#surely he should follow the queen’s philosophy?

[javelinbk]

Please appreciate the tragedy that is Paul’s touring wardrobe…

Mary McCartney backstage at the O2, 18th December 2024

“Hmm, what shall I wear tonight? The black trousers, navy waistcoat and the white shirt? Or the black trousers, navy waistcoat and the blue shirt? Or maybe I’ll go crazy and wear the black trousers, navy waistcoat and the pink shirt!”

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 28 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Aemond receives surprising guidance and help from the least likely of places. Word Count: 4723 CHAPTER WARNINGS: a wild dragon peen appears

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: *shoves Aegon to the side for a bit, pulls out Aemond. Dusts him off*

The last two days were absolute torture. He was given a whiff of heaven, only for it to be yanked away before he could have a taste. Aemond damned Daemon every hour since he left Balerion’s cellar. To make matters worse, the next day his grandsire was at his door with news of the Cannibal’s return once again. He had gone east, and then came back after spotting Tessarion, either wanting to eat her to mount her, or both. So Aemond mounted Vhagar, and took to the skies, but he did not go alone. 

His uncle took Caraxes.

And as annoying as it was, Aemond had reluctantly admitted that Caraxes’ presence was needed. The Cannibal was persistently trying to get to the city, and seemed to also take greater pleasure at snapping at Vhagar than he did with Caraxes. As evidence of the wild dragon’s near unsheathed genitalia, the beast smelt an in heat female, making him more irritable and aggressive than usual. Eventually the black dragon was deterred by the duo above the Kingswood, and the Cannibal was forced to fly south, his tail between his legs. 

“I’ve never seen that brute so libidinous in all my years,” Daemon commented when they landed, trying to start a conversation Aemond had no desire for. “He mounted Silverwing a decade ago; she nearly ripped off his leg for it. Produced a good clutch of eggs, though.” 

When Aemond did not take the bait, Daemon decided to use something more substantial. 

“Lady Valeana made it to her apartments safely,” The rogue prince smirked, his head slightly tilted. “Thought you’d like to know.”

Aemond kept him on his blind side as he marched down the hill, making his way over to his steward, who was holding onto the reins of his horse. But as much as he tried to ignore his uncle, the old man still persisted, determined to get him to react. 

“Jacaerys has plans with her on the morrow,” at this, Aemond turned to him mutely once he was mounted on his stallion. “I only share this, because of your intentions to call on her. That girl’s schedule is quite busy, from what I heard.”

Tugging the reins, Aemond spurred his horse and took off with his steward trailing behind him. With his back to Daemon, and the sound of hooves thundering against gravel, he was not aware of his uncle’s laughter. 

Valeana, it seemed, did indeed have a full schedule. Upon his return, he sought her out only to be told by the scrutinizing Ser Steffon Hardy that she was helping the Queen with a dress for her Creatures Ball. So Aemond decided to resign in his solar, with a full cup of wine, and another book of philosophy to pour over. Anything to distract himself from his impatience to see her, which should hopefully be before the day ended. 

He let his time go to waste until he felt that he waited sufficiently enough. Surely, a dress fitting couldn’t take that long. But as he sat up and tossed his book aside, there was a knock on his door, followed by a Kingsguard walking in to announce his father’s arrival. 

“Father,” he greeted somewhat stiffly, more so shocked at his presence at his door. They hadn’t a moment alone together since the day the Celtigars arrived. The last time they conversed was with Aegon, upon his parents’ return from Dragonstone. It was an awkward conversation, trying to explain that Aemond was courting Maris, and Aegon was doing the same with Valeana. Both his mother and father were equal parts confused and reproved, the latter of which was in due to Aegon’s pursuits, but Aemond was wise enough to read inbetween the lines and saw that neither parent liked his arrangement either. He knew why Viserys didn’t, but he wasn’t entirely certain of his mother’s reasons. He always thought that him marrying a Baratheon would’ve been her ideal match, particularly since it benefited the greens. 

Though he supposed that didn’t matter anymore, because his goals have now changed. It was Valeana Celtigar, or no one.

“I was hoping I’d find you undetained,” Viserys dismissed the guard and made a direct line towards the nearest chair. The urge to say otherwise was swallowed down, knowing that Aemond could not refuse an audience with the King, nor his father. It was a rare occurrence, and usually Viserys brought strange tides with him. There was never idle chit-chat, or moments that should be shared between father and son. 

“I heard the Cannibal had given you and your uncle a hard time,” the king said as he settled in the armchair, balancing one hand on his cane. 

Aemond took the seat across from his father, leaning onto the armrest with his elbow and rested his chin upon his palm. He doubted this visit had anything to do with the wild dragon’s behaviour; that seemed too mundane for this rare visit. “He was determined to mate with one of the she-dragons.”

Viserys gave a soft laugh, shaking his head, “It always surprises me how these beasts we consider gods somehow always prove to be more like us at every turn. Did he try to mount Vhagar?”

“No,” though Aemond was convinced had he tried, the old girl would have torn him to shreds for the sheer audacity. “Though he seems to harbour some sort of animosity towards her that is unlike any other dragon he faces.”

“Hm, yes, it has always been that way,” Viserys shook his head, “No one entirely knows why. Mayhaps she spurred him in the past. A jilted lover.” 

Aemond knew he was trying to make a jest, though he could smell the hidden meaning behind his words. He hummed his amusement, lip curling into a smirk that wasn’t entirely genuine, “I cannot imagine Vhagar being the romantic type.” 

“Like dragon, like rider?” Viserys tilted his head to the side.

Aemond didn’t know if he should be insulted or not. Because there was truth in it; Aemond never courted a woman in his entire life; the closest was Valeana, but he told himself that was simply how friendships worked. You spend time together, you bring each other gifts, you hold their hand while going down steep hills, and you mend their tunics when they get torn. You hold hands, you steal glances, you kiss needle-pricked fingers. 

“Lord Borros visited me today, proposing a betrothal between you and his daughter, Lady Maris,” His father began; the mention of Maris surprised Aemond little as he had suspected this topic would come up eventually . 

Aemond’s tongue rolled around in his mouth, his eye not meeting the King’s. “What did you tell him?”

“That it is something I have to think about,” Viserys mimicked Aemond by resting his chin on his palm, and elbow on the armrest. “Made some joke about how I must run it by Alicent, that the wife is in charge of such matters, which he heartily enjoyed. Though truthfully, Aemond, it is you who I wish to speak to. We briefly talked about it, but I am not wholly convinced of your intentions. I watched you at the Maiden’s Day Ball; you never looked less interested in a person.”

“Maris had intrigued me initially, but my interest had since… withered.” 

“Withered, or strayed?”

Aemond couldn’t answer him, he simply looked away, which confirmed Viserys’ speculation easily enough. He could tell his father everything, but he did not know how to talk to him, at all. It was easier to talk to Criston, but in matters of the heart, Aemond was woefully inexperienced in expressing himself. It was far too vulnerable, and that was the last thing he wanted to appear as in front of anyone, especially in front of the men in his life that he desperately needed to appear stoic and strong for. 

“If you intend to end things with Maris Baratheon, my son, then you must do it gently. Borros will take offense to it either way, but snubbing her will make it worse, not just for her, but for everyone. The last thing we want is to upset the Stormlord.” 

Yes. The big man with the fragile ego, terrifying even dragonlords at the possibility of his wrath. Aemond wanted to roll his eye. His father was right of course, but having to tiptoe around a man of lesser standing seemed demeaning. 

“I understand, father,” Aemond finally spoke, a certain strain behind his tone. “I will let Maris down gently. She is a decent, intelligent woman, and does not deserve otherwise.”

Viserys nodded, “She is, from what I heard. I understand that is what intrigued you about her in the first place, and yet it was not enough to hold that interest.” 

“I learned that I did not have a taste for venison, as it happens,” Aemond’s lip curled into a smirk at his own joke. 

His father had a smirk similar to his, “No. You’ve always preferred crab.”

Aemond turned away to face his blindside to his father, though it mattered not anyway. His smirk grew and his ears pinked, and for the first time ever, he and his father laughed together. 

“Seven,” Viserys sighed, “I do not think I have seen you like this since you were a child.”

Caught with his shields down, Aemond quickly tried to cover up by clearing his throat and pursing his lips, which didn’t go unnoticed. Viserys was carefully assessing him, more than has ever done in years. Now that his mind wasn’t fogged by milk of the poppy, now that he wasn’t burdened by his dying body, now that he wasn’t on the Stranger’s doorstep, Viserys was able to actually see his children. It was his greatest regret that he had not sired a relationship with his sons and daughter he had with Alicent, but he wished to make that up to them. He could not change their childhoods, filled with paternal neglect and suffering, but Viserys could give them a future with hope, love, and peace. 

“Aemond, tell me the truth of it. Did you pursue Lady Maris in retaliation for Aegon pursuing Valeana?”

Aemond felt uncomfortable under Viserys’ scrutinizing gaze. It was as if he was trying – and succeeding – at reading his mind. Was he really that obvious? Did everyone know his own heart before he did? His mother and father both pleaded with him to reconcile with Valeana, the urgency of which he believed was due for the strategic alliance. Viserys’ need to unite the Valyrian families, and if Aemond has to assume his mother’s motives, it was probably to secure the financial support of two of the wealthiest families in Westeros. He did not know the exact amount, but it is rumoured that Valeana had two dowries; Bartimos’, and her birth mother Lysa’s, which was untouched by her husband. Bartimos never claimed his first wife’s dowry, but instead left it for her to decide what she wished to do with it. And Lysa, being the only female Lannister in her generation to be born, her dowry by itself was hefty and attracted a myriad of greedy lordlings and widowers. It was no wonder she chose Bartimos, who would not suffer without it.

Those reasons were self-indulgent on his parents' part, but perhaps that might’ve not been the only factor that drove his father and mother. Maybe they were actually on his side for once.

“No,” he answered, but immediately closed his eye and sighed deeply. “Yes. It is… complicated.” 

Viserys tilted his head at him, “Explain it to me, then, son.” 

Aemond looked down at his fingers, fiddling with fringe tassels that lined the seams of the armrest. The words failed him, trapped on the dry walls of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed in an attempt to relieve that feeling, but it did not make it easy for him to find the answer his father was looking for.

“I wanted to put distance between Valeana and I,” his voice was small when he said it, eye still casted down at his fingers. “She terrified me.”

Those eyes of indifference terrified him. 

Those eyes of sadness terrified him. 

Those eyes of desire terrified him. 

Those peridot eyes terrified him. 

Viserys looked at him thoughtfully, his lips a firm line. He hummed, eyes trailing to where his son’s fingers played with the tassels, “She reminded you of the consequences of your transgressions. What you lost, what you could have had?”

Aemond gently nibbled on the inside of his lips, a subtle nod of his chin to certify his father’s words. “And at every turn, I made it worse. I pushed her away literally and figuratively, and drove her into Aegon’s arms.” He did not want to tell his father what he heard the night Valeana ran away from the library. The shame was still fresh, not fully digested. There were moments when it intruded his thoughts, causing a full body reaction where Aemond was revolted by himself. This was even before the Maiden’s Day Ball, before he truly saw what he had done to her. Though then, he tried to justify his actions, or forget them entirely, even when his body gave a visceral response to the memory. 

Valeana was within her right not to forgive him, to make him a villain and seek out her revenge to make him look out to be a fool. He would have done the same. Though instead, what happened was so much worse… Driven by rejection and turmoil, Valeana ended up seeking out affection where so many women have before her. His brother, manipulative, chaotic, depraved, selfish, always seeking to take things from Aemond and dangle it above his nose as if he was teasing a starved dog. 

Then there was Floris, pouring honeyed poison in his ear, spurring his paranoia and telling him exactly what he wanted to hear: that he should not feel guilty, that Valeana had ill intent. That she was not the same person, and had become just as monstrous as Aegon. And even if that were true, was she not a monster of his creation, as he was a monster of Lucerys’ creation?

“And you believe Aegon’s intentions are impure?” Viserys had his own skepticisms about his eldest son. On one hand, he was not blind to Aegon’s debauchery, even as a boy, he was unashamed of his vices. Wine, whores, and revelry, Aegon likened himself to a god of over indulgence and discord. Another son Viserys failed, and there was no excuse for it either. Aegon was given to him during an era where Viserys was not crippled with a failing body, not entirely. 

“He has always taken pleasure in provoking me,” Aemond shook his head, mostly to himself. “I am certain that he has taken things too far, and has perverse goals.” 

He heard the older man sigh frustratingly, and when Aemond glanced up, his father was running his hand over his face and shaking his head disappointingly. 

“I will talk with Aegon,” It was Viserys’ turn to look at his fidgety fingers. “It is one thing to seduce common women who wish to rub shoulders with royalty, but it is another to debase a young lady from a good house.” Resting his old weary eyes onto Aemond, Viserys raised a finger to point at him, “You must do your part in rectifying your wrongs, Aemond. Find Valeana, and tell her what you have told me… Do not be afraid to bare your heart to her.” 

 “Worry only of your own mind and what you intend to do with it. It is the sharpest and most lethal weapon on your person. Use it to protect your heart, Aemond, because the moment you let someone commandeer that, they can use it against you.”

His father’s advice, a stark contrast to that of Criston’s, brought a sense of anxiety to Aemond he was not used to. When he reached his quarters the night he left her with Daemon, his entire body was shaking at what had happened. His heart was being ripped in two by his own hands; the guilt and the longing. Aemond groveled at her feet, and she could have – no, should have – turned him away, pushed him off of her and stomped out of the cellar and leave him to collapse upon himself. Instead, she embraced him, a sinner unworthy of her forgiveness, unworthy of her touch and her love.

“I have,” Aemond swallowed down his malaise. “ And I have vowed to spend the rest of my life to be worthy of her.” 

Viserys blinked in surprise, not at all prepared for his most infamously stoic and reserved son to be so vulnerable, so besotted and open with him. The king adjusted his cane, and gave him a nod and a gentle smile, “As all husbands should with their wives.” The ends of his lips twitched a bit, a hallowing thought creeping up on him, pertaining to his own marriage. Viserys swallowed it down for now, and peered back up at his son, “Did she accept your pledge?”

Aemond nodded, a subtle movement with a subtle smile. He thought back to their embrace, the dance, and the pearl, a perfect moment suspended in time, one he felt he wholly did not deserve, but nonetheless cherished like a precious gem. “I promised to call on her.”

“That may be a difficult feat. Bartimos has been adamant on keeping a close eye on her, and I dare say he is not a fan of yours,” Viserys tapped his finger on his cane in contemplation. “Though mayhaps I can help with that. He is my friend, and I believe I can help persuade him. Do you have an idea in place for when you call on her?”

Aemond blinked, realizing he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He simply just wanted to see her, hold her hand and listen to her talk about embroidery, dresses, and flowers. 

Viserys sighed when his son didn’t give him an answer, then started to tap his fingers on his cane again. After a few seconds of deliberation, the king smiled softly, “Hm… I may have an idea. Though, because of present circumstances, we will need to employ the services of a trusted ally.” 

With a crease in his brow, Aemond tilted his head, “What did you have in mind?” 

The rest of that day played out painfully slow. With his father’s words and advice still heavy on his mind, Aemond had to fight back the urge just to run to the Celtigar’s wing and bang on the door. He sought to go to the training yard, having heard that a bunch of men were sparring in preparation for the tourney, and thought mayhaps it would be a good distraction. Unfortunately for him, he was intercepted by Maris Baratheon, two of her sisters, and Floris Grafton. All were equally the last people he wished to see presently. 

Young Floris appeared a bit distraught, and had asked Aemond if he had seen Daeron the moment there was a dip in the conversation. He confessed that he did not, which caused her face to fall, crestfallen. The last time he saw Daeron, he was dancing with Shyla, after having Floris Baratheon’s first dance at the start. If he cared about his younger brother’s romantic pursuits, he might have thought more closely about it, but Daeron was young, dumb and full of hubris, and not Aemond’s problem. Shyla Celtigar or Floris Baratheon, as long as it wasn’t Valeana, he did not care who his brother pursued. He had enough to deal with Aegon and his nephew. 

Elder Floris seemed a bit cold, colder than usual. In his presence previously, she would find an opportunity to have his ear and keep as close to him as possible. The shift, he had noticed, was when he started to court Maris, but by the present company in front of him, he started to wonder what else she had up her sleeve. 

Aemond held no attachments to the Grafton girl, now that he realized she was the one manipulating him, not Valeana. Her jealousy of her sister was so glaringly apparent, he didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed it before. He supposed that it was probably because he was too focused on his own pride to care to look too critically at Floris’ motives. Growing up, he was no friend to her, but Aemond knew Floris had always been strict on her decorum and how she appeared to others, which meant that she would have been careful not to allow people to see her green colours. Until now.

But then again… She was getting old, and more desperate, whilst her younger counterpart was collecting attention from the three most eligible bachelors in all the Realm. Aemond would have felt sorry for her if he hadn’t loathed her most of all (next to Aegon, of course).

Cassandra made some sly comment about how Targaryen Princes avoid their lovers, and then went on to ask if he was doing the same with Maris. He was, but he wasn’t ready to have the conversation with her about ending their courtship. Aemond still hadn’t found the words to do it correctly; he wasn’t particularly experienced in the sensibilities of women, and he had a feeling that Maris Baratheon was… a bit more confrontational than most. Nevertheless, Aemond was forced into a position, and he had no choice but to escort Maris on a turn around the gardens, where she spent the rest of his evening pointing out flowers and plants, and explaining their properties. She still mispronounced hydrangeas. 

He barely said three words, and he doubted she noticed. 

The next day he suffered the agonizing wait for Valeana to be finished with Jacaerys. He watched them from a parapet as they mounted their horses and entered the gate. Jace was charming, she was quiet, but looked particularly appetizing in her breaches and her tunic. With the gowns she usually wears, he never had a proper look at her rear, but now it was so well pronounced; snugly fit in soft leather that hugged her hips and belted at her waist. The one-eyed prince was overcome with the desire to slap her arse through the leather, to watch it jiggle as it did when she bounced on the horse’s saddle. 

Ser Criston offered a distraction of training in bow for a while, until Aegon decided to show up, looking irritably cheerful as he tried to crowd him. Making comments as if he knew something that Aemond didn’t, teasing the information in the subtext of his comments. 

“Need a hand, brother?”

“You are so tense; if you wish for a steady release, you must relax your arm.”

“Oh, look at that shot. Right into the strawman’s bosom.” 

“I should introduce you to the scullery maid, Hildy, Aem. She can help you loosen up those muscles and the clench of your uptight arse.” 

But the hours soon went by, and Aemond was then scaling the side of the Holdfast, using vines and carefully placed steps on brick ridges to make it to her balcony. Ser Steffon’s presence at their door told him that Valeana had returned from her ride with Jace, but that also meant that he had no hope of getting into her room… through the front door. So armed in a black tunic and jerkin, Aemond climbed up onto her balcony, a bouquet of hydrangeas clutched in his teeth. Shyla and Val’s shared room faced a private part of the gardens.The balcony was almost hidden in the corner where the castle curved around a large wisteria tree that grew atop a knoll, surrounded by various bushes and flowers. The secluded corner offered him secrecy to his endeavour, but even then, he made sure the windows of other rooms were shut before he made the climb.

Then Aemond had to wait an hour. One long, tedious hour before he heard her collapse into her bed with an exhausted sigh. For a moment, he worried that she would fall asleep and miss him entirely, but soon he heard the doors open and the padding of her feet approach the stone bench where he left the flowers. 

The wait was worth it. He grasped onto her, smelling the soothing lavender in her hair, feeling the softness of her arms as he wrapped his around her. Aemond wasn’t going to question the eagerness in which she pulled him into her, the way her fingers curled into his sides as if he would be taken away. 

“It’s alright,” she said with her nose pressed in his chest, “You’re here now.” 

“I am,” His hand moved to cradle the back of her head, moving his chin so he placed a kiss upon her hairline. “And we can continue where we left off.” 

At his words, Valeana pulled away, craning her neck back to look up at him. Her eyes sparkled in the dying sun; waves of red and orange against green like two vivid bloodstones. Aemond’s eye bounced between each, trying to read her mind, wondering if her heart beat the same way his did when she looked back at him. 

Does she see a man who scorned her? Does she only see a friend that she wishes to keep in her life? Or does she still see the man that was meant to be her husband, her lover, the father of her children? 

He would take any of it, as long as he kept her eyes in his life. 

“Aemond?” 

He tilted his head, still examining her face, drinking every new detail and freckle she had gained over the last ten years. “Yes?”

“What is that flower called?” 

His eyebrow twitched in confusion, but he quickly realized what she was doing. His lips curved into a knowing smirk, lips pursing before he replied, “Hy-drain-juh—” 

Valeana’s hand snaked up to the back of his neck, and with a quick tug she pulled him to her, whilst standing on her toes to fill the gap. Aemond’s gasp was swallowed by her kiss, leaving him completely stupefied, if only for a few moments, until she pulled away. He looked down at her with a wide eye, lips parted, pink faced, and incapable of speech. 

She stared back at him, brow turned up in worry, and he could feel her tense up beneath his fingers. 

“Aem– I-I I’m sor–” 

He pulled her back in, drinking in her kiss with a dire need, like a parched man lost in the desert. Aemond cradled her face in his hands, fingers threading through the damp threads at her temples, thumb roaming her warm cheeks. He felt her hands return to his neck, pulling him flush to her body, weaving her fingers in the tresses on the base of his head. 

Aemond felt featherlight, weightless but searing hot like the licks of a flame reaching for the sky. He could start to feel his black heart glow with a spectrum of orange, violet, red and white, like the very setting sun that warmed their bodies. 

Pivoting their heads, their kiss deepened with every bump of their noses. Aemond’s hands roamed down to her shoulders before moving along every plush curve and roll before landing on her hips. Her moan opened the gates for his tongue, tangling with hers in an instant in a frenzied dance of dominance. Valeana caught his lip between her teeth, causing him to growl and gripped the handles of her sides. 

When they parted, they gasped for air as if drowned by their first kiss. They stared at each other through a hooded gaze, and Aemond bent his neck to place his forehead onto hers. When he sighed, it’s a great gust of wind releasing from his chest, wafting over her cheeks and lips, filling her lungs with his scent. 

“I have wanted to do that for twenty fucking years,” his nose nudged against hers, bringing his lips back a hair’s breadth away. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

He hesitated, but then he let his shoulders cave and leaned against her, “I was scared.”

I am scared. 

You make me weak… And that terrifies me. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE SNEAK PEAK “Are you alright, Valeana?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, confirming her suspicion that he knew exactly what he was doing.  She slowly turned her head in his direction while he made her plate – soft shell crab, deviled eggs, peeled shrimp drenched in herbed butter. Oysters. There were figs, mulberries, peaches, and pomegranates on the table.  Somehow, by the power of sass, she found her voice, “Are you trying to seduce me, Prince Aemond?”

Notes: Hydrangeas in Japan symbolize apologies and deep emotions. In Europe, it symbolizes arrogance, vanity, and singlehood (coughmariscough). Anyway, I hope you like a bit of fluffy soft Aemond. There is a lot more of him next chapter, I pwomise. Side note on my muse progression: I hand written part of a chapter and the damn piece of paper literally vanished into thin air after I placed it on my desk. I am. Not. Happy.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[stromuprisahat]

"I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream."

Siege and Storm- Chapter 15

Oh nein! Mal has issues! With consequences of his actions he should be grateful for, and his girl not sharing every waking thought with him, when her worst worries spring from his most hated topics- the Darkling and her role in politics.

And Alina once again feels responsible for his feelings.

Yeah, this would have a bit more weight, if Alina didn't do it only for appearances' sake. Or if she granted the position due to merit, not random pick of what she views as the lowest low. Or if she didn't continue speaking as if she were a narrator of wildlife documentary, describing a new species of animal that just appeared.

Not necessarily, but it's one of Alina's less far-fetched deductions.

Aleksander could've been aware of David's fascination with Morozova's work. He could've picked the most skilled in bonework or the one most experienced in forging amplifiers- they're supposed to be rare, so not many Fabricators will have that.

*mumbles* And somehow we're to believe this pragmatic man chose to follow Alina, because... ? She's the good one, or whatever?!

*chants* Double agent Kaminsky, double agent Kaminsky!

Alina: Why would you want to kill this man! How horrible! At least question him first!

She would make a delightful morally flexible character, if she were acknowledged as such, and embracing that quality.

Says who? Zoya?

He KeEpS mE So BuSy!

Saints, Alina, you can't believe everything people say about themselves!

Alina: I'm not sure my three months of training are enough, but I can do like two things with my powers, so let's focus on increasing them further AND on the mythical forbidden art that created my goal no. 1 in the first place. I bet nothing can go wrong...

Only signing? Not reading to get into picture? And who prepares them?!

Bureaucracy, baby!

Welcome to responsibility!

I would sympathize with Alina much more, if she showed genuine interest in those she doesn't know. If her motivation weren't merely "Do the opposite of (what I think) the Darkling did". I she truly believed in her own philosophy.

Shocking!

People forced to sit next to half-strangers they're not used to interact with, create unpleasant atmosphere!

My work experience considered- you're lucky there's no visible enmity- you could've made the wrong people sit next to each other and tableware could've ended up in wrong bodyparts.

Also: How is Nadia sitting next to Marie? I thought breaking up already existing friend groups was a point of this whole exercise.

They're not gifts, Nikolai. They're just your father's property, but let's remember the Darkling didn't wait for the Queen to request a specific one's service, and turned it into a gesture of his own thoughtfulness. Fuck his strategems!

Alina's misplaced sensibilities are incredibly frustrating.

She wants to lead Second Army, but not order them, not assign them tasks directly, because that would somehow make her a bad person, instead of efficient leader.

What if no one will volunteer? What if weak, incompetent Squallers will? You don't look at special assignment and think- Yeah, whoever wants to do it... You PICK the most capable person with both sufficient skills AND suitable personality.

Awwww!

Poor granny deserves an Oscar!

[cosmicjoke]

Hello, cosmic. How are you? Have you ever read smartpass stories? And have you written analyses about these stories? I was recently reading a smartpass interview for Levi and for me, compared to other stories I've read, Levi's answers to the reporter were both close to canon and some of the Q&As he gave were a bit interesting and questioning.

The interview was conducted during the Uprising Arc and was related to it. To mention a few of the questions and answers given, the Reporter mentions that during the Uprising arc, because of some political changes, others saw many different sides of Levi. And Levi says that they want to know if someone who is on the same side as the monarchy, who 'behaves quite arrogantly', can be trusted. And then he says something about killing the military policemen who were pointing guns at him and that it was an act of self-defense.

Then the reporter tries to get him to talk about Kenny, a close relative, and Levi says, "I won't talk about that guy." He says. When the reporter tries to convince him to talk about it, Levi says "Do you no longer want this hand of yours to hold that pen? I’m fine with breaking it. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it recovers some time after I leave for another battle." He threatens in a way.

I don't know why he so adamantly refuses to mention Kenny here. He said that someone had said that he didn't talk about Kenny because he debunked the 'slave/master' nonsense with one savage word. I don't get that either, but whatever. When the reporter apologizes for this, Levi says something about the way the reporter disturbs others and the philosophy of "If you aren't passionate about something, then you can't go on" and when the reporter says he doesn't understand, Levi says something about what 'you reporters' are passionate about and when the reporter again says he doesn't understand, Levi asks him to ignore what he said.

Actually in the same way as the reporter I don't know exactly what Levi is trying to say here.

The reporter says that Levi helped Historia set up the orphanage and is there a parallel with the fact that the ackermans once served the king and is there something to do with that and Levi says that he was just following the queen's orders and Historia used her relatives to make it happen.

Frankly, one of the things I have noticed is that in this and some smartpass interviews, whenever the reporter mentions Levi's actions, Levi just says "I just follow orders and what I am told". This makes me sometimes question whether Levi is not questioning the orders he is following and whether he himself wants to do that. I mean, somehow we don't see his own thoughts on the subject.

Now we come to one of the most interesting topics for me. It's about getting Wall Maria back and who to sacrifice and Levi's answers are very interesting. That's why I wanted to copy paste this instead of writing it in my head.

Interviewer: We’re getting closer to the mission to retake Wall Maria. With you at the helm, does the new elite squads have any unusual responsibilities?

Levi: I still need to figure out what I can and cannot say. All this is confidential - nothing for you to write articles about.

Interviewer: Then let’s switch topics. Even though the goal of retaking Wall Maria is to “Seal the Wall,” is it impossible to avoid a battle?

Levi: The bastards who created the wall and want Humanity’s extinction…if we don’t get rid of them, people will never gain freedom. That is my reason for any choices I make.

Interviewer: And by “choices” you mean…

Levi: Everything. Who should live…or who should die…

Interviewer: So you don’t necessarily mean anything concerning the enemy?

Levi: On the battlefield, you don’t think about sacrifice first and foremost. But in this rotten world, who knows what will happen the next second…whether you’re in the military or not, I’m sure this is obvious.

Interviewer: So what you’re saying is, if you have to exchange the life of a comrade or subordinate, you would still make that choice without hesitation?

Levi: You people…who do you think I am? Am I a monster who will do anything to reach a goal? Or am I a God who wanders among the masses?

Interviewer: Neither. The one we’re interviewing is Captain Levi - as a human being.

Levi: What a straightforward answer…forget it. No matter what, there is no such thing as an “impossible choice.” Just write that as of right now, I plan on choosing Humanity.

Interviewer: Many thanks.

Levi: Mmhmm……oy, don’t leave behind any papers that you already wrote on.

One of the things that is interesting and confusing for me is that Levi is generally not against making sacrifices both for humanity and for the 'value of some lives over others' and for the 'greater good'. Here he seems to be against it and says to the reporter, 'Am I a monster who will do anything to achieve a goal?

I hope what I have written is not wrong and meaningless. I only wrote it because I wanted to hear your views and analysis on this subject. I didn't actually touch on most of the questions and answers because I didn't want to prolong it and create complexity. In fact, I'm leaving the link here in case you want to read this smartpass interview and write an analysis if you want.

https://www.tumblr.com/fuku-shuu/156820300272/translation-levis-smartpass-au-inside

I've talked about this very topic fairly recently, and I think the posts I made on that can maybe give you a better answer than me simply trying to repeat myself in a more condensed form. So here's some of those posts. They touch specifically I think on the question you're trying to ask, about Levi's feelings regarding the goal of saving humanity vs. the worth of individual lives, and the seeming contradiction between what he says about putting the goal of humanity's victory first, and some of his actions putting individual lives above that goal. There's a conflict in Levi, I think, between his belief in the Survey Corps' goal, his dedication to that goal and whether he perceives it to be worth the lives of his comrades, and the fact he deeply values each, individual life and is primarily motivated by simply wanting to help people. It causes an at times obvious contradiction between his words and actions, because I don't think Levi, in fact, believes that the goal of the SC is worth those lives, but he supports it anyway, because it's what his comrades have chosen to die for. But it puts Levi in a position of often having to go against his very nature and instinct, which is always to save lives. He's part of a military unit in which a group of volunteer soldiers agree and willingly sacrifice their lives for the goal of humanity's freedom. It's what they choose, and Levi is going to support them in their ability to choose, he's going to support their free will and agency. I think it causes Levi a massive amount of grief and trauma to have to do this, because he values their lives so much and wants desperately to protect them, and it's part of what he sacrifices for others, to ignore his natural instinct and inclination to always save lives, in order to support their dream. He feels that, if he can't save their lives, he can at least make sure they don't die in vain, by making their sacrifices mean something:

Anyway, hopefully these posts answer some of your questions. Thanks for the ask!

[joyfulladywarrior]

Young Rhaenyra getting revenge on the Hightowers au

"I intend to marry... the lady Alicent Hightower"

With this one sentence, Rhaenyra's world changed once again. She looked upon Alicent and saw her nervous and picking at her fingers. Rhaenyra immediately knew what was happening. She had always knew Otto Hightower would whore his daughter out to all the lords of the land if it got him closer to power. She understood the implications behind Alicent's absence these past moons. Alicent had not been busy with prayers... she had been busy with the king.

In the background, Rhaenyra can hear the Sea Snake argue about insults against his house. But Rhaenyra did not care. Being born a girl had given her a hard life even though she is royalty. Her father always discarded her unless he wishes to feel hopeful. The fact that the departed queen Aemma was able to give birth to a child that had survived infancy and became a dragon rider had given the king hope that one day his long-awaited son would be the same. Being born a daughter and not a son had forced her mother to bear a child after the other, had forced her to be gutted like some animal for the unguaranteed life of a child. Sometimes Rhaenyra feels glad that the child was a boy who did not live. She cannot imagine what would have happened if it had been a girl who did.

"No!" had left Rhaenyra before she can stop herself. All eyes are on her now. Her father would never change even if Rhaenyra had wanted him to. If her father cannot change then at least he should pay for his mistakes. This was the moment that she can use to avenge her mother, her uncle, and herself. She had been spending moons studying history and philosophy. She knows how to hypothetically win an argument and her father already ruined chances of reconciliation with the Velaryons. She can use this to sow doubt in his Hand and make sure he never remarries or at least not marry a traitor for if Alicent betrayed her in this, who would say that she will not betray her in other matters?

"What?"

"No your grace. You cannot marry the lady Alicent Hightower"

"I am the king! I will marry whoever I want. You yourself have given me your word that you are alright with this marriage"

"Any man who says 'I am the king' is no true king but then again you seem to content to follow in his path. Disregarding your brother and your former wife for others for the sake of the Hightowers. Choosing to marry a Hightower girl."

"What... who?"

"I'm talking about Maegor father, surly you remember that he married a Hightower girl and his seed didn't take root. Who's to say that your seed will take root with her when her own reputation is on the line. I've been hearing whispers of her sneaking into your bed in the middle of the night"

"Rhaenyra we haven't done anything" Alicent answered.

There it was! The confirmation of Alicent's betrayel and her shame. While Valyrians have no care for such matters, the Andals were a different story.

Rhaenyra ignored Alicent's outburst and continued "Is this truly the legacy you wish for? To be similar to Maegor? We do not know if his Hightower in-laws whispered in his ear or not. We only know of his actions. So who will protect you when your Hightower in-law Hand whisper in your ears to name whatever son she begets you as heir or you do not change me being the heir but them following Maegor's footsteps to put Hightower blood on the throne and usurping me? When they use Andal and Faith traditions as an excuse for the usurpation? I had agreed about your marriage with Laena since she and I are kin and I do not believe she would usurp me"

Alicent and Otto Hightower had turned pale the moment I mentioned being usurpers. It is no doubt their intentions to displace me as heir. Corlys Velaryon looks amused. I do not believe he would offer Laena again but he will be a strong ally if only to snub her father and the lords who rejected Rhaenys' claim. Other council members looked alarmed. No one wants to be likened to Maegor the cruel and house Hightower had no doubt lost a lot of political opportunities. This imagery will be spread across the land by night fall.

"Rhaenyra, there is no need for such fears my child. Otto Hightower is an honorable man and he was the main force behind you being named as heir." the King said calmly, as if everything Rhaenyra has just said is a joke.

"Your grace, even the most honorable of men can commit treason for the sake of his blood"

"No my child, that is simply not true. But to dissuade your fears, Otto will swear an oath in front of everyone today that neither him nor the future queen will contest your claim" the king said unknowing of the trap he just laid in front of his Hand. Truly, Otto could not have picked a better puppet but he forgot that puppets could be commandeered in different directions.

Should I continue?

[libidomechanica]

A grand was not so frail successions crampd

His trances and a shrewish thee?     I would breadth of you is half in a things. That I should breeze     knock at you’d left me with

this island. Some reverie, perhaps     from alle wommen my swelling and clear, will sen’     me, sweet and sat on,

engirt with Ruby and pithy,     such wild Mahratta-battle- flags were zombies. Pangs are gone     for she moaning to harp

on such night, a year who have plenty:     so let thy headlesse yron dyd feare, comes a year old     too fine that floating its

own Idol, and knees he lay     directly in the while heart, and her, and robbing men to a     thing in the depart,—

beautiful creature-traveler clearer,     far awa. Outside them for her subject, he on her own     grand imagined more thy

years, then we will from the hils of     his might reap the hushed thou not his early fruits of much too     late forlornest as thought

to his due. A grand was not so     frail successions cramp’d no long line—come kiss you need not. For     eftsones Winters wrathfull

cheare: for nowe it auales. From     year ago, O my proper sight! Little tired. She market     with the snow continue

follow: surely I disdaine:     such a mould move, and a tree say for children cry, that passed     five bare; her hair caught he’ll

say honey bunch of speech of your     Highness keep your unguarded, reliable face, the scented     for by a beast that

hidden; tis decreed there are you     like of this variegate there lies bare to lose there lying,     dying.—Who knows well to

cancel, to give through that love exhausts     in the star. Gray halls alone, puffed vp with commerce,     argosies of state in

companion yet, thou falls which heauenly     perish’d; sweet Tibbie Dunbar? I take some reverence for     bodily comfort? Out

the laws; such was not hereafter;     present, the wet date palms. And I see young; nae purer is     fair philosophy, Dorothy,

after man, who should swear to     changes one in perfect whole and Eve was a man. How have     I borne from the Queen’s decease

she handed wide, sam slips bind     thy stocking addition can be but in the raucous bed     or ever part? Under

than the swears tis noted want to     hand nowe no succoure wast bignes not my hands may move the     thunder-storm; till to win

ye, O: the blossom’d bowe your     unmistakable gaze opening time for one hour more than     enough of both day among

the hypnotist’s trance clear, what     you my cheek began t’ increasing purple orchis vain     and all creatures, could suit?

[champion-of-thedas]

WoT Reread New Spring Chapter 8: Shreds of Serenity

·So based on the fact that it seems the searchers are the ones that are giving Moiraine lessons AND that they seemed focused on Artur Hawking (previous huge ta’veren that conquered the continent), ancient writing and philosophy, I think that they were planning on Moiraine hiding the Dragon Reborn. I’m serious! They were probably thinking of having Moiraine becoming Queen of Cairhien after attaining the shawl. She would then be extremely connected to the White Tower so Aes Sedai could come there frequently. Then, once they found the Dragon Reborn, they could drop him off there. His family could come as refugees or servants and if they didn’t want to keep the child, he could be her ward. From there, he would get the best lessons in politics in the place where it was the most ruthless. There would be the best education one could afford thanks to the resources a queen of Cairhien would have, not to mention that the Aes Sedai being welcome means that those that are helping protect or educate him could visit frequently to see how he was progressing. Once the Dragon Reborn would be unveiled to the world, he would have been a ward for the Queen of Cairhien (maybe they would have Moiraine step down and let him be King or just back him heavily) and have the strong alliance of one country already as well as a positive connection to the White Tower. Not to mention they wouldn’t have to keep this secret from Moiraine, because I doubt Tamra didn’t tell the searchers that Moiraine and Siuan were there at the foretelling… Now I wish I was writing this fic instead, but I really am attached to what I’ve got planned. Possibly something for another time.

·Moiraine is extremely bisexual in this moment admiring Elid.

·I’m kind of curious if there were any other foretellings done by Gitara Moroso that specifically foretold the birth of the Dragon Reborn. I don’t necessarily think that what she told to Tigraine counts. On that note, I wonder if Gitara told Tamra about that foretelling. If that was the case, you’d think she would be looking in the Aiel Waste instead.

·The sheer mention of Myrelle makes me angry. I don’t care how helpful she is to Moiraine; she’s an awful person.

·Ah yes. ‘beneath her breasts’. To be fair, this is Moiraine who is extremely bisexual and would notice such a thing.

·Also thank you Elaida for being creepy and unnecessary

·I can’t tell if this is supposed to be a reflection of how the military trains people to do things by instinct under immense pressure, a comment on how people generally underperform under pressure and don’t show their true capabilities, or both. I have no experience in the military and the people I do know don’t talk about it, so I have no confirmation of the former, and I am not inclined to treat Aes Sedai serenity as a concept favorably (I’m sure I will get more into this as the story continues, specifically in the Great Hunt, but also in this book).

·I think what makes me angriest about this whole plot line is the resolution. The simple fact that Elaida gets in trouble for showing favoritism and not for abusing Siuan and Moiraine (or that the White Tower is built in such a way that means this was considered helping by abusing them to the point where Elaida probably genuinely thought that’s what she was doing). Don’t get me wrong, I think it makes sense in context and points out that there are numerous flaws in how systems govern themselves. It makes me angry in a way where the story is unfair, not that the author is a bad author.

·Part of what makes me so angry is the fact that, despite the fact that there are laws within the White Tower to prevent people from being punished with the Power, they make it explicitly clear that people do not follow them. Furthermore, when Accepted complain about the abuse, they somehow suffer for it and if a Novice does it, it is explained to them that they must accept things as they are. I think it should be rather obvious why I dislike the White Tower as an organization.

“Oh Siuan! Aes Sedai do not go about harming one another,” said Moiraine to Siuan about Elaida. After book 10.

[opinions-about-tiaras]

You have a point regarding Thoros, but... Moqorro? THIS Moqorro?

“There are no gods but R’hllor and the Other, whose name may not be said.”

“Your Drowned God is a demon, the black priest Moqorro said afterward. “He is no more than a thrall of the Other, the dark god whose name must not be spoken.”

Both from ADWD, Victarion I.

Now, in a technical sense no, this is not an explicit call for other faiths to be destroyed, but I’m not sure how else to interpret “your Drowned God is a demon.” If you have a more reasonable interpretation for me than “Moqorro believes R’hllorism requires other faiths to be suppressed or destroyed in the same way that Melisandre does” I’d like to hear it. His verbiage and philosophy seem to me to be direct parallels to her when she tells people to burn their godswoods and their septs.

I would like to know about these ���majority” of R’hllorite priests we see “ecumenical if not outright syncretic tendencies” from. Because of the three we’ve actually seen on the page for any length of time to see them expound on their religion (Melisandre, Thoros, and Moqorro; have I missed any?) in a significant role, two of those three would seem to be the exact opposite of that.

You may have a point about Stannis as well. But, well... let’s say you’re right and Stannis has no real interest in launching religious pogroms despite his conversion. Melisandre is still there, his chief spiritual advisor and honored member of his court, and more to the point Stannis is uninterested in the spiritual instructions of his followers. That has ALL fallen to Melisandre, and what it has produced is a ghoulish cult; the Queen’s Men are almost universally pieces of shit, from Selyse on down, very eager to burn people alive for power.

It seems to me Melisandre’s version of R’hllorism would only wax in power and influence with Stannis on the throne for any significant length of time, and that this would cause... problems. Perhaps Stannis would split with Melisandre when her followers start doing shit like saying House Blackwood should be converted at the point of a sword and the Raventree burned to a crisp.

But perhaps he would not.

If the North declares for Stannis, what becomes of Old Gods worship when R'hllorites call for the burning of Godswoods as Stannis does at the Wall? Does the alliance hold up, are there implications for fighting the White Walkers?

I don't think the worship of the Old Gods changes at all; if Stannis is smart enough to tell his R'hllorite followers to "pray harder" rather than risk the loyalties of three thousand soldiers, he's definitely smart enough to tell them the same thing if it's a matter of tens of thousands of soldiers.

[kradogsrats]

Excellent analysis about Viren! I’ve been thinking about this sort of thing and you articulated it perfectly!

So if Harrow was the idealist king, and Viren was the pragmatic advisor, what role did Sarai serve in Harrow’s court?

I think it’s hard to say, because the time we get to observe Sarai is very small. (The time we get with Harrow is also pretty small, but he spends a LOT of it directly expressing his philosophies about morality, kingship, and fatherhood in a way other characters don’t.)

It would be really easy to define Sarai and Viren as Harrow’s right and left hands, respectively—the better and worse aspects of his nature. But that’s a) trite, and b) I think overly simplistic.

I’m making the assumption that Sarai was some kind of military commander, similar to Amaya, with the following reasoning/extrapolations:

As a military-oriented nation, it’s not wildly unlikely that officers of the Katolian army would be interacting with the king with some regularity.

Sarai is not only comfortable fighting in heavy armor, but is also an excellent armored rider with skill in mounted combat, which is a combination that aligns with her being in a command role.

Opeli specifically cites Sarai as one of the reasons the Katolian army is highly trained, disciplined, and effective.

Finally, I’m guessing that she probably retired into more of an advisory or logistics position either when she had Callum or, at the latest, when her first husband died. It’s possible she was still actively deployed and spending weeks at a time away from home while her husband was primary parent to Callum, but it seems pretty clear that if that was the case, when he died she took full parenting responsibilities.

So Sarai is a leader, an experienced and good one who has cared for and improved the people under her authority. But she also surely must have sent her people out knowing that some of them wouldn’t come home. She’s a a partner to Harrow who doesn’t hesitate to challenge him when his thinking needs to be challenged, but also doesn’t fail to support him when she knows her support could make a difference.

But I think the most important thing to understand about Sarai is actually something about Harrow: being a good king is not the same as being a good person. In fact, you could potentially make an argument that a king, even a good one, cannot truly be a good person.

Harrow is very serious about being a good king. He’s serious about the burden of the crown. But his ideals are all at a very broad scale: justice, equality, that kind of thing. He pledges to help Duren without thought to the cost because what the queens have done—go before a foreign ruler and humble themselves for the sake of their people—is what he believes a good ruler should do, and a good king should then honor that with aid.

It’s Sarai who demands he consider whether the magma titan is intelligent, has others it loves and who love it, is the last of its kind in a world where humanity has already destroyed so much. Demands he give a being that isn’t even being considered as an enemy, but simply a resource, the dignity he would a person. She doesn’t present other options, just pushes Harrow to really think and understand what his choices mean on the most granular, individual level.

Is it worth it? When the consequences pile up, was it worth it? Did Harrow choose the course that did the most good and the least harm? What does doing the most good and the least harm even mean?

For a king, for a general, sometimes it means “acceptable losses.” But morality and ethics can’t be just a tally sheet of lives saved against lives lost—that path leads to some of the darkest shit humanity has ever engaged in. For a person, “acceptable losses” should be a struggle.

So imo that was Sarai’s role, and why Harrow believed (and Viren admitted) that she made him better—he was a good king, but she drew him to be a good person, as well.

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

Hello! First off, congratulations on 50/60+ followers!! I wanted to tell you that 1. I love your blog theme 2. The fact you chose a medieval!AU for the event is awesome and 3. You’re an extremely talented writer <3

So, for the event — I’m not sure if I’m supposed to give any more detail (if I am, please let me know!), but I was wondering if I could request the astrologer prompt with Fyodor?

Hello anon! Thank you so much, I'm glad you love my writing! {I love the new theme too :)} No further detail is needed! I decided to go with astrologer!reader and courtier!fyodor for this work!

~~~

I Have Loved the Stars too Fondly to be Fearful of the Night

Pairing: gn!Astrologer!Reader x Courtier!Fyodor

Writing Genre: oneshot

Genres: medieval times, cryptic

Word count: 772

Warnings: slight angst/tension, brief mentions of war and death

Notes: the title is part of a verse in a poem titled The Old Astronomer to His Pupil by Sarah Williams! I'll include this link in case you'd like to read about the history of the astrolabe!

Read it on ao3!

for the Medieval!AU followers event

~~~

The fragmented light of the sunset shone through the towering window in the library. The space around you filled with the knowledge and prophecies of your predecessors. The queen has employed many astrologers, using them to predict the outcome of battles, the health of those in the castle, the wellness of crops, and various other subjects.

The black robe she had gifted you flowed as you walked outside to the sundial, light blue sleeves coming into view as you observed the garden. Approaching said sundial, you noticed a figure already sitting on the nearby dry stone wall. The familiar man with amethyst-colored eyes nodded at you, his white ensemble turning orange in the dying light of day.

You took a seat next to him, no note-taking materials in hand. Today he would be your sounding board, listening to your predictions with the occasional input. You stared at the Sun, now almost entirely under the horizon. 

Being a scholar of the Stars was a simple, rewarding life. Your queen had taken you from your small town and placed you under the previous astrologer’s care. He taught you everything you knew about mathematics, astronomy, philosophy, and medicine, creating an expert before his passing. You became well acquainted with a fellow courtier, figuring he was just as lonely as you were after hearing the cautious whispers of those around the castle.

“Have you found pleasure in the new astrolabe I bought for you?” Fyodor asked gently, turning his head away from the horizon to your figure.

“I have, thank you very much. I still cannot believe I lost the last one in the river!” you expressed.

He chuckled, watching you fiddle with the device hanging around your neck. 

The Moon had now veiled the lands with its liege of Stars, creating the world you had dedicated your life to. Your eyes shined with admiration as you observed the night sky, the ocean of the Gods, the herald of Heaven's wishes. Such astonishing creations, the Stars. The eyes of the Angels, protecting Earth's inhabitants throughout the night.

"Tonight, the Angels are blind." you spoke, "The new Moon has transitioned into Scorpio. I met with the monarchs this morning to share my findings, although you should not hold meetings of the court during this time."

"What about the battle in the south?" Fyodor pondered.

"The Moon is in conjunction with Mars. The battle, I am still unable to predict at this time, but I do know many will continue to die and those who return will not survive for long." you looked to the ground as a form of mourning.

He sighed, "And what about crops and trade?"

You smiled softly, "You should not sow crops or trade during the Scorpio Moon. Your best option is to remain stagnant; you can only do battle and take medicine. You should not even bathe."

"The Heavens are truly fascinating, are they not?" he smiled at you.

"Yes, they are." you shared.

"Our troubles seem to be so minuscule compared to the vastness of the universe. Our roles, our lords, our soldiers. What is your role, Y/n?" he queried.

You stood and smiled, spreading out your arms, and looking to the sky. "I am naught but a servant to the Gods, bestowing what they have written to the people. I am held up on a pedestal, but do I deserve it? I watch the people be sent into battle, knowing they will not live to see tomorrow's light. I watch society struggle, never learning any better no matter what I say. Will I find a source of salvation, to alleviate this guilt? Or will I be cast into the flames with the betrayers?"

Fyodor rose to stand beside you, calmly grabbing your hands. "You need only the salvation of companionship to alleviate your guilt. Allow me to share the burden of your prophecies, and we shall be plunged into the blaze together."

You stood watching him for a moment before dropping one of his hands and intertwining your others.

“I will gladly be your companion.” you said, “Now walk with me.”

You silently strolled through the garden, gazing at the stars.

“Do you favor a constellation?” Fyodor asked.

You turned to him. “I have always been quite fond of Lyra. What about you?” 

“Ever since my first night at the castle, I have always looked for Aquila.” he smirked.

You hummed and turned your head away from him.

As you neared the library, you released his hand and entered the archway. You exchanged smiles before the courtier vanished into the night, leaving his newfound partner to their work.

- - - - - - - - - -

If you would like to read similar works, why don’t you check out the rest of my Medieval!AU?

masterlists | upcoming works

[golbrocklovely]

remember me // colby brock (pt 2)

A/N: as i mentioned before in a different post, this took me FOREVER to write. i loved writing this story but something about it just made me drag it out for so long. nonetheless, i love this and i'm excited to see what you all think. please lmk what you thought about this. thank you to everyone that has supported me and sent me kind messages. yall are the best ! hope you enjoy :) also lmk if you want another part...

prompt: she's the only one that remembers colby, or so they both thought.

trigger warning: ANGST, heartbreak, AU mention, friendship problems, cursing, happy-ish ending (but not the end...?), kissing

word count: 5526

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Colby was relieved that the waitress, the only one that remembered him, decided to help. The moment she agreed, Colby gave her his number and left. She texted him not too long after, and he realized for a moment she never said her name. He planned to ask her the next day when they decided to meet up at his place.

It was weird to come back to his apartment, knowing that down the hall his best friend, his brother, lived there and didn't know who he was. Usually when Colby felt lonely, he would walk down the hall to Sam's and hang out for a bit. It was always nice to talk to Sam about anything and everything.

But now... he couldn't do that.

Colby tried to sleep during the night, but barely any rest came from it. He tossed and turned, hoping that when he would wake up, this would all just be some weird-ass nightmare.

When his cell phone rang the next morning at 9:34 A.M., it was an unfamiliar ringtone. As he rubbed his eyes awake, he glanced at the caller, the name 'Waitress' appearing on his screen.

I guess this wasn’t a dream after all.

"Yeah?" Colby groaned, squinting his eyes at the sunlight.

Her voice came through cheery, the tone too loud in Colby’s ears. “Let me up to your apartment. I'm here.”

He cleared his throat. “This early?”

“I figured you would want your normal life back as soon as possible, yeah?” She sassed.

He rolled his eyes. “Alright, give me a second. I'll come down and get you.”

Colby stumbled out of bed, running his fingers through his hair as he threw on a random shirt and jeans, slowly trudging down to the lobby of his apartment. She sat on a couch, tapping her foot against the carpeted floors. Her eyes were staring out the door, almost like she was looking at someone. When she heard Colby’s footsteps, her gaze pulled away from outside.

“Did I wake you?” She frowned, grabbing her bag next to her and standing up.

He shook his head. “You can't really be woken up if you barely slept.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” She lightly bit her lip, following Colby to the elevator.

He shrugged tiredly. “It's okay.”

They both slowly got into the elevator, climbing up to Colby's floor. The loud 'ding' of the elevator broke their silence moments later. They walked to Colby's apartment, and he unlocked his door quickly.

She whistled quietly. “Woah, nice place.”

A half smile spread across Colby’s face. “Thanks.”

“No offense, but how do you pay for this place if you're not a social media person?” She questioned, stepping into the kitchen.

He raised an eyebrow. “That's... a good question. From what my mom told me over the phone yesterday, I worked all throughout high school and college, so maybe it's from that?”

“You only worked at Dairy Queen while you were in high school. You must have gotten a better job in college because there is no way you can afford this place.” She disagreed.

Colby smirked. “How'd you know I worked at Dairy Queen?”

“Well, for starters, my friend told me. And also, I did some research about you. But I'll get to that in a second.” She continued, her voice falling to a serious tone, “So... would you like to hear my theories?”

“Theories?” He puzzled.

“As to why everyone forgot about you.” The waitress explained.

Colby sat down on his barstool, exhaling. “Let's hear it.”

“Okay. For argument sakes, you're gonna have to just go with me on this. Because otherwise, I literally have no way to help you.” She started, already pacing slightly.

He cautioned. “...okay?”

“So last night, I tried to think of a reason why everyone would collectively forget about you. And the only conclusion I could come up with is that you're in an alternative universe.” She hypothesized.

Colby’s eyes widened, bugging out of his head. “A what?”

“An alternative universe. Basically, everything is pretty much the same in your life, except a few minor details,” she revealed. “That’s why you still live in this apartment, but you didn’t get here the same way you did in your other life, your real life.”

“This... it's way too early for this.” He grumbled, astonished.

She sighed, her hands resting on her hips. “The only other option is that this is a very long-winded prank that your friends are still pulling on you. Have you tried talking to any of your other friends besides Sam?”

“No, everyone else’s number is gone in my phone, which I can only assume means they don’t know me either.” Colby retorted. Then he took a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “But, this doesn't make sense. How did I end up here if this isn't my life?”

“I’m not sure how you got here, but I think you’re here for a specific reason. I think you’re here to right a wrong that this Colby Brock did. I’m just… not entirely sure what that wrong might be.” She answered, unsure.

He huffed. “Okay… what am I supposed to do then? Stay here and hope we figure that out soon? I don't even know who I am in this universe.”

“And that's where my research comes into play.” She pulled a laptop from her bag quickly, placing it down on the counter and opening it. She scrolled through her browsers until she came across Colby's Facebook, which surprisingly looked active for someone who hadn't been personally on it in years.

I use Facebook? Gross.

“First, I started by seeing if you and Sam were friends on here, but that didn’t amount to much since Sam doesn’t have a Facebook. However, what I found out is that you and Sam did live in the same town, go to the same high school, and played in the same marching band. Sam talked about his early years before he was ‘famous’ in one of the first videos he posted, and I crossed referenced that with your profile and it all matches up.” She informed.

“That's strange,” he mumbled. “What did we do after high school?”

She stated. “You went off to college and majored in Business Management with a minor in Philosophy. You graduated early too.”

Me? Graduating early? I couldn’t even get through math without Sam’s help.

“What did Sam do?” He asked.

The waitress scrolled to another tab, opening it to show a search of Sam. “Well, a very quick Google search shows that he actually went to the same college as you but dropped out once his Vine career started to pick up. Then he went on to Musical.ly when Vine died. He moved out to LA in 2017 and started a YouTube channel after he met Katrina, and slowly met all of his- your, friends that way. He got a bump of followers once he started dating Kat because of her following.”

Colby’s mouth gaped at her words. “That can't be true. He would have never wanted that. I mean, I had to convince him that we should be on social media so that we could spread our message. Plus, he hates those channels that use their relationship for views.”

“Not this version of Sam. Or at least, it doesn't seem like it.” She commented.

He covered his face, groaning into his hands. “What the hell am I here for? What wrong have I done in this universe?”

Her voice low, she replied. “I think it might have to do with Sam.”

“But... he doesn't know me.” He dissented, sitting up.

She nodded. “I thought so too. However, after scrolling through all of your public photos, I found this.”

Colby squinted at the screen, an old photo of him and Sam stared back. They looked super young, probably sophomores in high school. They were both smiling, laughing at something. He vaguely remembered this day.

“So, we did know each other.” He bit his lip softly.

She hummed. “Yeah. And weirdly, it’s the only photo of the two of you on your profile. But it’s not the only strange thing.”

Scrolling to a different tab, she pulled up an old tweet of Sam’s. It read ‘Never thought you would be the one to hurt me. But I guess everyone can be surprising.’

Colby noted the date. “That was back in high school.”

“Yeah, and there’s a bunch like them. He talks about being betrayed and someone hurting him deeply. He never mentions, of course. But his tweets line up with some that you were tweeting at the same time.” She confessed.

The waitress clicked on a different tab and another tweet showed up, one from Colby’s account. He gazed at it, reading the words ‘If you hate me… imagine how I feel about myself.’

Colby’s face dropped. “Wait, what?”

“You don’t tweet that often, but when you do, you talk about righting wrongs and fixing things you fucked up.” She added, “You also hate on yourself a lot.”

He doubted, crossing his arms. “You think they’re connected?”

“I do. I think in this universe you fucked up somehow and hurt Sam. And I think you are here now to fix what the other you did.” She explained.

He ranted. “This is all so fucked! When I saw him yesterday, he acted like he didn’t even know me. How am I supposed to even go about this? What, do I just go down the hall and apologize for something I don’t even remember doing?”

“No. Sam's not in his apartment anyway. I saw him leave while I was waiting for you.” She mentioned nonchalantly.

He grunted. “Great, he could be anywhere in LA right now.”

“I know exactly where he is.” She smirked.

“What? How?” He questioned.

The waitress divulged. “This version of Sam has a favorite restaurant he goes to all the time. A lot of his fans know about it, thus one look through any of his fan accounts and you'll see it. It's called ‘Paradise’.”

“Sounds like a strip club.” Colby deadpanned.

She pouted. “It's not. But he goes there all the time, and I got us a table there last minute.”

“What exactly are we gonna do when we get there?” He crossed his arms.

“I was planning on going up to his table and talking to him, maybe asking him about you, see how he reacts.” She described.

Colby furrowed his brow, confused. “And what about me?”

She slid her laptop into her bag, zipping it up hastily. “Well… I didn’t really think that far ahead. But hopefully, whatever you did is forgivable, and we can just fix it right there.”

He murmured. “That's a lot to hope for.”

“It's better than sitting here and wasting daylight.” She grabbed her stuff and headed for the door. Colby followed suit, grabbing his keys.

He spoke as he locked his door. “What if this doesn’t work?”

She turned back to him. “It will. It has to.”

~~~

Paradise was a themed restaurant, which Colby thought was strange because his Sam never really liked those types of restaurants. The theme was nice, however, tropical and Hawaiian. It felt like something he, Sam, and a few friends would have gone to after a fun, drunk night.

As Colby and the waitress were escorted to their table, they both kept an eye out for Sam, glancing around nervously for the blonde boy.

“I think the worst thing about this universe version of me is how messy my car is,” Colby joked. “It’s like I live out of it.”

She shrugged, smiling. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You should see my real car. My honey wagon is spotless.” He expressed, waving his hand.

“Honey wagon?” She queried.

“Long story,” he chuckled. Then abruptly, he gasped. “Holy shit, I just realized I never got your name.”

She cocked her head. “What? I never told you?”

He blinked. “No.”

She started. “It's-”

“Hi, I'm Tony, I'll be your server for today. Can I get you something to drink to start you guys off?” Tony greeted, cutting her off.

“Yeah, sure. A water for me.” She blurted out.

Colby added. “Coke, please.”

Tony smiled. “Okay, coming right up.”

Once Tony left, the waitress started scoping out for Sam again, her eyes widening once she saw him.

Her body stiffened, turning back to Colby. “He's over there, three tables down to your left.”

Colby gazed over his shoulder at his friend. Sam looked lost in thought, staring at his phone as he ate his food.

“Why is he alone?” He muttered.

“From some of the blogs I read, he likes to go out and eat by himself. Also, apparently, him and Kat are on the rocks.” She admitted.

“They love each other so much, it's kinda gross to be around them sometimes,” He quipped, but shook his head. “So to hear that...”

“I'm gonna head over.” She announced quickly.

Before he could speak, she left the booth. Colby watched her walk over to Sam, listening closely to their conversation as he ducked his head down.

“Hey... sorry to bother you, but are you Sam Golbach?” She asked sweetly.

“Yeah I am. Did you want something?” Sam stared blankly at her.

“Um, yeah?” She almost scoffed at his tone. “I’m a huge fan and I know this might be a weird question, but do you know someone named Colby Brock?”

Sam’s face remained stoic, but his eyes intensified. “No, I've never heard of that name before.”

“Are you sure, because I'm pretty certain that you and him are best friends.” She insisted.

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

Colby watched nervously as she pulled out her phone and showed Sam the photo. Sam scrunched up his face, his eyes scanning the image. “Yeah, no. Still don’t know who he is. What was his name again?”

“Colby Brock.” She stated.

“...Sorry. I’ve never heard a name like that before.” He mumbled, almost inaudibly. “Sounds stupid anyway.”

She cocked her head. “Wait, what?”

Colby clenched his fist, unable to hear this conversation any longer. He needed to come face-to-face with Sam. He slid out of his seat, walking hastily over to Sam and the waitress. Sam’s eyes narrowed as he gaped at Colby.

“Sam…” Colby started.

Sam growled. “Are you fucking serious, Colby? Did you really have to get one of my fans involved?”

“What?” Colby puzzled.

Sam jumped out of his seat, grabbing Colby’s arm and pulling him out of the restaurant. The waitress followed behind them, confused just as much as Colby. Sam’s feet stopped behind the back door of the building, turning to Colby without warning.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sam barked.

Colby stepped back, surprised by Sam’s anger. “...Uh, I don’t know what you mean by that.”

Sam scoffed. “Why the fuck are you here? After all this time?”

“So, you do remember me.” Colby remarked.

“Yeah, I do. When you showed up at my place yesterday, it took me a minute to realize it was you, since you decided to dress up like a Hot Topic employee, but yeah, I knew it was you. Are you really gonna pretend in front of her that we don’t know each other?” Sam teared his eyes away from Colby’s, staring at the waitress suddenly. “Let me guess, he hasn’t told you the whole story, right?”

“I guess not.” She shrugged uncomfortably.

Sam chuckled darkly. “Of course not. If he told the whole story, he would have to admit he was an asshole, and God knows he’s not gonna do that.”

“What are you talking about?” Colby panted.

“Do you not remember? Well, I’ll give you a refresher. You and I became friends freshman year of high school. You were my best friend and I was yours. I trusted you. I trusted you with a lot of shit that I’ve never told anyone. Senior year of high school, right before we were about to graduate, right as we were starting a social media career, suddenly you don’t want anything to do with me; which would have been bad enough, but then I go and find out you and my girlfriend were hooking up behind my back,” Sam snapped, catching his breath for a moment. “So yeah, I remember you, Colby.”

Colby’s mouth fell open, his breathing speeding up.

None of this sounds like me. I would never hurt Sam like that.

“And now, you have the fucking audacity to show up when everything in my life is going great and I’m succeeding. I have fans, friends, and a girlfriend that all love and care about me, and you’re here trying to what? Stir up drama? Get some clout from me?” He demanded.

“If your friends and girlfriend love you, why are you eating all alone?” The waitress jeered.

Sam glared at her, biting his tongue. “And you made one of my fans hate me. Dope, dude.”

“Sam, look; I’m sorry for what I did. But that was years ago. I’m not who I was back then.” Colby choked out.

“I don’t care. I don’t want you in my life. Do you not understand what you did to me?” Sam persisted.

“I know I was an asshole, and I apologize for ever hurting you like that. But I miss you, and I want to work things out. Let me prove to you that I’m better.” He trembled, getting closer to Sam.

Sam backed up, blocking Colby. “No. No! You don’t get to miss me. You don’t get to miss a relationship you fucked up. It took me years to trust again. Hell, I’m still going through it. You don’t get to decide whether or not you’re in my life. Not anymore.”

“Sam… please.” Colby whimpered.

“Don’t show up at my place again. Don’t talk to my fans about me. Don’t act like you care about me. Because I’m done,” Sam stared into Colby’s eyes before going back into the restaurant. “I don’t care about you. Fuck off forever and leave me alone.”

Sam’s words punched Colby hard, taking the breath out of him instantly. He caught himself against the wall, his legs turning to gelatin under his weight.

He stuttered. “I… gotta leave. I-I have to…”

“Colby, relax. It’s gonna be okay.” She grabbed his hand.

He shook off her embrace. “What? No it’s not! Did you not hear what he said? Why would he want to be friends with a piece of shit like me?!”

“You were eighteen when this all happened. Give yourself a break.” She argued.

“No. I’m fucking terrible. This version of me is terrible. Of course he doesn’t want to be friends with me! I don’t even want to be me.” His voice quivered with anger, his body racing away from her.

She furrowed her brows, trying to keep up with him. “Where are you going?”

“I just need to leave. I can’t be here right now!” He grunted, his pace picking up.

She called after him, but Colby didn’t care. His heart slammed against his chest over and over again. Tears weld up into his eyes, blurring his vision as he began to run. He wanted to keep running until his legs gave out, until he couldn’t remember all the words Sam had said to him.

It dawned to Colby how much worse this universe was.

He wasn’t just stuck in a universe where Sam didn’t know him.

He was stuck in a universe where Sam didn’t want to know him.

In a universe where Sam didn’t love him.

And he had no way of escaping.

Colby must have blacked out while he ran, somehow maintaining to stay upright, because once his thoughts started to subside, and his body basically gave out under him, he noticed he was in a part of LA he had never been before. Some random neighborhood that was unfamiliar.

He shoved his body up against a metal telephone pole, sliding down to the ground. He tried catching his breath, gulping back breaths as he forced down the nausea overwhelming his senses. He wiped his face with his sleeve, feeling more tears rush down his cheeks.

His throat and chest burned with each sharp inhale. He whimpered into his hands, covering his face from the slowly retreating sun.

He slid his phone out of his pocket once he caught his breath, calling the only number he knew.

“Hey honey. What’s up?” His mom’s voice rang back sweetly.

Colby’s voice was monotone, exhausted. “You know who Sam is, don’t you?”

The line went quiet for a moment, all Colby could hear was her light breath.

“You told me not to talk about him. After you two stopped being friends, you said you never wanted to hear his name again.” She exhaled deeply, “I was taken aback when you asked about him yesterday.”

“He’s out here… in LA.” He responded.

She gasped lightly. “Did you run into him?”

He laughed bitterly. “You could say that.”

“Oh, Colby. I’m so sorry.” His mother consoled.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, mama. I just…” Colby trailed off, unable to explain.

“Why don’t you come home this weekend?” She offered. “I miss you, you know.”

“I would love to. But…” His chest heaved as hot tears drifted down his cheeks. “That’s not my home.”

“Nonsense. You will always have a home here.” She assured him, her voice almost trembling.

He wiped a fallen tear, a broken smile coming to his face. “That’s good to know. I love you.”

She hummed. “I love you too, baby. Call me again soon.”

“I will. Bye.” He uttered breathlessly.

The sky was getting darker and darker, and Colby remained against the phone pole. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but suddenly his phone vibrated, a new message from ‘Waitress’ asking where he was. He sent his location, and she arrived twenty minutes later in his car. He stood up, stumbling to his passenger door. His legs were weak from the sprinting he had just done. As he got in, the cool AC blasted the sweat and tears off his face.

They didn’t speak, a quiet radio station playing in the background the only sound. She drove through the hills of LA, eventually hitting a peak. She parked the car as it overlooked LA, the lights looking like stars on the horizon.

She got out a minute later, walking over to the hood and leaning against it. He could see something in her hand but didn’t recognize it. Colby sat in the car by himself, not able to physically move his body from how exhausted he felt. Eventually, he achingly stepped out of the car, sitting next to her on the hood.

“I’m fucked.” Colby breathed.

She started. “I don’t think-”

“Please don’t try to make me feel better. I know you mean well, but I am fucked,” he rebutted, his voice dark. “I’m stuck here, in this universe, where Sam hates me. And as if that weren’t bad enough, I did terrible things, things I know I would never do to him. How the fuck am I supposed to apologize for those mistakes? I wouldn’t take him back if the roles were reversed.”

“Read this.” The waitress stated, handing him a journal.

He glanced down at the leather-bound book, slightly faded from years of writing. He unclicked the lock and opened it, looking down at the pages. It was his, a journal full of writings he had done.

“Where did you get this?” He inquired.

“You were right about your car being messy. But you’d be surprised what you fine if you just look.” She teased.

Colby read over the words, the first entry catching his eye. It was dated a year after him and Sam had graduated high school.

Sam is succeeding without me. I knew he would. He was always so smart when it came to business decisions. He just hit 10k followers on Vine. That’s crazy!

“What the hell is this?” Colby questioned.

She answered quickly. “This whole journal was you keeping up with Sam without him knowing. This version of you always paid attention to what he was doing, even if you guys were no longer friends.”

“I’m obsessed with Sam? That’s great.” He deadpanned.

“You’re not obsessed with Sam. Read this entry.” She skipped a handful of pages, finally stopping on one and showing it to him.

I hate myself everyday for the hurt I caused Sam. I can’t believe what an idiot I was back when I was 18. We could have gone so far together… but I had to go and fuck it up.

He scowled. “Am I supposed to be sad for myself?”

“Keep reading.” She pushed.

The night I chose to never speak to Sam again, I knew I made the wrong decision. But I had to. Sam was ready to go on and do bigger and better things. I was just gonna hold him back. I was terrified of failing, not only myself, but him. He deserves success. That’s why I had to ignore him. I have never been as smart as him. I would have ruined our chances of doing something great. And I have been proven right by how far he has gone without me.

“You stopped being his friend because you were scared, not because you didn’t care anymore.” She repeated.

He slid off the car, scoffing. “So what if I was scared to fail? Sam didn’t deserve the hurt I caused just because of that. And what about me cheating with his girlfriend?”

She jumped off the car, striding up to Colby. She grabbed the journal from his hand. “You didn’t cheat, look.”

She pointed at the bottom of the page, his eyes following her finger.

“Me and Lexi were never together! I hate her for telling him that. One night, they had a really big fight and she came over to my house to ask what she should do. I told her to break up with him if she really didn’t care anymore. And then she tried to hit on me. I told her off and threatened to tell Sam, but she got to him first. She must have told him her and I were together.” The waitress read aloud.

“Wait, if I never hooked up with his girlfriend, why wouldn’t I tell him that?” Colby hissed.

“I think at that point, you wanted the friendship to be over, and I think this solidified it.” The waitress responded.

“All this time I could have been friends with Sam, but I ruined it because I was scared? What a fucking idiot.” He spat.

“You weren’t an idiot,” She interjected. “You just disliked yourself so much you didn’t think you deserved happiness. At least now you know that this version of you isn’t as terrible as you thought.”

“Even with that being the case, Sam’s never gonna accept my apology. Why should he?” Colby lamented, “I let him down the worst ways. I broke his trust and loyalty.”

She shook her head, stepping towards him. “Give him some time. You might be surprised."

Before Colby could speak, his phone rang. He took his phone out of his pocket and looked at the number. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Hello?” He answered.

“Did you really mean it when you said you were sorry?” Sam spoke, his tone hesitant, but dry.

His breath hitched at the sound of Sam’s voice. “Of course. I never meant to hurt you, Sam.”

Sam paused for a moment, before breathing out. “I’m giving you one more chance. Tomorrow. Come by my place. You apparently know where I live.”

“Yeah,” Colby laughed awkwardly. “I’ll come by. Thank you… Sam.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ll see you later.” Sam stated, hanging up.

Once the call ended, Colby’s eyes stared down at his phone widely. He almost couldn’t believe that happened.

He inhaled sharply. “Sam just called me. He wants to meet me tomorrow.”

“That’s great.” Her voice just above a whisper.

“He wants to hear me out… he wants to give me another chance.” His face dropped with confusion. “How did he get my number?”

It hit Colby like a brick as he gazed up at the waitress, who bit her lip hiding her smile. “You…?”

“You weren’t the first person I showed the journal to,” she explained. “When you ran off, I was gonna go after you. As I got in your car, I saw this journal sticking out from under your seat. I read through it and… I knew I had to show Sam. I went back in and talked to him for an hour, showing him how much you were actually sorry. How much you had beat yourself up over hurting him. And then I gave him your number. I wasn’t sure if he was gonna call but-”

“Oh my God, you’re amazing!” Colby ran up to her, grabbing her by the waist and spinning her around. She gripped his shoulders tightly as they spun, laughing loudly into his ear. As her feet touched the ground, he stared into her eyes, his smile the brightest she had ever seen it. His hands glided up her body to her face, cupping her cheeks quickly. He smashed his lips against hers, his heart pounding as he did. Her hands lowered to his chest, her grasp on his shirt tightened as she felt herself lose her footing and back up into the car.

As they stumbled, he realized what he was doing, pulling away quickly. “Shit… I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s okay,” She giggled. “I’m just… surprised.”

He exhaled, letting his arms fall away from her body. “Me too.”

They leaned against the car, keeping a slight distance from each other. A light blush rested on both their faces; however, it was hard to see with the setting sun, something they were both grateful for.

The waitress sighed, breaking the moment of silence. “I think I know why this happened. Why I was the only one who remembered you…”

He raised an eyebrow, slightly side-eyeing her. “Really?”

“I lied to you when we first met. I wanted to seem a bit cooler than I am, but I don’t think I can hide that anymore.” She began, nervously.

Colby’s face relaxed a little, surprised at her words. “Okay.”

“My friend didn’t introduce me to you guys… I introduced her… to you.” She confessed.

A soft grin came to his face. “I had a feeling.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! I totally did,” he snickered. “Not every fan knows I worked at Dairy Queen. And… no average fan would have helped me get Sam back the way you did.”

“I think there’s a reason for all of this. I think in your universe, your life… you don’t know me.” Her voice dropped suddenly, making Colby turn to her.

“That’s true, I don’t.” He nodded.

Her eyes met his, a sad glint reflecting in the moonlight. “But I think the reason for that is because… you’re not supposed to.”

“What do you mean?” He replied, his face twisting in confusion.

“I think you and I are only supposed to have met here, in this universe. But not in yours.” She glared up at the sky, “Maybe in some weird way, I’m your guardian or guide or something.”

Colby’s thoughts raced. “So, what you’re saying is-“

“This might be the last time you’ll ever see me. You did what you had to do. You got Sam and you to talk again.” Her voice cracked as she held back tears, “You can go home.”

He grabbed her hands, holding them close to his body. “But… I don’t want to leave if it means I don’t know you.”

A hitched breath fell from her lips, a smile appearing from his words. “If we’re meant to be, we’ll see each other again.”

“That’s not fair.” He shook his head, a deep frown settling on his face.

“I know, but it’s how it has to be.” She whispered.

He rested his forehead against her, breathing deeply. “Can I… get one more kiss?”

She bit her lip softly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They leaned in, his breath fanning across her lips for a split second before he pulled away.

“Wait…” He shuddered. “I never got your name.”

A soft smile came to her lips. “I’ll tell you after.”

His arms wrapped around her, pressing her body into his as their lips collided. He held onto her for dear life, terrified that the moment he pulled away, she would be gone.

He could feel things around him slow down, almost melting away, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the beauty of their kiss making him dizzy. A whirling silence overcame his senses. A burning sensation sliced through his abdomen; his breath ripped from his lungs.

A heavy darkness overtook his vision and for the briefest of moments, he felt absolutely nothing.

Except her lips.

<< |

[qqueenofhades]

... Remember the Russian Revolution au? Which ended with Fedyor's sister very sick and Fedyor searching for Ivan in hopes of getting help for her from him? Fedyor finding Ivan and offering to do "anything" in exchange for his sister's medical treatment? Ivan secretly wanting Fedyor, but refusing to take what he wants like that? Soooo... I would also like the big the big 3 of your coming projects to happen, but... y'know... just.... wanted to bring this au up again... ;)

Behold, the oft-requested follow-up to the first two Russian Revolution au ficlets. Ahem.

Fedyor does not sleep that night. He does not even think about sleeping. He only leaves the army headquarters long enough to think hard about what he is proposing to do, wonder if it is worth it, and decide that it is. Katya needs the medicine, he has no other recourse, and he is categorically unwilling to return home to his family as a failure, when they have placed all their trust and hope in him. Ivan has hinted that he might be able to obtain it, and so that, no matter what it takes, is what Fedyor will have to get him to do. And for that…

He knows that he is not unattractive. He has dark eyes, dark hair, a dimpled smile, a personable and friendly manner that, in happier times, attracted the attention of many an eligible young lady who wished to ice skate or promenade around the park or take a carriage ride, as courting Russian couples are wont to do. However, while Fedyor was perfectly happy to chat with ladies, or escort them to a ball, or fulfill his essential chivalric duty, he was not otherwise interested in wooing them. It was partly for that reason that he signed up to the military, where an enterprising young man can have other opportunities in the darkness of the barracks. So long as his family was kept conveniently unaware.

For all that the Bolsheviks have overthrown the government without a clear plan as to what to do next, and accordingly plunged them all into this miserable civil war, Fedyor does secretly sympathize with certain of their beliefs on the remaking of family life. They say that marriage is outdated and bourgeoisie, that monogamy is unnatural, that women should not be subject to patriarchal systems, and that homosexuality is an equally valid state of nature. Such a possibility of sexual classification and divergence is much discussed in Europe these days, and there is even a small but growing scholarly literature, written by eminent scientists. Sexual Inversion by Havelock Ellis, published in 1896, argues that the man-loving man is indeed even a possibly improved form of human, associated with superior intellectual and artistic achievement, and that nothing about his attachment is wrong or abnormal. Two years before that, Edward Carpenter wrote Homogenic Love, and in 1900, the German Elisar von Kupffer published an anthology of homosexual poetry, Lieblingminne und Freundesliebe in der Weltliteratur. Such texts are relatively easy for an educated, French- and English- speaking young Russian intellectual, such as Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, to lay his hands on. He is not sure what can come of it, but at least he knows that he is not alone.

The question remains as to Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov’s proclivities. Unless Fedyor is very much mistaken, Ivan was at least considering the possibility of accepting his offer, and turned it down for honorable, moral reasons, feeling it unjust to sexually extort a young gentleman in exchange for his sister’s care, rather than physical horror at the idea of such a coupling. If he’s a Bolshevik, he’s probably acceptably tolerant of their philosophy on an abstract level, but it’s less clear as to whether that extends to its personal practice. If Fedyor turns up in his bunkhouse – which, come to think of it, is probably shared, curse these Bolsheviks and their dratted communality, highly inconvenient for a midnight seduction attempt – scantily clad and willing, will Ivan’s objections hold out then? Or… or what?

Fedyor doesn’t know, but the uncertainty adds to the frisson of shameful excitement, rather than detracting from it. He searches through the streets of Chelyabinsk for some bread (it does not seem in much greater supply than in Nizhny Novgorod) and waits for the sun to go down. In March, the days, though getting steadily longer, are still short and chilly, and it’s bitingly cold when it gets dark. Then he pulls up his muffler, tells himself not to be unduly precious about it, and heads for the makeshift army quarters on Kirovka Street.

The buildings in downtown are beautiful, built in the Russian Revival style of neo-Byzantinian splendor, though the onion-domed Orthodox churches have all been converted into stables and armories, and anything that whiffs of an ideology contrary to the Red one has been economically discarded. Fedyor reaches the door, knocks, and when a disgruntled sergeant comes to answer it, expecting him to be a soldier out too late and in line for a ticking-off, Fedyor raises his hands apologetically. “I’ve come to join up,” he says. “The great socialist cause of the world’s workers is the only true one for a patriotic Russian man, and I vow it my full allegiance, if you will have me. I was speaking to my friend earlier, Ivan Ivanovich, and he suggested it. Is he still here?”

The sergeant eyes him squiggle-eyed, but they cannot afford to look gift horses too closely in the mouth, or turn aside willing recruits. It takes a while, but he shouts for someone who shouts for someone else, and this finally produces the startled personage of Ivan Sakharov, who clearly thought it was for the last time when they parted several hours ago. Upon sight of Fedyor, he stops short, looking alarmed, angry, and wary all at once. “What are you – ?”

“Can we talk?” Fedyor is resolved to do this, he truly is, but he feels it best to get it over with before that wavers in any degree. Whether he wants it too little does not seem like the problem; on the contrary, he fears that he wants it too much, and if he stops to reflect on it or delude himself with any nonsensical notions of it being more than once, that can only hurt the cause. “Somewhere… private?”

Ivan hesitates, as if asking to commune out of sight of the others is tantamount to heresy (though it’s not as if these damn hypocrites didn’t plot in secret, away from their own countrymen, for months and months, Fedyor thinks angrily). Then he jerks his head. “Fine. Five minutes. This way.”

He leads Fedyor up a few narrow, creaking staircases, past closed doors that echo with snorting and snoring and coughing, the cacophony of his comrades, none of whom seem to be enjoying their glorious victory quite as much as they thought. Ivan, however, appears to be sufficiently high-ranking in the Red Guards that the room they finally arrive at, though not much larger than a closet, is at least private. It reminds Fedyor forcibly of Ivan’s room back in St. Petersburg, the one they slept in together, that first night after the Winter Palace. It sounds more intimate in his recollections than it actually was. Nothing happened, of course. But Ivan was kind to offer it, kind when he did not need to be, when a young tsarist soldier alone in the ferment of riot and revolution, such as Fedyor was, would not be likely to see the new red dawn. It is that which Fedyor keeps in mind as he shuts the door with assumed casualness, then turns around, meets Ivan’s eye in a significant fashion, and shrugs off his coat, cap, and muffler. Then, unmistakably, starts to unbutton his shirt.

He has almost gotten to the bottom by the time Ivan, who is staring at him as if he’s lost his marbles (it is unclear if this is an encouraging fashion or not) finally recovers his sense. He strides forward and covers Fedyor’s hands with his own large, callused rifleman’s fingers, sending a shock of attraction burning through Fedyor from head to toe, along with the death of any more illusion that he could continue to be casual about this. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Fedyor’s throat is as dry as a bone, but he forces himself to speak. “I said that I would do anything for my sister’s care, if you would help.”

He lingers suggestively on the word anything, just as he did before, in case there was any doubt (as if the undressing wasn’t enough) what he means here. Ivan looks like a cornered bear, but as his eyes catch Fedyor’s and flick across the lean, muscled torso thus revealed beneath the shirt, he swallows hard and has to glance away. The attraction trembles silently in the air between them, tense as a piano string, tuned to snapping. In the old days, that is, when people played pianos, and did not burn them for firewood, as Fedyor’s parents were preparing to do with theirs when he left home. It chokes raw and painful in his throat. He is attracted to Ivan – desperately attracted, in fact – and yet he still hates what the Bolsheviks have done, even if the Romanovs and the Provisional Government were no better. The deposed Tsar Nicholas II is under house arrest with his wife and five children, the four tsarevnas and the tsarevich, in Yekaterinburg. Little sick Alexei Romanov, whose hemophilia opened the door for Grigori Rasputin to control the queen, the royal household, the government of Russia, and so bring about the end of their house. He was like something from a fairytale monster, that Grisha. The rumors of his death, not quite two years ago in December 1916, is that it almost did not happen, he was so hard to kill. A demon. A beast.

“You cannot do this,” Ivan says, his voice too rough, his eyes still struggling to remain decorously averted. “It is not – it is not right.”

“Not right?” Fedyor flares. “So a little spot of armed treason and overthrowing the man who, however deficient he might be, was the heir of one of the oldest and greatest empires in the world? That part was entirely aboveboard, but this, when you want this – don’t lie to me, I’m well aware you do – to help my sister? That would be a sin?!”

Ivan backs up a step, glancing around shiftily. These walls are thin, and he clearly does not want his beloved brothers-in-arms to hear this. “Fedyor Mikhailovich – ”

“Have me.” Fedyor is done playing games. “I’m here, I’m yours for the taking. You can do whatever you want to me, as long as you give me the medicine at the end.”

For a long, spellbound moment, he thinks Ivan is on the brink of agreeing. Then once again, he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I could not in good conscience consent to this. But I will fetch you the medicine. You do not have to give me anything in return.”

Fedyor gawks at him, shocked – and, it must be confessed, more than a little disappointed. “I thought it was fair trade,” he says. “Tit for tat.”

“It is…” Ivan shakes his head, eyes once more straying to Fedyor’s bare chest. “Button your shirt up,” he says, half-laughing, not angry, breathless and soft. “It is very distracting.”

“Good.” Fedyor takes another step. “I think you deserve it, you obnoxious bastard.”

“Be that as it may.” At least Ivan has the good sense not to dispute it. “I cannot do this,” he repeats, more gently. “You are a fine young man, Fedyor Mikhailovich. Perhaps in another life… but it would not be honorable to trade your virtue for this.”

“My virtue?” Fedyor has to laugh. “What makes you think I have that?”

Once again, Ivan wavers. But to give him (loathing) credit, he will not be swayed. “Button it,” he repeats. “I will arrange to have the money and medicine sent by your lodging by tomorrow, if you give me an address in the city.”

“I don’t have one.” Fedyor folds his arms. “Only here.”

Ivan looks even more startled. His lips part, he takes a step forward, and for a brief, wild, exquisite yearning of an instant, Fedyor thinks he is actually going to kiss him. They’re almost close enough – not quite, but almost – for it to happen. Then Ivan says, “Your family must be very proud of you.”

“I…” It catches in his throat. “I don’t know. I hope.”

“I would,” Ivan says. “I would be.”

And that, somehow, is all that seems to matter. Even as Fedyor spends a night in Ivan’s narrow camp cot of a bed, Ivan insisting on taking the hard floor out of an excess of gallantry, an echo of their first night in St. Petersburg. Ivan does as ordered, gives Fedyor some rubles and some medicine and a train ticket back home to Nizhny Novgorod. He personally escorts Fedyor to the train station to make sure he does not come to grief, then stands on the platform, staring after him like Vronsky watching Anna leave one more time. The train begins to huff and puff, spitting soot and embers, and Fedyor keeps his nose pressed to the glass, leaving a smudge, until long after, as it seems he is never destined to do anything but, Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov has vanished into the mist.

[astralaffairs]

voltaire to versace 02 | thomas jefferson

title: voltaire to versace 02

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: 8.7k

warnings: honestly not much. sex jokes n references, dolley simping for james, broke college student meals

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg — let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

"Dolley, holy shit; please tell me you're already home." Y/N's words were breathless as she hurried across the quad, muttering under her breath into her phone. She'd darted out of her lecture hall the moment they'd been dismissed, having no desire to stick around for the confrontation she knew was inevitable.

"I'm just getting out of class, dear," Dolley responded, but when she continued, her words were teasing. "What sort of trouble did you manage to get yourself into while I was gone?"

"I cannot begin to explain." Y/N let out a huff, glancing over her shoulder and ducking her head as she whispered, "but it's not good."

"Oh, good lord, Y/N; I was joking." She could hear the genuine worry begin to creep into Dolley's voice and couldn't help but wince.

"Yeah, I wish I was, too." She chalked the subsequent rush of static through the line up to Dolley's sigh. "Where are you right now? Can I meet you somewhere?"

"Want to go to dinner?"

"Too broke for that."

"Packaged ramen from the drugstore on the east side of campus?"

"Now you're speaking my language." Y/N grinned, and she could only picture Dolley rolling her eyes from wherever she was. "I'll be there in a few."

"You'd better. I can't wait much longer to hear what sort of nonsense you've been up to."

-                              

"You slept with a professor?!"

"Shh, Doll; not so loud," Y/N hissed, pulling her back into the soda aisle and frantically checking for any prurient eavesdroppers. Her voice was low when she added, "It was the guy at the bar last night. I had no idea he was a professor here."

Dolley let out a dry, disbelieving laugh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is... a mess."

"You're telling me."

"So, what's the plan going to be?"

When Dolley folded her arms, raising an amused eyebrow (a little too amused, in Y/N's humble opinion), but Y/N furrowed her brow. "What d'you mean, 'what's the plan?'"

"What are you going to do the next time you run into him?" Dolley asked. There was a pause; Y/N hadn't thought that far. "You don't really think you can make it through the semester ignoring this, do you?"

"I... Maybe? I don't know!" Y/N let out a frustrated huff. "That's what I need you to help me figure out. What else are you here for?"

"Oh, you make an excellent point," Dolley sighed. "All I do is pay half the rent and help you get laid at bars downtown."

Y/N scowled. "You helped me get laid by a professor. Just help me."

"Mmh, I don't think I heard a 'please' in there."

"Please, Dolley, my white knight to whom I owe my life," she pleaded, clutching her roommates arm and sighing wistfully. Dolley's lips were pressed into a line, but that didn't stop her smile from showing through. "I would be nothing without you; just please, do me this one final favor."

"Alright, alright," she conceded with a huff, shaking free from Y/N's grip. "Drama queen."

Y/N shrugged shamelessly. "I bring excitement into your life. Don't be ungrateful."

"Whatever you say, dear." The defeat in her words made Y/N grin. "So back to your excitement, then."

"I'm so lost," Y/N groaned, finally emerging from the soda aisle with shoulders slumped in defeat. "If the sex hadn't been so good, I'd probably just pretend it never happened."

Dolley creased her brow. "Was it really that good?"

Y/N turned to her with a serious demeanor, a hand on her shoulder as she looked her in the eye. "Dolley. I am covered in hickeys from my neck to my hips. That man damn near threw my back out. I won't bullshit you; there's no way I'm gonna be able to sit comfortably for—"

"Okay, alright! A 'yes' would've sufficed," Dolley cut her off, pushing past her to the shelf of instant noodles. Y/N looked disproportionately self-satisfied when she followed. "That's about enough details for one evening."

"You asked!"

"But you can't spend the entire semester ignoring him, Y/N," Dolley continued, ignoring her words. "That class is notoriously difficult — the only people I know who didn't frequent his office hours were the ones who got 'C's."

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples as her roommate pushed cup after cup of beef ramen into her basket. "So then shouldn't I just put this whole thing behind me? I can't really start asking him to help me analyze Kant if I open the conversation with, 'hey, good to see you again, you're almost as good at teaching as you are in bed.'"

Dolley laughed at her dry tone. "I don't mean that, of course."

"Then what do you mean?"

"If you never agree to put this all behind you, I think it's going to be on both of your minds for the rest of the semester," she said matter-of-factly, hesitating when the freezer at the side of the room caught her gaze. "Should we pick up pizza rolls, too?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course we should," Y/N scoffed, brushing past her toward the Totino's section. "But if he and I both just ignore it, wouldn't that be an easier way to put it behind us?"

"Oh, grab a bag of the cheeseburger flavor, would you?" Dolley leaned in to look over Y/N's shoulder, ignoring her words altogether, and she glanced back with a raised eyebrow.

"Can you focus for five seconds?" She dropped three bags of pizza rolls — pepperoni flavor — into her basket with a huff. "Anyway, the cheeseburger flavor is disgusting. Get some taste."

"Don't discount the nostalgia of it!"

"Dolley." Y/N fixed her with a pointed look, and she sighed.

"We both know ignoring it is a poor idea, even if it is the easier option." Dolley didn't waste a second in pushing right past Y/N when she stood, grabbing a bag of the cheeseburger pizza rolls (an oxymoron in itself, as Y/N would've told her) before the freezer door could fall shut. "Just talk to him after class one day. Don't make it take more than five minutes."

"I don't even know where I'd start with that. I've dealt with awkward fallout from one-night stands before, but never with a professor." Her footsteps stalled within the last yard of the frozen section. "I've just gotta ignore it and focus on the coursework, Dolley. Wanna get some Ben and Jerry's?"

"Are you trying to distract me with a pint of chocolate fudge brownie?" Dolley asked incredulously, before adding, "Because it's working. Let's get two."

She grinned. "Excellent."

Y/N figured that was the end of it, that two pints of ice cream and an incredibly vague game plan would be enough to satiate her friend for the time being, but after they checked out, trying to figure out how many meals they could extend one pack of ramen to (because, really, if you just add more water, doesn't it make the servings bigger?), Dolley felt the need to return to it as they walked through the sliding glass exit doors, her words holding an air of finality.

"If you really want to insist on not just communicating with the poor man, Y/N, then fine." Y/N raised a quizzical eyebrow, not yet following where Dolley had abruptly turned the trajectory of their conversation. "But after his lecture on Wednesday, when you realize that leaving the subject untouched just makes it more unbearable—" ("'When'?" Y/N muttered dubiously.) "—then I need you to agree to go talk to your professor."

Dolley didn't wait for her response, squinting at the nutrition facts on the ramen labels as her focus drifted elsewhere (sure, it said two servings, but she was fairly sure that only the bourgeoise couldn't have stretched it to three), but Y/N let out a surrendering sigh.

"Wednesday's going to be just fine," she said, realizing but not caring that Dolley was no longer listening. "But if it isn't, I'll talk to him."

-                        -         

Wednesday was not 'just fine.'

Y/N spent the entire class on edge, trying futilely not to let her thoughts drift back to the other night in the bar, then on the street in front of her building, then in the elevator, in her living room, even in the kitchen— but no, she was getting off track. Little did she know, Thomas was having precisely the same issue.

She jotted down his words almost robotically, the meaning of them going into one ear and out the other, more focused on the sound of his voice than on what he was actually saying.

Only once did she manage to focus for long enough to actually process a thought, but when he was fielding questions about the material, Thomas conveniently managed to miss her having raised her hand from where she was seated. She supposed she'd just positioned herself too far back and thought no more of it.

Despite how 'not fine' that day had been, she dismissed it as a fluke, showing up the next Monday with her head on straight, her readings prepared and annotated, and took a seat several rows further forward. Her motivation may have been misplaced, leaning a bit too far toward wanting to impress her professor and not far enough toward a desire to understand the material, but she was familiar enough with the content to feel comfortable giving her input on the questions he posed to the class throughout the lecture.

Again, her efforts bore no fruit. Her notes were better that day, so that was certainly something to count as a plus, but she left feeling put-out by the fact that she hadn't even had a chance to participate. Usually, she wouldn't have been so perturbed by this — sitting through a Socratic seminar playing tetris on her laptop was no unfamiliar experience — but this class accounted for six of the twelve credit hours she still needed for her chosen major. She didn't suppose that it'd be a good look to have the class dragging down her GPA to be the same one she was supposedly most passionate about; generally speaking, that wasn't what graduate schools were looking for.

Besides, she liked the subject, too. Surely that had to count for something?

And that was how she kept pushing off the inevitable conversation with Thomas — sorry, Professor Jefferson — and coming up with increasingly creative excuses as to why her efforts were being so plainly ignored, not only that following Wednesday, too, but also the Monday and Wednesday after. She'd made it through three weeks of classes before she could finally work up the nerve to confront him.

Unfortunately, that task proved to be no easier than her previous one.

Thom— her professor was always the last one into the lecture hall and the first one out, leaving no opportunities for chatter, or in her case, a supposedly inevitable clash she'd already begun arming herself for. She'd nearly caught him in the halls at various times, but he always seemed to have somewhere he urgently needed to be. The same doctrine followed in his office hours; apparently, another student had scheduled a meeting with him three minutes after every single time she arrived, without fail, so could she please just come back another time? Surely, another time would be better for both of them.

That time never came.

It was near the end of the fourth week that she was entirely fed up. They'd moved from Kant to Machiavelli, and so far, The Prince had her ready to tear her hair out. It didn't help that they'd all just finished the book, their first paper of the year on it due the next Monday.

She was far past lying to herself about her motives being purely academic while she continued to privately just want his attention — no, by then, she was hopped up on forty ounces of sugary coffee and just a touch of RedBull, and she hardly had a thesis for her paper. She'd read the same passages time and time again — she likely could've recited them word-for-word by the time she demanded feedback — and any shallow, vain desires for recognition were the furthest thing from her mind. She needed a professor, and she was pissed that Thomas didn't seem to have any interest in acting like one.

It was late Thursday evening when she marched across the green from the library to the building that housed his office in a fury. Yes, it was the last week of January; yes, the entire city was still coated in snow, but no, she could not bring herself to care about the very real possibility of frostbite as she trudged through the snow in sweatpants, slippers, and a tank top. Practicality wasn't her priority. Finishing her paper was.

Thomas's office hours were from 7 to 10 PM every evening, a schedule he stuck to religiously. It was 9:24 when Y/N began tracking snow through the bottom floor of his building, and 9:31 when she finally managed to locate and reach his actual office.

It was reluctant when she finally knocked, struggling to resist the urge to simply bust in and rip him a new one, but to her relief, it was simply met with a 'come in.' That was when she threw the door open in a fit of annoyance.

"You've been avoiding me," she said, eyes narrowed and tone accusatory before he could so much as react to her presence.

"Y/N, I—" His eyes were wide; he seemed to be at a loss for words as his eyes drifted down to her sweatpants and Hello Kitty slippers. He couldn't have convinced her it wasn't a dignified look even if he'd tried. "What are you doin' here?"

"We need to talk." She dropped her bag into one of the chairs in front of his desk, though she chose not to take a seat, instead glaring down at him, arms folded.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and though his head was down, his shadow of a grimace told her everything she needed to know: he'd been dreading this conversation far more than she had. "Look, right now really isn't a great time. I've got—"

"Don't bullshit me, Thomas."

"Professor Jefferson," he corrected her, the words hissed through gritted teeth, and she huffed, rolling her eyes.

"My bad. Don't bullshit me, Professor Jefferson." Y/N scowled as she took another step towards him. "Your office hours don't end until ten. There's no way you have time for a meeting between now and then if you haven't already started one."

He let out a heavy sigh. "Alright. Alright, fine. And I know what you're gonna say, but—"

"Do you really?" she challenged him, head cocked to one side. "Because the fact that you haven't given me one chance to speak to you in almost a month tells me pretty clearly that you don't. Generally, you find out what people have to say by listening to them."

"We can't have this conversation here. You've gotta come find me some other time." The urgency in his voice only served to infuriate her further. What right did he have to be dictating this when he'd tried to stop the conversation altogether?

"Oh, believe me, I've tried," Y/N huffed. "I'm done accommodating. If you wanted to talk about this some other time, I would've been happy to, but we're well past that."

He held her burning gaze warily for another moment, but she didn't let up. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. Say your part. I'm listenin'."

"You've been completely freezing me out. You haven't been answering my questions in classes; you haven't been letting me contribute to discussions; you, most recently, haven't let me talk to you for more than five seconds, hence why I'm here." She launched into an irate monologue without any further encouragement, and to his credit, Thomas at least had the decency to look guilty. "You've been turning me away at your office hours; for fuck's sake, Thomas, you haven't even answered any of my emails!"

"I know, I know," he said, and though she could see the exhaustion written across his face, she didn't let him continue. "But you've gotta understand—"

"I'm not done," she cut him off, and it was then that he raised an affronted brow. "Anyway, I get why you're keeping your distance. Really, I do. And honestly? I can't really blame you for it."

"Well, great, so—"

"But with that said," —she gave Thomas an expectant look as she continued to speak over him, challenging him to try and interrupt— "You've been doing more than keeping your distance. You've been outright ignoring me, and that's where I'm drawing a line in the sand. Refusing to engage with me doesn't help either of us."

She let out a heavy breath when she finally reached the end of her rant, and though he was certainly taken aback, Thomas looked unimpressed.

"May I speak now?" he asked mockingly, and she scowled. "Or are you just gonna keep cuttin' me off?"

"Depends how much bullshit comes out of your mouth."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure." He put his pen back into the cup on the edge of the desk before drawing himself up to the fullest height he could reach in a rolling chair. With how he was looking at her, with how cross his tone was, Y/N may have backed down in another context, but quite frankly, she was beyond having anything to lose. "I understand that you're hurt, Y/N, and for that, 'm honestly sorry, but—"

"I'm not hurt, I'm ticked!"

"Y/N." That time, his hard voice, his barely-contained anger, did make her shrink away, just a bit. "You've gotta realize that what happened is in the past. It was a mistake. I didn't know you were a student here — you even told me you went to school in Chicago."

"I did, for two years."

"Doesn't matter. Moral of the story is that you've gotta leave that in the past. I'm your professor now, and that's a boundary that can't be crossed. We both need to stop dwellin' on it." His saying 'we' rather than 'you' certainly didn't go unnoticed, but Y/N deemed it not worth addressing.

"Great. It's behind us. Can you stop ignoring me now?"

"Come on, Y/N—"

"Seriously? You're gonna argue with that?" She threw her hands up in a huff, beyond exasperated and crossing the line to indignance. "You wanna remind me that you're my professor? Then stop acting like I don't exist. It's that simple, Thomas."

"It's Professor Jefferson. And I'm not tryin' to ignore you," he defended. "But don't you see the position this puts me in? My job's at stake here. This can never happen again!"

"And who said I wanted it to?" she bit back immediately, and for just a moment, Thomas was rendered silent.

"If that's not what you're lookin' for, then what are you here for?" His voice was quiet, his gaze searching, and Y/N sighed.

"Seriously? I haven't made myself clear enough?" She raised an eyebrow, but his blank look told her all she needed to know. The tension in her shoulders dropped; her combative stance went neutral when she reached into her bag, pulling it from the chair in front of his desk. "You're the one who keeps emphasizing that you're my professor — and that's what I need you to be right now."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly lost as she withdrew Machiavelli's The Prince from her bag, beaten up and slathered in colored tabs around the edges. She added in a small voice, "I've been struggling with the reading. I did it all, but there are just a couple passages that... I need help with."

Thomas — no, Professor Jefferson (god, was she ever going to struggle with getting that down) — looked stunned, plain and simple. Y/N had expected all of his assumptions for why she'd shown up there. Two weeks earlier, they may have also been accurate ones, but ultimately, she was still just a student. He'd really had to have had a big head to think he'd take priority over that for any extended period of time.

His eyes were wide. He continued to look toward her, but his gaze was blank, slowly drifting to his desk, until finally, he sighed. "Well, shit. I, uh... I'm really sorry, Y/N. Really." If the growing guilt behind his shock hadn't been clear enough in his demeanor, it was woven tightly into his voice. His stare flickered back up to her, and despite her lingering irritation, the apology in it softened her. "I got so caught up in my own problems that I didn't even consider. I didn't mean to assume that you... y'know."

"Came here to try and get dicked down?" Y/N supplied, voice dry as she watched him expectantly. He cracked a sheepish smile.

"Somethin' like that."

"As though it'd be worth the effort," she snorted. "There are, like, thirty frats on campus, and I have a paper due Monday — in case you'd forgotten. If I wanted to get laid, I'd do it much more efficiently."

"Mm, but would it be as good?" At the clear ego in Thomas's playful stare, Y/N's eyebrows shot toward her hairline.

"Now who's crossing boundaries?"

Despite the skepticism in her voice, Thomas laughed. "'M just kiddin'. Promise."

"Hilarious." Her small, persistent smile undermined her sarcasm, and his gaze was soft.

"Alright, alright, come take a seat. Show me which pages you're strugglin' with."

"Yeah, so it's less full pages and passages than it is key phrases I just can't seem to connect to the rest of the work." Y/N lowered herself into the chair that wasn't already holding her bag as she flipped open her book to her third pink tab, turning it to show him. "Like, here. Chapter 19."

"Mhm."

"I understand what the whole page is getting at, but look at this..."

They sank easily into the text, despite being focused more on one another's voices than on the writing itself. Ten PM had long since come and gone, but as the night stretched on, the pair only continued to pass Y/N's book back and forth, bouncing from passage to passage, idea to idea as though no time had passed at all. Neither of them bothered to check any sort of a clock until Y/N let out a loud, drawn-out yawn. Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"You gettin' tired?" Y/N gave a halfhearted shrug as he finally checked his watch, and his eyes widened. "Shit, it's past eleven. We should get you outta here."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right." Her voice was weary as she lifted herself out of her seat, tucked her book back into her bag. "I've got everything I need for my paper, anyway."

"Glad to hear it." Thomas reached for his coat as she made her way to the door, but she paused when he asked, "You're not thinkin' of walkin' home, are you?"

She glanced back over her shoulder. "What if I am?"

Thomas furrowed his brow. "Tell me that's a joke. That's gotta be a joke." Y/N shrugged, and Thomas groaned lightly. "In that outfit, you freezin' and gettin' abducted are equally likely, you know that?"

"Aw, thanks for letting me know! Now I feel so much safer," she said, plastering on a mocking smile.

"Lemme call you an Uber," he offered, and Y/N quirked a brow.

"Are you that much of a one-trick pony?"

"If makin' sure women get home safe is my only trick, I think it's a pretty good one to have," he said matter-of-factly, and Y/N had to laugh.

"I can appreciate that. An Uber would be great." Y/N pulled her bag up her shoulder as she returned to his door. "I'll see you Monday?"

"Mhm. Your driver's named Amy, and she's drivin' a blue Camry, by the way," Thomas informed her, and Y/N smiled. "G'night, Y/N."

"Night, professor."

             -           

From then on, Y/N began frequenting Thomas's office hours, only hesitantly at first. While her motives were genuine, all of them being centered around getting into grad school, she didn't want to become overbearing, especially with the one night, the sixteen stolen hours that still hung over their heads. She stopped by twice the following week, neither time staying long as other students began to trickle in, peeking nervously around the corner toward his office, knocking so quietly at first that neither Thomas not Y/N realized someone was there. She didn't need him any more than her classmates did, so she yielded her time gracefully.

Moreover, she knew that only very little of the time he offered to students wasn't already occupied, and while the reason for that was certainly clear to her, she wasn't sure whether it'd gone over his head. It wasn't until the fourth time she went to meet with him that she found he was every bit as aware as everyone else.

"Hey, Thom—" Y/N cut herself off with a wince. "Professor Jefferson, you around?" she called down the hall to his office, nose still buried in the email from the anthropology department that she'd pulled up on her phone (apparently they were having a bake sale on the east green; Y/N didn't bother to read further and learn why once she saw they'd have caramel brownies). She only glanced up when she didn't receive an answer, instead hearing chatter drift down the hall, and her footsteps slowed as she neared his doorway. Her eyebrows shot up.

Y/N recognized the woman seated — well, hardly still seated, at that point — with her back to her as Lucy Hart, who sat front and center during every single one of their lectures, who was now all but draping herself across Thomas's desk, leaned onto her forearms and with a pen between her teeth.

Though she seemed to find whatever Y/N had just missed to be hilarious, Thomas's amusement was forced, uneasy as he eased his hand away from where hers had fallen to cover it, holding the book open by one of its ends.

"Alright, Miss Hart, we'll see." Whatever the question was, Thomas wasn't about to give her a straight answer, but Lucy seemed to take that as a challenge. Her cleavage finally spilled back into the neckline of her dress when she sat back in her seat, but she traced one finger up Thomas's forearm.

"I guess we will," she replied. She hadn't seemed to have caught on to how wildly uncomfortable she was making him — Y/N could only assume Lucy had decided she'd left him 'flustered.' She reached for his copy of Hobbes's Leviathan, her perfectly manicured fingers brushing over his as she did so. "Now, where were we?"

Ahem.

From the angle they were seated at, neither Thomas nor Lucy had noticed Y/N standing in the doorway, an eyebrow raised — when she cleared her throat, though, they both jumped. Their reactions to her presence couldn't have been more disparate. The relief written deep in Thomas's tiny smile was obvious, but Lucy was looking her over with a scowl.

"Hey," Y/N finally said, taking a step forward. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"'Course not." It was Professor Jefferson who answered, tone formal and body language neutral, but how quickly he'd answered, overtly cutting off Lucy, told Y/N she wasn't misreading the situation. "What can I do for you, Y/N?"

"Yeah, Y/N," Lucy furthered, eyeing her dubiously. "Why are you here?"

Y/N's gaze flickered between the pair of them, the tension in Thomas's shoulders subtle but clear as he inched his arm further from Lucy's. "Last I checked, Professor Jefferson, we had a meeting scheduled for right about now."

Her smile was genuine despite how Thomas knit his dark brow; she hadn't yet moved past finding the ordeal wildly entertaining. "Do we?"

"I thought so," she added with a shrug, and when her pointed gaze fell to Lucy, who still looked irate sitting in the small tufted chair across from him, Thomas sighed, and Y/N felt confident it'd been a sigh of relief. He seemed to have realized the escape rope she'd thrown into his lionness's den. "Unless I got the time wrong? It could've been tomorrow evening, I—"

"No, no you're in the right," he cut her off a little too adamantly, and though she'd already begun to dig through her phone for the nonexistent calendar event, she looked up with her eyebrows raised. "'S my bad. I took the timing down wrong."

Y/N had to bite down her self-satisfied smile. "Are you sure? Because really, we can reschedule; I'm also available—"

"No. Now's just fine," he assured her, and the indignant look Lucy shot him had the beginnings of a smile creeping past Y/N's innocent mask. "Made a promise, and it'd be only right to keep it, wouldn't it?"

"It is your responsibility to model integrity, professor."

"Then I guess I've gotta make sure I don't give anybody the wrong idea."

Y/N wasn't sure whether the words, 'the wrong idea' were pointed at her or at Lucy, or whether they were even pointed at all, with her simply reading too far into a nonexistent subtext to take them at face value. She didn't dwell much longer.

"Well, thanks for stoppin' by, Miss Hart—" Vindication flashed in Y/N's eyes when she noticed his electing not to use Lucy's first name. "—I hope all this discussion's deepened your understandin' of Hobbes's view on human nature."

"Oh, I've learned quite a bit about human nature," Lucy said as she stood, and Thomas's discomfort hadn't faded. Y/N was struggling to comprehend what about her words possibly justified her tone being so suggestive. "I hope I can come back another night for you to teach me a little more of it, Thom— oh! I mean, Professor Jefferson."

She glanced bashfully at Y/N with her final few words, her sheepish front fooling no one. Y/N wasn't sure to what end, but this was a clear ploy for her jealousy — she'd been around the block once or twice. Y/N genuinely struggled to contain her amusement as Lucy shot him a wink before turning to leave, exaggerating the movements of her hips. The door fell shut behind her.

It wasn't until Lucy's footsteps were out of earshot that Thomas let out a heavy sigh, sinking down in his chair, and Y/N let out the laugh she'd spent the past ten minutes swallowing.

"So, Lucy Hart, huh? That's who you've been spending all your alleged 'office hours' with?" she started, and Thomas's glare was weak.

"C'mon, Y/N."

"Is that why your door's locked half the times I show up here? Today wasn't very subtle, you know."

"Y/N." His voice was hard when he gave her a pointed look, but with how tired he looked, she didn't push it further, just smiled.

"Relax; I'm just kidding." She shrugged off her jacket. "I know that if you were to sleep with a student, it wouldn't be Lucy. Don't worry."

He raised his eyebrows at her audacity, her smug grin, but he couldn't prevent the amusement that showed through to his expression. "Really? You're gonna go there?"

"Go where?" When she knit her brow, plastered on a confused frown, Thomas had to swallow his laugh. "Now, I'm just not sure what you're implying, professor. Do you plan on sleeping with Lucy?

"Hilarious, Y/N." His rolling his eyes left her undeterred. "In all seriousness, though, I think she really believes she is bein' subtle."

"Unfortunately, I'm well aware," Y/N sighed. "I've seen her at a few too many parties to have any illusions about what a painfully tactless flirt she is."

"You're tellin' me."

"Has it been like this all semester?" she asked. Sure, Y/N had seen how shameless Lucy was during lectures, leaving no stone unturned to draw attention to herself, but this seemed a new level of egregious. Yet, Thomas nodded.

"Once a week, every week. Least, when it isn't more than that."

"Sometimes it's more?" Y/N let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh, and Thomas nodded his solemn confirmation. "Jesus. So this is why you look pissed every time she participates in class. I figured you just hated the sound of her voice as much as I do."

"Believe me; I've been startin' to."

"That's so harsh!"

"Aw, c'mon, and you wouldn't?"

Y/N shrugged, pursed her lips, but her eyes glinted with hubris. "Well," she said, "It'd depend on how hot the student was. I mean, in my opinion, if Lucy was me, it just might be a different story."

Thomas couldn't bring himself to look annoyed. "Yeah, yeah. Alright," he said, shaking his head at her words. "You think you're fuckable. I get it."

"Glad we agree." Y/N's lips quirked up into a smug smile, but Thomas raised his eyebrows.

"Hang on, now. That's not quite what I—"

"But if she's really bothering you," Y/N continued, altogether disregarding his protests, and Thomas sighed. "You know you could just, like, talk to Lucy about it, right? You're the one with the power, here."

She couldn't put her finger on exactly why he winced at the latter sentence.

"Guess so, I just... I dunno. 'S really no big deal; I'm just gettin' fed up with all that." He gave a halfhearted shrug that made her raise an eyebrow. "But don't worry 'bout that. Why're you here, if not for the meetin' we've supposedly got scheduled for tonight?"

His tone was light, playful with the question, but Y/N was still stuck on what he'd started with. "Hold on; you can't just deflect that easily."

"Deflect from what?" He furrowed his brow, but Y/N just huffed, walking toward the near side of his desk.

"From whatever you're getting 'fed up with all of,'" she said, and when she eyed him skeptically, his fatigued sigh told her she wasn't imagining things. "Can I sit?"

"Yeah, sure, join me." Thomas beckoning her toward his empty chairs was almost absentminded. "But really, it's nothin'."

"No offense, but I don't know if I believe you." As she sank down into one of his guest's seats, a conflicted look flickered across his gaze, building further on the concern in her words. "What's up? C'mon; talk to me."

He hesitated. "'M serious, Y/N; it's not—"

"Thomas."

He raised an eyebrow, but it took her a moment to notice her own error. "Excuse me?"

"Professor Jefferson, I mean. Of course." Her smile was sheepish, but it just made him chuckle.

"Alright, alright. 'S nothin' serious, anyway, but 'm just gettin' sick of not bein' taken seriously."

Y/N's words were hesitant as she raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? People take you seriously."

"Mm, but do they?" He sighed as he sat back in his chair. "I'm the youngest professor on campus; half my office hours are taken up by undergrads hittin' on me. It's hard to feel like I'm gettin' a lot of respect when you don't even treat me like a professor."

"Hey, come on, I respect you," she defended, and he shook his head.

"I don't mean you, specifically, Y/N. Just... your whole class. I'm already hardly old enough to be teachin' at a university, but it also kinda sucks to see how many people pretend to care about learnin' just to get my attention," he said, and his voice was soft. His quiet sigh made Y/N frown, especially as his absent gaze wandered through his own office.

"I'm sorry," she said, and he glanced back over to her. "Keep in mind, though, you made the first move on me. Not the other way around."

Despite her having been entirely serious, her words made Thomas laugh — a full-bodied laugh, too, one that couldn't help but make her smile in return. "Thanks for lettin' me know," he said, and though she rolled her eyes at his sarcastic tone, she was glad to see him lightening up. "Sorry to say it, sweetheart, but not everything's about you."

Neither noticed his casual term of endearment. "What a shame," Y/N sighed.

"Mm, I'm sure. I guess I just..." When he trailed off, Y/N raised a brow, and the concerned look in her eyes was what prompted him to continue. "I know I'm smart, 'n all, but it never feels great to feel discounted. Especially bein' new to the faculty."

"I hear that," Y/N said, her tone light but gaze solemn. "For what it's worth, I do come to your office for help because I know you can and want to provide it, not because I have some ulterior motive."

"Glad to hear it." Though his tone almost suggested he may have been being facetious, Y/N could tell that he wasn't making fun. "But on that note, thanks for givin' me an out with the Lucy fiasco. What'd you need, comin' here?"

Y/N's smile was small, all but apologetic as she unzipped her bag after pulling it into her lap. "Right. So, I know this isn't your job, and all..."

When she trailed off, Thomas eyed her suspiciously, especially as her lips only seemed to stretch further into a grin. "What's this about?"

"Is there any chance you'd be willing to read over my paper for my constitutional law seminar?" At the hopeful look she wore as she withdrew her printed essay from her bag, he had to laugh.

"Really? You're not even here for somethin' about my class?"

"Yes or no, professor?" She raised a brow, waving the packet back and forth expectantly.

"And why'd you decide to come see if I'd look through it? What makes you think I'm gonna?"

"You read over my French paper last week!" she pointed out, and Thomas sighed.

"Yeah, 'cause I speak French."

"You speak English, too. And you worked in government." Y/N shrugged, putting the paper down on his desk regardless. "So, please? I'd ask my roommate, but she's studying business, and you must know how that goes."

"You trashin' on business majors?" Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"If I was, would I be wrong?"

Her deadpan stare made him laugh. "Can't argue with that. Give it here."

He held his hand out for the essay, and she gave it to him with a wide grin. "You're the best."

"What else is new?" he asked, and despite how dry his tone was, his eyes were teasing. "You wanna go through it with me now, or should I get it back to you some other time?"

"Any chance we can go over it now?" she asked. "It might sort of be due in two days."

His eyebrows shot up. "Are you tellin' me I'm some kinda last resort?"

"Of course not!" she defended, but she hesitated before continuing, "Just an eleventh-hour supplementary resource who's going to help me get a diploma."

"I'm sure," he said, and the skeptical look he gave made the corners of her lips twitch. "You owe me, y'know that?"

"Really. I should start paying you, one of these days."

"To be fair, you do pay my salary."

"Mm, maybe some students do, but I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you."

Thomas furrowed his brow, confusion permeating every aspect of his expression as he looked back at her. "What, you 'n Elizabeth Warren linked up in a personal campaign for free college?"

"No, but the president of financial aid and I did." She shrugged. "Honestly, they saved my ass. Sorry I'm not raising your salary, or anything, but I hardly pay to go here."

When he slowly nodded, she could see the small, subtle smile tugging at his lips. "I'll try not to hold it against you. 'M glad you ended up here anyway."

Y/N's grin was exaggerated, a fact she did nothing to conceal. "Aww, professor, I knew you secretly liked having me here."

He rolled his eyes, but his smile mirrored hers. "I meant that I'm glad that money isn't holdin' you back from gettin' a good education."

"I'm sure you did."

Thomas cocked a brow. "D'you want me to read your paper or not?"

At his words, Y/N had to bite back her cocky grin, and she nodded. "Yes, please."

"Then get off your high horse 'n listen." Despite his words, amusement sat heavy in the way he was skeptically eyeing Y/N.

"Of course, professor."

-                         

"It's been shockingly chill."

Y/N was sprawled out on the carpet of her living room, a styrofoam cup of ramen in one hand and chopsticks in the other, while Dolley sat curled up at the end of the couch flipping through Netflix on their TV.

"No lingering sexual tension?" Dolley challenged, glancing down to where Y/N was slurping her noodles (she'd asserted that ramen on the couch was too high of a stain risk). Y/N shook her head, and Dolley raised an eyebrow. "Really? No secret desire to end up bent over his desk?"

"Okay, listen, what I want and what I act on are two very different things." She pointed her chopsticks at Dolley accusatorily. "I can have it both ways."

"So you're still looking for another night of fun?" Dolley raised a playful eyebrow, and Y/N only grinned.

"Are you offering?"

"I could be convinced, dear." The wink Dolley sent her made Y/N laugh, broth sloshing down the side of her cup that she didn't hesitate to lick off of the back of her hand.

"Mhm, because my sex appeal is through the roof, I'm sure."

"Alright, I'll confess. I am only joking, after all," Dolley sighed, a wistful look in her eyes as she scrolled through the Netflix TV dramas category. "But only because things with James are going better than I expected."

Y/N's eyes widened; she spun in her spot on the floor. "Dolley, oh my God, spill! You've been holding out on me."

"There's not much for me to spill, really." She shrugged, and the smile she wore was coy. "He and I have just been getting on well. Nothing more to it."

"No. Uh-uh." Y/N shook her head, setting her near-empty instant ramen onto their coffee table. "You're gonna give me more than that. You have to. Clearly something's been happening."

Dolley bit her lip. "So, would we rather watch Stranger Things or The Good Place?"

"Don't you dare change the subject!"

"Alright, alright," she finally sighed, and her gaze was soft when she finally met Y/N's eyes. "So, we've been seeing each other more often. Getting coffee, grabbing lunch between classes. He's even had me read over different drafts of his thesis."

"Aww, he's using you as an editor? How romantic!"

"Make fun all you want, but he trusts me with it. Isn't that worth something?"

"Of course it is, Doll." Y/N smiled, unable to tease Dolley further when she had such a sappy look in her eyes. "But if you've been dating, why am I just finding out?"

She didn't meet Y/N's gaze, fiddling with the cuffs of her sleeves. "We haven't been going on dates, really."

"Oh yeah? This is how you talk about hanging out with everyone else you aren't dating?" The challenge in Y/N's tone made her scoff, roll her eyes, but they both knew she had a point.

"It's nothing official."

"But do you want it to be?" Y/N quirked a brow. Dolley's smile was faint.

"Maybe a little," she said quietly, and Y/N's grin broadened.

"That's adorable. I'm thrilled for you," she said, but there was a heavy pause before she hesitantly added, "but be careful with him."

Dolley furrowed her brow, finally turning toward where Y/N sat. "What d'you mean?"

"You have a habit of quickly getting attached to men who turn out to be terrible for you. Remember Henry?"

"Knox or Clay?"

"Either. You're making my point." Y/N gave her a knowing look, but Dolley didn't seem overly offended. "You're just too quick to give people the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone deserves it."

"But that's what you love about me, dear."

"Don't you turn my undying love and affection for you against me!" Y/N protested, and though she rolled her eyes, Dolley appeared to be entertained. "I adore you for what a sweetheart you are, but it's also what men take advantage of."

"Yes, I know; you've given me this talk before," Dolley sighed. "But really, I think this time might be different. I really like James."

Y/N pursed her lips. "It'd better be. Otherwise he's gonna have hell to pay."

"I'm not too worried."

"I am."

"Would you feel better if I gave you a chance to screen him?" Y/N raised an interested eyebrow at Dolley's words. "Because I invited him to come over Wednesday night for dinner. If you'd like, it'll be a prime time for you to interrogate him."

She sighed. "I dunno, Doll. I don't want to third wheel."

"You live here. You won't be third-wheeling," Dolley pointed out. "And you wouldn't have to stay! You could just pop in, say hello, and either leave or just go wait him out in your room."

A small smile grew across Y/N's lips at her words. "And you'll seriously let me interrogate him?"

"Have at it."

"I'm in."

-                                  

Dolley 🥺💋 sent: James is coming over in five minutes, so get home whenever

Dolley 🥺💋 sent: unless of course you've decided to grant him your tacit approval

Y/N sent: be home soon 😪

Dolley 🥺💋 sent: see u 😘

"Y/N?"

It was Wednesday evening, around 6 PM. Y/N's political philosophy seminar had just been let out, but she'd really spent most of her focus over the past three hours on figuring out exactly how to determine whether or not James was a piece of shit. Apparently he was bringing takeout to her and Dolley's apartment for all three of them, which she saw to be a point in his favor.

However, as her classmates filed out of the lecture hall, Y/N stood idly, taking hesitant steps forward out of her row as she tried to multitask, neither eager to stop texting Dolley or to trip all the way down the steps to the front of the room. It was Professor Jefferson who knocked her out of the reverie that'd been induced by the promise of James delivering what she imagined to be the best food she'd had in weeks.

She looked up with a brow raised, tucking her phone back into her pocket. "Hey, professor."

"You have a second to talk?"

"Oh, um..." Despite her deep-seated motivation to get home before dinner was cold, she supposed it could wait just a little longer. She nodded. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

She pulled her bag onto her shoulder as she stepped out onto the hall's staircase, maybe three rows up from where Thomas stood at the bottom floor.

He leaned nonchalantly against the first row of desks. "So, the TA I've had since first semester's leavin' in a week or two. He's goin' abroad to South Korea for the fourth quarter, 'n he's decided to resign from bein' my assistant at the end of this week, so that he can make sure he's got everything in order for the next three months."

She frowned. "That's too bad. I'm sorry to hear it." She folded her arms, paused before adding, "So what, you want me to break the news to the class that we aren't getting those papers on the Enlightenment back anytime soon?"

At her quirked brow, her playful smile, Thomas had to give a light laugh. "Mm, I'm hopin' it won't come to that."

"You should probably get to grading instead of keeping me from dinner, then."

"Oh, 'm sorry; how dare I, really?" He responded, a hand over his heart, and she had to bite back her entertained smile at the irony in his indignance.

"Honestly. I can't imagine why I put up with it."

"I'll make it up to you," he said dryly. "But seriously, 'm not just tellin' you that for the sake of small talk. What I'm sayin' is that I have an openin' to find a new TA."

"I see," she said, raising an eyebrow. "And where, pray tell, do I come into all this?"

It wasn't that his train of thought was hard to follow, nor was his implication, but until he said it outright, Y/N had no desire to make any sort of an assumption.

He smiled. "You have any interest in becomin' a TA?"

"Seriously?" She furrowed her brow. "I mean, I appreciate it, but why?"

"First off, your work's consistently at the top of this class," he said matter-of-factly. They both knew she was well aware of this, after the hours in his office she'd spent grilling him on the historical context of every one of Voltaire's assertions and the implications of every early revolution. "You're a good writer, 'n you're more than capable of reviewin' other students' work. You've also already taken most of the other classes I teach, so you're familiar with all the material."

She nodded slowly, folding her arms, and though her expression would've conveyed that she was deep in thought, she couldn't suppress her growing smile. "I see. So it doesn't have anything to do with how attractive or charming I am?"

When she raised a playful eyebrow, he laughed outright. "Whenever your charm can start gradin' thirty ten-page papers a day, I'll start takin' it into account."

"Don't underestimate it."

"Alright, alright, I'll keep it in mind." He shook his head, and his lingering smile made the corners of her lips twitch. "'M serious, though. If you've already got enough on your plate, and you don't wanna take on another commitment, that's cool 'n all, and I can always ask someone else. But would you want the position?"

She pursed her lips, eyed him hesitantly. "Will I need to apply for it?"

"Nah," he said. "By the university's policy, you've gotta send me your resume and transcript, but if you wanna be my TA, you've got it. So?"

When she bit her lip, his eyes flickered down to her mouth so briefly that she almost didn't notice it. "I don't know, Thom—" He raised a brow. "Professor. Is there any chance I can think on it and get back to you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, 'course. I can give you 'til the end of the week, if that's enough time?"

"That'd be great." As she held his gaze, she couldn't help but ponder exactly what she was being asked. She was sure his motives were pure; she couldn't imagine for the life of her Thomas giving her a job with the intent of breaking down professional boundaries so he could sleep with her, but that was where her mind was going regardless. "I'll stop by and let you know on Friday."

"I'm countin' on it." He wore a wide grin that shouldn't have and usually wouldn't have put her on edge. Her mind had fallen down the rabbit hole of fixating on just how much more time she'd be spending with him as his TA — he saw enough of her during his office hours, but she was of two minds with that. On one hand, what would a few more hours change? However, on the other, all she was hearing was that he didn't mind spending a few more hours with her. "I'll see you then?"

When he raised an eyebrow, she finally realized she'd spaced out for a solid minute, and she fixed on a smile, though it was tense. "See you then."

She left without another word.

James proved to be a nice guy when Dolley had him over; he brought burgers and milkshakes for all three of them. However, Y/N knew she'd only find herself on Dolley's bad side however many hours later. As much as he was talking, Y/N didn't retain a single word he shared about himself, despite having promised she'd use the evening to formulate her opinion on him. So much for protecting Dolley.

Instead, Professor Thomas Jefferson occupied every one of her thoughts.

[rinharu-purple]

Lucien: MLQC’s Mastermind

Yes, I said that Lucien is the creepiest LI in my opinion, and I wouldn’t choose him in a million, billion years. BUT, Lucien is by far the one person, who is pulling the strings and is the driving force of the MLQC universe. He is the only person who acquires all the information from all sides and is connected to every important actor in the story. Therefore, Lucien has become the second LI I’ve started to follow more attentively. Mind that the ranking ist 1) Gavin 2) Gavin 3) Gavin 4) Lucien ;)

In my manifesto, why Gavin is MC’s choice, I’ve already mentioned briefly, that Lucien has the strongest EVOL among all the characters but is also the strongest character (it’s not the MC or the Black Queen, let’s not fool ourselves)

The Machiavellian

Before we talk about Lucien’s part in the MLQC universe, we should first look at him as person and observe the elements that make up his personality.

In the game, all our guys have their personal priorities. Gavin and Kiro are on the front line, fighting for peace and prosperity, Victor, well...I don’t think that he cares for anything else besides MC, maybe his position. But with Lucien, his priority is not a person or a concept, but rather a philosophy. Lucien wants to see the next step in human evolution and is determined to take any measures necessary to see it to it’s end. Other guys can not stand oblivious to other things that come up their way in achieving their goals but Lucien only has his eyes on the prize and to him nothing else matters, no one else matters and no ethics matter. 

Machiavellianism denotes cunningness and claims, that those dark triads use whatever means necessary to gain power. If we consider the choices Lucien has made throughout the story so far, we can clearly find his manipulative ways in getting other actors to the positions of his conjecture. He lies to MC and hides his personality as Ares, penetrates Black Swan to use their facilities, but also uses LFG’s resources for his R&D projects all the while concealing his true nature. 

Another trait of a Machiavellian, is that he is charismatic and friendly, all the while displaying no emotions. I think, there can be two possible reasons as to why Lucien has limited display of emotions. The first possible explanation has something to do with his parents passing and the trauma he suffered afterwards. Among all LIs Lucien is the one with the most loveless childhood and teenage years, the most important years in developing one’s psychological traits and during those years Lucien received alongside with Kiro the most blows. That resulted in him losing the connection to his emotions as a defense mechanism. 

Another possibility might be him losing the connection to his emotions as a result of a chemical reaction in his brain due to excessive testing Black Swan objected him to. Lucien’s EVOL was created in a lab and he was the first man-made Evolver. Lucien is called various times a psychopath, because he shows signs of psychopathy such as lack of remorse, empathy or compassion. It is said that that kind of behavior might occur due to a misconnection between the ventromedial prefrontal cortex (vmPFC) and the amygdala. Considering the fact that Lucien’s parents were killed right in front of him and that he was both physically and psychologically abused for the coming years, this might have led him to experience an imbalance in his chemical balance. One might argue, that his altruistic actions in the orphanage are an evidence for his compassion, I think it is yet another disguise for his unethical ways of reaching his goals.

The Orchestrator

In all honesty no one is actively seeking alliances and keeps tabs on other’s actions for their agenda like Lucien does. Maybe Commander Leto but he mostly fails in drawing others to his side, because he is not able to speak in their pendants’ language or resonate with their perspective. Lucien, on the other hand, is gifted with an extraordinary ability to observe his surroundings and companions, making it very easy for him to talk to them in their terms and desires. Lucien doesn’t show much empathy, UNLESS, it contributes to his cause, in that case he can perfectly put himself in other’s shoes and plays them in such a meticulous way, that they join him willingly.

That is how Lucien directs MC successfully in entering the Black Cabin or in understanding the evolution core.

Lucien is not exactly a piece on a chess board, but is a player, who knows all the pieces very well, knows the rules of the game, has observed many games and took notes of how they all has turned out and therefore knows what kind of a game he is going to play. Just watch closely. how he co-operates with Kiro and the Black Queen. He knows that Kiro is using Black Swan for his goals, much like he does, so he uses his hacking abilities to access to information. The Black Queen is the initiator of everything in S1, so he makes sure to stay close to her. He knows that Victor is searching for MC and trying to understand the Evol gene, there he has an investor. 

The Cool, Calm and Collected Type

in the MLQC universe, everyone loses their composure at one point or another, because...who wouldn’t? Time and space warps constantly and people are also changing their stances depending on the time-space constellation they find themselves in. 

MC loses her cool almost on a daily basis, Gavin was in a constant haywire in the Daybreak era, Victor literally threw people into black holes in CH11 and freaked out as he saw the Black Queen for the first time and Kiro walks around in a bipolar state. So, everybody is pretty unstable due to understandable conditions but we never see Lucien lose his cool and this is one of his best qualities. 

Here is the thing about Lucien. This guy is always at least one step ahead of everyone and he achieves this by two simple rules: 

1) Acquire all possible information

2) Observe everyone and everything at all times

Why am I saying this? It lies in the basis of anxiety and angst. We humans tend to feel uncomfortable in the face of an uncertain situation, meaning in the wake of the unknown. MC is constantly anxious, because she doesn’t know what is going on, why is everyone after her, why is she blessed with the unconditional affection of 5 equally attractive men? (ehm, but not quite equally ehm *Gavin* hihi, sorry, Gavin-stan gotta Gavin-stan ^_^). Anyway you get the picture. Gavin went haywire in CH22 because he was pushed in a tight spot and therefore had angst. Same goes for Victor in CH11 his mind went blank as he saw history repeating itself and then in CH18 when he saw with his own eyes what could the girl of his dreams might become.

We don’t see Lucien in such deadlock situation though do we, and I think it is mainly because he is always prepared for every possibility and he can calculate them meticulously, because he possesses the largest chunk of information and also keeps tabs on everyone and everything that’s going on. So, when a crisis occurs he doesn’t freak out, sure he gets surprised at times, because the outcome of a a certain situation is the possibility, which he calculated to be no higher than 1% and yet there it is. But since he’s already took this into consideration, he has a plan. Combine this with his knowledge about the persons and organizations involved in the matter, then you have a calm Lucien, who is in control of the situation. Thus, he is calm. You can actually also bind this behavior of Lucien with that of a predator, whose movement are languid, is non-reactive and doesn’t mind turning his back to his opponents, since he doesn’t perceive them as a threat.

If this wasn’t enough, Lucien manages to joggle all of this without exposing himself. Even in the last stage of the play he never gets caught. Unless he willingly exposes himself, as in the case of revealing Ares to MC. MLQC actors can usually see through each other and use their weaknesses to meet their own ends. MC is obviously Gavin, Kiro and Victor’s weakness and their opponents can see this pretty easily. IT’s not quite the same with Lucien though and he doesn’t let himself be blackmailed or threatened by any weakness. He always keeps his cards close to his chest. 

Considering the fact that Lucin is the least outstanding LI, this is pretty impressive. So I guess this makes him the embodiment of the phrase “still waters run deep”.

The Renaissance Man

Lucien is a man of science and aesthetics. Explaining phenomenons with associations and loading them with philosophical substance. He doesn’t necessarily perceive things bluntly as they are, but interprets them in a meaningful way. The way he associates MC with a butterfly, how he wants to entrap her in ajar, so she wouldn’t get away, alas taking the only resource of color in his life away. Not only that, but he can also break down the matters at hand to its fragments and can therefore work his way up from there. He is blessed with a strong deduction ability, so he can connect the dots easily, come to a conclusion and act accordingly. No doubt that the other guys have very good deduction abilities, but because Lucien always has a bit of an information more than them, he can find the solutions just a little bit faster in my opinion. 

Reading is a necessity for his guy much like eating and drinking, Which is why we see him reframing events in the context of a certain story he’d read at some point in his life. With time, I will add here some of his quotes about certain situations to explain what I mean. Or even better, if you have some, that are evident in you opinion, you could add them in the comments. I really enjoy reading/hearing Lucien’s philosophical, scientific explanations to certain moments in MC’s life. They are always to the point and helpful.

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

So this is my very first analysis on Lucien and I have to admit, I still have  so many material to check on him, so if anything is missing please bear with me here :)

I was watching Joe’s Twitch while I wrote this, so there are many spelling, grammar mistakes, which will be corrected gradually.

This post will get better and better, scout promise!

[wildwoodmage]

CROSSROADS

@boundforfreedomsonsal SonSal Week Year 3 Day 3

Second day in a row I'm cheating by repurposing fic I already had mostly written, but actually it's sonsal mod's fault for making prompts that suited my pre-existing drafts! This one is a continuation of Starlight Symphony, an AU featuring Sally as the Goddess of Order and Sonic as... well, why don't you read it for yourself? ;3 High fantasy with a touch of philosophy. Does it count as major character death if the scene takes place in the afterlife? Anyway...

Despite what humans and lesser gods might believe, Sally, Queen of the Gods, was not omniscient. Her knowledge was vast, unmatched by any who had not personally woven shapeless matter into planets and stars. She heard the song of every newborn soul, and remembered all who had come before. Human history was a tome she returned to time and time again, spending centuries pondering the stories of the strange creatures she and her husband had created. The future, however, remained behind a veil. Scourge had a unique talent for bucking her predictions, bending fate to his ever-shifting whims. Every once in a while, a human was born with a similar talent. These humans drew power from their defiance, their ability to stare fate in the eye and not blink. Sally soon realized that humans with this ability often became heroes, healers, leaders, or destroyers. They changed fate and the fate of all who followed in their wake. When Sally peered into a human’s future and realized that it was shrouded in chaos, she knew that they were one to pay close attention to.

When the triplets were born, fate ceased to be predictable. Infinite possibilities clouded Sally’s vision, and as much as the mystery vexed her, she found that she could not tear her eyes away. A lesser mind, studying them, would find them unremarkable; three children without wealth or protection, likely to die in obscurity. But they survived, and as they reached adulthood, Sally began to see the signs of three uniquely powerful souls, shining with defiance and infinite potential. Sonic, the eldest, was courageous and kind. He was a shield between his family and the myriad of dangers that threatened them. Sonia was a firebrand, with ambition that would never be satisfied with a life of poverty and fear. Manic was clever, and although his wit was often used for petty tricks, he could not fully conceal a profound love of justice. All three were dishonest, as humans often were; they pretended not to care about a world that did not care for them, but Sally could see that they ached for any innocent who suffered, and they yearned for a kinder future.

For two decades, a blink in the lifespan of a god, Sally watched them from afar. And when one reached the Isle of Souls, she approached him. Sonic lay on his back, cushioned by ivory sand, while rhythmic waves lapped at his feet. He stared up at a blue-gray sky, eyes tracing subtle shifts in the clouds. In all the years Sally had watched him, she had never seen him lie so still. On Earth, he had been eternally restless, his body overflowing with more energy than a single human could possibly contain. Here, however, he enjoyed a moment of perfect peace, untroubled by want or memory or anything that was not the rolling waves. He deserved it. Sally felt a twinge of pity that it may not last.

The Queen didn’t speak as she approached, not wishing to disturb him until he was ready. Her preferred form when speaking to humans was a lady, small and unassuming at a glance, with sensibly cropped hair and clothes of sturdy, deep blue linen. Unlike her husband, she cared little for striking awe and fear into the hearts of men. She found it was far more satisfying to reveal her true nature piece by piece, beguiling her followers not with power, but mystery. Her blessing was reserved for those who sought the truth beneath the surface. When she sat beside Sonic, legs folded demurely beneath her, only the vivid color of her eyes and clothes indicated that she was anything more than another ghost.

With uncharacteristic slowness, Sonic turned blank white eyes on her. He smiled, friendly but not familiar. “Howdy, stranger,” he said. “I didn’t know there was anyone here but me.”

“It’s best to give new arrivals space to adjust,” Sally said. “I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

“Nah, it’s alright. I was just enjoyin’ the atmosphere.” Sonic looked back up at the sky. His face was smooth and slack, untouched by worry. Although he had worn a carefree mask on Earth, there had always been fury and tension seeping through the cracks. Now, he couldn’t even remember what had troubled him so. Sally was almost jealous. Almost.

“I love to come here,” she said. “There’s not a place in the universe that’s more peaceful.”

“I believe it,” Sonic said. “But I haven’t seen much beyond earth and the night sky. How much of the universe have you seen?”

“All of it and more,” Sally said. Sonic snorted as if she had cracked a joke, although her tone was entirely sincere.

“All of it, huh? And here I thought I was well traveled. What’s your name, stranger?”

Sally introduced herself, and was momentarily taken aback when Sonic extended a hand for her to shake. His smile was effortless, and Sally had seen shades of it in the years before. To Sonic, everyone was a friend until they proved otherwise, even someone like her. She gave his hand a polite shake.

“I’m Sonic,” he said.

“I know.”

“Of course you do.” Sonic’s tone was mirthful, unafraid. Perhaps it was the soothing balm of his surroundings that kept him from worrying, but Sally suspected that she would not intimidate him even if they were still on Earth. Even if any sensible human would be afraid of her. “You know everything, right? Can you tell me where we are?”

“This is the Isle of Souls, a waypoint between Earth and infinity. Ghosts rest here until they are ready to move on.”

Sonic was quiet for a moment, his smile softening into something more subdued. “I’m dead.”

It wasn’t a question, so Sally didn’t answer. “What do you remember?”

“Not much,” Sonic said. “Faces. Family. I’m missing a lot of details, and the actual dying part is a big ol’ blank.”

“That’s normal. Those who die tragically rarely remember right away. The memories will return as you make peace with your fate.”

“And my family?”

“Grieving, but safe. I cannot predict their futures, but I suspect that they will not join you here anytime soon.”

“Good.” A pang of sadness crossed Sonic’s expression, the first since his arrival on the Island. “Sort of. I guess it’s normal to miss them. I want them to be safe, but I think they’d like it here.”

“Most souls wait here until their loved ones arrive. You are welcome to do so. However…” Sally chose her next words carefully. It was exhilarating, speaking with someone whose actions she could not predict, but the uncertainty was unfamiliar and vexing. “I would like to make you an offer.”

At that, Sonic propped himself up, turning away from the blue-gray waves to look Sally in the eye. “Do you always sound this spooky, or do you crank it up a notch for the recently-dead?”

“Words have consequences, especially when they are misunderstood. Especially words from a goddess to a human. I want to be sure you understand the gravity of your decision.”

Sonic breathed out a sigh, casting a longing glance back at the endless ocean. But he sat up, facing Sally, as tension crept back into his posture. “Alright, Your Majesty. I’m listening.”

“You have two paths forward,” Sally said. “You may remain on the Isle of Souls like multitudes before you, and those that will come after. Ghosts are welcome to stay as long as they like. When you are ready for eternal rest, you will sail across the ocean. The horizon is beyond the reach of even the gods, and on the other side you will be truly at peace. No matter what path you choose now, that horizon is your final destination.

“You died sooner than I expected. You are not the first human to do so, and you will not be the last. But I believe that you still have a story left to write. If you accept my offer, I will grant you a portion of my power, and you will be my agent in the realm of the gods. The reaper who brought you to the Isle is one such agent, though you would have different responsibilities. You would be not unlike an angel from human stories, a messenger and a warrior, defying those who would disrupt the balance between the gods.”

Sally couldn’t predict the future, but she knew with complete certainty what Sonic’s first question would be. “Would I be able to go back to Earth?”

“No,” she said. “If I were to bend the laws of life and death, even for my own champion, my own power—and every universal law I uphold—would erode. Any time you cross into the mortal plane, your power and ability to communicate with the living will be severely restricted. You are dead, and you will remain dead. Should you accept, your service will be temporary, and when it ends you will return to the Isle of Souls.”

A wiser man would ask for time to think. Sonic merely looked at the starless sky, then the horizon. The energy that flowed through him in life and death alike had him fidgeting, sweeping his fingers through the soft sand. Sally couldn’t predict him, couldn’t see into his racing thoughts, but she had crafted his beating heart and recognized her husband’s gift, the restless defiant that flowed through his veins.

She was not surprised by his answer. She couldn’t wait to be surprised by what was to come.

[phoebehalliwell]

how would you rank the seasons from least to most favourite?

alright okay right off the bat worst season season 7. for starters i think this season has no staying power i mean like since i’ve been running this blog 4 so long now my knowledge of charmed is encyclopedic and insanely vast more than like it ever need be but for the longest time. i could not remember season 7. like wtf even happened there?? evidently leo became human??? cole returned? the avatars??? like all of it was just. it’s not even necessarily forgettable it’s just i straight up could not remember it for the longest time. and i’ve said it before the concept of utopia was way to advanced for a show like charmed to tackle i am not watching charmed for moral philosophy i am watching bc i love these girls ♥ hee hee hoo hoo magic adventure ✨ tho if i am to offer a single comment on utopia: it’s awfully rich for a show to go on about destiny and fate and then take a stand against utopia in the name of free will. but w/e. i don’t like leo in the avatars i don’t like his dynamic with piper in this season i don’t like whatever phoebe’s doing this season there’s like leslie?? maybe there’s someone else? boring & flavorless they should have been setting up her endgame instead of puttering around. and kyle. zoo wee mama. could have been a great antihero. morally gray. duplicitous. self serving. but no. they gave him all those traits and called him hero/love interest. s7 left a lot to be desired out of the characters and their relationships also gave us phat L’s such as the charmed ones are werewolves don’t worry about it and feminism peaked with naked women. shout out to zankou: demon, dilf, dub & the noir episode.

you know what? fuck it i’ll say it second worse season 5 genuinely fuck season five. this is probably a Very Specific beef 2 me But. i hate what they did to the charmed universe. this was the season that marked the transition of charmed from supernatural drama to campy soap which like. i love camp! i do! but fr. fuck this season and what it did to the worldbuilding. the early season have Such A Vibe to them man with warlocks and witches and just a couple niche monsters from assorted lore that the show took and made their own. season five opens with mermaids goes directly into fairytales then gives us superheros whatever the fuck was going on in that mummy episode the sandman leprechauns and nymphs. and i hate it for that. it takes away from this urban fantasy things that go bump in the night what lurks in the shadows of the back alleys of san francisco in favor of the ugliest cinderella dress ever put to television and an onslaught of horrible irish accents for a full episode. other issues with season five: cole’s still here? why? they don’t know and neither will you! we’re not redeeming him! phoebe’s not getting back together with him! yes he died we just refuse to let him go! the cherry on top of course being a cole-centric 100th episode. shout out to. hmm. lemme think about what i actually liked about this season. i like jason dean as a love interest i don’t remember what he did in s5 but i know he was there. the season finale i’ve talked about how stupid & shitty it was but idc i still love that episode and then shout out to bacarra the only original villain this season that was a proper serve. the crone gets second place.

next on this come on we all saw it coming season 8. it’s a bad season! and i get bts there was a whole lot happening budget cuts missing actor etc. but it goes beyond that. it was a bad season. billie and christie were bad. and i’ve said this before but billie in herself is not an inherently bad character. she was just the literal worst for the show. she was a dollar store buffy blonde confident cocky skilled and ready 2 fight evil But. we are not following her like we followed buffy we are following her mentors. it’s like if we had a show called giles that aired for seven seasons And Then buffy showed up. billie was insanely irritating to watch from our perspective and in general wasn’t like. well written. attempts to humanize her / give her more depth often fell flat. and then christy. oh nelly. oh my god. barely a character. not well acted but hey it would have been a miracle if she was. negatives include dumain who was a mess omg bringing back the triad bringing back the source billie & christy obvi and also involving homeland security. which is season 7′s fault which is why it’s the worst. dubs on the other hand include both coop and henry i really liked them the shoehorned love interests weren’t great but i like their characters i though the way the got rid of leo to save on the budget was really creative and gave us a great piper episode and of course the sugary sweet finale i love it i do what can i say.

yet another controversial choice aptly coming in fourth is season 4. i respect what season 4 set out to do. i think it was a good idea. long form narratives, keeping a darker tone, focusing on character-driven drama and growth. too bad it fucking failed miserably at all of this. cole as the source and phoebe as the queen of hell was just so so botched. they had a very unique opportunity following the death of prue to explore these characters and what it means to them to be charmed, to be witches. they saved the world but the cost is insanely high. they’ve lost an older sister. they’ve gained a new sister. how do you even begin to cope with all this? episodes such as hell hath no fury and brain drain fuck so hard because they work with exactly that. had the whole season been like those episode season four would sit at number one with flying colors absolutely no competition. but alas. we can’t have nice things. the show got so bogged down with phoebe & cole, in a way that was just so, so messy. for starters, whether you loved cole or hated him before, we can all agree source!cole sucked. he was such a strong 180 from what we had seen that the show had to make the source some type of possession to justify half the shit they were trying to pull. and then to pit phoebe and paige against one another over a man was just. disgusting. and the ending of course felt rushed because it was! they wrapped up that entire issue in a nice little bow much faster than they reasonably should have been able to. it could have been a great season. it was definitely not. shout out to the seer an iconic mastermind on barbas levels, as previously stated brain drain and hell hath no fury Specific shout out to piper’s scene at prue’s grave shout out to paige as a character i like what they did with her and um. yeah that’s it.

okay we’re exiting the shit tier in favorite of the good tier welcome to the upper half. kicking us off is season 6. season 6 did what season 4 could not in that it gave us a long form plot that still left plenty of room for like. normal demon of the week episodes. i love phoebe early in this season with her faboo haircut her brand new empathy power and her relationship with jason dean. obvious strikes against for whatever the fuck that baby crazy stint was and also the mata hari episode. yikes. i love paige’s hair color in this season nothing paige as a character necessarily stands out to me however i like how they seem to have hit the blend of work-magic with paige where she wants a life and career outside of magic however she still loves the craft and embraces is with an open heart and mind. season six also gives us chris who was a very fun male lead imo we really didn’t have many like him he’s bitchy. he whines and bitches a lot he’s got an agenda he’s a bit secretive but at the end of the day he just wants a family i like him. i like the character growth we see out of piper i like seeing her try to move on from leo i love seeing her get back together with leo i like her dynamic with chris and her fears about motherhood. i also liked richard but that one takes a lot of justification. L’s are witchstock hyde school reunion used karma off the top of my head also the paige/richard/addiction plotline was so tone deaf. also the girls were mean to darryl : ( he deserved so much better. dubs were chris as a character, tbh the episode little monsters, phoebe with empathy specifically saying i love you too to jason i could write a dissertation on that line alone also the courtship of wyatt’s father and i thought the reveals of evil wyatt and chris being piper and leo’s son were both fun and interesting plot twists.

coming in third is actually season 2 a season i really do love it’s just. it lacks structure. imo there is a lot to love about season 2 morality bites and pardon my past are both delightful time travel episodes we get jack sheridan and bane jessup two of my personal favorite prue love interests we get p3 h2o and a great prue plotline regarding the death of patty we get the super cute cupid episode it’s a great. collection of episodes. it’s not a great season. there’s just imo not a strong enough thread connecting the stories together it’s mainly held together by having the same characters in it over and over again i really liked dan personally but like. i knew we were wasting time there. he was just an obstacle. a super cute loving and caring obstacle who’s great with kids but lbr piper and leo were always endgame. wasting our time on dan was stupid. i do love the sister dynamics in season two “gotta hand it to those pesky little demons they sure have brought us closer together” but again. this season could have benefitted from a rex and hannah type or even like a cole or zankou. this season is less of a season and more of just like a handful of episodes, and while there are some fat dubs, there are also some definite swings & misses. shout out to the time travel episodes the prue centric episodes phoebe’s character growth and maturity throughout this season (e.g. her going back to college) and i also think the fashion got a lot more fun this season.

second place i’m saying season one season one was a really strong start and gave us these really compelling characters with interesting relationships between one another But. a lot of it just kinda falls flat. and credit where credit is due it was a brand new show getting its feet under it but the fourth sister feats of clay which prue is it anyway they just simply aren’t dubs imo. also i don’t like that 70′s episode bc again i am an asshole concerned about The Lore i can’t believe one bitch ass warlock caused the Charmed Ones to grow up without powers. it just really bugs me. all in all the plots as a whole like aren’t great imo they’re nothing to write home about (save for from fear to eternity) it’s really the characters that make this season so goddamn good.

first place congratulations to the one the only season three. this is just because it kinda hits all my requirements in that it has some banger one offs (e.g. all halliwell’s eve, the good, the bad, and the cursed) it has an overarching plot at the exact same time as the source becomes more prominent and obvi cole is also there with murderous intent i like the character growth we see especially from prue i like piper and leo finally get married overall i really like the aesthetic of this season that blends a darker urban fantasy tone with still some charmed fashion and whimsy. strikes against tbh phoebe and cole’s relationship i am insanely picky with my enemies to lovers and the do not come remotely close to cutting the mustard in fact they are almost immediately disqualified however from afar i can see and respect The Drama. shout out to recasting victor prue with pistols death as a character and shannen directing episodes