to do with that. You feel like an outsider because you are one. You’ve tried your hardest to blend in, but the fact remains that you feel alone in the problems you have. You’ve kept your identity as the daughter of HN Architects a secret, you’ve kept your family pressures a secret… Now you’re alone in the burden of your struggles.

Sometimes, you’ve thought about opening up. But the thought terrifies you even more.

If you felt so alone while keeping the truth of your ambitions a secret… there’d be no telling what kind of way your friends would treat you after finding out.

“We’re lucky enough to have… here’s a representative from Canvas Corp… looking for fresh talent… Yongchan Architecture…” you’re hardly paying attention to the speakers on stage till you finally hear, “and most fortunately, the chairman of HN Architects!”

Your head shoots up so fast that it almost flies off. No fucking way.

Your father is smiling on the stage, wearing a crisp suit and greeting the architecture department heads. Without realizing it, your body cowers back into your seat as you see his eyes scan the auditorium. He must be looking for you - his daughter.

His daughter that not a single soul in this room knew was you.

Your heart goes into panic mode before you try to calm yourself down. Relax, you mutter repeatedly to yourself although it’s less effective than you thought it’d be.

Your eyes dance between your father on stage and your group of friends with Chae sitting seats away from you. Neither of them have noticed you.

Instead, your classmates are all watching your father with starstruck eyes. They’re staring at your father like he’s their idol.

Well, objectively, maybe he could be. After all, you admire your father for the very same reason every architecture student does - your father is a legend. His company has one of the best reputations in the country, which feeds your pride, and he’s nothing short of a hard-working, inspiring man.

Namjoon, in particular, is staring at your father like he can’t believe his eyes. It’s a look you’ve never seen from him before. Like he’s both nervous and thinks he’s in a dream. It’s almost endearing.

“To celebrate having the chairman of HN Architects with us today, we’ll have him say a few words!” Mr. Lim, the head of the architecture department, announces enthusiastically into the mic. He turns to your father, “do you mind?”

“Not at all!” your father grins, taking the mic before starting. “It’s my pleasure to be here today! In fact, seeing all of you reminds me of my own days as an architecture student…”

He trails off into a long speech, excitedly. You’ve been witness to every single one of your father’s inspirational speeches since the day you were born so you fight back a yawn. On the contrary, your classmates look like they’re hanging onto every single word.

As your father paces across the stage, he inches towards your side. You blink in panic, bending down but before you know it, it’s too late. His eyes sparkle with joy.

You almost worry he’s gonna wave at you mid-speech. But he doesn’t, simply shooting an overly friendly smile your way. You sneak a glance at your classmates and they’re all giving you a strange look - one that most definitely reads what the heck is he smiling at you for?

Meeting Chae’s eyes in particular, you give an awkward smile and shrug. Soon enough, your father turns to the side and you finally think you can breathe.

“That’s why I’d like to encourage you all to live up to your potential! The world is changing around you as you know it and as future architects, you can be a part of that,” your father enthusiastically continues. His eyes are on you again. “And this is what I tell my beautiful daughter everyday! She loves skylines, my dear _____, and she’s going to be a wonderful architect too!”

My life is officially over.

A little dramatic but that exact thought crosses your mind as you duck into your seat. You think you hear the collective gasp around the auditorium or maybe your ears are playing tricks on you.

No, it’s probably as bad you think it is. Your father’s called you out by name and exposed your identity that you worked so hard to conceal. Your life is quite literally over.

Oblivious to your misery, your father grins happily on stage. He returns the mic to Mr. Lim before stepping to the side. The rest of the assembly goes by without you realizing. You’re still numb to the fact of what just happened.

You risk a glance at your classmates, and in cliche movie fashion, they’re all staring at you with mouths gaping wide open. Every single one of them.

Your neck heats up and you quickly turn around. But curiosity gets the best of you a few minutes later, and you risk looking again.

They’re still staring at you in shock. Like they can’t believe their eyes.

Chae especially is looking at you with hurt flashing across her face. It squeezes at your heart and you feel overcome with guilt for lying to your friend for a year. You don’t dare to imagine what she’s thinking now.

Without realizing, your eyes travel over to Namjoon. Much to your surprise, he’s not looking at you. He’s the only one with his eyes looking ahead blankly, deep in thought.

You frown, evading everyone’s stares to focus on him. An unrecognizable emotion is written all over his face… is it realization? Regret? Embarrassment?

You can hardly tell. But for the first time, an uncomfortable feeling plunges in your stomach at the fact that Namjoon’s not looking at you.

/

“Dad!” you cry. “How could you do that?”

Your father smiles happily at the sight of you, the two of you standing outside the auditorium in a secluded, private spot. The torture, that was the assembly, has finally come to an end.

“What do you mean?” he answers in confusion. “Do you mean showing up here? Because I was invited by that Mr. Lim fellow, he-”

“Not that!” you whine, groaning into your palms. “I’m talking about saying I’m your daughter in front of the whole architecture department!”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, that? What did I do wrong?”

Your jaw drops. “Dad, are you being serious?”

He nods, clear puzzlement on his face.

“Don’t you remember? I specifically asked for you and Mom to make sure that it never gets out!” you say. “Now, you’ve told everyone I go to college with that I’m the daughter of the man behind HN Architects!”

He blinks for a few seconds. “Is that so wrong?” he almost pouts like a child. “I didn’t know it was such a problem.”

“Of course, it is! Why do you think I asked you not to tell anyone?”

“...I thought you were being modest.”

“Modest?!” you exclaim, before sighing. There’s no use berating your father. It’s no one’s fault but your own for not preparing better for this situation.

“Did you really not want anyone to find out?”

You nod weakly.

“Why not?”

“I… I can’t explain it. They’ll freak out,” you look down. You can’t imagine how much worse your stress is gonna get from now on - it isn’t enough that your own title of the daughter of HN Architects is choking you to death… now you’ll have to deal with every single one of your classmates doing the same thing.

Things will never be the same again. For every grade you get, it’ll be discussed as the grade of the HN Architects’ daughter. For every drawing or idea you’ll submit, it’ll be scrutinized as the work of a girl from privilege. The pressure would multiply infinitely. 

“Oh dear, don’t be silly,” your father suddenly says, resting his hand on your head. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t realize it was so serious to you. But even if they know, it’s not an issue. You’re an excellent student and it’s only right they pay you the respect as the future CEO of HN Architects.”

You shoot your father a smile but your stomach drops. “I guess so, thanks,” you mumble, unable to explain to him that it’s exactly what he said that terrifies you. 

For the rest of the day, you hide out off-campus in hopes to avoid facing reality.

/

“_____, I think you need to pay for the emotional shock you gave us,” Hobi laughs at the lunch table as soon as you arrive.

Hesitantly, you sit beside Chae who doesn’t share a word with you. Since yesterday, you haven’t even made eye contact with her, despite being her roommate. 

“I think I almost spat out my water when I heard my daughter,” Mina jokes and the table echoes in laughter. You smile awkwardly.

“Yeah… it’s not really a big deal,” you shrug.

“Not a big deal?! Hello! We’re talking to the next HN Architects CEO right now!” another student pipes up.

“_____, forgive me for all I did wrong last semester,” Yuri playfully adds.

“I think we need to be cleaning the floor for her to walk on!”

These statements all fly around the table, exchanged with laughs and smiles. Part of you cowers in the attention, uncomfortable by such blatant recognition of your upbringing.

Another part of you wonders… will things be okay?

You take a careful look around the table of your classmates. Not a single one seems to wear a glare, all sharing in jokes and smiles. For the strangest reason… you feel at ease.

Chae suddenly stands up, with her tray. “I’m done eating. I’ll see you guys later.”

Instantly, you mimic her and chase behind her retreating figure. “Wait Chae-”

“I have class right now-”

Like a child, you jump in front of her to block her path. “Okay, please just hear me out,” you say, pouting. “I’m sorry.”

She sighs. “What are you sorry for? It’s not a big deal.”

“You must feel… annoyed, right?”

Chae blinks at you. “I’ll admit, I was irritated at first. You come from such privilege and I’ve unloaded so much crap on you sometimes about being scared about post-college life while you never had that… but, I’m not really mad about that. You can’t help who you are, right?”

You nod. “You’re still mad at me though, aren’t you? For hiding it?”

She takes a second before replying, “I just… you’re so unreachable sometimes, _____. After I found out, I kind of realized why you’re so stressed all the time and what you meant whenever you alluded to things about your pressures and all… I’m just annoyed you never shared that part of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

For the first time since yesterday, Chae cracks a smile. “Don’t be sorry. I just want you to be more open with me. You don’t need to feel like you need to hide your background… I would’ve tried to understand either way.”

Her words soothe you more than you can explain. Since entering your major, you haven’t once relied on the people around you for support that wasn’t academic. Now, you’re realizing your fatal flaw.

“I’ll try to be better,” you say with a nod. “Thank you for not being mad at me.”

She laughs. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry about me,” she says with a glance elsewhere. “You should check up on him. He’s been spooked since yesterday.”

You turn on your heel to see Namjoon, walking around with the same strange expression on his face from the assembly. For a brief second, your eyes meet but the second flashes, and he quickly looks away.

“Did you see that?!” you scoff. “He just ignored me!”

Chae smiles. “Wow, there really is a first for everything.”

“What’s with him?” you say, watching his awkward walk in your opposite direction. He keeps glancing in your direction, but once he sees you staring at him, he swiftly looks away. It’s a completely new side to him. 

“I don’t know,” Chae shrugs. “He’s being weird. I thought he’d be running after you like always, but he’s resorted to this.”

You scoff again, unfamiliar with this Namjoon who runs away from you, rather than to you. You wonder what’s running through his mind, before pushing the thought away. He’s bound to come after you again after a few days.

/

The confidence with which you assumed Namjoon would be all over you again is faltering.

It’s been a full week since the assembly, and while life has seemingly gone back to normal for you (as normal as things can be)... Namjoon certainly has not.

In classes, he picks the furthest seat away on purpose. You even started to tease him by trying to sit in his front row with him, but instead, you found him in the back row - where he can’t even see. 

His lunches seem to be perfectly timed to not clash with yours. All of a sudden, he’s no longer in the library either. All the places you’d easily find Namjoon hovering over you, he’s disappeared from.

“Does he think this is effective?!” you rant to Chae in your dorm room. “That by suddenly ignoring me, I’ll become obsessed with him?!”

Chae smiles at you knowingly. “I don’t know… if that was his plan to begin with, I’d say it’s pretty effective-”

“Shut up, Chae! I’m just saying this is all so stupid!” you scoff. “Once or twice is fine but he’s actively avoiding me! He saw me in the library yesterday and acted like he forgot a book to leave! We were in the library for god’s sake! What book did he forget that he couldn’t find there?!”

Chae giggles like the situation is laugh-worthy. “Maybe he’s just busy.”

“He made time during final exams last year to bother me. How much busier could he be than he was then?”

“Or maybe he doesn’t want to distract you.”

“It’s not that for sure. Whenever I’d tell him that he’s distracting me before, he wouldn’t care,” you mumble under your breath annoyedly. Chae continues to grin at your behavior, as if your reaction were amusing.

You don’t say it to her but you know very well why you’re annoyed beyond relief. It’s because you know it’s to do with finding out about HN Architects.

You groan. You expected your classmates to be weird around you, maybe even your professors… but Namjoon was the last person you thought would suddenly make a 180 after learning about your family.

That’s why it’s aggravating. Because it’s the one thing you didn’t think he’d care about.

A part of you fears he’s realized just how pathetic you are. After all, Namjoon probably knows how much more promising he is compared to you and now… he had to sit with the fact that you were the daughter of HN Architects.

“Why don’t you just approach him yourself?”

You’re momentarily stunned by Chae’s suggestion. You shoot her a dirty glare.

“What?!”

“I’m not gonna chase after Namjoon! He should approach me himself!”

Chae looks at you like you’re crazy. “You’re the one who wants him to talk to you!”

“Exactly! He should come to me like he always does.”

A laugh escapes Chae’s lips. “Oh, _____… you don’t even realize it, do you?”

You cock a brow before shaking your head. “I don’t have time for your indirect dialogue. I’m just saying that if Namjoon doesn’t come to me and talk this out soon, I’m gonna have to do something very crazy.”

Chae’s eyes flicker with amusement. “Oh? And what’s that?”

You grimace, as if even saying it brings you humiliation. “I’m gonna go talk to him first.”

Chae bursts out laughing, despite your solemn expression. You brush her off, spending the rest of the night on your design homework but secretly planning on wringing Namjoon’s throat if he doesn’t go back to normal soon.

/

By now, you’re sure Namjoon can feel the daggers you’re shooting into his back.

He’s even risked turning back a few times, to see who’s glaring at him. But as soon as your eyes meet, his head spins around as if it were all in your head. He focuses on the professor teaching ahead of him, taking notes diligently.

Beside you, Chae says with a nudge, “so are you gonna do that very crazy thing you were planning?”

You ignore her for the sake of gritting your teeth. Usually, you have no trouble focusing in classes. It’s all because of this wretched situation that you’re so off-game.

As soon as the professor wraps up his powerpoint, you’re faster than anyone else in the class at packing up your things and zooming out the door. You don’t even bid Chae goodbye.

You tap your foot impatiently, staring directly at your target. 

Namjoon… try and ignore me now.

Hooking his bag over his shoulder, Namjoon comes to the door of the classroom before stopping his tracks. Aha, you smile pleased.

“Ah, I just forgot… to talk about my assignment with Mr. Choi,” he mutters out loud to no one in particular. The acting is so terrible that you don’t even have to think about it to know he’s intending it for you to hear.

You march up to him. “No, you don’t,” you scoff and when he looks up at the ceiling, you jump like an infant calling for attention. “Namjoon, if you value your life, you’re gonna drop this act right now,” you say in a menacing voice. 

Immediately, he gulps and looks down at you. His height towers over yours but you smile, knowing you’ve gained the upper hand here. He’s looking at you just as he did before - completely enamoured.

You say nothing but give a deadly gesture to follow you. He obeys without complaint.

When you two are finally in a spot you deem private enough, you raise your chin and look at him happily. Under your gaze, he looks down uncomfortably.

“So you want me to say it or will you explain what the hell is going on?”

He blinks. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, _____.”

Your blood boils. Now, he wants to feign ignorance. “You’re joking,” you deadpan.

He looks at you innocently and shakes his head. You sigh, blinking in confusion.

This whole situation is a first. True to your words, you’ve never actually… had to do anything more than bat an eye to know Namjoon would come to you. You don’t know the words to even ask what’s wrong.

“_____,” he says in a low voice. You glance up at him, completely losing your train of thought. The sight of him has never registered you disorientated before. But now, you can’t help but trace your eyes over his dimples and sparkling eyes.

You scoff at yourself. You must’ve lost your mind temporarily. “You know what I’m talking about!”

He shakes his head so you continue, “you used to always come to the library at my timings and sit on my lunch table.”

“Oh,” he nods. “That’s because I wanted to sleep in more so I changed my schedule around a bit.”

You blink at his explanation. “You sat at the back of the class when I came to the front row-”

“I just wanted to see what it’s like to sit there. Turns out, it sucks,” he pauses when you don’t reply. “_____?”

You frown, part confused and part innocently. “I just mean… why aren’t you following me anymore?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can help it and your eyes widen in humiliation. That isn’t the way you wanted to ask the question.

Namjoon, instead, is amused. He smirks ever so slightly, before cocking his brow and asking, “Are you asking me why I don’t chase you around anymore?”

His newfound confidence almost makes you lose your footing. This is Namjoon - the nerdy guy who’d come to you. He can’t have this effect on you.

You scoff, faking an assured smile. “Are you denying that you chased me around?”

He blinks. “I mean-”

“Surely, you accept the fact that you did chase me around for a whole year,” you say with a smile playing on your lips. Of course, between the two of you, you both know very well of Namjoon’s infatuation with you. He’s danced around those feelings for both of your comedy’s sake… but this time, you won’t let that slide.

He looks at you, tongue poking in his cheek. “Fine. I do chase you around.”

You almost smile with victory but you stop yourself. Before you can speak, he continues.

“But I won’t anymore. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me,” he says sincerely, seemingly ready on his toes to walk away. Your fingers wrap around his wrist without realizing.

“Wait!” you frown displeased. He’s glancing down at where your touch meets his hand and you instantly let go. “This makes no sense.”

He blinks, confused. “What do you… isn’t this what you’ve wanted?”

“You can’t just change your mind like that!” you argue, a strange desperation cutting into your voice. “You can’t make people get used to you and do that!”

Much to your surprise, he wears a small smile. “I didn’t think it’d bother you so much.”

“I can’t stand you,” you groan. “You chase me around, then you find out one tiny fact about my family and now, you think you’re so much better than me to come after me!” you yell, your heart hammering against your chest. You sound like a child, you know as much but… suddenly around him, all logic’s been thrown out your brain.

“_____,” he says in a breath, a glint in his eye that reads surprise and amusement. His dimples are poking out and you wonder what it’d be like to affectionately poke into one. “Do you… did you like when I would come to you?”

There’s no self-preserving answer to this, one that can save both your dignity and pride. You know what you should say to his question, but nerves are prickling under your skin.

It isn’t the nerves you feel before submitting a drawing or entering an exam, but a whole new uncharted territory of nerves. Everything about this conversation is uncharted territory.

“_____, do you…” he starts a question, before nervously brushing the nape of his neck. He looks shy to even ask but after a moment, he looks at you like a child with candy and says, “do you like me?”

Your heart’s in your stomach. Immediately, you laugh, “no! No! Why would I?! Are you crazy?! Why would I ever like-”

“I don’t know,” he blinks innocently, but the stare he holds on you seems suddenly intimate. “That’s what I’m thinking. Why would you ever care about why I stopped chasing after you, if you don’t like me?”

His cocky grin annoys you. You shoot him a deathly look. “Don’t get too confident with me, Joon,” you say although you’re fumbling with words. “I still remember when you couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

He takes a step closer, holding your stare with no qualms. Your heart speeds up again, like you’ve been running.

“_____,” he says softly with a victorious smile. “You like me, don’t you?”

“I’m not answering your stupid question. First, you explain to me why the hell you think you can treat me the way you have the last week-”

“Because I thought you didn’t like me back,” he answers smoothly. “You’re the daughter of HN Architects and I’ve been wasting your time all year long. I’ve always felt intimidated by you… but now, I realized I really wasn’t worth your time.”

You blink with a frown. “Namjoon-”

“I feel really embarrassed, _____… If I ever wanted to work at HN Architects, I wouldn’t even be able to show my face knowing the way I’ve bothered you-”

“You’ve never bothered me.”

“Huh?”

Your cheeks flush and you suddenly become very aware of the words that escaped your lips. You cast a hesitant glance at Namjoon and you can’t help it. Suddenly, everything feels a lot clearer.

“You know, you’re the kind of architect my father dreams about,” you find yourself saying. “You’re the kind of student someone like me should be. It all comes natural to you. I love buildings but everything I do, it’s just part of who you are… that’s why I acted like you bothered me.”

He’s at a loss for words before muttering, “_____…”

“All I ever think about is trying to fit the ideal I know I have to be and it all comes easy for you. You feel embarrassed in front of me…” you laugh with a scoff. “How do you think I feel, needing your help?”

“I never wanted to compete with you,” he says. “I just wanted to be by your side. I really wasn’t helping you for anything apart from looking for an excuse to be near you.”

There it is… the fluttering feeling.

The truth is, you’ve known all this time too. You’ve known that there was never any ulterior motive, just your cynical mind trying to conjure excuses.

You almost hate yourself at this moment. Your insecurity over your work has warped your thoughts so much that you convinced yourself that… that you feel nothing but annoyance for Namjoon.

“_____,” he starts. His hand hesitantly reaches up, stopping multiple times on its way before finally brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“I think it goes without saying but in my eyes, you’re the smartest person in our major and every time I’m with you, I don’t even care if you reject me or look for an excuse to go away,” he says. “You don’t even realize the way I see you.”

Your eyes sting and you’re not sure if it’s because his words move you or you’ve just forgotten to blink for a long while. “You’re so corny.”

He laughs. “Well, someone needs to tell you you’re doing a good job because I can tell you’re not telling yourself,” he says before sheepishly adding, “and I thought we were exchanging what we like about each other.”

“Who said I like you?”

He grins, ruffling your hair despite the scowl you give him. You say nothing but then give a smile. You didn’t expect today to feel so good… but somehow, that insecurity that plagues your mind at all hours of the day disappears for a while. 

All you can think about is wanting this feeling to last with him. Without warning, you reach to grab Namjoon’s wrist to walk out into the open garden of the campus. In front of your sight, there’s a skyline of buildings decorating the city.

“Do you still stand by your statement that that building is the ugliest?”

You grin. “It’s literally hideous, Joon. I can’t believe you’re the top of our class but think those colors look nice together.”

He gives a warm laugh, unable to disguise his happiness at the way you call him endearingly. Your eyes go back and forth between the skyline and Namjoon beside you before deciding that while buildings are your first true love… there’s something even more beautiful about the boy next to you.

hehe so excited to write on this blog if u read till the end jus know u have all my love

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 28

AO3

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised@alastair-appreciation-month

Previous Chapter: Chapter 27

Next Chapter: Chapter 29

Ultimately, Thomas had to admit there was no way he was getting back to his bedroom without help, and his father drove him even though it was usually close enough to walk. Alastair and Lucie were still there, in conversation with Barbara, but Thomas barely had the strenght to stand up, much less join the conversation, so he only kissed Alastair quickly and went to bed. He would have a conversation with his parents about their protectiveness tomorrow, he told himself.

He slept restlessly that night. He dreamt of the land in between, of the dark ruins and the castle they would become. At some point the dream became increasingly weirder as he ended up running from an army of evil socks. It took a few moments when he woke up to realize that it was a dream, there were no socks attacking him. How did an army of socks even make sense?

He was drenched in sweat and felt disgusting. Part of him wanted to get out of bed to shower and clean up, but that also sounded like a lot of effort and Thomas didn’t feel like he had the strenght to do much more than move from his bed to the couch. Part of him considered just staying in bed, but bed was too wet and gross. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to sweat this much, he never sweat much when he worked out.

He managed to find a towel to dry off with and a clean pajama to change into, and went to the living room carrying two plush owls. After boiling some water and making tea, Thomas collapsed onto the couch. That appeared to be enough exercise for today.

It wasn’t much later when his parents came into the living room, and Thomas braced him for the inevitable worry.

‘How are you feeling, Tommy?’ his mother asked.

He could lie and say he was feeling better, but he also didn’t think he’d be able to get off the couch. They’d see through him anyway.

‘Like a wet towel,’ Thomas said.

Sophie picked up the thermometer and said down next to him.

‘I can take my own temperature,’ Thomas said, a bit more harsh than he’d intended.

His mother looked hurt, although she tried to conceal it. Thomas was adept at looking behind the masks people put on, or perhaps he just was more sensitive to the parts of someone’s body language other people didn’t think about. This would have been a lot easier if he didn’t notice how he made his mother feel.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that… I don’t like being taken care of. I don’t like being treated as if I’m helpless.’

‘But you are sick,’ his mother said, a bit unsure. ‘You don’t have to do everything by yourself.’

‘I know,’ Thomas said. ‘But I’ve been sick so often and it just hurts so much. I feel like I’m that sick child again.’

‘I never realized you felt that way,’ his mother said, thermometer in her hand, not sure what to do with it. ‘Of course you can take your own temperature. But you can’t do anything on your own, Tom, especially not now.’

‘I know,’ Thomas said. ‘I hate that, I always have. I know you all had to make changes for me, but I never wanted that. And I know that’s not your fault or mine or anyone’s, but I hated being a burden.’

His mother cupped his cheek with her hand. ‘You could never be a burden, Tommy. But why didn’t you tell us you felt that way? I know we can be protective, and there were certainly times where we had to call back your sisters, but we never realized it bothered you.’

‘I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, or anyone else’s,’ Thomas said.

Perhaps the main reason he and Matthew weren’t as close as they used to be was that Matthew was naturally inclined to take care of other people. And sure, that was sweet, and not a bad characteristic at all, but it did clash with Thomas’ need for independence.

His mother took his hand. ‘You know you can tell us everything, right? I never meant to hurt you, I just want to protect you.’

‘I don’t need to be protected,’ Thomas said. ‘I know I’m sick right now, but it’s always like this. And I understand, I know you’re worried, and I know how exhausting and terrifying it was to take me to all those different doctors when none of them could tell you what was wrong with me. But that passed, and I grew up. I’m not a sick child anymore.’

Thomas put the thermometer in his ear, and took it out when it beeped to read it. ‘39,5,’ he said. ‘That’s worse than yesterday.’

‘Maybe we should take you to see a doctor,’ Sophie suggested.

‘They’ll just tell you I have the flu and need rest,’ Thomas said. ‘Or if this is something supernatural, there won’t be much a doctor can do. If anything, Jem can take a look and see if I need to go to the hospital, right?’

‘Of course,’ his mother said. ‘I’m just scared. I hope you understand that.’

‘I do,’ Thomas said. ‘I know, I’m scared too. But I think I’d prefer if you just left me. I know I can’t do everything myself, I could barely get from my bed to the couch. But if I need anything, I’ll ask.’

‘Alright. You ask what you need for. But don’t be afraid to ask, I know you prefer to solve everything by yourself and sometimes you can’t. Do you want anything for breakfast?’

‘I have no appetite whatsoever,’ Thomas said.

‘I can make you some soup if you want,’ his mother suggested. ‘It is important that you eat and drink as much as you can.’

‘Maybe later,’ Thomas said as he attempted to drink his tea.

He was a bit dehydrated, he guessed, which was no surprise. He was so cold and shivering, maybe tea would help him get a little warm again.

‘Do you have another blanket?’ Thomas asked when he’d found a comfortable position on the couch.

He was still cold, his teeth clattering, and he wasn’t exactly comfortable. He found the box of paracetamol on the table where he’d left it and swallowed two, hoping that would lower the fever a bit, but so far no success.

His mother returned with another blanket and a wet towel. Thomas gratefully put the blanket over his feet. It was one of the disadvantages to being so tall, he always needed longer blankets, a longer bed, everything. It was all very inconvenient. He put the wet towel in his neck, and wiped off his forehead a little.

‘You’re not feeling any better, are you Tom?’ his father asked.

‘Not really,’ Thomas said.

‘Lucie just called. She and Cordelia want to go after Tatiana. Will and Tessa are going with them, at least they need someone to drive them. Would you be alright if I went with them? It is probably silly of me, but Tatiana is still my sister and I think there’s a part of me that hopes she is not lost.’

‘I understand,’ Thomas said. ‘If Babs or Genie did something like this I would try everything to get them back. Although I really can’t picture either of them doing this.’

‘Me neither. But I guess I felt the same about Tatiana. She was always very well behaved as a child, she could be sweet even. Eager to please father. I know Gabriel has completely given up on her, but I can’t. I will only go if that’s alright with you though. If you need me here, I’ll stay.’

‘Mom will still be here, won’t she?’

‘Yes, and Alastair and Jem are staying too. They think it’s best at least one person who knows how to wield a weapon stays here with you, and I don’t think Alastair wanted to leave your side either.’

‘I hope he doesn’t worry too much,’ Thomas said quietly.

‘We all worry,’ Gideon responded. ‘He’s a sweet guy, it’s obvious you two like each other very much. And he and Jem are on their way here. We’ll keep in touch.’

His father hugged him, and Thomas noticed there were tears in his eyes. If they failed, then this might be the last time he saw his father, Thomas realized. If they failed, he would die, probably within days. It still confused him, how Jesse had been sick but had died of getting lost, but Thomas was about to die of this sickness. Or did the thief have any more surprises?

‘I love you, Tom. Please don’t die.’

***

Lucie woke up early in the morning to start working with the locket. Barbara remembered everything now. It had taken some work from both her and Alastair and even now Lucie was still tired from using so much power. She could command someone to live, but only for a couple of hours at most. It wasn’t the same as resurrecting someone, she couldn’t bring someone back from the dead, but she could make them experience what it was to live again. It was not the same as simply making someone visible, it was much more than visibility. It was also exhausting and she could only do it so often.

Lucie herself hadn’t seen the memories, she couldn’t keep Barbara in a state of living and follow Alastair into the memory at the same time. Alastair was the only one who had seen the but he’d shared everything that was important. They had a better grasp of who the thief was now. Her mother was still working on her memory, and Lucie wasn’t sure why Barbara’s entire memory had come back when her mother still only remembered bits and pieces.

Barbara had been a servant of sorts in the palace. He mainly chose women he considered attractive for those positions, it seemed, and she’d overheard some conversations he’d had with more powerful souls while sweeping the floor. Everything combined, they’d concluded some souls could work their way up in his realm, and they’d concluded the thief had been mortal once and therefore could be killed. They’d gotten an idea of his power, and Lucie began to suspect it was much like her own magic, even if he was still far more powerful. It made sense that she was his granddaughter. He had the power of shapeshifting too, something Lucie didn’t think she could do, but something her mother used to do. Before she lost her magic. Lucie wondered if there was any way she could get it back.

If anyone could stop him, it was them. Cordelia’s sword, Lucie’s magic, those were weapons he couldn’t have that much experience with, right? Tessa might have only been able to seal him, but Lucie suspected her power was different from her mother’s even if it was similar. And Tessa had been on her own.

Alastair hadn’t found any information of other people trying to fight or stop him. He had figured out the thief was immortal, but not invulnerable, and although they weren’t absolutely sure, they suspected cortana would hurt him.

‘The trickiest part would be to find him,’ Alastair had said. ‘But I’ve seen quite a bit of the realm now, maybe I could.’

But Thomas had gotten even sicker, and therefore Tatiana would need to be found first. That was the plan. Find Tatiana, stop or at least slow down her plan so Thomas wouldn’t die, and then enter the realm of the thief to kill him. The only missing piece of information was where to find him, but Lucie’s best guess would be the ruins, except as a full castle in his own realm.

Lucie turned the locket around in her hand. It was pretty, she guessed. She knew it was supposed to open, but she couldn’t figure out her way around the lock. Somehow it seemed sealed shut.

She would need to get it to work before they could find Tatiana. Jesse had written something about how only she could make it work. Had he made this thing himself, or had Tatiana? But then why would she be able to use it? Lucie concluded it had to have something to do with her power.

‘Any progress?’ Cordelia asked as she came downstairs, dressed for battle?

Her hair was a bit messy still, braided, but not well and strands were falling out of her braid. She was wearing a loose brown tunic that was tucked at the waist over black leggings, clothes she could move in even if they did not offer much protection. Not that other clothes would, they didn’t exactly have armor lying around.

‘Not yet,’ Lucie said. ‘What did you do to your hair?’

‘I prefer to have it out of my face, but this looks like nothing. I hate to admit it but I cannot braid my own hair,’ Cordelia said.

‘Doing your own hair is harder than someone else’s,’ Lucie said. ‘Come here, I’ll fix it.’

Lucie undid Cordelia’s braid, and then went to find several hairbrushes, hairpins and elastic bands. Instead, she braided Cordelia’s hair into a crown shape, using pins to keep everything in place, finishing with some hair spray.

‘You won’t worry about your hair getting in your face now,’ Lucie said.

‘Good. It looks nice, I like it. Have you figured out how to summon Jesse?’

‘I think I’m supposed to open the locket,’ Lucie said. ‘But I can’t. You’re stronger than me, can you try?’

Cordelia carefully pulled at the locket, but it wouldn’t budge. ‘Didn’t Jesse’s note say you had to open it?’

‘Yes, but I’m not sure how. I’ve tried asking it to open, but that didn’t work. I’m considering traveling to the land in between and trying it there but that would mean I’d bring Jesse back there.’

Cordelia gazed at the ceiling, something she and her brother often did when they were thinking. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t ask the locket. Maybe you should ask a ghost.’

‘A ghost?’

‘If only a ghost can use it, then you’re the only living person who can use it. At least around here.’

‘Perhaps. It’s worth a try. But if that’s how it works, Jesse really should have been less vague.’

‘He could have been scared Tatiana would find it. Assuming she doesn’t know how it works or how to use it. Or that Jesse changed something so that only a ghost could open it.’

Lucie wasn’t sure what to think of any of these explanations, all she knew was she was getting tired of all these vague explanations where she had to figure everything out on her own.

She found Jessamine in the bathroom upstairs, looking at herself in the mirror and doing something with her hair. What it was, Lucie couldn’t tell, it looked the same as always.

‘Jess, can you help me with something?’ Lucie asked.

‘What do you need?’ Jessamine asked.

‘Please open this locket for me,’ Lucie said, handing Jessamine the locket.

Jessamine pulled at the edges and without too much effort the locket opened. Jesse appeared by her side.

‘So you did find the locket,’ Jesse said. ‘I’m not sure how much time we have. My mother moved. A part of the ritual needed to be done in Thomas’ proximity, but she’s past that now. She’s currently in a hotel in Inverness, and I can give you an address and room number. That’s where she has set up everything to complete the ritual. If you do nothing, the exchange will be complete at midnight.’

Jesse wrote down the address on a piece of paper and Lucie wondered if he could only do that because he was near her, or if that was how much stronger he’d become.

Lucie frowned. ‘Why do you not wish to save yourself?’

‘I never wanted anyone to die for me,’ Jesse said. ‘So many died. That boy in the lake. The thief asked my mother for a gifted child and she decided to try if she could drown a boy who was a competitive swimmer. I don’t know how many before that. I don’t want to bear that guilt. I just want to move on and forget about this life. I’ve always liked the idea of reincarnation. So many lives cut short, it’s nice to think I might have another chance. I would choose that over continuing the life I lost.’

Lucie understood. She would never wish for someone else to die so she could live. She just wished there was a way to save both Jesse and Thomas, but even with her power she couldn’t bring people back from the dead.

‘How do we stop her?’ Lucie asked.

‘Tatiana has to be the one to cast the spell. That’s why she hid from you, so she could speak the incantations to bring me back and kill Thomas from a safe place. She said he’s fallen ill due to her progression, is that true?’

Lucie nodded. ‘He has a fever and seems to be getting worse.’

‘When my mother finishes the incantation at midnight, Thomas will die. The spell requires that it is done just before midnight in this world, so if you stop her but she escapes, you’ll buy yourself at least a day. But in the end, you’ll want to stop her for good.’

‘Can we do that without killing her?’ Lucie asked.

‘Only if you destroy the thief,’ Jesse said. ‘But if you keep her a prisoner until you do that you’ll have the time you need. If you can, please don’t hurt her. I know what she did is awful, but she’s still my mother.’

Lucie nodded, she suspected Gideon wouldn’t want them to hurt his sister either if there was a way to stop it. Abducting her seemed like a decent solution, if they could make sure she was unable to finish the incantation then at the very least Thomas would not die.

‘So if we stop her, then things will remain as they are?’ Lucie asked.

‘I think so, yes,’ Jesse said. ‘I’ve grown so much stronger the past day, but I am not yet alive. I think Thomas will not die, but he won’t get better either until you find a more permanent solution. And Lucie, I am yours to command if you need me.’

Jesse began to flicker. ‘I need to return. My mother will find me missing. You’ll have to hurry, it is a long drive to Inverness.’

Jesse disappeared. A drive, which meant they’d need at least one person with a license to come with them. Lucie and Cordelia were both too young to drive. Lucie returned to the living room, where her parents, uncle Jem, and Alastair and Cordelia were discussing strategies.

‘I found out where Tatiana is,’ Lucie said. ‘Jesse gave me an address. It’s a drive of several hours and we’ll need to be there by midnight as that’s when Thomas will die if we don’t stop Tatiana. However, if we stop her from speaking the incantation, then the whole thing will be postponed until she does say them before midnight.’

‘So if we abduct her, that will buy us time,’ Alastair concluded. ‘But it will not end the whole thing?’

‘No, Jesse didn’t think so,’ Lucie said. ‘Either way, we have no time to lose and need at least one person to drive. Who is coming?’

‘We’ll need at least one person who can fight to stay behind,’ Alastair said. ‘In case it is a trick, in case something will come for Thomas and it’s not the sickness that will kill him.’

Lucie suspected Alastair did not want to leave Thomas. They hadn’t been together long, but they’d fallen into couple mode quite easily, with Alastair staying by Thomas’ side as much as he could.

‘You’re not coming with us, then?’ Cordelia asked.

Alastair refused to look her in the eye. Lucie had noticed it was something he struggled with, especially when things got too stressful.

‘I think it is best if I stay with Thomas,’ Alastair said.

Cordelia frowned, tried to find her brother’s gaze. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘I trust you know what’s best.’

‘I’ll stay too,’ Jem said. ‘It’s been too long since I’ve fought anything, but I hope I can help take care of Thomas.’

‘I’ll drive,’ Will offered. ‘I’m sure Gideon will want to come, although I don’t think he’ll be able to reason with his sister anymore.’

‘I’m not letting you go alone,’ Tessa said.

‘You’re not letting me?’ Will asked.

‘I know how reckless you get. You haven’t changed that much since we met,’ Tessa said. ‘And Lucie is not much different. I’ll need to come to keep you all in check. Besides, I stopped the thief once. I’m starting to remember how I did it, even if it wasn’t enough in the end.’

Lucie worried about her parents coming, they did not have any special powers and were out of practice with their weapons, but she had to agree her mother was a bit more level headed.

‘You can borrow a dagger if you want,’ Alastair told Will. ‘Lucie has one already, and Cordelia has cortana, but I think it is wise to bring something so you can defend yourself. Just be quick about it, Inverness is a long drive and you only have until midnight.’

[jaskierswolf]

Fuck Indeed - Pt. 3/4

OnlyFans - Geraskier AU

Previous - AO3

CW (for whole story- Although this chapter is smutless!): 18+ only, anal sex, masturbation, exhibition kink, sex work, rimming, sex toys, talks of blow jobs, Geralt bottoms but it’s mentioned they switch, biting (but no blood), Jaskier wearing lingerie and makeup.

It was three months into Jaskier’s new job online and it was going well! He’d gained more subscribers than he’d ever thought was possible, and quickly too. He was proud of himself, if one was allowed to be proud about wanking in front of a camera, although he couldn’t help the niggle of doubt in the back of his mind. That annoying little voice that told him he wasn’t allowed to have that many subscribers and that he was a fraud. One day he’d wake up and they’d all be gone, but every morning he woke up and there were just…. more?

It was utter nonsense, but he was having the best time!

The White Wolf was still a favourite of his, and his videos were just getting better and better, which just wasn’t fair. Jaskier’s heart just couldn’t take it, and his dick wasn’t doing much better. Wolf was often the, umm, inspiration for Jaskier’s videos, which was blurring some lines that really shouldn’t be blurred.

Jaskier thought back to Wolf’s bottoming video. At one point it had sounded like he almost said “Dandelion” before the word was muffled by his hand. Jaskier must have watched that video a hundred times, before he’d told himself he was being silly. Yes, Wolf was also subscribed to his channel but they’d never spoken. Jaskier had thought about DMing him a couple of times, perhaps if they were local then they could film a video together.

It was nothing but a pipe dream, and it would never happen.

And anyway, tonight wasn’t about that. He had a gig! Like an actual, using a guitar not a dildo, gig. It wasn’t much, he wouldn’t even be getting paid. Ok so it was less of a gig, and more of an open mic night… but he was excited! It would be good to play again, to have an audience he could actually see.

He stepped into the bar, stinking of sweat and booze as they so often did, and he grinned. He loved bars, they were grimy in the best way! The atmosphere was just brilliant. You couldn’t get it anywhere else, and these were real people with real stories to tell. It was what kept him coming back. Honestly, the songs he’d written just from listening to people in these godforsaken places. It was a gold mine.

Last week, for example, he’d met a rather terrifying, gorgeous woman. She’d had violet eyes and smelled like lilac and gooseberries, with long raven black hair that fell down her back. She looked like something out of a fantasy game, Skyrim or the likes, so naturally Jaskier had strolled right up to her to get the details. She’d been utterly fascinating, a biting wit to match his own and he’d practically run home to write a song about her, well… after he’d been told that there was absolutely no chance in hell that they would sleep together, but one couldn’t blame him for trying.

He grinned, perhaps she would be here again tonight. He enjoyed a good flirt and she’d been fun to hang out with after his performance. She’d also had excellent taste in wine.

“Jaskier,” a silky smooth voice called and he spun round, gripping the straps of his guitar case.

“Yennefer,” he greeted “I wasn’t expecting to see you here again.”

Yennefer snorted. “I’m not here for you, buttercup. My friend, however…” she nodded to a booth to Jaskier’s left.

He frowned and followed his gaze. His jaw dropped when he saw the shock of silver hair. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

But it couldn’t possibly be him. No. No, no, no. Jaskier was just a little infatuated, seeing him in places where he simply wasn’t. He was sure lots of people had long silver hair and were built like fucking gods.

“Problem?” Yennefer asked, smirking at him, and fuck it was like she could read his fucking mind.

“Oh ho, no… no problem. There’s no problem. I just… I thought I recognised him, but I’m mistaken,” Jaskier rambled, tapping out fingerings on his guitar strap to try and calm himself down.

Shit.

Did he have a Pavlovian response to silver hair now?

No. It was more than that, it was in the way he was built, the line of his jaw. “What’s his name?” Jaskier asked, aiming for nonchalance but failing miserably.

“Ask him yourself,” Yennefer said with a laugh and then went off to the bar, leaving Jaskier alone in the middle of the room with just his guitar for company.

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “Come on, Jask,” he muttered. “It’s not him, get over it.”

He nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet a couple of times before heading over to the stage instead. He was being a coward, but he needed a drink first and his performance was scheduled soon. If he played well, he’d get a drink on the house and he really could do with that right now, although his wallet wasn’t quite as empty as it once was.

He channeled his nerves into his performance, using that energy to pour his soul into every note. The audience were entranced, he could feel it, pride bubbling up in his chest, he was able to open his eyes and bask in the attention, letting the music flow from him like a river into the sea. His gaze drifted over to the booth where Yennefer’s friend had been sitting but it was empty.

His voice wavered slightly as he bit back the disappointment.

Fuck, another missed opportunity. He tore his gaze away and smiled at his audience, winking at a pretty blonde by the bar, and then smirking at Yennefer. She had her arms around a gorgeous brunette, almost a tall as he was, wearing red flannel and black jeans.

And then he saw him.

Standing right at the corner of the stage.

It was Wolf, it had to be. Jaskier knew those lips. He knew that jaw. He knew the soft wave of his hair. He almost dropped his guitar and he forgot to sing for a couple of beats but he was a professional, sort of, and managed to pick it up to finish the last few lines of the song. He quickly thanked the crowd, dropping his head in a barely visible bow and then he jumped off the stage. He grabbed Wolf’s arm and started to pull him back to the more isolated booth at the back of the bar.

“Get off!” Wolf growled in that low sexy voice that had Jaskier’s heart thumping in his chest.

“The booth is more private, Wolf,” Jaskier snapped back. “Or do you want the whole bar to know?”

That shut him up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. He should have known that Wolf was a man of very little words, he barely spoke to the camera when he was being paid to perform, why would he bother free of charge. “Eloquent as always, darling.”

Wolf stiffened at that word, skidding to a halt. Jaskier turned around, both hands on his hips. “Wolf, please, let us have a little privacy.”

“Right, yes,” he mumbled, and was he blushing?

Jaskier smirked and then licked his lips, he supposed he did use that particular term of endearment in his videos quite a lot… and Wolf did watch his videos. Jaskier filed that information away for later, perhaps his dream of a collaboration could actually become a reality. He willed that glow of hope to go away. He didn’t want to set himself up for disappointment, but fuck… Wolf was even prettier in real life.

Were his eyes honestly that golden, or was it just a trick of the light?

Jaskier could write sonnets about those eyes, like honey, like molten gold, gorgeous amber eyes…

Oh fuck… perhaps it was a little more than an infatuation. He had always fallen in love a little quickly, but this was really taking the biscuit. Wolf grunted as he fell into his seat. Jaskier slid in opposite him, planting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands.

“You watch my videos,” he purred, his eyes dropping to Wolf’s lips.

“It’s research,” Wolf growled.

Jaskier laughed, “Oh really?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s why you were watching my performance so intently?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head.

“You have more subscribers than I do,” Wolf leant in, in a way that was probably supposed to be threatening but Jaskier… well… he was getting hard already. It probably didn’t help that he’d seen this man cum in so many ways already. “Do you know how frustrating that is? I’ve been doing this for longer than you, and then you just swan in looking all pretty.”

Jaskier frowned. Wolf seemed angry at him? Of all the things he’d imagined… this hadn’t been one of them. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and sat back at little. “Well I’d have one less if you unsubscribed,” he muttered, the words sounding bitter on his tongue. “Fuck you, Wolf.”

“Geralt.”

“What?”

“My name. Is Geralt,” Geralt growled. “Not Wolf.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “You do know I watch your videos?” Geralt nodded. “And you don’t even show us your quite frankly gorgeous face?”

“So?”

“Is Geralt your real name?” Jaskier said, biting his lip, not sure whether he was flirting or just anxious. It was probably both.

“Fuck.”

“I’m Jaskier,” Jaskier said softly, a peace offering of sorts “A name for a name?”

“Jaskier?” Geralt snorted.

“Oh fine!” Jaskier through his hands up. “You got me, it’s Julian, but no one calls me that. So Jaskier is my name, Dandelion is my stage name.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier pouted and leant back forward onto the table, catching a lock of Geralt’s hair in his fingers. “I recognised your hair first, it’s really quite unique.”

“Don’t touch me,” Geralt grumbled but didn’t move away, face still flushed.

“Are you really mad that I have more subscribers?” Jaskier asked, licking his lips as he dropped his hand away from Geralt’s hair. “Perhaps I could help?”

Geralt narrowed his eyes at him. “How?”

“Well, individually we are good, right?” Geralt nodded. “So together… we could be unstoppable.”

He watched Geralt’s face carefully as he processed Jaskier’s suggestion. At one point Geralt seemed like he was about to decline, and Jaskier steeled himself, ready for rejection, but it never came. “Alright.”

Jaskier sat back, surprised by his success. “Wait, what? Really?”

“It’s a good idea.”

“Well, yeah, it’s a fantastic idea! but I didn’t think you’d agree. Honestly, I was just hoping for a quickie in the bathroom at the very least,” Jaskier admitted, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t like losing.”
 “Right, yes well… Do you want my number? Easier to umm.. well. You know, organise this…” he gestured between them.

Holy mother of fuck, they were actually doing this. Jaskier was actually doing this… and Geralt, his Wolf, had agreed. Now Jaskier just had to keep his pesky feelings in check and everything would be Dandy!

Fuck.

_______

Next

[bnhayyy]

Burning In Carolina

Wordcount: 3.9k

Ao3 Link: Click 

Notes: I wrote this fic for @bnhatraumazine ! Leftover sales are currently open, so go check them out! And if you enjoyed the fic, maybe consider buying me a Ko-Fi? I do all my best writing when properly caffinated!

Summary: Despite the success of the initial interrogation, further attempts to pry information or recognition out of the villain known as Kurogiri prove fruitless. Aizawa keeps trying anyway.

It was possible to miss someone to the point of physical pain. This was a truth that Aizawa had learned long ago.

The pain never left him—not completely. It threatened to consume him. But he did not curl up and cease to function, no matter how tempting it was at first. Instead, he forced himself forward, even as that pain followed his every step, echoing in his actions, his appearance, his demeanor. It molded who he was. And, eventually, it became a part of him. Eventually, he reached a point where he could sometimes forget that the ache in his chest, the bleakness that coated the world, the empty space in the fabric of his life was something born of loss and not just the way things were. He didn't remember it unless he was actively thinking about it. For the most part, he tried not to think about it.

Then everything changed. There was a call from Tartarus, a horrible revelation, and suddenly he had no choice but to think about the things that made him who he was. The person who made him who he was. The one who would have been ten times the hero he could ever be.

It was one thing to be haunted by the past. It was another entirely to try and bring it back to life.

Aizawa slid into the cold metal chair. He was familiar with the ache it sent up his spine by now. In a different situation, he would slump forward to provide it with some relief, but his muscles were too tense for him to slouch even if he wanted to. In contrast, the figure on the other side of the glass didn't show any tension at all. He seemed to rest easily in his restraints, eerie yellow eyes staring unwaveringly at Aizawa.

His mouth felt dry. Only seconds in the room and he already felt as if a lump had formed in his throat. Yet when he pushed himself to speak, he took care to ensure that his voice would be calm and steady. Ideally, he would be able to keep it that way this time.

"Kurogiri," he said. The name was a lie. Even so, he did not let himself say the one that he wanted to—not yet.

"Eraserhead," the prisoner returned. There was a slight shift in the black mist around his head. With it came a hitch in Aizawa's heart, but no, it must have just been an indication of movement. Unsurprising. The miasma of darkness that composed Kurogiri had not once parted since that first fateful meeting.

There was a moment in which neither of them spoke. Then, before Aizawa could muster himself to continue the conversation, Kurogiri asked, "Do you have any news regarding Shigaraki Tomura?"

This question again. It was always one of the first things he asked. Distantly, he supposed he could understand, but that didn't erase the wrongness of it. He never should have even known Shigaraki, let alone been programmed to care for him. Maybe even come to genuinely care about him. But he did. And that meant Aizawa had to answer the question, over and over again. He could say something that might stop him from asking again. He could tell him the truth: there hasn't been any news on him in months.

He wouldn't say that. Partially because he wasn't supposed to. Partially because...

He wouldn't say that.

The villain patiently waited for his response. Aizawa sighed. "No," he said.

There was another minute shift in his mist. Another moment that gave Aizawa pause even though he shouldn't. A soft 'hm' reached his ears, only just managing to penetrate the glass even with the speakers installed on either side of the interrogation room.

"Why are you here, then?" the villain asked. "You must know by now that I won't give you any information."

Aizawa's hand twitched, a small, unintentional spasm that came in time with the phantom compression of his chest. You already did, he didn't say. We're investigating the hospital. Similarly, he didn't give in to the burning behind his eyes that urged him to point out, I came anyway. You would have. Instead, his lips thinned as he tried to find the right words. Again, the captive waited patiently. So silent in his patience, so unlike the energetic chatter that once filled the air, ready to offer a push when it was needed and content to just be there when it wasn't.

"What do you think?" Aizawa slowly asked.

The man behind the glass gave a tired sigh. "Aren't my insights trivial in this situation? The most the musings of a prisoner can offer is more ammo for their captors, and we have established that you will not be getting that." He said one thing, but after a few heartbeats with no response, he sighed and added, "Perhaps it is some misguided sense of heroic perseverance."

There was no pain like losing someone you held dear. Except, perhaps, mourning them when they were right across from you.

Aizawa felt something sinking in his chest, like blood from an internal injury. Except blood was never so cold. "Oboro..." he murmured.

"I do not know who that is," the prisoner responded. "I am Kurogiri, the caretaker of—"

"Shigaraki Tomura," Aizawa muttered in time with the other speaker. He knew this song and dance. But he also knew, he knew, that there were more steps than this. He dropped his gaze down to his hands for a moment. When he raised it back up, something was burning behind his eyes. Maybe passion, maybe desperation, he didn't know. Whatever it was, it gave him the power to force out words that, while true (always true), threatened to get lodged in his throat. "I'm here because I am your friend."

They had all been friends once, him and Oboro and Hizashi and Kayama. And now… 

Black mist writhed and twisted, agitated, but didn't dissipate. "I am a villain."

"No," Aizawa asserted, "you aren't." You are a victim.

"You appear confused. I am Kurogiri of the League of Villains. I—"

And so it continued. Perhaps he should have been more forceful, broken down like he had the first time. However, even if he got through to him for a moment, it was impossible to have a conversation when the other party was unconscious. And if it caused any permanent damage... no. There was merit in trying a gradual approach.

When he made his departure after ten more minutes of fruitless attempts at conversation, his thoughts drifted back toward what the prisoner had said. Heroic perseverance, huh? In different circumstances, he might have chuckled at the irony of it. If he had any heroic sense of perseverance, it was only because he had learned it from Oboro.

And look at how that had worked out for him.

*

The fruitless visit echoed in his dreams for the next several nights.

*

Aizawa followed Hizashi toward the interrogation room at a slower pace than the Voice Hero. He was meant to be moving slowly because he was calm and steady. However, the way Hizashi's eyes flickered toward him as they came upon the interrogation room told him that he had noticed the extra drag to his feet, as if metal chains had been wrapped around his ankles to make every step that much harder.

With the door to the interrogation room only a few steps away, Hizashi came to a sudden halt and swung around to face him. Aizawa withheld a sigh. It wasn't hard to tell what was going through his mind and he had hoped to avoid something like this. No such luck.

"Hey, man," Hizashi began, "you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Aizawa pursed his lips in an attempt to stop a more active frown. "I know," he said.

Hizashi shook his head. "No, really." His voice was low, by his standards, but it grew a little higher with every syllable that left his lips. "This might not go well, and—"

"Hizashi," Aizawa cut in. "I'm fine." It was a blatant lie. As much as he might want to think that this situation hadn't emotionally compromised him, they both remembered their last visit. He'd had more time to process it, but that didn't mean that a fresh reminder wouldn't hurt. Hell, Hizashi probably didn't even need it as a frame of reference. He knew how close Oboro and Shouta had been. He knew how much he meant to him. There was no way he could see him without it feeling like a knife being driven into a wound that hadn't had the chance to heal. It simply wasn't possible.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter that it hurt to see what was left of Oboro. He wasn't going to abandon him again.

When Hizashi began to open his mouth, Aizawa shot a glance at the guard standing uneasily a few feet behind them. Hizashi followed his gaze and tightened his jaw. His gaze bounced between the two for a moment before settling back on Aizawa. He took advantage of the temporary silence to remind him, "I saw him alone last time and was fine."

Hizashi snorted, sharp and abrupt, before lowering his voice to a much lower tone. "You shouldn't have done that in the first place."

"I can make my own decisions." Even as he spoke, he was aware of the almost defensive edge that had entered his tone and he hated it. There was no reason for him to be defending his choices. It wasn't something that needed to be defended, nor would his words do anything to put his overly worried friend at ease.

"I know," Hizashi said. "Believe me, Shouta, I know. But..." His fist clenched as he floundered for words, a mix of desperation and dismay etched upon his face. "You shouldn't need to go through that alone!" he exploded. It sounded like trying to keep his voice from escalating into a shout was causing him physical pain. His voice fell lowered further and the pained air grew even worse, although Aizawa got the distinct impression that it wasn't from trying to control his volume this time. "You don't need to go through it alone."

Once again, Aizawa simply said, "I know." Oboro's presumed death had not affected him alone. Hizashi and Kayama had been Oboro's friends as well; he was not alone in this. Yet taking the time to visit Tartarus on his own was... something he had to do. 

Just because Hizashi had done a better job of holding himself together didn't mean that Aizawa couldn't tell just how much the situation was hurting him. The thought made him examine his friend a little closer. He took in the frayed edges of the spikes of his hair, how unnaturally tight his jaw was even when held loosely, the bluish-black marks of bags forming under his eyes and the strain around their edges.

A pang of guilt echoed in his chest. He wouldn't cut off the arms of his friends just so he could hold their hands whenever it was time to confront the brutal truth. Voice low enough that it hardly carried at all, he said, "You don't have to do this either." He knew just how useless the offer would be, but he had to say it anyway. Aizawa hadn't spent the last fifteen years making his friends carry his weight. He wasn't about to start now.

Hizashi laughed, the sound utterly humorless for all that it was bright. "Don't act like you're okay and then start fretting over me," he chided. He managed to infuse a degree of lightness back into his voice despite the weight of the strain that could be heard lurking just below the surface. He really was an incredible actor.

They fell back into their previous actions as if time had merely stalled for a bit. The guard hurried forward to unlock the door as Hizashi closed the distance between himself and it, his eagerness to escape that moment the only real sign that their conversation had even happened.

"Hey, bud," Hizashi called as he swung the door open. He entered the room with all of his usual swagger and dramatic flare, Aizawa slinking in behind him.

The villain behind the glass wall didn't so much as blink. "We are not friends," he pointed out, his voice as impassive as usual. "Nonetheless, I must ask: do you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura?"

And so, the tone of their meeting was set.

Despite how much it must have worn at him, Hizashi spent the entire time trying to remain bright and energetic. It made Aizawa wonder if he was acting that way in an attempt to remind him of old times, of the hyperactive teenager Oboro used to be friends with. If he was, he wasn't having any success. The overt reminders he tried to sprinkle in didn't have any effect either. No wavering, no hesitance, no sign of Oboro —only confusion and dismissal.

With every passing second, the barely visible weight pressing down on Hizashi grew worse.

With every instant where something could have happened and nothing did, Aizawa felt his heart sink lower and lower.

And he found himself wondering if they were only moving backwards.

*

The next week saw Aizawa visit with Kayama. They spent an hour in that interrogation room, spoke new words, but ultimately found themselves repeating the steps to the same painful dance. Even when Kayama pulled out a reminder that she'd hoped would be a trump card - the cat that had helped solidify their friendship - they found themselves unable to change the routine.

Aizawa had made a point of maintaining his composure during the fruitless meeting. He liked to think that he was getting better at it. However, upon stepping outside the room, he couldn't keep his shoulders from drooping. A soft thud made him glance to the side, where Kayama leaned heavily against the wall. She cradled Sushi's cat carrier close to her chest, causing its occupant to let out a surprised mew. He noticed the way her fingers slotted through the mesh in the front. It was a small detail, but one that made the motion resemble a hug more than an attempt to use the feline as a shield.

If he were a better friend, perhaps Aizawa would have hugged her himself. As it was, he just watched with an uncomfortable lump in his throat. His concern was marred by the cruel gratitude that he wasn't the only one who couldn't completely hide his fractures.

Haunting silence floated between them for well over a moment. Some errant thought eventually drove Kayama to hunch her shoulders in on herself. It made her look so much smaller than she was, so unlike herself. (Like she had on that day.)

Aizawa cleared his throat.

Kayama looked up, a smile as delicate and deceiving as spider-silk weaving across her lips. She stayed slumped against the wall as she said, "It's... a lot."

"I know," Aizawa said. Even if he wished he didn't.

Kayama let out a gusty sigh. "Do you think he'll...?"

Aizawa's gaze dropped to the floor. Something in his chest clenched, froze, and began to crumble, flecks of stone breaking away from an already-tarnished whole. The flecks morphed into a tingling numbness that ran down his arms and legs, settling into his fingers and toes.

If she had asked him after that first meeting, he would have said 'yes', that they would make him remember, cling to those lingering shards of Oboro and put him back together. Now...

"I don't know," he croaked.

He missed his best friend. He missed his best friend and had gotten used to it. But the discovery of the warp gate's identity had made him see echoes in the care he showed for Shigaraki. He was seemingly indifferent to everything else, and the contrast brought the old hurt back into searing definition. The echoes, that glimpse he had actually managed to catch of Oboro, it had ignited a damning spark of hope, and maybe that hope was still rattling around in the back of his mind. But...

The quiet that had begun to envelop them once more was broken by Kayama saying, "We need to keep trying."

Aizawa thought about the continued questions as to Shigaraki's well-being. Of the subtle wisps of annoyance that sometimes leaked into Kurogiri's voice at his questions. His confusion over his continued visits.

"Yeah," Aizawa murmured.

Truly, the worst thing about hope was feeling yourself start to lose it.

*

The end of the school day had brought with it another solo visit to Tartarus.

Another pointless visit.

Aizawa held back a heavy sigh as he stepped into his apartment. The television could be heard faintly echoing down the hall. He allowed himself to close his eyes for half a second before strapping his usual neutral expression into place and striding into the living area, where he could see a head of blonde hair peeking up over the top of the couch. Hearing his approach, Mirio turned to look at him. There was the gentle rustling of blankets and squeaking of couch springs, then Eri's head peeked up beside him, her hands braced on the back of the couch as she leaned against it.

"You're back!" she cried.

"I am," Aizawa confirmed. To Mirio, he asked, "Did everything go well?"

"Of course!" Mirio said. He stood up and made his way to Aizawa, only to, as always, decline the offer of payment.

"You don't need to pay me to babysit, sir! Spending time with Eri is hardly a chore."

Aizawa tried not to let himself think of who Mirio reminded him of. (After all, Aizawa had seen Kurogiri only moments ago and he hadn't reminded him of the boy he once knew much at all.)

"If you're certain," Aizawa relented.

From there, it was a simple matter of Mirio saying goodbye to Eri and heading home. He was a kind boy who had sacrificed and suffered much, one whose presence Eri enjoyed. Nonetheless, he found the tenseness of his shoulders lessening once the boy closed the door. He allowed himself to sigh, too softly to be heard, and turned around.

He was greeted by the sight of Eri standing in front of the doorway, eyes wide and face creased in concern. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight. However, before he could say anything, the little girl blurted out, "What's wrong?"

Aizawa felt his brows furrow. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said, slowly crouching down to her level as he spoke.

"You keep coming home sad," Eri said. She took a few cautious steps forward, paused for a second, then walked the rest of the way. Aizawa remained still as she reached out to place a gentle hand on his cheek. "It's not every day, but sometimes you come home really tired and sad. You don't say anything, but... I notice it. It's like..." Eri glanced down and nibbled on her lower lip. "It's like you forget how to smile," she finished, the words barely more than a whisper.

Somehow, Aizawa's heart managed to sink further. It was accompanied by cold tendrils of guilt squeezing at his chest. He had thought he was doing a decent job of hiding his emotional distress from Eri. A foolish assumption to make. Children, for all of their naivety, were not stupid, and Eri in particular was a very empathetic girl—especially when it came to loss. He should have known that he would have to try a lot harder if he truly wished to hide the situation from a child so familiar with things such as this.

"I'm sorry," Aizawa said. "I didn't mean to worry you." He lifted his arms up and, after a moment of hesitation, Eri dove in for a hug.

"Where have you been going?" she mumbled into his chest.

Aizawa shuttered his eyes for a second. There would be no escaping this conversation, it seemed. "Let's talk in the living room."

*

"I've been visiting... a friend."

Once again, Aizawa walked into the interrogation room alone. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair and looked directly into the luminescent yellow eyes on the other side of the glass.

"And it made you sad?"

“Eraserhead,” Kurogiri greeted. “I don’t suppose you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura this time ?”

"Yeah. You see, he was a hero. But a mission went wrong and he was... hurt. Really badly."

“I don’t,” Aizawa confirmed. “And I’m not looking for information, either.”

"Like Mirio?"

The captive made a noise that came surprisingly close to a scoff. “In that case, you have a peculiar way of spending your time.”

"...Sort of. But in a different way. And... he doesn't seem like he's been getting better. We don't know if he will."

A corner of Aizawa’s lips twitched up into the faintest of smiles. “Perhaps,” he acquiesced. “How have you been?”

"Oh. ...Mr. Aizawa, have... have I been getting better?"

Aizawa would not claim to be an expert at reading his friend’s altered features, but he could have sworn he caught a hint of surprise at the question. “I am a captive,” Kurogiri said.

"Eri. It is truly incredible how much you've healed since I met you, and I could not be more proud of you."

“I know, but you must do something to pass the time,” Aizawa pressed.

"But it's taking so long."

In some ways, the visit played out the same way as the others. In other ways, it didn’t. Kurogiri didn’t spontaneously profess to remember his life as Shirakumo Oboro or give new information about the League of Villains. At the same time, Aizawa didn’t press him to. They simply… talked. And once an hour had passed, Aizawa sighed, “It’s time for me to go.”

"You can't force recovery, Eri. You went through a lot and need to get better at a pace that's right for you."

Kurogiri nodded placidly. “Of course.” He hesitated for a moment, or at least, the way his mist momentarily stilled made it seem as if he were hesitating. “I suppose I will be seeing you again soon?” he eventually asked. The first time he had said anything of the sort.

"But what if it takes too long?"

Something in Aizawa’s chest flickered and then flared. Hope, its flame reignited by a passing breeze. “You will,” he confirmed, swallowing down every other word threatening to fight its way past his lips. There would be time.

“It won’t.”

Maybe it was foolish to hope. Maybe it wasn’t. What mattered was that Aizawa was willing to take that risk, just like Oboro would have for him.

“How do you know?”

Kurogiri nodded again, probably in dismissal. Aizawa stood up to leave. However, before approaching the door, he looked the warp gate in the eyes once more. And, just for a second, he could have sworn he caught a flicker of blue. “I’m not giving up on you, Oboro.”

"Because no matter how long it takes, I'll wait for you."

Kurogiri watched the pro hero depart with a placid gaze. Yet, spurred on by an undefined haze pulsating through his heart and head, as ShoutaEraserhead walked through the door, he whispered, “I know.”

[ukulelecal]

Bloom - Part Two

The story of flowers.

Pairing: Poet!Luke Hemmings x Female!OC

Warnings: a bit more angst but def more fluff. implied smut. a couple swears probably. hella feelings. mentions of anxiety

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: here is the second part!! less sad than the first!! lol anyways, i hope you guys love it, there will be one more part after this! reminder that feedback and reblogs are sosososo important to creators x 

series masterlist

my masterlist // posted on ao3

*One year later*

Devon’s new school wasn’t all that she had imagined it to be.

Her classes were great. She was learning so much and her professors were very encouraging and helpful. Everything else, however, wasn’t so ideal.

She wasn’t fond of her classmates. Perhaps she was just so used to her old school, but everyone rubbed her the wrong way. She had only found a few friends that she trusted, but she didn’t even see them much. They had attended undergrad at that school, and they already knew everyone. Devon couldn’t quite make her way into the friend group.

She wasn’t a fan of the city, either. It simply didn’t have the vibe or the excitement that home did.

Home. She tried not to use that word to describe where she once lived, but her mind continuously went back to it. She knew exactly why.

That’s where Luke was.

Devon hadn’t heard from him since she moved. She left with a very brief goodbye and good luck wish, but that was it. She held back her tears during the Uber ride to the airport and all through the plane ride.

Luke, now alone in the apartment, broke down as soon as she left. He should have been the one taking her to the airport, kissing her goodbye and promising that everything would be okay. But nothing was okay anymore.

It had been a year since Devon moved, and the now broken up couple was doing a lot better. Devon distracted herself with schoolwork and trying to find her place in her new environment. She took up kickboxing as well as a way to let out her emotions, although the muscles she was developing were a plus as well.

Luke still had the same coping mechanism he always had; writing poetry. He poured his heart and soul into countless poems. They were completely raw, completely honest. He held nothing back. Frankly, they were his best work.

Devon’s first year of grad school officially came to an end. It was as if a weight was lifted off her shoulders. She couldn’t say she was happy there, but she wasn’t there to make friends. She was there to get her master’s, and she wasn’t going to quit. For herself and for her family.

A very unexpected text quickly changed any plans that Devon might have had for the summer.

It was from Luke.

“Hey Devon. I know it’s been a while and I hope grad school is going well. But it's official. My first poetry book is getting published. You probably don’t want to hear from me, and I understand, but you were always the person that believed in me the most. Thank you for that. Truly. I wouldn’t be here without you. I’m having a release party in a few weeks. Nothing big, just close friends and family. It would mean a lot to me if you came.”

Her heart skipped a beat as soon as she saw his name flash across her screen. Not a single word had been exchanged between them in the past year. A part of Devon had been wishing that he would reach out, even if it was just to say hi and check in. She almost texted him a few times, but something always stopped her.

Hearing from him after so long brought an array of emotions, but the one that overwhelmed her the most was pride.

Devon knew how much this meant to him. He opened up to her about it on their very first date freshman year. She remembered sitting across from him at the coffee shop on campus, and the way his eyes lit up as he talked about releasing a book. She found his passion admirable, and she had every faith in him that he would succeed. She was his biggest supporter through the years; she was there to comfort him when he got rejected and help him through his bouts of writer’s block. He always told her that she was his biggest inspiration. Most of his poems ended up being about her in some capacity.

Despite everything that happened between, Devon couldn’t fathom missing this momentous time in his life.

With a deep breath, she typed out a reply.

“I would love to come. It means a lot that you thought of me.”

The weeks leading up to the party were utterly nerve wracking, for both Devon and Luke.

It took Luke a few days to work up the courage to invite Devon. He was scared she hated him and wouldn’t care to come, that she would be appalled at him thinking even for a second that she might want to see him again. It took a lot of convincing from Ashton, a college friend that he invited to move into the apartment once Luke realized he couldn’t afford the rent on his own and that he couldn’t stand being in the apartment by himself, but he did it. Luke wasn’t sure he breathed at all in the minutes it took her to respond.

Now that she was officially attending, it left the two to question what seeing each other would be like after a year apart. Would it be awkward? Would they end up having another argument and cause more pain? Would they be unrecognizable to each other?

The uncertainty was painstaking, but Devon reminded herself that she was there to support Luke, and Luke reminded himself that he would have given up a long time ago if it weren’t for Devon.

The time finally came for the release party. They both hardly slept the night before. Luke was alone in the bed that he used to share with the woman he hadn’t seen in a year, while she laid in a hotel bed just blocks away. Things felt different knowing that they weren’t hundreds of miles away anymore, and the next day they would see each other.

Devon pandered around her hotel room all day, doing her best to distract herself. She scrolled through every channel on the television, but nothing kept her attention. She did a workout, but every song on her workout playlist managed to remind her of Luke in some way.

They day dragged on until it was finally time for Devon to get ready. She played calming music in the shower to slow her heart rate and took her time doing her hair and makeup. It took some effort to steady her hands, but she got the job done.

Luke had been able to keep himself busy all day. A couple of his friends, Calum and Michael, shared a flat that was decently bigger than Luke’s apartment, and graciously offered to host the party there. Him and Ashton went over there early to make sure the place was clean and that all the food and drinks were ready.

Once guests started arriving, the nerves came back in full force.

He could only hope that he was really ready to see Devon.

For her, the Uber ride to the address Luke gave her hit every single red light. She bounced her leg in the back seat, unsure if she was thankful for the longer ride or if she hated it. On one hand, it gave her more time to prepare herself. However, every passing second made her nervousness increase.

Time stopped when the car parked in front of the flat.

She stared at it for a moment, the fact that Luke was just inside making her fingers tremble.

She didn’t realize she was still sitting there until the driver asked her if she was okay. She quickly thanked him and climbed out of the car.

Devon slowly made her way up the walkway, reminding herself with each step that this was a huge deal for Luke. His dreams were finally coming true. He had expressed to her that he credited her in part for his success. He must not have harbored any major negative feelings against her, otherwise she wouldn’t have been invited.

She almost felt a sense of calm as she reached the front door.

She slowly pushed it open, Luke having told her it would be unlocked and she could let herself in. Once inside, she didn’t see him right away. She recognized some friends from her undergraduate days, but nobody seemed to notice her right away.

A tall figure came out from the kitchen, and Devon had to do a double take.

Luke had certainly grown in their year apart.

His curls were shorter in the back and longer on top, and it looked like they had been dyed at some point. He opted for a pair of glasses instead of contacts, and he had a beard. She had never seen him with more than some stubble. He had on a forest green sweater that she always said was her favorite; she wondered if he had worn it on purpose. She couldn’t blame him if he did, considering she was wearing the long sleeved, yellow floral dress that Luke always said he loved on her.

He looked completely different, but at the same time, he was still her Luke.

All of her anxieties melted away the second he looked at her.

“Devon.”

It felt so natural. It was as if all of the pain that came from the last time they saw each other had gone away. They both knew in the back of their minds there wasn’t any bad blood between them, as much as their breakup hurt. Neither had exactly done anything wrong.

“You made it,” he continued through a deep breath.

“You know I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Lu.”

Devon looked the same. Her hair was a little longer than the last time he saw her, and he could tell that she had put on some muscle from the way she filled out her dress a little more. She looked good, healthy.

Luke silently thanked whoever was listening that she seemed alright, at least physically. He could acknowledge that he went into a bit of a downward spiral in terms of taking care of himself when she left. He hardly slept and completely shut himself out from everyone that reached out to him. Ashton moving in helped, but certain days made it bad again, like when their anniversary and Devon’s birthday passed. He didn’t want the same for her. He wanted her to do better than him.

Devon had her bad days too. She did better at the beginning when she had so much on her plate, but once things settled down, she was a wreck for a while, not much different than what Luke was like.

He hesitated only a moment before taking Devon into his arms. He prepared himself for her to pull away, but she did quite the opposite. She melted into him, cheek resting against the soft material of his sweater.

Devon remembered all the times she needed a hug. Whenever she had a bad day or was stressed out over school or simply just wanted to be held, Luke was always there. He would mumble a soft assurance under his breath as he took her into his arms, holding her tight as if she’d be gone forever if he let go. He would whisper whatever it was she needed to hear at the moment, although sometimes it was nothing at all.

She didn’t realize how badly she needed this one.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Dev,” Luke whispered into her hair. He could smell the same coconut shampoo she always used and the warm, sweet perfume she always wore. It brought a sense of comfort and familiarity.

“I’m glad to be here. I...I really missed you, Luke.”

The confession felt good. She tried to deny the fact that she missed him, but seeing him again, she realized how much she really had.

“I missed you too.”

Luke pulled away from the hug and kept his hands on Devon’s shoulders. The same blue eyes met the same brown ones. The ghosts of smiles tugged at their corners of their lips. Every worry they had about seeing each other had gone away.

“I want to say congratulations on your book,” Devon mumbled, fiddling with the small clutch she brought. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he responded, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. “I have to say, I-”

His sentence got caught off by a shout of his name from an arriving guest. He sighed and sent Devon an apologetic look. There was a lot that needed to be said, so much that needed to be talked about, but they knew that this wasn’t the time or place to do so.

“It’s fine, go on. We’ll catch up later, bub-” she cut herself off, the pet name she called him so often about to slip from her lips so naturally. “Okay?”

Luke sighed sadly but gave her a smile. He understood why she stopped herself, but God, he would have loved to hear her call him that again.

“Okay. See you in a bit, Dev.”

Luke slowly walked away to greet the new arrivals while Devon wandered off to find people she knew. She came across her good friends from undergrad - mutual between her and Luke - who thankfully seemed excited to see her. They made small talk and asked about grad school before easing into questions about Luke. She should have expected it, but she hadn’t talked much about the breakup since it first happened. It was easy to simply not mention it to her grad school group and they wouldn’t know the difference, but these were the girls that she called sobbing at random times during the day when she needed to talk. It was natural that they were curious.

“Did you two talk at all while you were gone?” One asked, and Devon shook her head.

“No,” she sighed. “I think that was best, though.”

Devon’s eyes trailed to the right. Luke was talking to some family members, laughing. A small grin tugged at the corners of her lips. His laugh was musical and contagious. She always felt proud of herself when she made him laugh. Not that it was a difficult task; he loved to laugh. For Devon, getting to hear the noise was like a gift.

“Dev!”

She snapped her gaze back to her friends. Their expressions were a mixture of smug and concerned. It was obvious that Devon hadn’t gotten over Luke in the past year. She still looked at him the same way she always did. They were still concerned that she would get her heart broken again.

“You still love him, don’t you?”

Devon glanced over at him one more time. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t. She almost threw away her shoebox of poems just to prove it to herself, but she couldn’t do it. It would always be him.

“Of course I do.”

…

The rest of the night, Luke and Devon didn’t speak. They weren’t avoiding each other, but the weight of the conversation they needed to have required the crowd to go away and the festivities to die down before it could happen. They exchanged glances and small smiles, saving the talking for later.

Devon purposely hung back as the crowd startled to trickle out the door. Luke had made a small speech thanking everyone for coming and celebrating with him. Everyone took it as the hint that the party was over. Deciding to help out while she waited, Devon busied herself cleaning up a bit in the kitchen.

Footsteps caught her attention, but they didn’t belong to who she figured they did. Instead of seeing Luke, she saw Ashton. He was Luke’s best friend, and while him and Devon never got super close, she still considered him a friend.

“Hey, Dev,” Ashton greeted with a grin, opening his arms for a hug that she gladly accepted.

“Hi, Ash. How have you been?”

“Good. Just working,” he chuckled as he pulled away from the hug. “You? How’s grad school?”

“It’s pretty good.” Good if he asked about her academics and not her social life, that is.

“That’s good.”

Ashton leaned against the counter across from her, shooting her a look. She raised her eyebrows in expectation.

“Luke’s been freaking out, you know,” Ashton mumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets. “About seeing you.”

Devon sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Somehow, knowing that he was nervous too was comforting.

“Glad it wasn’t just me.”

“He really missed you. I’m sure he’ll tell you all this himself, but in case you don’t believe him, take it from me. He missed you so, so much.”

Devon couldn’t help but smile a little. It was good to hear it from someone else.

“I missed him too. A lot.”

Before Ashton could reply, Luke stepped into the kitchen, eyes flickering back and forth between his best friend and his ex girlfriend. Words got caught in Devon and Luke’s throats, neither of them sure what to say.

“I guess that’s my cue to get out,” Ashton joked, breaking the awkward silence. “Let me know when you’re ready to go home, Luke.”

The man walked out of the kitchen to help Calum and Michael clean up in the living room while Devon turned to look at Luke with furrowed eyebrows.

“Home?” She questioned.

“Ashton moved into the apartment a little while after you left,” Luke admitted, scratching the back of his neck. He took Ashton’s spot against the counter. “I needed a roommate to help with the rent.”

He left out the fact that being alone in there only reminded him that she was gone and he needed someone to keep him company.

Devon nodded in understanding, but felt another twinge of guilt. She hadn’t considered that she was leaving the financial burden onto him. Thankfully Ashton was there.

“How was your night?” Devon asked genuinely. The party was to celebrate his success, and she genuinely hoped he enjoyed it.

“It was really great.” Luke sent her a thankful grin. “I know I said it before, but it really means a lot to me that you’re here. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to come.”

“This is everything you’ve ever wanted. After everything we’ve been through, I would never miss this moment in your life.”

Devon sent him a sad smile that he returned. There was still so much that needed to be said, so much to discuss. A tension hung between them, but not one of anxiety or dread. It was desperation and desire. A yearning for what they once had.

“We need to talk, Dev,” Luke whispered what they were both thinking. “Like, really talk.”

“I know we do.” She glanced at the clock on the wall beside his head. “But it’s getting late. My flight back isn’t until Monday. Maybe we can meet up tomorrow, if you’re free? Get lunch?”

Luke nodded in agreement. It would be best if they both got some sleep and recharged before talking seriously.

“That sounds good.” Luke turned to look at the clock as well and laughed. “I know it’s past your bedtime.”

Devon rolled her eyes playfully. She was the “go to bed early, wake up early” type, while Luke was the opposite.

“Exactly. I need my beauty sleep.”

“Boy, do I know it.”

The two laughed together, for the first time in a long time. It felt so right.

“I should head back then,” Devon announced, reaching behind to grab her clutch that she had set on the counter. “Let me just call an Uber and I’ll be out of here.”

“Don’t worry about that. Ash and I came together, he’ll drive you back. Where are you staying?”

Not one to turn down a free ride, Devon rattled off the name of her hotel. Luke led her to the living room to get Ashton and say goodbye to Calum and Michael. Luke thanked them again for letting him have the party at their place before they were out the door and piled in Ashton’s car. Luke took shotgun while Devon slipped into the back.

The ride to the hotel was quiet. Only Ashton’s soft indie music and the sound of other cars filled the car. Shortly, Ashton pulled to a stop in front of Devon’s hotel. Luke turned around in his seat to face her.

“Thanks again for coming, Dev,” he mumbled softly, a grin on his face.

“Thanks for inviting me. And thanks for the ride, Ashton.” He nodded in acknowledgement before she turned her gaze back to Luke. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Tomorrow. Who knows what tomorrow would bring?

“See you tomorrow.”

Devon climbed out of the car and headed towards the doors, sparing one last glance and a wave before heading inside. Luke watched as she walked in, a small sigh escaping his lips. He turned his head to see Ashton with a smirk on his face.

“What?” Luke questioned.

“You still love her, don’t you, mate?”

Luke sighed again, glancing back towards the doors. Devon was already out of sight, probably in the elevator already. He knew exactly what she was going to do when she got to her room. She would kick off her shoes and then take her makeup off. She’d go through her night time skin care routine, put her hair in a bun with a silk scrunchie, and finally change into her pajamas, which were usually just a big t-shirt and panties. She would probably spend some time reading or watching cooking videos on TikTok before going to bed.

“Of course I do.”

…

Devon swiped one last bit of lip gloss across her lips when Luke texted her that he was outside. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her purse and phone before heading downstairs to meet him.

The anxiety was coming back. Seeing Luke was one thing, but having a full on conversation was another. It didn’t help that the conversation would surely lead to the topic of their relationship. Their breakup.

Luke was feeling similarly. He had paced around the apartment all morning until Ashton gave him a pep talk. He reminded him that if they didn’t talk, Devon would just leave again and nothing would change. Nothing would get fixed.

The sound of a creaky car door opening snapped Luke from his thoughts, looking up to see Devon climbing in. He sent her a smile.

“Hey, Dev.”

“Hey, Luke. Bertha’s still kicking, I see?” Devon joked as she buckled her seatbelt. She knew that Luke wasn’t going to get rid of his beloved Prius until absolutely necessary, but the fact that the car still functioned at all was shocking.

“I think it might be her time soon, but for now, she gets me where I need to go.”

Bertha survived the drive to the small diner that Devon and Luke agreed on, albeit the radio cut out a few times. It was a new place and Luke had been wanting to try it. A part of Devon wondered if he really wanted to try it or if he just didn’t want to take her to one of the places that they frequented when they were together. Frankly, she wouldn’t have wanted to go to one of their old spots either. It would have felt too odd.

Once inside and seated, a waitress came to take coffee orders before scurrying away.

“Tell me about grad school,” Luke began, saving the more serious topics of conversation for later. It was best to start off casual and simply catch up on everything that had happened in the past year.

“It’s alright,” Devon sighed. She would have fibbed, but she felt no need to lie to Luke. “My classes are great. I’ve learned so much and my professors are awesome. It’s just…”

She trailed off, unsure how to put her thoughts into words without sounding pathetic. She didn’t want Luke to judge her.

“What?” He pressed gently, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“It’s the other students, I guess. Everyone at our school was so great, but the people there are just not so friendly. And most of the other grad students did undergrad there, so I couldn’t really fit my way into a friend group. And there’s just not as much to do in the city as there is here,” she explained, her hands occupying themselves with the napkin in her lap.

She locked eyes with Luke, waiting for his response. He could have used it against her. He could have guilt tripped her for leaving and then not being happy. But Luke would never do that and Devon knew it.

“Well that’s not good,” he mumbled sincerely. “I’m sorry, Dev.”

He truly did feel bad. Every day while Devon was gone, he thought about her. He hoped she was having a good day and that her education was going well. It pained him to think that she wasn’t having a great time.

“It’s okay. I mean, I’m there for my master’s, not to make friends.” The waitress came back with their drinks and took their lunch orders. “Anyways, tell me about your book! What happened with the publishers and everything?”

The fact that Devon’s grad school wasn’t everything that she had imagined was still bothering him but Luke went along, knowing she wouldn’t want to talk about it.

“I sent another draft to one of the ones that was interested before, a while after you left. He said he liked the majority of it but wanted a few different ones. It took me a while to figure out what he wanted, but eventually I got it,” he rambled. “I’m really happy with it.”

“I’m glad,” she replied, heart swelling with pride. “When does it come out?”

“Next week.”

Devon hummed in acknowledgement, already making a mental note to pick up a copy for herself.

“How about work?” She questioned after a sip of her cappuccino.

“You’ll never believe it,” Luke chuckled. “I got promoted to a manager position.”

“Really? It’s about time!”

Devon and Luke had a running joke about Luke’s job. He had been there the longest other than the owner, an old woman who still moved like a teenager. She always hung a promotion over his head, suggesting it but never following through. Luke knew she was planning on giving it to him eventually. It was just a matter of time until she actually did, and the two would always make jokes about it.

They made small talk until their food came, causing the duo to fall into silence. Meaningless conversation about the weather could only last so long until what really needed to be talked about came out.

Soup and sandwiches didn’t last long enough. Their plates were cleared and there was no point in stalling anymore.

“I think we fucked up.”

Luke’s statement was unsugarcoated. He couldn't say for sure how Devon felt, but every day throughout the past year, Luke felt like he was making a mistake. Everyone around them was shocked at the news of their breakup; if there were any college sweethearts that would actually last, it would be them. That certainly didn’t help Luke’s pain when everyone else knew it was a mistake too.

Devon felt tears burn the back of her eyes as she nodded softly. He was right. Perhaps it was best at the time, but they couldn’t do another year of being apart.

“I think we did.”

Her voice broke, taking a deep breath to calm herself down and not cry in the restaurant.

“Hey,” Luke cooed soothingly, noticing the tears and reaching across the table for her hand. As his hand encased hers, at that moment, everything felt like it was going to be okay. “Maybe we should go somewhere more private.”

Luke paid the check and made their way back to Bertha. The need for privacy left them with two options; Devon’s hotel room or the apartment.

“Maybe we could go to my hotel room,” Devon suggested. “That way we won’t bother Ashton.”

That was only part of the reason. Devon wasn’t sure how she would feel if she stepped into her old home in the current state of their relationship. All of the memories her and Luke had would come flooding back. The hotel room was a neutral place without connection to what once was.

Luke agreed and drove to the location he remembered from the night before. The elevator ride up to Devon’s room was heavily silent, hands brushing against each other but never interlocking. The sound of the door shutting behind them once in the room was thunderous, the sound signifying that there was absolutely nothing between them and the inevitable anymore.

They stood in the middle of the room for a moment, looking anywhere but each other. There was no good way to start the conversation. There was no easy way to talk about a painful breakup that led to a year apart, then being reunited.

Without the right words in mind, Devon threw herself at Luke. She wrapped her arms tight around his middle and buried her head into his chest. Luke returned the gesture, holding her as close as he could. The hug said more than what either of them could put into words.

It wasn’t until a few minutes that Devon finally found something to say.

“I can’t keep doing this, Lu,” she whispered shakily. “I can’t keep missing you like this.”

“This is all my fault, Dev. I was the one who didn’t think we could do it. Fuck, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Devon surely didn’t think it was his fault. He had every right to be upset that she was moving so far away, and he had every right to be scared of what the distance would do to their relationship. She felt the same way. They broke up to spare themselves the pain of long distance. It hadn’t taken long for them to realize that the pain of being broken up was much, much worse.

As much as she tried to push the thoughts away, Devon couldn’t help thinking about how if she hadn’t left, this wouldn’t have happened. She knew that she did nothing wrong and that her education was just as important, but she had never intended to pursue it in expense of her relationship.

“This isn’t your fault. It was both of us. We were just saving ourselves from the pain. Besides, I was the one that left-”

“No,” Luke cut her off, glancing down at her. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. You did absolutely nothing wrong.”

Devon lifted her head up to meet his gaze. His face was serious but his eyes were completely sincere. She had always feared that he would hold a grudge against her for leaving. One look into the gorgeous blue eyes that she fell in love with told her that he didn’t.

“I never want you to blame this on you going to grad school. I want you to know that I completely support your decision and all your aspirations, honey. I will never hold that against you.”

Tears brimmed Devon’s eyes again, but these weren’t tears of pain. They were of love and adoration. Luke was the most amazing man she had ever known. He had a heart of gold and was one hell of a poet. She had never felt so loved as she felt by him.

“Please tell me this isn’t over, Luke,” she whispered, hands moving to cup his bearded cheeks. A single tear slipped down the soft skin of Devon’s cheek. “I love you. I never stopped. Please tell me there can be an us again.”

Luke wasn’t sure when he started crying, but a sudden wetness on his cheek alerted him of the act. His hands tugged Devon’s waist to bring her closer, noses brushing touching and breath mingling. They could hardly remember the last time they had been that close, the last time they felt love so intensely.

“I’ve wanted us back since that day a year ago. I love you more than anything, Devon. Always have, always will.”

For the first time in over a year, Luke and Devon’s lips connected in a kiss. It was nothing short of passionate and heavy. The love they hadn’t been able to express for so long was rising to the surface, coming out in the form of mumbled words, bruising kisses and desperate touches.

Frantic fingers worked the buttons of Devon’s flannel, slowly pushing her backwards until the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed. The offending item was discarded to the floor and the newly reunited couple crawled onto the bed. Devon shivered under Luke, a reaction caused by a mixture of the cool sheets against her bare back and his lips on her neck, his beard providing a new sensation that she hadn’t felt before.

The past year was difficult. If they could go back in time and fix it, they would jump on the opportunity without a second thought. But just maybe, it made them stronger. Maybe they needed to begin to wilt in order for them to bloom.

…

“What do we do now?”

Devon curled closer to Luke as a crisp breeze cut through the darkening evening. He sighed and wrapped the blanket tighter around them.

“I’m not sure.”

The couple sat in the trunk of Luke’s car with the door popped open, parked at a lookout point that overlooked the city. It was something they used to do all the time in college. It was comforting to return to their old traditions, knowing that they had fixed what they broke.

It was Sunday evening, the day before Devon flew back to her grad school city. They may have gotten back together, but they were still faced with the same problem as when they broke up. Devon still had a whole year of grad school left, miles away.

“I’m not sure I want to go back,” Devon admitted, eyes fixed on the city lights. Luke snapped his head to look at her, eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean? Are you saying you don’t want to finish your degree?”

Luke would never forgive himself if she gave up her master’s degree because of him. He didn’t want the distance either, but he could never hold her back from her dreams.

“No, no, I want to finish. I just...I wasn’t happy in that city. This is my home. I’m happy here,” she explained. She tore her eyes away from the view in favor of looking at her boyfriend. “With you.”

Luke dipped his head down, pressing a kiss to her temple. Devon leaned into the affection that she had missed so much.

“It’s up to you, honey. I don’t want to hold you back. Just know that if you do stay there, I’m going to really try this time. I promise we’ll make it work, and I’ll be here for you no matter what.”

Devon grinned at his words. She didn’t realize how much she needed to hear that; that the past wouldn’t repeat itself. However, she didn’t want to put either of them through the suffering of a long distance relationship when she didn’t even want to be away.

“I appreciate that, bubs. But I just can’t do that to us after everything we’ve been through.” She thought for a moment, trying to decipher the best course of action. “Maybe I could finish online.”

Luke nodded in acknowledgement; it was a good compromise. Devon got to finish her degree at the school with the best program, and she didn’t have to be so far away. It benefitted Luke as well, not just her. However, he didn’t want to sway her either way.

“If that’s what you want, honey. This is your decision.”

He gave her shoulders a squeeze as she thought it over. The only sounds to be heard were the gentle hum of the city below them and the cold breeze that ruffled the trees. It was so familiar. They had spent countless nights like this, simply enjoying each other’s company and rewinding from hectic college life. Luke had to remind himself that they weren’t undergraduate students anymore; Devon was in grad school and he was a published poet.

It was baffling how everything felt like it had gone back to the way it was, yet things were actually so very different.

“That’s what I want,” Devon announced with confidence after a few moments of pondering. “I want to stay here.”

Matching lovesick grins spread across their faces as they locked eyes. She scooted closer to Luke, if that was even possible, nudging her nose against his.

“You’re sure?” He verified, eyes fluttering closed.

“So very sure.”

He chuckled lowly before closing the gap. The air between them was finally clear. Their relationship was fixed and they would still be together. No more pain and suffering.

Devon rested her head on Luke’s shoulder when the kiss broke, breathing out a content sigh. They enjoyed the silence for a moment before Devon piped up with a question.

“Can I move back into the apartment?”

“Of course you can,” Luke chuckled. “That’s our place. Why couldn’t you?”

“What about Ashton?”

“He understands our situation, babe. He saw this coming. He already asked Calum and Michael if he could take the extra bedroom at their flat if it came to this, and they agreed. As long as you’re fine with living with him for a little while until he moves out, then he’s fine with it too.”

Devon let out a breathy laugh, nodding in understanding.

“I mean, I’ll still have to go back to my apartment out there for a bit to get my stuff.” She looked up at Luke with a hopeful glint in her eye. “Do you think you could come with and help? It’s alright if you can’t.”

“I can come, honey. I’ll see if I can fly out with you tomorrow, but if not I can come a couple days later, so you don’t have to change yours.” A smirk spread across his face before continuing. “Or we could just wait to go together and stay here for another few days. You know, catch up a little more.”

Devon laughed and playfully rolled her eyes, nudging his shoulder.

“What a way with words you have, Hemmings. No wonder you’re a poet.”

“Speaking of poetry, I have something for you.”

Luke pressed a swift kiss to Devon’s cheek before hopping out of the trunk. He opened the door to the back seat and rifled around for a moment, then returning to face Devon. He removed his hand from behind his back, holding it out to her.

“For you.”

Devon took the item from his hand curiously. It only took a moment for her to realize what it was.

It was a book titled The Life of a Flower. The cover was a stunning photo of two orchids side by side, and Luke’s name was printed across the bottom.

His first poetry book.

“You’re the first person to get a copy,” he mumbled sheepishly, breaking Devon from her trance of staring at it. She couldn’t help the tears of pride that welled in her eyes. If seeing the actual, physical book in person was such an emotional moment for her, she couldn’t even imagine how Luke must have felt when he saw it for the first time.

“This is incredible, Luke,” she whispered, smiling despite her tears. “I’m so proud of you, bubs, so fucking proud.”

Devon dropped the blanket from her shoulders and hopped down from the trunk. Her arms found their way around his neck while his found her waist. Pride was an understatement. She had been there every step of the way, and seeing his dreams finally come to life was a wonderful sight to see.

“Thank you, Devon,” Luke whispered into her hair. “For being my biggest supporter. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“It’s not me, Lu,” she mumbled in response, tilting her head up to look at him. “You have a gift. Your writing got you here, not me.”

“I would have given up on writing a long time ago if I didn’t have you. You give me an endless amount of inspiration that I never had before. A poet’s words are meaningless if his muse isn’t worth writing about.”

“Damn. William Shakespeare has nothing on you,” she joked although she was absolutely melting on the inside. Luke groaned playfully.

“You always ruin the moment. Anyway, look at the first pages.”

Devon removed her arms from his neck to flip through, skipping past the title page, copyright and table of contents until she found what he was talking about. She found a dedications page that only made her tear up again, reading:

“For Devon. You’ll always be my orchid.”

[banditthewriter]

Chains of Fate - Geralt of Rivia

Summary: When trying to defeat a monster, Geralt gets linked to the reader by a physical chain wrapped around their wrists. It’s going to be an adventure to find someone that can undo the curse and release them both. But when it comes time to break the curse, will they want to be free of each other?

I’ve included Yennefer as a character in this but there’s no Yennefer hate at all!

Warnings: Violence? But I mean, it’s The Witcher, what did you expect?

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The cave was nestled into the side of the mountain, surrounded by boulders and trees that masked the opening unless you knew it was there. The man slipped through the opening with a practiced ease and went over to an altar he had built years before. The silken cloth that draped onto the floor didn’t show a bit of wear even though it had been there since the day he found the cave.

Magic had a way of preserving what was there. 

He placed his palms onto the floor and bent down until his forehead was pressed to the dirty floor of the cave. He whispered a few words in Elder and then sat up, his eyes wide as he stared at the altar before him. Magic had built in the cave for the last few years and it was finally ready. He spoke the words he had practiced every day since he had realized what he was capable of. 

A golden, shimmering chain appeared in his hands. He continued the words, speaking the magic into the air and into the chain he had weaved. Every ounce of his magic poured into the chain. It left him weak and feeble, but if he was successful, it would be worth it.

The last word in the air, the man looked at the chain which was now whole before him. Twenty eight links made up the length of the chain. He hefted the thing in his hands and admired the weight of it.

It was perfect. Now he just needed to find the person who could handle the chain. And he already had a person in mind.

He just needed to get down from the mountain first.

------

Geralt stared across the half collapsed building and swore again. Blood had dripped into his eyes but he refused to give up. The monster was one floor up and he would cut it down if it killed him.

It had terrorized this land long enough.

A scream echoed from the next floor and it lit a fire under Geralt’s ass. He hadn’t been aware that there was anyone else in the building, but apparently there was. It put a new urgency on his plan to kill the monster. He hefted both of his blades, one steel and one silver, and ran towards the stone steps that led to the second floor.

The stairway opened up into a large room that spanned the length of the building. Or at least the part that was still standing. The monster had found a corner to retreat to, but there seemed to be a huddled mass there as well. The mass still moved, so Geralt decided they must still be alive, whoever they were. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries or to check if the person had been hurt. That could be handled after the monster was killed.

He moved with the creature, back and forth until he was able to get his sword into the heart of it. As the thing screamed, Geralt saw something dart around behind him. He swung around and raised his silver sword so that it was pointed at the throat of the thing that approached him.

Not a thing. It was a woman. She wore a dress that was dirty and torn at the hem, her eyes filled with terror, but it wasn’t directed at him. She watched the creature writhe on the ground before it finally stilled. 

And before their eyes, the creature turned into the form of a man. Naked as a newborn, the man laid with his unseeing eyes open and Geralt’s steel sword through his chest. 

Dead.

------

You wanted to scream again, but you felt as if your throat was raw. On the floor was Abalon, the man who had imprisoned you. He was dead, or very nearly so. His creature had crashed upstairs in such a rush that you had screamed out in terror, always unsure what would happen if the creature could not be contained. 

But you needn’t worry this night. Behind him had been someone else. You barely recognized the emblem that hung from a chain around his neck, but it was familiar enough for you to believe he was a Witcher. It explained the swords, explained why he had chased the creature into the abandoned fort building.

Only monster hunters ever dared to come after the creature. And only a master monster hunter of Witcher kind would have been able to kill the creature.

Abalon. It wasn’t just the creature that was dead, but Abalon. You had been tied to the man for too long but sometimes you forgot that he was a man. Most of your days were spent with the creature.

“Are you hurt?”

The tone, impatient and low, told you that the question had been asked before. You had been unable to tear your stare away from the body on the floor but with the voice cutting through the silence, you forced yourself to look away. It made your eyes land on the man in front of you.

A Witcher. You’d never met one. As far as you were aware, most of them were gone. This one didn’t seem old, although the color of his hair might tell another story. An impatient look in his yellow eyes matched his tone.

“No,” you finally forced out once you realized he was still waiting for an answer from you.

You weren’t hurt. The creature scared you, often came close, but you were protected.

That thought made you gasp. You looked down at your hand and found that the cuff of the chain was still there. You followed the length of chain, counting each of the twenty eight links, but it wasn’t tied to the sword that had been struck into the stone floor. You lifted the chain in amazement.

“I’m free?”

Could it be? You were finally free, finally…

The Witcher reached out, obviously unsure why you were chained to nothing. The moment his fingers came in contact with the chain, you felt it tug you forward. The force of the magic sent you almost barreling into the man, the chain clattering to the ground. 

“What the fuck?”

You thought his incredulity came from the sudden force of you bumping into him. When you turned to apologize, you caught sight of the real cause.

The other end of the chain which had been attached to a sword for as long as you had been imprisoned was now attached to the Witcher’s wrist. It had an identical cuff to the one you wore, only larger to encompass the larger wrist. 

“No,” you breathed as you tried to step away. The chain only let you get a few feet before it was pulled taut. “No, please no, not again.”

You turned to the body of Abalon, obviously dead with as much blood had drained onto the stone beneath him. You nearly dragged the Witcher behind you as you marched to the body. There you kicked at his body with all of the fury that had built in your chest over the last year.

“Release me you monster, release me. Let me go!”

Contrary to your words, arms wrapped around you and pulled you away from the body. You were set down on the ground and spun around until you met the eyes of the man who had almost saved you.

“Explain this. Now.”

The gruff voice sent a thread of fear through you. When he released you, you stepped back as far as the chain would allow.

It wasn’t enough room if anyone asked you.

“Abalon is—was a mage. He’d been cursed to spend most of his life as the creature that you slayed, wreaking havoc and terror on any person or creature that he came across. He found a way to bewitch a special chain that tied him to a human which in turn is all that kept him human when he was in the creature’s form.”

You pointed to the sword that had been your tether for a year.

“That was his sword. The chain tied me to the sword in an effort to tie our lives together. It must not have worked because he is dead but I am not.”

You wanted to laugh. He had failed in so many ways and now he wasn’t even here for you to rub it in. He had died and taken away that little joy you could have had. Instead you were faced with the fact that the chain which had kept you there now tied you to the Witcher.

“When I touched it, it latched to me,” he said as he lifted his wrist. 

You watched him inspect the chains, most likely looking for a weakness. It was futile, but you didn’t bother telling him. But when you saw him heft the silver sword he had pointed at you, you shook your head.

“It won’t break the chain,” you said as you held out a hand to stop him. “It would most likely break the sword before it would break the chain.”

He wasn’t the first person to find you. Every time someone found you and tried to save you, either the creature or Abalon in his human form would appear and kill them. Then they would pull out the sword and move you to a new location.

“I refuse to believe that this cannot be undone,” he said as he dropped the chain. “A mage created this chain, then a mage can undo it. And I happen to know a very powerful magic user who can help.”

“Where are they?”

He seemed to do a mental calculation in his head.

“At least three weeks by horseback. We’ll have to move fast.”

That drew you up short. When you didn’t move to follow him, you were dragged a few feet. He noticed your reluctance and turned to face you.

“Unless you have a better idea?”

You didn’t. And you didn’t have anyone here. You weren’t even sure where here was. But the thought of disappearing into the great wide continent with a man—a Witcher—that you didn’t know was more daunting than being kidnapped by a cursed mage.

“My name is Geralt of Rivia,” he offered in a voice that was softer than you could have imagined from a voice so gravely. “You’ll be safe with me. I just want to free us both of this chain.”

Freedom. It had been a long time since you had allowed yourself to dream of freedom. Perhaps the Witcher could help. If anyone could, it would be him, would it not?

“I am Y/N.”

He repeated your name and then bowed his head to you.

“We should go. I left my horse at the tavern and I need to make sure no one has stolen her.”

He stepped on the chest of Abalon and pulled his second sword free. When he turned to put them away, it caused the chain to yank you to the side. 

“That will take some time to get used to,” he said apologetically.

He wasn’t the only one that felt that way. You gathered up the small belongings you had. The longer you stared at the sword, the more it felt like it was staring back at you. Geralt put his hand on the hilt and looked at you.

“Do you want to take it with you?”

“No,” you replied in a soft voice, “no, it should stay with him. It was the belonging that tied me to him. I do not want any connection to him or this place.”

He gave an understanding nod and then gestured for you to head to the stairs first. 

It would be hard to adjust for you. You’d gone from being alone unless the creature was with you and now you were tethered to a man. 

Fate sure had a strange plan for you.

------

The mare’s name was Roach. You had questioned the odd choice, but he hadn’t given any reply. In fact you learned that he didn’t speak much, even when spoken to. You did catch him talking to the horse a few times, but he very rarely spoke to you unless it was absolutely necessary.

Two days after you had left the village Abalon had brought you to, you found yourself praying to be released from the chain sooner than later. If you had to ride for three weeks with a man who thought a grunt was the height of conversation, you would go insane. 

The third night of camping under the stars, you decided to take a page from his book.

“Hello darling Roach,” you said as you rubbed her nose and then her neck. “My father owned a few horses but I was never allowed near them. Horses were for men to deal with and the house was for a woman. The one time he caught me at the stable, he took a switch to me for disobedience. Of course I just made sure not to get caught after that.”

“What are you doing?”

You looked over your shoulder to where Geralt was preparing a trap to catch dinner. Your arm was stretched behind you to give him room to do what he needed, but it meant you were twisted uncomfortably to accommodate him. As always.

“You have shown no interest in speaking to me so I am making do. Since I have been locked away and unable to speak to anyone, I suppose you could say I need a little social interaction. And you’re about as social as a rock stuck in the river.”

The man stared at you for a long moment before he gave a nod.

“I’m not used to traveling with someone.”

You sighed and moved away from Roach. It was only a few feet to where he sat so you lowered yourself onto a stump near him.

“I know that this is an inconvenience for you Geralt, but I can promise it isn’t a field of lilies for me. I have been held prisoner at the whim of a madman who shared his personality with a creature that struck fear in the hearts of knights and villagers alike. I’m just asking for a little conversation. So that I’m not stuck with my thoughts forever more.”

Something of your spiel must have gotten through to him because he gave another nod, this one more purposeful. 

“I shall make an effort. Since you have suffered enough. I cannot promise to be the best conversationalist.”

You smiled but hid it by turning your face into your shoulder away from him.

“I would not count you amongst the bards and storytellers.”

He groaned as he finished up the trap.

“Don’t mention bards. There’s one I am currently avoiding and I believe he might appear as if called if you speak of them.”

This time you didn’t hide your smile, but only because he had to lead you away so that he could place the trap.

------

A noise startled you awake, but you couldn’t place the source. After a moment in which you tried to fall back to sleep, you heard it again.

Howling.

“Wolves,” Geralt said from beside you where he had set up for the night. “They are moving closer.”

He crouched up and moved to the fire which he immediately doused. Then he went over to Roach, his arm stretched out towards you so that you weren’t pulled behind him.

At least he remembered the chain this time.

“If they attack, I will have to fight them off,” he said as he drew his sword. Then he drew his second one and held it out to you. “Can you wield this?”

“I’m just as likely to stab you as I am to stab a wolf,” you protested even as you took it from him.

He gave you a look and then tilted his head.

“Try not to stab me if possible.”

He guided you back over to your original position after he led Roach closer to the two of you as well. You told yourself that you would be safe as long as you stuck close to Roach. He hadn’t let anything happen to her during their travels together.

“Fuck,” he whispered a while later. “They are headed this way.”

You hadn’t heard any more howls, but a Witcher’s sight and hearing was more advanced than a human’s. He shifted his weight and swung his sword. 

He was going to have to literally fight with one arm behind his back. Fear and anticipation clawed their way up your spine as you waited with bated breath.

The first wolf lunged into the clearing and went straight for Geralt. He swung his sword and caught it in the face. You turned your head so as not to see the creature die. 

Next it was two wolves. One launched closer to you and Roach while the other went for Geralt. You raised your sword but felt yourself tugged closer to Geralt as he swung out at his wolf.

There was no way to defend from both sides. If you didn’t act, Roach would be attacked. You raised the sword above your head and tossed it with a yell.

The sword embedded itself into the wolf and it fell motionless on the floor of the forest. You turned away just in time to see Geralt’s surprised face, his wolf dead as well.

“I might have acted before I thought it through,” you said belatedly.

“It worked,” he said with a shrug. He edged you closer to Roach, his sword still up. “The others have run off at least. Maybe your war cry scared them off.”

You huffed out a laugh, but it was humorless. No, you were too busy trying to still your shaking hands.

“Come here.”

Geralt led you back to the tree that he had been leaned against before. He propped you up against it before he reached over to the pack where he kept a flask. He passed it to you with a pointed look when you tried to turn it down.

“It’s adrenaline. It’ll pass and you’ll have a hell of a crash.”

Wasn’t that something to look forward to. You rubbed your hands on the skirt of your dress, your eyes unable to leave the wolf that you had killed.

“Those unaccustomed to danger and violence often have a hard time–”

“Need I remind you that I was the prisoner of a murderous creature? I’ve seen enough violence and death, been in danger often enough. This is just the first time it has been at my own hands.”

There was a long beat of silence. Of course the Witcher wouldn’t understand what you were feeling. It was his job to kill, what he was trained for. You on the other hand? You had been raised to take care of a farm and a household. You’d killed mice or pests that would come into the house or be in the garden, but never something like this.

“You protected yourself. That is not something to feel shame for.”

His hand came out and covered yours. You stared at the bruised knuckles of his large hands. He was trying to comfort you and while your mind still reeled, you decided to let him.

“Technically I think I was protecting Roach,” you said with a grin as you looked over at the horse who snorted in thanks.

“Then you have my gratitude. I wouldn’t want to have to find a new Roach during this adventure of ours.”

That made you turn around in surprise.

“A new Roach?”

He shrugged as he moved to lean against the tree with you. There was barely a foot of space between the two of you and his hand still covered yours on your lap.

“I name all of my horses Roach.”

You were very glad you hadn’t known that before the wolves had attacked.

------

The room was tiny, but it was a bed rather than a bedroll on the forest floor. You had sighed happily when you’d seen the room, but then the reminder of the chain on your wrist came as he moved to put his pack down and your arm was tugged.

You would both have to sleep on the bed. Together. You hadn’t slept in the bed with a man before. The suitors you’d had before you were kidnapped had all been kind but chivalrous. And terrified of your father.

Geralt paused in the room and looked at you. You thought perhaps he had just realized the same thing you had, but it appeared that he had already taken that into consideration. He just hadn’t considered your reaction.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he said with a tilt to his head as if he was trying to figure out how to work it. “I’ll just have my arm on the bed.”

He had already given you his bedroll during the trek. You didn’t want to make him suffer more.

“No, we can share the bed. I just… was wondering how we will have any privacy to… bathe.”

It was a lie, but as you said it, that worry became more pressing than the bed. You had a layer of dirt and grime so thick on your skin that you were probably unrecognizable even to your own eyes. Geralt didn’t look much better.

“I can hang the blanket. It won’t be much, but it’ll provide some privacy.”

It would have to do. 

After he found a way to hang the blanket from the ceiling, he helped you fill the basin with the hot water. Then he stepped on the other side of the blanket to give you your privacy.

You had a lot of practice changing with the chain so you could slide the sleeve of your dress through the cuff. As you took off the rest of your outfit, you wondered if Geralt would have a hard time undressing.

That was a dangerous path for your thoughts. You could admit that your travel companion was a handsome man. More than that, he was… appealing. The strength in him was evident not just in his muscles but in the way he spoke and carried himself. He was certain and sure of himself. He was worldly and experienced.

You had lived on the farm most of your life. When Abalon had come to you, you’d almost been inclined to take his offer of running away with him. He was a mysterious man, old enough to be your father but not hideous. Instead you picked the farm and the life you had once regretted. 

He took you that night. You weren’t sure how he did it, but he stole you away in the middle of the night. After a life on the farm, you spent a year chained and in squalor.

Now you were in a wash basin in a seedy inn with a Witcher on the other side of your chain. A very manly Witcher with eyes that were intense and yet kind, a mouth that could smile and snarl. He was the duality of man, sword in hand to defend and attack at the same time.

You felt safe with him. 

After your bath, you quickly dried off. Then you grabbed your clothes and changed into the cleaner of your dresses. It fit you better than the first dress had. You hated that you wondered what Geralt would think of you in it, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Would he find you appealing? Would he be taken by the way the color complimented your skin and hair? Or the way the blouse was a little lower than the other had been? Would he long to touch you and feel your skin?

You felt foolish just for thinking it.

Dry and clothed, you stepped around the blanket. Geralt cleared his throat and looked away from his sword which had been in his lap. He gave you a nod and then set about preparing his bath. After your water was gotten rid of and new hot water replaced it, it was your turn to sit and wait while he bathed.

You listened to him struggle, the chain tugging on your hand as he fought with his armor. You winced at a particularly hard tug before you cleared your throat.

“Can I help?”

There was silence before he begrudgingly pulled back the blanket. You gave him a soft smile before you went to work on the armor. It took some maneuvering with chain, but you finally got it off by untying one of the supports. Without thinking, you went to work on removing his shirt as well.

He had frozen at first and then helped you remove the article of clothing. Once more you were able to get it off through the cuff, barely since his wrist was larger, but the cuff had magically fit his wrist the same as it had fit yours. Once the shirt was off, you turned to say something but your voice caught in your throat.

There was a lot of chest on display in front of you. A wide chest covered in hair and scars. Your eyes traveled downwards to trace the line of hair and—

“I’ll just…” He pulled the blanket back between the two of you and you slumped into the chair.

You’d just ogled the poor man. And if you had any pretense about his feelings towards you, that cleared it up. He hadn’t seemed interested in the least. You were just an inconvenience, something tied to him that he wanted rid of.

You were a wart to be lanced off at the earliest convenience.

As he rose from the basin, you realized that you could almost clearly make out his form through the blanket. The candles and fire on the other side made a silhouette. It gave you more than enough of a view of his body that you immediately felt heat fill your cheeks and your stomach. You turned your head but that gave you a view of the bed that the two of you would share shortly. Instead you turned to stare at the floor.

Had he been able to see you through the blanket? But of course even if he had been able to, he wouldn’t have wanted to look. His reaction when you had been looking at him told you that well enough.

He got out of the water and dried off with a towel. You raised your arm to give him some more slack on the chain as he got dressed. You knew when he got to his shirt once more because he fumbled with it a bit.

“You have to feed it slowly through the cuff,” you explained.

“I tried,” he gritted back.

After the respectful rejection from before, you didn’t want to offer your help, but the other option was that he just didn’t wear a shirt for the next week and a half. While the thought wasn’t too distasteful to imagine, you knew that it wasn’t possible.

“Here, let me,” you said as you stood up.

The blanket pulled back and a shirt was handed over. You focused on what you were doing instead of the slightly damp chest in front of you. You wouldn’t mortify him or humiliate yourself further by staring again. You finished the task and stepped back so that he could pull the shirt on the rest of the way. He left it untucked. Then he set about emptying the tub once more.

Afterwards all that was left was to go to sleep. You went about getting the bed ready in an effort to ignore the tension in the room. Once there was nothing left to do besides get in bed, you blew out the candle on your side and curled up as best you could. 

Geralt got into his side after blowing out his own candle. He settled in on his side facing you but made sure there was enough room between the two of you so that you weren’t touching. 

Your eyes were closed so you barely lifted them. It meant that you could peer through your eyelashes at the man in the bed with you.

His free arm was tucked under his head. His other arm was on his side, the chain stretched between the two of you. His eyes were closed, his mouth lax. His hair was wet and hung over his forehead.

You longed to reach out and push the hair off of his forehead, but you kept your hands to yourself. You knew that his yellow eyes would pierce into your soul if his eyes opened and you were too tired to hide all of your secrets.

Instead you closed your eyes fully and let yourself fall asleep.

------

“Not much further,” Geralt promised as he helped you onto Roach in front of him. “Another few days.”

You nodded but didn’t say anything. As you drew closer to your destination, you found yourself dreading what help his mage friend could provide. If they could sever the chain that tied you to Geralt, then you would likely never see the Witcher again. 

He had mentioned that he would help you get home, but after that? He would disappear. You would be a strange hazy time in his long memory, but for you he would be a massive hole you would never be able to fill.

Sometime between him pointing his sword to your throat and waking up with him a mere few inches from your face in the bed of that inn, you had fallen in love. It was a strange feeling, but you knew that that’s what it was. A love that would never be replaced, never be forgotten. 

You were already coming up with excuses to give to your parents on why you would never marry. Not one of them included the fact that no one would be able to compete with the Witcher who had stolen your heart.

Damn the chain on your wrist. You had hated it with a passion in your year with Abalon, but this was somehow worse. You’d take a million years with that creature if it meant your heart wouldn’t be broken.

“Get down!”

You were pulled off of Roach and slammed into the ground, rocks and twigs pressed into your back with Geralt above you. There was a loud scream nearby and the whizzing of arrows overhead.

“Bandits!”

Roach had run ahead, to safety hopefully, but Geralt had had the mind to grab a sword before he pulled you from the horse. You stood with him and kept close, as he had told you to do if something like this happened. He kept you at his back as the bandits came crashing out of the trees.

His sword clashed with theirs and you danced to stay behind him but out of reach of the other weapons. If the bandits were surprised to see a Witcher with a woman chained to him, they didn’t show it. Instead they hacked as if they were desperate to kill him. Which was probably because he had already slaughtered two of their men.

You stepped over a severed arm in your struggle to stay behind him. The thought to bend down and pick up the sword came to you, but you didn’t get the chance to try it. There was a sudden piercing pain in your shoulder that shocked a yell from you.

Geralt spun and saw what had caused the yell before you did. There was a short arrow sticking out from your shoulder. When you looked back up, you caught the surprised look of the man with the crossbow as his head flew from his shoulders.

Two more bandits were cut down in the blink of an eye. Then hands were on your face and probing gently at your shoulder.

“Can you hear me?”

“I was shot in the shoulder, not the ear,” you said back with a wince as he tugged on the bolt.

“I’ll have to cut it out.”

You felt a little dizzy at the thought. He put two fingers to his lips and whistled loud before he started to guide you in the direction Roach had run off. 

“Don’t we need to, I don’t know, pilfer their bodies?”

He gave you a look before he turned to face where Roach had appeared in the trees.

“Let’s get that out of your shoulder before we rob the dead.”

------

You held Geralt’s flask cradled in your arm like a baby. He had cut the bolt from your arm and wrapped it. Then he had handed you his flask to help with the pain. The potion he had given you to aid in the healing had tasted burnt, but you had to admit that your arm didn’t hurt as much as it should have.

Or maybe that was the flask.

You were in front of him on the horse once more. His arms around you for support, you felt like you could drift off to sleep. The rocking of the horse’s movements were more relaxing than you could remember them being. And the heat of him behind you made you even more sleepy.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” he said as the horse stopped near a large mound of earth that sprung up from the ground like it was made for people to sleep next to.

Maybe it was.

He got off of Roach first. You watched as he tied off the reins to a tree before he reached up and grabbed your hips. He tugged you over and you swung your leg over to help him. With your injured arm and his flask, you couldn’t brace yourself on his shoulders the way you usually did. It meant that he had full control of you. He set you down on your feet, but not before you basically slid down the front of his body. 

Chest to chest, you peered up at him from under your lashes. The alcohol and adrenaline from the fight fought in your mind to distract you, but you refused to look away from his eyes. They seemed to glow in the dim light of the forest.

With the courage of the drink, you leaned up on your tiptoes and pressed your mouth to his. It was a quick, chaste press of lips. You meant it to be a thank you for saving you, but you knew that there was another reason for you to do it.

You wanted to feel it for just one moment. To feel his lips against yours and to pretend that he meant for it to happen. 

You pulled back and gave him a shaky grin. Suddenly more sober than you had been, you turned away from him and started to walk as far away as the chain would allow you. You didn’t even get that far before you were spun back around to him.

His mouth came down on yours a lot less gently. Before you could react, he pulled back and stared at you in surprise. As if he wasn’t the one that had kissed you that time.

“That was… an accident,” you stated more than asked, giving him a way out. 

“Yes,” he agreed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“A bad idea,” you said with a nod of your head as if that settled that.

“Yes,” he agreed again.

Your chest felt like it couldn’t expand enough for your lungs. Your breath raced in you as you stared up at him.

“Do you… regret it?”

You waited for him to say yes for the third time.

“No,” he said simply before he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck and pulled you in for another kiss. 

This one was more than the others had been. This time both of you moved together, his lips moving against yours deliciously. When his tongue slid against yours, you couldn’t help but moan. 

You believed wholeheartedly that he would have laid you down in the dirt and had you right then and there if you hadn’t gasped in pain when you tried to raise your arm. Instead he pulled away and immediately went about checking the wound on your shoulder. 

“I’ll get a fire started,” he said as he stepped back from you. 

His eyes stayed on your face until you nodded. He couldn’t go far but it put a few feet of space between the two of you.

Not for the first time, you wished the chain was longer. This time it was for a different reason. You needed space to clear your head. He had said he didn’t regret that kiss, had initiated another one, but could that mean more? Or was it simply that the two of you had traveled together for almost three weeks and he wanted that release?

You closed your eyes for a long moment, but you couldn’t dwell in your thoughts. Geralt was nearby, but he acted as if the kiss hadn’t happened. You took a page from his book once more and followed suit.

At least you would have that memory to get you through life when he was gone from you forever.

------

The village reminded you of the one Geralt had found you in. There wasn’t a collapsed fort, but there were a lot of buildings that were vacant. He directed Roach through the streets until he came across a building that looked like it was for an apothecary. 

“Here we are,” he said as he got off the horse. 

Like the dozens of times before, he helped you off Roach with his hands on your hips. And like every time since the kiss, you found yourself unable to breathe as your eyes caught his. He gave a quick nod and then ushered you around Roach who he tied to a post before he led you into the storefront.

It was empty of patrons at least. You followed him towards the back where you could smell burning herbs and incense. He pulled back a beaded curtain and was about to usher you in when he froze.

“Yen,” he breathed out quietly. 

You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what that meant. Whoever this Yen was, he hadn’t expected her to be here. And there was something between the two of them.

Two women came into view and you realized why he had never been interested in you. Whichever one was Yen, it didn’t matter. They were both beauties. One had black hair and the most vivid purple eyes. The other had curly brown hair and a smile that put you at ease even though your heart was thundering in your chest.

“What brings Geralt of Rivia to my corner of the world?” The one with the smile seemed to ignore the tension in the room as she looked at Geralt and then to you. “And why do you have this poor girl chained to your wrist?”

He cleared his throat and stepped into the room. You wished to stay on the other side of the beaded curtain, but you followed him into the room. It was obvious now that Yen was the black haired beauty who was staring at Geralt as if she hadn’t seen him in years. And Geralt was having trouble not looking at her.

“A curse. The chain was cursed and held her prisoner by a mage. When I tried to remove it, it transferred to me. We need help removing the curse so that we can be free.”

Free of each other. It’s what you wanted as well, especially right then. You could hear your heart breaking into a million pieces the longer you stood in the presence of the lovers.

“Let me see,” Yen said as she stepped up with the other woman at her side. 

They both reached out for the chain at the same time. The other woman was closer to you so she gave you another smile before she inspected the chain. Your eyes strayed over to where Yen was inspecting the chain close to Geralt’s wrist, but she didn’t touch him.

“I’m Triss Marigold, by the way,” the woman said as she continued to get a feel for the curse on the chain. “Geralt has been remiss in introducing us.”

You cleared your throat as you looked down at the chain yourself.

“Y/N Y/L/N from Lanton. I was held prisoner for a year by a mage of the name Abalon as he was possessed by a fearsome creature and needed a human to help him return to his human side. I believe the spell did not work the way he intended.”

He had continued to turn into the creature and you hadn’t died when he had. 

“It’s complicated spellwork,” Yen said as she felt over the chain links and then inspected the cuff around Geralt’s wrist. “I’m Yennefer of Vengerberg. Triss and I are both skilled with magic, but it might take a while for us to figure out how to break this curse.”

So you would be forced to deal with Geralt and Yen in the same room for longer. You gave a tight smile and then looked away once more. Your eyes met Triss’s and you could only hope that she didn’t see the pain and longing in your eyes.

“Let’s get these two something to eat before we start to try to unravel the spellwork. They both look exhausted. You can tell us more of your adventure as we eat.”

You would rather not, but you refused to be so rude as to say that. Instead you let them guide you and Geralt into a room that looked like some cross between a workplace and a kitchen.

“I didn’t realize you were only there for a year,” Geralt said lowly as the two women spoke in hushed whispers about the chain.

You were surprised by that. Surely you had mentioned it? But perhaps you had not.

“He kidnapped me from my family’s farm a little over a year before you arrived. I suppose it’s possible I did not mention it.”

He opened his mouth to say something else but Triss interrupted to put food down in front of you both.

“We have a plan to undo the curse. We’ll get some food in you both and then we’ll start.”

She busied herself in the other half of the room, gathering herbs and vials of things you couldn’t begin to name. While she did that, you caught sight of Yen sitting down beside Geralt. Their words were whispered between the two of them and you did your best to distance yourself so as to give them privacy.

When Triss put a drink down in front of you, you caught the sympathetic look on her face. She had noticed your broken heart but was at least kind enough not to mention it in front of them.

You could be thankful for that at least.

------

Twenty eight links separated you and Geralt. Triss and Yen moved around the two of you, incense burning in the corners of the room as they muttered words in Elder that you didn’t understand. Both of them had energy burning around them as they made opposing circles, intersecting in front and behind you and Geralt.

For his part, Geralt looked uneasy with the magic being performed. He also did not like having them at his back, but it couldn’t be helped. 

The chain felt heavy between the two of you, but it might have just been your imagination. The longer you stood there though, the heavier it felt. You shifted your weight to accommodate, but it felt like it would drag you through the floor.

“I feel it too,” he mumbled as you gripped your wrist with your free hand to try to hold it up. “The magic is making the chains too heavy. I don’t think it’s working.”

You opened your mouth to agree, but you couldn’t stand any longer. You tumbled onto your knees and let your arm rest on the floor, the weight finally released. Geralt knelt down beside you, his own arm limp at his side. 

“Stop,” he shouted over the din in the room, like rushing air around you both, “it’s not working. Something is wrong!”

“The links are bound to you both,” Triss shouted back as she moved her hands, magic pouring over her and into the air. 

Bound to you? It made no sense. You looked down at the chains and then over at Geralt. He was staring at you as well. Wind was whipping around the two of you so quickly that his hair was flying in front of his face. You wanted to say something, but you didn’t have the words. Instead you reached out with your unchained hand, palm up.

His unchained hand wrapped around yours. The moment the contact was made, a bright light burst from between the two of you. Once the light receded, you noticed that the wind had stopped as well.

Your other arm felt lighter. You looked down and noticed that there wasn’t a chain around your wrist anymore. It had been there for over a year, but it was gone. You were free.

Finally free.

“It worked,” you breathed as you looked up and met Geralt’s eyes.

He looked at you in surprise. He mouthed something but you didn’t catch it before you were being pulled up off the floor. Triss looked exhausted but also happy as she wrapped her arms around you.

“I’m so glad that it worked,” she said as she held you.

You looked over her shoulder and saw that Yen held a hand out to Geralt to help him up. She said something to him which earned a nod, a very serious look on his face. When he turned to look at you, you made sure that you were focused on Triss and not the two of them.

“We should celebrate. Drinks at the tavern?”

It was agreed on by everyone. Tiredly you followed them out of the store and down the street to a tavern. Drinks were purchased for the four of you. Geralt seemed to stay close to you, out of habit from the chain you figured. Him and Yen were talking about someone named Jaskier and a misadventure they had shared. Triss laughed as she listened, although it was also obvious that she had heard the story before.

After a little while of happy conversation, you excused yourself for a moment. Outside you quickly made your way up the street and back to the apothecary store. Out front you rubbed Roach’s nose as you grabbed the few belongings Geralt had tied to the saddle.

Then you set off to find someone that was heading out of town. You struck gold with a man who was delivering vegetables out of the village. 

“I need to get to Lanton. I don’t expect you to take me that far, I’ll take a ride as far as you’ll take me.”

He looked you over, but it wasn’t in a lascivious way. Instead it felt more like a grandfatherly concern.

“I can’t take you to Lanton, but I can take you to Vonson’s Landing. Should be someone who can get you home from there,” he said expectantly.

Vonson’s Landing wasn’t far from your home at all. If it was morning when you got there, you might could even walk home. 

“I don’t have anything to pay you with,” you explained as he held his hand out to you.

“I don’t want your money child, give me your hand,” he said with a laugh.

You offered him your hand and let him pull you onto the wagon. He smiled and patted your leg as you got comfortable on the bench beside him.

“Here we go,” he said as he cracked the reins to get the horses to move.

You looked over your shoulder to say goodbye to Roach, but you caught a flash of white hair. He wasn’t looking at you so you let yourself have one last look. His hair still looked a little windswept, but it worked for him. You weren’t sure there was a look that was bad on him.

As the wagon started to pull around the bend where your view would be obscured, you could have sworn that he turned and looked right at you.

And then you were gone.

------

There was a scar on your wrist. You’d noticed it halfway to Vonson’s Landing, a strip of skin that was a different shade and texture that circled your entire wrist. It must have been from the cuff. You’d worn it for over a year so it made sense that it left a mark.

When you made it to Lanton, you were surprised to see that it hadn’t changed one bit. Your family’s farm was on the outskirts, so you didn’t have to go far before you were on familiar land. And as you approached the house, you felt a familiar curl of anxiety in your chest.

It had been a year. Did your parents look for you or did they assume you had run away? Were you missed? Would they be happy to see you?

The door opened and your mother came out to beat a rug. She stopped as she spotted someone in the yard. And then, as she recognized you, she dropped the rug and came running. Tears streamed down her face as she wrapped you up in her arms, thanking the sky above that you had come home to her.

Even your father was happy to see you when he came up from the farm. He had fallen to his knees and wrapped his arms around you and your mother, held you both close.

You were home. And your life wouldn’t be the same, but it would be yours. Things with Abalon were in the past. Things with Geralt were in the past.

You were free.

------

“You rode for three weeks chained to a… a Witcher?” 

Your mother sounded like you had just told her you had become an elephant tamer in the year you were gone. Your parents had taken the story of your imprisonment as well as they could, but it seemed they were far less accepting of your time with Geralt.

The humor wasn’t lost on you.

“He was a good man,” you promised as you went to work on the vegetables on the table. “He protected me. He… he was chivalrous and gentle. I don’t understand why so many people are wary of Witchers, but he was more kind than most people are.”

You tried not to think about the kiss that never should have happened. You tried not to think about the silhouette of his nude body coming out of the bath. 

You tried not to think about that last glimpse of him as you left.

“Then I will be grateful to him for taking care of my girl,” she said as she covered your hand. “As long as you are safe and happy, that is all that matters to me.”

You were safe. Your father had reinforced the windows even though you explained that Abalon was dead.

Happy was another thing entirely. You were glad to be home, to not be chained to that sword anymore. But every time you thought about that chain, you thought about Geralt. The small smile when you said something amusing. The way he was always so careful with you. His hands on your face when you were hit with the crossbow bolt. How gentle he was when he had to cut it from your shoulder.

“Y/N?”

You heard your father’s voice from outside. The first call was inquisitive, the second demanding. You and your mother headed out into the yard.

A horse and rider were coming up the way. At first you weren’t sure why your father had called for you, but then you recognized the rider.

You should have recognized him immediately, but you had convinced yourself that it wasn’t possible. There was no way that it was Geralt of Rivia riding up the same path you had walked every day of your life. 

That white hair could belong to… well, not anyone, but other people. But there was no mistaking his build. And no mistaking Roach.

“Oh,” you breathed, your hand coming to wrap around your wrist as you looked away from Geralt and at your concerned parents. “Perhaps he just wanted to make sure I made it home safely?”

Your parents stayed flocked to you as Geralt finally approached close enough to dismount. He gave Roach a friendly pat before he turned to face the three of you. He didn’t wear his armor or his swords, but they were visible on the horse.

And there was no mistaking the strength and capability in that man. Even without his Witcher emblem hung around his neck, you felt like anyone would know there was more to him.

“Geralt,” you greeted, unsure what else to do.

“Y/N.”

Had he always said your name like that? In a husky voice that sounded more like a sigh than anything else. You cleared your throat and looked over at your parents. If they noticed anything was amiss, they didn’t show it.

“Mother, father, this is Geralt. Geralt, these are my parents, Va–”

“I’m not here for them. I came here for you.”

You swallowed the rest of your introductions. You watched your father move to stand beside you, his way of protecting you. But your mother simply raised a hand to cover her mouth as she watched it all unfold.

“To see if I made it home safely?”

It was a last ditch effort, the only other reason you could think that he would have come all this way. And it had only been a few days so he must have headed this way not long after you had left. 

Why had he come?

He took a step forward and looked between your parents. When they didn’t move, he looked at you. Slowly he raised the hand that had been chained to you, palm up. He didn’t beckon you forward, didn’t reach out to grab you. He simply held his hand palm up and waited.

Without hesitation, you stepped around your father and went to stand in front of Geralt. Your hand moved to press gently against his. There was no burst of light as there had been the last time you touched him, but it felt the same. The breath was knocked from your lungs and you felt like the scenery was brighter.

“The links were bound to us,” he said in a low voice that echoed into your chest. “I was meant to follow that monster to you, to touch the chain and be bound to you. It was written into the fates and we stepped into the parts we were meant to play.”

You looked down at your clasped hands. The ring around your wrist matched perfectly with the ring that was around Geralt’s. He had only been in the cuff for a few weeks. It wasn’t possible that the scar had come from being there over time.

“I never put much faith in destiny or fate, but there are some things you cannot deny. I cannot deny that I felt drawn to you the moment I saw you in that room. I cannot deny that I felt protective of you. I cannot deny that I wanted you that night I saw you undress for a bath. I cannot deny that I was scared when you were hurt. I cannot deny that I wanted to kiss you, wanted more. And I cannot deny that it felt like my soul had been ripped from me when I saw you on that wagon leaving me.”

The million pieces that your heart had shattered into had come back together so brilliantly that you were sure all of the continent could see how radiant it was. Your hand in Geralt’s, you felt like everything had fallen into place in a way you never expected. You never expected to fall in love with a Witcher. You never expected him to fall for you as well.

“Geralt,” you whispered as you stepped closer to him, tears in your eyes as you beamed up at him, “the only destiny I believe in is the one that brought me to you.”

His smile was there and gone in a second. No, not gone, just pressed against your lips so that you couldn’t see it anymore. He tasted like golden sunshine and you just wanted to drink him in. You wanted to climb into his arms and never leave, if it was possible. 

A throat cleared behind you and both of you separated and turned to face your parents. Your mother was smiling behind her hand and your father looked reluctantly pleased. 

“I suppose we can count ourselves fortunate to have a Witcher in the family,” your father said with a shake of his head as if he couldn’t believe the words coming from his lips.

Geralt stiffened at your side. You were worried until you met his eyes and saw nothing but happiness there. Happiness and love. 

You pressed another kiss to his lips and then leaned your forehead against his cheek.

“You’re bound to me. And I to you,” you whispered as you held on to him tighter.

“Always,” he replied as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

X

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[horrorslashergirl]

The Collector finding and collecting his childhood friend because she was the only one who was kind to him as a kid.

The Collector x Reader- The memories that persist

Authors Note: Another Collector one? Well yes, because I have many requests with him, so gotta work on them.

Warning: Just some good ol’ kidnapping

Words: 1.8k

Asa had two moods that put people at distance, being socially awkward and having a stone-cold exterior were like protection, like a scorpions needle ready to pierce whatever got close to him. He never found the need to have friends or bond with another human being, for his opinion on humans and the society were that there are either predators or prey and he sure as hell wasn't the second.

The idea of someone being nice meant they wanted something, people don't do charity, there is always a secret reason for every action, be it good or bad.

He somehow had to thank his father for this unique education that he got until he was alone; it made him the man that he is today, untouchable. 

Asa was waiting patiently in front of the coffee machine in the hallway of the university, he needed the caffeine after a night of no sleep and working on his collection; sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when there was so much to do.

Usually, the hallways were filled with professors and students, chatting and discussing, but when he was near, people preferred to keep the distance and find another place for conversation. Maybe it was the way his black eyes would take glances at them and create an uncomfortable vibe without even trying.

Some of the more daring staffs of the university sometimes joked on Asa that he was close to forty and he should consider settling down, an aspect the Entomologist never thought about.

Now, he wasn't ugly or unappealing, perhaps on the contrary; he was tall, bulky, sandy brown hair and his eyes that at first, you might find intriguing, but once you meet his cold interior, his way of making anyone feel stupid using his superior intelligence, you would back away. None wanted to put up with him, none wanted to feel inferior next to him, so they all left him to be; alone.

He took the plastic cup from the machine, ready to head to his office, when someone called his name, making him turn around in the source of the voice.

Obsidian eyes looked at the person who called him; hair flowing down shoulders, eyes sparkling with knowledge and recognization, a big smile showing pearly whites.

"Asa? Is that you?" you asked, stopping in front of him.

His brows pulled into a furrow, confusion evident on his face.

"Do I know you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Does 'Bugaboo' ring a bell?" you asked with a mischievous smile.

One minute passed, then two, then his eyes widened as memories from so long ago crashed back onto him. He was looking at you like he'd seen a ghost, like he believed what he saw was just a hallucination.

"[Name]?" He tested the name on his lips and tongue, it felt so foreign.

Your lips pulled into a grin and you nodded.

"So, you did remember?" you asked, chuckling at his shocked expression, which you found cute.

It's been years since he said your name, memories of two little kids spending their time on the edge of the forest close to the town, basking into the beauty of nature.

If Asa had to recall a good memory it would be that his little hands holding a book as he read aloud, you leaning on his side, listening to his voice as he read paragraph after paragraph. It was probably the only time he felt not constricted by his fathers' rules, in your presence he felt peaceful, not afraid or uncomfortable.

You were the only one who had the time and patience with his awkwardness, the only one not to judge, and the only one who was genuinely nice to him, never expecting anything in return.

As a kid, Asa was very shy and his self-esteem was just dust, the only ability he was very sure of himself was his academics, but even that if it wasn't molded to perfection his father would destroy.

Perfection.

All his life resorted around it, be it in all kinds of aspects, but that's what Asa thrived on, quintessence.

"What are you doing here?" Asa found himself asking.

Before the massacre of his family, probably one or two weeks prior, you left, your family left; you pretty much disappeared, leaving him alone and he could recall his father's mean words.

'People are temporary, son. They come and go, none stays forever. They seek you until they found you unneeded.'

"I'm in my last engineering year and they transferred me here, but I'm glad they did. I didn't expect to see you here, but I'm very happy so." you genuinely said, making him gulp down, nervous.

Asa wasn't nervous.

"I work here." Asa simply stated.

"Ahhh...So your dream to be a successful entomologist finally happened. I knew you would make it." you said with a grin, pulling your backpack over your shoulder.

You took one some coins and put them into the coffee machine to get your own beverage. 

Now that you were closer, his eyes inspected you. He recalled when you were kids you were both the same height, but now he pretty much towered over you. Your hair used to be shoulder length, but now it was past your middle back in loose curls, a loose red wine-colored sweater covered your upper body, the material a little past your hips, your legs hugged by black leggings and brown Uggs on your feet.

"I really need some hot coffee. Its cold outside and I think it won't take much to snow." you said, but Asa was more so comparing your actual form to that of your younger self.

As a kid you were cute, he remembers that, but now you were a woman, and what little warmness he had for you as a child now it came back, but in a much different shape. Both of you were adults, no longer children.

"I guess I will see you around, Bugaboo?" you asked with a raised eyebrow, using the childish nickname and making him look away, but alas nodding.

You gave him one last smile and marched away down the hallways, his eyes trained on you until you disappeared around the corner.

Asa couldn't believe what just happened, he still debated if everything was just a very realistic dream, but his confirmation was made when he saw you around the university, always flashing him a smile and waving at him.

Some staff members even teased him, asking if you were his girlfriend or so.

'Emory! I didn't know you had a woman. You sneaky bastard.'

'She sure is a pretty one. Wonder what she sees in you.'

He wished he could take a scalpel and cut the brown-nosing idiots from neck to groin, but he had more self-restraint than most. 

What he really felt towards you wasn't just an attraction; yes, he was attracted to you, but there was also a catch. Everyone who fell as victims to the Collector knew that if Asa Emory was attracted to you, it meant a death sentence or a complete nightmare.

He was patient, he was a strategist and planned everything with the utmost precision, and that leads to you being chained to a bed, makeshift gag to prevent you from screaming, although Asa doubted that someone will actually hear you, probably only his guard dogs and the collected ones that were still alive.

The hotel was isolated outside the city and not even cars passed by to wonder what odious things were going inside.

You had tears running down your face, and the bonds on your wrists created uncomfortable bruises that you knew will be purple by the end of this nightmare. Your attention was pulled from trying to break free to the door of the room as it opened slowly, revealing a tall man dressed in all black. He closed the door, locking it and putting the keys on the utility belt around his waist.

Even in the dim-lit room, you could make out some sort of his appearance; he was white, very bulky, so fighting hand to hand against him will do you no good. As he came closer you could make out his eyes from behind black carapace-like a mask. Your eyebrows were pulled into a furrow, these eyes looked so familiar, that certain spark in them, it was then that your body froze in shock, like you were struck by a lightning.

Maybe it was only your imagination playing with you. As he stalked oh so slowly towards you, his gloved hand coming up to take your gag out of your mouth, making you take a deep breath and close your eyes as a whimper escape your lips.

"A-Asa?" You tried to say his name, wondering if it was really him, although you could never mistake his eyes for anyone else.

"Not Asa." he replied, his voice all too recognizable, but what did he mean that it wasn't him?

"W-What?" you choked out, only for his finger to press against your lips and you swore you could taste the blood.

He looked over you, calculating eyes taking you in, then you squeaked as he swiftly got on top of you, his nitrile covered hand coming to gently cup your chin, his eyes absorbing every little detail that made you a whole.

"P-Please...T-This is not you. This is wrong." you tried to kick some sense into him, not wanting to anger for God knows what he is capable of.

"No. Of course not." he whispered, his mask brushing against your cheek as his breath hit your ear, the close proximity between your bodies making you feel anxious.

Eyes widened when you saw the glint of a blade, his hand grasping the handle of the weapon as the steel trailed up and down your legs, then between your breasts and resting under your chin, making your gaze never turn away from his.

"Please don't kill me...." you begged, closing your eyes to let around a set of tears fall down your face.

He tilted his head to the side, curious at your desperate words. That was a habit of Asa, you remembered how cute it was when he tilted his head in pure genuine curiosity when he saw something that piqued his interest, but now, it was downright disturbing.

"I'm not gonna kill you." he answered your beggings, his mouth against your ear, and you had to fight the urge to kick your legs when his tongue came out to lick behind your ear.

"I'm gonna punish you for leaving....little pet." your eyes widened, heartbeat stopping at the dark suggestion of his sentence.

Next thing, your ears were meet with the ripping sound of your blouse, a scream tearing from your mouth, only to be silenced by a hand around your throat.

"A-Asa..." you choked out, his lips pulling into a sadistic smirk, obsidian eyes sparkling with lust.

"The Collector."

[j-amespotter]

★ epiphany – r. l.

"with you, i serve. with you, i fall down."

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Nymphadora Tonks (if you squint)

x. x.

Summary: Throughout his life, Remus fought many battles. Only once was he ever on the brink of victory.

Genre/Warnings: angst, war, death, torture, mentions of lycanthropy

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: i'm officially on summer break, so expect more writing from me!! this one actually took a lot of time and effort so please share your feedback. not a reader insert, just some canon character insight. i think about remus's last moments a lot :( let me know if you'd like to be added to my taglist!

masterlist

1978 - With you, I serve.

The moon was bright but not quite full. It shone on two boys, both fresh out of school and on the precipice of becoming men. As much as they tried to deny it, there was an aura of naiveté surrounding them, one that would soon deteriorate beyond their imaginations.

“Come here,” said Remus Lupin, a tall, tired boy, tugging his companion’s sleeve. “Behind the bushes.”

“It’s child’s play, this job. What’s Dumbledore playing at?”

Remus was paired up with James Potter, who was growing more and more impatient by the second. “Prongs, we are trainees. We’re lucky to have an assignment at all.”

The two friends were seated on a small hill overlooking a large, dreary house. It belonged to the Travers family, a family notoriously pureblood, notoriously Slytherin. A family most likely in league with the greatest threat to the Wizarding World in several decades—Lord Voldemort.

The severity of the situation remained unspoken between them. If caught, James and Remus would be killed within seconds. Remus silently wished he shared James’s conviction regarding the ultimate invincibility of the right cause. But there was something inside of him that would remain unconvinced for a long time.

“There’s no way Travers isn’t a Death Eater,” said James. “I say we attack. They know we’re careful. They’ll never see it coming.”

“Perhaps,” said Remus. “Although, I doubt they are unprepared. Stealth is the only path to success.”

James snorted. “Okay, Professor Moony.” Years later, the same voice on a nearly-identical face would be addressing him in the same manner, with an amount of long-faced sincerity that would destroy him. But Remus did not know that yet.

After a while, Remus broke the comfortable silence between them simply because of a lingering curiosity manifesting within him. “Do you really think we can win this?”

James turned toward him. When he spoke, Remus thought he sounded a little scandalized. “Of course I do. And even if we don’t, there isn’t a single part of me that won’t die trying.”

Remus hummed, though he could feel the hesitation brewing inside of him, the same hesitation he found himself constantly suppressing around his friends. It was not as though he didn’t share the same sentiment; that wasn’t the case at all. It felt blasphemous to let his thoughts wander at times, but he couldn’t help himself. The truth was loud and clear. Remus was fighting this war for those who wouldn't do the same for him.

Something about the setting and the shape of the moon kept him lost in his muddled thoughts. “Why did you become an Animagus?”

James looked slightly taken aback, running a hand through his hair. “You know why.”

“Indulge me.”

“Because, Remus, we care about you. We wanted to help you,” said James. “We still want to help you.”

“You have done more than enough, James.” And it was true. James Potters didn’t exist in the real world, and that was a fact that was becoming blazingly clear the longer Remus spent in it.

There was nothing more to be said after that. James only sighed, staring out with a strangely thoughtful expression. “You know something?”

“What?”

“Think I’m going to ask Lily to marry me.”

Remus swallowed. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” said James. “I haven’t told anyone.”

Remus found that hard to believe. “Not even Sirius?”

“No, not even Sirius. Just thought of it, actually. Besides, something tells me Sirius would laugh in my face.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” said Remus, though it was always hard to tell with Sirius. The idea of James getting married sounded so far-fetched, and yet, made more sense to him than anything ever had in his entire life.

“So, what do you think?”

What did he think? Honestly, he felt a twinge of envy that James had someone to propose to, that he didn’t have to think twice about it, that in all likelihood, when this war ended, James would live a long, happy, healthy life with his wife and enough children to form his own Quidditch team. “I think that you definitely should.”

James’s face broke out into a wide grin, one that made Remus feel warm inside. One that told Remus that it wasn’t actually a whim, that James had been thinking about it for weeks, and that when it came to Lily, he always seemed to turn to Remus. It was a bittersweet sentiment, but one that he had come to appreciate.

“Guess I’ll need to figure out who my best man will be,” mused James.

Remus rolled his eyes. “She hasn’t even said yes yet, Prongs.”

James harrumphed. “Of course she’ll say yes to becoming Mrs. Arrogant Toerag.” He puffed out his chest dramatically, only to lose his balance and fall forward into the bushes. “Wow, we really suck at this whole ‘stealth’ thing, don’t we?”

“Shut it, will you?” whispered Remus, though if he had known how few moments he had left to share with James, he wouldn’t have reprimanded him at all.

Suddenly, a scream coming from the direction of the house interrupted them.

“What was that?” asked James. Both boys had their wands at the ready.

“They’re torturing someone,” said Remus, suppressing a shudder. He winced at the sound of another piercing scream, one that shredded his insides with every resounding decibel.

James began to rise. “We have to go in and help them.”

Instantly, Remus grabbed his arm and pulled him down. “James, we can’t. We will blow our cover, we’re likely completely outnumbered, and we were told to call reinforcements if anything got serious. We are trainees, remember?” When James begrudgingly slunk down next to him, Remus nudged him again. “Send a Patronus to the Prewetts.”

As James retreated several yards into the woods to conjure his great silvery stag, Remus turned his attention back to the house in front of them. After hearing another scream, he was beginning to lose his nerve. We can win this, Remus chanted to himself like a sacred mantra. We can win this. We can win this. We can win this.

Three years later, wizards all over Britain would celebrate their victory over the Dark Lord. But with three dead friends and one a murderous traitor, Remus Lupin would have nothing to celebrate. And he wouldn’t for a very long time, not until he stared into a pair of startlingly green eyes in a train compartment several years later.

1998 - With you, I fall down.

His heart raced as he watched the silver dome shatter around the castle. A swarm of dark, hooded figures made their way towards them. With one hand over the photograph in his pocket, Remus thought of Teddy—his vibrant, turquoise hair, his soft coos, and the sparkly eyes that looked just like his own.

We can win this. We can win this. We can win this.

It is different now, he thought to himself, I have Harry. A son. A wife. For the first time in his life, Remus Lupin had a proper family.

We can win this. We can win this. We can win this.

He was able to see his reflection on a window. Under all the worry pooling his features, Remus saw the ghost of a smile that looked so achingly familiar— the weary but indestructible smile of a new father, the one he last saw during his final moments with James many, many years ago.

He thought of Dora, who, despite his desperate pleas, followed him to Hogwarts to fight what was beginning to feel like the end. After he righteously begged her to return to safety, she scoffed teasingly. “Honestly, Remus. You should know better.”

She was right, and there was nothing more to say. She kissed him hard before they went their separate ways for the last time. Remus weaved through crowds of warriors, gaze wandering from time to time for a glimpse of either his wife or his young protege. Any sign that Dora and Harry were alright would ease his ever-growing nerves.

We can win this. We can win this. We can win this.

He thought of a late-night in his dormitory. It was the end of his seventh year. The four Marauders were sitting on each of their four-poster beds, picturing this moment, having no idea what was to come, just the confidence that it would and that they would win.

“I think it’ll be at the Ministry,” said Sirius.

“Or Diagon Alley,” said Remus thoughtfully.

“With Dumbledore leading the charge,” added James, a note of excitement in his voice. “I’d give anything to see the end of him.”

“Me too,” grumbled Sirius, struggling to hide the bitterness lacing every word. It had only struck Remus then that Sirius would be fighting his own flesh and blood on the other side. He knew better than to mention it.

“We could die,” said Peter quietly.

“We could,” affirmed James. “But I have a good feeling about it. It’ll be our moment, lads.”

Remus had only heard of Wormtail's death from Bill, who heard it from Harry. Peter, so afraid of death, so willing to do anything to avoid it, killed by his own hand. The last of his friends to go. In his wildest dreams, Remus would have never thought that he would be the last Marauder standing. Alone.

But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. He had Dora, Teddy, and Harry. Harry, brilliant Harry, the Boy Who Lived, the boy who, unbeknownst to him, changed Remus’s life. The boy who would carry out his father's dream. The boy who would win this for them all.

We can win this. We can win this. We can win this.

Remus heaved a tired sigh. His legs felt as though they were about to give out. Despite his unique set of skills, Remus spent more time sickly than able. Especially now, nearing the age of forty. No longer did he have the agility or stamina of his youth.

He was in the center of the fighting in the courtyard. Suddenly, Remus felt a sinking, silencing feeling inside of him. Swallowing it away, he turned around, grip on his wand accidentally loosening for the quickest second.

The man in front of him was smirking, a forthcoming light blinding any identifying features. Remus's wand slipped from his fingers.

The last thing he saw was green, consuming his vision like a swarm of Dementors closing in on him. The spell hit him squarely in the chest.

He always wondered what death would feel like, often equating it with the debilitating pain of his monthly transformations. But it wasn't like that at all. Death was like falling. An eternal, endless fall into nothingness.

Moments away from victory, Remus Lupin fell down.

Mischief Managed.

Taglist: @iwritesiriusly @sheismadness @she-seeks-magic @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @queenofblacks @duckie-dunham

[ariainstars]

Thank You, Disney Lucasfilm… For Destroying My Dreams

Warning: longer post.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So… I watched The Rise of Skywalker on Disney+ a few weeks ago. Again.

Sigh.

I guess it has its good sides. But professional critics tend to dislike it and even the general audience doesn’t go crazy for it. I wonder why?

  The Fantasy

When his saga became a groundbreaking pop phenomenon in the 1970es, George Lucas reportedly said that he wanted to tell fairy tales again in world that no longer seemed to offer young people a chance to grow up with them. The fact that his saga was met with such unabashed, international enthusiasm proves that he was right: people long for fairy tales no matter how old they are and what culture they belong to.

“Young people today don’t have a fantasy life anymore, not the way we did… All they’ve got is Kojak and Dirty Harry. All the films they see are movies of disasters and insecurity and realistic violence.” (George Lucas)

I’ve been a Star Wars fan for more than thirty years. I love the Original Trilogy but honestly it did not make me dream much, perhaps because when I saw it the trilogy was already complete. The Prequel Trilogy also did not inspire my fantasy.

The Last Jedi accomplished something that no TV show, book or film had managed in years: it made me dream. The richness of colorful characters, multifaceted themes, unexpected developments, intriguing relationships was something I had not come across in a long time: it fascinated me. I felt like a giddy teenager reading up meta’s, writing my own and imagining all sorts of beautiful endings for the saga for almost two years.

So if there’s something The Rise of Skywalker can pride itself on for me, it’s that it crushed almost every dream I had about it. The few things I had figured out – Rey’s fall to the Dark, Ben Solo’s redemption, the connection between them - did not even make me happy because they were tainted by the flatness of the storytelling reducing the Force to a superpower again (like the general audience seems to believe it is), and its deliberate ignoring of almost all messages of The Last Jedi.

Many fans of the Original Trilogy also were disillusioned by the saga over the decades and ranted at the studios for “destroying their childhood”. Now we, the fans of the sequels and in particular of The Last Jedi, are in the same situation… but the thought doesn’t make the pill much easier to swallow. What grates on my nerves is the feeling that someone trampled on my just newly found dreams like a naughty child kicking a doll’s house apart. Why give us something to dream of in the first place, then? To a certain extent I can understand that many fans would angrily assume that Disney Lucasfilm made the Sequel Trilogy for the purpose of destroying their idea of the saga. The point is that they had their happy ending, while every dream the fans of the Sequel Trilogy may have had was shattered with this unexpectedly flat and hollow final note.

I know many fans who dislike the Prequel Trilogy heartily. I also prefer the Original Trilogy, but I find the prequels all right in their own way, also since I gave them some thought. However, it can’t be denied that they lack the magic spark which made the Original Trilogy so special. Which makes sense since they are not a fairy tale but ultimately a tragedy, but in my opinion it’s the one of the main reasons why the Prequel Trilogy never was quite so successful, or so beloved.

Same goes for Rogue One, Solo, or Clone Wars. They’re ok in their way, but not magical.

The sequel trilogy started quite satisfyingly with The Force Awakens, but for me, the actual bomb dropped with The Last Jedi. Reason? It was a magical story. It had the spark again that I had missed in the new Star Wars stories for decades! And it was packed full of beautiful messages and promises.

The Force is not a superpower belonging solely to the Jedi Anyone can be a hero. Even the greatest heroes can fail, but they will still be heroes. Hope is like the sun: if you only believe in it when you see it you’ll never make it through the night. Failure is the greatest teacher. It’s more important to save the light than to seem a hero. No one is never truly gone. War is only a machine. Dark Side and Light Side can be unbeatable if they are allies. Save what you love instead of destroying what you hate.

Naively, I assumed the trilogy would continue and end in that same magical way. And then came The Rise of Skywalker… which looks and feels like a Marvel superhero story at best and an over-long videogame at worst.

Chekov’s Gun

“Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.”

(Anton Chekov, 1860 - 1904)

If you show an important looking prop and don’t put it to use, it leaves the audience feeling baffled. There is a huge difference between a story’s setup, and the audience’s feeling of entitlement. E.g. many viewers expected Luke to jump right back into the fray in Episode VIII, because that’s what a hero does, isn’t it? The cavalry comes and saves the day. And instead, we met a disillusioned elderly hermit who is tired of the ways of the Jedi. But there was no actual reason for disappointment: in Episode VII it was very clearly said (through Han, his best friend) that Luke had gone into exile on purpose, feeling responsible for his failure in teaching a new generation of Jedi. It would have been more than stupid to show him as an all-powerful and all-knowing man who kills the bad guys. Sorry but who expected that was a victim to his own prejudice.

A promise left unfulfilled is a different story. The Last Jedi set up a lot of promises that didn’t come true in The Rise of Skywalker: Balance as announced by the Jedi temple mosaic, a new Jedi Order hinted at by Luke on Crait, a good ending for Ben and Rey set up by the hand-touching scene which was opposite to Anakin’s and Padmés wedding scene. Many fans were annoyed about the Canto Bight sequence. I liked it because it felt like the set-up for a lot of important stuff: partnership between Finn and Rose whom we see working together excellently, freedom for the enslaved children (one of whom is Force-sensitive), DJ and Rose expressing what makes wars in general foolish and beside the point. So if we, the fans of Episode VIII, now feel angry and let down, I daresay it’s not due to entitlement. We were announced magical outcomes and not just pew-pew.

The Star Wars saga never repeated itself but always developed and enlarged its themes, so it was to be expected that delving deeper, uncomfortable truths would come out: wars don’t start out of nowhere, and they don’t flare up and continue for decades for the same reason. In order to find Balance, the Jedi’s and the Skywalker family’s myths needed to be dismantled. Which is not necessarily bad as long it is explained how things came to this, and a better alternative is offered. The prequels explained the old political order and the beginnings of the Skywalker family, and announced that the next generation would do better. The sequels hardly explained anything about the 30 years that passed since our heroes won the battle against the Empire, and while The Last Jedi hinted at the future a lot, The Rise of Skywalker seemed to make a point of ignoring all of it.

  The Skywalker Family Is Obliterated. Why?

Luke was proven right that his nephew would mean the end of everything he loved. The lineage of the Chosen One is gone. His grandson had begun where Vader had ended - tormented, pale and with sad eyes - and he met the same fate. Luke, Han, Leia, all sacrificed themselves to bring Ben Solo back for nothing. Him being the reincarnation of the Chosen One and getting a new chance should have been meaningful for all of them; instead, he literally left the scepter to Rey who did nothing to deserve it: merely because she killed the Bad Guy does not mean she will do a better job than the family whose name and legacy she proudly takes over.

I do hope there was a good reason if the sequels did not tell “The New Adventures of Luke, Leia and Han” and instead showed us a broken family on the eve of its wipeout. It would have been much easier, and more fun for the audience, to bring the trio back again after a few years and pick up where they had left. Instead we had to watch their son, nephew and heir go his grandfather’s way - born with huge power, branded as Meant to Be Dangerous from the start, tried his best to be a Jedi although he wanted to be a pilot, never felt accepted, abandoned in the moment of his greatest need, went to his abuser because he was the only one to turn to, became a criminal, his own family (in Anakin’s case: Obi-Wan and Yoda) trained the person who was closest to him to kill him, sacrificed himself for this person and died. And in his case, it’s particularly frustrating because Kylo Ren wasn’t half as impressive a villain as Vader, and Ben Solo had a very limited time of heroism and personal fulfilment, contrarily to Anakin when he was young.

The impact of The Rise of Skywalker was traumatic for some viewers. I know of adolescents and adults, victims of family abandonment and abuse, who identified with Ben: they were told that you can never be more than the sum of your abuse and abandonment, and that they’re replaceable if they’re not “good”. Children identifying with Rey were told that their parents might sell them away for “protection”. Rey was not conflicted, she had a few doubts but overall, she was cool about everything she did, so she got everything on a silver platter; that’s why as a viewer, after a while you stopped caring for her. Her antagonist was doomed from birth because he dared to question the choices other people made for him. It seems that in the Star Wars universe, you can only “rise” if you’re either a criminal but cool because you’ve always got a bucket over your head (Vader / the Mandalorian) or are a saint-like figure (Luke / Rey).

One of Obi-Wan’s first actions in A New Hope is cutting off someone’s arm who was only annoying him; Han Solo, ditto. These were no acts of self-defense. The Mandalorian is an outlaw. Yet they are highly popular. Why? Because they always keep their cool, so anything they do seems justified. Young Anakin was hated, Jake Lloyd and Hayden Christensen attacked for his portrayal. For the same reason many fans feel that Luke is the least important of the original trio although basically the Original Trilogy is his story: it seems the general audience hates nothing more than emotionality in a guy. They want James Bond, Batman or Indiana Jones as the lead. Padmé loved Anakin because she always saw the good little boy he once was in him; his attempts at impressing her with his flirting or his masculinity failed. Kylo tried to impress Rey with his knowledge and power, but she fled from him - she wanted the gentle, emphatic young man who had listened to her when she felt alone. Good message. But both died miserably, and Ben didn’t even get anything but a kiss. Realizing that his “not being as strong as Darth Vader” might actually be a strength of its own would have meant much more.

The heroes of the Original Trilogy had their adventures together and their happy ending; the heroes of the Prequel Trilogy also had good times and accomplishments in their youth, before everything went awry. Rey, Finn and Poe feel like their friendship hardly got started; Rose was almost obliterated from the narrative; and Ben Solo seems to have had only one happy moment in his entire life. Of course it’s terrible that he committed patricide (even if it was under coercion), but Anakin / Vader himself had two happy endings in the Prequel Trilogy before he became the monster we know so well. Not to mention Clone Wars, where he has heroic moments unnumbered.

The Skywalker family is obliterated without Balance in the Force, and the young woman who inherited all doesn’t seem to have learned any lesson from all this. The Original Trilogy became a part of pop culture among other things because its ending was satisfying. We can hardly be expected to be satisfied with an ending where our heroes are all dead and the heir of their worst enemy takes over. What good was the happy ending of the Original Trilogy for if they didn’t learn enough from their misadventures to learn how to protect one single person - their son and nephew, their future?

For a long time, I also thought that the saga was about Good vs. Evil. Watching the prequels again, I came to the conclusion that it is rather about Love vs. War. And now, considering as a whole, I believe it to be essentially Jedi against Skywalker. The ending, as it is now, says that both fractions lost: they annihilated one another, leaving a third party in charge, who believes to be both but actually knows very little about them.

Star Wars and Morality

After 9 films and 42 years, it still is not possible to make the general audience accept that it is wrong to divide people between Good and Evil in the first place. The massive rejection of both prequels and sequels, which have moral grey zones galore, shows it.

It is also not possible without being accused of actual blasphemy in the same fandom, to say the plain truth that no Skywalker ever was a Jedi at heart. As their name says, they’re pilots. Luke was the last and strongest of all Jedi because he always was first and foremost himself. Anakin was crushed by the Jedi’s attempts to stifle his feelings. His grandson, too. A Force-sensitive person ought to have the choice whether they want to be a Jedi or not; they ought not to be taught to suppress their emotions and live only on duty, without really caring for other people; and they ought to grow up feeling in a safe and loving environment, not torn away from their families in infancy, indoctrinated and provided with a light sabre (a deadly weapon) while they’re still small. A Jedi order composed of child soldiers or know-it-all’s does not really help anybody.

The original Star Wars saga was about love and friendship; although many viewers did not want to understand that message. The prequels portrayed the Jedi as detached and arrogant and Anakin Skywalker sympathetically, a huge disappointment for who only accepts stories of the “lonesome cowboy” kind. The Last Jedi was so hated that The Rise of Skywalker backpedaled: sorry, of course you’re right, here you have your “hero who knows everything better and fixes everything for you on a silver platter”. The embarrassing antihero, who saves the girl who was the only person showing him some human compassion, can die miserably in the process and is not even mourned.

Honestly: I was doubtful whether it would be adequate to give Ben Solo a happy ending after the patricide. I guess letting him die was the easiest way out for the authors to escape censorship. (I even wrote this in a review on amazon about The Last Jedi, before I delved deeper into the saga’s themes.) The messages we got now are even worse.

Kylo Ren / Ben Solo

A parent can replace a child if they’re not the way they expect them to be. A victim of lifelong psychical and physical abuse can only find escape in death, whether he damns or redeems himself. An introspective, sensitive young man is a loser no matter how hard he tries either way. A whole family can sacrifice itself to save their heir, he dies anyway.

Rey

Self-righteousness is acceptable as long as you find a scapegoat for your own failings. Overconfidence justifies anything you do. You can’t carve your way as a female child of “nobodies”, you have to descend from someone male and powerful even if that someone is the devil incarnate. You are a “strong female” if you choose to be lonely; you need neither a partner nor friends.

In General

Star Wars is not about individual choices, loyalty, friendship and love, it is a classic Western story with a lonesome cowboy (in this case: cowgirl) at its centre. Satisfied? 

The father-son-relationship between Vader and Luke mirrors the Biblical story of Cain and Abel, saying that whoever we may want to kill is, in truth, our kin, which makes a clear separation in Good and Evil impossible. The “I am your father” scene is so infamous by now that even non-fans are aware of it; but this relationship between evil guy and good guy, as well as the plot turns where the villain saves the hero and that the hero discards his weapon are looked upon rather as weird narrative quirks instead of a moral. 

In  an action movie fan, things are simple: good guy vs. bad guy, the good guy (e.g. James Bond may be a murderer and a misogynist, but that’s ok because he’s cool about it) kills the bad guy, ka-boom, end of story. But Star Wars is a parable, an ambitious project told over decades of cinema, and a multilayered story with recurring themes.

A fairy tale ought to have a moral. The moral of both Original Trilogy and Prequel Trilogy was compassionate love - choose it and you can end a raging conflict, reject it and you will cause it. What was the moral of the Sequel Trilogy? You can be the offspring of the galaxy’s worst terror and display a similar attitude, but pose as a Jedi and kill unnecessarily, and it’s all right; descend from Darth Vader (who himself was a victim long before he became a culprit) and whether you try to become a Jedi trained by Luke Skywalker or a Sith trained by his worst enemy, you will end badly?

Both original and prequel trilogy often showed “good” people making bad choices and the “bad ones” making the right choices. To ensure lasting peace, no Force user ought to be believe that he must choose one side and then stick to it for the rest of his life: both sides need one another. The prequels took 3 films to convey this message, though not saying so openly. The Last Jedi said it out clearly - and the authors almost had their heads ripped off by affronted fans, resulting in The Rise of Skywalker’s fan service. It’s not like Luke, Han and Leia were less heroic in the Sequel Trilogy, on the contrary, they gave everything they had to their respective cause. They were not united, and they were more human than they had once been. Apparently, that’s an affront.

The Jedi are no perfect heroes and know-it-all’s and they never were, the facts are there for everyone to see. Padmé went alone and pregnant to get her husband out of Mustafar - and she almost succeeded - although she knew what he had done and that he was perfectly capable of it (he had told her of the Tusken village massacre himself) because she still saw the good little boy he had been in him; Obi-Wan left him amputated and burning in the lava, although he had raised Anakin like a small brother and the latter had repeatedly saved his life. But Padmé was not a Jedi, so I guess she still had some human decency. Neither Obi-Wan nor Yoda lifted a finger for the oppressed populations of the galaxy during the Empire, waiting instead for Anakin’s son to grow up so they could trick him into committing patricide. Neither Luke nor Leia did anything for their own son and nephew while he became the scourge of the galaxy, damning his soul by committing crime after crime. On Exegol, Rey heard the voices of all Jedi encouraging her to fight Palpatine to death. After that, they left her to die alone, and the alleged “bad guy”, who had already saved her soul from giving in to Palpatine’s lures, had to save her life by giving her his own. The Jedi merely know that “their side” has to win, no matter the cost for anyone’s life, sanity, integrity or happiness.

Excuse me, these are simple facts. How anyone can still believe that the Jedi were super-powerful heroes who always win or all-knowing wizards who are always right is beyond me. Luke, the last and strongest of them, like a bright flickering of light before the ultimate end, showed us that the best of men can fail. There is nothing wrong with that in itself. But it is wrong and utterly frustrating when all of the failure never leads to anything better. If Rey means to rebuild the Jedi order to something better than it was, there was no hint at that whatsoever.

  And What Now?

The Last Jedi hit theatres only 2 years before The Rise of Skywalker, and I can’t imagine that the responsible authors all have forgotten how to make competent work in the meantime; more so considering that Solo or The Mandalorian are solid work. Episode IX is thematically so painfully flat it seems like they wanted us to give up on the saga on purpose. The last instalment of a 42-year-old saga ought to have been the best and most meaningful. I had heard already decades ago that the saga was supposed to have 9 chapters, so I was not among who protested against the sequels thinking that they had been thought up to make what had come before invalid. I naively assumed a larger purpose. But Episode IX only seems to prove these critics perfectly right.

The last of the flesh and blood of the Chosen One is dead without having “finished what his grandfather started”?

Still no Balance in the Force?

And worst of all, Palpatine’s granddaughter taking over, having proven repeatedly that she is not suited for the task?

Sorry, this “ending” is absurd. I have read fanfiction that was better written and more interesting. And, most of all, less depressing. I was counting on a conclusion that showed that the Force has all colours and nuances, and that it’s not limited to the black-and-white view “we against them”. That’s the ending all of us fans would have deserved, instead of catering the daddy issues of the part of the audience who doesn’t want stories other than those of the “lonesome cowboy” kind. I myself grew up on Japanese anime, maybe that’s one of the reasons why I can’t stand guys like James Bond or Batman and why I think you don’t need “a great hero who fixes the situation” but that group spirit and communication are way more important.

It was absolutely unexpected that Disney, the production company whose trademark are happy endings and family stories, would end this beloved and successful saga after almost half a century on such a hollow note. Why tell first a beautiful fairy tale and then leave the audience on a hook for 35 years to continue first with a tragedy (which at least was expected) and then with another (unexpected one)? And this story is supposed to be for children? Like children would understand all of the subtext, and love sad, cautionary tales. Children, as well as the general audience, first of all want to be entertained! No one wants to watch the legendary Skywalker family be obliterated and a Palpatine take over. The sequels were no fun anymore; we’ve been left with another open ending and hardly an explanation about what happened in the 30 years in between. If you want to tell a cautionary tale, you should better warn the general audience beforehand.

The Original Trilogy is so good because it’s entertaining and offers room for thought for who wants to think about its deeper themes, and also leaves enough space for dreams. Same goes for the first two films of the Sequel Trilogy; but precisely the last, which should have wrapped up the saga, leaves us with a bitter aftertaste and dozens of questions marks. 

We as the audience believe that a story, despite the tragic things that happen, must go somewhere; we get invested into the characters, we root for them, we want to see them happy in the end. (The authors of series like Girls, How I Met Your Mother or Game of Thrones ought to be reminded of that, too.) I was in contact with children and teenagers saying that the Sequel Trilogy are “boring”; and many, children or adults, who were devastated by its concluson. There is a difference between wanting to tell a cautionary tale and playing the audience for fools. This trilogy could have become legendary like the Original Trilogy, had it fulfilled its promises instead of “keeping it low” with its last chapter. Who watches a family or fantasy story or a romantic / comedic sitcom wants to escape into another world, not to be hit over his head with a mirror to his own failings, and the ones of the society he’s living in. Messages are all right, but they ought not to go at the cost of the audience’s satisfaction about the about the people and narrative threads they have invested in for years.

This isn’t a family story: but children probably didn’t pester the studios with angry e-mails and twitter messages etc. They simply counted on a redemption arc and happy ending, and they were right, because they’re not as stupid as adults are. I have read and watched many a comment from fans who hate The Last Jedi. Many of these fans couldn’t even pinpoint what their rage was all about, they only proved to be stuck with the original trilogy and unwilling to widen their horizon. But at least their heroes had had their happy ending: The Rise of Skywalker obliterated the successes of all three generations of Skywalkers.

If the film studios wanted to tease us, they’ve excelled. If they expect the general audience to break their heads over the sequels’ metaphysics, they have not learned from the reactions to the prequels that most viewers take these films at face value. Not everybody is elbows-deep in the saga, or willing to research about it for months, and / or insightful enough to see the story’s connections. Which is why many viewers frown at the narrative and believe the Sequel Trilogy was just badly written. This trilogy could have become legendary like the Original Trilogy, had it fulfilled its promises instead of “keeping it low” with its last chapter. As it is now, the whole trilogy is hanging somewhere in the air, with neither a past nor a future to be tied in with.

The prequels already had the flaw of remaining too obscure: most fans are not aware that Anakin had unwillingly killed his wife during the terrible operation that turned him into Darth Vader, sucking her life out of her through the Force: most go by “she died of a broken heart”. So although one scene mirrors the other, it is not likely that most viewers will understand what Rey’s resurrection meant. And: Why did Darth Maul kill Qui-Gon Jinn? What did the Sith want revenge for? Who was behind Shmi’s abduction and torture? Who had placed the order for the production of the clones, and to what purpose? We can imagine or try to reconstruct the answers, but nothing is confirmed by the story itself.

The sequels remained even more in the dark, obfuscating what little explanation we got in The Rise of Skywalker with quick pacing and mind-numbing effects.

Kylo Ren had promised his grandfather that “he would finish what he started”: he did not. Whatever one can say of this last film, it did not bring Balance in the Force. What’s worse, the subject was not even breached. It was hinted at by the mosaic on the floor of the Prime Jedi Temple on Ahch-To, but although Luke and Rey were sitting on its border, they never seemed to see what was right under their noses. It remains inexplicable why it was there for everyone to see in the first place.

We might argue that Ben finished what his grandfather started by killing (or better, causing the death of) the last Jedi, who this one couldn’t kill because he was his own son; but leaving Rey in charge, he helped her finish what her grandfather had started. The irony could hardly be worse.

Episode IX looks like J.J. Abrams simply completed what they started with Episode VII, largely ignoring the next film as if it was always planned to do so. We, the angry and disappointed fans of The Last Jedi, may believe it was due to some of the general audience’s angry backlash, but honestly: the studios aren’t that dumb. They had to know that Episode VIII would be controversial and that many fans would hate it. The furious reactions were largely a disgrace, but no one can make me believe that they were totally unexpected. Nor can anyone convince me that The Rise of Skywalker was merely an answer to the small but very loud part of the audience who hated The Last Jedi: a company with the power and the returns of Disney Lucasfilm does not need to buckle down before some fan’s entitlement and narrowmindedness out of fear of losing money. And if they do, it was foolish to make Rey so perfect that she becomes almost odious, and to let the last of the Skywalker blood die a meaningless death. (Had he saved the Canto Bight children and left them with Rey, at least he would have died with honor; and she, the child left behind by her parents, would have had a task to dedicate herself to.)

The only reason I can find for this odd ending is that it’s meant to prepare the way for Rian Johnson’s new trilogy, which - hopefully - will finally be about Balance. We as the audience don’t know what’s going on behind the doors. Filmmaking is a business like any other, i.e. based on contracts; and I first heard that Rian Johnson had negotiated a trilogy of his own since before Episode VIII hit theatres. Maybe he kept all the rights of intellectual property to his own film, including that he would finish the threads he picked up and close the narrative circles he opened, and only he; and that his alleged working on “something completely different” is deliberately misleading.

Some viewers love the original trilogy, some love the prequels, some like both; but I hardly expect anyone to love the sequel trilogy as a whole. What with the first instalment “letting the past die, killing it if they had to”, the second hinting at a promising future and the third patched on at the very last like some sort of band-aid, it was not coherent. I heard the responsible team for Game of Thrones even dropped their work, producing a dissatisfying, quickly sewn together last season, for this new Star Wars project and thereby disappointing millions of GoT fans; I hope they are aware of the expectations they have loaded upon them. George Lucas’ original trilogy had its faults, but but though there was no social media yet in his time, at least he was still close enough to the audience to give them what they needed, if not necessarily wanted. (Some fans can’t accept that Luke and Leia are siblings to this day, even if honestly, it was the very best plot twist to finish their story in a satisfying way.)

I’m hoping for now that The Last Jedi was not some love bombing directed at the more sentimental viewers but a promise that will be fulfilled. “Wrapping up” a saga by keeping the flattest, least convincing chapter for last is bad form. Star Wars did not become a pop phenomenon by accident, but because the original story was convincing and satisfying. Endings like these will hardly make anyone remember a story fondly, on the contrary, the audience will move to another fandom to forget their disappointment.

On a side note, I like The Mandalorian, exactly for the reason that that is a magical story; not as much as the original trilogy, but at least a little. Of course, I’m glad it was produced. But it’s a small consolation prize after the mess that supposedly wrapped up the original saga after 9 films.

We’re Not Blind, You Know…

- Though Kylo Ren (Ben Solo) has Darth Vader’s stature, his facial features are practically opposite to Vader’s creepy mask. This should have foreshadowed that his life should have gone the other way, instead of more or less repeating itself. - As a villain Kylo was often unconvincing; by all logic he should have been a good father figure. (Besides, Star Wars films or series never work unless there is a strong father or father figure at their center.)

- Like Vader, Kylo Ren was redeemed, but not rehabilitated. Who knows who may find his broken mask somewhere now and, not knowing the truth, promise “I will finish what you started”. - The hand-touching scene on Ahch-To which was visually opposite to Anakin’s and Padmé’s should not have predicted another tragedy but a happy ending for them. - The Canto Bight sequence was announcing reckoning for the weapon industry and freedom for the enslaved children. It also showed how well Finn and Rose fit together. - Rey was a good girl before she started on her adventures. Like Anakin or Luke, she did not need to become a Jedi to be strong or generous or heroic. - Rey summons Palpatine after one year of training. Kylo practically begged for his grandfather’s assistance for years, to no avail. Her potential for darkness is obviously much stronger. - Dark Rey’s light sabre looked like a fork, Kylo’s like a cross. - The last time all Jedi and Sith were obliterated leaving only Luke in charge, things went awry. Now we have a Palpatine masquerading as a Skywalker and believing she’s a Jedi. Rey is a usurper and universally cheered after years of war, like her grandfather. - The broom boy of Canto Bight looked like he was sweeping a stage and announcing “Free the stage, it’s time for us, the children.”

Rey failed in all instances where Luke had proved himself (so much for feminism and her being a Mary Sue): - Luke had forgiven his father despite all the pain he had inflicted on him. She stabbed the „bad guy”, who had repeatedly protected and comforted her, to death. - Luke never asked Vader to help the Rebellion or to turn to the Light Side, he only wanted him back as his father. She assumed that you could make Ben Solo turn, give up the First Order and join the Resistance for her. She thought of her friends and of her own validation, not of him. - Luke had made peace by choosing peace. Rey fought until the bitter end. - Luke had thrown his weapon away before Palpatine. Rey picked up a second weapon. (And both of them weren’t even her own.) - Luke had mourned his dead father. Rey didn’t shed a tear for the man she is bonded to by the Force. - Luke went back to his friends to celebrate the new peace with them. Rey went back letting everyone celebrate her like the one who saved the galaxy on her own, she who were tempted to become the new evil ruler of the galaxy and had to rely on the alleged Bad Guy to save both her soul and her body. - Luke had embodied compassion when Palpatine was all about hatred. Where he chose love and faith in his father, she chose violence and fear. - Luke had briefly fallen prey to the Dark Side but it made him realize that he had no right to judge his father. Rey’s fall to the Dark Side did not make her wiser. - Rey has no change of mind on finding out that she’s Palpatine’s flesh and blood, nor after she has stabbed Kylo. Luke had to face himself on learning that he had almost become a patricide. Rey does not have to face herself: the revelation of her ancestry is cushioned by Luke’s and Leia’s support. Rey is and remains an uncompromising person who hardly learns from her faults.

This is cheating on the audience. And it's not due to feminism or Rey being some sort of “Mary Sue” the way many affronted fans claim. Kylo never was truly a villain, Rey is not a heroine, and this is not a happy ending. The Jedi, with their stuck-up conviction “only we must win”, have failed all over again. The Skywalker family was obliterated leaving their worst enemy in charge.  Rey is supposed to be a “modern” heroine which young girls can take as an example? No, thank you. Not after this last film has made of her. Padmé was a much better role model, combining intelligence with strength and goodness and also female grace. The world does not need entitled female brats.

Bonus: What Made The Rise of Skywalker a Farce

- The Force Awakens was an ok film and The Last Jedi (almost) a masterpiece. The Rise of Skywalker was a cartoon. No wonder a lot of the acting felt and looked wooden. - “I will earn your brother’s light sabre.” She’s holding his father’s sabre. - Kylo in The Last Jedi: “Let the past die. Kill it if, you have to.” Beginning with me? - Rey ends up on Tatooine. - The planet both Anakin and Luke ardently wanted to leave. - Luke had promised his nephew that he would be around for him. - Nope. - Rey had told Ben that she had seen his future. What future was that - “you will be a hero for ten minutes, get a kiss and then die? (And they didn’t even get a love theme.) - “The belonging you seek is not behind you, it is ahead.” On a desert planet with a few ghosts. What of the ocean she used to dream about? - Ben and Rey were both introduced as two intensely lonely people searching for belonging. We learn they are a Force dyad, and then they are torn apart again. - Why was Ben named for Obi-Wan Kenobi in the first place, if they have absolutely nothing in common? - The Throne Room battle scene in The Last Jedi was clearly showing that when they are in balance, Light Side and Dark Side are unbeatable. Why did the so-called “Light Side” have to win again, in The Rise of Skywalker, instead of finding balance? - Luke’s scene on Ahch-To was so ridiculously opposite to his attitude in The Last Jedi that by now I believe he was a fantasy conjectured by her. (Like Ben’s vision of his father.) - Anakin’s voice among the other Jedi’s. - He was a renegade, for Force’s sake. - The kiss between two females. - More fan service, to appease those who pretended that not making Poe and Finn a couple was a sign of homophobia. - We see the Knights of Ren, but we learn absolutely nothing about them or Kylo’s connection with them. - Rose Tico’s invalidation. - A shame after what the actress had gone through because for the fans she was “not Star-Wars-y” (chubby and lively instead of wiry and spitfire). - Finn’s and Rose’s relationship. - Ignored without any explanation. - Finn may or may not be Force-sensitive. - If he is: did he abandon the First Order not due to his own free will but because of some higher willpower? Great. - General Hux was simply obliterated. - In The Force Awakens he was an excellent foil to Kylo Ren; no background story, no humanization for him. - Chewie’s and 3PO’s faked deaths. - Useless additional drama. - The Force Awakens was a bow before the classic trilogy. The Rise of Skywalker kicked its remainders to pieces. - The Prequel Trilogy ended with hope, the Original Trilogy with love. The Sequel Trilogy ends on a blank slate. - “We are what they grow beyond.” The characters of the Sequel Trilogy did not grow beyond the heroes of the Original Trilogy. - The Jedi did not learn from their mistakes and were obliterated. The Skywalker family understood the mistakes they had made too late. Now they’re gone, too.

  P.S. While I was watching The Rise of Skywalker my husband came in asked me since when I like Marvel movies. I said “That’s not a Marvel movie, it’s Star Wars.” I guess that says enough.

P.P.S. For the next trilogy, please at least let the movies hit theatres in May again instead of December. a) It’s tradition for Star Wars films, b) Whatever happens, at least you won’t ruin anyone’s Christmases. Thank you.