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jarofstyles · 4 years ago

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Fan Club

A/N: This story.... it’s very near and dear to our hearts. We have a total of 7 parts written, 80k words total. It is our take on the PR relationship trope, mixed with Harry gets with a fan trope. It’s full of angst, full of sweet moments and smutty moments alike. We LOVE these two, they are quite literally our children. It is a bit more personal for the reader in some aspects, we know we have all imagined what it would be like to be with Harry at some point, so this goes out to you. We made Y/N of Russian decent in this one, just to make things fun ( and because we wanted some representation for our Russian babes out there 🤧). All in all, we are extremely proud to present Fan Club to you, we hope you enjoy ✨✨ - n + d

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masterlist

pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warnings: angst, glimmers of fluff

word count: 11.2k

It was hard for Y/N to explain how she ended up in this situation. Fake Dating international popster, Harry Styles. To be honest, it was all a bit of a crazy story even for Y/N. She couldn’t believe it either. Y/N was a simple girl with simple taste. Her older sister, Katya, owned a bakery called ‘for goodness bakes’ that’s been open for about 5 years, Y/N has been working there alongside her. She spent most of her time at the bakery, having just graduated with a degree in business marketing. She liked doing things most 22 year old girls liked doing: fun makeup, nights in with wine and romcoms, and of course being a fan of Harry Styles.

Since she was 12 years old, she had been a fan of One direction and well... Harry was always her favorite. She initially fell for his preppy appearance, but ultimately fell for his charm and quirkiness once she fell deep into the fandom. And she did fall deep. She had a stan account on every social media platform, she bought merch and multiple copies of albums, and even wrote fanfiction on wattpad. To say she was a big fan was an understatement.

About a month ago, Harry’s team had reached out to her via the email of her bakery. They had seen the post that she made, a picture of herself with a kiwi tart with the caption, ‘it’s none of your business.... unless?’ and had asked if they could have a meeting with her at their headquarters. Obviously, Y/N agreed to this meeting, thinking that they might want her to cater an event or something. But no, they wanted her to be his ‘girlfriend’.

They had explained to her that they had been searching for the perfect candidate who was not only a fan, but was also just a regular everyday girl. They said they liked her aesthetic and felt like she would suit Harry well. Her background in business marketing meant that she would be good at knowing what to post and her being a fan meant her love for him would be believable. The fans and media would eat this story up! It took Y/N a moment to comprehend what they were asking her to do, but they started bringing up numbers and Y/N couldn’t say no. This would get her and her sister out of debt and could pay for so much new equipment at the bakery. This sum of money could change her life. Plus, she’d get to fake date her idol? It seemed like an offer she couldn’t pass up. So she signed the contract.

That’s what landed her here, waiting patiently at the door of Harry’s secret London home where his manager Jeff said to meet the two of them to discuss the plan from here on out. Her heart was beating extremely quickly, wanting to keep things cool. She didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, she wanted him to like her and trust her.

Harry hadn't started off jaded. Granted, most didn’t. They had the sparkle and excitement. But Harry had lost it. Years and years in the industry, from when he was a teenager to present, it had ruined it for him. That excitement he had previously had been watered down immensely. A lot, actually. But he was mostly tired of the things that came with the job— not music itself.

Harry loved music. Making it, writing it, performing it. He loved his fans. But he hated what came with if. The people who constantly wanted things from him. Not a moment of privacy when he was out and about— though that had gotten better as his fans grew up, honestly. The media blowing up and twisting every bit of his words to fit their own wants. The fact that anyone he was seen with was a potential love interest in the eyes of the media. How they scared off and ruined good things for him because of it. He was tired of that. Every person who came to him made him wary. What was the motive? What was the reasoning behind them coming to talk to him? Fan or someone wanting a photo just for their Instagram? He wasn’t sure.

Relationships had been hard and for now, he’d basically sworn off of them. After the bad ending with Camille, he had decided to take a long break. Until the label said he should probably have a PR move, one unlike his previous ones. One involving dating someone posing as a fan. A regular person, without his level of fame. Someone relatable to fans. Or that’s what Jeff has said to him. At this point, Harry was used to being tugged around with his dating life so he agreed. Did he want to? No. But he was under contracts and he wasn’t going to fight something so stupid. It would be a few dates, hanging out. Right? He didn’t even have to talk much to her.

He was far too aware they probably offered her a good amount of money. Most likely why she was even there. So when he let Jeff open the door, he was annoyed with himself.

She was pretty. Fuck off. That’s how he felt. A lackluster wave was given to her, a nod as well as she sat down across from him at his oak dining table. Cute. Pretty hair, soft cheeks. Petal pink lips. If this wasn’t a stunt he would probably think she was a lot cuter, though.

A wave.

Years worth of build up for this moment and all Y/N had gotten was a wave? She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Y/N offered him a smile, a shy but genuine one before looking over at Jeff. Obviously she had known who Jeff was, how could she forget the iconic ‘help me Jeffrey!’ Quote. The hundreds of photos of them together. It was surreal, but her shock surprisingly helped her stay calm.

“Alright! Harry, Y/N. Y/N, Harry.” Jeff smiled at her, knowing Harry wasn’t happy about being here. “So have you been properly briefed about what’s required? It’s a lot more than we would usually ask of a project like this, a while longer.” He said. Harry looked at him in question. What?

“Yes, they gave me a brief outline at the meeting I went to but nothing too specific. They said you’d go over that here.” Y/N answered, pushing a few pieces of hair behind her ear. “Oh?” She asked, knowing she had signed a contract for a year. It was a long time but she assumed everyone was in it for that long. Y/N really didn’t know how PR relationships worked, she just assumed things about them through what she had seen on the internet and what all the stans were saying. She never really believed that people did things like this, but clearly, they did.

Y/N looked over at Harry once again, taking any spare moment she could to really take him in. He was just sitting there looking so fucking perfect. An angel in the flesh. This was the man who had sparked her sexual awakening, who had taught her to be a badass bitch and to be kind to everyone she met. She knew she wasn’t his type and that this wouldn’t really end up like a fan fic, but she couldn’t wait to at least become his friend.

“Wait— how long?” His voice was deep and rather cold, but he wasn’t aware it was longer than usual. Granted— his own fault. Jeff said to look over the contract and he had just signed. It had been so many years of reading contracts he was tired of it.

“A year. There’s a clause to extend it if need be, or shorten after 8 months.” Jeff shot him a look. “But that’s only one of the differences. I know you’re tired H, but get it together.” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Y/N here is the perfect girl next door. We found her to be perfect to do this with you. But it’ll be different because it’ll be a confirmed relationship. All other stunts, they’d been left to interpretation and never spoken about them. Blacklisted questions in interviews, etc. but we’re going with the narrative of you both being quite comfortable talking about it. Y/N won’t have to admit much considering she has her own life and job outside of this, but you’ll be talking about it in interviews. About this lovely girl who made you rethink how you went about relationships.” It was odd. A whole storyline for their relationships.

“We know how to work this. You’ll both first be photographed together downtown. Harry holding your hand, Y/N. And then we will plant things in each of your social media posts to hint at it. Seemingly innocent but, a tattoo of his in the background. Wearing a shirt he has recently worn. His journal. All of those things.” Jeff explained the beginning of it. “From there, you’ll be more open. Post photos or do those Instagram stories your bakery is good at, Y/N. Have his voice in the background. Be photographed out and about. Simple things, grocery shopping. Y/N will come to your small gig, Harry. Hang around with your mum, and wear one of your rings on a necklace.” He would buy one and wear it for a bit before giving it to her so there was proof it was his. “When we get into it... we’re thinking cute Instagram posts from both of you. Open. Affectionate. A bit of an acting job. You’ll both be good at it though. I am confident you both can handle it.” He wasn’t sure how nonchalant Harry was seeming, though. Y/N seemed uneasy with how out of it Harry seemed to be and he didn’t blame her.

“That’s quite a lot more than I bargained for.” Harry spoke again, sighing. “I suppose if it’s necessary for the numbers. I don’t know why I can't just do a meet and greet or something but. Okay.” He muttered.

Harry’s voice didn’t sound like the Harry Y/N knew. It was rather rough and not in the way she had grown to like it. It made her look away from him quickly, not wanting to piss him off. Maybe he was just having a bad day? She couldn’t really blame him. She was sure having all these fake relationships probably sucked. The tasks seemed fairly easy. Y/N knew that the team would be there to remind them about things and well, if she got to hang around Harry all the time, it really couldn’t be that bad. She really wanted to get to know Harry and hoped that he wanted to do the same. It would be more fun that way.

“You know why. Y/N is perfect. The fans will love her. She’s gorgeous, but has the girl next door stuff about her. Plus, she’s very nice. You’ve been lovely, Y/N.” Jeff turned to her, attempting to comfort her.

Y/N really needed to stop giving Harry the benefit of the doubt. He just kept proving her wrong. The tension between Harry and Jeff showed that Harry really wasn’t on board and it made Y/N feel strange. She thought that Harry had agreed to this and knew all the conditions, she didn’t think this was something that was sprung on him that he didn’t really get to think about. She smiled shyly again at Jeff’s compliment, looking back at Harry to try and read him.

“I’m sure it’s weird having some stranger come around to be your girlfriend and all, but it’s just as new for me if that makes you feel better.” Y/N really wanted him to like her. Like really wanted him to like her.

Harry wasn’t sure what she was playing at. What she wanted. If it was more money or fame or whatever. He wasn’t sure exactly why she was doing this either besides for money. Whoever wanted to do this for fun would be absolutely crazy.

“Thanks.” Harry nodded stiffly. Half of him didn’t like treating her coldly, but the bigger part was terrified of getting hurt. If she was using him for more money. Going to ask him to introduce her to someone else. No one ever liked him for him. They liked the things that came. The attention and money, luxury that was thrown at him. It was never for him or his love or jokes or interests.

Sure, people pretended to care but he knew far better than that. People didn’t care. They used him as a step stool to get what they wanted. Means to an end. Just like his last relationship that had really hurt him.

Okay so he didn’t like her. Cool. Y/N couldn’t say it didn’t hurt because it definitely did, but she couldn’t sit here and cry about it. Y/N had come to this meeting and signed a year long contract and there was no getting out of it. So she sucked it up, looking back at Jeff who had explained what he wanted them to do.

“So what we’ll do is have you both take photos of things today. Harry, you take a photo of your new guitar and have the flowers in the background. Y/N, you’ll take photos of the flowers and have just the bottom of the guitar on the counter.” It must be shocking for someone who wasn’t in the industry to see how this was so calculated.

“Would you want us to post them at different times then?” Y/N questioned, assuming hers would be uploaded first. If she posted it before Harry people would be more likely to connect the dots that the two of them were together. Well, that’s what Y/N would think as a fan. Being a fan and having a fan’s perspective would really help her in these situations because well, she knew what they wanted to hear and what they would think based on what she posted. Y/N felt like she could fully manipulate the fans to think whatever. It was quite simple really.

Y/N’s main account proved that she was a normal girl who also happened to be a Harry stan. She followed Harry on all the socials, but he probably would wait to follow her until they were public. That would make more sense. They needed to build up the story.

See. Harry wasn’t aware that she was a fan fan. There were plenty of people who went to his shows and shit for Instagram photos and videos. He didn’t even know her socials though so he didn’t check. It was maybe a little shitty of him to have a preconceived notion about her when she hadn’t barely talked to him, but he knew so many people who wanted to be in her position. Wanted to ‘date’ a celebrity until they found out that they have to travel with them and have to deal with fans and other people wanting your significant other.

“I’m thinking not too far apart. Take the photos today but... hm. You post first. And then Harry will later. It’ll have people looking later on when they see the flowers. Fans are so insightful and research thoroughly.” Jeff was sure she knew that though. She’s had a fan account. “I have to go take this call— Harry, why don’t you tell Y/N about the album?” He excused himself then, going out and into the other room.

No, no, Jeff, don’t leave. Y/N sighed to herself, nervous as all hell to be in a room with Harry alone when he had made it clear that he didn’t really want anything to do with her. But maybe they could talk about his album like Jeff suggested? Y/N loved his music, she often played it at her bakery. She was excited for the new album to drop and had genuine questions about it.

Harry felt a bit on the spot but he just shrugged. “S’almost done. Don’t have a title yet. Choosing the singles soon I think.”

“That’s exciting.” Y/N smiled, “would you say it’s within the same vein as self titled or did you go in a different direction?” She asked not wanting to sound like an interviewer but this was a genuine question. God this was so uncomfortable for her, she wanted to run away and cry. She never thought that her idol would make her feel so uncomfortable in his presence. She was in his home and he clearly didn’t want her there, clearly didn’t want to have a fake girlfriend, and he was letting her know that pretty obviously whether he knew it or not.

The thing is, Harry knew he was making her uncomfortable but he didn’t really know how to stop it either. It wasn’t like he wanted to be fake. He didn’t want this. He wanted to be left alone with his music and his fans. Not a pretend fan posing as his girlfriend. That wasn’t ideal. No, he would much rather have real conversations with fans that weren’t paid to sit in his house and pretend to be interested in his music. He knew that Jeff wanted him to play nice though, so he answered the question vaguely. As always.

“Different. A lot of different influences I guess. A lot of different things I wanted to make. It’s fun to do it.” God, Harry was being bland. But his fears drowned out the guilt he felt. Yeah, maybe it was harsh. He knew that. But he also knew that he would regret it if he didn’t. Who knew what this chick would spill to the press later on? What she would want from him! What else she would ask Jeff for.

“Well that’s good. I’m glad to hear it was fun.” Y/N nodded at his answer, feeling discouraged because he really didn’t seem like he was going to warm up to her no matter what she did. Y/N didn’t want to ask anything too specific in fear that he’d think she was a crappy fan, and well, she didn’t know how else to get him to warm up to her. These tricks usually worked on grumpy customers at the bakery.

She wanted the earth to swallow her up. She was so embarrassed. She was just sat there, praying that she could leave soon so she could lock herself in her room and cry. The worst part was, no one, literally no one, could know about this relationship being fake. There could be no loose ends.

“Again, I’m sorry about all this. Can’t imagine being in your position...” Y/N showed genuine empathy for him, attempting to get him on her good side one more time. Y/N wouldn’t give up on being kind, after all, he was the one that taught her that. It was just strange that he was acting this way towards someone he was going to be working closely with. Maybe this was just how he treated people professionally. He wasn’t mean, but he was cold. Y/N was still a fan at heart though and despite how he treated her she still would give her life for him. She loved him, cared for him, and would genuinely support him. It made her wonder if his whole nice guy persona was even real.

The hell? Why was she apologizing? Harry thought. She was the one getting paid for it. If he wasn’t in this position she wouldn’t be getting paid well. He wasn’t sure why this Y/N girl was trying to be so nice to him. No way in hell she could possibly imagine his annoyance. Perhaps she was a nice person or something, usually. But he was pretty positive she wasn’t rich and definitely did it for the money. It made him wary of being close to anyone when they were in this situation. Any time he had made friends with past stunts, they’d faked being truly wanting to hang out with him. Once it ended, they weren’t interested in hanging out when people couldn’t see them. It had hurt when he realized it was a pattern.

Jeff came back in with a smile, but not oblivious to her sad face. Harry would get chewed out after, for sure. “Alright! I need you both to exchange numbers so you can communicate about meeting up. It’ll be pretty frequently.”

Y/N looked at Jeff with a small smile, nodding her head before pulling her phone out and handing it to Harry. She had changed her lock screens to something a bit more ordinary. After all, she didn’t want Harry thinking she was creepy or anything. Hanging out with Harry is something that she should be excited about, but suddenly the idea of it kind of scared her. Being alone and struggling to make conversation because she was just that intimidated by him. It was making her rethink all the years that she had spent fangirling over him. He didn’t know she was a fan, maybe that’s why he treated her the way he did? If he knew would he be fake and all over it? She didn’t want to know.

“My days off from the bakery are Mondays and Wednesdays. But I know you probably have a set schedule so just let me know and I’ll work around it.” Y/N offered, genuinely wanting to show both Harry and Jeff that she was more than willing to cooperate. She wasn’t sure how she would get herself out of this one.

Harry sighed as he put his number in. God, he hoped she didn’t sell it. He didn’t want a new number. Someone had sold his number to fans before and it had sucked. As much as he adored his fans? He didn’t want them calling him every second. He was hesitant in handing her his phone. It was something he didn’t trust many people with but she tenderly took it and typed her own number in. Didn’t even try to snoop which was good— but then again, he was looking at the phone in her hand.

Y/N was gentle with Harry’s phone in her hand, typing in all of her information into the contact so he didn’t have to ask. Something told her he would be annoyed having to asking her for her address if need be. So she just put everything in there, her birthday, her email, her phone number and the bakery number, as well as her address.

“Monday’s and Wednesday’s work with him. He’s recording Thursday Friday and Sunday to give the voice a rest. Has some writing sessions he will take you to.” Jeff was annoyed as hell at Harry’s lack of kindness. He’d have to give him his own brand of talking to, but wasn’t sure if it would do much good. He was quite a stubborn person. An Aquarius at heart.

“That’s good. Yeah, I don’t know if you’re a morning person or if you like getting your sleep so um.. yeah just text me.” Y/N spoke kindly, still trying her hardest to be as accommodating as possible. To Y/N it wasn’t about the money, sure the money helped, but it was about giving Harry fans someone they could genuinely look up to. Y/N was a normal girl. She had normal sizes, normal tasks, normal likes as a human. She was a kind person. The fans would quickly find her information, quickly find out that she is a fan and would quickly see that Harry was finally dating someone that represented them. They had wanted someone like that for years, but too bad it was all fake.

Harry understood the context of it. He was going to date someone ‘normal’. Not in the world of the famous. Which in some cases, Harry wouldn’t mind. But there would be tons of things Y/N wouldn’t understand. What to be quiet about. Who to talk to and who not to. Privacy. Things she wouldn’t just... get. He had been in this life for 10 years now. It was his normal. And Y/N would have to learn it all and keep her mouth shut.

“I am. I get up at 6.” He usually did. He could sleep in but he wasn’t the type of thing he did often. What she didn’t know was he had an awful time sleeping and needed to take stuff to help him. His mind never stopped, was always going. There was a lot Y/N didn’t know about him. He would do his best to make sure she didn’t find out.

It was hard for Y/N, continuing to be kind, but to keep herself from crying. She felt so out of place and so unwelcome, god she hoped that he would warm up to him. Maybe this was a terrible idea? Too bad she was in it for the long haul now.

“Jeff, I have a question.” Y/N spoke up shyly, “obviously people don’t know anything about this yet, so there isn’t a microscope over my life just yet. I want to make sure I take all the precautions I can to keep my privacy to an extent, but also don’t violate Harry’s.” She genuinely was worried about that. She didn’t want to say too much or do the wrong things, she also didn’t want people finding out where she lived. Where she worked, sure, well... she probably would have to stop working at the bakery if things got too hectic. Y/N looked at Harry once again, a soft and gentle expression on her face. She wondered what it was about her that was making him act this way because this wasn’t the Harry she knew, not at all. All she wanted to do now is go home as quickly as possible and cry. She really wanted to take her posters down, really wanted to hide everything but frankly, everyone would question why she suddenly took things down. Y/N had to continue to keep her cool.

Jeff’s face softened. they’d lucked out with this one. Harry was an idiot when it came to things like this, put his blinders on— he knew well enough. But Y/N would help his career. Hell, maybe she could be his friend and help him come out of the funk he had been in with trusting people.

Harry didn’t let it show on his face, but he was impressed with what she said. It didn’t change much, but he had it on the back of his mind. No one else had to think of these things before because they’d just known, but the fact that she had asked was nice. Time would only tell if it was genuine, though.

“That’s a good question— I was actually about to ask about your social media. You’re going to need to change passwords. Verify everything twice. Take any potential tracking information away like the whole location finding on your phone so your friends can find you. Any social media accounts not reported to us originally in our first meeting would need to be shown. I suggest doing a deep clean and moving things out of it, as much as you can. Not enough to make you look like you did it on purpose. But... think of what you’d look for.” Jeff knew Y/N was a fan so she would have a similar brain.

“Okay yeah, I’ll need some help with that.” Y/N blushed, looking down at her hands. She had reported all her socials to them, yes, all of them. All her fan accounts and her main accounts. She wasn’t sure how to turn off all the tracking things or what to take down. She wasn’t problematic in any sense, so it wasn’t like she had any content she needed to delete. But it would probably be things like taking locations off of photos and turning off her location on snap map and for any of her friends that had her on there. She had actually done the latter this morning.

“Also, I really don’t intend on telling anyone about this unless you give me the go ahead. So please, if there is anything you need me to do, let me know?” Y/N really was trying to think of everything here. She wanted to make sure this was seamless because she knew the fans would be like hawks over another fan being Harry’s girlfriend, if they found out it was PR they’d be crushed. Their whole image of Harry would be ruined. They needed to make this as real as possible. Y/N had so many suggestions, so many insights on what it was like to be a fan. She definitely wanted to speak up about anything that could potentially ruin this because well, this was Harry’s career and they couldn’t be caught doing this.

“Perfect! You’re going to do well with this, Y/N.” Jeff had been the one to find her so technically, this was his finding. He hoped that she could get Harry to realize how weird he was being. Because ultimately? He was a nice guy. He loved his fans, his friends and his family. Strangers scared him. He didn’t know who to trust and that made him act strangely. His team knew it. He was always polite to people he worked around but when it came to people invading his personal life, getting close? He said, no ma’am. “I’m happy that you’re aware of how it works a little. It makes it a bit easier. Harry here has had a few almost disasters with these types of things.” Jeff smirked at him, making Harry grumble and blush a little bit. Fuck. That wasn’t something he liked talking about too much. “Anyways... Y/N, we need you to be yourself. That’s why you were chosen, yeah? Just continue on. Be less active on that other twitter account of yours for the moment.” He had a whole plan for that. “Don’t stop completely but... I’ll send you ideas of what to tweet. Keep it vague but that you’re excited.”

Harry didn’t know about the fan account. He would have, if he had read any paperwork, but right now he didn’t have a clue.

They wanted her to be herself, which shouldn’t be too much of a problem. She just had to be aware that Harry was in her life now, consistently. He was her ‘boyfriend’ now. That’s something Y/N never thought she’d say. But here she was.

“Okay, can do.” Y/N nodded, already knowing not to tweet as much on the fan account because well, she wouldn’t be doing that if she was hanging out with Harry. It would be hard for her not to tell anyone but she knew she had to do it. This was her duty as a fan to the fans, to make them feel represented and loved. “And what’s the story? Like how we met?” Y/N asked, feeling like that was important to know as well. She mostly asked for Harry��s sake because he clearly didn’t read the contract or the emails that had been sent around on the topic. This was an important first meeting, she assumed Harry wouldn’t want to hang out with her today but they probably would sometimes next week.

“Well, we wanted to leave that up to you. I had the idea of you both frequenting the same coffee shop— and before you both roll your eyes, I know it’s a fan fiction trope and I know that. But it’s believable considering Y/N doesn’t have any true connection that would be explainable to the music or entertainment industry.” Jeff explained. “If you have better ideas, Y/N, please feel free to tell me. However— we are trying to show this as you both fell for one another quite quickly. You both are very fond of one another and are around each other quite a lot.” He knew that Harry would be hard to deal with so he was definitely going to be offering Y/N some sort of bonus. “I think after the photos, we will have you both photographed leaving a dinner together next week. You’ll go with both myself and my girlfriend so it won’t be just throwing you two into the water.” Plus, he didn’t want her to be alone with Harry like that out in public without experiencing it first with him there. Jeff felt slightly protective of her, too. Like a little sister. “Also, I know you already said he’s but being clear— you’re okay with hand holding and physical touches in public with him, yeah? And for photos?”

Y/N laughed at the idea, “I mean that does work.” She said shrugging to herself. “But do we have anything to back that up? Have we ever been to the same coffee shop at the same time where someone who works there can confirm?” Y/N was really thinking about every detail here. “Jeff you’ve been to my bakery before haven’t you? Could just run with the fact that we became acquainted and you introduced us?” She felt like that was far more believable and paps wouldn’t have gotten photos of Jeff anyway so the story was contained between Harry’s team and her bakery. Her coworkers wouldn’t know who Jeff is, it was really fool proof. Also, did he say dinner next week? Wow, that was fast but she would be ready. “Where is dinner going to be? Just want to think about what I should wear.” Y/N blushed, wanting to make sure she looked nice for their first encounter together. Something very her but very consistent with something Harry would like on a girl. Y/N had been following Harry for ages, she knew what kind of outfit to wear based on what kind of restaurant it was. A casual dinner outfit for Harry was quite dressed up, so she’d probably end up doing a bold trouser, heeled boot, and plain blouse combo.

“Actually— that’s a good idea. I didn’t think about the staff thing. This was definitely done at the last minute so I’m not on my A game right this moment. Wonderful— lets do that.”

Harry didn’t know anything about her, he realized. She worked in a bakery? He did when he was younger. He wasn’t sure if she knew that or not but it did make him a tiny bit more interested in her. Why would she do this? There had to be a real reason. He was positive.

“Actually— Harry, go in there a few times this week. Make it somewhere people know you go. It’ll be believable that you found a new place and love it. And some of her coworkers will catch on, so on and so forth. I can call a tip, perhaps tomorrow? I know it’s starting early but we are on a schedule.” Jeff noted.

Harry was going to go to write tomorrow, but that obviously wasn’t about to happen. “I guess so. I can make time.” He had a pretty free day otherwise but it still annoyed him. However he was hoping there were good treats. Harry was a good actor when it came down to it. He hoped she could tell— didn’t want to thrust her about with his actions. In public was acting. All of it.

“And yes, about the touches and stuff. As long as it’s something Harry would actually do in public, yeah.” Y/N explained, knowing Harry was relatively private when he was in relationships. He didn’t do much PDA and she’d be okay with anything he was okay with. “Just um, let me know what’s okay.” It was a bit nerve—wracking, having to do all of this and make sure everything was sorted. Y/N knew a lot about Harry so she was positive that it wouldn’t be a problem, she’d only learn more. It was Harry that had to do a bit of learning about her. He would find out most things about her fairly quickly, she was an open book.

“What type of baked good do you like?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious. “I’ll have some for you come around, pack you a little box.” She blushed, expressing something to him that she had always wanted to do. She knew he was a baker back in the day, maybe they’d bond over it?

Her coworkers would be shocked that Harry would be there considering Y/N was a massive fan and they knew that. But that’s when Y/N would tell them about it all. “You want me to tell my staff what exactly?” She wondered, “that we are kinda sorta seeing each other? Or that we’re just seeing how things go?”

“Uh— I like lemon things. Ginger cookies. Scones.... anything really.” Harry said quietly. It wasn’t said as coldly as the last couple words had been. Maybe it was because of baked goods? Regardless.... he was hoping that said bakery was good. He was obviously going to pay for them.

“He also loves red velvet cupcakes.” Jeff piped up. “But I think that it’s a lovely idea, being familiar with what he likes... you’ve been so smart.” She really was. It was almost scary. Jeff approves immensely. Even Harry had to admit it was surprising to see her full of good ideas. “I think you should say you’ve been seeing one another. Not sure about where it will go but you really like him. Trust me— Harry here will be able to make them believe he’s very into you. His ability has made it so we’ve never been caught doing this thing. Not like that Camila and Shawn couple. They’re having leaks all over.” He winced. Their poor PR.

Y/N smiled and nodded at him, already having in mind what she would have ready for him when he came. She had an incredible lemon bar recipe and some other bits. Of course red velvet cupcakes. “Red Velvet are my favorite too. And carrot cake.” She commented, blushing once again. It’s true, Harry had been very good at all the PR relationships. She’d soon find out which ones were and which weren’t. She was determined to be the most coveted of them all though, the one that stuck out and actually stuck around hopefully. But she was positive that she’d fall for Harry’s act, hell, she’d fallen for him a long long time ago. “My staff is really tight knit, my sister runs most things actually. I trust they’ll keep things on the down low if I ask them to.” Y/N nodded, knowing that nothing would slip past her team unless instructed. She had a good feeling about all of this, they seemed to have most things under control. Y/N would help tie up loose ends that fans might think of and as long as they followed her lead, it would work.

“If you feel as though your sister can truly hold a secret, you can tell her. It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t have someone to lean on.” Jeff said. He trusted her enough. Harry looked at him suspiciously.

“Wait— hold on. What about an NDA?” Harry asked hurriedly. “We can't have any bit of this shit going out.” He was scared. So scared of someone finding out and thinking he was some damn fraud.

“Harry— it’s fine. I’m sure she had enough sense to judge that a sister would tell or not. It’s up to her, anyways. Just remind her of the immense legal action that could take place if someone were to talk.” Jeff shrugged, knowing that Y/N really did know. “But we’ll have a tip called in about a bakery he’s been rumored to go to— no way that they’ll know if it’s true— and they’ll probably take shots through the window. We can escalate later during the week to him picking you up from work to bring you home. Something like that before the dinner.” He thought out loud. “Thoughts? Y/N?” Harry has been quiet. He didn’t like these things so he didn’t say much. Just let them plan whatever and wing with it later on. He was kind of shut down internally.

“I’ll think about it. But I’m still apprehensive to tell anyone. I wouldn’t want this getting out regardless... I wouldn’t want fans to lose trust in Harry just because I decided I wanted to tell my sister.” Y/N explained, knowing she’d probably tell Katya if it got too intense, but for now, she wasn’t saying anything. “Seems fine. I think once a week or maybe twice a week is more than enough. Don’t want to over kill either. Essentially, if he’s in the area he can pop by.” Y/N explained, thinking that was the best way to go about it. “I know you said we are on a schedule but you don’t want it to look unnatural either.” She said and sighed as she looked over at Harry.

He really didn’t seem to like this and she understood but she hoped that he would loosen up even a little bit. She wasn’t a terrible person, all he had to do was ask. Y/N was pretty much an open book. “Is there anything else?” Y/N asked, eager to get things done and maybe chat to Harry a bit if he was willing before going home.

“I don’t think so. We’re going to try and take it as it comes so we don’t overwhelm you.” Jeff was the main talker and Harry was kind of just sitting and watching. Trying to read her. Either she was a very good hiding person, or she was good. Either way, he didn’t trust her. Lots of people had seemed sweet and generous and fun when he had first met them only to turn out to absolutely wreck his fragile heart. He knew he was fragile that way and he had given people the benefit of the doubt one too many times. He didn’t trust his own radar anymore. The more Harry looked, the prettier Y/N got— which was infuriating. It pissed him off internally because she had the type of lips every man wanted wrapped around their cock, and beautiful legs he had seen when she walked in. He never took women for granted, would never disrespect them, but his initial reaction was arousal and that made it even worse with his trust issues. Her eyes were soft and doll like but had a sharpness to them that he was far too aware of. She was smart. Incredibly so. And she was curvier than he usually dated— or was seen with, actually, because he had a few one nighters with girls that was far bigger than Y/N and he had loved it. He liked her body. It was a perfect mix, he thought. And then got annoyed about even thinking about it. Damn it.

Y/N nodded, “Alright, thank you very much. I’ll um... I’ll take the picture of those flowers and I’ll get out of your hair.” She chuckled apologetically, sensing that Harry really just wanted this to end and she would give that to him. He made her so nervous, now more so because she was scared of making him angry with her. Harry had always been someone she didn’t want to get on the bad side of. Harry was so nice to everyone that it really made her upset that for some reason he had singled her out and not liked her. It was disappointing. But I guess people were right when they say, never meet your idols. In many ways, Harry was Y/N’s ideal man. She liked how driven he was, how multi talented he was, how charming he was, how he was unapologetically himself. Plus he was scientifically proven to be one of the most attractive men on this planet next to ryan gosling. It was a shame that a lot of the things she had thought about Harry originally would slowly crumble as she got to know him better. It hurt, but she’d keep that hurt to herself. Just because the illusion was ruined for her didn’t mean it was ruined for everyone.

Harry felt bad, because she seemed to be in a hurry to leave. It was what he was supposed to want, so why did it make him so uncomfortable? He hadn’t wanted for her to be upset. Just... to keep her distance. She had these baby eyes and soft cheeks that looked sad and he wanted to give her a reassuring smile but he was trying to remind himself that there was potential danger here. Most likely she was a wannabe actress. Testing it out on him. Made sense.

“Okay.” He nodded, standing up. When he did so, he realized he was quite a lot taller than her. Usually, he had models who matched his height. But she was smaller. Cute. He hadn’t experienced that before. Knocking that thought out of his head, he took the photo of his new coke bottle green acoustic, letting the flowers show in the back before he rested it back up against the counter. Y/N took her turn with her picture, taking a bit more time than Harry. Probably a better result too, and he wished he had patience at the moment.

A ping of sadness spread over her, she thought maybe he’d pretend to try and get to know her a bit but nope. All hope was lost then and Y/N went to take a photo of the flowers in a way that would fit her personal Instagram aesthetic. She usually posted shit like this so it wouldn’t be too out there. Once she was happy with the photo she had slipped her phone back into her pocket, looking at Harry and Jeff with a small smile.

“Well, um, thanks for having me.” Y/N started off, pulling on her jacket. “And I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asked Harry with a small tinge of hope. He had said he would visit her bakery but she was still worried he wouldn’t show up. She felt so small. Being who she is, she went in for a hug anyway. Both figuratively and physically, Harry had intimidated her and she was weary about every move around him at the minute. Maybe she’d get used to it. “It was nice to meet you, Harry.” Y/N gave him a genuine smile, feeling even more shy now that she was so close to him.

This would be torture.

Harry was a bit startled, but relented and hugged back. It was a bit weak, but he gently patted her back. God damn it. Why was she acting so sweet and nice and innocent? He would almost rather her be truthful about her wants of money and fame. It would be a lot more tolerable.

“You as well.” He pulled back, face neutral. Thank god he had gotten his hard on down a decent amount. Never would he live this down. He didn’t just get hard for no reason. That girl had bamboozled him and was trying to trick him and wouldn’t let it happen. When she left, Harry continued to stare at her back before the door shut. And then he was promptly slapped upside the head by Jeff.

“Ow! What was that for?” He hissed, rubbing the spot he had been smacked. Jeff Gave him an incredulous look, shaking his head.

“You idiot. You’re going to scare away someone who will ultimately help your career and relationship with your friends.” Jeff scolded. “That girl is nothing but sweet. She’s doing this for you, and you know why. She’s a kind person and you better not make her run on us early. Do you want the press to get wind of it? She could talk, if you really treat her poorly. Looked like a damn kicked puppy when you wouldn’t talk to her.” He got his dad face on, crossing his arms.

“You’re going to have to suck it up. Regardless if you actually like her or not, you’ve got to be decent to her. She’s stuck with you for a year.” Harry was irritated with that. Stuck with him? Although... maybe he was accurate with that.

Y/N tried her best to keep her tears at bay, putting on some music that would keep her energy up until she was in the comfort of her own home. She had been as discreet as possible leaving Harry’s secret London home. To the public, he lived somewhere in Hampstead which was actually closer to where Y/N lived in Camden.

After about an hour on public transportation, Y/N had finally made it back to her cozy flat. Tears immediately began to form as she unlocked the door, sniffling as she took off her coat and threw it to the ground with an absent mind. She ran to her room, storming to the bathroom to grab a roll of toilet paper. She needed to be prepared. How could someone she looked up to so much been such a dick to her? She could understand he didn’t trust strangers, but he truly made her feel like she wasn’t even worth basic human respect. Y/N was trying to be as kind as possible to him despite him being such an asshole to her and even still, he gave her a weak hug and response. As if she was a chore. It made her feel sick to her stomach. So she cried for a while, showered, got cozy in bed and went to sleep. She had early mornings at the bakery seeing as everything was freshly baked. So she was up at 3:30 every morning to make sure she was ready for their opening at 7.

----

‘Hello. I am coming in at 9:30. H.’

Harry looked it over. It wasn’t too friendly but wasn’t too rude, right? He was overthinking. Y/N had made him think last night. He hoped he hadn’t hurt her too badly, because while he did see her sad eyes he thought he was making it up in his head to try and feel bad for her. Jeff has confirmed it and made that ugly feeling in his stomach crawl into his throat. He sat and thought about how to make it so they were at a distance, but she wasn’t too hurt. Every part of the scared side of him said to continue his actions, though. He wasn’t being mean. Right? ‘Wrong. You dick.’ The other side of him told him. Conflict was something he saw all too much of in his life. He knew too well about the issues at hand. But he had always taken it so he wasn’t sure how not to prepare for it.

Pulling up to a quaint little bakery, Harry smiled to himself. It was cute. A punny name. He liked it. Somewhere he definitely could see himself going randomly if he had seen it. Parking his car across the street, he sat for a moment and gathered himself. Now to prepare for being cute to her.

Y/N would be lying if she said she didn’t smile at the text. She had always imagined getting a text from Harry and here she was getting a text from Harry. It wasn’t anything special, but it was to her despite how sad he had made her yesterday. She had dressed herself in a baby blue sweater and overalls, putting her hair up into a messy yet contained bun. All that crying yesterday made her eyes fairly puffy so she made sure to do some fresh, no makeup makeup look. She wanted to look cute if he was coming.

“What’s gotten into you this morning?” Katya asked, seeing Y/N’s giddy mood. They were currently baking everything they’d prepped yesterday, putting out all the freshly baked breads, bagels, cinnamon rolls, and donuts.

“Dunno, just... happy I guess.” Y/N smiled, saying it in a way that would raise questions. Perfect, get her thinking. Her excitement was genuine. He was going to come and see her and be sweet to her, it was like a whole new interaction between the two. Best part was, she could just play out everything she imagined in her head. It was a perfect set up. Jeff was so smart with getting a fan to do this.

“Hm. We’ll see. That looks like a boy smile.” Her sister really had no clue. Everyone knew she was a big fan, and would be absolutely floored when he came in.

Harry sighed against his steering wheel, he put on his big boy pants and decided to get a move on. Today, he wore a loose white button up with a few of the buttons undone, black trousers and red boots with ‘sucker’ on the back of them. He had been sent the whole collection and did quite like it. But his pea coat was unbuttoned, car keys stuffed into the coat pocket after locking the door. The little bells chimed as he walked in, and he took a look around. It was very cute. Instagram worthy, some would say. It smelled really good too, which was a plus.

The earlier morning rush had passed, kids now at school and parents now at work. The rest of the day really consisted of prepping more goods and serving whoever came in. Y/N really liked working at the bakery, it was her safe space to be creative and feel good. She liked to spread the message of kindness she had learned from Harry into her store everyday.

There were a few people in the bakery when he came in, sitting drinking coffee and doing work. They hadn’t really noticed who it was, and even if they knew they didn’t seem to care too much. Y/N popped her head from out the back and smiled widely when she saw him, walking over to the register so she was closer to him.

“Good Morning, how can I help you?” She asked in a teasing tone, that giddy grin still on her face. Y/N was going to let him take the lead, letting him choose how this interaction would go but of course Y/N was going to turn up the flirt factor so that anyone surrounding them could tell there was something going on between the two of them. “You look nice.” She hummed.

“Hello, love.” Harry felt a weird gushy feeling in his stomach when she had smiled so widely at him. Fuck. Y/N looked so pretty. Hair perfectly messy, lashes long and eyes wide and glittering. Her lips had a bit of gloss or something along those lines and he wondered if it was flavored for a moment. “You do as well. Like the color.” He did, and that wasn’t even a lie. He loved the color and how it complimented her skin and hair. Made her eyes pop out. “I would really love a cup of coffee... and a hug.”

Though she was surprised, the look didn’t stay long on her face. Instead, he was met with a gushy smile and a crinkle of her nose, “can do, yeah.” Y/N hummed as she rounded the corner to come give him a proper hug. Closing her eyes as she snuggled into his chest for that brief moment.

God. Harry was fucking himself over with this, and he didn’t even know why he suggested that but his heart twinged when she looked surprised for a moment, but beamed like a ray of sun before rounding the corner. Her apron was taken off and he decided to take the initiative and hug her. It was a friendly hug, held for a bit too long. Her body was warm, warming him from the cold he had felt outside. Her cheek pressed against his chest which had been bare since he had forgone a few buttons, and his mouth felt dry. He hadn’t had a decent hug in months by anyone but his mother. Pulling back, he brushed a tendril of hair away that had escaped.

“I came to see if you’d be so kind and give me some pastries.” Harry spoke quietly, making the moment look private— even though he had heard the choked gasp and the whispering going on behind them— her coworkers. It was sweet really, the two of them clearly excited to see each other, but also not wanting to draw too much attention to the fact that they were like that. It was perfect acting.

Well, she wasn’t acting. Y/N looked up at him with enamored eyes, the smile never leaving her face as he even spoke quietly to her.

“Of course, how many are you thinking?” She asked just as quietly, biting her lip a little as she hesitated to move back behind the counter to get his coffee going. “Black coffee yeah? For here or to go?” Y/N confirmed, knowing that he didn’t take cream or sugar in his coffee from being a fan. She’d just say Jeff told her.

Her coworkers were bewildered, Katya’s eyes nearly popping out of her socket as she watched the interaction unfold. Y/N giggled at them, shaking her head as she went to get a box for Harry’s goods.

“What would you like? Anything you’d like, on the house.” Y/N told him, standing behind the massive glass cases full of baked goods. “Lemon bars, red velvet cupcakes, and anything else?”

“Absolutely not on the house, I’ll be paying. Nice try though, pet.” Pet was a good nickname for her. She was a responsibility— but a cute one. Even if it burned his ass to think about her like that. But right now? Y/N was plenty cute— and she acted very, very well. Harry almost believed this true excitement. Thankfully, he found that he fed off of that energy from her acting. “You already know? Impressive.” Harry looked at her with a gentle smile. “Yeah, the coffee black. Lemon bars, the cupcakes. Hm. Throw a few random cookies in there too. I’ll be going to write for a little while.” That was good to do, right! Throw in a daily activity. He felt his mind was off when he was around her. It went a little crooked, was the best way to say it. He got distracted and honestly? It was kind of infuriating. He supposed it wasn’t her fault, unless she was secretly a siren and singing a silent song. Or had a spell attracting him to her, even though he was fighting it hardcore.

“Hey.” Y/N pouted when he refused her offer, “let me do something for you.” She said firmly because she meant it. A few baked goods and some coffee cost her nothing in the long run, but she wanted to do something nice for Harry because all the fancy dinners and experiences about to come were something she’d never be able to repay him for. Y/N packed everything up in the box, even adding a cute little note that said ‘tell me which was your favourite — Y/N ❤️ xx’. She put it into a paper bag and set it on the counter next to the cup of coffee. She was actually quite excited for him to try them, she wanted his opinion and frankly she knew they were damn good.

“Long day ahead of you then?” Y/N asked, referencing him writing. She was genuinely asking because she cared, wishing that he was comfortable enough with her that she could come and give him a cuddle when he got home. What was she thinking? This isn’t real, he’s acting. And she’s meant to be acting as well.

It did strike him off that she didn’t take the money. Or the offer of paying. Usually people say that when they want it anyways and just expect you to insist, but she really didn’t seem to care about it. Which... was suspicious. While the bakery was very cute, it definitely wasn’t high end. He could tell they needed some new chairs and definitely some updated paint but he thought it added to the charm. Maybe they truly couldn’t afford it? He was curious as to what the hell she spent the money she was going to get on.

It was true that the bakery was a little bit worn, but with the money she’d be getting from this contract halfway through? They’d be able to afford closing for however long they needed to renovate. Y/N has even wanted to buy the space upstairs as well and host small acoustic gigs for local musicians.

“Uh.. I mean, a little bit. I’ll be writing a bit and then going to a very boring meeting.” It was the truth. God, how was he going to be able to focus? Harry was fighting a battle internally with how it was with her, trying to read things and find warning signs but it was hard. She was scary. Not in an outright way— but the way that. If this was real! If he had just walked in and met her at the coffee shop and didn’t think this was acting? He’d give her his number. She had an amazing charm around her that he was positive she had to know about— though acted as though she didn’t. “I hate to cut it short, pet. But I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?” He took hold of her smaller hand and squeezed it, before stuffing a hundred pounds into the tip jar. He turned around before she could protest, only turning when he got to the door to shoot her a wink. And as soon as he was out the door, he heaved a heavy breath. Christ. Why?

“Aw well, text me if you get too bored.” Y/N gave him a cheeky smile, leaning on the counter a little bit so she was closer to him. “Have a good day, pet.” She teased right back, smirking as he started to walk off. He really didn’t have to put a hundred pound note in there, that was flexing a bit, but it was very nice. It would go straight towards the bakery as it normally did.

3..2..1…

“What the actual fuck was that?” Her sister came storming over with wide eyes. “Y/N— that was... he's all over your walls. He has been on them for years and now he’s callin’ you pet?” She was shrieking but for good reason. Harry bloody Styles came in and hugged and flirted with her sister, they seemed to know each other well enough. It was incredibly shocking and Y/N hadn’t said a damn word to anyone. She used to stay up to watch his tv show appearances— hell, Katya was 99% sure she still did. But now? “You guys have each other’s numbers.... Y/N, you can't be for real.” Her eyes were wide as she looked at her blushing sister. Anyone would be just as freaked out. Harry was not only a celebrity, but she had seen the times she spent hundreds on tickets and had photos of him as her lock screen— which had mysteriously disappeared.

“Yeah, yeah he is.” Y/N giggled, blushing deeply as her sister looked at her in awe. Her sister knew first hand how much Y/N loved Harry. She had watched how Harry single handedly saved her from the darkest of times, how genuinely happy he made her. Hell, she even went to a show with her once just to see what all the fuss was about. Y/N wrapped her arms around her sister in a hug, squeezing her tightly because she really appreciated how excited she was. Her poor sister was convinced it was real and Y/N couldn’t break it to her. Couldn’t tell her Harry was actually really cold to her and not anything like that.

Truth is, Y/N had a really shitty love life. All her ‘boyfriends’ weren’t really boyfriends and Harry was sort of the one thing that kept her going. She just dreamed about what she wanted, dreamed about how Harry would treat her better in hope that one day maybe, she’d meet someone like him.

“His manager, Jeff. He comes here a lot you know... and he um, he introduced the two of us.” Y/N explained, being her shy and coy self. It was 100% believable.

----

Harry went to the writing session and found himself writing about her eyes. Bright eyes and lush thighs and every bit of silky hair he wanted to wrap around his hand. He had very dirty thoughts about this girl and it translated in to paper.

Harry had to go home and jerk off. And it was embarrassingly quick. He thought about how her sweater had dipped down and he’d seen the swell of her breasts, imagining taking her back behind that counter and fucking her sweet cherry mouth and watching his cum drip from her lips down to her tits. Knowing that in his fantasy world, she’d be walking around with his cum on her— and that was quickly done.

The guilt he felt after though? It was annoying. He was so cold to her but wanted to fuck her raw. So in that guilt, he went up to the kitchen and tasted a lemon square— nearly fucking moaned. It was so good. He knew it was part of the whole thing to go there, but he wouldn’t be complaining because if he got those every time? He would be set.

‘Lemon square is good. Thanks. H.’

It was dry but also a compliment, so he didn’t feel so bad for using her face in his dirty mind.

Y/N was about half way done with her day when she got that text from Harry, smiling a bit because he actually decided to text her. Sure she left a note, but he didn’t have to text. That was a private thing that they did after all.

‘glad you liked them 🍋’

She wondered why on earth she felt so fucking happy. He had just popped in for a brief interaction but it made her whole day fly by. Before she knew it she was closing down the store, locking up to head home. “You going to see your man tonight?” Katya asked curiously and Y/N blushed.

“No, unfortunately. But we’re going for dinner next week with his manager and his wife.” Y/N told her, knowing stuff like that she could tell her. “Might hang out tomorrow though cause it’s my day off, but he’s a busy man so I’m not sure yet.” Even hearing herself speak about Harry like this was so strange, but she’d get used to it for sure.

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

[part 2]

A/N: Harry :( why he have to be like that?? better hold on tight for this one - n+d

let us know what you think!

masterlist

#writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry writing #harry styles smut #harry styles #jarofstyles

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wordsablaze · 4 years ago

Text

7. of longing and heartache and lust

your beauty hides the pain Lost on the mountain, Jaskier accidentally angers a mage who decides to curse Yennefer with his company and for once, it might actually be a blessing in disguise…

A/N: first chapter of the year and these two get some progress :) @random-nerd-3 @surreal-static @10moonymhrivertam

previous chapter

Jaskier has never loved portals so much.

Well, he’s never loved them at all really, but he finds that he can’t remember how to hate them when Yennefer finally conjures one.

“Gods, I could kiss you for that,” he mutters as he stumbles through.

“Please don’t,” Yennefer mutters back.

He couldn’t even care less about her disgust because he can see an inn and an inn means food and he’s so hungry he could eat a horse. Or maybe not, he’d rather avoid anything that might offend Roach no matter how desperate he is.

While he’s busy wondering if horses would take offence to his hunger, Yennefer brushes past him and orders food. Only when he feels like he’s been placed far too close to a fire do his feet remember to move, at which point he follows her to a table, most definitely not unceremoniously collapsing into a seat.

Neither of them say anything else until after they’ve finished eating, mostly because Jaskier is too tired to think of worthy insults on an empty stomach. Yennefer doesn’t seem to have the same problem if the occasional look on her face that implies she’s holding back her words is anything to go by, and yet she doesn’t break the silence.

Eventually, Jaskier does. “So, uh, what now?”

Yennefer sighs. “Normally, this would be where we part ways.”

“Would it help going back to the mountains?” Jaskier asks, ignoring the fact that he’s meant to be insulted.

A pause, followed by a second sigh. “Loathe as I am to admit it, bard, that’s not a terrible idea,” Yennefer tells him.

Jaskier grins for all of a minute, after which he frowns. “How far away are we from there?”

“What, are you tired already?” Yennefer scoffs.

Bristling, Jaskier folds his arms. “Just because you have your magic to keep you going doesn’t mean you should force the rest of us to match your probably inhuman pace!”

She just raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to use magic as an excuse so you don’t have to admit you’re below me?”

“It’s not an excuse, witch, it’s the truth. You have an unfair advantage.” Jaskier mutters, almost regretting it when Yennefer scowls at him with a rare clench of her jaw that seems to suggest he’s ventured into a sore spot.

Her eyes are ablaze with something like injustice when she meets his gaze with a sharp glare. “There is nothing fair about having advantages and I have every right to use my magic because I, unlike you with your stolen stories and stolen instruments, have earned my advantage, with and without chaos.”

She stands and almost literally storms off without waiting for his response, seemingly forgetting about their current predicament. As it is, Jaskier scrambles to catch up with her, managing to grab his lute before he’s all but forced up the stairs. He doesn’t make it to the room she seems to have bought though, because she slams the door shut behind her.

“Really?” Jaskier asks the wood, but guilt has already bloomed inside him and he finds he can’t blame her this time. With a soft exhale, he just settles cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the door and rubbing his aching feet.

It’s not a problem until someone who must work at the inn marches up to him. “If you’re not going to pay for the room, you owe us a performance,” he barks.

Jaskier groans; apparently Yennefer hadn’t exactly bought the room.

“I completely understand but you see-”

“You’re holding a lute,” the man interrupts, eyebrows raised.

Jaskier nods quickly. “Yes, very observant of you but I’m afraid I wouldn’t do a performance justice just yet. It’s been a long few days and so maybe-”

“You can always pay instead,” the man suggests, only it’s more like a warning.

“I would, I really would, but my- uh, my travelling companion has our coin and I-”

The man cuts him off again, this time by grabbing his arm and yanking him upright. Jaskier yelps, already knowing he’s going to bruise, and attempts to plant his feet. Before he can try to explain, the man tugs harder and, apparently on a strict diet of muscle feed, easily forces him along.

“Wait, wait! Please, I swear we’ll pay, just-”

“Save your breath for your singing. We have rules, you know,” the man grumbles.

They get to the bottom of the stairs before Jaskier finally stops protesting and gives in, taking a moment to steel himself before starting to perform, doing his best not to make it obvious he’s trying to stay as near to the stairs as possible as he circles the room, pointedly ignoring the makeshift stage in the far corner because committing to it would likely make him cry.

Not that his tears aren't tempted to fall anyway because every time he moves around, he's distinctly reminded that he's on some kind of leash that keeps trying to guide him back towards Yennefer. Though guide is perhaps too kind a word for the spikes of burning that flare up on and under every inch of his skin until he makes his way back to nearer the stairs, at which point said spikes fade into less intense but still unmissable aches.

He manages three songs before his knees quit on him and he has to lean against the wall to avoid crashing into a table and accidentally starting a fight. “I’m going to have to... continue... later in the evening, please,” he manages, breathing heavily.

The innkeeper - not the man from earlier, so Jaskier has no idea who that was - nods at him, apparently satisfied, and he wastes no time in dragging himself back up the stairs, flopping to the floor and propping himself up on the door of the room they’ve now paid for again.

Five seconds later, the door opens.

His head hits the floor with a thud as Yennefer curses from somewhere above him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles through the haze of pain.

“You couldn’t just say no?” she asks, her tone bitter.

He blinks at that, forcing his eyes open and frowning when he sees her visible grimace. “I tried! It wasn’t like I enjoyed it but I thought you… I mean- what about all your magic?” he asks awkwardly.

Yennefer shrugs, nudging his legs out of the doorway so she can close the door before settling on the bed. “Magic is not an automatic painkiller, bard.”

Wait.

“But you- back at the- and… hang on, what?”

Yennefer snorts. “I see all that studying paid off.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes, winces when that seems to irritate his headache, and sits up, shuffling along the wall until he’s directly opposite the bed because he really can’t get enough of the pure calm washing over him now that the two of them are close together again.

“Why didn't you appear to be in pain before?” he asks carefully.

Several moments pass before Yennefer looks at him. “I’ve lived with pain longer than you’ve been alive.”

Oh. Well now he just feels like a terrible person for making assumptions. He knows a lot of words but not enough for him to come up with a suitable reply for being ignorant of causing someone agony so he just goes with, “I’m sorry.”

“For being an idiot?”

Jaskier shakes his head. “I’m sorry you’ve had to live with pain,” he clarifies softly.

A strange look passes over Yennefer’s face and just when he thinks she’s going to just turn her back to him, she nods. “I could almost say the same to you.”

“Almost,” Jaskier echoes, because he’s not exactly sure what she means by that but he’s fairly certain he hasn’t gone through even a fragment of what she seems to have.

Either way, she accepts his apology and graces him with a smile before finally lying down properly. Any other time, he’d tease her for already needing more beauty sleep by midday but since his own eyes are drooping - being in pain is incredibly exhausting, thank you very much - he just offers up a quiet “sleep well” and rests his head on his lute case.

He’s not sure if he only imagines the returning whisper of “likewise”.

i'm sure innkeepers were usually more understanding but like *gestures vaguely* plot devices, yknow?

thanks for reading! | masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

#someday i'll crosspost on time but it's not today #yennskier #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #yennefer x jaskier #hurt jaskier #hurt yennefer #curses #enemies to lovers #getting together #fanfiction #fanfic #the witcher #my writing #ybhtp

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jaeminscoffee · 4 years ago

Text

Not the same anymore | l.tn

Pairing-Ten Lee x Reader

Genre- Angst

Warning(s)- None

Word count- 1.59k

Synopsis- 'I can feel it, you can feel it too, we just don't have the same spark anymore'

Type- Requested!

@kpopscape

You both felt it.

The feeling you had felt when Ten had joined the same college as you in junior high was way beyond the word ecstatic. It made the word seem like an understatement. You were more than happy to meet your friend whom you'd spent the most of your childhood with, having to part ways when your father faced a promotion, which, of course is a good thing, only that his branch would now be across an ocean. Which only asked for the beginning of a new chapter in your life. And you two had no other choice but to go with the flow.

Then came the time when you grew as close as you were before moving away towards the middle of your academics. It all felt surreal but nevertheless, amazing. Studies going well along with you finally becoming a team lead for musicals and of course, gaining one of the most important people back in your life. You'd felt the same spark you'd felt when you first saw him again after ages.

The next time you were scared when you'd flutter each time Ten would look at you with that dazzling smile of his. Scared that letting your feelings out would change everything you'd built up to date, only for it to come crumbling back down in a mere second if what you felt for him would have not been reciprocated.

And so you held it in, until Ten himself blurt out everything he'd felt from day one towards the end of senior high, deciding to only confess then because according to him 'you'd be all that's on my mind and I would've failed term exams and then we wouldn't have been able to get into the same university'

Of course you'd gotten into the same University. And you still didn't know how that happened, and you'd like to call it a little game played upon the two of you by destiny. The University you two had gotten into called for leaving the current town to the one adjacent to it. Not much of a location difference but you'd definitely miss all that you'd made of in your current town.

"Ten.. I think it's about time we talk" you call out as he mumbled out yet another, 'I'll be back soon'

You were, yet again extremely happy, when he proposed the idea of moving in together into the apartment his father had got him for acing his finals just a few minutes away from the location. You agreed to it, of course. At least that way you'd find time to spend with him through the busy days your university life had for you ahead. And you couldn't have asked for more.

Living with Ten was your haven. Your happiness. Your escape from the busy movements outside the four walls of your shared apartment, a small, mini house the two of you made feel big through small yet meaningful times you spent. You'd been lucky enough to have Ten as your boyfriend. Then you'd been lucky enough to wake up to see the sunshine's rays illuminating his honey skin, highlighting all of his imperfectly yet perfect features. To be able to snuggle up onto him in the morning during your lazy days, to have him kiss the crown of your head when you'd accidentally end up waking him up from his slumber. Usually he'd be grumpy about someone disturbing his beauty sleep as you claimed, but being able to see your slightly puffy face the first thing when he'd open his eyes always managed to bring out a smile of content and fullness on his face.

Added to that, even though you'd know of his not so impressive cooking skills, he'd still try making meals for you to seem like one of those 'ideal tumblr fanfiction' boyfriend's according to how he worded it. You found it cute even after having to just go with cereal most of the mornings after he'd somehow burn Eggo's which you still haven't figured out how.

Best of all were the evening's you'd spent watching him come up with new drawing ideas while both of you would be sprawled out on the floor with a bunch of colors and canvases and brushed of all sizes spread carelessly beside the two of you. And all the days he'd sing while helping you do house chores to distract you from the fatigue of university stuff and keeping your sweet little house intact. And he did an amazing job at doing so.

"Can we..do it later?" Ten let out in a small voice, exhaustion evident from the tone and a slight tone of defeat made you feel a pang of sorrow, but yet, you felt a little ease upon hearing his voice for the first time in weeks. Maybe it was an exaggerated sentence, as you'd still hear him say 'I'll be back in a while' or 'I'm back home' or 'I had dinner already'.

All started going downhill when he'd had to start training in order to possess his father's position in his company, definitely not against will, something you'd heard Ten saying he'd want to do ever since you'd known him. Ten admired his father and wanted nothing more than to walk down the same path as him, and you supported him full fledged.

"Let's just speak and get it over with, it's physically getting unbearable for me at this point, Ten. And i need to know where all of this is going to"

You can't blame him. He had become a busy man ever since he'd gotten into a lower position at the same company, for his father to be able to monitor his performance. And you'd yourself gotten a little busy, you'd gotten into a piano academy, where you taught a group of youths and along with it you'd work part time at this small 24/7 mart, not that you were employed there, it's just you'd want to let the old lady working all the time there to get some rest. Added to that the weekly community charity you'd have to attend on her behalf. All in all, you weren't oh so free yourself.

But you were ready to make some time to mend this slightly parting relationship between you and Ten, and the more or less time you spent with each other, the more you just started giving up on trying. Don't take this the wrong way, of course you still loved him, it's just, you'd been so desperate to fill up the gap yet for it to be fruitless, you just couldn't find it in yourself to try anymore.

Ten heaved out a heavy sigh, turning back and leaning against the now closed door, lifting up his hands up to his collar to undo one of the buttons and loosen the tie, almost as if the clothing were suffocating him. "You're feeling it too, huh?"

You got up from your position on the breakfast counter to stand up and in front of him, leaning against the armrest of your couch. "I-uh. Of course" you say, refusing to meet his gaze, which wasn't on you in the first place as he'd done the same as you. Avoid your gaze.

You weren't hurt, per say. Neither was Ten. It was just the disappointment that you managed to come this far, and yet, you're willingly let it all wither away. It was that self hate you both felt for yourself, how you're not trying anymore. How you'd let the other slip out of your grasp. But once again, it's all a little game played upon the two of you by destiny.

"Listen, whatever's going to happen tonight, is not your fault." Ten walks up to you, kneeling down to be eye level with you, "I'm sorry I haven't been doing much for you, for me, and for us in all. If anything, it's my carelessness that's making you feel-"

"It's not just yours. I let it go too." You cut him off, "I didn't do much either." you look up, slightly once his hands find home in yours, "We're both to be blamed here."

Ten oh so desperately wanted to avoid confrontation. He felt it too, of course. And he'd brush you off each time you'd get the same topic up over and over. He knew this talk would be a total game changer for both of you. Nothing would remain the same and that to remain would only be disappointment and emptiness.

That feeling of not trying your best would linger not just him, but you too. Which was mainly the reason Ten busied himself even more than he already was. To avoid this talk. To avoid this confrontation. He wanted to try, of course. The feelings of adoration and want for you was still there, the same vice versa. But he couldn't find it in himself to maintain the same relationship you had from college. He wanted to blame it on his job. But he knew it was a petty excuse to avoid taking the blame upon himself when he, himself was to be blamed.

"Should we give it a try? Again? I promise I'll try giving more into it but," you pass a small smile, giving his hand that you'd held for so long a comforting squeeze as you shook your head to contradict what he'd just said.

"But Ten. It's not the same anymore. I love you but, I can feel it, you can feel it too,"

"We just don't have the same spark anymore"

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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years ago

Text

Emotional Support, $500/hour

Alastor hires Angel for his services. No, not those services. The "provide sympathy and advice for some poor loser who's found himself unwillingly stuck in a soap opera" services. Although Angel would far rather do it as a friend rather than for pay.

Tumble mobile is a piece of crap that won't let me post an entire chat log in one post, and I don't want to wait eight hours to post this when I get home, so gonna post this in two chunks. Part one:

Alastor

A text arrives at one of the numbers written up on the walls around Pentagram City:

"Is this Angel Dust's business line?"

Hella formal.

Angel

An identifying ring sounded from Angel's drawer. Not the type that'd fire warning bells in his head, but the sort he preferred to hear from his hotel room.

Time to go to work.

[ The one and only, Toots! 💋 What can I do ya for? 💕 ]

Alastor

"What are your rates just for private conversation? Nothing sexual. I need somebody to talk to."

Angel

Angel reread the message. Once. Twice. A couple more times. Usually he didn't get this type of request on this number, but a part of him was relieved.

[ Ya talkin' companion rates, Babe? I typically run that 500 by the hour, but dependin' on the kinda secrets I'm gonna be keepin', I could drop or ask fa a tip. It's a pretty accurate ballpark, though. Have I lost ya? ]

Alastor

There’s a longer pause before the next reply.

(The pause is for Alastor to go “Five hundred dollars?! FIVE HUNdred DOL*LARS*?! *FIVE—*”)

“I can manage that.”

It’s not going to be *his* money.

Angel

[ Sounds good! Where ya gonna be wantin' me, Sweetheart? Just so ya know, I'm gonna need those bills in my hands before we get down to any business. ]

Alastor

“I’ll have them. The hotel just outside Cannibal Colony’s northern entrance. I’ll let you know the room number.”

It’s a middling sort of hotel. It’s alright.

Angel

[ Alright, I know the area. I'll be there in about fifteen. ]

He didn't know the area. But Angel couldn't let an unknown client know that. Furthermore, last he was there he had himself QUITE THE WELCOMING. So by his better judgement, he asked Bel for directions without running the risk of getting shot this time. He'd find his way.

Alastor

And Alastor is gonna spend the next fifteen minutes cordially threatening the first people he sees who look well-dressed and stupid enough to be carrying around several hundred dollars, and then bolting for the hotel.

He’s settling down on the room’s couch and texting Angel the number at about the same time Angel probably ought to be walking in the front door.

Angel

_Rap rap._ He's not the police, so he saves announcing himself. Nonetheless his senses are alert, his limbs folded deceptively casual before his torso. Anxieties aside, he's expecting an easy job. As soon as he can confirm it's a real job and not a hold up.

Alastor

Alastor’s shadow opens the door for him.

He glances over from the couch. “Right on time.” He gestures to an arm chair across from the couch. Surprise!

Angel

Angel looks at his phone. The room number. His phone again. They surely match up exactly, don't they? A rather robotic wave to Alastor's shadow, just to be polite, before he pokes his head in without crossing the doorframe.

_" ... What. Am I bein' punk'd 'ere!? "_ Arms flail wildly as his eyes dart about the room in search of clues he might not get from the real deal on the couch. " THIS where ya been holdin' the crock pot hostage?? "

Alastor

“Do come in and shut the door before you start shouting, would you? I *am* trying to be discreet, here.” Proof of that claim: he’s actually using an indoor voice for once.

There’s no crock pot. No nothing else, either—he got the room less than five minutes ago just for this, he hasn’t touched a thing and he didn’t bring any personal effects. Just him, sitting cross-armed on the couch.

He uncrosses his arms, fishes a wallet out of his pocket, and slides several bills half out. See? He’s legit. “I have enough here for—let’s see—about three hours and twenty-five minutes. Hopefully I won’t need that much, but.” A jerky shrug.

Angel

His face fell and stiffened into a vague sternness. Wordlessly he stepped around the shade and soundlessly shut the door. This energy was too weird. He didn't trust it. He didn't like it. Either he or Alastor was running the risk of being made a bigger fool than Narcissus in the pond. Fittingly, neither one of them would risk their egos for something so trivial.

He was MORE than serious.

Angel passed the arm chair, instead taking a knee before him and lowering a hand over the wallet. " I'm not takin' ya money, Al. The fuck's goin' on? "

Alastor

“Oh, don’t worry about *that,* it’s not my money. It properly belongs to...” He pulls a card out of the wallet and squints at it. “Mr. Bee. Ironically, he looked more like a parrot.”

But he doubts that’s going to satisfy Angel. “I’m not talking to you as a friend. I’m hiring your services as a professional. I need your expert advice on a matter. And if I’m asking you to do your job, I *am* going to pay you for it.”

Angel

Angel rose a brow higher than his last hit. At the very least he could relax, but he was still dumbfounded -

_... as a friend?_ If he weren't a professional, he'd be asking him as a friend? The corner of his mouth twitched. It seemed more likely that he wouldn't be asking him at ALL if he weren't professional.

Regardless, he was wasting his energy trying to figure him out on his own. " What in the Nine's could ya be askin' _me_ for? " A short exhale before shifting his back against the armchair. " Save fa givin' yaself a day coma, I thought ya... pretty good at keepin' ya shit together... "

Alastor

Alastor rifled through the wallet to see if Mr. Bee had any interesting membership cards worth stealing—museums, day spas, secret societies, etc.—before sitting forward and holding the wallet out to Angel. “Are you taking it? Because I’m not telling you why I’m asking you unless you’re on the clock.”

Angel

" Alright alright, lemme see, " Angel lied with little to no intention of sitting on it. He flipped through the bills and counted them off by the hour before placing them on the table beside him. " ...120, 180, remainder a 25. 205 minutes of complete and undivided attention, in part or in full. You're set, Smiles. "

Alastor

Alastor watched as Angel counted. “All right.” He took a deep breath, let it all out. His gaze didn’t move from the table to Angel. “I could use—relationship advice.”

Angel

He could BURST with the sheer force of that bombshell, but Angel kept his cool as he made his sprawl of limbs comfortable from the floor. " Ya... gotta secret squeeze around 'ere or somethin? Cannibal gal ya came out t' see? "

Alastor

Alastor laughed ruefully. Wouldn’t that be convenient—some cute little lady to have a predictably heterosexual little afterlife with, sharing all of his shallow surface-level preferences—home era, musical theater, cannibalism—he could pick from any of a dozen ladies he’d passed since arriving in the Cannibal Colony that afternoon who would leap at the chance.

“Not a squeeze,” he said. “Not a gal, either.”

Angel

Well, he was _laughing,_ but it wasn't the good kind. Angel leaned an elbow over a seat of the sofa, keeping all signs of his own personal glee from his face.

Most of it.

" Do tell. "

Alastor

By this point, he wasn’t looking anywhere near Angel. Okay. Now or never. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, twisting his laced hands together. “Advice.” Like saying it again would keep this to some emotionally neutral info-gathering consultation. “What do you—How should one handle it, if... one has... sentiments, for one’s best friend, that he doesn’t reciprocate.” His stomach churned. “Andhe’s found out.”

He had very few people he publicly acknowledged as friends, particularly not somewhere Angel would have seen it. Only one of them was a man. He braced himself for an outburst of shock/amusement as Angel worked out who he was talking about.

Angel

Oh this was FAR from strictly transactional. They all pretty much lived together. Their interpersonal lives would be intertwined for the unspecified future. Said best friend was ENGAGED... to Angel's own best friend.

Again, Angel's eyes flickered about the room. This wasn't a Lifetime movie. This wasn't a hidden camera show. This was gonna be their life now and he'd be DAMNED if that sort of mess could be sorted by a few hundred dollars or so.

He just took a deep breath and stated the facts. Any generic advice he had on hand wouldn't be helpful. " You're his best man, Al. _What_ were ya thinkin'? "

Alastor

He squeezed his eyes shut as if Angel had just reared back to sock him in the face. He would have preferred amusement. “*I didn’t want him to kn—*”

He choked on his own static. He took a shuddering breath. “I don’t want—They make him happy, *that’s* what I want. Him happy. I don’t want to interfere, I just—“ He had to stop again. Unprofessional. Management would’ve given him a stern talking to after a performance like this.

He lifted his laced hands, pressing the knuckles of his thumbs to his eyelids. “I didn’t tell him. He figured it out.”

Angel

Angel expected defensiveness from trying to pry some more from him, to pass an air of judgement for the sake of pulling out whatever emotions he was trying so hard to hide beneath professionalism. He thought Alastor would HANDLE IT.

Not fall into whatever _this_ was. The Alastor he knew was nothing short of _UNBREAKABLE._ It was as surreal as it was painful to witness. _What could be possibly offer him?_ A simple question suddenly felt loaded and heavy.

" _Hey hey hey._ " Angel rose from the floor and perched upon the sofa facing him. " He's a smart guy. You're expressive as shit. Even performin's got... some of ya in it... Ya can't help ALL OF IT. " He leaned forward, just enough to duck below Alastor's falling level. " ... What he... have t' say about it...? "

Alastor

In a week, maybe he could have been calm and collected and above it all. But it was yesterday. It felt like it was an hour ago. The wounds were still raw, literally.

A sharp nod. “It was unavoidable.” He’d realized that the moment it happened. He still hated, hated, hated it.

“Oh, you know.” Another humorless laugh. He dropped his hands and stared tiredly down at them. “He’s furious, he feels betrayed, he feels used... he believes he still wants to be my friend but if he so much as *looks* at me before he’s ready for it he’ll hate me forever...” He shrugged wearily.

Angel

" That's why ya out here, " he stated with a toss of an arm over the backrest, " I DON'T know. How's he feelin' used? Ya never... did anythin' to 'im, did ya? I mean, since you was tryin' so hard to just keep it in, I can't imagine you HAVE. " Angel racked his memories a moment, but drew blanks. He couldn't think of any reason, for both not knowing enough and such a notion conflicting his own direct experience.

" It's... YOU hurtin' 'ere, from what I see. He's got Valera, they gonna be tyin' the knot soon. You've been... " He swallowed thickly. " There fa him. Tell me why. There's - " Words caught in his throat. Words that may have saved him from damnation had they been said to him when he needed to hear them. " Ain't nothin' wrong... wit' feelin' what ya feelin'. "

Alastor

A nod. That’s why he’s out here.

“Because any time we interacted, there was more to it—more than he was bargaining for. More than he knew about.” He had himself back under control, but his tone was subdued. Almost emotionless. Not very Radio Demon. “We hugged, we cuddled. Napped together.” And was he justified in feeling used over that? All Alastor could say was that he’d felt guilty about it the entire time—that he’d dreaded that maybe he *was* using him. “I *tried* to make sure he was always the one who initiated. It didn’t always end up that way.” He remembered holding him in his arms when he’d fainted, telling himself it was justified because he was just supporting him until he woke back up. He’d been *unconscious.* “He said he couldn’t really consent to anything we did because he didn’t know what he was consenting to.”

Angel

" And he's puttin' that on you? Smiles, ya owed 'im nothin' more than ya wanted 'im knowin'. It didn't change nothin'. Ya still gave him everything he wanted and needed from ya. You think ya owe him a reengineerin' of the parts a ya you can't change, too? He may... own ya... but he can't... change ya. Not like that. "

Realizing he may have been projecting a little too much, Angel cleared his throat. " Lovin' 'im a lil' different don't take away from everythin' ya already had. I dunno why he'd feel so... THREATENED by ya unless he... ain't cool wit' you bein' a guy, but any guy who's that comfy wit' his friends can't be straight 'imself, ah? " He forced a chuckle, but he knew that wasn't the point.

" Ya still... didn't have motives, Al, ya didn't take advantage of him. Ya didn't go underminin' everything he's workin' for. Right? No matter how you was feelin'... he still came first. Now if ya ask me, that's PRETTY FUCKIN' STUPID. But he has ya. Had ya. Whatever happens. He's got it all an' then some just t' kick ya to the curb... " Angel crossed his arms. " Ya don't deserve that. He's got some apologizin' t' do to you. I'd drag ya back to the hotel an' give 'im a piece a my mind right NOW... but y'ain't gonna want that, huh? "

Alastor

*He may own you.* Something inside Alastor twisted in pain and boiled up in fury—because it was true. Some part of him had been seized away and he was never getting it back, and that was the *worst* part of this. He muttered, “I wish I could reengineer it. Not for *him* but for *me.* I don’t want this.”

He shook his head. “It’s not because I’m a man, that never came into it. He isn’t straight.” He says this with the confidence of somebody who definitely absolutely totally knows that this is a fact, despite the fact that he has not, actually, been told so.

No, of course he’d never undermined him, he would never—but that didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t, at the same time, taken advantage. Taken liberties he shouldn’t have, here and there. The idea that *he* might be owed an apology was laughable. Alastor wasn’t laughing. “No, absolutely not, don’t say a *single* word to him. As soon as this conversation ends, I never told you anything and you don’t know any of it.”

Angel

" Didn't think so. " Angel dropped his cheek into his hand and studied him. Something changed. He was being short with him. He perused his words, robotic and unnatural, searching for what did it. It was the price he paid for rambling.

" But ya _do,_ want it. You'd want it if things were different, if he felt the same about you. Tell me I'm wrong an' I'll eat my words wit' a side a fries. " He closed his eyes and hummed into his palm. " Whatever closure ya needin' ya gotta find it. " Angel hesitated to volley ideas, as he knew they'd be leaving his mouth astronomically hypocritical. But he wasn't being paid to play by example, was he? " Ya can count on Penny t' come around and give it to ya, but if ya do that you could be fuckin' exiled forever an' give up the front seat to watchin' Charlie's redemption plans go to shits. Sure it's a lotta fun out 'ere, but it ain't no 1929 fun. "

" Or, ya can wipe ya face. Get off ya ass. Make sure ya got all that's goin' on outta ya system. An' find somethin' new to pour yaself into that's got nothin' t' do with him. And keep doin' it until he's got less an' less a hold on ya until... you're feelin' free an' yourself, again. An' he'll just 'ave to deal with whatever that means if he wants to be stayin' friends with ya. 'Cause ya done ENOUGH. "

Alastor

"You *are* wrong." There's an edge of desperation in his voice. "If he said he felt the same and he made me that offer—yes, I'd take it. But if I could actually choose, if I was given a *real* choice? Between being with him and—and having this taken out of me and being *free?* I'd want to be free! I'd choose that in a heartbeat! I'd rather be his friend!"

And he *knew* that was what he'd choose because he *had* chosen it. Back before he realized that freedom was no longer an option. He'd lost a piece of his heart he was never getting back.

He listened to Angel's suggestions. Let out a long, slow sigh. And asked tiredly, "Is that it?"

Angel

" Then ya gonna have to prove it to yourself first babe 'cause ya ain't soundin' convincin'. " Angel ducked below his line of sight again as if it'd grant him a different perspective. " If this sorta thing had a magical fix, you'd know a lot better than me. But it don't. Ya just gotta... "

He frowned. He wouldn't be able to keep the promise of pretending this never happened. " ... keep at it... keep talkin'... maybe you'll wake up tomorrow feelin' inspired. Maybe you'll wish ya never woke up at all, but... it's all ya can do, Smiles. It's gonna take time. " Angel didn't like leaving it at this, but he found himself unsure. With other clients, he could leave them with the best and never hear of the results. So long as he stayed at the hotel, _he was going to end up WATCHING HIM every step of the way._

But he still didn't know how he needed to be taken care of. If Alastor knew himself, he wouldn't have solicited. " Good thing we got all the time in the world down 'ere to find new things to fuck ourselves up with, ah? " He reached out and gently pat the sofa cushion in place of his knee, in place of taking his hand. " You'll... get there. You're the fuckin' Radio Demon. I dunno how ya do half the shit ya do but this is gonna be one a them things. Say it. "

Alastor

"Would it sound more convincing to you if I destroyed everything he'd ever worked for *just* to ensure we could never have a life together? Would that be convincing enough for you?" Alastor snapped. "*Because I did.*"

He shoved himself off the couch to start pacing. "I've *tried* pouring myself into something new to keep him off my mind. I've *been* trying it for the last *fifty-four years.* That's why I'm at the hotel in the first place! It's why I know *how long* you can *kill yourself* with a bottle of 190 proof booze!" He flung his hands up in despair. "I've been trying to *feel like myself* again since 1966, and all I can do is—distract myself! Distract myself and suppress it until the next time I'm reminded of him!" He let out a brittle laugh, "And smear what I feel for him around to all of his duplicates!"

He rounded on Angel. "I've joined musicals, worked in restaurants, moved to a cultish commune, been an alcoholic, gone to therapy, traveled the nine circles, signed onto every harebrained scheme and plot in Hell—including the hotel!—and more things I can't even remember off the top of my head, and on top of *that* put over half a century between me and him, *and he's still stuck in my heart.* I've tried every piece of advice I've ever heard for how to fall out of love and they *haven't worked!* So give me something *new!* Give me something I *haven't tried!* You're the professional!"

He collapsed onto the armchair Angel hadn't taken. He wasn't sure if getting all that out of his system had really helped. He kind of felt like he'd just projectile vomited.

Angel

" Dupli-? ... _Fuck..._ " Angel dropped his cheek into his palm with the rest of his body taking up the empty space on the sofa. This ran much deeper than he thought. The root of his issues didn't even have anything to DO with the Pentious he knew. Likely beyond anything he could possibly say. Hadn't Alastor been so sweepingly BROAD when he came in, he could've been more careful, but- _ah seemed like he tired himself out._

**_Ya DONE?_**

" That kinda miracle workin' ain't on my resume, " he said bleakly with a broad sweep of an arm, " Ya called me fa someone to talk to, not t' be the answer to all ya problems. " As much time as he spent hearing out the woes of the damned, usually all that was really wanted from him was a crank. An easy enough temporary fix. Not here.

He stood up now. Trying to build him up from below didn't seem to be working. Alastor responded only when he called him out, questioned the half-hearted assertions playing from his mouth like a weathered record. Was that what he needed? To be spiritually disemboweled until he purged all the poison from his soul onto the tarp? He didn't like this. He didn't like it at all. He wanted to call the job off. He couldn't do it. This was too personal and psychologically visceral.

But even moreso, he couldn't give up on and leave him there for much of the same reason he couldn't leave him at the bar. Self destruction was a BITCH to be going through alone. And at the root of it all, Alastor made it clear enough he didn't want to be alone by calling him there.

Angel braced a long arm over the back of his chair so he could drill him in the eye. " Believe me, if I had it all I'd give it to ya, but all I got is this. If ya want ya stolen money back, fine, Al. If ya wanna keep yellin', 'ave at it, Al. Lay out all the shit that's been dry doggin' ya since '66. So I can get it. REALLY GET IT. 'Cause ya holdin' out on me. An' if ya really wanna get the most outta ya hours. Ya gotta keep goin'. "

Alastor

A corner of his mouth twitched. Miracle working. "Of course. Of course, you're right—I'm not expecting a miracle. Not in Hell."

He slouched forward, elbows on his knees again, running one hand through his hair—it was still partially stiff with the hair gel he hadn't managed to shower out at Rosie's, he hadn't bothered to restyle it.

He hadn't liked... that. He still felt sick. "No, I don't want a refund," he said. "I—don't think I want to keep yelling, either." He was silent a moment, trying to figure out what he *did* want from all the things he didn't want, mentally chasing something elusive. It had made perfect sense when he'd tracked down Angel's number—talk to a professional, someone whose job was all about desire and attraction, someone who'd probably dealt with thousands of broken-hearted clients; while Alastor's had only broken once, and just never been put back together.

And now that they were talking Alastor couldn't quite figure out what he wanted. Maybe he really had been hoping for a miracle.

*Ya gotta keep goin'.* All right. "I don't particularly want to talk about '66, either—but..." He took a deep breath. "There was a day when I had a choice—happily ever after with him; or run for the hills, toss aside those emotions, and go back to being who I'd been before I—fell. I chose to run. Destroy everything and run. So—when I *say* that I'd choose freedom over requited feelings... even if it doesn't sound convincing to you, I need you to know that I'm telling the truth. Because I *did* choose it. Or—tried." He looked at Angel, waiting for his reaction—waiting to see if he was believed. Because he needed to be believed. Everyone else in the world only said they didn't want love when they couldn't make it work out—and if Angel lumped Alastor in with them, then... then they would be speaking two different languages that had the same words but different meanings, never actually communicating. If Alastor couldn't make himself understood, he was still alone.

Angel

Angel took a deep breath before sinking to the floor again. " I believe ya. Just gotta say it with conviction, ah? " he said heavily with a fold of his arms over the armrest. As Alastor spoke, he tried to put himself in his place. When he was posed with as monumental a choice, he made the opposite decision. And regretted it with everything he had. Not only was there no miracle working in Hell: there were no choices for the better, either. You were damned whether or not you believed something was too good to be true or fell into the trap. Angel had dived headfirst when he should've trusted that he knew himself better than to believe it'd end well for him.

" How'd it fall through? " he posed with a drop of his chin into his arms, " He bait ya back? " Angel found himself listening with new acoustics. They'd both been in ruins for decades for strikingly similar reasons: trapped by the clutches of toxic loves neither of them want, when they never felt anything of the sort prior. A tragic First they were still fighting. Perhaps he had something to offer him afterall. Perhaps he could support him in a way only few could. He could only hope it'd be enough.

Alastor

“No.” Alastor slid off his chair, too; it didn’t feel right, sitting higher. They should be on eye level with each other. “No, that was—that was why I destroyed everything before I left. To ensure he *wouldn’t* try to bait me back. To make sure he wouldn’t want to. And he didn’t want to. He hasn’t.” Huff. “You saw him on my first day at the hotel! And that’s the longest conversation we’ve had since I left. No, he didn’t do anything. It just...” He shrugged helplessly. “Didn’t fade for me. It’s *supposed* to fade, everyone tells you it’s supposed to fade. It never did.”

Angel

" Oh. That was. " _Let's just pretend he knew from the beginning that they weren't the same demon._ Angel darted his eyes to the corner of the room as he slinked off the armrest. _Yeah. TOTALLY KNEW,_ he lied to himself as he faced Alastor and made himself comfortable. Odd of him to follow his habit. " ... him. " He then cleared his throat. " Yeah, it... doesn't... really... " Angel echoed with a perch of his arms over his ankles. " So... what's ya plan...? Ya gonna just... camp out 'ere 'till ya figure it out? "

Alastor

“That was him,” Alastor said grimly. “My *ex.*” The word was sour on his tongue. Such a fitting word. “And what did I do, I immediately blew up his ship again. Terrific work on my part. Well done.”

A shrug. “Wait at Rosie’s until either he comes calling or I decide he never will, I suppose, and then figure out what to do from there. The—the new ‘he,’ I mean. The one I’m friends with now.” He paused, considering that. “Was friends with.”

Angel

" I'll say. " Blowing up an exe's property sounded perfectly justifiable to him, and it wasn't just Cherri's influence. But he guessed if Alastor felt bad about it that only meant he preferred other ways of moving on.

" Rosie... she... busy a lot? Ya got enough company out 'ere? "

Alastor

“Oh, everyone loves me in the Cannibal Colony. All the ladies swoon and all the men beg me to come over for dinner. I can’t go half a block without getting roped into small talk and dance numbers.” He didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic about it. But he added, “I have better company here than I do anywhere else in Hell,” and *that* was completely true.

Angel

" Well... sounds like a good place fa ya to be... " Angel pondered some. Of course Cannibal Colony was his personal wonderland. But there must be something missing for him to leave, he figured. " Pause the clock for a sec, " he said with a clear of his throat, " Rosie got room fa one more? "

Alastor

“I don’t want a roommate.” He gave the answer immediately; and then, after a moment, grudgingly, asked, “Are you trying to get away from the hotel?”

Angel

" I ain't askin' t' be ya roommate, " he growled, " YOU'RE the one turnin' tail 'ere. " With that, Angel snapped his fingers. " Clock's back on. I ain't ya friend no more. "

Alastor

Alastor stared at him, lost. “Th—No, pause the clock—Then what *are* you asking?”

Angel

He crossed his arms and eyed him sternly. " If ya... " A sigh. He already knew the answer. " If ya need a friend, Al. Ya gonna be out 'ere for fuckall knows how long. Ya goin' through it. Would be much easier if all I had to do was turn a corner instead a hikin' all the way over whenever ya felt like stealin' a wallet. "

Alastor

All right, that was what he’d originally thought. He didn’t know why Angel got *offended* that Alastor hadn’t wanted a favor that had been offered for Alastor’s benefit—but then it wasn’t the first time, was it? “I don’t want a friend nearby. I don’t want to be *watched* while I’m... thinking things over. I need to have that distance.” He unconsciously glanced toward the wallet as he said the last word.

Angel

" That mean ya done? " he asked with a toss of his chin down Alastor's line of sight.

Alastor

He snapped his gaze back to Angel. “No. No, just—have to look somewhere, don’t I?” Deep breath. “Sorry. Distracted. Where were we?”

Angel

He actually pulled him back. Color Angel surprised. " Ya blew up his shit, it didn't do ya no good, ya made a mean jambalaya... "

Alastor

“*Right.* Yes. That’s not the one I wanted to talk about. *He’s* not the one I wanted to talk about. I just—needed you to know the context, but... The one I’m friends with now. That one.”

Angel

" Yeah. The one who kicked ya to the curb after ya tore yourself the fuck apart tryin' to be who he wanted ya to be instead a seein' an' appreciatin' ya fa who you are, " he stated matter of factly with a moderate sweep of his arm, " _That one._ Pen. "

Alastor

It stung to hear. Another little needle jammed into his heart, right alongside all the others already buried in. "If I was tearing myself apart to be who he wanted, then he *couldn't* see who I really was, could he? I've been more or less lying to him as long as he's known me. He's got every right to distrust me."

Angel

" More or less, " Angel echoed, " So ya _not_ entirely convinced you were completely in the wrong. " His eyes challenged him. Though the secondary six didn't have pupils, an eerie weight carried through. " It's 'cause you're not. "

Alastor

"I *meant* in the sense that even when I wasn't *actively* lying, I was lying by omission." He shook his head. "Even if I... It's nothing I don't deserve anyway—in general, in a... you know, a karmic sense. Years ago, I stabbed a version of him in the heart; now he stabs me in the heart. He was probably... *selected,* on some celestial level, to be my punishment." He'd been doing a valiant job of keeping at least a ghost of a smile on his face, but it was starting to waver now. "I knew this wasn't going to work. Of course we couldn't be friends—he was just thrown in my path to rip open the wounds I'd gotten too good at ignoring. If it had a chance of working, we wouldn't have been allowed to meet."

Angel

" What's the point a harpin' on about what ya do an' don't deserve if there ain't no redemption to be had? That cross on ya chest ain't ever gonna flip. " _Catholic,_ he heard Alastor's voice echo in his head. How he _loathed_ those places of worship. Even before being damned his skin burned with rancor every time he crossed an altar. And he did so many times with and without a Colt tucked into his coat. " What'cha expectin' to be comin' outta sufferin' like a good lil' sinner? 'Cause no matter how many times I dunked my wank hand into the holy water, " he said curtly as he signed himself, " I kept missin' the memo. " Intentionally. But he could play dumb for now if it helped him drag some religious trauma out of him.

Alastor

"I don't expect anything to come out of it but more suffering. I don't expect a reward, redemption, or respite. But—and here's the key part—I don't expect anything to come out of denial and resistance, either. Either way, I'm going to suffer and nothing's going to improve. Because this is *Hell,* and *nothing* gets better, and only a *damn fool* tries to improve his lot. Even if he succeeds, it's only because Hell is letting him set himself up for an even greater fall." He crossed his legs loosely, propping his elbow on a knee and his chin in his hand, letting his fingers half cover his mouth. "This situation is just further proof of that."

Angel

" So ya called me just so you can fuck yourself over a lil' more? Ya " damn fool " ? 'Cause if ya lookin' to get fucked UP an' do it RIGHT, that's up my alley, too. " Angel flashed a crooked smirk and waved a his hand. He wasn't serious. However, he _did_ fundementally disagree. " I'm kiddin'. Kiddin'. But ya know. So long as we're stuck kickin' around, sufferin', may as well keep things interestin', " he droned with a shift to his knees so he could reach Alastor's shoulder, " Keep takin' chances. Keep chasin' the next best thing. Keep doin' what'cha do. It ain't gonna matter an' it's always gonna suck, but at least ya get ya kicks outta watchin' other demons handle it a lot worse than you, ah? "

Alastor

He laughed weakly. "I've tried getting f#%ked up." A muffled beep obscured most of the word. "Funny thing though, once you get tired of that, you still have to pick up the pieces. And I never have liked cleaning up messes."

A lump formed in his throat when Angel touched his shoulder. "Next best thing," he muttered. "That's what I've been doing. All this time." He could hear his voice trembling, but he couldn't stop it. "If I can't be *happy*, at least I can be *entertained.* Ha! I just w—!" He couldn't finish the sentence. He slid his hand up to fully cover his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut.

Angel

Angel chuckled in time with his laugh. Was that part of his act? Was the bleep conscious? He had so many jokes at the ready. He was MORE than ready to start trying to make him laugh...

... but instead, Alastor shattered like glass. Just a touch of a hand was all it took? He always took extra care to respect his space after their first conversation. Right now he was just leading him by example, showing rather than just telling him to take chances.

_" ... Al... "_ He thought he should pull back. Maybe it was a bad call. But if he let go, there'd be nothing there to catch his pieces. _And Alastor surely didn't like cleaning up messes._ Angel took a short breath before raising another hand. He gently squared his shoulders towards him. _" Hey... You ok there buddy? "_

Alastor

He shook his head. But he also didn't pull back. Just this once, apparently, this was what he needed.

Angel

Angel almost felt like he'd be more comfortable holding a hornet's nest, but at least providing this sort of comfort was more his speed. " C'mere. " Cautiously, he slid his arms past Alastor to angle his head over his shoulder and avoid a pair of antlers to the throat. In the same motion, he slipped beside him to support any weight that would fall. _Was it too much?_ He kept his secondary arms on the floor for now, a small crunch of product in his ear as his cheek tilted into his hair.

Alastor

Yes, that *was* what he needed. He'd be surprised at himself if he wasn't trying so hard to hold himself together. He leaned his weight into Angel, pulled his knees up to his chest, and covered his face entirely, one hand over his mouth and one hand over his eyes.

Voice cracking, choking on every few words, he said, "I just—wish—I could stop—dragging him into it. I don't want to be the—the one assigned to—make him suffer. That would be enough."

Angel

_You're NOT..._ Angel took a deep breath and pulled him closer, all arms around him now, a couple subtly rubbing his back. This wasn't a point of argument he could win. He couldn't contest or even tell him it'd be ok. So every time he choked, he gave a little squeeze. Every time he cracked he gave a more deliberate stroke. He could cry into his fluff. It'd be ok. He wouldn't look. Instead of protest, he affirmatively hummed along.

Alastor

He couldn't quite bring himself to cry into the fluff, that was a step too far. That would be the point where chronic touch aversion won out over acute touch starvation again.

But he *was* willing to press his forehead into the fluff—oh wow that was really soft. That was. Insanely soft. Holy shit. It lived up to the advertising.

Angel

He seemed to still. That was good. Angel brought a hand to the top of his head to gauge where the antlers were again, but _god_ was his hair a mess. Roots showing, old pomade... at least it didn't feel an awful brand. Keeping his chin up, he relaxed his hold on him and stayed put, listening closely for potentially muffled words.

Alastor

Just one word for the moment, croaked out from beneath a hand and a wall of fluff: "Thanks." He'll work a few more out, just—give him a moment first. It's been a long time since he's let himself be touched by anyone but the person he's currently a wreck over.

Angel

" Yeah... I won't mention it, " he said quietly before brushing a thumb over the base of his ear. Alongside the softness, it was almost en_deer_ing how small he managed to make himself. But he was a broken man. Angel hoped he'd never have to see this side of Alastor again regardless of how used to his frame he was getting. Less a hornet's nest, more a vulnerable demon just like any other.

Alastor

And Alastor sincerely hoped to never be seen like this again; but that wasn't totally in his control, was it?

He took several deep breaths, white noise hisses; and then asked, "Should I—even try again? Being friends? Or would we both be better off to—not?"

He desperately wanted a *yes, try again.* But he couldn't give himself one. He'd been trying, for days; all his excuses and rationalizations rang false. They all sounded selfish and naive.

Angel

Angel bit his lip. _No,_ he wanted to say, _Not if ya gonna keep runnin' yourself into the ground. Not if you're gonna cling to this idea of suffering._

_Ya just gonna be back 'ere again._

But so would he, wouldn't he? Angel already decided. He wasn't going back to the studio. If nowhere else... he was going to be here. Playing redemption.

" ... He. Should try, " he said sternly as he traced waves, " You don't do a fuckdamn THING to get in his good graces until he makes it up to ya. That's the only way this could work. Ya gave 'im everythin'. It's his turn. "

Alastor

Alastor's throat tightened. He didn't like that answer. "But being loved by a friend is *horrible.*" Voice of experience. "He didn't *want* everything from me. I can't blame him for being upset at having so much shoved onto him. How could I?"

Angel

Angel sighed heavily. Temporary fluff suffocation. You'll survive, Alastor. " I ain't sayin' ya gotta do that. Just that he should f'give ya some. Y'ain't no scarlet fuckin' letter. Just a guy. Wit' a complicated past. Wit' some complicated feelin's. If he's gonna be givin' any bit of a damn about you, he's gonna have to wade through some of it without judgin' ya or blamin' ya. It's what friends do. "

Alastor

That's fine, breathing is optional. He can wait.

"Oh, no? If I had a big red letter pinned to me, are you sure you could tell? B for backstabber." He sighed. "Right—of course. If he doesn't decide to forgive me, there's nothing else I can do. It's out of my hands until then."

Angel

" You'll be _fine,_ " he relented with a sink of his chin onto his head and a wide circle over Alastor's back, " You'll get along again. You'll get over y'selves. Even if ya don't, you'll still be fine. "

Alastor

They'll get along again. They'll be fine. His throat squeezed shut. He doubted Angel had any real way of knowing that was true, but he clung to it anyway.

He tried to nod, found he was buried too deep in fluff to complete the movement, and instead managed a garbled, "*Mhm.*"

Angel

" Mhm, " he echoed affirmatively, fingering a wayward curl back into place. At least as close a place he could figure. Angel then squeezed him tight around the shoulders before loosening into casual sweeps. " ... ... Ya smilin'? "

Alastor

He doubted it, but he prodded his cheek with the fingertips of the hand still over his mouth to check. "Mm-mm." That's a negative.

Angel

His lashes fluttered. He wasn't actually expecting him to say no. " Ok... I'll stay here, long as ya need to. If ya comfortable bein' a lil' ball. "

Alastor

"Mhm." Just a few more minutes. In a few more minutes he'd be able to collect himself. They'd get along again and they'd be fine, and if they didn't—if they didn't he'd face that when he had to.

Angel

" Mhm. " He wanted to chuckle. _Grunt after grunt._ Should he feel guilty about how _funny_ he found this? Probably. Only for the next few minutes as he cycled through the usual motions: playing with his hair, ears, rubbing his back, shoulders, the typical things clients found soothing before and after. Alastor had yet to protest, so he felt certain enough to venture he wasn't _bothered._ Nonetheless, they remained light, idle, all but absent minded. Working, but for a friend.

Alastor

He stayed there for several more minutes, until the idle background sensation of disembodied touches on his back and head slowly returned to what they usually were: prickly, uncomfortable reminders of another thinking feeling person pressed up against his body. He felt his shoulders start to tense and he pulled back a bit from the fluff. "Okay, that's—that's all I can handle."

Angel

" Handle? " Angel questioned as his arms dropped from Alastor's person in favor of leaning back on them, so he could remove himself on his own accord. " Interestin'... choice a words, there. " He tipped his sights to the corner of the room for a spell as he thought. " You ok? "

Alastor

He drew back and started straightening his clothes and brushing himself off—he had a smile back on, but God was it a tired-looking one. Dryly, he asked, “In what sense?”

Angel

" Er... relative sense. " Angel then cautiously leaned into the empty space. " Whataya mean, all ya can handle? "

Alastor

“My personal space bubble turned back on.” He stood up and continued tidying himself, brushing off his pants.

#sluttyspiderpolkacock #chat log

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smokeybrandreviews · 3 years ago

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Smokey brand Movie Reviews: Holiday Season

Had an opportunity to sit down and really take in this adaptions of one of my favorite stories in the batman lore, Batman: The Long Halloween part One. This story is one of the most influential in all of comics and, indeed, is constantly referenced by any modern live action Bat-flick. The Dark Knight, arguable the best of the many Batman films, is basically just this narrative. It’s literally just The Long Halloween so seeing the graphic novel properly adapted, with all of it’s twists and turns, is something I've always wanted. Now that’s it’s here, how does it hold up?

The Good

I love this art style. It smacks of Batman: The Animated Series but with a modern polish, while paying homage to the surreal pen of Art Sale. One of the reasons i fell in over with the graphic novel was Sale’s almost psychotic rendition of Gotham, it’s many characters, and his use of shadow. None of that unique flair is lost on this production, even if it’s kind of tightened up at points. Like, take Catwoman. I loved Tim Sale’s take, the purple suit is kind of the Selina i grew up with, but I'd be lying if i said i didn’t enjoyed the version of her in this film even more.

I just mentioned this but i need to emphasize how at home this feels in the BTAS universe. It’s a like a adult version of an episode from that show. That should lend a bit of credibility to the quality on hand. Part One is pg-13, and you really feel that, but Part Two is supposed to be R. I’m looking forward to seeing how hard they go because the back half of this narrative gets real bloody, real fast.

I have to admit, the animation is pretty okay. Most of the time. It can fall of the cliff occasionally but, for the most part, it’s some of the best in these Animated DC films. The use of CG is beautifully integrated into the hand drawn bits and it really puts Invincible to shame that way. People were praising that show for how awesome it looked but i was never impressed. I wasn’t that impressed with Halloween either but it was still better than Amazon’s production.

I have to say, this voice cast is legit. There are some real hitters in this and they really deliver. Jensen Ackles is a surprisingly decent Batman, which is kind of hilarious to me, because he plays Jason Todd in my favorite of these animated flicks, Under the Red Hood. Naya Rivera is outstanding as Catwoman and Troy Baker is absolutely the next Joker, after Hamill decides to retire. Always a pleasure seeing Josh Duhamel and his Harvey Dent is a seething ball of rage, teetering on the edge of madness while Titus Welliver’s Carmine Falcone is just f*cking insidious. Billy Burke, Julie Nathanson, Jack Quaid, and Alastair Duncan, are all great in their respective roles but, holy sh*t, did David Dastmalchian’s Calendar Man give off Hannibal vibes! Great choice on that one, for sure!

I just have to emphasize just how much i enjoy this version of Catwoman. Naya breathes this character and her loss is a real tragedy.

I absolutely love this narrative so there wasn’t a question I'd gravitate toward a cinematic adaption but, i have to say, i was a little surprised by how tight this bad boy is. Like, the script, itself, is really good for something based on a comic book. I can see this thing being a proper live action adaption and being considered almost as great as the best of the Bat-flicks.

I’m just really glad this exists. The Long Halloween is one of the best, one of the quintessential, Batman narratives out there and it’s kind of a crime there has never been a proper adaption.

The Meh

Kind of wanted this thing to be a little more visceral. The Long Halloween is one of the darkest, most violent, Bat-stories ever. They kind of flirt with that carnage a little bit, but this part didn’t go full Holiday, if you know what i mean. The second one is supposed to get real gritty so i can give this one a pass but it sucks that we have to wait a month to get the real feel of this narrative.

The pacing is a bit wonky. I can see people complaining about how slow this thing is at times but i chock that up to the nature of this story. In a graphic novel or comic, you can tell a story in a certain manner but that doesn’t translate all that way to film. I’m fine with what we were given but i can totally see other people completely frustrated by the plotting, especially with Joker shows up. You just want SO much more of that guy.

The Bad

The way this story is told, hinges on the passage of time. This adaptation does a bad job of conveying that. The book is fine. You can consolidate a day or holiday, into one issue, This movie can’t do that and, at times, struggles with telling this particular aspect of the story, correctly.

I mentioned this before, but sometimes the animation can be really rough. Like, there’s a scene toward the end where that sh*t just falls of a cliff. These shots are few and far in between, but they are very noticeable and very jarring. If i didn’t love this story so much, i can see how this would take you out of the experience.

The Verdict

This sh*t is good. Real good! The Long Halloween is one of the best Batman stories ever told. It deserves to be treated with respect and reverence. Batman: The Long Halloween part One does just that. It has an incredible cast who all deliver wonderful performances, a familiar art style that feels both nostalgic and unique, a relatively tight narrative that pulls in the best bits of the source material while cleaving free some of the fat, and just an overall gorgeous production. This movie is easily one of the best in the animated DC vault, even if it is a little flawed. Warner did right by this iconic story and delivered something that puts The Killing Joke, another quintessential Bat-story, to shame. If you’re a fan of the Bat, you’ll love this movie. If you’re a fan of animation, you’ll love this movie. If you just want to see Batman done right, you’ll love this movie.

#Batman: The Long Halloween #Batman: The Long Halloween part One #DC #DC Animated #Smokey brand Movie Reviews

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d-criss-news · 4 years ago

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Three months after launch, Jeffrey Katzenberg and Meg Whitman’s short-form service Quibi is entering its first awards season.

As the nascent platform, which is still finding its feet with subscribers, kicks off its debut FYC campaign, Deadline has assembled a virtual roundtable of creators and stars to explore how it lured Hollywood A-listers to the second screen, what they really thought of it when they first heard about it, the creative process, the importance of owning their own rights and how they see things going forward.

Joining us were Darren Criss, co-creator, songwriter and star of musical comedy Royalties, Nicole Richie, creator and star of irreverent comedy Nikki Fre$h, Cody Heller, creator of Anna Kendrick sex doll comedy Dummy, Veena Sud, creator of dark thriller The Stranger and Nick Santora, creator of Liam Hemsworth action drama Most Dangerous Game.

DEADLINE: What did you think of Quibi when you first heard about it?

Nicole Richie: I went in there and I had a general with them, not really knowing what I was going to make. Separately, I was kind of preparing to do this comedy album without the show around it and I sat with [Jeffrey Katzenberg] and talked to him about the platform and the idea that it was for these in between moments, and that it’s quick bites, it’s ten minutes or less, and it was something that, I found it very smart and pretty exciting. I’ve done short-form before so I definitely felt like I could do it. There’s a lot of young creative people there and I was very excited to work with them.

Darren Criss: Just like everybody else in the industry I’d heard about Quibi. Obviously, anything that you know, Jeffrey Katzenberg attaches himself, my ears kind of perk up. So, I’d been aware of the concept. I think the specific idea of short form was never something that I thought ‘I have to make short form, nor was it, oh my God, that’s the worst thing ever’. For me, what excited me about Quibi, much like Nicole said, was the fact that it was this new thing. I always gravitate towards the renegade kind of out-of-box thinkers and I always think it’s an exciting opportunity to try something.

In many respects, it is the Wild West. So, when you’re shooting stuff you go, man is this going to fly, do we do it in this aspect ratio, how do we edit this, what is the precedent here, and in the lack of precedent I think for a lot of people that is actually kind of a scary thing where you say ‘We don’t know what works and what doesn’t work’, but for me I actually look at it as a really cool thing because you’re like, ‘Wow, fuck it, shoot it, ask questions later’. We get to decide what the thing is or not. I really was excited by that, it’s a really kind of fresh kind of community of people that are with the company that just got me excited about doing something in a new way.

Cody Heller: I had a weird evolution of Dummy (left) becoming a real thing, it was kind of a twisty journey. I had just written it as a script to get me staffed on other shows years ago and then I had a general meeting with Colin Davis who used to work at TBS and I actually had it set up to be a short form show at TBS, when they were attempting something like 15-minute late night programming thing with edgy stuff. So, I had written seven 15 minute episodes and then the whole block at TBS died. I was devastated but I was already working on this other show on Showtime, so that’s the way it is and I moved on.

Then like a year later you know, I kept in touch with Colin because he’s just a cool dude, and he gave me a call and he said ‘I left TBS, I’m at this new place, you never heard of it before because it doesn’t exist yet. It’s called Quibi. I hope you don’t mind, I gave all your scripts to Jeffrey Katzenberg and he loves them and he wants to meet with you next week’. It was just like the most surreal experience, like I went in and met with Jeffrey and he was quoting lines from these insane, very raunchy scripts, and he just got the show. It was so exciting and cool to have this older Jewish gentleman totally grasp and get what I was going for. That was just so exciting.

Veena Sud: I felt when I met with Jeffrey that what he was talking about was nothing short of potentially revolutionary in how we look at content, from the vertical screen obviously, but also how people would look at our storytelling, and what device they would watch it on. I thought about how radically different our relationship is with these things we walk around with in our hands than it is with the screens that we watched you know, in our homes or in the theaters. The device itself allowed for potentially a very different experience in content, which was really, really interesting to me.

Nick Santora: Well, my initial reaction was ’What the hell is this?’ I went to meet with Jeffrey, like it seems everyone else on the call did and he’s a very impressive guy, and he’s full of energy, and full of enthusiasm. It was coming off this Most Dangerous Game being a pilot for NBC that didn’t go, and he said, ‘Listen, can you basically add a hundred pages to this and blow it up?’ When he was talking about the ten minute segments I just had a feeling what I wanted to write would work really well for that because you just needed a cliffhanger or a twist or a turn about every nine or ten minutes. I worked on Prison Break and that show was bananas, and every commercial break was a massive cliffhanger and every episode out was an even bigger cliffhanger so I said, ‘I’m going to have to do this 15 times and I thought I could I don’t know if it would have worked better anywhere else. I think it really worked well in the Quibi format because, I call it Pringles entertainment, you just pop one in your mouth every nine minutes.

DEADLINE: How was the actual process of writing, producing and editing in this way?

Nick Santora: The writing for me was the same, I just needed to make sure that organically that every nine to ten pages there was an oh shit moment that would make people want to watch the next episode. The prep was very different because I had to work very closely with my director to make sure that in addition to filming it the way we would normally film something for network television or any television that didn’t have a turnstyle device, we had to have three cameras rolling at all time and we had to make sure and prep for the shot based on the location, based on the actors, based on what was going on in the scene, that the vertical and the horizontal would both have something very interesting to fill the frame. We always had a third camera running to catch the vertical, especially when you’re doing action and we have guys you know, jumping off of boats onto bridges and stupid shit or crazy shit like that, you want to make sure you’re getting it in the frame if people are turning their phones in either direction.

That was challenging and really fun though, and then editing was effectively the same if I’m being honest, it’s just that you had to do a vertical pass and edit the entire thing for you know, for a vertical turnstyle watch. But that wasn’t that big of a deal because it all comes down to making sure you’re editing it in a way that’s visually interesting and tells a good story. The prep was where it was most different for me, where we had to basically say, this is going to basically be two different movies, one vertical and one horizontal.

Veena Sud: What was so fascinating for me with The Stranger, directing it as well, was having to think really radically in terms of not thinking about vertical and horizontal as separate entities. I really wanted to have one monitor. Looking at two monitors or three monitors is really just kind of out of my wheelhouse. I like to look at one thing when I’m directing and focus on performance mostly. So, I had to have something baked in that would allow me to have that freedom to be looking at the actors versus, ‘Are we getting the shot?’. One thing we talked about extensively in prep, which was radically different because of this is, how do you service this story and allow the audience to feel what they would feel on a bigger screen and not feel less? What I mean by this is, if you hold a phone vertically you’re automatically losing east and west, right?

We looked at other shows that had tried to do vertical framing and very quickly started to think this is going to be a disaster unless we come up with a whole other aesthetic approach to this. So, really quickly, instead of thinking east and west in terms of the screen, think of north and south, and think of A to Z. Think of infinities, think of the depth of what you’re looking at. Think of going as deep into the screen as you possibly can in a way that maybe traditionally you wouldn’t think of when you have a landscape you know, when you have that aspect ratio. So, that’s why we had people moving, that’s why we’re always leading and following for the most part, that’s why all the environments were constantly changing, and we were looking for infinity lines constantly when we’re shooting and prepping. So, pushing the aisles of a grocery store closer together so that as the actor moves through them you would see left and right in a way that you know, traditionally you would not see if you were shooting that type of aspect ratio.

Darren Criss: Obviously for the three comedy weirdos here, the medium services our genres in very, very different ways than to Nick and Veena. I was really impressed with the way that they utilized what might seem a limitation in storytelling. I noticed it consciously. I wondered how they were going to fill all of the big action stuff in here. Yes, there is this aspect ratio thing, there’s the short form, you’re still applying the same rules that you would apply to if Katzenberg told all of us ‘I want a three-hour movie’ but if it was just that, if your idea is good enough, if you’re dexterous enough as a storyteller, you can kind of kneed the dough to fill in the space that you’re given. People have thought of really cool ways to maximize their narrative within this very specific box and that variety of nuance is such an exciting thing and the fact that that’s possible in such a fresh way is like something not to be ignored.

Cody Heller: We’re all just so fucking talented [laughs]. With [The Stranger and Most Dangerous Game], I did find myself wanting to experience both versions, so I want to rewatch in the vertical just to see the difference and experience it both ways. That is different than my experience because for me I really did just kind of center frame everything, like I shot everything in one big square and then just had demarcations on the video village screen. Because I had this show where literally it’s mostly one character and then a sex doll, most of the time they’re close enough together that it’s not really an issue, but the only times I would really notice it would be establishing shots. It was such a fun challenge to rise to and I loved the experience.

DEADLINE: Do you think these shows could be made anywhere else and if not, were you aware of that while you were making them?

Cody Heller: I don’t think I could have made this show anywhere else. I think my show, in particular, blends itself so well to ten minutes because I think if you made it a half hour you’d have to really go into [B] stories, which I think for my show it just works better as a smaller piece about Cody and Barbara. Quibi was so supportive and gave me so much artistic freedom that I just cannot speak highly enough of their whole team. They give really good notes that makes it so much better.

I really loved the challenge of taking on something new and the turnstyle thing was exciting. One thing that was super cool that I didn’t think of while I was shooting but noticed during the editing process, was because Quibi has to be ten minutes, it can’t be more than ten minutes but it can be less than ten minutes, and the episodes don’t have to be uniform in length, that was very liberating in the edit stage because then I was able to say this scene that I thought was so funny on the page, it didn’t really play as I thought and it’s not necessary to the story, let’s just cut the whole scene.

Nicole Richie: Cody mentioned having the A story and the B story on a television show and just having it be the A story, it does feel very intimate. I do feel like a B story on your phone doesn’t really work because when you are watching on a phone, you really do want to be locked in to that story, and from a comedy perspective, I love the jokes, but I’m very conscious of the breath after the joke, letting people digest that. With a show like Nikki Fre$h you know, only focusing on two people and then the music video, I was able to shoot that and give the jokes a moment. I can’t see this show living anywhere else.

Darren Criss: I think ideally anything that you make is so good in that particular mode of communication that you simply cannot imagine it anywhere else because the meal has been cooked so well. But I don’t want to shoot myself in the foot if somebody would like to make a five-movie franchise deal with Royalties [laughs].

I don’t think this could have existed anywhere else in any other format simply because I don’t think anybody else would have taken a chance on what we were doing. That is one of the valuable parts that I kind of glazed over about Quibi is that they’re really creator forward and really empowering a lot of the creators. It sounds like we all had a date with the Great Oz [Jeffrey Katzenberg]. I’d like to think it could exist in other places because I’d like to think our idea is malleable enough to fit in other places, but it comes down to the belief system and the support from someone in Jeffrey Katzenberg’s shoes.

DEADLINE: Have you had any feedback in terms of whether people watched in one go or in short bursts?

Veena Sud: It’s been anecdotal and it’s been both. Some waited for the whole thing to drop so they could watch it all in one go, because that’s the muscle that we’re used to as Americans now, with all the streaming devices. The most fascinating feedback were people who watched it day by day and feeling their growing anxiety and their growing desperation for the next hit. That was fascinating because while I was cutting and shooting simultaneously, you could feel that growing kind of addictive nature of something that’s less than ten minutes long and that does have cliffhangers built into it. It’s pretty fascinating to see how the need for the next, and the next, and then next grows over time.

Cody Heller: I binged The Stranger and I think if I had to wait each day I’d probably would have had many panic attacks every day. It would have been such a different experience, and now I am curious and kind of wish that I had experienced it that way because that’s so fascinating.

Can I just circle back to one thing that we were talking about before… Nicole, you made a really smart interesting point about the phone and it being this personal thing. For me I was one of the early ones to shoot and I didn’t know at the time that it was only for your phone. I thought that you were going to be able to also watch it on your TV, so I wasn’t really aware of that and then when I found out later during post-production I was kind of bummed since I thought that especially for comedy and especially during corona, like people love to laugh together. I was happy when they decided to add the possibility to your TV feature because I love nothing more than going to the theater and laughing with people. You can’t do that during Corona but at least you can be with family members or whoever we’re quarantined with and watch something together.

Also, I just want to say one other thing, Nicole Richie, you seriously, like could be in a Christopher Guest movie.

DEADLINE: Quibi’s rights position is that you can retain the IP and after two years repackage these shows into long form versions if you want to. How important was that for you and have you thought about that since you made these shows?

Nick Santora: I’m in the process of dealing with that right now. We have a potential buyer very interested in doing Most Dangerous Game as a feature film, and it was a big selling point to me because I just intuitively thought I could take those ten-minute segments and work with the composer to smooth out some of the musical cues, get the establishing shots that we would need to act as bridges and in just a matter of weeks with some minimal effort, turn it into a nice hour and fifty-minute movie that would play really well. There’s a fair amount of interest and I think we’re going to be successful in selling it. It was a selling point to me because you know, you want as many people to see your work as possible, and I think it’s great that Quibi gives you the opportunity to just turn it into another platform and see if it can be successful there. I’m interested to see how it plays out.

Darren Criss: I think for everybody it’s sort of a no-brainer deal. If anything, it’s sort of a brilliant way to incentivize the creator to deliver the best shit humanly possible because it’s a money back guarantee. Having this deal, I kept asking what’s the catch here, like this simply cannot be the case. I was so grateful frankly for the set up that was given behind our deal that, aside from just personally wanting to make something great, I was incentivized to make this really as kickass as humanly possible for the hand the fed me.

Veena Sud: What I found so fascinating about the idea of retaining the rights to what I create, even in its modified form, is this discussion has not been around since the 70s and United Artists. It’s the radical idea that we, as creators, get to own the thing that we create, which is revolutionary and beautiful. Katzenberg introducing it into the ecosystem of our industry is something that needs to be talked about and will be resisted being talked about certainly, but let’s talk about it. Let’s use this wonderful incentive that he provided us as artists to come and play in a sandbox that hasn’t been tested as a way for we, as artists, to start talking about that we should own the rights to what we create.

Darren Criss: One of the things that Jeffrey said on the first rollout of introducing Quibi, like maybe two years ago, was saying up top that this is the single handedly most disruptive time in the entertainment industry’s history, and so structures like Veena’s talking about are being kind of thrown out the window and everyone’s kind going, wait a second, things don’t need to be like this.

I mean, right now people are considering this with the very nature of how Coronavirus is making cooperate structures reconsider their rent on buildings. We are reconsidering a lot of old things that we say, ‘Wait a second, this was maybe not the best thing’. I think we all know what I’m talking about on a much more social scale. There are a lot of things that are happening where, I think the renegades again are stepping forward and saying ‘This is fucked, why don’t we think of a different way that can empower us in a way that can really service the things we’re making in a more fruitful way.

The very question of you asking ‘Was it a good thing that you get your thing back in two years?’, that’s crazy that that gets to be a causal question. It’s an amazing thing and of all the things I think are really great about Quibi I would hope that it starts this conversation and this precedent for fueling creative in this way, and not just for the selfish sort of economic notions that I get out of it, but empowering creators can only be a good thing. I’m very careful with that because I don’t want to sound like a maniacal egotist, but there’s so many things that really incentivize positive things about content when it’s done in this structure.

Cody Heller: I mean I just can’t wait to own it again so that I can sell it to Disney+ [laughs].

—

DEADLINE: Darren, you were making Royalties at the same time as Hollywood. Would you want to do more Royalties?

Darren Criss: Yeah [but] hopefully I don’t have to do them all at the same time. I certainly echo what Cody was saying and I feel like anybody in a creative position is definitely hypercognitive of following those same principals. Having an opportunity to look at systems in different ways, in a way that can benefit so many people, is an exciting thing. It’s not, ‘Oh crap, how am I going to pull this off?. It’s like, okay, cool, let’s get all the people involved that we can to make this something really special and more beneficial for everybody involved. I mean look, we’re a whacky, zany comedy about writers that write goofy songs. That is sort of an ever-green game. There is a big pile of funny little puppies in the pen that I really want to give a home. That if there is a second season it’s giving them a place to go because we had to earn those ideas.

The hardest thing about a first season is establishing an audience’s trust, knowing your way around your actors and how the things going to look. It’s not until the second go that you kind of get to roll up your sleeves and go, alright, so here’s what we can really do, now I know what I’m working with. I really look forward in getting to do anything in a second season simply because now I’ve watched other people’s shows, I’ve seen how my show functions on this thing, I’ve seen how people react to my character’s and my jokes, and the songs, I now want to see if I can make those things that I threw out the first go, but hey, that is not up to me, that’s up to Katzenberg.

#darren criss #deadline hollywood #nicole richie #cody heller #veena sud #nick santora #royalties #royalties press #deadline roundtable #press #july 2020

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smokeybrand · 4 years ago

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Mutiny

I’m not a fan of Joe Rogen. I find a lot of what he says to be problematic as f*ck but the way he says it, is FAR more damaging. Dude pushes some wild, dangerous, nonsense under the guise of “free speech”, disingenuous “debate”, and insidiously leading questions. Rogen is the Frat Boy version of Tucker Carlson in a lot of ways and that sh*t just doesn’t appeal to me. Beta males who think too highly of themselves listen to this due and take him seriously. These are people who are not self-actualized, who’s entire personality is based on their car or their sneakers or some other superficial bullsh*t they confuse for a personality, and that’s what Rogen’s entire show is; Superficial bullsh*t. So when he pushes dumb-f*ckery like “Don’t get the shot if you’re young and healthy”, these idiots who are either teenagers or have the mentality of teenagers, f*cking listen and we have a spike in cases. Because Joe Rogen said so.

The other day, this asshole bought into that whole “White Fear” sh*t, talking about how the Straight White Male is the most persecuted demo in America and i just groaned. This is the same exact sh*t Carlson does on his show, verbatim, just slightly less racist. It’s the current strategy of what is fast becoming the American Fascist Party, Republicans. It’s hypocritical f*cking nonsense and i hate it. How the f*ck would Joe Rogen, a Straight White Male with a whole ass podcast, be silenced or censored or persecuted/ He’s a multi-millionaire with one of the most popular platforms on f*cking Spotify. How the f*ck would any White person, especially Straight White Males, get silenced in the US? The bones of this country are built to uphold a very specific form of White Supremacy. Hell, cats talk about all these rights and liberties but, in the very beginning, those rights were only extended to White Male Landowners; basically Rich White Men, and guess who the f*ck Joe Rogen is? The constitution had to be amended to include every one else which means this country was designed to be a haven for objective White Supremacy. The fact that they replaced Straight with Rich is just a misnomer used to broaden that division and you have assholes with real audiences buying into that dangerous bullsh*t, disseminating that poison to their followers. And they just drink that persecution complex kool-aid, up. It’s f*cking absurd.

The irony in all of this is the fact that the country is getting younger and browner. Statistically, by the time Gen Z’s kids come of age, we’ll outnumber White people. The margin will be slight but they’ll be the overall minority in this country and that’s why we have all of this fear-mongering and treasonous tantrums. That system the Founding Fathers built to protect their power, is falling apart. It's all a matter of time. Why do you think they're fighting so hard to keep DC and Puerto Rico from becoming actual States? I can guarantee those cats who signed the Constitution never anticipated the influx of melanated people over the years, interbreeding with their lily White sensibilities, or the homogeneity desegregation would bring to society or the way Black culture ended up shaping the entire American zeitgeist or how the Internet just blew the doors off any illusion US citizens had about our true status in the world at large. I was born in 1984. Ten years before i existed, the South was still heavily segregated. My generation, the Millennials, were the very first to be completely free from the social consequences of the Civil Rights Movement. We were far enough removed from that to just see people, not race. I was exposed to so many more cultures, religions, and people, as a kid, than my ma had been when she was young. It wasn’t like, all of a sudden, we were singing kumbaya together, but it was definitely a start, one that has only gained more and more momentum as the Generations who came after mine, started coming of age in a world whose borders are just ceremonial at this point because of the Tech age.

I met my chick and made friends across the globe in a chatroom. One of my closest friends lives in New Zealand. Another stays in Finland. My birthday twin lives in England. She’s a year older than i am and has a beautiful family. My Puerto Rican sister met her dude around the same time i met my chick. He’s from Alabama. She moved from the island to be with him and they've settled down in Georgia where they share a beautiful daughter. My best friend became so close with an Asian girl from Australia, that he adopted her as his own sister. They spoke at least twice a week for the next fifteen years, all the way up until he passed away. The world is much smaller, much clearer, than it has ever been before, and it turns out that it’s full of color. Color these Straight White Men are, apparently, terrified of. That’s got to be it. That’s got to be why they’re throwing these big ass tantrums and constantly fear-mongering about it. I don’t understand. When Brie Larson said what she said, it was the truth. There are THOUSANDS of films about White dudes you can watch. The entirety of film history is Straight White Males. What is so bad abut getting some chicks or People of Color or some LBGTQ representation in a few leads? Why can't we have strong Black performances in movies where we don't play the “magical Negro” or f*cking Slave? Why can't we have an all Asian cast when the principals aren't constantly fetishized? What is so terrible about giving a role to a Muslim that isn't linked to some ridiculous terrorist trope? Who’s really offended by this and why are they so goddamn fervent about it? Straight White Males, bud.

It’s because their grip on the reins is slipping. The power and the privilege they’ve had for so long, too long, is started to tip in the other direction. The playing field is, ever so slowly, evening out and these Straight White Males are losing their sh*t. They’ll talk about “being racist against white people” and “it's fine to interview everyone but hire cats who are qualified” with one breath but then absolutely savage voting rights directly focused on crippling the Black vote and desperately cling to the idea that 45 still deserves to be president, even though a steady stream of his criminal incompetence has been flowing out of the the White House since he’s left. The level cognitive dissonance is f*cking hilarious. It’s as bad as the GOP complaining about “cancel culture” while literally silencing Liz Cheney. Are you f*cking kidding me? I gotta sit here and listen to a very vocal minority complain about the direction of the MCU because they’ve decided to add a plethora of female and POC roles going forward into Phase Four. They keep asking “who's this for?” and it's obvious it's for everyone, not just Straight White Males. That, to them, means it's going to be bad. Just because the focus has shifted from three White dudes in leading roles, suddenly the MCU has lost it's way. It’s like, all of a sudden, just because the MCU wants to represent their audience as a whole, not just a narrow and shrinking part of it, we’re not supposed to trust in Feige anymore. Are you kidding me? The Green Knight is slated to be another massive hit for A24. The cat who wrote that film was bounced from studio to studio because he created that story specifically as a vehicle for Dev Patel and no major studio wanted to make it with him in the lead. Dev Patel is a f*cking Oscar winner and a brilliant actor but this movie, draped in surreal and beautiful imagery, driven by a visceral, bloody, focus, wasn’t going to get made because the lead this plot was specifically written for, happens to be brown. But Straight White Males are the ones being silenced? Okay, bud.

Joe Rogen is a symptom of a greater problem and it’s the problem of White Fragility. White Fragility fuels the worst of our society. It's the genesis of racism and bigotry. It drives Nationalism and is fertile ground for cults of personality which blossom into whole ass dictatorships. These motherf*ckers are in they’re feelings and will burn this country to the ground if it means they will stop getting their way. Brie Larson calls out the ridiculousness of the race bias in Hollywood? They attack. Arizona flips Blue because Indigenous people and Black folks come out to vote in droves? Voter fraud and four recounts, one months after the election has been called and Biden has already taken office. Jordan Peele says, out loud, to the entire country, that he’s not interested in telling stories with White people in the lead? Shadow banned from Hollywood. Dude was the toast of Hollywood after Get Out and Us. He said what he said and cat's been trapped behind the camera as a Producer ever since. It’s nuts because these people complaining about how hard it is to be and how unfair the current social climate is to Straight White Males, have called Twatter NPCs whiny, SJW, children, for years. Bro,you’re the same, just racist! You are the Trump to their Obama. You are the thermodynamic reaction to their Civil action. You assholes are arguing the same merit, just on the opposite ends of the spectrum so, if they’re whiny assholes, wouldn’t you have to be, too? The only difference is that the Twatter assholes have a zeal for inclusion while you Rogen Bros have a penchant for White Supremacy and, given the choice, I'd have to agree with the Blue Checkmarks in this regard.

Straight White Males have had the run of this country since before it was a country and look what they’ve done with it. Look where we are, right now, in the year of our lord, 2021. This is as far as we have come under their stewardship. It’s time for a new captain, i think. Sorry if that hard truth hurts your feelings. Now please steer us away from those very obvious rocks. I’d rather not violently crash into that reef and sink into a watery grave before we can get our hands on the wheel to right this ship, all because you assholes are in your feelings, thank you.

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cayenne-twilight · 4 years ago

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Hi! Could you write something about Sophia and Anton's daughter (let's call ber Iris) if she knew her father? Bonus for baby Katia! Thank you!

The little girl sat on her mother’s lap, dressed in pajamas. Her mother brushed her vibrant purple hair, a trait she had passed down from herself.

“Ow mama, stop,” the girl pouted. “You’re pulling.”

“Sorry, Iris,” Sophia said, pulling the brush more gently. “If you quit rolling around in the fields, you wouldn’t have these tangles.”

Admittedly, Dropstone did have the most charming landscape. That was why she chose this particular area to settle, after all. Well, that was part of the reason at least. The pond near town center, the rolling fields, the mountains in the distance, beaten paths winding between sparse clusters of trees; it was all very lovely. A change of scenery.

“That better be it, mama,” Iris said, pulling her hair over her shoulder protectively.

“Thank you for being patient,” Sophia smiled.

“You have to tell me a real good bedtime story to make up for the yanks,” Iris said.

Sophia hoisted the girl onto her bed and tucked her in, kissing her cheek. “Hmm, would you like a fairy tale from the storybook?”

“Nuh-uh. I’ve heard all of those over and over again. How about a brand new story?”

‘I should add a public library to my list of projects,’ Sophia thought. “I suppose I can make something up, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be as good as the old stories.”

“No matter, just as long as it’s fresh.”

“Here goes nothing then,” she brainstormed for a moment. “Did any of your stories have vampires in them?”

“Vampires?” Iris’s eyes widened. “This better not be a scary story. You’re supposed to be putting me to sleep, not keeping me up all night, remember?”

Sophia petted her hair. “No, love. This was a good vampire. He lived in a big castle in the forest, and he liked to throw balls with lots of music and dancing. The decorations and tableware were made out of the most brilliant gold. After all, vampires can’t touch silver, you know. His hair was golden, too, and he had a flowing cape that swooshed around as he danced. He was awfully charming, and lots of ladies wanted to dance with him.”

“But don’t vampires have to drink blood?” Iris asked.

“This one had a penchant for um… grape juice, and it kept him satisfied.” Sophia started the story from the beginning.

It would be a lie to say that the drive to Herzen mansion wasn’t daunting. The surrounding town of Folsense may have been welcoming with its warm glow and interesting brand of night life, but this maiden’s destination was detached from the outside world. The road took her through a shadowy thicket, gangly trees arching over her on either side. She tried to imagine what this trail must look like on a sunny spring day, but she couldn’t quite put the image together. She arrived at the massive building’s doors, parking her car. The maiden grabbed her clutch purse and pulled her faux fur coat tightly around her torso as she scuttered inside, taking care to not trip over her heels.

A short, bespectacled man with a downward hooked nose took her coat and pointed her towards the main hall. She was amazed at the sheer size of it. Sure, her father had a countryside mansion of his own, but she could probably stuff most of it into this room alone. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like upstairs or inside those turrets visible from outside.

“And what might your name be?” The young man approached her, a champagne flute in each hand.

She accepted the drink. “Sophia. And you?”

“Anton. Anton Herzen.” He winked.

So this is Duke Herzen’s son. He was certainly handsome-

“Whoa, mama! The girl has the same name as you?” Iris said.

Sophia laughed. “Yes, what a coincidence.”

Sophia and Anton made small talk over fine hors d’oeuvres, seated in the cloister above the main hall.

Anton popped the last piece of a finger sandwich into his mouth. He gestured towards the couples dancing below. “Care to join them?”

They walked down the stairs arm in arm, getting into position to waltz as the live orchestra flipped their sheet music to the next song. They met eyed and smiled. The first hum of strings cued them, stepping back and forth to the rhythm. They swirled across the floor, performing spins at the proper moments.

“So tell me what it’s like, being a Herzen,” Sophia said.

“Being a Herzen? Why, it’s nothing to write home about, save for the family wealth perhaps.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Father’s got himself occupied with some silly new business venture. I gather he’s going after pharmaceuticals now, which rubs me the wrong way considering that he doesn’t even know how to alleviate the common cold.”

“Pharmaceuticals? That is odd. He already owns the gold mining company, doesn’t he?”

“That’s just it. The miners have discovered some sort of hallucinogen trapped in the rock, and now they’re searching for a way to harvest it and rework it into anesthesia or anti-anxiety medication.”

“I can’t imagine there being a safe way to do that,” Sophia said.

“There must be, and I hope to God father knows of it.”

With the end of the song, they returned upstairs to continue the next course of food.

Iris yawned. “Now I mean this as constructive story-telling criticism, but this is getting a bit boring. What about the part where the guy is a vampire? Or was that a surprise for later? *Gasp* Maybe the girl will find out he’s secretly a monster and will have to decide whether she’s afraid of him or if she’ll love him anyways!”

“I should’ve thought of that,” Sophia said. “Maybe you should be the one telling stories.” She booped Iris’s nose like a button. “At least I’m succeeding in making you sleepy.”

“What’s Folsense like?” Sophia asked.

“It’s lovely. The lights are beautiful at night, and I’m not just saying that because of the cabaret.”

“I’d love to take a walk there one of these days. Would you be so kind as to give me a tour?”

“Yes, of course. I know Folsense like the back of my hand, and it knows me. Well, except for the people I pranked last Halloween when I ran around convincing them I was a real vampire. That reputation still follows me among the less social townsfolk.”

“I would love to have been there and seen it. Halloween must be a blast in a mansion like this, what with the gothic architecture and spooky forest.”

“I’ve never thrown a Halloween party before, but now that you mention it, it would be surely be smashing.”

Anton took a long drink of his red wine and spoke again, “Where are you from?”

“I live pretty close to London.”

“London? But that’s so far off! It must have taken you, what? Two hours to get here?”

“It’s really not as long as it seems.”

“But it’s already so late! If you left early you’d still only get home in the wee hours of the morning.”

“I could stay at the Folsense hotel-”

“Or you could stay here.”

“You have vacant rooms available?”

“If you want a vacant room, that’s all right too.”

“I don’t.”

Sophia decided it would be best to skip that part of the story.

Anton was still asleep when she woke up the next morning. She put yesterday’s clothes back on and took the chance to explore the castle. Sophia ducked in and out of unlocked doorways, looking for something like a living room or dining room. She found the sheer number of unused spaces odd, thinking that she would surely use them for something more useful, or at least make each room more unique. She stumbled upon the dining room where the Duke was taking his breakfast.

“Nigel, fetch the kettle, would y- DEAR GOD girl, who are you?” the shock faded as soon as it set in. “You wouldn’t happen to be one of Anton’s-“

Sophia laughed nervously. “No, no, nothing like that. He just let me stay the night because I live so far away. Really.”

The Duke’s eyes narrowed as he dabbed the jam from his whiskers with a napkin. “Leave.”

Sophia thought about Anton still asleep in his room. “Um… right. I’ll be right out.” She smiled fakely, trying to remember how to get to the front door.

She gently cracked open the door to Anton’s bedroom. “Antoooon,” she stage-whispered.

He opened his eyes and pushed himself up. “Eh?”

“Your father wants me out. When can I see you again? Maybe we could meet in Folsense?”

“Ah, sorry about him. Are you free next Saturday? We could meet in front of the museum around noon, perhaps.”

“Sounds great! See you there.” Sophia left him, walking through the hallway into the main hall and down the steps to the front door. She retrieved her purse and coat, leaving for her car. Sophia drove home through the rolling hills and fields of the countryside in a dreamy state of highway hypnosis.

“She fell in love with the guy,” Iris stated.

“Yes.”

“And his dad doesn’t want them to be together. It’s a story of forbidden love! Do they have to meet up in secret and serenade each other through the window from outside?”

“Don’t worry, Iris. The Duke isn’t a bad guy, he just cares about his son in his own way, I suppose.”

Sophia and Anton would meet up periodically about town, but although it was good fun, they couldn't do this forever. Anton led Sophia by the hand into the mansion and up to his office.

“Father.”

“What is it Anton? I’m busy.”

“I’ve come to say that I love Sophia whether or not you agree with it, and that she will be coming over no matter what you think.”

The Duke sighed. “You’re right; I can’t stop you two, no matter what I think.”

To Duke Herzen’s distaste, Sophia ended up practically moving in. He appeared to be in denial, engaging young Freidrich in conversation or turning to his legal documents whenever they were in the same room. The young couple tried to keep to themselves, which one would think to be easy in a house of that size, but he seemed to turn up at every corner as if watching them.

Sophia sat down next to him in his library one day. “I didn’t take you for the type to read Poe for fun.”

“Well here I am. Do you read him?”

“Oh of course! I love that surreal macabre stuff. I’ve actually been curious about the mines below the castle; isn’t it a dangerous setup?”

Duke Herzen closed his book. “There were reports of coal being collected when they first built the foundation. I had the idea of digging deeper. I see how having a gaping pit under your home may seem precarious, but I trust in the beams and supports holding us up.”

“Anton mentioned some sort of gas discovered down there…”

“Did he now? That was meant to stay confidential.”

“Oh don’t get mad at him for it, it was but a slip.”

“Still, I’m sure this could become the next big thing in pharma. I need to find the men to research and rework it, but after that it’ll be smooth sailing. I didn’t think you’d be interested in this sort of thing.”

“I can’t deny that I have my concerns, but admittedly this is all very curious.”

Duke Herzen reopened the novel. “Look after him, will you?”

“The vampire’s dad was very cold at first,” Sophia said. “But his heart started to warm up as he got to know the maiden. Soon enough, he began confiding in her. The maiden and the vampire lived together in his castle until one terrible day, tragedy struck.”

“Aww come ooon. I thought this was gonna be a sappy feel good love story. No tragedies,” Iris whined.

“Okay fine. No tragedy.”

“There’s more of it seeping out and diffusing into the air than we thought,” Duke Herzen said from his sickbed.

“What does this mean? Have you lost all hope in stopping it?” Sophia asked, masking panic.

“There’s not much we can do but leave it alone and move somewhere else. Not that I would make it much longer anyhow.”

“Oh don’t say that rubbish.”

“You can’t change the fact of the matter, my dear.” He smiled weakly. “I’ll leave it up to you to lead the evacuation.”

“But so many people don’t plan on leaving. What of them?”

“We can’t force anyone to go.”

“That’s awful- don’t they know-”

“Whatever they’re thinking, their minds won’t change.”

“Awful,” Sophia muttered again.

“I’m staying!” Anton yelled. “I know the risks, and I know that I feel responsible for this town, so I can’t just leave it.”

“You idiot!” Sophia retorted. “There’s no future for Folsense, so stop acting like you’re immune from this gas unlike everybody else.”

“And here I was thinking you’d stay with me.” He turned away.

Sophia grimaced.

“How about we just go to bed and talk this over like normal people tomorrow morning?” he sighed.

Tomorrow morning Sophia was gone. She got up before the sun and kissed Anton’s sleeping head. Lugging her trunk down the ornate staircase, she took a final look around the home she called her own, around the hall where he and she shared their first dance. Nigel handed Sophia her coat, he was staying as well. She stepped out into the crisp air where birds were only beginning to chirp and walked through the woods to the station. They really weren’t all that spooky in the daytime. Charming, really. Friedrich helped her pull the luggage up from the platform.

“Is it really okay? To leave him here, I mean.”

Sophia scanned the rooftops of Folsense once more. “I don’t know, Friedrich. I don’t know.”

She didn’t tell him the train was today. She didn’t tell him that they didn’t plan on coming back once this all “blew over” because she suspected it wouldn’t. She didn’t tell him about the baby.

The train hissed and whistled, pistons coming to life and shoving the wheels along the tracks. This was it. Her last look at Folsense. Her last chance to be with him. The town disappeared before she could notice, replaced with a view of rolling fields and sparse trees. She took a deep breath. This was it.

Sophia snapped back. “The vampire and the maiden threw a grand big wedding and invited all the townsfolk. At first they were wary of the vampire, but it turned out to be a jolly fun evening. They lived together happily ever after, and even had a little daughter who hated having her hair brushed. The good vampire protected the town for the rest of time, no matter what, so all the people could be safe and happy like them.”

“Wow, it’s like I was there, mama,” Iris giggled. “You should start writing this stuff down.”

“Oh hush, dear. It’s far past your bedtime.” Sophia kissed Iris on her sleepy head and left the room. It’s like she was there again.

#professor layton #anton herzen #diabolical box #pandoras box #layton #professor layton fanfiction #professor layton spoilers #you were expecting fluff mwahahaha but it was i angst #i am incapable of writing without starting past midnight and pulling an all nighter #had to do a big find and replace to change all sofias to sophia #big fat sorry for being like a month late lol #sad antonxsophia hours #long post #ct writes

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contrivedcoincidences6 · 5 years ago

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A Christmas Flowergirl- Chapter 6

Ok so this is actually the corniest thing I’ve ever written and I love it so fucking much.

The tiny chapel smells like pine needles with an underlying aroma of the smell all old churches seem to share. Mulder’s nerves hum and he rolls the thin, unadorned, gold wedding band between his fingers. It’s not traditional, which suits him well. Scully didn’t have some grand entrance but it made his heart beat out of his chest when she looked up at him. She walked in holding Emily’s hand and a small bouquet. A woman played a modest rendition of ‘Oh Come Let Us Adore Him’ as the two walked the short distance hand in hand.

Mulder had gotten close to marriage once and it had made him jumpy even thinking about it then (and now). Since then he’d often wondered if he would be standing at the altar ready to run but instead he found himself beaming.

It was Scully after all he’d decided long ago that they’d be together forever. She was ethereal. Lips a cheerful red that matched the roses and poinsettias in her hand. A slight smile plays on her lips and her eyes soften as she looks down at Emily who practically skips down the short aisle.

Moments before they entered the church Emily had decided she’d rather hold her mother’s hand than sprinkle pedals. Two-quarters of the way Emily breaks off and runs toward Mulder who lifts her up in his arms. It was surreal.

“Do you like my dress?” Emily whispers in Mulder’s ear and plays with his bowtie.

“You look very pretty.” He kisses her head.

“Hey.” Scully whispers. Her face is blissful. It’s an expression he’s only seen on her face sparingly in the past few years. Usually while holding Emily or in bed. Here it has an edge of hopefulness to it that makes his heart soar while also scaring him shitless.

Scully as always reads him so well and places her palm on his cheek. His eyes close automatically and he leans into her hand.

After a moment he places Emily back on the floor and takes Scully’s hand.

She hands Emily her bouquet and takes his other hand.

The pews seat a select few: The Lone Gunmen, Skinner, Maggie, and Mulder’s mother.

Teena Mulder had surprised her son by accepting his invitation. She seemed genuinely emotional. Before the ceremony, she’d come straight to her son to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Teena had met Emily a handful times and, like everyone, was charmed by the little girl. She’d been softening as Scully encouraged Mulder to welcome Mrs. Mulder into their new little family.

Maggie was already dabbing at her eyes, as was Frohike.

Father McCue stood in front of them. Despite being in a Catholic church with a priest doing the ceremony they had not wanted a wedding mass but Father McCue was still very willing to perform the ceremony.

During a couple discussions about what they wanted the ceremony to look like had trimmed it down to a reading, vows, and a kiss. Mulder had insisted that he choose the reading and it be a secret, which Scully found charming.

And so Byers walks up with a slightly crumpled sheet of paper and clears his throat:

“I’ll-uh- be reading the poem ‘Love Sonnet 17’ by Pablo Neruda chosen by Mulder” He wipes his palm on his pants, “I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:

I love you as certain dark things are loved,

Secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom and carries

hidden within itself the light of those flowers,

and thanks to your love, darkly in my body

lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,

I love you simply, without problems or pride:

I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,

so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,

so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.”

Scully looks at him with watery eyes, wanting to kiss him there. Mulder looks bashful and watches their joined hands.

Father McCue invites a relieved Byers to take his seat.

“I understand the two of you have written your own vows.”

The partners nod.

Scully starts, “I don’t believe in destiny but I believe that each choice has the potential to change our lives. When I made the choice to join the FBI I knew I was changing my life. So much has happened since then, good and bad, but I wouldn’t change a day. I’m not sure I believe in soul mates either, at least not in the traditional sense. But maybe two people become perfect for each other as time passes. Over the past few years, we have become two parts of a whole, you’re my perfect other. You’re my partner and the father to my daughter and I am excited that soon I will be able to call you my husband.”

Scully looks slightly self-conscious when she finishes until she meets Mulder’s beautiful hazel eyes and knows it was exactly what she needed to say.

Mulder swallows, “Well this works perfectly. Just like us our vows complement each other.” He grins at her and starts with his memorized vows, “I believe in fate and in soul mates. I believe everything happens for a reason, but I also believe in choice. So while providence brought us together we made the choice to stay. For me, though, it was hardly a choice. You are the most brilliant, beautiful, kind soul I’ve ever met and the one thing I can’t believe is that you have chosen me. I’d given up on the idea of a family but with you, I’ve found it. We’re less than traditional but I would never want anything else. Thank you for letting me be Emily’s dad and now your husband.”

Scully’s eyes rolled up hoping to hold back tears but a couple get loose. She’s always been a pretty crier. The priest does the standard vows then: sickness and health and so on they both agree but know that the statements had been true for years.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

Mulder struggles to keep the kiss PG in front of their audience as her tongue casually slides into his mouth. It’s both familiar and jarring; still, to be kissing Scully. The applause from the small audience breaks their kiss.

He’s surprised to see Scully’s eyes dark with desire it makes him immediately regretful that they would be having a small luncheon with everyone instead of going straight to their hotel.

There would be time later, of course, the rest of their lives.

And he couldn’t wait.

#the x files #txf #x files fanfiction #the x files fanfiction #txf fanfic #msr #dana scully #fox mulder #a christmas flowergirl #a very emily christmas #there will be more #theres not been enough smut in this one

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locke-writes · 5 years ago

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One Night

Author: locke-writes

Title: One Night

Prompt: She’s A Rebel - Green Day, Bucky Barnes (Musician!Reader x Music Journalist!Bucky AU) For: @thefanficfaerie ‘s 3500 follower celebration

Rating; T

Word Count: 3,137

Marvel Taglist: @lotsoffandomimagines @lgbtonystarks

Bucky smiled softly as he watched you in the recording studio. He always enjoyed these moments as they were quite rare. For the most part when you were at home he'd never get to listen to what you'd been working on as you tried to keep full songs a secret. Sometimes he might be asked his opinion on a riff just to help discern if one note sounded better than another for any song you might be working on but you were very much a private person when it came to your songwriting. He found a humor in the fact that this was quite the opposite of you on stage as you'd often tease audiences with bits and pieces of songs currently in the works.

Although he might not admit it out loud Bucky certainly felt that at times he took his position for granted. Not everyone in the world could say they started a company with a friend they'd known since childhood and not everyone could say that it was their job that led them to the love of their life. Bucky always felt he owed it all to fate although Steve had a different opinion on that being part of the reason you and Bucky had met. Bucky stopped his mind from wandering and turned back to the story at hand, jotting down more notes for use when he returned to his office.

Sitting back down in his office Bucky began typing up an outline. He smiled as it felt sort of humorous for him to be writing this particular article. It wasn't just a piece on the anniversary of the your band's debut album or a teaser for the fact that you were working on another to be released later in the year, for him it was partially about the anniversary of when you met, the anniversary of when his life completely changed.

As he was typing he let his mind drift to the first meeting and subsequent thereafter.

The magazine had only been running for six years. It was no Rolling Stone but their readership was growing by the minute what with the fact that they had decided to make it readily available digitally as well as in print an idea that wasn't necessarily revolutionary but did help for availability. Steve had the idea to start the whole thing which Bucky was apprehensive about at first albeit now grateful for Steve pushing him into agreeing. From their apartment originally to now renting out a few floors in Stark Towers they'd risen fast.

Most of what he did on the daily basis was executive work. He didn't hate it but he preferred writing, Steve was more the artist having everything under control when it came to scheduling photoshoots and figuring out who was on the cover every week. Bucky wanted to be the writer, that's really all that he wanted since the start but you own your own company you've got to be the executive. This made the rare moments that either he or Steve got to work on something for themselves and not be stuck in meetings, all the more special. It meant moments where Steve came crashing into Bucky's office, all the more interesting.

"Tell me you don't have plans tonight and mean it." Steve shouted.

"I don't have plans tonight and I mean it" Bucky replied looking up from the outline of future issue topics.

"Good because I need you to take this story off my hands, something came up with one of the photographers and I need to take over which means I won't make this show."

"What's the story?"

"New band on the block, Battering Ram. An indie punk band that's doing a series of club shows in the city before they head on their first US tour. It's their debut album and I scheduled them for an interview. A real, who is the band sort of thing, nothing complex."

"Yeah I mean, have you cleared it with their manager or whoever you've talked to"

"Called him about an hour ago. I figured you'd say yes, told him I'd be giving you my ticket and press pass but that you'd need your name added to the list since it's a sort of, first come first serve show tonight."

Bucky nodded as Steve walked out, he glanced down at the ticket noting that doors opened at 7:30. He knew if anything he should be there at 5 for sound check but he knew it might be better to be there at the start of the show rather than before in an effort to get a real feel for who the band was.

Backstage at the club you were buzzing, excitement running through you. Everything seemed surreal and you couldn't seem to focus on the lyrics you'd been working on. The guitar techs were tuning everything up which meant you couldn't even play a little or work on anything new. You just felt lucky that you weren't the only one who seemed to be a bit nervous and filled with excited energy. Sam was going over the setlist spouting out lyrics as if he'd forget them on stage which you knew had never and probably would never happen. Thor was tossing drumsticks back and forth tapping out a beat on his knees while Nat was organizing and reorganizing all her bass picks.

The album had only been out for a few weeks but it had been gaining traction steadily, something you'd hoped for but never thought possible.

You'd all met through one another, Sam being friends with Thor because they met at some bar when it was open mic night. Nat had been your roommate who knew someone who knew someone who'd gone to college with Thor. None of you could have predicted that you'd hit it off nor that you'd all come together in such a way to form a bad that would actually have some modicum of success.

All of you were nervous in part because you wanted a great show but in part because you knew there was a music journalist coming. Well, not just any music journalist, the Bucky Barnes. You'd been reading the magazine he'd created since day one and now he was coming that night to see the show and interview you all. You just tried to keep your mind on the show all through soundcheck and then when it came time for the actual concert.

Part of Bucky's approach to covering new bands was to never read up on them or listen to anything before the show. He wanted a true first impression, he wanted the music and the stage presence to speak for itself not be built up in his mind because of something he'd already read or heard online. To say he was thrown by the number of people piling out the door was an understatement. The club wasn't large but it wasn't small either and he was sure that there were double the amount of people that the fire department would permit. He gave his name at the door and showed his press pass pushing his way up to the bar to get a better view of the stage.

Pulling out the small notebook that he'd placed in his pocket he began noting the stage. Minimalist was the right word for it. A banner with the band name and the instruments selected for the first song were already on stage. Bucky wondered if there would be more added, if maybe this was just set up for soundcheck earlier and hadn't been changed out. Twenty minutes later after getting caught up in conversation with a few fans who'd agreed to give quotes for the article Bucky was shocked to find that the stage hadn't been changed. This was just how it was going to be.

Sam ran out on stage first as always to introduce the rest of the band. You scanned the crowd looking at the size and you grinned. These were the places you'd first experienced the music that would change your life, you loved the fact that you'd get to share it with a crowd here. Maybe someone in the crowd could be influenced by what happened here on stage. You counted off in your head before strumming the opening chord.

Never in his life would Bucky admit too feeling foolish at the moment he'd first heard Battering Ram play. Never in his life would he admit this to you, but that's exactly what he felt in the first moment when the music washed over him. In that first moment, with that first song, he hated himself for not knowing about the band sooner. Punk was a finicky genre nowadays with a lot of bands trying to recapture early 70's punk but failing to find any originality. But here you all were with this sound that he couldn't quite describe. There were notes of Ramones, Black Flag and even X yet somehow you tossed that all on its head when you launched into a cover of Jolene which was unexpected by himself but apparently on the album as he heard whispers in the crowd of people not certain if that would be played.

He hated the fact that he actually had to judge the show at that moment. He hated it because he wanted to watch, he wanted to listen to opinion. And he wanted specifically to pay attention to you. There was something about you, he couldn't say what, but he was enthralled — entranced — by you. You didn't sing backing vocals like most guitarists, you just played. Sometimes you interacted with the other members of the band but mostly you just seemed to exist almost as a fixture of the crowd itself, either starting or ending the songs. You talked with the crowd, you played riffs of songs not performed and then you melted into the music.

Time was lost and before Bucky realized the encore had been finished you and the band retreated off stage. He slid through the crowd making his way past security to backstage where it was a whirlwind of movement, everyone checking off and packing instruments away. Coughing briefly he made himself known shaking hands. Water was handed out and he began a long line of questioning.

There were good and bad interviews in every reporters life. Sometimes there was little to work with, answers that didn't seem fully formed and no matter what prodding nothing could be produced to fill up the word or page limit that was set. This was a good interview, every member eager to answer questions. Bucky learned everything there was to know, from how everyone started in music to how you met, the horror stories of early gigs and when you realized that you had an audience. He asked about the album, about influences, about who wrote songs and why.

That night he learned you didn't sing because you sounded terrible but you wrote all the songs (a few with help), because lyrics seemed to constantly flow through your head. That night he learned that Sam sang because he'd been forced into choir as an elective in high school and figured out that he actually kinda liked it. He learned that Nat wanted to be a bassist not only because of the small amount of female bassists in the world but because she realized that all her favorite songs had great bass parts. Thor's nickname was the God of Thunder because he had tried and failed miserably to play soft beats on the drums but always gravitated towards the loud booming sound.

Bucky learned a lot that night, including the fact that he knew he wanted to ask you out. Physical attraction certainly didn't hinder what he felt but there was something there, something that he felt when you spoke that he didn't want to stop feeling. He'd ended up lingering backstage that night long after the interview was over, helping out break down the set, grabbing drinks with the band, and suddenly when the night couldn't have gone any better there you were, sliding a piece of paper with your number on it and telling him to text you sometime.

Sometime was later that night when he texted asking if there was any way you had time to grab dinner. You replied not even five minutes later saying that you didn't have a show the next night and was that too soon.

It wasn't too soon, in fact it wasn't soon enough.

Steve teased him the next day when they had a one on one meeting about the show. Bucky sped through the details and rushed straight into the fact that he had a date with you that night. Bucky knew that what Steve said about his inability to focus through the story was true and after Steve had left he began trying to work out just what he was going to say in the article He was pleased that the words seem to flow through him as he began writing but his mind kept wandering. Leaving work that night he practically ran home just to get ready and over to the restaurant to meet you for your date.

The first date.

The last first date either of you would ever have. Although Bucky didn't know it at the time.

Whatever he had felt the night before when talking to you alone, he felt it again when he saw you outside of the restaurant waiting for him. He almost asked you about it though he refrained in case it was something strange, something that you'd find odd. He'd learn later that no, you'd certainly felt it too.

That night you asked him about his arm, something Bucky found easy to speak with you about rather than the sense of fear he felt upon some explanations. You asked him about the magazine and was he terrified in starting it up. You asked him about the big things like where did he see himself in ten years and asked about the little things like his favorite color. He asked you about the band and did you ever think that you would be a musician for the rest of your life. He asked you about the guitars you played and why you continued to play the first guitar you ever owned. He asked you about your childhood and about everything he could think of.

If there wasn't reason to leave like the place closing you could have stayed talking to him forever. That night Bucky kissed you when he took you back to your apartment and if you could see the future through a kiss than you would have seen the rest of your life laid out before you.

Two nights later you had your second date as Bucky figured out when you didn't have shows. What shows you did have he managed to make it too, at one point bringing Steve along for you to meet. Steve didn't bother saying anything about what he saw that night to Bucky but he noted the way you looked at his friend and Steve knew, or at least he had a feeling he hoped was going to be right, that you and Bucky were it for each other.

In the two weeks that you were going to be in the city your time was split between the band and Bucky, not that anyone in the band cared. They saw that Bucky made you happy and they liked him, not just as someone who they approved of but as someone they didn't hate hanging out with. The last night before the tour you and Bucky decided to try and work through the long distance thing. Both of you were nervous but you knew that if you texted and called one another when you could as well as making use of the wonders of Skype dates then maybe everything would come together.

The story was published three weeks after the show where you'd met. Suddenly Battering Ram was climbing the charts and extending the tour from six months to seven. Bucky was disappointed it would be another month he'd have to wait to see you but he didn't care because he'd wait a lifetime for you. He told you this when you Skyped him to give him the news and all you could do was smile. Part of you felt like you were rushing into something with Bucky but another part of you felt like this was what you had wanted for your entire life whether you'd been aware of it our not.

He ended up meeting you at the airport when you landed after the last show of the tour. Dropping you off at your apartment he ended up staying the weekend. At the end of that weekend he ended up asking if you wanted to get an apartment together. You said yes.

Three days was the amount of time before you decided to live together and three months was the amount of time it took before Bucky decided to propose. He didn't have a ring, he didn't have a plan, in fact he didn't even know he was going to ask before he did. You were on the couch eating dinner and watching Netflix while he was in the kitchen grabbing a drink for you, you laughed at some joke and then the words were out there in the air. You were stunned and he was stunned but he repeated the words anyway, this time more sure of himself because he knew that this was exactly what he wanted.

That electric feeling that blew through him the first time you met, the feeling that coursed through his veins every time he kissed you. He didn't want to stop having that feeling. It felt surreal to him that you'd said yes to a first date, to a second, and to getting married. It felt surreal when the wedding was over and there was a ring on his finger, it felt surreal that you were his and he was yours for the rest of his life. It was something that Bucky would never take for granted.

Bucky saw a notification pop up on his phone, just you letting him know you were picking up dinner and asking if he wanted his usual from the Chinese place by the studio. He quickly sent back a reply and put the finishing touches on the story before sending it off to Steve to review and heading out of the office.

This was his life now, one he would never change for anything in the world. He had a job he loved, friendship he would never take for granted and most importantly. Bucky had you.

#locke writes #marvel #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fic #bucky barnes fic #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel oneshot #bucky barnes oneshot

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loyalflutist · 5 years ago

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The Warriors of Light

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence Category: F/F Relationship: Edeleth Characters: Edelgard, f!Byleth, Hubert, Mercedes Words: 8,404 Summary: It has been five years since the Seventh Umbra Calamity. Byleth Eisner, once a proud mercenary and hero for Eorzea, now retreats as a Botanist in Gridania. She vows to live a content life in the present, throwing away her past. However, a meeting with one Marauder soon ignites what she truly desires.

A/N: Whew, I finally wrote something. I got hooked into FF XIV, so RIP, I had a ton of ideas for some of the Three Houses cast. Some information may be inaccurate or not up to date as I’ve only finished A Realm Reborn as of this posting. Other than that, I hope you enjoy it! Major thanks to HeartbeatDivinity for looking over the work!

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How long has it been since she last traveled the lands?

Back when she was a green sprout, Byleth walked among the lands of Eorzea, acting as the Gladiator, and stayed with her father and his mercenary guild. So long as the payment is right and the reasoning is just, they’re willing to do just about anything.

They were always on the move, and there was always so much to see. By the time she became a Paladin, she was at the ripe age of 18. The people she’s met, the landmarks she’s seen, the unforgettable battles she’s witnessed, and the friendship she’s forged with others… The adventures she had with her comrades seem never-ending.

She recalls the memory of a conversation she had with Jeralt.

“You know,” Jeralt mused. “I sometimes wonder if I’ve raised you right.”

The two sat near the campfire, their fingers toying with the grasses, the stars lighting up the night sky. Many of their comrades had fallen asleep in their tents, those awake safeguarding their temporary camp. Byleth raised her brows and glanced at Jeralt. He did not look at her. Instead, he kept his gaze high up, the corner of his lips occasionally twitching.

“I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want you to become a mercenary if she were still alive.”

“Really?” Byleth frowned. “Are we talking about this again?”

He shrugged his shoulders, finally looking at her, and weakly smiled. “I can’t help it. You were forced into it when you were young.” Jeralt moistened his lips. “If there’s one thing I regret, I regret dragging you into this business—”

“Father,” Byleth immediately placed a hand over his. “I never regret going into this business.” She squeezed. “If anything, I’m grateful. I got to see so much. It wouldn’t be the same if I were to stay in the city. Besides,” the Paladin grinned. “I get to help everyone, especially you.”

But nothing could last forever. Byleth hadn’t traveled for three long years. She’s settled not at her bustling homeland, Ul’dah, but in the lush greenery of Gridania.

How long has it been since the Seventh Umbral Calamity?

The surreal experience had Byleth checking if the event truly transpired with her journal each waking morning. She’s flipped the pages of her poorly conditioned bundle, her dark hues staring at the surviving written pages describing the horrors of the Battle of Carteneau.

It should have been a victory for everyone in Eorzea. All three Grand Companies from Ul’dah, Gridania, and Limsa Lominsa had joined forces. The Garlean Empire’s VIIth Legion was set for defeat. Dalamud, a lesser moon that was meant to purge the primals and cause massive destruction upon the world, would be stopped. Byleth, Jeralt, and their guild offered themselves to be a part of the frontline fighters for The Immortal Flames from Ul’dah.

Yet by the time Dalamud arrived, Byleth, down onto her knee and Jeralt supporting her, stared in pure horror at the moon with everyone.

No… It wasn’t the moon.

It was Bahamut.

The massive dragon screeched into the red sky. A single sweep of its wings blew everyone off their feet. Jeralt tightly embraced his wounded daughter as they tumbled backward. He grunted, spun himself upright, and rammed his lance down into the terrain in one smooth motion, stopping them short of crashing into the rocky walls. Through Byleth’s narrowed eyes, she watched the fearsome beast shoot endless supplies of firepower, striking like meteors upon the battlefield as it flew around. No matter which side the warriors were on, everyone in sight was obliterated, clouds of smoke left in its wake.

“!”

A blast of heatwave rushed through the duo. Jeralt grimaced and tightened his grip around his daughter. One of the meteor-like attacks was coming at them, and they were unable to escape it.

But Eorzea strategized a last-minute defense: Louisoix. The old male beckoned forth a single spell, shielding them from the killing strike. A couple of other lucky adventurers and fighters on the field were also protected from the relentless assaults. Soon, he, along with several other important individuals, performed an imprisonment ritual on Bahamut.

“No…”

It had failed.

Byleth whited out in her father’s grasp as Bahamut began to charge up its ultimate move. Just before she lost consciousness, she saw Jeralt smile.

Because of that, everything was a blur afterward for Byleth. She had woken up in a familiar desert. Patting herself all around and feeling her items, armors, weapon, and body parts intact felt too good to be true. The fact that she survived The Calamity when she was out in the frontline is a miracle in of itself.

How long has it been since she lost those precious to her?

Was it a curse? Or was it karma? Losing someone was common, especially when one becomes an adventurer or works in the field as a mercenary. Byleth had lost some of her comrades in the past. She’s mourned for them. However, none of them were like the time when she awakens after the Calamity.

Byleth had woken up outside of Ul’dah.

Alone.

She scrambled up to her feet after regaining her composure. Then, she called for her chocobo, Sothis, with a whistle, and searched for her comrades.

For one month, Byleth traveled to every possible continent in Eorzea, and she questioned everyone she saw. She lavishly spent gils on traveling at least twice a day. Some receptionists and chocobo keepers at the stations began to see her as a regular because of this.

It matters not to Byleth. Every nook and cranny in imaginable places where her guild members might be— most importantly, her father, was examined. Dungeons and expeditions to dangerous, foreign lands were thoroughly investigated as a solo member.

“Get out.”

She viciously lashed out to wild creatures and enemies that provoked her during the investigations. Blood splattered upon her face as Byleth heartlessly carved their demise. She slammed her sword down in a series of quick, powerful blows against the enemy, the squelching sound of flesh mashed by the sharp blade.

They were in her way.

“…” Byleth sheathed her bloodied sword. Her chocobo softly cooed in the background, her beak tainted with crimson from pecking their enemies. She approached the yellow bird and gently pat her. Standing in the very last room of an abandoned manor, Byleth firmed her lips. “They’re not here either.”

Something stirred inside of her. Like it was tearing her apart. Tears flowed down her cheeks as the Paladin lowered her head, a quiet sob shaking her body.

To this day, Byleth still misses Jeralt and her allies. Five years had passed, yet no one had announced their return. Their deaths were confirmed after she was invited to speak with Raubahn from Ul’dah. Only Byleth had survived from her guild.

Alone.

How long has it been since she had last seen the battlefield?

The last time she participated in any sort of battle was before she succumbed to her injuries near Gridania.

Byleth stood up to fight a growing threat within the forest. The East Shroud from The Black Shroud brims with various large creatures. That doesn’t exclude insects too. Sylphs had asked for her help to rid of the pesky buzzing intruders that threaten to overwhelm their community.

The young Paladin had changed gears, a red robe exchanged from her heavy armors. Sothis squawked nearby with her new steel armors, her wings flapping wildly at the incoming black wasps. Byleth bent her knees, reeled her body back and placed her hand on the katana.

She inhaled.

Eyes narrowed, she exhaled.

Byleth dashed forward, smoothly sliding the blade out, and diced her enemies into fine pieces. Grime and thick, gold fluid discolored her plain attire with each strike.

However, she had not expected the appearance of imperial forces, the Garlean Empire’s soldiers present with their guns.

Byleth danced around their bullets, slicing them cleanly in half with swift strokes. Sweat trickled down her face as she slashed a soldier’s side. Quick work was made with the other remaining cadets. They didn’t even have a chance to cry for their mothers.

Her chocobo kicked those that slipped past her owner’s sight with a powerful thump. They were sent flying and crashed into the others. Amidst the flurrying assault of red that rained on their bodies, the swarm eventually died down. Byleth straightened her posture and sheathed her katana.

It was too soon for her to relax.

A gunshot rang out. Byleth’s eyes widened as she jerked. Smoke drifted from a dying soldier’s barrel. When his light was finally extinguished, the Samurai hurried on Sothis, the yellow bird running to the nearest safe zone. Blood oozed from her right side, staining the feathered creature’s back. By the time she got there, she was unconscious.

That was the last time she ever went into battle.

When she recovered thanks to the kind residents of this land, after some self-reflection, Byleth swore to give up her arms. The wound she’s sustained hindered her ability to continue with her operation as a solo warrior, the occasional sharp, needle-like jabs stabbing her side.

Besides, it was high time she gives into early retirement.

Byleth would always look outside of her window, hearing the loud chatters and laughter of companions heading off on a quest. She drew a deep breath. There were plenty of other adventurers to take up arms and lead the future of Eorzea. Byleth dryly swallowed. She eventually turned her back from the glass panel and returned to her workstation.

The years that slowly crawled by brought about nostalgia. She sometimes missed being an adventurer despite her decision.

How long has it been since she had been called the Warrior of Light?

She, and so many others who were once called the Warrior of Light, ceased to exist in the present.

Whether they went into hiding, had given up, or died in the line of battle during The Calamity, the tale of their adventures became nothing more than a fantasy. Leaders and survivors speak of their existence, but after five years of silence, no one would speak about them.

Not even Byleth.

The ghost of her past threatened to torture her, its black talons hovering over her neck. Just hearing the title sparked terror for the Samurai. Memories surged about the people she’s once befriended. Other Warriors of Light that shared a draft beer with her every week vanished, their final impressions being that of their corpses.

And every night, Byleth would wake up, screaming for her father. Annette would rush into her bedroom, offering warm towels, and a shoulder to lean on. On the day the young girl asked about Byleth’s nightmares, Byleth swore to never speak or think about the past ever again. Even if it meant forgetting her friends and family.

It was a success, the nightmares lessened until she could sleep like a baby. Any events before and relating to The Calamity were steadily pushed further back into the depths of her mind. Before she knew it, she became a Botanist Master, head of the Botanist guild, and living her new life.

Her role as one of the Warriors of Light would forever be lost in history.

And she wanted it to stay that way.

[-----]

“Master Eisner, you have a visitor!” one of her students, Annette, called in the background.

Byleth, adorned with an attire fit for a farmer, straightened her posture, her bare, wet hands having harvested the plants. With the sun beating down on her back, she deposited the fresh greens into the basket, and wiped the sweat off her forehead as she carefully treads through the moist plantation.

Annette provided a clean towel to her mentor upon arrival. Byleth motioned thanks to the youngster before patting her scarred hands dry, her navy hues locked to their three guests.

They were clearly adventurers… and new ones at that.

A Thaumaturge, a Marauder, and a Conjurer.

Her eyes fell upon their get-up. The equipment they had was rustic and had seen better days. Byleth stifled a grumble. Do all guilds provide their new members weathered weapons? She could not recall a time when she ever had a sword or katana in such a sorry state. Then again, times are a-changing. Old mentors of guilds were replaced with newer ones. Catherine and Shamir were fitting examples, respectively teaching and guiding Gladiators and Archers.

“So, what is it that you need from me?” she asked.

Out of the newcomers, the shortest one of the three stepped up. “I would like to become a Botanist.” She placed a hand on her chest with a smile. “Master Eisner, I want you to teach me.” When the Marauder noticed Byleth eyeing her comrades, she shook her head. “Don’t mind them. It’s just me that wants to join your guild.”

Byleth tried not to sigh. She had half-expected the trio to be here for minor tasks. Adventurers always came and went to help the Botanist out with her duties. When she could not traverse the rough terrains, they did so diligently, but with a small price. Some even became full-time students like Annette. Others became part-time students, their mind set into stone with other guilds. This youngster most likely came as the latter. Byleth crossed her arms.

“Tell me, what do you hope to achieve in this profession?”

The white-haired responds, “I want to be able to distinguish what’s appropriate to gather and harvest in the wild.” She motioned to her friends. “If we’re going to travel and find work, I want us to be able to survive out in the wild, at the very least.”

“I see.” Byleth nods. “As an adventurer, you will be out in the wild more than an average civilian. Your reasoning is sound.” She extended a hand towards the Marauder. “I will teach not only what you need to know for the field, but the importance of maintaining a symbiotic relationship with Eorzea’s plants.” When her hand was shaken, she asked, “And who do I have the honor of teaching?”

“Forgive me for not telling you my name,” the female’s cheeks slightly pinkened. “I am Edelgard von Hresvelg.” She glanced over her shoulder at her teammates. “The Thaumaturge is Hubert von Vestra and the Conjurer is Mercedes von Martritz.”

They both bowed to Byleth.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Eisner,” Mercedes clasped her hands together once she straightened her posture, her head tilted to the side with a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yes, you seem to have a wonderful reputation here in Gridania,” Hubert added. “Everyone says you’re reliable.”

Byleth chuckled. “Their expectation must be dangerously low. All I’ve been doing is harvesting and logging for the community.”

“But the head of the Seedseer Council said you’ve done many great things for Eorzea.”

“She must have been exaggerating.”

Their conversation came to a closure, though rather abrupt. Byleth made a scheduled meeting would follow up the next day for Edelgard, but only after Byleth had spoken to Kan-E-Senna.

The secrecy of her past life as both a survivor of the Sixth Umbra Era and Warrior of Light must remain behind closed doors.

“It’s painful,” she admits to Kan-E. “Hearing that title or my accomplishments only reminds me of him.”

Kan-E could not find the words to comfort Byleth. And that was okay. Byleth didn’t need it.

[-----]

The days that followed afterward were that of varying tasks Edelgard must take up. Byleth had offered her new equipment and tools to get started. Logging, harvesting, gathering, and learning how to identify items in the wilderness were taught at a steady pace.

“You have a knack for this,” Byleth complimented. Under the relentless sun, Edelgard wiped the sweat from her brows and leaned her hatchet against the tree trunk. A large volume of chopped woods settled nearby, its usage exclusively for Gridania’s winter preparation. Annette, Marianne, Hubert, and Mercedes offered to take them to the town’s square. From there, Shamir and her guild would evenly divide and deliver the firewood for their citizens. The teal-haired ruffled her student’s hair. “It hasn’t even been a week, but you’ve mastered the basics of gathering and tending. Today, you’ve done well with timbering.”

Edelgard managed a smile. “Only because you’re my teacher,” she said, swatting Byleth’s hand.

“You jest.”

“She’s right, you know,” Annette hollered in the background. A red mark pulsating on her head, Byleth bent down, grabbed a small rock, playfully tossed it into the air, and swung it at the speaker. The air whistled and Annette yelped. It was going to hit her, and it was going to hurt. Badly. Byleth clicked her tongue when Annette avoided her throw. “What do you think you’re doing, Master!?” she shouted. “Are you trying to kill me!?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe!? What’s wrong with you?”

“Stop embarrassing me in front of my student then.”

“I’m your student too, you know!”

Edelgard could hardly contain her laughter. But it was one of the biggest mistakes she’s made in her life. Byleth crossed her arms and glared at Edelgard.

“I hope you’re ready to be out on the field. You’re getting some Tree Toads for me.”

“…How many?” She instantly regrets asking. A sly smile bloomed on Byleth’s face. Hearing the numbers caused her knees to buck. Edelgard’s features paled as she exclaimed, “100?!”

This is an impossible feat! Hadn’t she already done enough for the day?

“It’s all a part of your training. This will also teach you the delicate balance of nature. Overpopulation is a major issue here in The Black Shroud, after all.” Byleth pats her shoulders. “Also, please make sure they are alive. I need to deliver them to Flayn.”

“…you’re lucky that I like you.”

“Did you say something?”

“N-Nothing, Master Eisner.”

Edelgard hung her head and dragged her scythe, hatchet, basket, and net outside of the premise.

Hubert and Mercedes watched from afar, a crate of chopped woods at hand. “I can only hope milady can stop provoking Master Eisner…” he sighed.

The blonde magus giggled. “I think she might be having fun.”

“Our definition of ‘having fun’ is different, I’m afraid.”

“Speaking of that, when do you think Edelgard will ask Master Eisner out?”

“Wha— Why are you bringing up a silly matter like that?” he scowled. “I’m returning to my duty!”

“But this is the last—”

“And so should you!”

Mercedes watched Hubert storm off, leaving her alone. Annette emerged in his place, her hands behind her back. She softly hummed. “That’s something you don’t see every day.” Mercedes chuckled. “I agree.”

[-----]

Days marched to weeks, and weeks marched to months, and months marched to a year. Edelgard no longer was a Marauder, but a Warrior. By that time, training began to move from location to location appropriate for her student, the environmental conditions becoming harsher.

Unlike her students like Annette and Marianne, Edelgard made a commitment to perform various other tasks at hand for Eorzea. Hearing of her student’s adventures with Hubert and Mercedes reminds Byleth of her own. Each story told was like hearing from her own memories. The achievements, the accomplishments, the heroic deeds they were known for… It was like looking at a mirror. She smiled awkwardly. Edelgard’s tales were full of optimism and pride. Byleth’s was the complete opposite.

Eventually, the days they’ve spent together must come to an end. Edelgard would have to graduate from her Botanist guild. It was bittersweet, but a farewell was soon in place.

They were now seen in Coerthas Western Highlands. A thick, brown overcoat covered their bodies as the four stood over the café’s table, a crinkled map rolled out.

“Your final task is to find this,” Byleth tapped on the booklet with a sketch of a Rainbow Cotton Boll. “However, due to the nature of this assignment, I will allow you to have your allies with you.”

The Warrior looked up. “What about you?”

“I will also come.” Byleth adjusted her overcoat and smiled. “I wouldn’t want to miss my final moments with one of my students.”

“Only because I’m your student?”

Byleth deadpan stared at Edelgard. “Yes.” Edelgard lightly scratched her discolored cheek and looked elsewhere. “I had expected more, but if you say so, Master Eisner.”

Oh… Oh, it was swinging in that direction.

“Don’t push your luck, young lady. I’m not going to pass you just because of our relationship.”

“That’s not what I’m implying— Oh, nevermind, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Then make me understand.”

“…remind me why I chose you over my suitors again?”

In the background, Hubert and Mercedes exchanged looks. They shrugged their shoulders. It was always like this between the two women. Byleth and Edelgard were entranced and intoxicated with each other’s presence since the day they’ve met, their banters nonstop. It had only worsened since the day they began dating last month.

Hubert sighed. “Can we go now? Let’s not waste any time.”

The party eventually exited the bar. Cold air tickled their nose, snow gently falling upon their figures. Their metallic and leather boots crunched the white plain as they traversed to their destinations.

Yet somewhere along the way, they had taken a detour.

Byleth felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of her face. They were far from their destination. Very far. Edelgard, Hubert, and Mercedes were enticed by their curiosity, and so they chased after it. Far north from their assigned areas, the four marched into The Steel Vigil.

‘ I don’t like where this is going… ‘

Call it instinct, Byleth could not soothe the butterflies in her stomach. Their White Mage ran up to what remains of the watchtowers. She traced the uneven concrete slabs of the outer walls, the majority of its content destroyed by the Dravanian Horde.

Edelgard dropped her hatchet and scythe. In lieu, the Warrior reached for the large axe behind her back and dashed past Mercedes. A gust of wind blew against her party members, forcing their arms up, as she bellowed. In conjunction, the dragon screeched, hurting their eardrums. Edelgard breathed deeply and tore her weapon from the massive black creature. Crimson trail slithered down its scale as it screeched once again.

Almost half as tall as the watchtower, they were mere insects to the magnificent beast.

“I knew this was a bad idea!” Byleth took a step forward. She paused, placing a hand on her side, a dull ache resonating.

Was she able to participate in this battle?

It matters not for now. Mercedes and Hubert immediately jumped in front of Byleth. Their hoodies were blown off, electricity crackling from Hubert’s fingertips.

“Thunder!”

He threw his hand out and lightning shot from his palm. Edelgard bounced back just in time for the spell to slam into the dragon. It howled and stumbled backward.

However, the dragon reeled its head back, an orange glow beginning to emit from its throat. The color brightened drastically as it neared its mouth. Edelgard’s eyes widened. It was aiming at Hubert, Mercedes, and Byleth. She ran until she was on the opposite side of her comrades, charged at the creature, and too reeled her arms back. The young woman leaped high into the air. Edelgard focused on the creature’s scaly neck. A battle cry chortled from her throat once her axe swung at full force.

It diverted its attention, but the energy it gathered could not dissipate. A fiery beam shot out of its mouth. Edelgard had to summon her strength to brace for the impact. She gritted her teeth as her overcoat burnt away, the thick armors cracking under the pressure. By the time the dragon was done, Edelgard was still left standing. Breathing heavily, the Warrior crumbled to her knee, the axe used as support.

Mercedes hastily cast healing spells to Edelgard as Hubert continued to send Thunder in its direction. But the dragon stared at the four, their presence so miniature compared to its destructive powers.

“We should make a strategic retreat!” Mercedes beckoned. She swung her staff as another Cure was directed to their injured comrade. “We might outrun it!”

“Are you sure about that?” Hubert asked. Flames danced around his wrist, fire shooting from his hand at the powerful dragon. Despite his attempts, the monster shook off any ill effect. The Black Mage cursed under his breath. “This dragon will chase us until one of us admits defeat!”

Edelgard grimaced. When the dragon focused its attention on her comrades once more, the female dragged her axe on the white ground, running to it.

“Pay attention to me!”

Another smash was delivered. Sure enough, she had the huge creature’s undivided attention. Its claws slammed on the ground, shaking their balance. Edelgard rolled out of the way with each attempt and knelt on one knee. This dance composed of dodging and striking at the dragon continued for some time. Hubert and Mercedes also continued their support, the Black Mage casting offensive magic and the White Mage casting shrouds of healing spells.

Byleth was the odd one out.

She watched the adventurers beat down the dragon bit by bit. The Botanist bit her lip. At that instant, the dragon roared, spread its wings, and flapped them. Strong gusts knocked everyone but Byleth off their feet, their bodies sinking into the snow.

Compared to Edelgard and Hubert, Mercedes was unfortunate, the beast slamming its hand into her. Mercedes felt its claw dig into her innards, the healer screaming. Red colored her vision as the creature raised its bloodied limb. Then, it struck again. Again. And again. Dread gripped their souls as Mercedes’s squeals of pain pierced the sky.

“MERCEDES!”

Edelgard scrambled to her feet, but her knees gave way, face greeting the chilly ground. Hubert combined Thunder, Fire, and even Blizzard, but it had done little to the fearsome foe. The dragon was squarely in control of the situation.

Were their efforts from earlier fruitless?

The sound of snow crunching perked the two’s ears.

“B-Byleth?” Edelgard hoarsely whispered once she raised her head. The white-haired watched her mentor slowly approach the dragon. Since the day they have met, Edelgard had never seen Byleth engage in a fight. Seeing her older girlfriend face the dragon without a weapon was suicidal. She shook her head and tried to crawl. “Byleth! Don’t do this!”

Edelgard’s outcry caught the dragon’s attention. The creature kept its hold on the White Mage, its bleeding blue eyes staring at the Warrior. Then, it turned to the last standing person, its claws finally removed. Mercedes weakly gasped as it marched towards Byleth. Hubert hurried to her side to tend her wounds. Buffs of hot breath escaped its nostrils once it stopped before the Botanist. It gave a thunderous roar, knocking back her hood. Byleth frowned and held its blue eyes, weighing its gaze.

The dragon made no hesitation to blow hot blue flames at the teal-haired woman. Edelgard screamed.

“BYLETH!”

The flames had eaten the thick overcoat, but left the pristine, red robe underneath unscathed. A glimmer pierced the raging vortex. Byleth swept the fire, clearing her position, with a katana at hand. Edelgard’s heart pounded. Her girlfriend was standing in the middle of the blue flames, unharmed and armed. The roles were now reversed.

“Looks like I can’t run away forever.”

Byleth ignored the strong aches that reside from her years-old injury. She adjusted her stance. The dragon flapped its wings, producing more wind, fluttering her robe. They glared at each other, a period of silence hanging in the still air.

Then, the enemy reacted.

It breathed more blue flames. Byleth sidestepped and rushed head-first to the creature. She swiped and flickered the katana, its blade creating lacerations in its wake. It screeched from the top of its lungs. Its claws reached out for her, but she parried and dodged it with ease. Byleth kept the momentum up, driving the dragon backward, persistent with lightning strikes.

“Getsu.”

She angled her katana into a crescent shape, a faint illusion of the moon drawn from her blade.

“Setsu.”

Solid icicles burst from the dragon’s fresh cut, freezing its innards.

“Ka.”

Cherry blossoms scattered from her katana and danced around Byleth as she slashed in a flurry.

The dragon snarled. It reached out to grab Byleth once she regained her composure. Byleth sidestepped once more, but winced, a sharp stab to her side. She staggered and the beast easily pulled her into its grip. She gasped as it tightened. Then, it flew into the air. They disappeared into the snowing clouds above the adventurers’ head.

Seconds ticked by, yet there is no sign of return.

Edelgard got to her feet, stumbling in the process. “W-What’s going to happen to Byleth?” She propped herself upright with her axe. “Am I going to lose someone I love again?”

Those words stung. Hubert cursed as he sprinkled more potion on Mercedes’s crimson gash. “She will survive, milady!” His stained hands continued to apply first-aid to the mangled flesh exposed in this rigid environment. Sweat slid over his brows as the Black Mage said, “Have faith in her!”

“Should I be concerned that it’s coming from your mouth?”

“Milady, if you have the time to tease,” a katana stabbed between the two from above. “I suggest you help Master Eisner.”

Just as he predicted, the clouds had dispersed, leaving the center empty. A black blur flew down. The dragon twisted in the air as it descended, tossing Byleth to the side. She smashed into the outer wall, debris and smoke filling the area. Once it dissipated, Byleth groaned, laying still in the rubble.

“Byleth!” Edelgard rushed to her side. Snow kicked up in front of her. She skidded to a stop and took a step back. Looking up, she saw the dragon in her path, rosy fluids dribbling from its mouth. It roared, but weakly, at the Warrior. She grimaced and raised her axe. She had to keep the dragon’s attention off Byleth.

Edelgard roared, swinging her axe. “I’ll be your opponent!”

Amidst the crumbled structure, Byleth struggled through her swimming vision. The impact had cut her scalp, drawing blood that trickled between her eyes. Byleth slowly rolled onto the snow. She hissed as needle-like sensations relentlessly jabbed into her side.

Byleth reached for the item pouch around her waist. A shaky hand retrieved one Hi-Potion. The substance poured into her mouth, its potency quelling the pain. Byleth flung the empty glass bottle aside. She wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and rose. Hubert, who now carried an unconscious Mercedes, ran to the Samurai.

“Here!” he tossed. Byleth’s outstretched hand caught her weapon. She nodded. “Thanks.”

She turned her attention to the dragon and Edelgard. Byleth’s brows furrowed.

“Edelgard!” she said. “Bring it closer to me!”

“Byleth, wha— you’re okay!?”

The white-haired female nearly bit her tongue, ducking from a swipe. Edelgard straightened her posture and shot a glance. Byleth began to kneel, her hands resting on the sheathed katana, staring at the beast. There was a pause. Then, Edelgard nodded. The axe in her grip tightened and spun. Both the creature and Edelgard roared in synchronization as they raced to land the first strike.

A burst of flames and lightning sprouted upon the dragon. Hubert had released his hold on the injured Mercedes. Decorated staff in one hand, he grunted and unleashed a torrential of magic onto the field, its destruction rivaling that of the beast.

The adventurers and Byleth felt invigorations mere seconds later. Mercedes leaned against what’s left of the outer wall, her white magic going into effect. Edelgard was granted silent permission to recklessly throw herself into the enemy, ramming her heavy axe.

They were slowly inched closer to Byleth. Soon, the dragon shook the ground with its roar, reeling its head back. The same orange light started to emit from its throat. Sweat slid down her face. With the wall, Hubert, and Mercedes behind her, she was trapped, Edelgard stalling for the final blow. Byleth drew her lips to a line.

It was only a matter of time until they were blasted into oblivion.

Byleth slowed her breathing, her knuckles whitening. Three components of Iaijutsu had activated previously in battle. She exhaled. A calm wave washed over her, Byleth narrowing her eyes. The instant Edelgard smashed her axe onto its belly, Byleth pivoting on her heel.

NOW!

Byleth sped through the dragon. Not even a second passed and she stood on the other side of it, her katana flicked out.

Silence.

Then, blood spewed from the dragon.

It screeched and thrashed as the bright light from its neck disappeared. Hubert, Mercedes, and Edelgard hopped back as its tail swished. Byleth remained still, the rampage narrowly missing her. She twirled the katana at hand. When she sheathed it, the dragon collapsed, the surrounding snow painted in a ruby splatter.

“…”

Byleth’s tense shoulders eased, her head lowered.

It was over.

The Samurai was immediately greeted with a crushing hug from behind, Edelgard’s face nestled into her shoulder. “I’m so glad we’ve defeated the dragon,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine what would happen if we didn’t…” Byleth turned to face Edelgard in her embrace, her smile soon strained as the Warrior frowned. “Though I have questions for you. A lot.”

As Edelgard wiped off the blood from the older female’s face with a singed handkerchief, Byleth said, “I will answer them all once we’ve headed to safety.”

She and Hubert would then whistle, two yellow birds coming just as quickly as they were called. Sothis tilted her head and cooed softly once Byleth and Edelgard sat on her back. As for Hubert and Mercedes, he took the rein for her chocobo, Pom Pom (clearly named after Annette’s suggestion), He offered to head to the nearby town first as their White Mage required medical attention.

They hurried off. Both Byleth and Edelgard would shortly follow after them, albeit at a slower pace.

Byleth blinked. She was seeing doubles. Another blink and a shake of her head.

“Byleth?” Edelgard touched her on the arm. “Are you feeling alright?”

She went limp in response. Edelgard muffled a grunt and caught her girlfriend from falling off their mount. Despite the everlasting winter environment, Byleth felt cold to the touch. Colder than ice.

“No, this cannot be happening!”

The Warrior took the rein from behind and, after adjusting the taller female to rest on Sothis, sprinted into the snowy town.

The chocobo squawked and leaped off a high cliff. Edelgard leaned forward, almost hugging the unconscious Samurai. Sothis squealed when a jolt of pain traveled up her legs. However, she continued running as fast as she could. Her owner was in danger! Edelgard bit her lip as they neared Camp Dragonhead.

“Don’t you dare die on me!”

Their arrival startled many. Blood splattered their attire, bruises and patches of peeling, hot red skin had many citizens turn away. Guards from Camp Dragonhead approached the four warriors.

The interrogations did not last long.

Mercedes and Byleth were transported to the premise’s medical facility in a hurry. Doctors and nurses brought them into surgery while nearby White Mages offered to heal Hubert and Edelgard. The two sat outside of the operating room. Hubert crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. Edelgard buried her face into her palms, not a peep heard from the tank.

“They will be okay,” Hubert rested a hand on her back, his eyes soft. “I believe in them.”

“Are you sure…?” Edelgard raised her head, her bandages wet from the tears. Her lips quivered as she asked, “They will not meet the same fate as my brothers and sisters, right?”

He nodded. Then, he pulled his childhood friend close. Resting his chin on her head and rubbing her back, he whispered, “El, they will never leave your side. I promise you that.” Hubert knew of the loss Edelgard sustained as a child. The false promises of becoming the next emperor of new territory in Eorzea, the Adrestian Empire. Surviving the assassination that took the lives of her parents and siblings. Fending for herself in Limsa Lominsa. Reuniting with Hubert in Ul’dah and becoming friends with Mercedes in Gridania. She had gone through so much.

Hubert tucked a stray strand of white hair behind her ear. He stared at her face, then smoothed her head, almost as if he were her older brother.

“You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.”

The two eventually fell asleep sitting up, waiting for the return of their comrades.

[-----]

One week later…

“Are you still here to ask me questions?”

“Yes.”

“Persistent, aren’t you?”

Edelgard shrugged, peeling the apple’s skin with a knife. Byleth huffed in her bed. Resting in a shared recovery room with Mercedes, the four were present with their own business. Hubert tended to Mercedes with news about the day. As for Edelgard, well, it was self-explanatory.

“I don’t understand why you aren’t willing to open up about your past with me.”

“I… just need some time.”

“Time?” she raised a brow, hands still occupied with the fruit. “How long?”

“Until I feel the time is right.”

“Pfft. That’s going to take forever.”

The Samurai’s hands balled into fists. Though it is a jest, it has some truth behind it. The weight of her past continues to chain Byleth down. If anything, just as she confessed to Kan-E, Byleth wants to stay as far away as possible from her past title and occupation. Surging memories of Jeralt was inevitable, and she shuddered, her heart beating fast.

“…perhaps I should ask you something...” Edelgard raised her head, the peeled apple placed on a plate, all ears on her. Byleth’s navy hues wandered elsewhere, her thumbs tapping and toying with one another. She jolted from feeling her girlfriend’s warmth. Edelgard enveloped her hand with hers, lilac eyes staring into the Samurai’s. Byleth dryly swallowed. “What if… What if I’m afraid to talk about it?”

“Afraid?”

She nods. “Let’s start from the beginning. You’ve heard of stories about the Seventh Umbral Calamity, right?” When her student and allies admit, she continued, drawing in a deep breath. “Then, you must’ve heard rumors about those called the Warriors of Light.”

“Bits and pieces. Always thought they were nothing more than a made-up story about Eorzean heroes. Why do you ask?”

“If I were to tell you that I was once labeled as one, would you believe in me?”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. Louisoix called me one when I first met him.” Byleth recalled her meeting with the old man. Still a budding sprout, the Gladiator and Jeralt were invited to speak with the key figure. Feats they’ve achieved for the sake of Eorzea went unnoticed. It was likely they would talk about them. However, Louisoix had said very little. Instead, he motioned his aged hand to the two, a smile blooming. “…and that was when he called me and father the Warriors of Light.”

Mercedes, opposite of her bed, clasped her hands and wondered, “Oh, Master Eisner, so the reputations from the Grand Companies were not untrue then! To think that I would meet one in-person.” The blonde grinned. “Helping others, upholding justice, and doing what is good for Eorzea… You must’ve accomplished so much in your life.”

“Yet I’ve lost so much too.” Mercedes’s features drooped, Byleth staring at Edelgard’s hand. “If anything, I wished I wasn’t the Warrior of Light.”

A chill slithered down her spine. Byleth slowly opened about the moments during the Calamity. Rocks turned to ashes from the intense heat, flames spreading throughout the battlefield. The Garlean Empire unleashed mighty magiteks, weapons, and soldiers on the dreadful landscape. And Byleth was there in the frontline, acting as the Paladin. All f their efforts to stop the empire and Bahamut… In the end, she was the lone survivor from her father’s mercenary guild.

“I remembered,” Mercedes said. The others looked at her. She cast her sight to the floor. “Although I was not at the frontline, I witnessed Dalamud approaching our planet from the church.” True to her words, before she was a White Mage and a Conjurer at Gridania, Mercedes was raised and served at the Church of Saint Adama Landama in Thanalan. When tragedy struck, she could only offer prayers for the lives that were lost and hope to repel the enormous dragon. “I could only imagine how much you’ve suffered.”

Edelgard rubbed Byleth’s arm. “You’ve done so much for Eorzea…” she bitterly smiled. “You were out there, protecting us… You’ve saved us all.”

Hubert, though, crossed his arms. “If you so claim that you are the Warrior of Light, then why did you hide that vital piece of information from everyone, especially from us?” The Black Mage frowned. “Why did you pretend to be a Botanist?”

“I…” Byleth’s heart squeezed. She placed a hand over her chest, the wounded Samurai shakily exhaling. “I was a coward.” A pause. “I still am.”

The past was always haunting her. Its shadows prickled the back of her neck, darkness looming over the survivor. Byleth rubbed her arm. “I’m afraid of the ghost of my past— My dead comrades, my dead father, and the Calamity.” The rubbing intensified. “Hearing that title reminds me of them. I would rather live my life in peace, forgetting about it all.”

Though sympathy was gained by the ladies, Hubert thought otherwise. He got up from the wooden stool, marched up to the teal-haired, and shook her shoulders.

“Get a grip, Byleth!” he yelled. “To live like this is no better than to die!”

“Hubert—”

When Edelgard too stood up, he shook his head.

“Milady, forgive me, but I cannot stay silent.”

He placed a hand on his chest, glaring into Byleth’s navy eyes. “I too have a past I wish to never remember. Everyone does.” He swept his arm to Mercedes and Edelgard. “They have a past they wish to make amends with. To change the course of history for a better outcome. However, we only have today and tomorrow.” Hubert tightened his grip. “If you are to continue acting this way, then it’s no wonder why you’ve abandoned your duty as the Warrior of Light.”

“I’m sure there are others that would carry the future of Eorzea—”

“But you are here right now!”

“I am unable to fight at full strength. You saw how I collapsed after the battle last week. It’s impossible to return to duty as I’ve had when I was by myself.”

“We are here for you! Did you seriously forget that we are also your comrades?” The older male released her, still scowling. “I’m sorry, but I cannot deal with a person who wishes to waste their potential on a meaningless life.”

“Isn’t she the Botanist guild master though?” Mercedes quipped.

“That is not enough for someone with her capability.” He turned his back to the Samurai, walking to the exit. “I don’t even think she’s worthy of being Edelgard’s woman.” The door then slammed from behind.

Edelgard scratched her cheek. “I’ve never seen Hubert so angry before.” She glanced at her girlfriend. Hand still on Byleth’s, she gave another squeeze, leaning in. “I want to let you know that, unlike Hubert, whatever you choose to do with your life… I will support you.” The Warrior captured Byleth’s lips. “Don’t you worry about protecting anyone,” she said after parting. Getting up from her stool, Edelgard gave another kiss, this time on the head. “You’ve protected us once during the Calamity, and you’ve protected us a week ago with the dragon. I think you deserve to rest.”

“El…��

Compared to her male companion, Edelgard was gentle. Yet the two of them had a point, their arguments well-supported.

Her lover waved farewell for the evening, visiting hours over, and returned to the inn for the night. That left Byleth with Mercedes. She looked to the White Mage.

“I’m not even sure what to decide anymore.”

“Hm…” Mercedes cupped her chin. “This is a difficult choice to make. But I know that so long as you remain true to yourself, then you’ve made the right decision.” She settled into her blanket, the nurses coming in to dim the candles. “Have you ever thought of becoming an adventurer again?”

“Sometimes,” she answered truthfully.

Mercedes hummed again. “Then you’re being chained to the past. Though, knowing you, I know you’ll reach an answer before we fully recover.”

“What if I can’t?”

“I think that’s too soon to say.”

The rest of the night, they slept in silence. Mercedes did, at least. Byleth found herself staring up at the ceiling, her gauzed hands resting over her stomach. Her thumbs casually tapped at an even, rhythmic interval.

What is it that she truly desired?

She sighed. It was time for some self-reflection.

[-----]

Another week crawled by in Camp Dragonhead. During the days she and Mercedes were out of commission, Edelgard and Hubert traveled around Coerthas Central Highlands. Small quests and duties with other party members were tackled, the latest task partnering them with Ingrid Brandl Galatea and Dorothea Arnault, respectively a Dragoon and Scholar.

Was this busywork? To keep their minds off about Byleth’s true identity? Or did they use this chance to make new relationships and make some spare gils on the side?

Whatever it was, it matters not, the time for their friends’ discharge finally here. Mercedes had left first, leaving Byleth alone. Or so she thought she was alone.

“Congratulation on your discharge, Master Eisner!” Annette and Marianne, who had traveled from Gridania, greeted Byleth, a bouquet of scarlet carnations offered. “Just wanted to stop by here and make sure you’re still kicking.”

“I-It would be… terrible if you were to die…” Marianne fidgeted.

Annette laughed in response, slapping her colleague’s back, hard. “It would be terrible, huh! But I’m glad she’s still here with us.” Marianne yelped and tried to swat her friend’s hand. “Can you… please not do that?”

“Oh, you’re no fun!”

Seeing their cheery selves caused Byleth to smile. Then, she stood up from her mattress, walking to the closet. Folded neatly was her decorated red robe. Nearby, her katana stared at its owner, begging for usage. Byleth glanced over her shoulder. Annette and Marianne were still in the room. She dryly swallowed, the Samurai’s fingers delicately rubbing the silky material.

“Annette, Marianne, I have something to tell you both.”

“Hm? What’s up?” Annette said. “Are there materials you want us to harvest or gather for you?”

Byleth shook her head. “That’s not it. I’m actually thinking about putting you both as the new masters for the Botanist guild.”

“…I heard wrong, did I?”

When Byleth shook her head, Marianne felt a rising dread from her chest, as Annette wondered, “Is there a reason as to why you want to make us the new guildmasters?”

An answer was already in preparation for a question like this. Soon, Annette and Marianne’s eyes sparkled, shaking the Samurai’s hands.

“I wish you the best of luck, Master Eisner,” Annette said, a tinge of sadness hinted. “We’re going to miss you.”

“It… It was fun studying under you,” Marianne added with a smile.

"I might stop by, so don't slack off."

The two shuddered, Marianne especially. She trembled in her boots, her fingers still tasting the slimy toads years prior.

Soon, the three left together. Both Marianne and Annette departed back to Gridania. As for Byleth, the mentor approached the three-man group she had seen so often. Edelgard, Hubert, and Mercedes waiting for her return.

“Glad to see you’re doing better, Byleth,” Edelgard said. “There aren’t any complications that we need to know of, right…?”

“Other than my damaged side from six years ago, no.”

“I see,” Hubert crossed his arms. “Have you thought about your future?”

Jumping right to the gun. Hubert was not the kind of person to be dilly-dallying. Byleth shrugged her shoulders, causing his furrowed brows to deepen. However, she said, “If I were by myself, no. But with you all… I believe I can follow my heart’s true desire.” The mentor laughed. “After some self-reflection, I’ve come to terms that I want to become an adventurer once again.”

“But what about your trauma?”

It's not easy getting over the past. Still... Byleth took Edelgard’s hands and squeezed them. “I’m okay. So long as I have you, I… I won’t be afraid anymore. I’ll try to, I promise.” She looked to the Black and White Mage. “I hope you have room for an additional member of your party.”

“We always have room for one more,” Mercedes giggled. “We actually need someone of your expertise to form a perfectly balanced group.”

“Glad there’s a spot waiting for me to fill.”

Hubert quietly nodded in the background, satisfied with her answer.

Edelgard rushed into her lover’s arms, pressing her face against her breasts. She closed her eyes, whispering, “I’m glad you decided to travel with us, my love.”

"Me too." Byleth kissed the top of her head. “It’s good to be back in business.”

This time, with new comrades, the ghost of her dead allies only able to watch from afar.

Soon, Eorzea will hear of the news that the Warrior of Light has made her return. Accomplishments of her past are soon forgotten in place of newer ones. Impossible assignments that would turn anyone’s tail around were deliverable. The tales of Byleth Eisner stretched far and wide, her reputation spiking. However, the Grand Companies pointed out her closely knitted party, the three on equal standing with the teal-haired female.

“Are you thinking of what I’m thinking?” Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn, leading the Grand Company of Limsa Lominsa, remarked during a meeting with the other two Grand Companies.

Raubahn from Ul’dah chuckled. “I’m not surprised. That kid managed to find a band of warriors that share the same motivation as her.”

“And they’re always together too,” Kan-E added. “They continue to forge a powerful bond that rivals many alliance leaders of the past.”

“You don’t say,” Merlwyb tapped her finger on the wooden table. “I say that they remind me of Byleth— No, that isn’t right. What I meant to say is how they share similarities to the heroes of the past.” She leaned forward, a grin breaking out. “Could they be the new Warriors of Light?”

And it turns out, Byleth, Edelgard, Hubert, and Mercedes would become just that: the Warriors of Light.

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