#i’m sure you had something in mind when you asked for ballads. I am equally sure I did not fulfill that. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mistressemmedi · 3 years ago

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Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

Greetings from Miley Cyrus - phenomenal numbers.

The streams of Zitti e Buoni are growing by the second, and ahead of Muse, on the top of the English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. We almost tripled followers after Rotterdam (from 1.4 to 3.3 million, ed). Contagious and universal madness: T-shirts and merchandise sold out in 10 minutes. Like records, tickets for a tour that adds dates and expands on maps. They are even looking for us in festivals where the Rolling Stones have played. - Thomas

After the whole cocaine scandal that was started against us from France, which was later denied by my drug test, in Spain there people have been making murals with my face saying "No drugs". Some tweets made us laugh: «Congratulations, Italy! I have never been so sure that four people have fucked each other ". Miley Cyrus started following us. "You are great". “You are more” . - Damiano

From rags to riches - what a story

It was only 2016, and we were playing in restaurants, on the streets, in via del Corso (famous street in Rome). Damiano without a microphone, Thomas's guitar with broken strings, Ethan drummed on a cajón. At the occupations of the high schools in Rome (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first gigs and half an hour of fame, between those who criticized us and those who said "these guys are so cool". One of the rare times in which they offered to pay us to play - 50 euros each - we offered that money to those after us, in exchange for the chance to play during their time slow, as we knew there would have been a bigger crowd. We already understood then how it worked. That visibility was worth more than the money. We still think so ». - Victoria

The intimacy of rock - Choice of a genre

Music allows is this miracle which allows one to talk about very personal and private topics, even difficult and delicate ones. They are and remain deeply yours, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage which is like a delivery, they also find their place in you, their elaboration. They are overcome, they are accepted. One moment it feels aggressive, one moment later a (soft) ballad. It's very cathartic. - Damiano

Against panic - The stage as therapy

I have suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it is a problem that I have worked on thanks to a course of psychotherapy, to my friends and family. Playing has helped me not to let myself be paralyzed by my fears, not to be limited in my private and professional life. I have learned to accept, to live with this side of me. I don't hide it. I no longer feel ashamed. - Victoria

This belief that only crazy people go to the psychologist is widespread ignorance. Nobody is born learned. And it is often difficult to understand why we are here, let alone the derivation and direction of our desires. It is a long and legitimate journey towards one's clarity. - Damiano

Essere fuori di testa – Ma diversi da loro (Be out of your mind - But different from them)

Already feeling a strong passion for something that is not a 'regular' profession but an artistic language, it puts you on a level where you're an anomaly, and while you're neither superior nor inferior to others, it places you in the condition of what breaks the mold but you're also being at a loss, leaving it to you to be bold and to take risks, hoping that they will pay off and land you somewhere. "What good is it if you don't stand out on your own?". You want to give it an aesthetic to your artistic dream, but to others it boils down to " You dress differently! You must be gay! ”, I'm 22 now and it makes me laugh, but at 17 it had an effect on me too. - Damiano

The beauty of being unique - Of believing in that and defending it

After all, we are all different not because we want to be alternative but because really no one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty. - Ethan

Fluid sexuality - Pride is freedom

We appreciate heels on men, we kiss each other, we have an open, extended mind, and we are proud of it. The horizons become vast, beyond the oppression of conservative families. With information on the web, knowledge is enriched and with it the possibility that minorities will be fewer and fewer, because majorities will be fewer and fewer. This will lower the volume to insults and bullying. If social networks can reach a village of 50 souls to reveal to someone, who is afraid of the darkness, that someone has felt that same fear.. There is no longer the need to give it a name, to define that "something" to fear, to brand it with labels that only limit you. Definitions have always had this effect on me. Gender should not even be considered in a person's judgment. Let alone orientation ". - Victoria

Sexism - A culture to be dismantled

Emma (Italian singer) dropped the bomb:" When I went to Eurovision, they insulted me over a pair of shorts. Damiano - half naked and in heels - was never criticized ". The judgment against women is constant, ferocious, and demeaning (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool but Vic a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader she is domineering and pain in the ass, who is successful because only because of her looks [and not the hard work she puts in]). As a male I am privileged, the harassment I suffer is not comparable to that experienced by a woman, the comments on my aesthetics are focused only on my aesthetics and do not insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thinking in a systemic way. But I did find myself in a situation, out of nowhere, with someone who, pulling close to her for a selfie, started licking my face ... "What do you want, did you ask me?" Consent exists, and it is a must ». - Damiano

To grow as a person - The only rule to follow

For me, to conform is the total opposite of educating oneself, and the asphyxiation of one's expression (of freedom). Fortunately, I did not suffer heavy bullying, to the point where I felt I needed to change to adapt to how others saw me. But the matrix of who I am and the aggression that marks me is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and loves dolls, then allow me the freedom to do so. I used to be a kid who wanted long hair and played with Barbies. My friends, as a teenager, looked my long hair and teased me: "You have to find yourself a girl with a short hair to make up for it". My grandparents took the dolls away from me and said: “Stop it, they're not for you” ». - Ethan

“I was six and I already could not tolerate the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things typically defined as feminine as a child, and they made fun of me for skating, for playing soccer, for not wearing skirts, for giving myself the chance to be as I wanted to be. I suffered a little, as I was bullied, but I had courage to stay true to myself, and today thanks to that courage I know that I could have been much more hurt, or I would have risked leaving the most important decision to others: the one about being just me". - Victoria

Love - music and girlfriends

I've been married to music for the past 20 years. I cannot wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary. - Ethan

Everyone goes through their own experiences, sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, but it's never other people's business." - Thomas

When, for the first time, I developed feelings and attraction for a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage to go beyond the limitations I had imposed on myself. For society, being heterosexual is the norm and therefore often one automatically pegs himself in that way, giving up the freedom to experience many different shades and facets of love. Once I got over the initial insecurity of having to question one's own certainties, I lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone. - Victoria

I had paparazzi under my house morning and night. So, after four years of relationship, I finally revealed her name. I still have the paparazzi under my house morning and night, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore. - Damiano

The value of the group - Protecting each other

But the real relationship, the real family, is between us. Our band. We believed in it from the first day, even before calling ourselves Måneskin (moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon, on the poster for our first concert. We share everything, even the pain of the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because he was a victim of racism. Being a group is what we should all do together: stay united and not retreat in the slightest in the face of abuses generated by a distorted vision of someone "being different|. - Thomas

Non ho l’età – like Gigliola (It references Gigliola Cinquetti who won both Sanremo and Eurovision with her song "Non ho l’età" which translates to Not old enough)

Before us, the only one to win Sanremo and Eurovision together was Gigliola Cinquetti (in 1964). Is there is something for which I feel I am not yet old enough for? No, honestly no. Maybe for kids. I'll be honest, I'm not enough to be a dad. - Damiano

Reached the sky - What fears still remain

We are more than in the dream, we have conquered the dream. To fly high this high, there is the risk is to fall and get hurt, but we will try not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - somewhat presumptuously - reassures us rather than frighten us ". - Damiano

(ORIGINAL INTERVIEW IN ITALIAN)

[Please note that I have changed some words or structure sentence, trying to make it so that the interview made more sense lol - I skipped the first two paragraphs, which was basically the interviewer gushing over how pretty the band is lmao (relatable).

Any mistakes in the translation are sorely mine, nothing was proofread, so apologies in advance]

#maneskin #ethan torchio #damiano david #victoria de angelis #thomas raggi #i'm off to drink some wine lol

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lyricsofravensong · 3 years ago

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The beat of a longing heart

• Jake x MC • hurt/comfort, fluff • ~ 1 675 words + a chat•

• request by Anon: hey, i don't know how to start this ask but... well i got the news that my favorite drummer has passed away and i can't deal with it without thinking about jake comforting MC... i think this is weird and I must be mixing things up, but it's a comforting thought...you are my favorite writer on tumblr out of all the blogs and i am always happy to read your works so if you are accepting requests could you please write something about jake and mc? thank you😢❤️

• Your evening was supposed to be a sad song until the end, but then an unexpected melody appears from the rain.

A/N: Here it finally is! 🌠 Thank you for the request dear anon, I hope you're doing well. 💕 Sorry again for being so slow! 😖

I wasn't sure if you wished for a chat or a written story, so I combined them a little. :) I was really struggling with the editing but this is the best I can offer at the moment and I don't want to make you wait any longer. I hope so much I'm not letting you down and this story gives you the comfort you were missing. 💚

And thank you @dreamer-writer-fangirl for the encouragement! ❤

When you're happy, the beat of the music resonates with your cheerful heart; it dances and flutters in every corner of your body, making you feel powerful and alive.

When you're sad, the lyrics of the songs portray the pain your heart is aching with; they poke and stroke every inch of your bleeding soul, challenging and healing.

The song of your evening starts with a heavy sigh escaping from your lungs. Disappointment burns in your throat, but you swallow it down painfully. It's not Jake's fault that the theme of your day had been nothing but a repeating chorus of a sad song, and it seems like the evening is going to continue the manner. But you can't deny that the absence of his presence is one note more to the chord of your grief.

Rain sets the tune by hitting the roof with a sound that's reaching the rumbling measures of a thunderstorm. The ambience of it is making you even more anxious.

The beat comes in as a pulse of your longing heart, echoing in every cell of your body. Your mind is helplessly out of tune and can't keep up with the racing tempo.

You give up on tears as the rain makes a crescendo that covers the voice of your sobbing. Your thoughts are a swirling mess of unsettling beats, counting every person there is for you to miss. A wave of sorrow floods over your soul and the pouring rain invades your brain until your tears turn to raindrops.

You cry for a long time and the static rhythm of the rain is like a stereo to your feelings.

At first, the careful knocking on the door gets lost in the mixed concert of percussion going on in your head. When it comes again stronger, you sit up slowly. You have no intention of answering it, a single glance at your tear-stained face in the mirror confirms that. You're sure that the intruder will give up quickly since who in their right mind would be outside in that weather. The doorbell rings once and is followed by the uplifting tone of your phone receiving a message.

Your heartbeat drops tragically as you read the text Jake had sent.

Tension builds up as you hurry to the door without a second glance at the mirror. The beat of your heart drums in your ears when you yank the door open. And then - every sound goes silent.

There's Jake, standing in the rain outside your door. His black hair is dripping wet as well as his hoodie of the same color. In contrast to them, he's holding a white plastic bag in his hand, phone in the other. Your eyes meet his and you stare at each other equally shocked. The shaken expression on Jake's face indicates that you look as awful as you felt a second ago.

"I can't stop the rain, but… here I am. Ready to hold you," Jake says and a hint of embarrassment appears on his face. You follow his every move as he puts his phone in the pocket of his hoodie and then - trying to figure out what to do with his freed hand - runs his fingers through his wet hair.

"I hope you're not bothered by me intruding like this," he mumbles awkwardly, making a shy glance towards you.

Words get caught in your throat and come out pitifully feeble, "Or course not, but… how?" Your voice breaks and you have to gasp for breath. "How? Why?"

There's a clear twitch on Jake's face by the tearful sound of your voice. For a minute he looks almost panicked as he struggles to find the next words.

"I was getting this when you texted me." He lifts the plastic bag so you can see the logo of a nearby Chinese restaurant. "Rain offers some cover so it's safer for me to be out. I was so insanely worried about you that my legs just carried me here."

Your mind is gradually catching up with the new tempo of this turn of events. Another wave of tears is blurring your eyes and you slap a hand over your mouth to cover the weird grin spreading on your face.

"And I'm glad they did," Jake continues, pulling the corner of his lips into a sympathetic smile. "I'd hate to think of you being alone like that."

You shake your head in disbelief at this unexpected change of key in the earlier flatness of your emotions. You let out a trembling breath. A new verse in the song of your evening starts when you sprint out in the rain and throw yourself into Jake's arms. You bury your face into his chest and let out the forceful sobs. Jake drops the bag on the ground and wraps his arms tightly around you.

The drumming of the rain fades to the background as you stand in its shower, crying the whole record of your sorrows over Jake. He listens to it quietly and doesn’t let go even when you raise your hand to wipe your nose on your sleeve. Gradually your weeps quiet down along with the rain which is throwing the last separate drops on your already damped clothes. You rest your head on Jake’s shoulder and squeeze the back of his hoodie.

“Have I ever told you why I like the rain?” his voice asks softly beside your ear.

“No,” you sniffle. “I don’t believe you have.”

“I like it because it reminds me of you.”

“Why is that?” You raise your head to look at Jake’s face, forcing him to loosen his grip which he fixes by resting his hands behind your lower back.

“It was pouring when I contacted you for the first time,” he smiles. “That was the day my life changed. For me, rain symbolizes the unpredictability of life. I feel like anything is possible on a rainy day.”

“That’s something you just proved to be true,” you laugh and brush a strand of hair aside from his forehead. Jake stares at your face with such intensity that you suddenly become very aware of your swollen eyes and runny nose. You blush and lower your head.

“I’m sorry about crying so much. I know I look hideous.”

Jake sets his hand gently on your cheek, making you look up at his face again as he examines yours even closer.

“No, you’re still fascinating.” His whisper makes your heart sing with emotions you have never heard so vividly before.

“My face is all swollen and full of tears…” you splutter in loss of words.

Jake’s smile only widens and he wipes your cheeks tenderly with his fingers. “They’re just raindrops.”

You chuckle, “Then you can stop the rain after all.”

Tears of the sky are still dripping from the trees and corners of the roof all around you. They form an uneven rhythm of a harmony you’re now hearing differently; not as an echo of your pain, but more as a ballad for sadness.

But sadness is not the theme of your feelings anymore when you share the Chinese with Jake on the couch in your living room. No food has ever tasted so delicious as this slightly soaked and chill portion of noodles eaten straight from the container, taking turns of using the one pair of chopsticks Jake had with him.

The second verse of your evening is composed from comfort. After the food is finished and Jake’s drenched hoodie is drying on the back rest, you lean against his shoulder and slowly give lyrics for your sadness by telling him all about your previous distress. His t-shirt is wet too, but you forget it when his arm wraps around you, pulling you closer to his side.

Jake's presence is a lot like music; without saying much he still makes you feel understood and healed. His comfort is mainly instrumental but filled with so many soothing nuances of warm touches and thoughtful nods. He is the melody your evening missed. He is the lyrics for your love and the stereo for your desire; resonating stronger than the drumming of the rain. He makes you believe that just like music, your feelings are also made to be shared with your loved ones. And as you let your head fall to his lap and turn on your back to meet the softness of his eyes, you realize that this one you love very much.

Rain starts a new solo on the roof with full force as the song of this evening comes to the bridge. Jake bends down to you, his intention written clear on his face. Still he stops hesitantly right above your mouth, pausing the music just before the beat drops. But your heart is singing and you hit the play by reaching your hand behind his head and pulling him down to your lips. The kiss launches a full symphony inside you and every note makes you yearn for more.

On a short rest between kisses you caress Jake’s cheek and say, “Now I hope it will never stop raining.”

“I thought you hated it,” Jake points out.

“Not anymore,” you mumble while your attention is drawn to the way Jake’s mouth forms the words he speaks and how his lips are tuning into an amused smile.

“What made you change your mind?” he asks.

“No one in their right mind would go outside in that weather, so you have to wait here until the rain is over.”

When you're in love, music understands your every feeling; the fluttering happiness, the aching yearning, and the healing comfort. All the lyrics tell the story of the two of you, of every smile and tear you’ve had.

A perfect harmony is formed when two beats of two longning hearts meet each other in a beautiful duet.

This song of your evening does not end yet, the music of your hearts continues beating in the calming dusk of a rainy day.

_____________________

It was actually raining every time I wrote this. 🤭☔

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #duskwood mc #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood jake x mc #iamjake #my writing

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spacedikut · 4 years ago

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“would you please put your tongue away” ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer can’t handle how good you look in your dress. he also can’t handle another guy asking you to dance. 2760 words

a/n: taken from this prompt list :)

“…It’s highly inappropriate.”

Someone waves a hand in front of Spencer’s face and he’s brought back to reality – surrounded by people from every FBI department in a far too bright room with champagne that is certainly not worth the amount it costs and in a suit that is a little too tight.

“What?” He asks.

“I said,” Derek grins, “Would you please put your tongue away.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow at that, “My tongue is firmly in my mouth, Morgan.”

Derek gives a scoff. He wishes Emily was with them to attest, but she’s across the room, beside you, stuck in a conversation with some “important” person that Hotch made a point to tell the team to suck up to.

“If Y/N can’t feel your stare burning a hole in her back, when she turns and sees you drooling she’s sure to know you’re obsessed with her.”

In panic, Spencer wipes his mouth just in case he is in fact drooling. That gets a hearty laugh from Derek, and Spencer huffs indignantly, “I am not obsessed-“

“When you saw her all dressed up earlier you had to leave the room, Reid. That isn’t a platonic reaction.”

“Well,” He stutters, glancing over to you and scanning your bare back, “She looks- she-“

“She took your breath away, man. It’s okay.” Derek gives him a pat on the back and smirks at him, coughing to cover a chuckle when Spencer glares at him.

“And who is this majestic being that took Doctor Reid’s breath away?” It’s you, Prentiss and JJ trailing behind, delicately holding a champagne flute in your left hand and a business card in your right.

Spencer flounders, taken off-guard by your approach and the close-up view of you in your dress. He doesn’t know much about fashion, let alone dresses, but God do you look like something straight out of a movie. To him, you’re the embodiment of all the love poems and romantic monologues that his mother used to read him. He always wondered what the beauty all those writers saw looked like, and if he’d ever see something so celestial, and then you walked into his life.

He’ll never recover. Especially when you keep reminding him how perfect you are.

“Someone’s been networking,” Derek nods to the business card, noticing Spencer’s struggle and swooping in to save him. Derek loves to tease Spencer, it’s his favourite thing to do, but there’s always a time and a place, you know?

You fiddle with the card, “A little pretentious, but he mentioned having some paperwork trouble and I offered to help. I thought if I got in his good graces he’d help us keep the jet.”

Just then, the band at the back of the charity event plays a slow tune, everyone coupling up to head to the dancefloor. Before you or Spencer can react, Derek is dragging Emily away and JJ goes to find Will, but not before all three of them send some kind of subtle gesture to Spencer – Derek winks, Emily raises her eyebrows and looks between you and Spence, and JJ nudges him as she passes.

Spencer’s entire body locks up. He can’t do this. Whatever this is.

When he doesn’t move, you offer him your hand, “Would you care to dance, Doctor Reid?”

His body eases and he can’t help but smile because you’re you, “It would be an honour, Miss Y/N,” He laughs, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.

You tug him onto the outskirts of the floor – being in the centre is both of your worst nightmares – and Spencer’s other hand falls to the small of your back, pulling you close. You’re chest to chest, your arm falling in place around his shoulders, but even with heels on he’s still got some height on you. You sway to the music in perfect sync, like you’ve done this a million times, and your eyes subconsciously close from the comfort of being in Spencer’s arms and the feel of him against you.

You concentrate on your feet for a few beats, too shy to look him in his clear, brown eyes. When you finally look up to meet his gaze, you can’t help the soft smile that appears. He’s already looking at you.

Spencer returns it, smile equally as fond.

The lights of the room reflect in his eyes – it’s as if they’re twinkling, like stars, and it’s utterly mesmerising. For a second, you forget you’re at a fundraiser event, on business, surrounded by your team and people from all departments and all positions. You feel like you’ve been whisked away to some faraway land, maybe somewhere that isn’t filled with killers and evil, and you and Spencer are lovers simply enjoying the night and eachother’s company.

“You look beautiful,” Spencer whispers, as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear you. You wonder if he feels the same way you do.

“Thank you. I was waiting for you to compliment me.” You tease.

“Oh? Does my compliment mean that much?”

You giggle nervously. You love when he teases you back, when he has this confidence that always surprises you.

“More than I’d like to admit,” You say, “But I did also spend all day getting ready, so I want my hard work appreciated.”

“Well,” Spencer swallows, eyes flickering to your collarbones and neck and everywhere on you, “Consider your hard work appreciated. Not just by me, either. I think I’ve got a lot of glares being shot at me right now.”

You break eye contact to survey the room. There’s definitely a good number of people staring at you, but you refuse to believe they’re all jealous of him. He looks dashing in his suit, hand-picked by Rossi himself, and you know you’re not the only one to notice. You see the beauties dotted around that keep checking him out.

Another ballad begins so Spencer keeps you close. He scans the side of your face, how your nose peaks and the makeup you’re wearing illuminates all of your features. He’s hopeless at makeup, too, but the colour of your eyeshadow(?) suits you perfectly. You always look perfect, he realises. Being ethereal comes naturally to you.

“Excuse me,” A voice interrupts.

Both of you snap towards him. Travis.

Travis works in.. a department. A stupid one, probably. Spencer thinks Travis sucks.

“Hi, Trav,” You smile. You like Travis – of course you do. You’ve known him longer than you’ve known Spencer, so how does Spencer stand a chance?

“Evening, Y/N. Evening, Spencer.” He gives a polite smile.

Spencer returns it with his jaw set.

“Could I steal you for a dance, Y/N? Just like during our graduation ball?” His eyes are hopeful, and Spencer looks at in you confusion. What graduation ball?

You agree shyly, “Sure, Trav. Is that okay, Spence?”

He doesn’t know why you’re asking him – you both know Spencer’s too socially awkward to say no. So he nods, gives a tight lipped smile, and sharply turns to walk straight towards the bar. He doesn’t want to see Travis gently grasp your hand and pull you close, just like he had done.

But he’s not jealous.

“Water, please.” Spencer says to the bartender.

Someone slides up beside him. He glances at the shoes – Italian leather – and he knows it’s Rossi. He’s standing with a whiskey in his hand and a pitying gaze.

Spencer takes a big gulp from his glass of water like it’s a shot of straight vodka.

“You know he’s gonna make a move on her.” Rossi announces. Spencer takes another gulp.

“What?”

“I overheard him and his friends. They were in the academy together, and after seeing her tonight he’s decided now it’s time to make a move. Even stopped me to ask if she was single because he saw how close you two were out there.” Rossi shrugs as he takes a sip of his drink, gaze burning into Spencer as he does it.

Spencer knows what he’s doing. He’s trying to rile him up, get his feathers ruffled, for him to, what? Fight Travis on the dancefloor? Run up and steal you?

“I’m sure…” He starts, slowly, “If someone, say, Emily, who disappeared outside, had a sudden emergency… Y/N would drop Travis in a second.”

Spencer looks at him. Rossi raises his eyebrows.

“Excuse me.” Spencer says.

Rossi grins as he watches Spencer almost charge towards you.

There’s a hand on your shoulder and you know it’s Spencer, and when you turn he’s out of breath.

“Emily-“ He pants, “I think she’s- she’s sick. She’s outside and asking for you.”

“Oh, God,” You gasp, hands immediately leaving Travis completely to instinctively grasp Spencer by his arms, something you’ve always done.

Spencer’s heart warms at your concern – of course you’re so genuinely concerned for one of your best friends. Could you be anymore perfect?

“Let’s go, Spence.” You glance at Travis, feet already moving, “Sorry, Travis, it was lovely to dance with you!”

Travis watches you flutter away, knowing very well that that was his once chance and he lost it. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Spencer is lying – at least a little.

Travis could tell Spencer wasn’t happy when he asked if he could dance with you. The unimpressed look in Spencer’s eyes whenever they made eye contact solidified that.

Travis can’t blame him, if he’s honest.

Outside, the cold is starting to set in, but you’re too panicked to notice or care. Your head darts left to right, searching for Emily. You spot her, in her stunning red dress, and go to call for her. But then she laughs, head thrown back, and takes another sip of her drink.

She’s fine.

You turn to Spencer, confused, “I thought she was sick?”

He looks sheepish and you laugh as he says, “I may have told a little lie.”

“Spencer!”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry.

“Well why-“

“Since we’re here, why don’t we go look at the fountain? I saw you eyeing it when we arrived.”

You want to ask why he interrupted you and Travis, but you’re not given the chance. Spencer’s large hand holds the tip of your fingers and he gently pulls you towards the stone fountain, where it stands with several tiers and the soothing sound of running water. There’s a statute in the centre – a woman wrapped in some kind of shawl.

“My guess,” You say, arms crossing, causing Spencer to take a sharp intake of breath, “Is the statue is based on the forlorn sculptor’s lover.”

Spencer’s body deflates as releases a deep breath. He thought you were onto him and why he ruined your dance.

“Actually,” His hands move to emphasise his point, “One of the most common purposes of sculpture is in some form of association with religion-“

“Why did you interrupt Travis and I?”

Uh oh.

“Did I look uncomfortable?” You wonder, “Because I can handle myself, Spence.”

You tried to resist asking again. But something about what he did bothers you – if you didn’t want to dance with Travis, you would’ve said no or made an excuse to not have to. If you didn’t want to be around Travis, you would’ve walked away from him. No matter what, you could’ve dealt with it yourself. Does Spencer disagree?

He licks his lips out of nervousness, shakes his head and mumbles a, “No, that’s not it.”

You turn to face him. His hands are in his pockets and he’s staring at the ground as he shuffles his feet. Rossi will have a fit when he sees the shoes he hand-picked have marks on them.

“I needed to get you alone. I’m sorry.” Spencer squirms. He can’t make eye contact.

“What?” You ask, brows furrowed, “Why? Is something wrong?”

“He was..” He trails off and clears his throat, “He was gonna ask you out. I couldn’t- didn’t want to let that happen.”

Your confusion increases. So he does think you can’t handle yourself?

There’s a spark of frustration in you, then. You’ve dealt with being underestimated and babied basically your whole life and Spencer knows that. He also knows you’re a trained FBI agent that has saved his skin more times than you care to count – he knows better than anyone that you can handle yourself.

So what the fuck.

“I appreciate the concern,”

Spencer winces at your tone. This is… not going well. Not going how Spencer wanted it to, or planned. Not that he had a plan beyond getting you and Travis as far away from one another as possible.

“But I can guarantee I do not need you to loom over me and scare boys away, Spencer. You’re not my father.”

Your tone is biting and Spencer moves closer to placate you.

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N, I’m sorry that’s- I know you can handle yourself. Very well. I still have the scar from when you thought I was a robber in your house-“

“You shouldn’t have tried to sneak up on me, Spencer Reid-“

“Rossi overheard Travis saying he was gonna make a move on you and it was like I went on auto-pilot and I could hear the blood pumping in my ears and-“

“I can take care of myself, Spence.”

“I couldn’t let it happen because I want to date you.”

He looks at you then, gaze so intense you feel frozen where you stand. He continues.

“But I’m sorry if you were planning to say yes to Travis and I… came in and ruined it. Maybe you’re into him and I just… delayed the inevitable for no reason other than to humiliate myself.” He gives a tight lipped smile, rolling onto the tips of his feet and then back on the heel.

You let out a breathy laugh in disbelief. “I wasn’t going to say yes to Travis, Spence. It’d be pretty damn rude for me to date him when I very much like and want to date you.”

His eyebrows shoot up and he gives a toothy, hesitant smile, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” You step closer. Spencer can’t take his eyes off you, not that he’s been able to at any point tonight, but now you can tell he can’t help but ogle at you.

It makes you feel fuzzy inside, that mix of excitement and nerves that you always get around Spencer.

“Well, what should we do about that?” He teases, but some anxiety shines through. He’s genuinely asking.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” You ask.

He sputters, “Uh- yes. That would be completely okay.”

“Well then,” You smile, “Come here.”

As if you’ve done it a million times, Spencer’s hands cup your face as he tugs you towards his lips. Your hands find his waist, softly gripping him as your eyes flutter shut and you feel Spencer’s lips for the first time.

Why does it feel so natural? So right?

Spencer has to pull back a couple of seconds later because he’s smiling so wide. You can’t resist and kiss his nose, and he giggles. He giggles.

God, you’re so in love with him.

Spencer glances at the statue standing at the top of the fountain.

“You think she’s angry that we’re kissing in front of her?”

You hum in consideration, “Definitely jealous. I mean, not everyone gets to kiss the most handsome guy at the ball.”

He can’t help but blush, and although you have a teasing tone you both know you genuinely mean it.

From where you’re standing you can still slightly hear the sound of the band inside – some kind of smooth jazz is being played now, nice and slow.

You turn and offer your hand to Spencer, just like before, “Another dance, kind sir?”

Spencer gives you a cheeky smile, “As long as you promise no Travis-like interruptions this time.”

He pulls you close, definitely closer than before as your lips nearly touch and you can feel his breath, and you rub the tip of your nose against his. “No Travis, no one, just us.”

“And the voyeur statue,” He gestures with his head towards the fountain.

You both look, and your hand leaves his shoulder to flip her off.

“Back off, hag.” You joke, and Spencer laughs at your absurdity.

Then you dance, for the second time, to the music that flows out from inside. Under the moonlight, with the twinkling stars, Spencer is convinced this is the closest to Heaven on Earth. With you, in his arms, dopey grins and loving stares.

God, he’s so in love with you.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #i thought i liked this but then i left it for a day and now my opinion has DRASTICALLY CHANGED #decent idea. terrible execution

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abluescarfonwaston · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! So, um,, I know this isn't something you should ask a writer so please feel free to ignore this. I was wondering,, , your "the white wolves" story has brought me so much joy and I am grateful that you wrote it! I was just wondering, if you're not going to finish it (this isn't meant to pressure you. If you don't want to finish it that is 100% fine and your choice and I'm thankful for the five chapters you gave us!!!) so, anyway, I was wondering what the conclusion was going to be? If you're comfortable answering that. If not, that's absolutely fine of course and I'm sorry for asking.

Thank you so much for your lovely stories and I hope you're having a wonderful day!

Okay first off, we're totally cool don't even worry about it. I am always touched people still care about and think about an unfinished piece from like 10 months ago. And now that I have seen that it's almost been a year I feel it is important to point out that while this fic has clearly been physically abandoned, it has not been emotionally. Or Else I would not have spent the last hour pacing back and forth angrily lamenting that I do not have more hands. I do not want to provide you with an unsatisfactory summary in an undercut about how the story was going to unfold. It is not that I mind sharing these details - I have done so to others who have asked. It's just that admitting something I still love so dearly may never get done hurts.

Hopefully one day I will find that voice again.

Spoilers for a fic that will (probably) never get finished under the cut. It is 2.6k and includes most of the final section.

The next sequence in the story is them all taking a nap on the side of the road. Jaskier gets up and calls Yennifer for help. Do you know that part in the books where Yennifer saves Dandelion and he doesn't know why? Because I owed you one. You kept him from being alone. I think about that alot. I think that's why she comes. Not then. She meets them at the keep in a few days time. She is too tired to arrive before then.

There is a scene of the four of them in an inn. Of Ciri, afraid to sleep least she destroy the inn like she destroyed that forested grove. We have a moment when he looks at candle on the inn nightstand and remembers a inn fire that almost killed him and how he hadn't wanted to sleep in an inn ever again. (I foreshadowed it. It's allowed. I once read that Regis saved Dandelion from an inn fire. I thought it was canon. I know its not. I think. I only ever read the short stories. They sit on my shelf. One day I'll read them.) He understands. Still he tucks her in and tells her it will be alright. That is the empty words of adults who lie to children that they think do not know better. No. It is the empty words of a bard whose job is to write lullabies that get children to bed on time. Besides it will be fine. Even if things go bad, we will be with you the entire time.

These are the two scenes I largely blame for the fact I stopped writing this fic. I got stuck on Yennifer's conversation and then wasn't sure how to get that inn scene to actually play out. Anyway. Back to the part you were actually asking about. What's the deal with the wolves? Both of them.

They arrive at the keep. They are greeted and loved and yeered at and pestered. Jaskier is nervous and concerned as he eyes the silver in their blades. It is strange they believe the doppler. But he was a very good Doppler. He digs his fingers into white fur. Remember you promised. You promised you were him. Don't let it be a lie.

And oh I have lost the voice but they are in the great hall with Vesemir and Eskel and Lambert and Geralt and Geralt and Yennifer. She peers into his eyes and does not reveal him. Silver medallions brush against skin and he does not flinch or melt. Geralt of Rivia is Geralt of Rivia. Of this there is no doubt.

The conversation turns to Ciri and Jaskier quietly slips out. It is snowing, just a few flurries on the still air. The wolf flows him to the room they set their bags in. Geralt's room.

This was not how it was meant to go. This is not how it was meant to go. Yennifer was supposed to look at the doppler and then at him and go what the hell and they would slip away and break the curse on the wolf - on Geralt. And they would quietly change hands. The Doppler into the wolf. The wolf into Geralt. Ciri would not know of the quiet deception they had pulled. The magicians trick with revolving mirrors.

Because clearly the doppler loved them. Because clearly the doppler had chosen them. Do you ever think about how in the short story Geralt is ready to kill the doppler that wears his face and it knows this because it is also him so it turns into Dandelion. Because he Knows Geralt would never hurt Dandelion? It's falling in with a lie. It is so easy to in love with a lie. Jaskier knows this.

It was supposed to be like this. Laying in a bed in the Keep with a white wolf next to him. Playing ballads for Geralt and Yennifer and Ciri and not hurting. Because he'd lay next to the wolf at night and bury his face in its fur. And in the spring they would run off to the coast together. You can wear a different face, whatever one you'd like, and will prove to you again and again that I still love you.

I am good at loving people. You know this about me. I might not be able to love you first. That might be why you love me. Because I loved Geralt of Rivia first. So completely that whatever motive you had you abandoned for the sake of it. For the taste of it. I know what it is like to want so desperately to be loved. Wearing different faces and personalities in the chance that someone might.

I know that very well.

But unlike you I'm always still just Jaskier.

The wolf slips in the door behind him.

Jaskier rounds on him. 'What the actual fuck? What the fuck are you? You Promised me. You Promised me you were him." The medallion bounces off his chest and he hates it. Rips it from his neck and brandishes it like a weapon. "I kept this for you! I thought you were him! You promised me you were him! What are you?! I told you I would help you even if you weren't him! Why?!"

The circle of the medallion cuts into his hand.

"Is this funny to you? Bringing me all the way up here and making me look a fool?! Making me watch Geralt picker her Again? Is this funny to you? You and this sadistic game?!"

And he throws the medallion. It hits the wolf dead on. Hit's his bowed forehead. Right between the eyes. Just in front of his flattened ears.

He has always been a good shot.

It is snowing outside. Just a few more flurries. The winter stretches out, immeasurably long in front of him.

He knows who Geralt chooses. That those 'I love you's are lies. No. Not lies. Geralt did not mean to lie. Not intentional. But it was so easy when your heart is broken to bury yourself in someone that does. Love you. Drowning men love life boats but they'd much rather be on the ship that cast them out.

He knows. It exactly what he was doing too.

I love you doppler. I could love you too.

The winter stretches immeasurably long in front of him.

"I can't do this." There is a bag in his hand. A case. "I can't do this."

There is a whine but he does not hear it as he rushes out the door. He can't do this. Down the stone hall. Wind whips through a hairline fracture in the Keeps walls and cuts his cheeks red where they are wet. He can't do this. Out the doors. Through the large wooden gates. He can't do this.

The winter stretches immeasurably long in front of him.

In the great hall a sickening feeling curdles in Geralt's gut. Honestly its seeing Yennifer again. This is all so wildly out of hand. Even if he knows they need her. That Ciri needs her.

"It's startin' to snow. Your idiot better come back soon."

"What?" He turned to Lambert who had curled up in a mountain of blankets in the window nearest the fire.

"Said it's starting to snow, dumbass."

"No the other part."

"Peacock left a while ago. Think he had the right idea. If I'd know she was coming I'd have stayed down south."

"What?" Snow was coming down hard. Big wet flakes. Could hardly see the keep walls through them. "Why didn't you say so sooner?!"

He shrugged. "His dog went after him."

His gut does a funny thing then. It eases in relief before his brain catches up and yanks tight in terror.

The wolf went after Jaskier.

Jaskier is alone.

With the wolf.

In a snow storm.

Jaskier is is alone in a snow storm. He walks down the mountain alone. As he knew he would. Why did he think it would be any different this time? Why does he never learn? He is a fool.

The wind picks up. The snow buries the path. He huddles in a protected alcove and wishes he'd been thinking clearly enough to steal one of Geralt's cloaks. Just to be petty.

He is probably going to freeze on this mountain. Walking down it alone. He might die. But even if he doesn't something will have died. Something in his chest that he cradled like wounded bird.

How many times must you touch fire, how many times must you be burned before you learn? How many times Jaskier? How many times?

He pulled his doublet tighter around him.

Just the one more time it seemed. Just once more.

Barking. Just one voice barking. Barking into the snow and wind in the distance.

Are you looking for your pack? Did you get lost? Separated? I hope they find you. I hope they answer you. I wish I had a pack to call out to.

The snow drifts down in heavy blankets and there is nothing to do but sleep. All he wants to do is sleep.

There is warmth in his dreams. Heavy and warm and soft and reeking of wet dog and something deeper. Something less domesticated and tame.

"You found him?"

Geralt's voice. Deep and soft. Reaches him. Buried in the snow. Cruel and kind in equal measure. To make him hear that voice before he, probably, dies.

"... Thank you."

There is a gasp. He recognizes it. That shocked little inhale of Geralt's.

"I think... That druid overpaid."

He wakes up to a stone ceiling. To thick and heavy furs covering him. to a wolf pressed into his side. To a man known as the white wolf pressed into the other.

Words will find him soon. But for now they are held back by a dam of confusion and exhaustion.

Geralt reaches an arm over him and scratches at the wolf's forehead. "Hm." Got it. The hum says. The same one he uses when Jaskier reminds him to pick something up in town. Hm. Got it.

The dam breaks.

"Oh so you're just okay with each other now? Everything is hunky dory? Jaskier goes out into a snow storm and you drag him - Unwillingly mind you - back here and now you're best fucking friends?! Well it's not all A-O-Kay over here so perhaps you might let me up so I can demand Yennifer do me the solid of getting me out of this godforsaken keep?" He wiggled under the mountain of blankets that held him captive.

"Wha-" Geralt's hand pressed down on his chest. Preventing escape.

"Or you know just go back to the love of your life, take your one goddamn blessing and leave me be!"

"Jask-"

"Oh don't give me that- you're gonna run right off after Yennifer and we both know it and you," Glared. Bared his teeth at the wolf. "Are a lying manipulative bastard and I hope she turns you into a gnat or a pigeon or - or something!"

"Jaskier!"

His jaw clicked closed. He did not soften his gaze.

"We- He - it's not. He didn't lie."

He scowled harder at Geralt.

"You remember that druid Ciri told you I helped?"

"... Vaguely."

A woman and woman who was not her wife. But was. In his story, in his song, he would tell it as if she was.

You saved my heart, I don't know what I'd have done if she. She. Witcher how can I ever repay you?

What food do you have on you?

Uh.

Fine. We don't have time. Don't tell them which way have gone.

No that's not- perhaps the law of su-

No. No. Lie. That will be enough.

It's not!

"He," Nodded to the wolf. "Was how she decided to pay."

He studied Geralt. Then the wolf. Their matching golden eyes.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Geralt grimaced. Hair falling over his face. "He's a familiar. She made him for me. Of me."

He studied the wolf again, distrustingly. "How does that work?"

Shrugged a shoulder. "You'd have to ask Yen."

"Don't care that much." He tried to wave his hand and the idea off but couldn't get it free from the covers. "Shouldn't you have known then? If he's made of you?"

"We weren't... connected. You have to. Touch."

"Oh and she thought you'd just go out of your way to touch a big white wolf? Honestly what was the plan there? You'd have just killed the damn thing."

"Mhmm."

"Seriously what kind of mad man goes out and pets a two hundred pound wolf? Could have at least tied a note to its neck for explanation before setting it loose on the countryside, wandering around looking for you."

"It wasn't..." He hummed his prodding question. "Looking for me. That's not what it was supposed to do."

"And pray tell what was it supposed to do?"

Geralt was quiet. The charged quiet that said he knew the answer but didn't want to tell him.

Eventually. With a fair bit of glaring and wiggling on his part, he answered.

"She was repaying the favor."

"Oh and what's that supposed to mean?! What you saved her partner and she sent the wolf to go out and save yours?" He scoffed. "What did she magic you 'a white wolf to protect your heart when you could not?' as you did for her? Is that it? Absolutely absurd, I wouldn't write that drivel."

Neither Geralt met his eye.

"Geralt...?"

"That's..." He ducked his head. "Hm."

Right.

"But then why-"

A wolf appears in the darkness. All white fur and golden eyes. Protects him from the bandits. Brings him a rabbit when his stomach growls.

I love you Jaskier. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize.

They lay on the bedroll and Geralt kisses him like a thousand drunken kisses. Like a thousand sober ones. And the wolf follows after Ciri and comforts her when they cannot.

The wolf seeks him out in that ruined clearing while Geralt cradles Ciri. While Geralt debates with Yennifer and Vesemir over Ciri's fate. Her training.

I love you Jaskier.

Protect his heart, white wolf, when he cannot.

"Oh."

He let his head fall to the side. Watched Geralt watch him with those golden eyes he had memorized decades ago. Listened to the sound of his breathing that was more familiar than his own.

"Tell me again."

Geralt cocked his head a fraction. Brow furrowed in confusion.

"Tell me again, what I did not believe. If it is true. Tell me again. Geralt of Rivia."

"Tell you...?"

"I love you, Geralt. Despite all sense and reason. Do not lie to me. Do not pretend if I am fated to walk down that mountain alone again. Do not lie to me."

His eyes widened. He pushed himself up and over him. Caged him in his muscular, scarred arms. Shoved the wolf aside.

It grumbled. Huffed. Walked out of the room. Towards Ciri. Towards his heart.

"Jaskier. I love you." He said again.

And this time. This time he believed him.

"Then, You absolute fool and dullard." With only Geralt to hold him down he worked his arms free. Held Geralt's head in his hands. Traced the stubble of his jaw that he could, if he needed to, shave blind. From memory alone. "Kiss me. I have waited long enough."

Geralt leaned down and did.

He remembered the barking of a single wolf. It's howls into the storm. Searching for its pack.

I hope your pack finds you. He wished to its unseen form.

Mine did.

#writing #the white wolves #geraskier

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kanene-yaaay · 4 years ago

Text

Tickle me, princey

Kanene’s note: This fic is basically: Virgil is a bratty Lee, Roman is a competitive Ler and none of them are going down without a fight xDD.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Lee!Virgil and Ler!Roman (Kind of. Because there is almost no tickles here, just teasing). Human AU.

* Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* This have about 2.500 words of Roman and Virgil just being teasy beans. ‘w’)b.

* PLEASE CHECK THIS AMAZING ART! IT’S INCREDIBLEE! <33

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! I didn’t proofread that one very well, so I will probably be correcting a few things later. Any advice is always very, very welcome!

* A versão em português brasileiro irá ser escrita, ainda. Eu espero! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Do something crazy today, take a good rest, be kind (especially with yourself) and drink water! Byeioo!~

[~*~]

Roman cleaned his hands on his jeans before stretching his back and sighing in relief when a small ‘pop’ came from it. The pal from the nearby library was a cool person – not that he would ever allow the other to hear this, because, damn, people who called Roman cocky definitely haven’t met them yet – but equally precise in get on his nerves with as few words as possible, even though the florist didn’t care that much as his dramatics discourses tried to convince everyone he did.

Besides that, they was Patton’s friend and even more important, they made an accord with the Flower Shop’s owner and Roman was the one in charge to deliver their biweekly floral arrangement to the library’s decór. However, today Roman managed to win their discussion and therefore a couple of podcast episodes read by them (What? Their voice was quite nice!!).

Roman ignored the small ring of the door’s bell as he entered the Flower Shop, looking around to be sure there was no clients before taking his position behind the balcony, internally thanking how chill Patton was with his employees using phone during the shift as long there wasn’t no one near, especially as he unlocked his screen and a new notification popped in front of him.

Butterflies went immediately crazy on his stomach.

[Message from Panic! At Everywhere]

[P: Hey. So, are you still ok?]

Virgil kicked his blanket out of his bed, already feeling a tad of giddiness spread across his body, a small smirk finding its way to his face without him even realizing. Today was the day. Since when he and Roman talked on the last week about boundaries to be sure nothing had changed and decided Saturday as a good day for their session the one with purple hair couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander, picturing and re-picturing what would happen, even though Roman always insisted to never tell him his plans, wanting to keep everything as a surprise, which definitely didn’t help at all the excitement running on his veins.

Their session.

Their tickle session. It was only eleven in the morning and Virgil could already feel his skin tingle just by imagine Roman’s fingers grazing, dancing on it, carefully looking for all his weak spots both knew so well before coming with an entire new technique that would make the other (almost, barely, hardly) want to jump out of his skin so he could escape from the maddening tickly sensation.

He was going to love it.

Also, it didn’t help that he spent the previous night and its following morning consuming all his favorite tickle content, dying on the spot (and on the reblogs) and skyrocketing his lee mood to the mountains.

Nevertheless, he tried to play nonchalant as answered the other’s new message.

[Message from Dumb(o)]

[D: Yes.]

[P: Cool.]

[D: You?]

[P: Yep.]

[D: Glad to know, Blushy Bug. Try to not alarm all of our neighborhood with your squeals and giggles before I get there, okay? ~

D: And yeah, plu-e-ase, continue with your so delightful tags on your reblogs, okay, Tickle me Emo? I’m learning so much new information with that. If only I would have an opportunity to use all of them today…]

Virgil snorted, one hand trying to hide his face as he attempted with all his might to ignore the flames taking over his cheeks as the teases sank and the memories from the day he conquered this nickname emerged from the deeps of his mind. So, Princey was already so over his head with being the ler this time? Thinking Virgil would be hiding his face on the pillow, squeaking and tittering helpless? Well, he would have a big storm coming, then.

Virgil got up, his footsteps leading him to the clean desk in the room, moving some of the objects so carefully chosen in order to get the perfect picture. Every single makeup brush lined, gleaming under the lens of his camera, away enough so the viewer would be able to realize all their individualities but close enough to create an impact.

Two can play this game.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent an image]

Roman clicked on it, eyes going immediately wide as he quickly slammed the cellphone’s screen on his red apron, his gaze running from a place to another to be sure no one was near or had seen the conversation or noticed the way his smile went from an ear to another.

[P: Nah. I’m too occupied choosing the perfect tools for today… I mean, there are just so many options, ya know? I especially prefer the smallest ones, their bristles softly running on my ribs, tracing their way across my tummy to get to the other side… yeah. That is the good stuff. Or maybe we could be experimenting the biggest ones today, letting them tease that spot right under my chin, the softness engulfing all the nerves… ]

Roman took a deep breath, realizing the other still typing.

[P: Anyway, don’t make a big deal of this, ‘kay? I know your imagination can be very fertile but try to not alert Patton with all your blush and twitching. You know he is a curious guy and will want to know why you’re so smiley. ;)]

“Pai amado, (Dear God) he is going to kill me.” Roman crossed his arms, using all his will to no start wiggling them to nothing, a sudden urge to sing some nursery rhymes making him begin to humming quietly as attempted to gather enough concentration to type a proper, cool reply.

[D: Is that so? So, the big, badass Virgil Storm is excited to get all his tickly-tickle-tickles today? Is he excited to become a so helpless, so adorable mess of giggles and squeaks? To be teased and tickled until he can do nothing but give me those lovely snorts and wiggly-wiggles? ~

Awww. So cute. ~]

[P: Yeah, I am. So what? Wanna do something about that, Sir Sing a Lot?

Ops, I forgot you’re at work rn. Tsc. Such a pity. Well, guess I will have to kill some time by looking at your precious collection of feathers, see if I find something interesting there.]

[D: You just wait for when I get home.]

[P: :)]

Virgil laid his phone at his side, hiding his face on the mattress, kicking just like he was some teenager in love from those generic movies. The squeals bubbled out from his lips, smiles blooming. He knew he probably was just digging his own grave, but, ha, as if he would fall without a fight. Plus, imagining Roman trying at every cost to keep a straight expression while reading his texts and then struggling to continue his work just as if nothing had happened, with that cute, excited smile planted on his face made a proud wave of power – and joy - hit him and that was a bonus which was worth it.

Then his phone vibrated, indicating a new notification and a new flood of shivers as he unlocked his screen, freezing for a couple of heartbeats with the length of the message.

[D: A poem for my dear Knightmare. ~

Once upon a time

There was a wiggley-wiggly lee

That just a few pokes

Made him giggle with glee

Some scribbles here

Some scratches there

You can tickle-tickle

He is ticklish everywhere!

What, you don’t believe me?

‘That much cute he can’t be!’

Well, then allow me to demonstrate

All the beautiful sounds he can create!

Give a few prodding on his ribs

And a quick digging on his hips

Some brushes on his toesies and feet

And don’t forget about these helpless pits!

(And hey, psst, if you squeeze his sides

The cutie, squeaky, wiggly lee,

Will be squealing in a happy delight)

This neck is also asking for tickly-kisses

He always denies, always desire

Add to that some teasy whispers

And watch his cheeks be set on fire!

Once upon a time

There was a bratty, smug lee

That just a few tickle teases

Can make him a blushy mess

Just like now, you see!]

[…]

“Have a nice day. Thank you for coming!”

Roman waved to the client who got out from the Flower Shop, taming the smugness which threatened to take over his features as he realized that even though an hour had passed, no answer to his last text had arrived yet. He was perfectly aware of how weak Virgil was for any sort of rhymed tease and a whole poem – not his best, he had to admit – dedicated to him? He could almost see the other shrieking, hiding his red face on the pillow, lost in a mess of quiet peals of laughter and curses. His smile got even bigger, swelled in pride. And, well, if he couldn’t help it but push his luck a few inches further, his fingers already halfway to typing a small, itsy bitsy, new tease to his favorite emo lee, how could someone really blame him?

[D: Oh, sorry. Did I make the scary Virgil too much flustered to talk? Awww, I will miss your sassy remarks deeply and sing a ballad in your honor at the funeral. ~]

He snorted at the amount of time the symbol of ‘typing’ appeared and disappeared on the conversation, using the ten minutes he took to be answered to organize a few sales signs on the glass in front of the store, gaining a dance on his step as the one-worded sentence shone on his phone.

[P: Bitch.]

[D: I have no idea of what you’re talking about. Is that something I said? I feel wounded.]

But a new thing popped up.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent a video]

[P: :)]

It seemed like hours passed, even if he knew the downloading probably didn’t really take more than a few pieces of minute for him to hit the play.

The focus of the camera took a few seconds to adjust, the image trembling and shaking before going still, the crystal clear form of a small light brown, slightly spiked feather twirling between Virgil’s index and thumb locking his eyes on the screen. A quick, quiet sigh could be heard before the tickle tool descended to the palm extended on a desk, stopping by Virgil’s pulse.

The bristles grazed the skin there as the feather began to move on slow strokes, going from the left to the right, left and right, left and right… calmly making its way up, changing to small swirls as it contorted the form of the hand, giving to each finger a light tracing before concentrating on the palm, drawing a spiral which approximated inch by inch to the center. If Roman wasn’t so quiet, - even holding his breath, - maybe he wouldn’t be able to listen the incredibly low, contained huffs of laughter on the background, a soft snort escaping and making both hands tremble as the bristles hit the center of his hand, dancing around the spot for a bit.

When it stopped, the tool was placed on the desk and then the camera started to move, stopping on Roman’s so very well-known golden with silver details box. Its lid laid next to it, letting its entire content to be proudly shown. The explosion of colors from the most diverse large, small, pointy, fluffy feathers took over the frame, however, a tiny piece of paper placed on the exact center of them was what captured his attention. The lens zoomed and focused, making him able to read the quick message written there.

“:)”

And then the screen went black. The video was over.

Roman could feel his face being almost split in half by his grin, his fingers hitting the table top in complete frenzy since they hadn’t to hold the device anymore, curling and uncurling as the one who couldn’t just stay still started to bounce his right leg, ignoring the redness he felt crippling down his neck.

“Roman?”

He fully shrieked. Both him and Patton startled and jumped a few centimeters in the air with the sudden sound. The florist slapping his own hand on his mouth, trying with all his inner strength to stop the bubbly giggles which flooded non stop from his lips

“Sorry for the scare, kiddo,” the shine on his eyes free of any guilt as Patton bit his own knuckles proved the contrary, especially when the rest of an awed squeal escaped from his lips, only making the other to giggle harder, eyes closed, blush deepening and nose scrunched. “Aww, your giggles are so cute!”

“Shuhuhush!!” The Flower Shop owner just smiled fondly, withholding his comments and patiently waiting for the other to recompose himself. When Roman looked at least a tad calmer he decided to make his decision to talk to him clear.

“I’m glad you’re in a good mood, Ro! I just wanted to remember today’s shift is already over. I need a bit of time to organize everything before the painter comes so we can discuss the new design of the Flower Shop. Thank you so much for the ideas, by the way! I can’t wait for you all to see the result! It will be so pretty!!” Roman’s wide eyes were enough of an explanation of why he wasn’t ready to go yet, probably having forgotten about their last month conversation. Although, the surprised look was away in an instant, a shine taking over his glare before he softened, locking his eyes with Patton.

“Of course, it will be, Patty-cake! With my magnificent ideas and your good taste, I really don’t think any other result besides wonderful and perfection will be possible!” He squeezed Patton’s cheeks and his friend stuck out his tongue at him, winning a quick poke on his ribs that made him squirms and yelp, quickly tittering and waving the other with his hands.

“Now shoo-shoo, go enjoy your afternoon!”

A devious smirk gleamed on Roman’s expression for a second. “You can count on it, Padre.” But then it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Thank you, my mighty hero in a shiny armor! May the universe let our destiny align again in the future.”

“See ya, kiddo!” He replied, his tune also full of joy, watching the one with red hair going away, a happy bounce on his steps.

[…]

Virgil picked the phone in the first ring. “Roman, something happened?”

“Nope,” the purple lover sighed in relief, all the tension getting out of his body and being replaced by confusion, “nothing happened except that a handsome, incredible someone got out from his work earlier than expected and might be heading his home by now.”

That made Virgil shot up, biting his lower lip, butterflies freaking out. “No.” It was his whisper.

“Oh, yes. ~” Roman practically purred on the speaker. “any last words, my dear, defenseless Giggly Storm?”

Virgil just giggled and Roman had almost forgotten how that sound only was enough to spread an explosion of a warm, good feeling on his chest. “Aw, and here I was thinking I would have at least some challenge today. ~” He continued to tease.

Silence.

“Go check your messages, Princeypie.”

And then he hung up. Roman fondly rolled his eyes, running to check the new notification on their conversation.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent a photo]

It was Virgil, sitting on his bed criss crossed, one elbow resting on his thigh as he took the picture on the body mirror on the other side of the room, a strong blush very visible on his face half hidden by the device, wearing a short and Roman’s red crop top. A new message popped right under the photo.

[P: Get your butt here and tickle me, Sir Sing a Lot.’]

This emo was going to be the death of him.

[D: Aww, I don’t even get a smile?]

[P: You gotta work for those, Princey.]

Virgil definitely did not jump nor yelp as he heard the low, dangerous tune of an “evil” laughter echoes in the house coming from the living room, the sound of the front door being closed making his flight instincts kick in.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Virgil was already halfway to the most far away room where he could escape, trying to keep his reputation as he heard another set of footsteps quickly getting ground and following right behind him. Laughter and squeaks mixed in the air.

“Because I will.” Roman answered.

#Very teasy #Teases #Lee!Virgil #Ler!Roman #Virgil is a brat and Roman is one as well #Ticklish!Virgil #Sanders Sides tickles #Sanders Sides tickling #Kanene's Fanfic #Kanene's Art #Kanene's fic #Brief self tickles #Feathers #blushy bois #Writing this kind of fic is very fun and sdfghertcvgbhn kind of silly as well #Virgil: Tickle me// Roman: Okay// Virgil: *NYOOOM*#I still don't know how to tag this dfghjsdfghdcf #I feel like my writing is a bit weird nowdays but yeah I'm still proud of this!

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wordsablaze · 4 years ago

Text

13/13 - goat string of fate

A Dozen Denials Soulmate-identifiers exist to make things easier unless you’re Jaskier, who’s equally as deep in love as he is in denial. But there’s only so many excuses you can make to avoid the truth… (aka jaskier’s soulmate is definitely a witcher, just not the one he first assumes)

A/N: what we've all been waiting for... undeniable red string of fate, but with goats for eskel's sake ;) @alllthequeenshorses @eskel-loves-lilbleater

previous chapter

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Jaskier’s heart breaks.

He knows that Geralt isn’t lying because the words don’t show up on his skin and he knows that Geralt isn’t just saying that for the sake of it because his pulse is as steady as ever under his wrist and he knows that Geralt isn’t thinking with a clouded mind because he can’t feel any intense emotions at the back of his mind.

The only logical conclusion to make is that Geralt really means it.

“See you round,” he says, even though he’s not sure he will.

It’s nowhere near the first time he’s had his heart broken but somehow this time hurts so much more than every other time, probably something to do with the fact that he’s leaving his very soulmate behind as he walks away with blurred vision and wobbly steps.

He doesn’t walk very far, though; he just can’t bring himself to.

There is a building on fire.

And there is a witcher trying to help.

Nobody asked him to help and yet he runs into the building because he can hear the panicked heartbeats of four humans inside.

He hands over a frightened child to their mother and runs back in.

He hands over a man to his grateful sister and runs back in.

He hands over a crying girl to her father and runs back in.

There’s one more racing heartbeat inside the building but he can’t find it, it doesn’t belong to anyone he can see, and even though he tries his best because he can’t let anyone die - he just can’t - he has no choice but to leave when the roof caves in and smoke fills the air.

It’s only once he can breathe again that he realises the heartbeat has followed him out.

The last person wasn’t in the fire after all; they’re under his skin.

Jaskier doesn’t get the rest of the story from the others in the end.

He wants to - he’s a bard so of course he wants to - but he knows that his own story having just found such a bitter end means that he won’t do the dragon hunt any justice so he leaves its tale to the dwarves.

He’s tired and he kind of wants to cry and he doesn’t know which way he’s meant to go so he doesn’t even try to subtly follow the others back down the mountain. Instead, he walks and walks and walks and hopes he doesn’t fall to his death.

And he doesn’t. But he does stumble over nothing in particular and end up rolling over himself until he hits a tree, gasping for breath and curling around his lute because he doesn’t have any other source of comfort.

The last thought he manages before he drifts off - read: passes out - is that he’s incredibly glad his lute hasn't broken the same way his heart has.

There is a funeral.

And there is a witcher trying to mourn.

But there is something giddy in the back of his throat and something bright behind his eyes and something exciting at his fingertips and he cannot focus his emotions.

There is a fight.

And there is a witcher trying to concentrate.

But there is a puzzle in his lungs and a question on the tip of his tongue and a mystery in his every bone and he cannot tell if he knows what move to make next.

There is a festival.

And there is a witcher watching quietly.

But there is a heavy grief in his stomach and a heavy doubt inside his mind and a heavy pain within his blood and he has no idea why his body is telling him to be upset.

Jaskier wakes to the taste of oranges.

For some reason, it just makes him want to cry.

“We are not dying on some godsforsaken mountain,” Jaskier mutters to his lute but also to himself because if he is to die, it will not be at the hands of heartbreak.

A lot easier said than done, though, because he ends up lost. Horribly lost. So lost that he wonders if someone had moved him while he was sleeping because there’s no way he could end up so clueless when he’d been pretty close to their original path the day before.

And he’s not unfit but he must have bruised himself more than he can tell while tumbling because he doesn’t get further than the duration of half a dozen ballads before both his muscles and his lungs force him to stop and rest in danger of retiring altogether.

Still, he keeps going. He can’t find anything edible but he hangs onto the taste of oranges from his stolen dream as he pushes forwards, begrudgingly thanking Destiny for giving him at least that from his soulmate.

There is a town with a contract.

And there is a witcher who almost regrets accepting it.

The monster is easy enough to defeat, nothing that takes more than a day. No, the monster isn’t the reason he chooses to disappear for almost a month afterwards - that would be the mirror.

Or more specifically, what he sees in the mirror: one of his eyes is the wrong colour.

He thinks he’s delirious at first but one potion and two hours’ worth of meditating later, his eyes are still inexplicably mismatched.

His left eye is the colour of the sky. The colour of the ocean. The colour of a privilege that he was never allowed to have. And he’s read just about enough poetry to know how that means he has a soulmate out there somewhere.

All that does is drown him in a blue hue of guilt.

Jaskier has just started playing his third song on the lute when something crashes into his legs.

He yelps, springing to his feet and almost tripping over whatever it is that’d crashed into him, which turns out to be a goat. A goat, of all things.

“Right, well, if you could not do that whole attacking thing again, that’d be great. You have rather pointy horns,” Jaskier huffs, settling on the rock once again.

To its credit, the goat seems to listen, munching on grass instead of stepping on his toes as Jaskier starts playing again. Confused but not entirely against the company, he continues singing about whatever comes to mind until the sky begins to darken and the air turns cold.

He sighs, putting the lute away and gently reaching out to stroke the goat, smiling when it doesn’t just headbutt him and bleats happily before settling in his lap. “At least you seem to want to stick around,” he mumbles.

Too tired to find anywhere more sheltered, Jaskier pulls his doublet tighter around himself and hugs his new best friend as tightly as he dares. For a moment, the goat lifts its head and stares at him and he fears he’s about to have his eye poked out, but then it just burps and settles again.

This time, he falls asleep laughing.

There is a hearth.

And there is a witcher sat beside three other witchers.

And despite the warmth of the fire and the warmth of his family, he is cold.

He is colder than he ever is, colder than when he is submerged underwater during a fight or when he is caught unawares in a storm or when he is kicked out of a tavern because he brings down the mood.

There is no explanation for why he is cold because he is home and he is safe and he should be warm but for some reason, he is not.

He is rarely warm.

And if he is warm, he doesn’t understand why.

There is no explanation for why he is warm when passing ruins he’s never seen before or when camping in the middle of nowhere just to be away from people or when being told the last copy of the book he’d been looking for was just sold to someone else.

Eventually, he gets used to the confusion, pulls on a cloak, and moves on.

Jaskier is probably losing a few of his marbles.

With nothing better to do, he follows the goat as it travels along a seemingly random path to find nothing in particular, stopping every so often to munch on something or the other.

“I can’t believe I’m following a goat,” he mutters to himself as he brushes grass off his arms, “and it’s not even a cute little baby- what’s a baby goat called? Hmm, I should really know that… Or should I? It’s not like I’ve met any farmers lately. Or anyone, for who am I meant to meet atop a mountain? Well, a goat, apparently.”

Said goat bleats at him as if asking him to hurry up.

“Yes yes, I’m hurrying. Some of us don’t eat grass, you know? Oh, but how would you know when all you can think about is the next patch of moss you’re going to eat? Is that what life is to be, travelling from patch to patch and-? Hey, that could be a wonderful name. I dub thee Patchy, my dearest goat friend,” Jaskier declares, grinning.

Patchy bleats again and headbutts his shin but it’s okay because it doesn’t hurt in the slightest and he only wobbles a little bit.

“I’m taking that as your approval!”

There is a woman.

And there is a witcher lying in bed next to her.

They are both tired and not quite awake and she is gently running her nails along his arms because she has never seen anyone with so many scars.

He is waiting for her to fall asleep but she sits up and frowns, pointing out the words that have appeared on his skin: but I didn’t take any honey.

She must be able to tell he’s just as confused as she is because she gives him a funny look but doesn’t pry, though he leaves in the dead of night while she’s still asleep to avoid any chances of her asking questions.

But the words keep appearing and he ends up with plenty of his own questions anyway.

When he’s mending his armour: it doesn’t even hurt anymore; when he’s hunting: I love you more than I love getting drunk; when he’s brushing his horse: I assure you I have a perfectly good explanation; when he’s buying new gloves: I’m afraid I don’t know you; when he’s stitching up a wound: of course I was given permission to be here.

And on and on and on.

He wonders if this person is even human at times because they seem to lie more in a week than he even talks in a month.

Jaskier is exhausted.

“Hey, Patchy, it’s been lovely to know you but I think the time has come to part ways because I simply cannot take another step,” he mutters, leaning against the closest tree and sliding to the floor.

Patchy leaps into his lap with an oddly angry bleat.

Jaskier shrugs, ripping up a bit of grass and letting her eat it off his hand before sighing. “I fear it is indeed my fate to perish here. Perhaps life does grant blessings after all, hmm?”

His stomach rumbles and Patchy seems to take offence, startling and jerking sideways, the goat’s horns catching on his sleeve and causing a panic that leads to a large tear in his doublet and a mercifully smaller tear in his skin.

Still, he winces, pressing a hand onto the cut and half-heartedly glaring at Patchy. “Really? You’re lucky the material is red anyway, you menace.”

He regrets his words when the goat stands, spins on the spot, and makes a strange noise before sprinting away. Somehow, that abrupt departure stings far more than his actual injury.

There is an ocean.

And there is a witcher who has never been to the coast for a good reason, and still hasn’t.

He doesn’t belong in this scene, he’s borrowing it from someone else without even knowing how, but he can’t look away from the waves as they brush over the sand and over his toes before retreating once more.

There is a cane.

And there is a witcher who has never suffered this kind of punishment, and still hasn’t.

Although the injuries are not his and the crime - if it even exists - has nothing to do with him, he can’t escape the burning pain and the sharp throbbing as someone makes sure the wood meets its mark, again and again.

There is a cat.

And there is a witcher who has never been able to see one up close, and still hasn’t.

He’s not the one touching the tiny ball of fluff that curls up in his palms, he seems to be experiencing someone else’s amazement, but the feeling of soft fur and quiet purring stays with him for no less than a week.

Jaskier is ready to give up.

He truly has no idea where he is or how he’s meant to get back to flat land. The berries he’d found in the morning have done very little to provide him with energy and he’s about to declare himself as food for the wolves or something when he hears bleating.

“Patchy!”

And it is.

The goat barrels into him hard enough to knock him over but he’s too busy trying to hug his horned friend to care. He’s also too busy hugging his horned friend to notice that he’s being watched. That is, until someone clears their throat.

He freezes, looking up.

There’s a very long moment in which his heart drops about a mile into his stomach as he catches sight of a wolf medallion but then he sees the amber eyes and the spiked armour and the hesitant smile and his lungs remember how to work once again.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Jaskier says, grinning.

The witcher frowns at that, glancing over him in clear concern. Before he can reply, Jaskier looks away to tug his sleeve out of Patchy’s mouth and winces as he pulls on the not quite scab that had developed over the goat-inflicted wound.

“Oh, is he yours?” the witcher asks after a minute, and gods is his voice deep enough to sink into forever.

Jaskier blinks, pulling himself back to the matter at hand before he spirals into a daydream and shaking his head. “I didn’t even know he was a he, to be honest. Thank you for that, by the way, at least I can sing him a more accurate song of gratitude now.”

The witcher chuckles and steps to the side, revealing another, smaller goat that immediately bounds over and settles on his leg; Jaskier has never been so innocently afraid to accidentally move in his life.

“She’s called Lil Bleater,” the witcher says, promptly cursing when said goat starts nibbling on the sleeve Jaskier had just saved from being eaten by Patchy.

“It’s not like I was planning on wearing this doublet again anyway,” Jaskier says, but he still feels incredibly guilty for letting such fine tailoring end up as food for a pair of goats.

Eskel has never been so confused.

He feels like he recognises this stranger from somewhere but he can’t place it, the knowledge is almost like smoke slipping between his fingers before he can grasp it properly.

“It looks like it’s seen better days anyway,” he says, immediately regretting it when the other man blinks at him.

But then he laughs - perhaps the nicest laugh Eskel has ever had the pleasure of hearing - and holds out a hand, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Eskel leans forwards to shake his hand but Lil Bleater chooses that moment to get up and charge at him so he steps back and picks her up instead, offering the man an apologetic look.

“Not to worry, my hand will live a little longer without the honour of yours in it. I’m Jaskier, and you have my eternal gratitude for appearing out of nowhere when I was about a day away from forgetting what other people’s voices sound like,” the man says sincerely.

“Jaskier?” Eskel echoes.

He knows Geralt has mentioned this bard in the past and he’d have to be living under a rock not to know of him at all, what with the songs that are sung his way whenever he ventures into more populated towns, but he can’t fathom why someone so famous would be spending his time with a mountain goat.

Jaskier grins up at him. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me! I wish I could say the same but I don’t believe we’ve met before?”

Eskel shakes his head. “I, uh, I don’t do… crowds.”

“You and every other witcher, it seems,” Jaskier says, but he doesn’t sound like he’s trying to insult anyone. If anything, he seems almost sad.

“The crowds seem more like your style, bardling. What are you doing up here?”

The bard opens his mouth to say something before closing it again, then sighs. “I got lost and ended up following a goat until I got even more lost?”

Eskel chuckles, then puts Lil Bleater back on the ground before leaning down and offering Jaskier his hand because it feels odd to continue the conversation while he’s still sitting down. This time, the goats don’t get in the way and he manages to pull them both upright.

Jaskier gets about five seconds of being upright before he keels over.

Everything hurts.

The world blurs around him.

His knees hit the floor with a dull thud.

Everything really hurts.

There’s something under his skin.

His body is on fire.

Everything hurts so very much and he has no idea what’s happening and the sky has disappeared altogether and there’s water rushing past his ears and he’s in so much pain and he’s going to die without even having learnt this gorgeous witcher’s name and he can’t feel his hands at all and it’s way too dark and-

“Breathe, Jaskier!”

He already is.

Or maybe he’s not.

He unclenches his jaw and gasps desperately.

“That’s it, just breathe, you’re okay.”

But he’s not.

Or maybe he will be.

He groans and reluctantly peels open his eyes.

“I’ve got you,” the witcher murmurs, and he has; his arms are practically cradled around Jaskier and the two of them are kneeling in a tangle of limbs on the ground.

Jaskier exhales.

“You’re not going to die, I promise. And my name’s Eskel,” the witcher whispers, at which point Jaskier mortifyingly realises he must have been panicking out loud.

Slowly, Jaskier uncurls his limbs.

He stretches his fingers out from where they’d been squeezed into fists and waits for a moment before accepting that whatever the blinding pain had been is over before looking up, intending to thank Eskel.

But Eskel gasps before he can say anything.

And Jaskier immediately panics again, wondering what could possibly be wrong. He doesn’t need to ask though, because Eskel lifts a hand to ever so lightly tracing his finger down the right side of Jaskier’s face and it doesn’t take a genius to work out what he can see.

“No no no no no,” Jaskier breathes frantically, “this cannot be happening.”

He pulls himself out of Eskel’s arms and shakes his head but his gaze lands on his hands as he uses them to balance and his breath hitches. Without wasting a second, he shrugs off his doublet and rolls his sleeves up, eyes widening at the sight of silvery scars he’s never earned, silvery scars he’d once had and once lost.

“No, I- I already know my- Geralt was- is- no, no, no no no no, wait. Wait. This can’t be right, it can’t- it- you can’t- I mean, we can’t be- nope, no no...” Jaskier’s words can’t seem to form themselves properly as he struggles to breathe.

Eskel has no idea what’s happening.

Except he does.

There’s only really one explanation for why the marks that had suddenly revealed themselves on Jaskier’s skin are an exact copy of his own scars, there’s only really one explanation for why the colour of Jaskier’s eyes had seemed so familiar, and there’s only really explanation for why he feels like someone has cast igni inside his heart.

Unfortunately, Jaskier doesn’t seem to like that one explanation.

He waits, though. He waits until Jaskier remembers how to inhale and exhale properly before offering the bard a small smile. “I’m sorry.”

Surprisingly, Jaskier looks confused at that. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “I don’t blame you for preferring, uh, Geralt. Or anyone else, for that matter. I wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.”

Even more surprisingly, Jaskier shuffles closer and punches his arm with a surprising amount of strength, his confusion having been entirely replaced by anger. “I don’t know what in Melitele’s name you think you mean by that but I demand that you stop… thinking it. I’m not- I- I just thought- I’ve spent years, so many years, thinking that I knew and I- I don’t know… I can’t-”

He cuts himself off, his chin wobbling, and Eskel has the inexplicable urge to hug him.

So he does.

Jaskier stiffens for half a second before he seems to forget that he has bones and all but melts into the embrace, burying his head into the crook of Eskel’s neck and throwing his arms around him as if his life depends on it.

Eskel has never felt so pleasantly warm in his life.

He wraps his arms around Jaskier in return and pulls him close, pretending that he can’t hear the sobs the bard is trying so hard to stifle and marvelling at the fact that he gets to hold his soulmate in his arms at all.

His soulmate.

He’d never thought he’d actually get to meet them.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles eventually.

Eskel pulls back only enough to frown, brushing the tears away from under Jaskier’s eyes before tilting his head to the left. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

Jaskier feels like a fool.

He leans into Eskel’s soft touch for a moment before cupping the witcher’s face in his hands. “I’m sorry I never looked for you. I’m sorry I didn’t realise I was wrong. I’m sorry I almost just insulted you. I’m sorry for wasting so much time. I’m just so, so sorry.”

Eskel shrugs. “You didn’t know and I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault. I… I knew and I didn’t try so perhaps I ought to be the one apologising to you.”

But Jaskier did know.

To some extent, at least.

He’s known for long enough that not everything was adding up and he’d ignored it, he’d done nothing about it because he’d been terrified of losing Geralt, of losing his soulmate, of losing a life he’s loved, and it turns out he’s been losing everything he didn’t even know he could have had instead.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles again, letting his forehead fall against Eskel’s as he closes his eyes.

“How does getting to the nearest inn sound?” Eskel offers.

Jaskier laughs and meets Eskel’s eyes, nodding. “Sounds like a plan I can’t argue with.”

“We’ll start with getting you to a proper bed and then go from there.”

He tries to resist that, he really does, but Jaskier simply cannot stop himself from smirking and raising an eyebrow. “Straight to bed, darling? Aren’t you even going to buy me a drink first?”

The endearingly sheepish look on Eskel’s face is almost worth all the pain.

“Though you really should buy me a drink first, for one reason or the other; I am a little dizzy still,” Jaskier mutters, having forgotten all about that because of the unprecedented pain.

Eskel curses.

Before Jaskier can even process the emotional whiplash, Eskel has lifted him to his feet and turned around, dropping to one knee. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier blinks. “Are you asking me to… climb on your back?”

Eskel turns to look at him with half a smile. “I really don’t think you’re capable of walking more than a mile more without collapsing, Jaskier.”

Well, that’s probably true. He grabs his lute and swings that onto his own back before looping his arms around Eskel’s neck, his legs locking around the witcher’s waist as he stands up effortlessly.

Eskel smiles as Jaskier settles on his back as if he were born to do so.

Which, quite possibly, he sort of was.

He smells like the comfort Eskel gets from when the dreams he borrows are good ones and it feels impossible that he gets to experience it in person. But it’s very much not impossible because Jaskier is a steady weight around his waist and on his shoulder and against his neck.

It’s a little overwhelming.

“So you’re the one who was dreaming of a succubus then?” Jaskier asks out of the blue.

Eskel stops walking for a second, narrowly avoids accidentally kicking Lil Bleater, and clears his throat. “Dreaming? No. No, that’s not quite how we spent the night.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jaskier laughs brightly. Eskel can feel the way his shoulders shake with the force of his amusement and it’s almost a miracle that neither of them overbalance.

“You’ll have to elaborate on that at some point, it’s going to make a great song!”

“You want to write songs about the succubi I’ve met?” Eskel asks, confused. Surely the bard could have asked Geralt about them over the years, it’s not like witchers can afford to designate who takes care of which creatures or anything.

But Jaskier snorts, pokes Eskel’s cheek, and shakes his head. “No, I- I want to write songs about… about my soulmate.”

That feels like a confession and Eskel is honoured to have received it. He hums in acknowledgement and gently squeezes one of Jaskier’s legs. “Not to worry, we have all the time in the world.”

“We do?” Jaskier asks.

Shuffling the bard’s weight a little bit, Eskel lifts his right hand so Jaskier can see his wrist and more specifically, the ouroboros etched into it. He hears Jaskier gasp before there are gentle fingers around his arm that almost make him shiver, a warm finger tracing the symbol over and over until Eskel hears quiet sniffling.

It takes a while for Jaskier to exhale softly and give Eskel’s hand back to him, after which he goes back to supporting his weight more evenly. He has plenty of his own questions but he figures it’s best to leave them for later, when they’ve both recovered from the shock.

The town comes into view sooner than expected, or perhaps Eskel had just been unknowingly pushing himself to walk faster because he can feel the way Jaskier’s grip has slowly relaxed to the point where he’s practically just draped over him like a very strange sort of cloak.

As much as he doesn’t want to let go of Jaskier, he has to when they get to the stables. Both goats are more than happy to be secured near Scorpion, who huffs at Jaskier just hard enough to send him stumbling into Eskel’s side with a small yelp.

“I’ve got you,” Eskel chuckles.

Jaskier grins.

“That you have,” he agrees, “but have you got a room?”

Nodding, Eskel leads them both back to the inn. But instead of going up the stairs, he guides Jaskier to the table in the corner. “Stay here, I’m going to get some food.”

Jaskier blinks, used to this scenario playing out the other way around. Eskel is gone before he can even think of replying so he just yawns and waits, shuffling over when the witcher returns because if he doesn’t lean against someone, he’s probably going to fall into his meal.

Eskel pauses for a second before sliding into the seat beside him, placing two bowls of stew in front of them. “I know you’re tired but you really should eat.”

“How ever will I repay such kindness?” Jaskier mumbles before following Eskel’s instructions.

Jaskier is immensely grateful that Eskel doesn’t mind being leaned on because almost counterintuitively, eating only makes him want to fall asleep even more. By the time they’re both finished, he can barely keep his eyes open.

“Almost there,” Eskel says, at which point he realises they’re now halfway up the stairs.

Yawning again, Jaskier keeps a tight hold of Eskel’s arm as they get to his room, thrown off when they stop by the door instead of somewhere more suitable for sleeping. “What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning.

Eskel places the lute Jaskier apparently hadn’t been strong enough to carry himself down before gesturing around vaguely. “I didn’t know anyone would be staying with me so…”

Jaskier laughs, throwing his head back. He has no idea what compels him to do so but he cups Eskel’s confused face in his hands and places a soft kiss on his nose. “Eskel, darling, you are literally my soulmate. I think we’ll be alright sharing a bed.”

He can actually feel the way Eskel smiles under his hands and can’t help grinning back, but then his knees decide to buckle for no apparent reason - aside from the general exhaustion and probably clumsy bruises, of course - and Eskel is once again the only thing keeping him upright.

He’s not entirely sure what the sequence of events is after that but he doesn’t care to puzzle over it because he ends up with his head on an actual pillow and Eskel’s arms around him and he’s never felt so comfortable and safe and content in his life.

“Don’t leave without me,” Jaskier mumbles even as he can feel himself drifting off, only slightly embarrassed at being so obvious about it.

Eskel hums quietly and brushes the pad of his thumb over Jaskier’s cheek before moving his hair away from his forehead, smiling softly as their eyes meet. “I would never even think of it,” he promises.

And somehow, despite everything else in his life that’s somehow gone wrong and fallen apart and proven that perhaps he shouldn’t be so blindly trusting of what he thinks may be the truth even if he has plenty of reasons to believe otherwise, Jaskier can't bring himself to doubt the witcher’s words even in the slightest.

If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that Eskel has always been his destiny.

i apologise if this finale was a little messy because i was indecisive and couldn't choose just one pov but i am so hyped to have finished !!! i hope this ending was worth all the chaos <3

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier

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ellanainthetardis · 5 years ago

Text

Alright, this will be my review for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes so obviously spoilers under the cut.

Also obviously, this is my opinion, I force no one to share it and I’m happy to discuss the book with anyone who wants to.

First off, I won’t go into all the deep themes in the books. It seems obvious to me there’s a very clever allegory for a contrat social at work here but since I am not very much interested in that, I will leave it aside. It’s well done, I think, but I am more a character driven sort of reader than theme driven and the debate over “are we the product of our environment or is man a beast at heart” is a bit null here. Surely enough, as one of the quotes at the beginning implies, the whole book more or less struggles to show Dr Gaul somehow turns Coryo into a monster to her Frankenstein… Sure, he seems to hesitate between right and wrong, the nature of the two etc etc. But, really, I have troubles relating to a character questioning the nature of man when that character is so plainly a psychopath himself.

I’m sorry. I said it.

Did I love Snow in this book? Sure. Even when he was being bad, I loved him. What’s not to love? He’s completely over-dramatic. All the time. He’s a complex character with Draco Malfoy vibes and who tries to do well by his family. But he is also sick in the head and that predates Dr Gaul’s little mind games. Can we argue it’s because of his traumatic childhood? Maybe. It doesn’t change the fact he equals love with possession, does not seem to experience remorse nor guilt – or at least not very long and he’s very quick to rationalize it – and has a natural ability to mimic or force himself to act as is expected in any given situation. He doesn’t react to things, you will notice, he behaves the way he thinks people expects him to.

So, he is sick. And since he is sick, the whole debate through his head about the nature of violence, men being beasts without laws, freedom versus enforcement, right and wrong, etc seems void.

Let’s leave that aside for now.

The question you will probably ask me is: did you like the book? And the answer I will give is yes I did. I did enjoy the book. At least the first two third of it.

It’s fast paced, it’s engaging, it’s easy to read…

What I like most is the worldbuilding. What a difference a 3rd pov makes… I mean we finally got all the world building we deserved. And the names. Actually, there were so many names in there I’m pretty sure she threw them as a joke. But, yeah. Everything I reproach Thg was fixed here: we have a more consistent idea of how the Games work out of the arena, we know the currency used is dollars (which we didn’t up until now), we have a better idea of how the Capitol works as a society, about the working of Peacekeepers and Districts… I quite enjoyed learning more about the 1st war and the post war world too.

I also enjoyed the Capitol families Cameos – and I was very wary about them if you read some of my posts pre-released. They were nice nods, it wasn’t too on the nose… I am relieved beyond measure not to have seen a mention of an Abernathy or a Trinket – or an Everdeen or a Mellark, I guess – mostly because that means we are still free to stick to our own hcs. (it’s not that important but still).

The cast of characters were all great – with two notable exceptions but I will come back to that.

I loved Snow’s family. What a surprise to find out Tigris is a Snow? But what joy she is. I really enjoyed her character but I have to say I’m a bit disappointed we didn’t get to see (or at least were told in the epilogue) how they grow apart or how she comes to have whiskers. The Grandma’am was an awesome addition too. Lucy Gray, the Coveys, the Peacekeepers, Sejanus, the other mentors… They were great.

I will argue that maybe Lucy Gray, as a main character (second main character? She’s the yin to his yang in this book) could have been more fleshed out because when it comes down to it, she seems to float around in the story only in relation to Snow. This being said and the pov being mostly Snow’s, it’s coherent with his egocentric view of the world. And I’m sure a lot of people will argue the case that her only purpose being to die so he can get over love is a bit problematic better than I could.

The two characters that I think were disappointing were the “villains” of the tale: Dr Gaul and Highbottom. They were actually so disappointing that I spent a good portion of the book convinced that here was some kind of secret plot, that there would be a conspiracy or something. But no, they were just that… flat.

Highbottom first: the creator of the Hunger Games who, obviously, didn’t mean to and ends up doctoring himself with morphling to forget. And seems to hate Coryo (yes that’s Snow’s nickname) for no obvious reason. I was sure there must be some twist but no, it just turned out he hates Snow because his father stole his Hunger Games idea to pitch it to Gaul for a grade and now he’s responsible for the death of kids. Which, I mean, is valid. But since it’s only here to bring into contrast the “is Snow really bad or have the circumstances make him bad” when, really, he’s a psycho, it ends up being very disappointing on discovery – never mind as the final reveal of the epilogue.

As for Gaul. Is she terrifying? I mean, for a young adult book, sure, I guess. She’s too obviously mean and crazy scientist for me though. I like my villains a little more subtle. She spent her times torturing her pet rabbit and various animals ffs. All she needed was a mustache to twirl. She’s cliché and, again, I’m sure it was like that for rhetoric purposes but… She’s Frankenstein and Snow is her creature, we get it. Why though? She takes a shine to him and proceeds to groom him so he can deliver the world she wants? So he’s her legacy? Because she’s a psycho too and she needs an apprentice? I thought that part was a little fishy because, at the end of the day… I don’t know, it seems a bit random.

But, I suppose, yet again, everything has to revolve around Snow in the book and in Panem.

And we’re touching to the part that annoyed me to death, that really really angered me and that, right now as we speak, I am a little disgusted by.

A short word first about the fan service. And there was plenty of that to go around. All the little wink wink, nudge nudge made me smile at first (like the grandma saying it only takes a spark for fire to catch, that sort of things), it was subtle so it worked. But as the book goes on, all the references built to the point I was sort of terrified Katniss would end up being related to Snow. And while she is not, I am fairly convinced she’s descended from the Coveys, it makes a lot of sense.

Ok… Where to start with that part and be coherent…

The less offensive (yes, I am using that word because it was offending to me) thing was Snow’s recurring reflection about the mockingjays. On hindsight, of course, it has so much more meaning than what is going on on paper, so it made sense and while it was a bit sold too thick, it was also interesting. That’s something I’m willing to grant was good.

I also liked the “it’s not over until the Mockingjay sings” saying. To be honest, I was 100% confident the epilogue would be a flashforward to the end of MJ and that quote would somehow come back into play but apparently not, that’s for us to fanfic instead.

Now, as for the rest… I am going to speak as someone who loves Haymitch Abernathy an unhealthy amount, and while I speak as someone who loves Haymitch, I also feel it is only minorly about Haymitch and a lot about Katniss, Peeta and the rest of the victors. But Haymitch is my favorite character in the series, Haymitch is a big part of why I have dedicated so much time writing fanfics and contributing to the fandom, I am very protective of Haymitch. And, on his behalf, I am so deeply, deeply offended.

In this book, Suzanne Collins makes Snow a victor.

We can argue the semantics. Naturally, he didn’t actually win the Hunger Games.

Or does he?

Because there are no winners, only survivors and by that very definition Coriolanus Snow is a victor.

Coriolanus Snow walked into an arena, was forced into the arena.

Coriolanus Snow fought in the arena.

Coriolanus Snow killed someone in the arena.

Coriolanus Snow walked back out of the arena.

He survived.

It makes him a de facto victor. He is actually literally called that a couple of times throughout the book. It’s reinforced by the idea that mentor and tribute are a team, even.

And this very idea that Snow is a victor, has been a victor all along, is so deeply, deeply upsetting to me. The bond between victors, it’s something very special, I feel. Victors share something nobody else can understand – my very favorite part of the whole series is in Catching Fire when they hold hands, it is such a strong emotional moment, it always moves me, always. And Snow being a part of that defiles it. Worse, that means a victor was actually the one imposing such horrors on other victors all along.

And that’s… I mean, probably in terms of themes and the story as an independent object, it’s all very ironic and dark and full of great meaning about man and it’s condition. But for someone who loves Haymitch, it is very deeply offending to learn the man who has taken everything from him went through the same experience he did, that they share that bond, that they have so many similarities.

Too many similarities actually. And here we are going to branch out on TBOSAS in relation to Katniss more specifically.

That’s another thing I am not sure I liked: how similar Snow’s conditions were to our beloved characters. The starvation, the very similar experience they had growing up.

At first, I didn’t mind it. I thought, even, that it was quite fitting. But the problem came when so much of Katniss’ story was being… stolen, turned around. It started feeling like this book was subverting the powerful story in THG, not just the main plot, but everlark, and the character building. So, of course, here again, it’s probably a matter of questioning if, stemming from the same conditions, you become a hero or a villain. Nature or nurture. That sort of things. And, again, it depends if you look at the big picture and analyze it calmly or if you react with your guts as a fan, I guess. Yeah, no surprise, I’m going the fan route.

So there were a lot of parallels to Katniss.

The starvation. The strong sense of family. Lucy and the singing…

And it wasn’t limited to Katniss, it touched to everlark too.

The star-crossed lovers thing comes to mind obviously (and I want to talk about the ship too but after). Then, there was the bread thing that was both Snow’s and Lucy’s favorite and the fact that Snow brings her food all the time. The poison in the arena we can land at snow’s door since it’s his weapon of choice, but still poison in the arena, my mind goes straight to the berries… (I will tackle the hanging tree song after)

At this point (before she goes in the arena), I was still mostly okay with it because I thought it would somehow have a reason later. Like either Katniss would turn out to be related to Lucy or it would remain light enough to turn out to be foreshadowing for THG.

Then came part 3. And that’s where the book mostly lost me.

There are eleven other Districts in Panem. So why Twelve? And if it had to be Twelve why pollute everything Katniss loves? How are we supposed to see those things the same way again when we know what we now know?

The meadow? The meadow where the toastbabies are dancing and running? Where so many people are laid to rest? Snow has been there, kissed his girl there. And let me tell you, as a Haymitch fan, knowing that Haymitch never gets to reunite with his girl in the meadow because of Snow, it’s a special kind of pain to read Coryo frolicking there in the grass “with his girl”.

And then, of course, I don’t know what is worse… The lake or the song?

Let’s start with the lake. Where do I begin? The lake that is so special to Katniss? The little shack where she stocks everything? The lake that features into so many fanfictions and that, if some people feel the same way I do, can never be used again the same way? So, that lake was where Snow murdered (possibly) his “love”. The lake, thus, becomes a part of Snow’s narrative.

It’s stolen away from Katniss.

And to better stress that point? The scene with the Mockingjays taking up the hanging tree when Lucy is about to get murdered. (let’s make a digression to say oh boy how fun it must have been for Snow during mj, I’m very tempted to fanfic THAT). It’s all very full of symbolism, of course, but with the hindsight? It’s another great important moment stolen away from Katniss. Highjacked. Not unlike a mutt, actually. This book is a mutt XD

Which brings me to what really, really made me angry: the hanging tree song.

That song is so symbolic of MJ and everlark. I mean, there’s one thing I will give MJ the movie and that’s this scene with the song. The people attacking the dam and getting butchered while humming that song? Iconic. But more prosaically, book based, that song is such such a powerful moment. It’s special. And not only because of all the thing with everlark and the tree and midnight.

And suuuuure there might be a lot of symbolism in that song being not strictly about but still intimately related to Snow. Sure. But you know? It’s also another thing that now is about Snow. So even as Katniss was singing that song, getting the Districts to rebel, showing Peeta that District 12 was gone, letting the Mockingjays by the lake take up the chorus… It isn’t just about hope or freedom anymore. Now, it’s about Snow and about how terribly ironic it is this particular song comes to be his demise, how it’s fate or karma or whatever you want to call it. Because now, we can’t unread this book, we can’t unknown what we know.

And I hate that.

Because Katniss’ journey in THG? It’s now so deeply linked to Snow’s story that if you take a step back and think, it’s more all about Snow than it is about her, or her sister or the Districts. Snow lands on top, right?

And you know what really irks me?

The book is actually good as a character study book (not really so much as dystopia because in terms of actual plot, I feel there was really little) but it didn’t have to taint so many elements of THG the way it does.

Let’s say for a moment Snow isn’t Snow. Let’s say he is a wealthy Capitol fallen from grace and that character who is not going to be the President of Panem has the same journey Coryo does. Let’s say at the end of the story, he moves on to become a famous Head Gamemaker or a close advisor to the President?

Well, the themes explored then remained the same, the conclusions remained the same. We lose the visceral signification of his connection to the mockingjays but is that really important? The Hanging Tree now has a resonance for another character in that world, the meadow has probably seen countless lovers reunions and someone killed someone else at the lake, those things happen. The problem is they happen to Coriolanus Snow.

And baring that, let’s say we keep Snow as a main, why did it have to be Twelve? Again, there are eleven other Districts in Panem. He could have come to the very same conclusions in any other place.

Twelve is only relevant in relation to what happens in THG, to Katniss, to Peeta, to Haymitch.

Lucy and the Covey could have ended up stuck in any other Districts. It didn’t have to be Twelve. It didn’t have to spoil the Meadow, or the lake or even the Hanging Tree song.

Is that why Snow hates Twelve so much? Is that why he kills Haymitch’s family even if it’s completely stupid and leaves him without a leash around a Quell’s victor’s neck? Is that why he bombs the Districts into complete oblivion ? Not to punish its victors but because he so intimately hates the place? Because he walked in their very shoes? Because, for a brief time, from his Frankenstein’s experiment, he played in the mud?

For that matter, is that why he has this weird relationship with Katniss? Because she reminds him of Lucy? The similarities are there if you look… Is Katniss a sort of ghost to him? Come back to haunt him after all those decades? Is that why it feels so personal between them?

I will say a quick word about the ship: I was into it at first. Then there was this scene at the zoo after the snake attack on Clemmie and I felt everything started going downhill from there. The ship is rushed. They go from attraction to love in ten seconds FLAT. I know it’s YA and concessions have to be made (although I will argue I read plenty of YA and some ships don’t seem this juvenile), I made them on account of the fact they’re both young and prone to being drama queens.

(I’m making a brief parenthesis because, rereading this, I realized I did say when the book announcement came out and we all very obviously predicted the romance, that as a hayffie fan I hated the thought Snow would have a Capitol/District romance, but on that account, I have to say after reading I don’t even care because it felt so immature and so not actual love, that I don’t feel it really counts? But at the same time, it’s definitely something I have to think upon in terms of hayffie and Snow because would his own experience play in the way he sees them/manipulates/threatens them?)

All in all, though, that ship didn’t convince me. I couldn’t believe it was real. On either part. On Snow’s part because I’m not certain he’s capable of love. He equals love with possession, “his” girl, she “belongs” to him, he liked her better locked in the zoo because he knew where to find her, he constantly questions Lucy’s loyalties… Every time she sings something, he’s like “is it about me? Is it about me? It’s not about me? Who is it about? I hate her. She’s dead to me. Oh but now she’s singing she’s over him. So I love her again”. Being in his head is a journey, let me tell you.

As for Lucy, it’s frustrating. But with Collins, I learned long ago to be frustrated (hey, hayffie fan here XD. You know the two characters you need to build your own hc about if you want to use them with some depths). You can feel there’s this whole backstory about her but we never get to really touch that and so we’re treated to this very strange scene with the ex-lover but we don’t really care because there is no passion, nowhere… In fact, as a character, outside of her singing, her being a show girl, and her little discourse about how man should be free, live and let live yada yada yada, Lucy’s character is very flat in the third part of the book. She’s here only to allow Coryo’s character development.

I would argue that Sejanus actually makes more of an impact on Snow and the general plot than she does in part 3 – or, if you think about it, in the book in general. Lucy is the trigger that gets Coryo’s reflection starting about the hunger games but it’s really Sejanus that challenges it and keeps it going. Sejanus is, in fact, the District character since Snow keeps telling himself the Covey aren’t really Twelve.

I also want to say, on a completely unrelated note, that the constant mansplaying of songs by Snow was unbearable. And that’s not his fault. So, Mrs Collins, I know how to interpret a text thank you. And I’m sure everyone else does to. It broke the pace and the emotion so much for me when he started randomly explaining. The Lucy Gray ballad was the worst. “she’s dead.” NO KIDDING SHERLOCK.

And while we’re in that Lucy Gray thing: very subtle foreshadowing here, btw. Didn’t see it coming at all.

Ah and also something that made me cringe and that I felt was very out of place: the livestock cars and the cages at the zoo. Not to go all social justice warrior but when I read, it immediately hit home and not in the right way. It felt like a prop to stress how inhumane and racist the Capitol was being, they were easy references to loaded terrible horrifying history events and I truly, truly thought it was borderline because, like I said, it was used as a prop.

To conclude.

Is this book great? Yes and No.

I think if you take it independently of THG, it’s a very good book. It’s interesting, the characters are compelling, there is a moral for you to reflect on… It’s not the best dystopian book I’ve read in recent years, it’s not the best young adult book I’ve read in this lockdown (Hi, do yourself a facor, check out the Shadow of the Fox trilogy and then come shout at me in my ask box) but it was still a good read. And I forgot to say but the first half of the novel is actual crack. It was hillarious. Might not have been the intent but come on. It was funny. (and I’m satly they sent him in the arena but they sent him with a can of pepper spray and that will make me laugh forever) I had a good time and, at the end of the day, that’s what you ask of novels.

However, in the general context of the series, loving thg as much as I do, it tainted some of the iconic things, twisted them, insulted some of my most favorites characters, and that really dampened my joy and made me angry. So as a fan… I’m not sure I can say it was great, no.

It certainly didn’t let me indifferent though and that’s already something.

And, I mean, it is so much better than the cursed child I feel I cannot complain too much.

It also does leave the door rather open to a sequel, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another announcement soon.

#tbosas spoilers #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes spoilers #balladspoilers #spoilers #i read stuff #namely abosas #abosas spoilers #book review #I did my best to correct spelling errors and such #but i've spent the whole day reading and my eyes are killing me

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elysianrey · 4 years ago

Photo

Because of Julie

a/n: Basically Julie and Luke spend the evening alone talking about life, love, and some sparkly vampires in her bedroom.

Word Count: 1,483

Pairing: Julie/Luke

8:46 pm

Julie giggled as she tossed another piece of popcorn into the air and watched as an open mouthed Luke dove chin first to catch it, clumsily rolling off her bed in his attempt, and landing with an ungraceful ‘thump’ on the floor. The girl quickly slapped a hand over her mouth to contain the laughter that was about to burst forth from deep inside her chest.

All of a sudden, the too-familiar sound of her tia rang up the stairs, “Julie! Julie what was that?”

She looked around in alarm, wishing nothing more than for him to poof out at this exact moment, but she only heard his light chuckle.

Typical Luke. Infuriatingly delightful. Charmingly annoying.

“Uhhhh nothing Tia! Just--dropped my book. Studying you know.” Julie eyed the door in anticipation. No knock. Phew.

“Alright, mija! Try being more careful. We don’t want you hurting those dancing toes.”

“Yep! I’ll just get back to it then.”

She paused for a reply, however, she received only silence, and a sigh of relief she didn’t realize she was holding in came rushing out all at once.

The culprit of the noise continued to remain silent enough for alarm.

“Luuuuuke,” she hissed his name, crawling over the bed to peer at the human heap on her floor. “Just because you have gained some sense of--errr---solidity--doesn’t mean you need to announce it to my whole fam---”

Her desire to let him have a piece of her mind only multiplied times one thousand when she caught sight of him rolling back in forth, doubled over in soundless laughter.

“Lukas Peter---” she began, unable to contain a smile that was threatening to ruin her attempt at reprimanding him. Her hand reached for a pillow on her bed.

The weapon did nothing to disarm the flawless grin flashing back at her as he caught it.

9:51 pm

“What does he mean, he’s leaving?” Luke whispered loudly, throwing a piece of popcorn at her laptop screen. The kernel landed on Edward Cullen’s face as the vampire dramatically turned away from Bella Swan and disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

Julie picked up the forsaken kernel and popped it into her mouth as she turned to him. “He has to keep her safe, remember? He’s afraid he’s endangering her life.”

He scoffed and she watched as he bit his lip in thought. Her heart skipped a violent beat in her chest when he seemed to take notice of her gaze.

“Julie.” He said her name so softly she practically had to lean into him to catch the rest of his words. “If he really had wanted to keep her safe--,” he continued slowly, “--he would have stayed.”

The girl was almost certain that besides ghosts existing, magic did too, because everything about the moment was enchanting in a way she couldn’t fully make sense of in her brain.

A pounding on the door broke the two out of their reverie and they jolted feet apart.

“Julie! Dad’s home! G’night!” Carlos called from the other side.

Julie and Luke looked at each other nervously. He started doing that thing where he bit his lip again and she knew that she wasn’t ready to kick him out to the garage just yet.

“Jules--I should--” Luke started, motioning toward the window.

“No---” came her quick response, surprising both of them. It sounded a little too demanding in her opinion so she swiftly backtracked by adding, “I mean--if you have to--”

“C’mere,” he grinned, grabbing her laptop and readjusting the pillows on her bed where they had been sharing---something---minutes ago.

11:30 pm

“Did I ever tell you about the time Alex, Reggie, and I ditched school and sang down at the metro?” Luke asked, staring up at the LED lights along the edges of her bedroom ceiling. The colors flickered between blue, to red, to yellow. His hands rested gently atop his chest.

Julie laid next to him on her stomach, her arms on either side of her head. The curly mess of a halo sprawled out in an uncontainable way around her. She was close enough to him that pieces tickled his exposed bicep. The times the ghost boy actually wore a long-sleeved shirt were few and far between.

“I don’t think so.”

She listened closely as he quietly recanted the tale from his former life, laughing at the part where they were almost caught by the police for skipping school, but getting out of trouble with their fake IDs.

“Such a rebel,” she affirmed, reaching to poke him.

He caught her eye just as she was about to touch him.

Touch.

Such a foreign concept to both of them. An area she purposely tried to avoid if she could help it. Intentionally hurting herself, but what else was she supposed to do?

Despite Flynn approving of their ‘relationship’, she also made certain to remind Julie of the reality of her situation at least once every day.

Luke was still dead.

The less they crossed that bridge, the less heartbreak she would feel when this whole thing ended. Which it would someday, right?

She slowly retracted her hand and her heart twinged as he turned to look back at her ceiling lights.

1:00 am

“Were you ever in love?” Julie had suppressed the question for long enough, and at this point in the night, her prime brain functionality was beginning to dwindle. She sat above him now, peering down at his face to try and catch his reaction.

Luke gazed back at her, a sense of vulnerability creeping into his expression. “Nah. I dated a couple of girls back in the day. I wouldn’t say I was really in love with any of them though.”

Relief selfishly flooded her chest. She decided to press on. “How many of them did you kiss?” she teased, inching down toward him ever so slightly.

He smiled, his perfect dazzling white gleam, and she was sure that he would be her cause of death if he kept making her stomach feel like it was drowning in butterflies.

“Jules, I’m a gentleman. I don’t kiss and tell,” came his equally devilish reply, his head craning to close the gap between them.

One second.

Three seconds.

Ten seconds.

An eternity.

“Please Julie,” he practically begged, sensing her hesitation to give into the culmination of every little thing that had been building up between them since they met.

His plea was enough to break her into a million little pieces and her lips suddenly met his with an unexpected fervor.

She loved Luke.

God---she loved, loved Luke. She loved the taste of his lips--cold with a hint of butter from the popcorn. She loved how her curls felt intertwined between his fingers---pulling her even closer to him---if that was possible. She loved how easy it was to talk to him, to be herself with him. She loved his passion and loyalty to his friends and to her.

As she was easing back into reality, she really loved the way he was peppering gentle kisses all over her face that made her nose crinkle in pure happiness.

Julie couldn’t bear the thought of parting from him tonight.

Or ever.

4:50 am

As she breathed almost a melodious rhythm, Luke watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, his hand loosening the grip of the pencil between his fingers. She was mesmerizing to him. A work of art. Everything he didn’t know he needed, however, knew he could no longer live without. Is live even the right word to use?

Julie was his oxygen. His lifeline. The blood that refused to flow through his veins these days.

He knew that he should let her continue her slumber without him. In fact, his mind reminded him of that scene in the vampire movie they watched together earlier where Edward would creepily watch over Bella every night. He physically shivered in disgust.

But the words were flowing at rapid pace from his brain onto the pages of their songwriting book and Luke could only imagine how disappointed Julie would be if he told her he stopped writing right when the song was turning into a new hit ballad.

Julie was somehow making him feel more alive than he had even felt before the hotdog. He could now touch her with ease, he was able to eat certain foods, and if he wasn’t mistaken, as the sun rose, he could have sworn his eyes were growing heavy with sleep. He had not slept for 25 years.

His head fell against the pillow next to the sleepy girl and the book slowly slipped from his grasp onto the carpeted floor.

Ghosts didn’t sleep.

But he wasn’t certain if he was fully a ghost anymore.

Because of Julie.

find it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573689

#juke #juke jatp #julie x luke #julie molina #luke patterson #jatp fanfic #jatp netflix #i've decided to gradually post my fics onto tumblr too #only to contribute to the tag #this fic warms my heart

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tessadoesstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Sunset Queens - Chapter 4

for Naboo Review Day 4 - Handmaidens

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

on Ao3

Padmé exits through the opposite side of the customs office of Theed’s smallest spaceport. Normally, as a senator, Padmé is exempt from customs, because normally she flies right into the hangar in the palace itself. However, queen elect Apailana (Padmé will never get tired of saying that, she’s so proud of her pupil.) asked Padmé to not use the palace spaceport, and who is Padmé to deny the younger woman such a small thing?

Padmé understands so many complaints about customs now.

“Padmé!” A voice rings out around the mostly deserted room, and Padmé turns to see the queen elect herself waving to her. Padmé feels a grin spread across her face. The woman before her isn’t all that much older than the little girl who first came to study with Padmé, but she’s visibly more mature. The same youthful energy that has defined Apailana’s campaign is there, but it’s tempered with a new strength that Padmé can see. If Apailana was a diamond in the rough when she came to Padmé, the queen elect who stands here today has been not only polished but made into the beautiful centerpiece in a gorgeous necklace.

And Apailana does look gorgeous. If Padmé’s outfits as queen tried to capture a sense of fire and fight and sun, Apailana is the moon and the stars that counterbalance her. She has no crown yet – won’t until her coronation, but whoever does her makeup has added two little rhinestones at the inner corners of her eyes, and they, in turn, match the silver beads that are woven into and hang down from the younger girl’s hair. The patterns on her face are done in a pale blue khol which flatters the deep purples and silvers of her dress.

Padmé is so proud of her beautiful, royal, grinning student.

“Apailana! Funny meeting you in a place like this.” She says. It’s partially in reference to a joke that had developed between the two of them on coruscant, but mostly because she really hadn’t expected Apailana to meet her at the station in person. Apailana gives a cheeky grin back to Padmé.

“You taught me that when things get busy, it’s important to set aside time for self-care.”

“It’s one of the most important lessons my predecessor taught me, the least I could do was pass it on,” Padmé comments idly and decides that some time before Apailana’s coronation in three months, Padmé is going to have to find an excuse to end up in a canal with her. You know, for tradition’s sake.

“Well, this is my self-care time. I am spending time with someone I don’t get to see as often as I would like but who I love spending time with.” Apailana grins and loops her arm through Padmé’s. It’s not exactly proper conduct for a queen-elect of Naboo, but the other monarchs have always been exceptions to those traditions and rules anyway.

“Well, who am I to argue with that?” Is Padmé’s response, which earns a beaming grin. They make their way out of the mostly deserted spaceport to the streets of Theed. Between her own handmaiden training and all the time she has spent with the members of the Guard and Ani’s battalion, Padmé can pinpoint the exact moment Apailana’s new security detail joins them outside the spaceport, even though they are staying out of the way. Apailana doesn’t appear to notice. Sabé would be so disappointed in her pupil, but Padmé trusts that the 13-year-old (one of the youngest queens in modern history! Padmé’s so proud) will pick these things up in the brutal handmaiden training that is in her future. Actually, that reminds Padmé.

“Have you met your handmaidens yet?” She asks the queen elect, who beams in response.

“I did! Just three days ago. They’re all wonderful.” Padmé grins at the excitement in Apailana’s voice. Meeting her handmaidens had been one of the best parts of being queen elect.

“Tell me about them.” Padmé grins. They turn onto one of the busier streets of Theed and Apailana unhooks her arm from Padmé’s, which Padmé understands and would have done the same, but she’s a little disappointed anyway.

“Well, there are five of them, and it’s a little weird because we all look so alike, but every time we train together that gets less weird,” Padmé notes as Apailana gushes that her student has managed to break herself of her habit of gesturing wildly as she speaks. She’s growing up. “There’s- well, they all picked new names this morning.”

“That is an important moment, and a big milestone.” Padmé grins, and Apailana beams.

“I know! Okay, so, there are five of them. Maphia and Sala, who are sisters. They’re both singers, although Maphia sings ballads and Sala prefers pop songs.” Apailana’s lips twitch. “I have learned a lot about the difference between the two in the past couple of days.” Padmé snorts. She remembers that. Rabé had taught her a lot about painting, and Yané still holds many… opinions on the weavings in the palace. “Then there’s Shanta, who was raised in Otoh Gunga. Her parents moved there when she was four, and she continual expresses it is to see the sun every morning, which is equally weird for the rest of us.” Oh wow, Padmé feels old. Every now and then it happens, like when she’s reminded that Apailana was born during the reign of Queen Amidala. “And then Yimana was born on Naboo, but her parents and her brother were all born on Balmorra before they came to Naboo as refugees during the reign of Queen Reillata. And finally, do you remember Yasmin, who was in the Junior Legislative Program with me?”

“I do. The two of you were practically inseparable.” Padmé grins, remembering fondly.

“She’s taken the name Yonya, and is working alongside me,” Apailana announces, and Padmé gives her a soft smile.

“I’m glad. I have a handmaiden like that as well – Sabé was my best friend in the Junior Legislative Program as well, although we met before it, since we grew up on the same street, but she’s one of my closest confidants to this day and has stood by me through everything.”

“Really? I thought I was the only one who asked someone they knew before to join them.” Apailana sags with relief, and Padmé can’t help but laugh.

“Truly. In fact, it was Sabé who started the tradition of handmaidens changing their names alongside the monarch.” Apailana looks up at Padmé in surprise.

“Really? That kind of felt like something that… had just always been done.” Padmé squeezed Apailana’s hand quickly.

“Well, we have been doing it as long as you have been alive.” Apailana makes a face at that.

“You’re old.”

“I- thanks. Real diplomatic.”

“It’s just the truth.” Padmé restrains a sigh of amusement.

“Do you want to know another tradition that’s leftover from my reign that Sabé started?”

“You’re changing the subject.” Apailana sing-songs, and she’s not wrong. “But now I’m curious, so yes.”

“Sabé was the first handmaiden to actually act as queen when taking on the role of the body-double, rather than just all of us wearing the handmaiden’s garb while traveling,” Padmé confesses.

“What, really?” Padmé flushes as she nods her confirmation. “Now I want to know why.” Padmé is really glad she no longer has to wear the elaborate makeup and, as such, can bury her face in her hands.

“I snuck out of a diplomatic event with a couple of the other girls, and we all got totally covered in glitter and covered dye at the party we went to. We couldn’t get it all off in the morning, and we couldn’t admit we’d snuck out of a diplomatic summit, so Sabé, the only one of us not covered in glitter and paint, was queen that day.” Apailana bursts out in laughter right there, and Padmé suspects that if the girl weren’t queen elect in the middle of the streets, she would have doubled over. When her laughter dies down, Apailana looks at Padmé with the look the older woman has come to associate with having something on her mind.

“What’s going through your mind?” Padmé probes.

“It’s just… you always sound like you got along so well with all of your handmaidens, but I don’t feel nearly that close with mine. Sure, they’re all fun people, but we just… don’t click like that.” The younger girl confesses. Padmé grins.

“We didn’t click right away either. It takes time, Apailana. It will happen. There’s no one a queen has to spend more time with or have to put more trust in than her handmaidens. At least you all get along already. My handmaidens and I could barely stand each other at first.” Padmé snorts remembering it all. “It will happen in time, Apailana, and someday, you will also have a thousand dumb stories to tell the future queens as well.”

Notes:

look, there was going to be a scene explaining why Padme had to go to a different spaceport, but it didn't flow right, so here's the deal:

Apailana is remodeling.

That's it that's the story she thinks it's about time someone did something about the carbon scoring that's been there since the invasion of Naboo when Padme was queen.

Also, here’s a collage of Apailana’s handmaidens, all of whom are my OCs.

Starting at the top left and working around clockwise it is Maphia, Sala, Yime, Yonya, and finally Shanta.

#nabooreview2021 #Naboo Handmaidens #naboo queens #padme #apailana #apailana is naboo's best queen and you can pry her from my cold dead hands #sunset queens #Tessa’s Soft Wars

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darlingsdevil · 5 years ago

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The Ballads of Rebirth (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter 14: Sunlight and Storms

Masterlist

A/N: this is it, we’ve got two more chapters to go! I apologize for the hiatus, I’ve been working on a lot of other projects. I was also really excited to publish this chapter, I think it’ll be a good one!

Tag list: @rollyjogerjones

•••

You waited for Lee’s heavy footsteps to reach the second floor before speaking. You weren’t sure what to say, no comprehensible sentence could be formed. All you knew was that Arthur was alive, he was alive and he was here standing in front of you.

God, he was handsome. Arthur leaned against the counter next to you, his shoulders brushing against yours.

“How’d you end up here?” Arthur asked first. You could tell there was more he wanted to say.

“We stopped here for awhile. I decided this is where I wanted to stay and the Marston’s left,” You explained, this was so much harder than you were expecting.

“How did you find me, Arthur?” You turned to face him.

“John sent a letter,” He responded, looking into your eyes. His eyes were brighter than the last time you saw him, all those months ago when you said goodbye.

“How is John?”

“I’m sure he’s gotten into some trouble one way or another,” Arthur chuckled lightly. You couldn’t break his gaze, you stared at him like he was the only thing in the universe, the only thing you would ever see again.

Arthur was here, he was standing next to you, he was living, he was breathing. Arthur was still yours, but were you still his? The lines had been blurred over the last few months, you had given up Arthur the moment you told Lee you loved him, and you were contempt with that for a while. After all, in your minds eye, Arthur was dead, but he was here now.

“Arthur, can I ask you a question?” After not seeing him for so long, it felt strange to talk to him.

Arthur nodded, “Course, honey, you can ask me anything.”

Arthur’s eyes were like emeralds, dazzling like the waters of Richfield. Such a stark a contrast to the dark brown eyes of Lee. Lee’s eyes were like a warm fire in the cold woods, Arthur’s were similar to the open sky on a warm summer's day. Equally intriguing.

“How did you make it out?”

Arthur inhaled deeply, breaking his gaze away from you.

“Charles. He found me, took me back to Wapiti, a woman there helped me get better. Mahala, was her name. She was like the mom I never had.”

You stared at him again, your breath suddenly getting caught in your throat. You threw your arms around him, falling into his chest. Arthur felt like home, something you had even realized you had missed. Tears fell freely from your eyes, you couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I’ve missed you,” You mumbled into his chest, he brushed your hair lightly. Tears fell onto his shirt, but Arthur didn’t mind, nothing in this whole world could pull him away from you.

His voice was like whiskey, “I know. I missed you too.”

You cried harder. The walls you had so intricately placed up to guard you from the life you left behind came crashing down. The avoidance of talking about Arthur, your friends, your old family. None of that mattered now. All that mattered was that Arthur was alive.

“What am I gonna do, Arthur?” You asked him quietly, your voice barely heard.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. You gotta do what you wanna do, not play two sides at once.”

“The wedding is in less than two weeks.”

“It’ll all be okay by then.” Arthur continued brushing your hair, patting down the unruly pieces.

“Are you sure?”

“I am,” Arthur pulled away from you. Tears stained your face.

You were being torn between two men, you loved both dearly. You could barely wrap your head around having to choose, it was inevitable of course. Lee was the new, comforting escape from the rugged life you had known, the one you worked so hard to run away from. Arthur was the man who had been with you since day one, the one who had saved you from a life of captivity.

Your life would have been totally different if Arthur had never gotten that disease, the disease that tore you away from him even in his ‘final’ moments. You would have never ended up in Richfield, instead living in some quiet home in West Elizabeth like you had always hoped. A ranch, with animals, sprawling fields. A few children perhaps, a daughter that looked like Arthur, a son that looked like you. A peaceful life like you had always dreamed of. Was it wrong of you to wish you had never ended up in Richfield? Was it wrong of you to wish you had never met Lee? Lee was your fiancé, the man you loved. But you also loved Arthur.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

“It ain’t your fault, you couldn’t have known.” Arthur’s face broke your heart. Like he had already accepted his fate, assuming you would pick Lee. He wouldn’t want to tear you from your fiancé, even if you were his first.

“I don’t want to leave you.” Tears started falling again, like raindrops on the roof of the apartment.

“I don’t want you to leave me either. But I ain’t gonna stop you from what you want.”

“I can’t - I can’t do this.” You started panicking, your chest felt tight. What did you want? What was the choice? Arthur’s eyes widened at your worried face. You turned away from Arthur, placing your hands on the counter to balance yourself.

Arthur or Lee?

Past or present?

You felt dizzy, Arthur’s words blurring in your ears. The lights were too bright in the store, pressure seemingly slowly building up in your head. Tears welled in your eyes, panic rising in you.

Arthur pulled you close to him, just his presence was comforting. He was your grounding force.

“Shhh.. it’ll be alright,” Arthur whispered to you, your face nuzzled next to his chest. Your chest heaved with sobs, you could barely breathe.

“Why didn’t you look for me sooner, Arthur?” You finally asked him. All of this could have been avoided if he had just come sooner.

Arthur paused, “I was sick for a long, long time. I could barely get out of bed, let alone look for you across the country.”

“I’m sorry,” You sniffled. Arthur rubbed your back soothingly, you breathing finally slowing.

You looked up at Arthur, through tear filled eyes, Arthur still thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world, you were a goddess in his eyes, even if you were crying.

The love you felt in his arms was undeniable, like his hold was exactly where you were meant to be. Two lovers connected by fate itself.

You leaned up to him, feeling the emotion between you and Arthur. It was almost electric, your heart soared as you looked up at your husband.

Arthur was really here.

Arthur leaned forward, gently held your face, pressing a soft kiss on your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart pounding. It was something you never thought you would ever experience again from him. He kissed you so sweetly, yet so passionately, it felt just like the first time.

When Arthur pulled away, your lips still relishing his warmth, you looked at him with love filled eyes. It felt like nothing in this world could tear you from him, not even death itself.

Lee’s footsteps broke you from your trance, and you quickly took a step away from Arthur. Arthur’s face flashed with hurt as you looked towards Lee.

“I need to go back to the police station. Will you come with me and fill out the rest of the report?” Lee asked you, shutting the door to the staircase behind him.

You nodded, “Sure, can you let me change first?”

You already felt guilty, like you betrayed Lee. But Arthur’s kiss just felt so right, it confused you to no end.

“Yeah. My father's asleep by the way,” Lee said, grabbing his coat from the rack.

“We both know your father wouldn’t wake up if a gun was shot right next to your ear,” You laughed playfully, trying to hide the turmoil that was brewing inside.

“You’re probably right,” Lee responded with a laugh of his own. Arthur leaned silently against the counter, watching the two of you interact. There was something so natural between you and Lee. The conversations always seemed to flow.

You slowly walked up the steps, feeling closer and farther away than you had ever been from either of them.

Mr. Rinascita’s soft snores could be heard through the door as you reached the first platform. You wondered if he knew you were home.

It felt almost strange to be in your apartment again, everything the same way you had left it. The same disheveled sheets. The only thing new was the empty bottle of bourbon on the counter. It was disheartening knowing Lee resorted to drinking, it seemed a thousand emotions would be ripping through you tonight. It was a mistake to run away, even if it was just what you had needed. You had people waiting for you at home, and Lee clearly hadn’t taken it lightly. Arthur was used to your impulsiveness, but Lee wasn’t.

You slowly shimmied out of your dirty clothes and put on a new skirt and a white blouse. You examined your battered body in the mirror, scratches littered your face, your feet still ached and you felt undeniably tired, your limbs feeling heavy. All you wanted to do was crash in your soft bed. Your locket remained in pristine condition, the pearl in the center still as shiny as ever. It seemed the wolf had spared your most prized possession.

You couldn’t shake the guilt that inched in your blood, you had kissed Arthur, and you were to be married in less than two weeks. Arthur was your husband, but Lee was your fiancé, and you couldn’t cheat on Lee.

When you came back down, no longer in your wolf torn clothes, Lee gave you a big smile, innocent and playful. Arthur simply stared at the floor, barely readable. You avoided looking at Arthur, he would break your heart if you did.

Lee grabbed your coat for you, and held the door open. You stepped outside into the bright street. It seemed Richfield, the land of new opportunity, was always bustling.

You turned to look at Arthur through the glass, as Lee ushered you away. Arthur could easily see the guilt on your face the moment you looked at Lee.

Once he was out of view, you faced forward.

“We should talk too, you know. We haven’t really gotten the chance,” Lee told you, his hand around your waist.

You felt uneasy at another discussion, you would have to choose one of them in the end, but in the meantime you would have to deal with both of their worries about losing you. You couldn’t imagine breaking either of their hearts.

“We haven’t been to the pier in a while,” You responded.

“Yeah we could go there after we visit the police station. I’m sure it won’t take long.”

•••

The police station trip was short. Lee introduced you to an officer, Mr. Clark. You answered all the questions he threw at you with ease, after all you were once a conwoman, Hosea’s right hand woman in all jobs. Even jabbing questions, it was more like an interrogation than a report. You assumed Officer Clark was simply a thorough man.

You never felt comfortable around the police, after living as an outlaw for your whole life, you had to keep reminding yourself you weren’t here to be persecuted. After all, Officer Clark was just doing his job.

When you left with Lee, your uneasiness did not go away. It started like a slow and steady stream, the closer you got to the pier it rose in you like whitecaps on a windy day. The thought of kissing Arthur made your head spin, and then going and talking with Lee about everything? That was a recipe for a mean headache.

When you finally arrived at the pier, it was crowded with people. Couples strolled, fishermen cast out their lines and children laughed playfully, zigzagging through the crowds. The pier became less crowded the further you walked, after all it was incredibly long. The waves lapped gently against the sides of the pier, it calmed your nerves slightly.

Lee was tense too, you could feel his tense shoulders every time they brushed against yours. It felt strange to do something so domestic with him after the events of the week. When you finally reached the end of the pier, you leaned against the railing.

“It looks like it might storm,” Lee began, looking up towards the overcast sky. It was sunny when you had left, but it seemed Mother Nature had other plans for the afternoon.

“It might,” You responded dimly. There was a moment of silence between you, you stared out over the waters. Lee leaned next to you, you glanced at him briefly.

“My father isn’t doing too good. He told me he stopped taking his medicine,” Lee sighed.

“What? Why would he do that?” Your mouth agape.

“He spewed some bullshit about ‘not wanting to waste away’.” Lee bit his lip, glancing at you.

“Oh my god,” You gasped, covering your mouth with your hands. Neither you or Lee would be able to convince Mr. Rinascita, you couldn’t force someone to live.

“I tried to tell him to go back to the doctor for more, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”

“But he’ll die if he stops taking the medicine.”

“I know. He's dying. My father is dying.” Lee choked out.

You reached out towards him, pulling you close to him, you wrapped your arms around his torso. Lee melted into your touch.

“I’m so sorry, Lee,” You spoke quietly.

“I thought we had more time..” Lee mumbled. You brushed his hair. You could feel Lee shake under you. You had never felt more guilty in your entire life. You ran away, you kissed Arthur, Lee’s father signed his life away. Lee had lost so much.

“I don’t think he will even be well enough to go to the wedding.. I think we’ll have to move it to the end of the week.”

You felt like you had been slapped in the face.

“The end of the week?” You managed to choke out.

“I know it’s not what you imagined.” Lee pulled away from your hold. Your eyes wide, processing what he had said.

You shook your head. “I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want to leave you,” You confessed to him, searching his eyes.

The wind picked up, the rain would start falling soon.

“You already have.” Lee smiled at you sadly.

“What? Lee, what are you saying?” You asked him, your heart dropping to your stomach. The wind whipped your hair around.

“I saw you, I saw you kiss him.”

You gasped. Lee turned away from you. You had betrayed Lee, the man you loved dearly. And he knew it too.

“I-” You began, but Lee cut you off.

“I saw it the moment you laid eyes on him. You had already chosen him, it’s always been him,” Lee said bitterly, turning back to face you.

The rain started. Thunder boomed in the distance.

“That’s not true,” Your voice rose.

“Why? Why did you have to run away?” Lee shouted, his face contorted with pain.

Tears came as quickly as the rain had started.

“I couldn’t handle it, Lee. I couldn’t! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” You sobbed, your face feeling hot. Your chest felt heavy, Lee’s heartbroken face would forever be ingrained in your mind.

The rain soaked your clothes, heavy droplets falling over Lee’s face.

Lee was a storm. And he would rain down today.

“Well you fucking did,” Lee fell to the ground, his chest heaving. You fell next to him, holding him in your arms. You both stayed that way for a while, both crying. Even the sky expressed it’s sorrow for you. The rain continued falling relentlessly.

“Don’t leave me, please,” Lee’s voice broke. It was louder than the thunder, than all the noise in the entire universe. He gripped you so tightly, like the moment you let him go you would disappear. And it broke your heart.

Lee had lost everything there was to lose. He couldn’t lose you.

In that moment, your mind was made up. You knew what your choice was.

The storm had came. Lee was the storm in your life. Coming abruptly, changing everything.

•••

#the ballads of rebirth #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x reader

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 5 years ago

Note

Thank you for your kind words! i've been trying to think of more Valdo requests, cuz you write him wonderfully, & i have a cute one (i hope) maybe Valdo & plus size reader have been friends for a long time & she's totally in love & he writes all these beautiful songs about these women & she's jealous(inside) & somehow it comes to light that the songs are about her & there's love confessions (shocking i know haha!) cuz he's like "wait no it's always been you!" Thanks so much! I hope you're well!!

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Valdo x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 1,605 Rating: G Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mycat-is-mylove @mynamesoundslikesherlock @kemmastan @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @amirahiddleston @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @daydreamer-in-training @morelikebyesexual a/n: Yess Valdo would be equally enthusiastic about lovers of all body shapes and sizes and you know we love a good Confession. Enjoy! xo

“Y/N!”

Your entire body lifted with your heart at the sound of Valdo’s voice speaking your name. You turned from where you’d been standing in the square and there he was. Curls somehow never mussed despite his long travels, not a single hair in his mustache or goatee out of place. The blazing, emerald eyes alight with excitement as he wove his way through the people and made his way to you. He scooped you up into a hug, nearly lifting you off of your feet, a reminder of how deceptively strong he was.

“Oh you are a sight for sore eyes,” he sighed when you both reluctantly pulled away.

“How Long are you in town this time?” you asked, trying to temper your excitement before you could be crushed by hearing that he would only be there for the night.

“I’m not sure,” he replied enigmatically, “It depends on how this latest song is received.”

You tried to keep your face from crumpling into disappointment. If that were the case you’d be lucky if he stayed overnight. His music was always incredibly well-received and you took his words to mean that the better it was lauded, the more quickly he’d want to spread it around to build word. You’d been friends for years and you’d watched him get his first instruments and create a name for himself around Cidaris. You knew that his success would take him away from you but you tried not to begrudge it. His happiness mattered the most to you and if that happiness was found elsewhere, who were you to be upset?

“Come on,” he said after a few beats of silence, “Buy an old friend a drink.”

“You’re the traveling celebrity, you’re buying,” you teased. He fell in step beside you and slung an arm around your waist. You stiffened slightly, not expecting that, and he removed his arm and wrapped up around your shoulders instead before you could protest that it was alright. Something was odd, even for Valdo, and it made you feel uneasy. You tried to shake it off and focus on the time you got together.

“So tell me of your journeys,” you asked, “New sights? New sounds? New, notable companions?”

You nearly bite your tongue at the last question, trying to sound like you were casually curious as a friend and not desperately pining for him, praying that he’d say he’d seen no one though you knew that was very unlikely. Valdo was quite popular and though you’d never had the pleasure you had extrapolated a great deal from watching him playing, thinking of the things those nimble fingers could do as well as the soft, full lips. He had a wickedness about him that told you that he’d be up for anything and that he could inspire the same level of open-mindedness in all of his partners. Gods knew you couldn’t think of a single thing you wouldn’t open for the man in front of you. He looked at you oddly and you worried for a second that you’d said that out loud but he shook his head.

“Plenty of sights, though none as sweet as your face. Plenty of sounds, though none as compelling as my voice. No companions,” he answered. You schooled your face to stay impassive as he said this though your heart sang. It was a temporary balm, you knew. Soon there would be another. As though he’d read your mind again he pulled out his journal where you knew he wrote his lyrics. You knew where this was going. All through your friendship growing up he’d read to you lyrics of his latest “muse” and you’d been forced to listen and sigh and pretend you weren’t envious of whoever could stir him to create.

“Is that the song that’ll decide your fate?” you asked, gesturing to the journal.

“It is,” he replied. There was a strange energy about him. A nervousness that was rare to behold in the usually very confident, if somewhat smug, troubadour. “It’s a ballad but I need help writing the ending.”

“Oh?” you asked, more surprises every second. Though he happily showed you the results of his work he rarely let you in on the process, insisting that he needed to be alone with his thoughts to truly decipher what his muse had inspired. You thought it sounded like pretentious horseshit but you left him with his methods, his success speaking for itself.

“It’s the story of a couple who met as youths. He, a stalwart, handsome, ambitious lad and she a witty, kind, breathtakingly gorgeous woman,” he explained.

“Hmm yes, they always are aren’t they?” you muttered under your breath.

“What?”

“Nothing, go on.”

“Well the pair grow very close, so close that all who see them think that they’re in love but the tragic truth is that the man pines alone, uncertain if his long-held affections are returned,” Valdo continued.

“I do love a good yearn,” you admitted.

“Yes, and now, after years of roaming and parting and returning and nearly confessing and losing the courage he decides that he must confess his love or go mad!”

“A logical solution,” you said with a little nod of your head, “It seems the conclusion is clear.”

“Ah yes but where I need your help is in discovering her answer,” he said, eyes staring at you with a strange intensity. Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“Well I don’t know, Valdo, does she love him?”

“I don’t know, Y/N… does she?” he asked the words meaningfully giving you an equally pointed look and you felt like you were being read a riddle that everyone else knew but you were oblivious to.

“You’d probably need to ask her?” you offered.

“I… am…?” Valdo’s voice grew uncertain and the pair of you gave each other equally puzzled looks.

“Valdo I promise I’m not trying to be daft but… it almost sounds like you’re saying I’m the woman in the story and that’s ridiculous so what is it you’re asking here? If you should talk to the woman in your song? Sure, go for it, why wouldn’t you?” you exclaimed, growing frustrated. Valdo blinked a few times, visibly flustered and taken aback.

“Y/N you are the woman in the song!”

“What?” you cried, choking on your ale.

“Of course! This song and every other I’ve ever written. It’s always been how, could you truly not know?” he asked incredulously. You gaped at him and thought back to the songs he’d written, trying to find a scrap of lyric that proved it couldn’t be you. You were used to hearing songs where you were written out by the casual mention of a slender frame or lithe body. Whenever a bard sang about lifting his lady into his arms the dream was dashed and you could not longer project yourself into it. It had been a bit lonely and sad, never hearing a heroine whose petite shoes you could walk in, but as you thought back through Valdo’s you realized that was never the case. He never spoke of his lover in diminutive terms. He talked about her beauty and her softness and her genius. Valdo could see you thinking, considering his words with confusion but no longer arguing which he took as encouragement.

“Y/N if I’ve not spoken plainly, know it wasn’t out of any embarrassment or lack of feeling, rather the opposite. I felt so deeply and strongly that I feared the loss of you if I spoke up. But not trying and leaving you is much more painful than knowing and salvaging the friendship. So I come to you, Y/N, without pretense or lyrical camouflage, and I ask you – what does the heroine of this song, the song that joins the lifelong operetta of my heart, answer?”

“Well she… she would be a little taken aback, because she spent her whole life thinking that every song was about some new muse, getting more and more jealous with every one but also hoping that her friend who she loved was happy. And then she’d be afraid that it was a dream because everything he was saying is everything she’s been longing for him to say and she’s learned that women who look like her don’t get a love worthy of song. But she’d want it to be true so badly she’d nearly be willing to just say fuck it and let her heart break upon waking, just for the joy of feeling loved by him for just that once,” you answered, a lifetime of feeling poured out in a rambling series of sentences that you feared were only somewhat understandable and barely coherent but Valdo caught the meaning and crossed over the table to get to you, nearly knocking over your ale in the process but you couldn’t care less.

“Then the song shall end with the man assuring her that it is very much real and that he never wants to be parted from her again, whether that means she travels with him or he stays with her he cares not. Because at the end of the day where she goes, he must follow, for only with her does he experience true, unfettered, blissful happiness,” he replied, green eyes scanning your face as if seeing it for the first time and trying to capture the moment forever.

“I think the song should end another way,” you argued.

“Oh?” he asked, “How?”

You answered him with a kiss that he could never translate into words but would spend the rest of his life trying to describe anyway.

#disasterjaskier #Valdo x Reader #Valdo Marx x Reader #Valdo x Plus Size Reader #Valdo fluff #reader request

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silvorr · 5 years ago

Text

MariChat For The Win

I had to add a bit of self created lore to make the plot work. It’s a bit long, but I hope you guys don’t mind

“Every 100 years or so, ever since the miraculous of creation was- well- created, the miraculous sees a spike in its powers. I don’t know the exact reason, except that I always feel like I’ve had caffeine injected in my veins and its impossible to sit still. The only way we’ve found to control it is by a performing a special ritual, and I usually spend time with Plagg afterwards, because Plagg’s my other half and he’s also affected during this time.”

Marinette nodded carefully at her kwami’s words, “Affected how?”

“He gets kinda cranky and sleeps a lot. Its like all his energy sort of ends up manifested in me. But then, it’s the same for me when his energy spikes come, so I guess everything balances out.”

“Oh, he also has this sort of thing happen? What about the other kwami?”

Tikki shook her head, “Just me and Plagg. Thankfully, his time isn’t to come for another fifty years, so we don’t have to worry about it right now.”

“Yeah…” Marientte ponders over the new information for a bit, before asking her question, “And how long does this go on for?”

“Something about a month.”

Marientte looks at her kwami with worried eyes, “Are you sure I can’t come to Master Fu’s with you?”

Tikki winced, “The ritual takes a while, there is no way you can help even if you wanted to and you’ll only end up wasting time.”

“But- “

Tikki flew up to her holder and hugged Marinette’s cheek, “I’ll be fine, Marinette. As much as I hate parting with you, there’s no other way. I’ll make sure to be careful and the other kwami can help me get back to you if something goes wrong, okay?”

Marinette still looked doubtful, but reluctantly agreed, “If you say so…”

When the time came and Tikki could feel all the excess energy starting to flow inside her, Marinette, like the good sport she was, dropped Tikki off at Master Fu’s for the first day before taking her leave. It was nice to see all the others again and since the Master had been kind enough to get everything ready beforehand, they were immediately able to start the ritual. The ritual helped in dissipating Tikki’s excess energy into her surroundings so that it wouldn’t have undesired effects on her body.

It took them about 3 hours to complete the ritual, after which Tikki said her goodbyes and was on her way to Plagg’s. No doubt the grumpy cat would have napped most of the morning and afternoon away, not that it was his exact fault. Plagg had always hated when Tikki’s high times came because it made him so sleepy all the time that he was never able to properly enjoy his cheese (his words not Tikki’s).

When Tikki floated into Adrien’s room, she was surprised to see that the boys were nowhere to be found. She was sure that Adrien hadn’t had any activity scheduled for this time (Marinette had assured her of this) but Tikki’s confusion was cleared away when Chat Noir appeared at his room’s window. He caught sight of Tikki and waved at her before climbing in.

“Plagg, Claws in.”

The transformation pealed away in a burst of green light, and Plagg came whizzing at Tikki from inside the ring. He crashed straight into her and Tikki squeaked in alarm, “Plagg!”

“Tikkiiiiiiiiiiiii. Tikki, I feel so tiiiiiiiiiiiiired. Make it stoooooooooooop~”

Tikki rolled her eyes and gave Plagg a fierce hug just as Adrien chuckled and said, “Its true. He didn’t even realize that I had called the transformation until it was already over.”

Plagg scowled at Adrien from Tikki’s arms and blew him a raspberry. Adrien rolled his eyes before turning to Tikki. “You two can go upstairs if you like. I’ve set some snacks and blankets for you up on the table. If you guys need anything, I’ll be here doing homework, okay?”

Tikki smiled appreciably as she gently pulled Plagg up against her, “Thank you Adrien.” She could feel Plagg’s exhaustion just by holding him, and knew that a few hours with her would help him get back on his feet. She floated up to the upper levels of Adrien’s bedroom and made herself comfortable where Adrien had made them a small nest, making sure that Plagg was as close to her as possible. The old cat had already nodded off and the sight of it made Tikki smile, “You’ll be okay, you grumpy tom.”

Over the next few days, Plagg seemed to be able to handle his exhaustion better and better. For one, he was getting good at not passing out immediately after Tikki showed up, which made Tikki immensely grateful, because this meant that she and Plagg could spend some rare to come time together. The reason Plagg was improving was because Adrien always took Chat Noir out right before Tikki came over, and while Plagg would deny it with his very being, being transformed actually helped regulate energy.

On the other hand, this meant that now, most of the time, Plagg was awake enough to argue with her.

“-You’re just saying that because you don’t have to live with him like I do! If I have to hear another ballad about how amazing and strong and courageous Ladybug is, I’m am going to throw up!”

Tikki rolled her eyes, “Oh please, Adrien can’t possibly be worse than Marinette. You’ve seen her room Plagg, I don’t ever think I’ve ever met a person more lovesick then my chosen.”

Plagg threw his arms up in frustration, “Well that’s because you haven’t yet spent time with my boy!”

Tikki was thankful that they didn’t have to worry about being loud since Adrien was currently out eating dinner, but these arguments of theirs were getting a little old. Frankly, after having been with their respective chosens for well over a year now, Plagg and Tikki both had reached their wits end. In the beginning Plagg had found the whole love square situation terribly amusing. But now, after having to listen to Adrien whining about the very girl that sat behind him in class, the one who had a crush on him, even a kwami like Plagg had reached the end of his patience.

Naturally, Tikki’s solution was Adrientte. All Plagg had to do was convince Adrien to see Marinette as more than a friend, and all their problems would be solved. Marinette was already completely smitten with Adrien, there was no way this would go wrong, right?

Except that Plagg insisted that Adrien was equally, if not more smitten with Ladybug to ever consider any girl besides her. The better option, according to Plagg, was LadyNoir. It was clear that Ladybug already had somewhat of a crush on Chat Noir, all Tikki had to do was convince her chosen to act on that crush.

But then Tikki reasoned Marinette’s crush on Adrien blinded her too much to even consider Chat Noir, and really Adrientte was the best for everyone.

Needless to say, things weren’t going well for Tikki and Plagg.

“If you’d just listen to me- “

“Lalalalalalalal I’m not listening~”

“PLAGG.”

“FUCK YOU TIKKI.”

“PLAGG.”

Tikki was this close to committing murder when Adrien’s head popped up from below.

“Hey guys, could you- “

“NOBODY ASKED YOU.”

After that incident, well, it was clear they needed to come to a compromise.

“I dunno if it’ll work Tikki.”

Tikki sighed, “I know what you mean. They won’t get to spend a lot of time together, but at this point Ladybug getting together with Adrien Agreste is the only way any of us will get some peace of mind.”

“I knowwwww, but you know how my kitten can get. God knows how much attention he needs after being neglected the way he is by his father.”

Tikki frowned darkly, “Sometimes I wish you would just cataclysm Gabriel Agreste.”

“You and me both Sugar Cube, you and me both.”

Tikki glanced at the clock hanging on the wall and separated herself from Plagg. “Listen, I have to get back now, okay? I’m sure the Enery Spike will end in a few days and we can decide what we want to do then.”

“Yeah..” Plagg yawned and waved her away, “Now shoo, I wanna get some sleep.”

Tikki simply rolled her eyes and smiled fondly as she took her leave.

The next day Tikki decided to go straight home from Fu’s. The day’s session, along with her exsisting worries had made her tired, and all she wanted right then was to eat a couple of cookies and sleep. But when Tikki was close enough to the bakery to see the balcony of Marinette’s room, she was surprised to see figures already up there talking to each other. Tikki got as close as she could hazard without giving herself away, but she was extremely startled when the one of the figures, Chat Noir, turned to her chosen and proceeded to peck her on her lips. Marinette giggled cutely and pulled him to her for another go, this one more firm and grounding. Tikki watched with a dropped jaw as Chat Noir smirked before jumping onto the balcony railing, bowing one last time to his princess before leaping away.

Marinette herself made no move to go inside, staring off dreamily into space until she caught sight of Tikki, who had come to hover on the balcony.

“Tikki!’ Marinette had the decency to flush red before asking, “How- how much of that did you see?”

“Everything.” Even to Tikki her own voice sounded hollow. Tikki met Marinette’s eyes, “Marinette, what the actual fuck?”

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s7-evermore · 5 years ago

Text

Early Morning Eve

Minori woke up in the dark morning of Christmas Eve. She didn't know how exactly. One minute she was asleep, the next minute she found herself staring blankly at the ceiling hanging above her head, well and wide awake. She just couldn't sleep anymore.

The curtains blocked a good amount of the December moon's light, keeping the room dimly lit. It was eerily silent, her digital clock was yet to make a sound to signal her for the start of the day. 3:34 AM, Dec 24, Wed, it read.

She sat up, leaning on the headboard of her bed as her eyes scanned the room. Her room looked completely lifeless, a complete mess. Notes, papers, and music sheets were scattered on her desk. Books and video games she had yet to organize lay on the floor next to her empty guitar stand. Her guitar sat on her chair, taking her place on it.

The solitary silence that followed was too uncomfortable for her to bear, it made her feel empty, lonely.

She HAD to hear something. Anything.

She pressed her lips together and slid to the side of the bed, hesitantly pressing her bare feet on the cold, barren floor. A shiver ran up her spine upon contact with it, causing her to hastily wear her fuzzy, white slippers to escape it.

Her eyes hovered over a specific box that sat on her bedside table, a broken music box that had a tiny drawer, overflowing with memories. She took the box, then slipped her arms in the sleeves of her jacket and walked out of the room.

Upon stepping into the hallway, she quietly closed her door to avoid waking her housemates. She stared at Sakyo's door across from hers, then at Taichi and Omi's as she passed it, and at Banri's and Juza's.

For some reason, she found herself stopping in front of that specific door, with one of the boys in it in her mind.

Was he awake?

Her hand hovered over the door for a moment, debating whether she should knock or not. She then bit her lip and stepped away from it. It was probably better not to wake them up and bother them.

With a quiet sigh, she turned around and sauntered towards the courtyard, bathed in the moonlight. She looked up and noticed several glittering stars scattered across the inky abyss. Amidst the stars was the crescent moon, smiling down at her.

Alarmingly enough, she heard its spine-chilling laugh.

The breeze caressed her skin, causing her to shiver. This night wasn't any different than the previous ones she had.

It’s funny how the day she used to be so excited about lost its luster. As a child, even after all the things she had gone through, following the events that had led her to where she was now, Christmas no longer held its spark.

Even as December approached, the days didn't seem to get any more special. Weekends and weekdays passed as they would until the day Christmas arrived. After that, it was just another day, and the cycle repeats. Until she gets old.

She missed the days when she would get so jumpy over the holidays. She missed how special those days were to her even if they only lasted twenty-four hours, she missed how she enjoyed every minute --every second-- of it to heart's content.

She bathed in the sea of her memories. From the holidays she had with her parents, to her first Christmas with Izumi and her newfound family. The guitar she received from Izumi still sat on her chair back in the room, as clean as it was the first day she got it. Tiny scratches were evident, but they didn't stick out, much to Minori's relief.

She spent several holidays in different places, some were good, some weren't as good.

Some...were memories she'd rather just forget. They were no longer important.

But looking back at it, those 'forgotten' memories surely must have been the reason why Christmas was starting to lose its place in her heart.

As she sat down on the grass, her fingers caressed the wooden music box. The last Christmas gift her father left her.

Her father was a musician, just like her, and her mother was an actress. She reminisced through old memories of them, the happy ones. From the first Christmas she remembered to the last one they had together before everything went downhill. She remembered her father giving her a special little music box, telling her to keep it close to her heart. She often played it when she was alone in the orphanage, it made her feel a little less lonely. It was as if her father was still there, right by her side, playing the piano for her through the stillness of the night.

When it stopped playing, it felt like her father had finally left her side. Forever.

She cried that very night. The first time she heard the silence of the dark abyss. For a little girl, it might have been scary, but the more she listened to it, the more she felt lonely. Through the years, the darkness played its ballad for her every night, ceasing every candle of hope she had inside her until nothing was left.

If only things had stayed the same, then maybe she wouldn't feel the way she was now.

If only. But it was no longer a wish she wanted to be granted. They were gone, there was no need to dwell in the past. That's what she was supposed to do.

As she tried to play the music box's old melody in her mind, the sound of crickets accompanied the soft and steady footfalls that trudged its way to her side. In the corner of her eye, she saw the familiar gray jacket of Hanasaki high, a school she went to with three other boys in the Mankai dorm.

She knew who this one was. She didn't even need to look.

She always thought that Banri had a very distinctive presence. Minori felt it the moment he stepped into the Mankai Theater. It was powerful, like some sort of force entered the room, changing the atmosphere completely.

But it was somehow comforting. She felt as if he understood her emotions better than anyone did, and that thought alone made her feel a little less lonely.

"How'd you get out without waking Juza-Kun?" She broke the saturated silence with that question.

"That guy's a pretty heavy sleeper, and he probably won't hear my footsteps through his snoring."

His reply made her snicker.

Banri and Juza always had this friend-foe kind of relationship wherein they got along better when they were fighting. It showed through their performances when they were on stage for the first time. Although they somewhat "hated" each other, they respected one another as equals. She found it rather funny and endearing at the same time.

"What'cha got there?" He asked, his eyes hovering over the music box in her hands.

"An old music box." She replied in a hushed voice. "I got it as a gift from my father years ago."

"Your father? You mean the old director of Mankai?"

"No. That's Izumi-san's father. I meant my biological one." She chuckled. "I haven't really told anyone else, but I'm actually adopted."

"Ah, that explains a lot." He whispered. "You and Izumi-san don't really look alike."

"So people say." A sad smile stretched across her face for a moment before opening the music box.

Banri's brows furrowed when he didn't hear anything. "Is it broken?"

"Yeah, it's been broken for a while now..." He heard the remorseful tone in her voice as she stared down at the music box.

He then noticed a few photos in the small compartment near the clockwork mechanism.

"What are those?" He pointed at the photos. Minori pulled them out of the compartment and handed them to him.

"Old memories." She acknowledged.

He crossed his legs and looked through the photos. The photo paper had buckled as if it had been exposed to water at some point. The edges of most of them were tattered and dirtied as if someone had thrown them on the ground or stepped on them.

In one photo, he saw a younger version of Minori, smiling jubilantly alongside an older man and woman who appear to be her parents.

He could see the resemblance. She had taken to her father's heterochromatic eyes and blue-ish blonde hair, she had her mother's nose and her unique beauty. Surrounding the family of three were unwrapped presents and opened gift boxes. Behind them was a beautifully embellished Christmas tree, lined with multi-colored fairy lights that illuminated the room.

Another photo was of her playing the piano, below the photo was a caption. 'Minori, age 5. Allegro in B flat Major, K 3'. Her eyes were fluttered shut, concentrating entirely on the piece she was playing.

He looked through another one, which was a photo of her playing the violin this time, on the empty blank space underneath the photo was a caption that said 'Minori, age 6. Variation of Twinkle twinkle little star.'

The next one surprised him more though.

It was a picture of Minori underneath the spotlight of a stage. Her face expressed strong emotion and her movement was clear, even through a motionless photo. She seemed to be...acting.

He read the caption, 'On Love, starring Minori Ishihara, age 9. Second stage performance.'

"You act?" He turned his wide eyes to her.

"I used to." She responded. "My father was a talented musician, and my mother was a well-known stage actress...she used to act here in Veludo Way."

"Where is she now?"

"Who knows? I've kind of stopped caring about that six years ago." Her eyes clouded over as she stared up at the moon.

"What about your dad?"

"He and his music live with the angels." She sighed.

"...Oh." He fell silent, pondering over the mystery of her past as he looked through the photos once more.

"How'd you end up with Izumi-san?" He questioned her once more, hoping to get an answer that will satisfy his curiosity.

"She found me in the park while it was raining. I ended up passing out due to a high fever, so she and her father brought me home." She traced the pattern on the music box with her finger wistfully. "They adopted me after finding out I was an orphan."

Although he had no words to say, Banri listened to her while inspecting every emotion on her face. She spoke quite vaguely about her past, she didn't reveal any details, but she didn't hide it either. It was obvious to him that the pain she gained from it remained etched into her heart, haunting her every now and then.

It was almost hard to believe that the girl he was seeing right now was the same, happy-go-lucky girl he loved to hang out with. Just like him, Minori was a fast-learner, they made things look easy to everyone else. But unlike him, she was humble about it. She wasn't easily bored, and she made sure that the things people said were difficult became easier for them.

Her presence was warm and comforting, she had this gentleness in her personality that made others feel comfortable around her. She was very optimistic, and her smile always seemed contagious. Unlike him, her emotions were always evident in her face, she didn't try to act cool and hide them. She was genuinely honest and understanding, which made it easier for others to open up to her with their problems and worries.

Nevertheless, he realized that she never really spoke of her own problems that much, not the personal ones at least. Her past was a mystery to everyone except Izumi, the Mankai Company's Director, and her adoptive older sister.

"I get anxious every time I hear the silence of the night. I felt confined in the darkness every time I hear it." She professed, it was the first time he had heard her say something like this, "I used to open that music box every night, knowing I would feel my father's presence every time the music played. But when it stopped playing...I felt as if he was leaving me alone...again."

Moonlit grief reflected in her mismatched eyes, replacing the joyous gleam he usually saw in them. Her wild, ebullient spirit was replaced with sullenness, giving her incandescent beauty a sort of supernatural glow.

The Minori that belonged to the night.

Banri cursed himself for his silence. He bit his lip as he wracked his brain for something to say. Something that would comfort her at this moment. However, his thoughts were washed away as soon as he heard the next thing she said.

"But ever since this company came to be, I couldn't help but ignore it." A small, reminiscent smile appeared on her face as she drew in her mind all the memories she had with the members of the four troupes. "Even if those old memories make me sad, I can tell myself that I'm not alone because everyone is here. I finally have a family I can call my own.

At first, I was quite hesitant. I've been ignoring theater ever since my mom left me, I felt scared to be involved with it. But I told myself that if I could just overwrite all those sad memories, then maybe...I can see theater in a new light, and make music for it without feeling any hint of regret."

"Do you...plan on acting again?"

"Not in the future, no." She replied, "But I do wanna watch everyone acting. I want them to have fun doing it like I did back then. I suppose I'll stay off the stage instead and stick with my music."

"That's a shame. I kinda want to see you act myself." He admitted, showing her the picture of her second stage performance, "You look really good there."

"You think so?" Her lips curved upwards into an amused smile. "I'm probably not as good as I used to be."

"We can try doing a street act together for practice, you know?" He suggested. "If you wanna overwrite those old theater memories you hate so much, we've gotta make a lot of new ones for you to remember instead."

"Make a lot of new ones, huh?" She hummed in thought, "Simply making music for our productions and working as Assistant Director is enough for me."

"Not for me though." He smirked at the idea that popped into his head. He then handed over the photos back to her and stood up, extending his hand for her to take. "Come on, I'm itching to practice right now. Let's go."

The sun rose behind him, giving his chestnut hair a golden glow. The sky soon shifted from its inky color to a spectrum of hues ranging from azure to watermelon pink. His playful smile illuminated along with the rising sun, as a rush of warmth radiated from his hand, reminding her of how cold she had been.

He pulled her up to her feet and quietly ran through the halls of the Mankai dorm and into the practice room.

. . . .

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" Cheers of ecstasy roared throughout the entire dorm as everyone clinked their glasses together. Everyone smiled from ear to ear as they exchanged gifts and cards, laughing and chattering altogether.

It was the Mankai Company's first Christmas together, and that alone made Minori feel contented.

"Minori-chan!" Kumon called out to her from his spot near the Christmas Tree. "The last present here is for you!"

"Another one?" She hopped off the kitchen counter she was sitting on and walked towards him, taking the outstretched present from him. "Who's it from?"

"It's from Banri-Kun!" He grinned.

On that signal, Banri walked next to her as she sat on the couch surrounded by the other troupes.

"That's the last gift under the tree. Go ahead and open in it." Izumi smiled at her.

Minori nodded, unraveling the scarlet red ribbon and unwrapped the green wrapping paper neatly.

Her eyes widened as she gasped in astonishment once she saw the shiny, ocean blue box sitting on her lap. The cover was decorated with a picture of a violin surrounded by musical notes and flowers.

"Woah..." She whispered under her breath, marveling at the beauty of the box. "This is..."

Upon opening the lid, a soft, gentle song filled the air as a ballerina twirled slowly along with its melody. Behind the ballerina was a circular mirror, lined with intricate swirling patterns.

But something else caught Minori's attention. On the compartment in front of the ballerina lay a bundle of photos. She picked them up with dainty hands and looked through them. The first thing she saw was a picture of her and the Spring Troupe. She remembered that particular day, it was the day of their first practice together. On the space below the photo said the specific date of the practice, she remembered it so vividly.

She looked at another photo. It was a photo with her, Izumi, and the Summer Troupe during the training camp. She smiled at how Tenma looked terrified of the fireworks that suddenly went flying all over the ground as Kazunari and Misumi laughed happily. Muku, Izumi, and Yuki smiled and laughed in the background as she took the photo. She remembered this too.

The next photo was of the Autumn Troupe's costume fitting, she stifled a giggle as she remembered that moment. Banri had his arm around her shoulder, taking the photo himself. Izumi, Taichi, and Omi squeezed in with the surprised Juza and the seemingly displeased Sakyo.

Moving on to the next one, she saw the picture she took after their win in the act off. She was sandwiched between Tsumugi and Homare as the others happily fit themselves in the frame with their Director and Assistant Director. God, she remembered the feeling of ecstasy as if it just happened yesterday.

The other photo she saw was the groupie she took during the Rookie's first training. She had the leaders of the troupes help her coach them. Izumi had left her in charge of training them for the time being due to the several meetings and errands she had to run as Director. Training the rookies was certainly fun, she learned a lot from them and about them.

The other photos she looked through were photos she knew had been taken personally by the other members. Some were selfies of her with one or some of the members, and some selfies were of her and her sister going out alone together.

But the last photo had her frozen in astonishment.

It was a picture of her and all the troupes, including the manager, their set-builder, Kamekichi, and even Yuzo himself. It was similar to a family picture, one she hadn't done in a long time.

Oh yes, she remembered that day.

It was after the closing night of their first Live Tour. Their Live tour was the best moments of her life. Singing on stage with the troupes and hearing them singing the songs she had made just for them. She had never felt so happy in her life singing her heart out with the people she loved the most. The lights were blinding, the screams were piercing, the music flowed through her heart. It was her first time singing live in front of an audience, and it was exhilarating as hell.

Her vision was slightly blurred due to the tears that glossed over her eyes. Those euphoric memories made her forget everything she had been depressed about.

"Banri-Kun..."

He cleared his throat upon hearing her choke out his name.

"Your old music box was broken. I thought I'd give you one to get you through the night..." He

implored. "You said you wanted to overwrite your bad memories of theater with new ones...I thought maybe adding those in that music box might make it more meaningful for you..."

She looked up at him, stunned.

"...Didn't want you to feel lonely at night." He said as he scratched the nape of his neck as he bashfully tore his eyes away from hers, attempting to hide the blooming blush on his cheeks.

The silence from her made him feel even more embarrassed.

"Well? Say something, will you? Do you like it or-" Before he can continue his sentence, he felt a sudden weight tugging on his body as a pair of arms circled around his neck. The smell of her cherry blossom perfume entered his nostrils as her soft, arctic-blonde hair tickled his chin.

He processed things for a moment before realizing she was actually embracing him.

She then moved her head away a bit to meet his gaze once again, she gave him a close-eyed grin as tears-- or small, beads of crystals, he'd rather call them since that's what they looked like to him-- gathered on the corners of her eyes. Her cheeks were tinted with pink, she looked the happiest he'd ever seen her.

"I love it!" She exclaimed enthusiastically. “You’re amazing, Banri-Kun!”

Bonus: Super ultra cute reaction from Minori. Mission success.

He stared at her for a moment before smirking, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"...Naturally." He said casually.

Banri felt the warmth of her body radiating on him, it made him realize that they were the closest they've ever been at that moment. He feared she might actually feel how fast his heart was beating, but if he were honest, he couldn't tell if it was his heart that was beating or hers.

Maybe both? Who knows?

"That's so unfair! How come Banny-Kun gets to have a hug from Minori-chan this Christmas?" Kazunari teased.

Oh right. They weren't alone.

"Should I hang mistletoe above them?" Tenma smirked mischievously.

"Absolutely not!" Minori exclaimed as she released herself from Banri's grip.

For some reason, he began to miss her already.

"Alright everyone, gather around. It's time to take our first ever Company Christmas Picture!" Izumi exclaimed as she set up the camera on its stand.

"Hell yeah!" Taichi cheered as he set himself in the frame. The others enthusiastically followed themselves.

Banri and Minori exchanged looks before sitting down on the couch together. As everyone settled on their positions, Minori felt an arm snake around her waist. Smiling knowingly, she moved closer to Banri and leaned closer to him before looking straight at the camera.

"Alright," Izumi held the Bluetooth remote and inserted herself in the frame, "Everyone say 'MANKAI!'"

"MANKAI!!!"

. . .

It was time for lights out as Minori walked to her bed after getting changed. She settled herself in bed and reached out to her lamp to close it. She stopped halfway, her eyes hovering over a certain, blue box she had received earlier during the Christmas party.

She moved her hands to the box, opening it ever so gently, allowing the sweet melody of the music box to fill the entire room. It formed a distinctive kind of atmosphere that settled within the room.

A small smile formed on her face as she closed her lights. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the rhythm of the music box as the face of a certain boy appeared in her mind.

The powerful presence that the gentle song radiated fought with the silence. At that moment, she didn't feel lonely anymore.

She felt...safe.

-END-

#a3 game #a3 act addict actors #a3! fanfic #a3! actor training game #fanfiction #oc #banri settsu #a3 banri #MERRY CHRISTMAS

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cecilspeaks · 6 years ago

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147 - The Protester

Hot singles in your area are staring into the forest and grinning absently.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Astronomers are frantically trying to determine why a chunk of the moon is missing. Ragged and greedy like a slice removed from a pie by hungry hands rather than a civilized serving utensil, the gap in the moon has been baffling professional sky gazers for weeks. Fun fact: did you know a group of astronomers is called a commotion?

Astronomers believe the moon could be eroding, because people have stopped believing in it, like ancient Roman polytheism. Others have theorized that the moon was damaged by enemy ships in the ongoing Blood Space War. But people on the internet have countered that this is part of the mandala effect, and that that piece of the moon has always been missing and we’re collectively misremembering. Like how those beloved picture book bears that we all remember as the Berenstein Bears, have by all physical evidence always actually been spelled “The Dog Pound Boyzzzz”. Boyz with a Z. Because of the 2016 city ordinance that proclaimed that anything can be true if you say it loud enough, astronomers are forced to consider all sides.

I don’t know any astronomers, but I do know a scientist! My husband Carlos has been the leading scientific mind in Night Vale since we started dating, almost six years ago. Carlos says that he has been studying and interesting meteorite he found out in the sand wastes and scrublands beyond Night Vale. He believes this particular rock is a piece of the moon. Standing before a giant wall of blinking lights, flickering screens and intermittent beeps, Carlos determined that this piece of the moon broke off only one month ago. But this is impossible, because no one can remember seeing the moon breaking apart in the sky. Well, maybe we were all asleep when it happened, I told Carlos as I dabbed away a small crumb from a cheese Danish that had gotten stuck in his beard. Oh, fun fact: Carlos grew a beard! And I have never liked beards on men, but now – I do. It’s got two thin silver racing stripes down the chin, and the hair is so soft. We’ve been married over two years and every day, I fall more in love.

Oh right, the moon, OK good God, always with the moon. [mutters] Yeah, yeah… Carlos has been studying an unusual number of empty homes and businesses about town. He noticed that the houses on either side of us are completely empty, but he didn’t remember them being empty before. He remembers us having neighbors, but he couldn’t name a single thing about them. He believes this might be related to the damaged moon. Whatever happened a month ago to the moon immediately caused us all to forget it, because something in our timeline changed. Carlos said: “Perhaps we are not forgetting people and events, perhaps they never existed at all.” His eyes were cloudy with pensive thought, and I touched his furry cheek and said: “You’ll save us, hon. I know you will.” He smiled and asked if I’d be willing to reach out to archeology professor Harrison Kip again. Carlos, uh, had been communicating with Kip about this very issue, but now emails to Harrison keep bouncing back, and his phone number is no longer in the phone company’s database of working numbers. I laughed and said: “Carlos, I don’t know who Harrison Kip is!” Carlos looked worried, and said he wasn’t sure he did either. But he felt like he should.

Protestors have organized a sit in in front of city hall, demanding an end to the Blood Space War. The city council, seeing the crowd of about 150 people gathered around the front entrance of their building, took immediate action. They announced they would be taking a long planned family vacation to the Badlands National Park in South Dakota, until this whole protest thing runs its course. “We don’t believe South Dakota actually exists,” the single-bodied, multi-voiced council said. “When you look at a map, it seems like it exists, like it’s just right there when you look at it and it’s between two other identical states, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not. Anyway, this feels like a great time to take the kids to see Mount Rushmore.” As the city council said this, several small childlike heads emerged from the city council’s singular body and screamed in happy unison. Or terrified unison. Mm, it’s hard to get an emotional reading on screams.

The organizer of the protest is 20-year-old Night Vale community college student, Basimah Bishara, whose father Lieutenant Fakir Bishara returned home from the Blood Space War three years ago. Basimah greeted her father’s return with joy, but that joy has since been replaced by confusion and pain. Let’s hear Basimah’s story in her own words.

Basimah: Time no longer works correctly for my father. I understand time does not work correctly for many people in Night Vale, but it had always worked correctly for him before the war. In December 2015, he returned home after 11 years of serving our city, our country, our planet in a war that still makes no sense to me. I was six when he volunteered for service, he was 30. 11 years later when he returned home, I was 17. My father was 19. He did not remember joining in the war nor having a daughter nor meeting his wife. He is a teenager, like I was. I no longer am a teenager, but my father still is. He has stayed 19 years old. Time no longer works correctly for him.

My mother Tahira raised me. She expressed reticence about the band I started, the music we played. She grounded me when my grades slipped and shouted at me when I told her I had a girlfriend. But she came to love Marina and more, my mother came to understand as both as people, as women. Not as rivers to be damned or levied.

My father’s return has been especially hard on her, because she is 45 and her husband is a 19-year-old stranger. You probably know what it’s like to have a father, to have a man much older than you who changed your diapers or watched your diapers being changed. Who taught you to speak or ride a bike, who helped you develop as a human from an animal from a larva from the simplest, squirming wad of meat into an adult. That father will always be a father, not a friend, not an equal, a father. You probably do not know what it’s like to see a father at your age, to talk with your father when he is also barely an adult. To have your father lonely and inquisitive think of you as his only friend in the world, while you look to him for guidance and love. But he is incapable of both, at least not in the way you need to be guided and loved.

It took two years for Fakir to open up about the war and it still makes no sense to him nor me. The Blood Space War requires constant shifts through time, through worm holes to change lost battles into won battles, to undo what has already been undone thousands, millions of times over. The future does not look like a blank page, it looks like a tattered sheet of paper, grayed and frayed from countless transcriptions and erasures of history. Battles are won and then undone through time travel. We lose our lives and then regain them by traveling backwards and fighting again. We are winning the war by perpetuating the war. Last month, the Polonians attacked our earth, I am sure of it. The only evidence is our broken moon. I believe the general undid this attack with time travel and this has changed our reality, changed who was born, who ever lived in the first place. People are disappearing because they will have never existed.

People think we’re crazy for protesting. I’m 20 and my father is still 19. I’m not crazy. My mother Tahira is not crazy. We are angry.

Our next protest is scheduled this afternoon at the corner of Earl and Somerset by the Dog Park near the Ralphs.

Cecil: Not sure what Basimah was referring to. That’s an empty lot by the Ralphs. There was word for a dog park to be built there many years ago, but it never materialized.

[clears throat] Let’s have a look now at local news. Earth sciences professor Simone Rigideau announced today that she is scrapping all text books and lesson plans at the community college in favor of organized prayer to a god named Huntokar. Several students and parents argued against such an extreme divergence from core curriculum in favor of French religious practices, but college president Sarah Sultan supported her staff member by saying: “Cut Simone some slack. She doesn’t even teach classes. She’s a transient who lived in a storage closet inside the earth sciences building for 20 years. The only reason she has the title of professor is because of antiquated squatter’s rights laws.” Rigideau donned rabbit furs and an old bicycle frame wraught into the shape of antlers, and began spray paintin the Fibonacci sequence on the cars in the college parking lot, all the while singing a ballad about clocks.

The intergalactic military headquarters released their first quarter earnings statmenet this week. Investors were displeased to see that each of the board members of the privately own space defense contractor had purchased a 125-foot yachts and NFL franchises. But those fears were quickly allayed by the announcement of layoffs of more than 5,000 employees. Stock prices for the intergalactic military soared to an all time high this afternoon, at 490 dollars a share. Senior strategic advisor Jameson Archibald said the intergalactic military has no actual earned income. 100 per cent of their gross is from venture capital. Archibald said: “Some investors keep asking how we plan to monetize our military, which is a stupid question, man! I mean, look at this Patek Philippe watch I bought. It’s encrusted with 10 pounds of diamonds, and the watch face was made using an actual piece of the Sistine Chapel. We are doing fine.” Archibald added that the intergalactic military is developing an app and a subscription service that allows people to engage in celestial war fare any time they want for only 12,99 a month.

Alright, listeners, I heard back from Basimah, and she said I was right. There is no dog park. Of course I was right. If I knew there was a dog park being built in this town, I would have reported it immediately. Carlos and I have a dog. His name is Aubergine because he’s purple and European, and Auby is adorable and we love him dearly. I mean, I wasn’t into the idea of having to care for a dog, but Carlos strongly urged this case one morning over breakfast when he said, “I think we should get a dog”, and 20 minutes later, we were leaving the SPCA with our adopted pet. [clears throat]

Basimah said she was positive there was a dog park next to the Ralphs, but when she arrived at the corner of Earl and Somerset, it was all empty lots. To be honest, I don’t remember her mentioning a Ralphs before, because I would have corrected her. There’s never been a Ralphs affiliate in Night Vale. This is what Basimah had to say. Um, hang on, let me just insert the tape I used to record her. And there we go.

Basimah: If a person never exists, did they disappear? If you never knew them, can you miss them? My father spends most of his days playing basketball with friends he made at the rec center. He is 19 years old and trying to escape a decade of inescapable drama from warfare. Asked him who my mother was. I grew up with only my uncle Omar and did not know my parents until my father returned from war. Fakir did not remember my mother. He did not remember his marriage or my birth, because it has not happened yet in his timeline. Asked what if mother didn’t exist at all. What if the general’s time traveling has altered our lives so much that my mother was never born and you can never meet her. My father, the teenager said: “If I never met a woman, I do not know I will not miss her. But I’ll meet another woman.” I asked: “What if I was never born?” My dad said: “Basi?” He hid his tears and then he hugged me, but it was not the hug of a father and daughter. It was the hug of a son and mother. He buried his head into my shoulder and sobbed, repeating: “Basi! Basi!” And I comforted his heaving head with my palm. I said: “Father, Fakir. I think I shall no longer exist soon. [voice fades] I think I-

Oh OK, sorry for the dead air, listeners, I was playing a recording of an interview I did. Wait, nope. I just checked, there’s no tape in the player at all. I thought I had been talking with… Ugh. Aah! Who have I been talking to? Maybe it was my husband Carlos reporting on his findings about the damage done to our moon or, mh, or maybe it was nothing at all. [clears throat] Well, let us forget that we forgot, and go now To the weather.

[Shake” by Wednesday’s Wolves https://www.wednesdayswolves.com]

We have an update on the Blood Space War, Night Vale. John Peters says his brother has returned home again. When he left a month ago, James Peters was 22 years old. But he is now in his seventies, which is the age he should be. John held his brother tightly, crying in gratitude and relief that his own family could return to some kind of normalcy. James at first was heartened to see John again, to see his home again, and to learn that he and the general had thwarted the Polonian attack on our planet. But his tearful smile drifted slowly downward, an evening shadow overtaken by night. Upon James’ face now was the sudden knowledge that he had made a grave error. James looked around Night Vale seeing empty lots and homes, abandoned buildings and sparse streets. According to James, thousands of people have gone missing from Night Vale, because they never existed or never moved here in the first place. The general had leapt in time to successfully stop the Polonians from ever reaching Earth, but the change in the timeline caused Night Vale to change too.

Listeners, this may seem strange, but perhaps there are people you once knew, family you once lived with, places you were in, all of which are gone, and without your knowing. I have tried hard to think of any memory of any experience or person I have lost in the last month, but I can think of none. I told James Peters that perhaps the change in timeline did not matter if no one knew what they had lost, if no one noticed any change. James said: “Cecil, I just don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe if we had a scientific perspective on this, we could better understand how this is affecting us as a community.” And I said I didn’t know any scientists, not personally anyway. There’s the strange woman who lives in the storage closet at the community college, I suppose we could ask her.

The important thing is that we are safe, and that another veteran has returned home, and it is another beautiful day in Night Vale.

Stay tuned next for “Conspiring to Love”, our new relationship advice show, which as a lifelong bachelor sounds like something I should check out.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: “Nothing lasts forever” is a phrase with two meanings, and they’re both true.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #welcome to night vale transcripts #episode 147 #the protester

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perriewinklenerdie · 6 years ago

Text

At last (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

Author’s note: Here we are, the fluff train has arrived at its destination. The idea to write this came from listening to the beautiful song mentioned in this piece. My mind just can’t seem to stop coming up with ideas for Ethan and Claire, so that’s how we ended up here!

As always, English is not my first language, my MC is Clarissa “Claire” Herondale and my mind may have gone a little over the board for this one but oh well.

Enjoy! <3

Word count: 2263

Ethan knew there would be this grand ball to celebrate the end of this goddamn competition. He didn’t think he would be excited to attend, but when he got the message that Claire had won, that every judging doctor has chosen her, he couldn’t wait to see her face when she finds out that all of her hard work has paid off.

He noticed how some of the interns treated her. Her own roommate, dr. Varma, seemed to treat her like trash, her ambition not allowing her to maintain a decent behavior and relationship with someone obviously better than her.

His mind wandered to a certain night in Miami, his slip in his control. He remembered vividly the way her body fit perfectly next to his, it was as if they were made to be together. He remembered the way his name fell from her lips, the way her body felt under his hands. He couldn’t get enough of her in that moment.

Hell, he was sure that if he had the opportunity to do it again, he wouldn’t hesitate.

That night was the best night of his life to date. He knew he might never get the chance to have her in his arms, but he had his memories and stolen glances. It wasn’t enough but it helped him cope.

The ball night came. He put on his best tux, leaving his hair be, brushing it lightly to keep in neat.

Arriving to the event, he took a look around the room. He saw that surgical intern, the one that made him jealous time and time again, not having dr. Varma in his arms. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or if he felt sorry for the young man. He decided that he did both, equally.

Next to him was that paramedic, a young woman with black hair on his arm, he didn’t recognize her, but they did seem to get along.

He noticed Harper by the stage, talking to Zaid and Ines. He approached them slowly, trying to avoid bumping into anyone.

“Hi, Ethan! Excited?” Ines was always one of the doctors he simultaneously liked and couldn’t understand. She was so happy almost all the damn time but she was a great doctor, compassionate and eager to help interns. That’s why he liked her. She didn’t mind helping interns, taking some of his work in that department from his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m relieved it’s finally over. We can get over it and go back to the normal routine.” He murmured, avoiding direct eye contact. Harper smiled at them and went to take the stage.

“May I have your attention, please?” she spoke clearly into the microphone, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “It’s time to announce the name of the intern that’s going to join the diagnostic team lead by dr. Ethan Ramsey.” The whole room cheered, clapping.

The lights shone on him. He bowed his head towards the crowd, turning away to look at Harper again.

“Congratulations, dr. Clarissa Herondale! From this Monday you’ll be working and learning from the best diagnosticians in this country.” She smiled genuinely as the young intern came up to stand next to her.

He hasn’t had the chance to see her yet tonight. And he almost wished he did. He didn’t expect the sight that was her. He wished he had some time to prepare.

She was wearing the dress. The same dress she wore in Miami. The same dress he kissed her in. The same dress he hiked up to touch her, pulling her closer to him.

She shook Harper’s hand and thanked her, said a few words, thanking everyone for trusting her with that responsibility and for giving her a chance.

“I’d also like to thank dr. Ramsey, for inspiring me to become a doctor, for watching over my work, pushing me to become the best doctor I could be, teaching me valuable lessons. It means the world to me. Thank you.” she looked at him, a genuine smile on her face. He nodded towards her, trying to cover up his raging emotions, a slight blush on his cheeks.

She went down the stage with Harper towards them. Ines took her in her arms, hugging her tightly.

“I’m so proud of you! I knew you could do it!” she smiled widely at her.

“Congratulations, Herondale. Good job.” Zaid shook her hand. Then she turned towards him. and his brain was fried.

He had no idea what to do, how to behave. A handshake was not enough, a hug might be too much. He opted for something in between.

Their hands met in a handshake, his other hand resting on her shoulder, squeezing her lightly.

“Congratulations, dr. Herondale. Welcome to the team.” The corners of his lips went up against his will.

“Thank you, dr. Ramsey. I hope I can rise to the challenge.”

“I know you’ll do good. You wouldn’t be here if we weren’t sure you would.“ she had a look of relief on her face. She bowed down slightly to them before walking away from them to join her friends.

He felt a hand on his arm. Turning, he saw Harper looking up at him, a teasing smile on her face.

“Are you ready?” she asked softly, keeping her voice quiet.

“Ready for what?”

“For finally admitting your feelings and acting on them.” He was stunned. Was he really that obvious?

“I…”

“Ethan. It’s nothing wrong. It’s okay to feel. The competition is over. There is nothing hanging over your heads. I say you should go for it and see what happens. In the worst case scenario, she doesn’t feel the same. But trust me. She does.” She offered him a kind smile before patting him on his back and leaving him alone to his thoughts.

The night was going smoothly. He kept a close eye on her. Noticed how she danced with a few of her friends. Normally he would get jealous, but he knew that he had nothing to worry about.

He spent most of his night observing other interns interacting with her. Dr. Varma had a disappointed look on her face but she did smile congratulate her, engaging in a conversation that ended with an embrace. Aurora Emery had relief written all over her face, he even saw her give Clarissa a hug.

Their eyes locked a couple of times during the evening, all sorts of emotions in them. He wanted nothing more than to walk up to her, talk to her. But there was still this fear in the back of his head.

Harper made him dance. He knew how, he was excellent at it, he just didn’t like to do it. The song came to its end and she thanked him for the dance, going off in the direction of the man managing the music. He turned around to leave the dancefloor when he came face to face with Claire. She had her arms folded over her chest, a soft smirk on her face.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re avoiding me.” She laughed at him, her humor was contagious. He felt his own lips curl in a soft smile, only for her.

“I’m not avoiding you. You were busy and I didn’t want to interrupt you.” he felt insecure all of the sudden, his mind still not functioning properly. “You look amazing.” He appraised her look, her cheeks reddening.

“Thank you… I deemed it fitting. Wouldn’t you agree?” she teased softly, her eyes revealing her insecurity. He knew what she was thinking about. He was thinking about the same thing. The same night.

They fell silent. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He was never good at relationships. Women were a mystery to him. He almost bolted towards the door when they both heard the first notes of the new song.

Soft melody of “Beneath your beautiful” began playing, falling over them, setting the mood.

He turned towards her, extending his hand towards her, a question in his eyes. She placed her hand in his, lacing their fingers together.

He pulled her towards him, placing his other hand at her waist delicately, memories of the last time he did that flooding his mind. They stood closely together, looking into each other’s eyes.

He started guiding them together across the dancefloor slowly, dancing to the tune of the ballad.

It was as if there was no one else in the room except for them. There was only her for him in this room, in this world.

There was no point in denying his feelings anymore. It wouldn’t do anyone any good. He knew what he was feeling and while he couldn’t be sure what she was feeling, he was done with hiding.

As the song went on, their faces got closer and closer together, oblivious to the various looks they got from the people around them. His arms circled her waist, bringing her even closer, spinning her out before bringing her back to him.

The song reached its peak and he dipped her low, her hands on his arms, holding on to him, but she saw certainty in his eyes. She knew he would not drop her.

He brought her back up, turning slowly, their noses touching. They made the decision at the same time.

Their lips met. She inhaled sharply, bringing her fingers to his hair, soft strands tangling and falling through them. He couldn’t believe his luck.

He finally had her in his arms again. And this time round, there was no regrets. There was no one to tell him he shouldn’t be kissing her like his life depended on it. There was no voice in his head telling him to stop bringing her back towards him every time their lips came up for air. There was no one and nothing to stop him from making her his, except maybe for the fact that they were in the room full of people.

They separated as the song came to the close. Their eyes opened and locked, smiles on their faces. She touched her forehead to his, her hands still in his hair, moving to his neck, keeping him close.

“Claire…”

“If you’re going to tell me you can’t kiss me and you can’t be with me, I swear to god, Ethan, I’m going to hurt you.” she teased him, smiling.

“I’m not going to say that. I am not going to deny my feelings anymore. I feel strongly for you, Claire. You are important to me. I will cherish you and support you, if you want me to. If you let me” He whispered to her, tenderly, vulnerable and scared to be hurt. She placed her hands on his cheeks, bringing his lips to hers again.

“I want nothing more than to have you by my side. You are important to me too, Ethan.” She touched his nose slightly with her finger. A smile bloomed on his face, the biggest smile that anyone has ever seen him give to anyone.

They kept on dancing slowly when he felt someone tapping him on his shoulder. They turned to see Harper, Ines and Zaid standing there, their faces unreadable.

“Dr. Emery…” Claire started, but Harper raised her hand to stop her.

They all smiled, looking happy.

“I’m proud of you. Both of you.” Harper placed her hands on their shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

“Congratulations for both of you. I always knew you two would make a splendid couple!” Ines squealed, hugging both tightly.

“Nice, I’m happy for you.” Zaid, always a man of a few words, patted him on the back and touched her shoulder gently, a hint of a smile on his face.

Then they left, leaving the couple alone again. Not for long though. Few minutes passed and it was her friends that interrupted their dancing again. He looked over their faces, searching for any signs of disapproval, but surprisingly, he found none. Not sure if it was because they were happy for them or if they were just too scared to say anything to him.

“Claire, finally! You two are the most stubborn people I know!” Sienna cried out, hugging her best friend and looking happily at him, not wanting to cross the line. Good, he appreciated it.

They all proceeded to hug her, Bryce and Rafael shook his hand. He kept his arm around her throughout the whole ordeal, hugging her to his side.

“I’m happy for you. Both because of the competition and this.” Dr. Varma admitted, looking between the two of them. He was surprised. Out of all her friends, he expected her to make a scene once she found out about their blooming relationship.

“Thanks guys, it really means a lot to me.” She smiled brightly at them. The bid them goodbye, leaving the pair alone to themselves.

He turned towards her again, his arms back around her, pulling her closely to him. She laid her head on his shoulder, their bodies swaying from side to side, dancing the night away. At last, he didn’t have to hide. At last, he could openly express his feelings towards her.

At last, he could be happy.

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