#the next chapter/part/whatever will probably be delayed

[ckret2]

Chapter 58 of human Bill Cipher in a quantum uncertainty state between being and not being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Everything you've wondered about how Bill survived his execution.

Let's rewind a couple of days.

####

Friday, 11:00 p.m.

"Welp," Mabel said, "I've got the rest of summer to try to get the whole story out of him! Goodnight, Dipper!"

Dipper's stomach flipped with guilt. "Yeah." The rest of summer. Mabel left for Portland in the morning. "Goodnight."

He lay down, pulled his sheet back up, and stared at the ceiling.

####

Friday, 11:04 p.m.

It took less than five minutes before the guilt won.

Yeah, no, nope, nuh-uh, Dipper couldn't do this. Not to his sister. He rolled over and hissed, "Psss, hey. Mabel."

"Hm?"

"Listen," Dipper said. "I hate Bill, okay, but I care about you, and also I think Bill might be part of a prophecy, so, because of that—I... There's something I need to tell you."

####

11:15 p.m.

Bill hadn't even had time to start dreaming before something dragged his mind back into the waking world.

There were white points of light as he passed through the hazy twilight of half-sleep. Those lights were his eyes. Lately, every time he started to wake up, he'd been seeing his eyes in the distance.

This time, there was one right in front of him, so bright it almost blinded him. He thought he could see something in the light.

He touched it.

And then he woke up, laying on his cushion bed as usual, watching as Mabel slid out of her room, crept near, and knelt beside him. She shook his shoulder. "Hey, Bill. Wake up."

And then he woke up—which was strange, considering he'd just done that—and stared at the dark inside of his hoodie.

He pushed back his hood. There was Mabel, crouched next to him, just like he'd "dreamed." Huh. Well done, Cipher, it seems you've just learned a new trick.

He tamped down his excitement; he could figure out what to do with this trick later. For now, he had a higher priority. "'Sup, kid?" He pushed himself up on an elbow, roughly flipping his hair out of his hood so it wouldn't keep tickling and choking around his neck. "It's the middle of the night." He yawned and mumbled, "Not that it makes a difference to me, but..."

"Shhh! We've gotta stay quiet," Mabel whispered. "I need to get you out of here. They're gonna kill you."

He sat bolt upright. "All right," he said. "You have my attention."

####

Dipper refused to say how, but according to him they'd synthesized just enough fuel for one shot with their fancy quantum whatever gun, and they couldn't make any more. They planned to execute Bill once Mabel was gone.

Mabel could just open a door for Bill and let him escape in the middle of the night—but that had dangers of its own. Bill would have to travel to a hiding place on foot—and his shoes were crap for hiking—his feet were also crap for hiking—and he'd only have until the adults started waking up and realized he was gone. Even if he kept moving all night, the adults would probably be able to cover the same amount of ground in a couple of hours, he'd probably inadvertently leave a trail a mile wide, and the forest's local supernatural population would definitely snitch if one of the Stans asked if they'd seen anything.

Plus, it wouldn't be very hard for the adults to figure out that Dipper had cracked and Mabel had helped Bill escape, and then everyone was in hot water.

They needed a way to cover Bill's escape to make it harder for the adults to pick up his trail, to give him as much time as possible to get some distance from the shack, and to delay Mabel getting in trouble. ("And Dipper," Mabel said. "Sure," Bill said unenthusiastically.)

But if they could, it would be best if they found a way to ensure the adults never even thought to look for Bill, Mabel never got in trouble at all, and the Quantum Destabilizer could never be fired again.

It was possible, Bill said. It wasn't guaranteed, but it was possible. They had a good chance. A very good chance. In fact, never mind, he'd decided it was guaranteed, they'd pull this off easily.

All they had to do was fake his death.

He knew a way.

####

11:45 p.m.

Dipper was stirred out of a drowsy near-sleep by the door creaking open and a couple sets of footsteps shuffling in. He rolled over and squinted across the room.

Mabel was quietly collecting craft supplies—pens, papers, her small starter sewing kit she used for repairs. Bill climbed into the loft to grab some musty pillows and blankets that had been stored for years in a cardboard box.

"Mabel?" Dipper mumbled.

Mabel put a finger over her lips. "Hey Dipper," she whispered. "You can go back to sleep, we'll be up in the loft."

"Doing what?"

"Scheme-y stuff. Don't worry about it." She flung her arms around Dipper, whispered, "Thank you," and ran across the room to grab her backpack and the height-altering flashlight.

Dipper glanced toward the loft. Bill was waiting at the top of the ladder, a dark vaguely-triangular silhouette, only his eyes visible as they reflected the dim light like a cat's. Dipper had had more nightmares than he could remember about waking to find Bill hovering in the dark above him.

Bill's gaze flicked from watching Mabel to staring at Dipper. They made eye contact. Bill didn't say anything.

Then Mabel climbed up the ladder, supply-stuffed backpack slung over her shoulders. Bill gave Dipper one last silent look, then turned away to follow Mabel to the back of the loft.

Dipper rolled over and tried to fall back asleep.

####

The plan was to create a dummy that looked like Bill to take the Quantum Destabilizer's shot in his place, while the real Bill got as far from the shack as the weirdness barrier around town would allow.

Bill told Mabel that the dummy didn't need to be complicated: he had an enchantment that could make it completely convincing. All he had to do was write out a spell and leave the paper over the dummy, and anyone who looked at it would be convinced it was really him in the flesh.

Similarly, sneaking Bill out of the shack didn't need to be complicated. They could shrink Bill down and stick him in Mabel's backpack, and all she'd have to do was come up with an excuse to get out of the car and set him free before they left town. 

The hard part would be the choreography of the whole thing. They needed Bill to put in an appearance that morning, to prove it really was him walking around; and then go somewhere that Mabel could hide him away without anybody noticing; and then ensure that nobody would see the Bill dummy until they were safely out of range, just in case. "The enchantment's pretty good," Bill said, "but the more people see it and the longer they get to look at it, the less potent it gets. And all it'll do is make the dummy look like me—it won't be able to walk and talk. It's best if the only person who gets a good look at it is my executioner."

The word executioner made Mabel shudder. It would probably be Ford, wouldn't it? She knew he thought he was doing the right thing. She knew it wasn't the first time he'd tried to destroy Bill. She knew she'd been fine with it last summer. She even knew that Bill would be okay. But all the same, she wasn't sure how she'd look at Ford the same way.

Once they had the dummy set up somewhere away from the family's prying eyes, they had to discourage everyone from trying to approach "Bill" until they were ready to kill him. And, ideally—just in case the executioner tried to speak to Bill or the enchantment otherwise failed—they should stage it all in a way so that no one would think Mabel had been involved in the escape plan.

The solution was obvious.

"I live to cause drama for no reason," Bill said. "I upset mortals recreationally. Can you act?"

"Can I act? Pshhh!" Mabel flipped a hand dismissively. "Maybe you were too busy badly impersonating my brother to watch, but last year I kind of staged an entire puppet show performing and singing as every character."

So it was a plan: they would stage a fight.

They were sitting in the very back of the attic loft, behind stacks of forgotten boxes and abandoned junk, beneath the meager light of the loft's window. Bill didn't need the light. He had a pen and paper and was writing out his enchantment's spell while they talked, long lines of inscrutable text. It was so dark that Mabel couldn't even see what language he was writing in, but that was fine; Bill had said that if she read his spell—if anyone read it—it would break the enchantment.

"Whoops," Bill said, "yeah, afraid I missed your whole show! I was too busy backstage trying to avoid your friends and looking for a way onto the catwalk."

Mabel shook her head in disapproval. "You would have liked it. There were live pyrotechnics and lasers and fog machines and a giant tentacle monster war and seventy-four songs and puppets!"

"I'll admit, sounds like a killer show. How about gore?"

"There was a whole song about my love interest getting his legs chewed off in the war," Mabel said. "The sock puppets don't have legs, but everyone knows your own imagination is a lot scarier than anything you actually see."

This kid could have a brilliant artistic career as a serial killer. "That's familiar. Is this war based on that 'cats versus the giant octopus' dream you keep having?"

"Yeah, and you'd have known that if you'd actually watched the opera! Too bad you missed the whole thing," Mabel said. "I guess you were just too busy being evil to appreciate the simple joys of a good, clean, non-villainous puppet show."

"Oh no, I can't believe my actions have consequences," Bill said flatly. "What would I ever have done if you hadn't enlightened me."

"Died, probably."

Bill glared.

"You know! Like you did last summer? As a consequence of your—"

"You shush."

Bill shoved Mabel away when she started to laugh, and held the enchantment up between their faces so he didn't have to look at her. He read his work over, then folded the paper in half and half again. "Hey, maybe you can put on an encore presentation sometime." Bill carefully inscribed four symbols in a square on the folded paper. "I promise I'll laugh at the jokes and fake cry at the sad parts."

Mabel shuddered. "No way. I'm never touching that show again. Too many bad memories."

"Awww, how come?"

Mabel stared at Bill.

Bill said, "Oh, right."

"Yeah," Mabel said coldly. "Thanks."

Bill shrank back. He leaned against a cardboard box, not sure where to look, drumming his fingers self consciously on the floorboards. Trying to figure out the right thing to say to make it better.

"Hey," he said. "If you ever change your mind about reviving the show... can I play the reverend again?" He grinned.

Mabel wadded up a paper and chucked it at Bill's face.

####

They agreed that scripting out every bit of the argument would make it sound too fakey; and anyway they were going to do this on no sleep and with no time to practice, if one of them forgot a line mid-argument it would ruin their entire plan. Bill said he was great at improvisational acting (which Mabel suspected was his way of trying to make "great at lying on the spot" sound good), and Mabel was a pro at getting into character for pretend games, so this should be easy. They just needed to choose a few topics they could realistically argue about.

So they started making a list of things that would totally infuriate each other.

"I can't think of anything that would make me furious," Bill said. "Outside of something serious like a murder attempt, anyway. I'm an even-tempered triangle! I don't sweat the small things!"

"You got sooo mad when I forgot to tell you about my Summerween plans."

Bill grimaced. "Right," he muttered. "That." 

Teasingly, Mabel asked, "Are you still grumpy I made plans?"

"I was not grumpy you made plans. I wasn't grumpy at all! I just would have appreciated if I'd known sooner, I planned my whole evening assuming I'd have somebody around to open doors—"

He saw Mabel's increasingly amused smirk, stopped himself, held up a hand, and said, "I'll save it for tomorrow morning."

Mabel wrote down the idea beneath four ideas she'd already scratched out. She'd temporarily removed the crystal from the height-altering flashlight so she could illuminate her paper while she wrote. "The concert will definitely come up tomorrow morning! And you can act like that's the first time you heard about it."

"Sure, no problem. We haven't talked about the concert where your uncles could overhear, have we?"

"I don't think so."

"Then that's perfect. I can pretend to be mad you didn't tell me." Bill forced a smile. "All right, your turn." He rested his elbow on his knee and his cheek on his fist. "I realize that, apart from the unfortunate meat suit, I'm the most flawless person you've ever seen—" he ignored Mabel's raspberry, "—but for the sake of argument, just imagine something you might get mad at me for."

"Um... insulting Dipper?"

"Now that sounds fun. But no, can't risk it, he'd be too tempted to jump into the argument," Bill said. "Besides, what if I said something you agreed with?"

"What! Why would I agree if you insulted my brother?"

"He smells like a sweaty ferret and when he has a crush he turns into a creepy little stalker."

Mabel laughed. "Yeah, he does. Okay, um..." She went silent for a moment, tapping the butt of her marker on the paper. 

She stopped tapping; and then quietly said, "I'd be so mad if I thought you were trying to keep me from hanging out with my friends."

"Oh, I could do that easily." Bill reviewed his wording, decided a human could take that as a threat, and quickly amended himself, "Could pretend that I'm trying to do that easily. You know I'd never, but hey, the adults here are ready to believe the worst about me—"

"You promise?"

"Sure I promise!" He processed the question after he'd already answered it. "Hold on—you think I'm the kind of person who would do that?" He was, but he didn't want her to see him that way.

She shrugged, looking down at her idea list again. "You've done it to other people."

"Name one!"

"Grunkle Ford and Old Man McGucket."

Oh, of course. That snitch of a backstabbing ungrateful ex-student, bane of Bill's entire miserable postmortem existence. Had to find as many ways as possible to make Bill look bad, didn't he. "All I did was tell Stanford that hick was a coward and a flake. I didn't make him do anything! If he agreed with me, that's on him." Bill crossed his arms irritably. "And Specs was a coward and a flake. Is it a crime to be right?"

"But you ruined their friendship on purpose, didn't you."

Bill tried to find a graceful way to wriggle around the direct accusation that excused his actions without contradicting whatever she might already know. "Did not," he said.

Mabel frowned at him.

Bill averted his gaze. "So! That's great. Trying to keep you away from your friends. Something I've never done to you but would be a really good thing to fight about. What else."

Mabel sighed and looked over her list again. She wrote something, scratched it out; started another line and scribbled it out; and then said in exasperation, "Your morals are terrible."

Bill had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep his sudden laugh from waking Dipper. "You've got too many morals, it's your biggest character flaw. How many does one person really need, two or three? That's an easy topic, arguments about morality can drag out for hours!"

"We probably only need to fight for like ten minutes, right?"

"Sure. List done! That's everything we need."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. She read over the list, glanced at the flashlight she was reading with, and said, "I should get extra batteries. It'd be the worst if we got you way out of the shack and then the batteries died while you were still small."

Bill wasn't sure about that. Being so tall for weeks on end felt awkward and wrong. His limbs were always in the way. He bumped into things he should have been able to slide between. The more time he spent in this body, the more he wanted to spend a month at the size and thickness of a greeting card. He joked, "Hey, I don't know; it'd be easier to hide..."

"Yeah, and easier to get squarshed." Mabel turned off the flashlight and picked up her backpack. "I'm getting batteries."

While Mabel was downstairs, Bill picked up her list to see what topics they'd found to argue about so far:

Weirdmaged

Making me think you were Blendin to get the

Kitten fists meow meow

Almost killing me

Not sharing Summerween plans

Trying to make me kill myself by

Ruining Glove Story

Insulting Dipper

Insulting Waddles??? (too lovable!)

Weirdm

Mabeland Isolating me from everyone

Spray painting your eyeball

Weir YOU'RE TOO EVIL!!

I'M TOO NICE!!! ♡

He reread the list, feeling his guts writhe and twist involuntarily.

Yeah. Those were all the things he'd decided not to bring up, too.

At least they were in agreement on what they didn't want to talk about. That was true friendship, right? Friendship didn't mean never hurting each other; it meant mutually agreeing never to talk about it again.

He read the list a third time.

####

A spare pair of Bill's black leggings and a pair of black socks would serve as half of the decoy body, stuffed with old bedsheets and half a pillow that Mabel had sized up with the flashlight so it was closer to Bill's actual torso size. For the time being, the top half of the decoy was constructed out of a flannel shirt; Bill would have to put in an appearance downstairs in his hoodie, and then they could quickly go upstairs and put it on the decoy to complete the look.

He'd miss that hoodie almost as much as he missed his own face. But it was a small price to pay for his life.

"I don't know," Mabel whispered, inspecting the dummy with the flashlight from near the edge of the loft. "It doesn't look super convincing. It's kind of lumpy all wrong." She knelt by it and tried to poke the fake thigh into a slightly more convincing shape.

"Don't worry about it," Bill whispered, waving the folded paper with the secret spell written inside. "The enchantment will hide all that. As long as the dummy looks mostly human at a glance, no one will notice anything."

Mabel gave it one last worried look, but nodded and turned off the flashlight.

####

Mabel crept out of the office and eased the door shut. "Got it," she whispered, holding up a faded black umbrella. "Are you sure you don't want a better umbrella, though? Some of the spikes are broken and I think it's supposed to rain today."

"The other humans will be less likely to notice a broken umbrella going missing," Bill said. "Anyway, this one saved my life once. I'll take it."

"Then that's the last supply we needed to pack," Mabel said, sighing in relief. "It's still a couple hours until morning. Should we get some sleep?"

Bill considered it, and shook his head. "No. Better not."

Sleep scared him. Sure, he endured it when he had to—he had no choice—and, under the circumstances, although it was a close call, he grudgingly preferred sleeping to dying of sleep deprivation; but he kept it at bay as long as he could, sleeping irregularly, infrequently, and briefly. Knowing it was necessary didn't make the fear go away.

It was the helplessness of the whole thing—knowing that, once his mind had shut off, anything could happen around him, anything could happen to his body—and not only was he ignorant and defenseless, but he was also powerless to wake himself up any sooner than his tyrannical circadian rhythm dictated. He lacked even the power to think about waking.

If Mabel hadn't woken him tonight, he might have slept through his own death. 

He continued, "What if we sleep in and don't have time for the fight? I'd be doomed." Bill didn't even have the luxury of an alarm clock.

"Oh—good point," Mabel said. "So we should probably do something to keep us awake."

"Right," Bill said, wracking his exhausted brain for an idea. "Overdose on caffeine?"

Mabel was quiet for a moment. "If this works, it might be a long time before we see each other again," she said. "You'll probably have to keep hiding until Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan leave town in the fall. And by then summer will be over, and I'll be back in California..."

She was right. If they pulled off this plan, he might never see Mabel again. It wouldn't exactly be safe to ring up the Mystery Shack. Sure, sooner or later he'd find a way to restart Weirdmageddon, and then he could invite her into his gang... And she'd join, wouldn't she? Of course she would. He just needed a chance to talk to her about it away from the closed-minded killjoys in her family that were holding her back. But until then...

She groped through the dark to grab at Bill's sleeve. "Dance party? While we still can?"

"Sure, star girl." Where had this lump in his throat come from? "Sounds fun. Dance party."

####

5:30 a.m.

It was the first time Bill had danced since his death.

All Mabel had to offer was Sev'ral Times, upbeat kid's show soundtracks, unlistenable synthesized junk, and whatever was playing before dawn on the radio stations that could reach Gravity Falls; the stained yellow shag carpet and homely plaid wallpaper made him miss the dark smoky rooms and strobing multicolor lights of a real club; he couldn't risk drinking this early in the morning if he wanted to have a head clear enough for escape; and he never forgot that, outside of the living room, the halls were empty and silent.

But he'd danced to music that made his eye bleed and his memories howl and he'd danced to no music at all; he'd danced in millions of crummy makeshift dance halls and night clubs and dive bars that had tumbled into or been cobbled together in the Nightmare Realm; he'd danced when he was so brutally sober that time in all its sharp cruel clarity seemed to have frozen to turn a spotlight on him; he'd danced with his worst enemies and he'd danced all alone; and there wasn't any force on this planet that would stop him from dancing now.

After spending four songs in a row making fun of Bill for attempting to figure out how to puppet a human body into some approximation of a dance, Mabel asked, "What were dances like on Flatworld?" It made Bill internally wince each time he heard it called that.

But he welcomed the opportunity for a break; he leaned back to half sit against the living room table, breathing heavily, arms trembling. "Dif—difficult question." He had to pause to catch his breath. His lungs and muscles couldn't keep up with him; this body was too hard to keep moving, so inefficient, 90% of the fuel that went into it was wasted uselessly. It was already beginning to atrophy in the few short weeks he'd had it, muscles withering from days stuck indoors with nothing to do but sit and stare out the window. He'd been made of pure energy for so long that maintaining all the little systems to keep a flesh body energized—food, water, sleep, exercise, not too much exercise, oxygen—felt like a Sisyphean torture. "S'like asking—'what're human dances like'? There's a—lot of variety."

"You know what I mean!" Mabel was still half dancing, bouncing from foot to foot. Bill wanted that kind of energy. "How do you dance?"

Bill shut his eyes, seeing colors flash behind his eyes—gyroscopic, kaleidoscopic, shapes spinning and whirling in spirals. "I'd show you, but there's not enough room in here for me to do a cartwheel."

"Seriously, Bill."

"I'm being serious! Plus I can't float. It wouldn't look right in a human body." It would look better if he cut his silhouette out of a piece of paper, taped it over a flashlight, and projected the shape onto the wall. "Tell you what—as soon as I'm back in my real body, I'll show you how I dance, all right?"

"Come on, Bill! You're just trying to wiggle out of—"

"Mabel," Bill said, "I can't do those dances in this body."

Mabel's teasing smile faded. "Really?"

"Unless you know a way to dislocate my shoulder so I can slide my entire arm from one hip over my head and down to the other."

"Ew." Mabel grimaced.

"It looks cooler on a triangle." Bill smiled wanly. "But hey, I spent all day yesterday teaching you everything I know—you can teach me something. I haven't used a human body in thirty years! What dances are popular these days, I haven't learned anything new since the moonwalk."

Mabel's eyes widened. "You know how to moonwalk?"

"Sure! It's easy. I figured it out in Stanford's body."

"I don't believe you. Prove it."

Bill pushed off the table. "Oh, yeah? Are you ready to look stupid?" He effortlessly glided backwards across the floorboards. He pointed at Mabel's gaping face as he passed. "What do you think of that?"

"Show me how to do that and I'll teach you every dance I know."

Bill grinned. He loved deals that were unfairly biased in his favor, and he loved it more when he didn't even have to propose them himself. "You've got yourself a deal, Shooting Star." It would keep them occupied for the next hour.

####

6:32 a.m.

About fifteen minutes ago, Bill had warned Mabel that he'd just glimpsed the beforeimage of Ford crossing the living room in the future; and then they'd kept partying, wanting to get in every last second of joy they could before he arrived in the present.

But once Ford was no longer approaching but actually there, seeing his face was like a bullet to the head. Bill had been having so much fun, for a few minutes he'd almost forgotten that today was execution day.��

And it wouldn't be execution day if he had anything to say about it.

Bill demanded, "What's with the sour face?" (Ford's eyes were so dull, his expression so heavy; Bill had never seen him wear that look, not even any of the previous times he'd tried to murder Bill.) "Hey, am I not allowed to dance now?" He squeezed Mabel's hands tighter.

Ford just gave a tiny shake to his head and hurried past them, not even deigning to look at Bill, as though he were telling himself he'd only imagined he'd heard the voice of a ghost.

I know what you're up to, Bill thought at top volume silently in his head. But you won't do it. You won't do it.

He met Mabel's gaze. She gave him a tiny nod. Party was over. Time to get to work.

####

6:36 a.m.

Over the course of the night, Dipper had been woken twice by bursts of quickly-hushed laughter; three times by random bumps and thuds; once by Bill falling off the loft and Mabel's squeal of alarm; and several times by Mabel waking Dipper to ask if it was okay if she gave Bill Dipper's old shoes (so Bill could finally walk in the woods properly), his sleeping bag (so Bill didn't have to sleep on hard rocks under a single sad Pony Heist bedsheet), his "Edible Plants of Oregon's Blue Mountains" booklet (self-explanatory), and several other things he also said "yes" to without hearing properly. It had better be one heck of a prophecy that Bill was involved in, because Dipper was this close to just murdering Bill himself.

When Dipper went downstairs, he couldn't even look at Mabel and Bill—terrified something in his gaze would give the whole conspiracy away. He didn't even know what they were planning. Was dancing in the living room part of it? Was it some distraction? He'd hoped Bill would already be gone by now.

He couldn't meet Ford's eyes either, for the guilt of betraying his trust. He didn't deserve these scrambled eggs.

He couldn't meet anyone's gaze.

He really, really hoped Mabel and Bill had a plan. He hoped it was a good plan. Because whatever the heck they were up to—Dipper was afraid it was on him to prevent Ford and Stan from intervening too soon and finding out.

####

6:49 a.m.

After they'd escaped the kitchen, Bill glanced over his shoulder toward the stairs before Mabel got the attic door closed. "Do you think Ford noticed something?"

Mabel was already running across the room, retrieving her phone charger and phone to stuff in her backpack and pocket, making sure she'd packed everything she needed for her trip—everything except for Bill. "I wasn't looking. Did he?"

"I don't know." Bill flashed one last worried look at the door; but he couldn't afford to slow down, he had a dummy to finish. He hurried up the ladder, took off his hoodie, pulled on a tank top, tried to fish his pre-written enchantment out of his pocket in the same movement, and fumbled and dropped the paper over the edge of the loft.

Mabel had been checking her bag for the concert tickets when a paper fluttered down on her hair. She instinctively grabbed it and unfolded it before she registered the four sigils written on the outside and realized this was the enchantment Bill had said would stop working if anyone read it. She'd reflexively read the first few lines before she could stop herself. She froze. Her gaze jerked up to Bill, eyes wide.

Bill dropped down the ladder, snatched the paper out of her hand so quickly it almost tore, and immediately climbed back up. "I told you not to look." He carefully refolded it.

"Is that...?"

"It'll work," Bill hissed, with an insistence that said he wasn't sure it would work at all.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" He held up the dummy's pillow torso and yanked the hoodie on top of it.

When Mabel didn't say anything, Bill sighed. "Even if it doesn't—this only needs to work until we're on the road. They can't stop us then."

"Bill—"

He shakily inhaled, and then he raised his voice loud enough he'd be heard downstairs. "What do you need to spend all that time around those two brats for, anyway?! What, am I not good enough company for you?!"

They didn't have time to adjust the plan. They were in the middle of it, right now, and the guys expected to hear an argument. Mabel swallowed hard and raised her voice as well. "Not when you're acting like this, you aren't! You're a bigger brat than—than both of—and my friends aren't brats!"

Bill bit his lip, brows drawn in pain, eye squeezed shut, trying not to laugh.

Mabel chucked a sock at him, don't you dare. "You can't say I can't hang out with my friends, that's stupid!"

"I never said you can't!" Bill held the folded paper a foot above the completed dummy, the square of symbols face up, and tapped it twice so it hovered in place when he let go. "Hang out with your stupid friends, I don't care! But two whole days is ridiculous—!"

####

7:02 a.m.

"I THOUGHT you were my FRIEND!"

All three eavesdroppers cringed—Dipper hardest of all. His heart was hammering out of his chest and his t-shirt was at least 50% sweat by volume. Was this part of the plan? It sounded like an insane plan. This couldn't be the plan. It had to be the plan. He'd already prevented Ford from intervening, what if they were really fighting? But what if this really was the plan? 

"WELL! If you're gonna act like this just because I wondered what you're up to, maybe NOT! What kind of fun are you good for, you wouldn't even be into burning a house down!"

Dipper messed up. He'd actually ruined their friendship right before Bill was about to die and Mabel would be miserableand it was all his fault. This fight was real. They were furious. They hated each other—

####

7:03 a.m.

"OH YEAH, WELL—" Mabel faltered as she struggled to think of a fitting retort. "YOU WOULDN'T EVEN BE INTO—into—n-NOT BURNING A HOUSE DOWN!" She cringed at herself, struggling not to laugh.

Bill had been fighting the urge to laugh so hard that his face was turning red. "OHHH WOW, GREAT COMEBACK."

Mabel's voice went shrill with suppressed hysterics. "SHUT UP!" Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she socked Bill's arm. If he made her lose it when everyone was outside listening—

The door opened. "Hey—!"

They both rounded on Stan. "STAY OUT OF IT!" Mabel snatched up a discarded sweater. Stan shut the door just before the sweater hit it.

Mabel quietly wheezed, "Do you think he saw anything?"

"No, n—" Bill had to clap both hands over his mouth and nose to keep silent. Mabel wrapped her arms around him and smushed her face against his chest to muffle herself. They stood there, shaking, until the hysterics passed.

The stress was getting to them.

####

7:06 a.m.

"Fine!!" Mabel lifted the height-altering flashlight. "Then you can just stay here all weekend!"

Bill had on his backpack (Dipper had "agreed" Bill could take his) and was clutching his umbrella. He gave her a thumbs up; ready. "FINE!"

"FINE!" Mabel turned on the flashlight. When Bill was around four inches tall, she turned it off, knelt down, and offered her hand for him to climb on. She stuffed the flashlight in her backpack, carefully set Bill in a sweater nest (how had Gideon flung her and Dipper in a jar so cavalierly? she was terrified of snapping Bill's bones like toothpicks), zipped the backpack and gingerly put it on; and then Mabel was storming out of the room.

"Leave him in there," Mabel snapped, pointing at the door. She was shaking with fear. "He's in TIME OUT."

Dipper glanced nervously at the door, "Um..." He looked so worried. She hadn't had a chance to explain the plan to him.

Mabel glared into his eyes. She summoned up all her mostly placebic Twin Empathy Powers to beam her thoughts into Dipper's brain. Don't. Please don't. If you say anything you'll ruin it.

He raised his hands. "Okay, fine."

Mabel rushed past him to the stairs, trying to escape as fast as possible without jostling her backpack.

####

7:08 a.m.

Buckled into Mrs. Grendinator's car, voice shaking, Mabel said, "Can we just go? Please?" Now, before someone ran out of the shack and waved them down to demand Mabel explain where Bill had gone. Her hands were trembling in fear, clutched protectively around her backpack with its secret cargo. One of her best friends was in there. She couldn't let anything happen to him.

Mrs. Grendinator nodded. "Of course."

As they pulled around the Mystery Shack and toward the road, Mabel glanced toward the attic bedroom window, afraid the adults might have already gone in and discovered their trick; but no one looked back.

Now all she could do was hope the paper Bill had left floating over the dummy would do its job.

####

(Shoutout to the one person who theorized the size changing flashlight could be involved, I'd @ you but I don't want you to see this before you read the chapter. You may claim credit in the notes. Based on the messages I received, one person guessed Mabel got involved halfway through the fight, no one guessed she was in it from the start, and NOBODY guessed Dipper got involved.

For a fun time, go back and read last chapter and this one in chronological order via the timestamps!

But first I wanna hear all your thoughts.)

[moonshynecybin]

i thinkkkkk this one is gonna be part of something larger but here's the first part of a fic (2.8k so far) where the first chapter is literally just rosquez having a conversation in an airport set around jerez 2024… i also wanted to add some good ole marquez brother goof arounds:

“Look, if you’re just gonna make fun of me—”

“No, please! I wanna hear the rest of this,” Alex says, leaning into Marc’s space and raising his eyebrows, goofy. It makes Marc let out a big laugh— full and loud. He stretches against the plastic of the airport gate seating, the movement pulling at overtired muscles. It feels like they’ve been here forever.

It’s been a long journey back to Spain— storm delays and rerouting stranding them in the airport for hours. They’re still here waiting for a connecting flight, puttering away next to their gate and shooting the shit. It’s been a good weekend —a podium for him— but he’s tired, and ready to be home.

“No no no no, I’m done.” He settles into his seat, pushing Alex’s face away from him. Alex cackles, and Marc points at him. “But you should do that professionally!”

Alex pulls one of his mild, exasperated faces, and it makes Marc smile wider. They’re probably being too loud. Marc doesn’t care.

“You know,” Alex points out, dragging out the last syllable of know so it sounds like knowwwww, “You are the world’s absolute worst loser.” 

Marc shrugs. “It’s a good thing, too— in our line of work you have to be.” He’s unrepentant. It’s how he’s built.

He ignores the face that Alex is surely making and leans down to rummage through his carry on, looking for headphones. For sure, if he has to lose to anyone, he’d prefer it was Alex. With him, the nagging bite of loss usually manages to morph into something lighter, more fun, just because he knows Alex won’t ever blame him for how he gets, how involved he can be in winning. That doesn’t mean he enjoys losing—he’ll never enjoy that—but it takes it back to being a game. None of the anticipation of a sour aftermath that he’s faced in the past, the wait for the other foot to drop, and the play to slide towards resentment without him noticing.

“I doubt losing at a video game will help you gain a competitive edge on the track,” Alex asserts dryly, turning his attention back to his phone and tapping open the Kindle app. He’s been obsessed with those fantasy novels, lately. “You can’t win at everything.”

“Trust me, I know,” Marc laughs, rubbing at his arm. He needs to call his PT. Whatever. “But! I don’t think that first thing is true.” Banishing the thought from his head, he leans over to poke Alex in the arm. Alex swats at his hand, not looking up from his book, and Marc pokes him again, harder this time. “I have a winner mentality.”

“You have a loser mentality. You just lost.” Alex is staring at what Marc thinks is the table of contents.

“Semantics.” Another poke.

Alex looks up, incredulous. Victory. 

“You were cheating! And you still lost!” 

“But you don’t have any proof of that.”

And Alex shakes his head like he can’t believe him, laughs again. “You are insufferable.”

Marc grins and Alex sighs, scrubs a hand over his head.

“I’m going to go grab some water. Maybe eventually they’ll let us board this fucking plane. You want anything?”

Marc shakes his head.

“No, I’m good.” He ate earlier. He opens his phone back up, thumbs over his home screen. Nothing looks exciting. He hasn't been on instagram so much lately– avoiding comments.

He sighs and contemplates opening his dating app. He doesn’t.

Nothing’s felt— he’s busy. 

It’s always been too much— too complicated with his schedule, with travel, timezones, turning over battles in his head. Braking maneuvers and tire pressure edging out any relationship before it got off the ground properly. Lately, since his arm, and since Alex had told him to go find someone— it’s been nagging more.

But no one gets it. Not like he does. And he’s just never found someone that felt like they were worth all of the effort it would take, keeping a relationship together in a life like his, bending himself around racing. There’s been flashes, some false starts, but nothing has ever–

He hears a distracted chuckle behind his back, a light sound, happy, and it hooks him, hard. A sucker punch. He glances over, his previous train of thought abandoned.

It’s— 

He's heard that laugh before. 

They haven’t seen each other— properly, actually exchanging words— since last year. The end of the season. They were both in the bathroom at the Lights Out Gala. Marc in a tux, Vale in a flannel. Marc had held the door for Vale as he had left. 

Vale, once he’d registered his presence, had thrown him a thin lipped, restrained smile, and thanked him. Asked him vaguely about his surgery. Moved on.

And now he’s on the phone, a few feet away, and he probably hasn’t even seen Marc yet. Instead, he’s chattering lowly, head slightly tilted as he drags a thumb over the handle of his suitcase.

Marc has to wonder if stuff like this happens to other people.

Alex hasn’t left yet, but is about to. He's noticed, of course he noticed, and he tugs on Marc’s sleeve, voice low. “You need me to stay?”

Marc shrugs, shakes his head. He's been around Vale before, after everything, in close quarters even. It's fine. 

He's had a lot of practice.

Those last few years, before Vale retired, after Argentina—after Sepang, really, though he maybe hadn’t processed it yet— he worked on it a lot. On taking Vale off of the pedestal, making him more of a person. On realizing he was always going to have a different relationship to Vale than Vale would to him.

He works hard at that distance, enforcing it, maintaining it. Tending to it.

And he had gotten somewhere better, once he had realized that. Had stopped trying to say hi to him every time he saw him. Vale is his hero, and he knows by know that that’s never going to change completely. The precise way his presence lights Marc up, makes him giddy, the disbelieving undercurrent that Valentino Rossi knows his name— but he also has come to terms with the fact that it's never going to be like he imagined when he was twenty, and he thought maybe he could matter as much to Vale as he did to Marc.

He knows that.

But it was an adjustment. It took some time. It’s better now. He's used to it.

Now, he can sit at an airport gate with him and ignore him.

He’s probably been staring at his phone screen a little too hard. 

“Allora— so, how have you been?” A voice asks, simply, closer to his ear than it should be. Of course.

He puts the emphasis on you, the full force of him narrowed on the word. Marc stays very, forcibly still. Projects calm.

Vale’s across from him, now, got there without him noticing. His legs are spread out wide in the seat across from Marc, hat pulled low and posture easy. His face is neutral— pleasant. Marc knows that means absolutely nothing.

Vale’s gaze charts over him, carefully, taking him in. Marc swallows, steels his jaw.

Vale has always had a way of observing. Leveraging that beam of attention. He doesn’t miss a thing, never has, and he looks good— tired, but relaxed, thin frame bundled up in a hoodie, hat pulled low over his forehead. Incognito mode, Marc remembers him joking sometime in 2013, after they had snuck out of the paddock to grab a drink at a bar post media day. But you always dress like that, Marc had said, probably too confidently, and Vale had laughed, had leant in and said Well, if I want them to recognize me, I just wear the Yamaha shirt.

Marc blinks. Vale’s eyebrows are raised, expectantly. He’s been quiet too long.

“Why?” He asks pleasantly. No use pretending.

“How have you been?” Vale asks, evenly, continuing as if Marc didn’t talk. “It has been a few months, yes? Since we’ve seen each other? The gala?” He looks away, shrugging. “I wondered about your arm– it seems better.”

“You could have texted.” Marc says, furrowing his brow. He's being overly serious, he knows, but he’s curious. He didn’t expect Vale to text, knew he wouldn’t actually. It still, despite it all, prickled at him. Whenever he was injured, before, Vale would always ask. He hadn't, anytime in the last four years, despite the severity of the injury.

So why is he asking now.

Vale huffs a laugh, swipes a thumb over his phone case, waves it lazily. “My number, it ah, leaked.” He makes a face. “I had to get a new phone a while ago. I don't think your contact made it over.”

It’s better than him deleting it. Better than Marc expected, to be honest.

It could also be a lie.

“Oh. Well.” Marc, says, unsure how to continue. He smiles at Vale anyways, lifts his good shoulder, combing through his brain for what he actually wants Vale to know about his arm. Not lying, just slightly to the left of the truth. He doesn't want anything getting back to Pecco, but Vale can sense insincerity from a mile off.

“I can't complain. The last surgery, it helped.”

Vale’s eyebrows jump, making a little grimace. “I heard, it did not look very pleasant.”

The documentary, Marc thinks, Did he watch the fucking documentary?

“—Now it’s just the bike? Managing the new braking style?” Vale asks. Marc cannot fucking remember the last time Vale asked him two questions in a row.

“Ah, you know. Trade secret.” Vale’s team is also vying for the GP25 — best to keep as much as he can close to his chest.

Vale raises an eyebrow and Marc folds like a cheap stack of cards.

He sighs. nods. Who cares. Vale’s watched him ride for years, he knows Marc still has a little bit to improve on the year old Ducati. He’s seen the data.

“Now it’s just the getting the bike, nailing the setup.” He goes for the PR version of the truth. Nevermind that his arm is still in PT three times a week. The Ducati is good— Marc is having more fun. Fighting at the front. Adjusting easier than he thought he would.

But it’s not a Honda. He needs a bit more time, and he needs– he needs the factory spec. And it looks like Jorge Martin might be the one to get it.

Vale nods, neutral, like the conversation’s ending, like he’s being gracious with Marc’s answer, letting him keep his emotions close— and a sharp, unexplainable feeling digs into Marc’s chest, that same way it did when he was watching him from the seat over in whatever press conference, those first few years. He wants to keep Vale talking. Wants him to keep looking at Marc, wants to— Marc doesn’t quite know, exactly, but it feels a lot like he does on track, when he just can’t quite keep himself from reaching for the win.

He speaks. Vale’s gaze snaps back to him, head following after, a little lazier.

“You? How's endurance racing? Missing anything about MotoGP?”

He says like he doesn’t know. Like he doesn't keep tabs. Like people don’t ask him about Vale’s results.

Anyways, it's hard to be involved in MotoGP and not hear about Vale, even when he’s been retired going into three years now. People talk, always eager for Marc’s opinion on his great rival.

There’s a quirk at the corner of Vale’s mouth. Like he’s won something. Marc curls a fist tight, ignoring the feeling that he’s given information away.

“Some things.” Vale replies, an odd glimmer to him. His brow furrows, then: “I miss how it was around ten years ago, more.”

Marc blinks.

“— Getting old, I mean. It was not so fun, there at the end. I could see everything I wanted to do, every move I would've made on track, ” He sits down across from Marc, leans back in his seat, long torso bending with his lazy posture, the mood shifts and he laughs. “But I was too old! It was harder.”

Of course that’s what he meant. Marc doesn’t— he doesn’t miss Marc. doesn’t think about him much at all, probably. Wasn’t saying he missed how it was between them, ten years ago, when they were friends. Marc knows that.

“I'm getting up there, now.” Marc jokes, “Acosta, he is on the horizon.” He’s not sure it lands, but Vale huffs a laugh anyways, rubs at his eyebrow.

“You?” Vale asks, incredulous. That x-ray quality is back in his vision. He always— He used to always get Marc that way, when he would dial in and make Marc think the words he was saying mattered to him. 

Vale shakes his head, shimmies a shoulder, wags a finger. “No no no no, don’t try that– you are still young, you cant talk to me about old.”

Marc grins. He doesn’t feel it so much, now, the years between them, but it’s a nice reminder of how good it felt, being the up and comer on the scene. The next Valentino Rossi. That was fun.

But he’s older now, has been in the paddock longer than almost anyone, just like Vale had– and he can feel it, dragging at his arm. can see it, in the lines under his eyes, the unfamiliarity of the faces around him.

He wonders how Vale did it for so long. That slow decline— new people popping up every day, ones who learned from him, perfected ideas he pioneered, then using them against him. 

He remembers how he felt on the podium yesterday, and decides not to ask. He leans back.

“Ehhhh, you are not really that much older than me.”

Vale’s expression doesn’t change, still set at his default neutrally animated, but something charges in the air, and Marc gets the sense he wants to say something, toying with the edge of the cliff.

Marc searches for something that won’t rock the boat. He settles on a compliment.

“Pecco was good this weekend— He beat me. You trained him well.”

Vale’s shoulders slide down, relaxing minutely. The charge slips away. Success.

“Ah, he’s a lot better than he was when you showed up at the ranch ten years ago, yes.” 

Marc leans forwards, “Hey!” So much for avoiding fraught topics.

Vale tilts his chin, considering. “What did you say about him? I don’t think it was flattering–”

“—That was ten years ago! I’m wrong ONCE.”

“Once is enough!”

“Apparently.” Marc hits back. 

And it’s good— they’re laughing, Marc thinks, he’s laughing— but that last bit, the apparently, hangs there, snagging in Marc’s mind.

Once is enough. Apparently.

Vale’s smile dies slowly, once it’s clear Marc isn’t about to continue, and it’s odd. Not fraught, for once— though Marc hasn't been the best at recognizing when it was in the past, but he’s pretty sure here. The moment dangles for a second, as they sit across from each other in an airport looking at each other. Vale’s face is doing that thing it was earlier, where he seems to be on the verge of some moment, and his mouth opens. For some reason, Marc flushes hot on the back of his neck. His skin feels tight, and their eye contact holds.

“All good?” It’s Alex, coming back with his Smartwater.

Vale sits up straighter, immediately, posture snapping into place. He nods at Alex, who ignores him, and slides back into his seat. He shrugs at Marc, a little in-joke. What did I do? it asks, fully knowing the answer. Alex has never been as shy as Marc is about his feelings concerning Valentino Rossi. 

And it's that above anything that makes Marc feel like he’s dunked his head in ice water, reality crashing in. The moment snaps as Vale tucks back into himself, leaving Marc off his balance. He feels dizzy and a little off kilter, like he’s done something wrong, like he’s gotten away with something, something illicit, which is ridiculous — he’s just been sitting here.

Nothing’s even happened. They've been two meters away from each other the entire time.

They haven’t even touched.

Vale’s eyes are boring into him, blue and clear. Alert. And Marc catches a flash of— concern, maybe, his brow is creasing— and it tugs at Marc, makes him want to glance back and make him feel easy, lift the corner of his mouth, shrug his shoulders and dismiss Alex’s chilliness. Makes him hot and nervy, out of his skin with the need to do something he doesn’t have a name for.

He smiles.

Maybe he is doing something wrong.

Vale smiles back, and it’s brilliant.

The flight attendant comes over the PA. They’re boarding.

[heaven4lostgirls]

Never Enough (S.R)

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warning: angst, allusion to breakup, Steve chooses Sharon over reader.

summary: Steve leaves you, thinking you’ll wait for him.

word count: 1.3k

a/n: I’ll be honest, this isn’t my best work, but I thought why not get something out because I’m pretty sure the next chapter of mr americana and the heartbreak prince will be a little delayed cus I have so much work to do but I hope this tides you over until them lmao.

part 1, part 2, part 3

“Steve, I swear to god if you walk out that door, we’re done” you say as tears run down your face. It’s radio silent in the Avenger’s compound as Steve stands in front of you about to leave because Sharon had called him because of an ‘emergency.’ After she had found out that you were Steve’s girlfriend, she found ways to come in-between the both of you and somehow, she was succeeding. This was your third fight about Steve just leaving out of nowhere when she called for him, you don’t know how much of this you had in you.

“Don’t be dramatic y/n” he rolls his eyes, “we’ve been over this, she’s just a friend” he says, and you cross your arms over your chest. “Steve, how many times do I need to tell you that she is not just a friend to you? A month ago, she wanted to get into your pants” you raise your voice and Steve’s expression only grows more annoyed, “She doesn’t want me like that anymore!” he says, your expression grows even more annoyed. “If you step a foot out of that door Steve, I won’t be here when you get back” you threaten him and watch as he hesitates before he says,

“She needs me y/n” he pleads with you and tears if frustration line your eyes at his words. “What about me?!” you cry out at him incredulously, “she! Is not your girlfriend Steve! I am!” you throw your hands in the air as tears run down your face in silence and watch as Steve’s irritated demeanour breaks “I’m going y/n, we can talk about this when I get back” he says and slides a hand down his face in exasperation. “Steven Grant Rogers, don’t you dare” you threaten as he again walks to the door. “I’m sorry y/n, I’ll be back” he rushes to the door as he feels his phone buzz again.

As soon as the door to your shared room closes. You’re sliding down the wall as you sob uncontrollably, why was it so easy for him to pick her? Why did he pick her? Why were you never enough?

The rest of the Avengers stand outside your door, hearing your heartbreaking sobs is enough for tony to get Friday to unlock your door before he crouches down next to you, letting you wrap your arms around him and sob into his shirt. “Why wasn’t I enough?” you cry and Tony’s eyes mist over at your heartbroken whisper, he shakes his head as he rubs your back “you are perfect” he whispers as he kisses your forehead. Tony had always been like a father figure to you since you had joined the Avengers, a little older than Peter, he had taken you both under his wing and taught you everything you needed to know.

As much as it hurt all the Avengers to see you so broken, it hurt Tony that much more that this was the one source of pain he couldn’t protect you from. As your anguished sobbing turned into small sniffles, Tony lifts your head and wipes your nose with his sleeve, “eugh” he makes a face and smiles at the small laugh you produce.

You loom around the room to see Peter, Bucky, Sam, Natasha, Bruce, and Wanda all standing or sitting in different parts of the room, watching you with sad gazes, you know they’ve probably already heard the entire fight and you find yourself collecting yourself before you stand up with the help of Tony to look at all of them, “I cant stay here” you admit to them. Their faces fall as they realise that this isn’t your usual fight with Steve and by him choosing to check on Sharon instead of staying with you, he’s lost his place in your life.

Some nod solemnly and other eyes mist over yet they all share an overall agreement knowing that they are willing to do whatever they need to help you heal. It’s surprisingly Tony who voices what everyone else is thinking, “do you not want to wait to hear what he has to say?” he asks softly as you lean on his chest. You shake your head as tears begin to fill your eyes again. “I asked- “your voice breaks, “I begged him to stay” you tell them and watch as sympathy floods their faces.

Wanda and Natasha are the first one’s moving in order to get you out of there, they give everyone tasks so that you have some breathing room, Tony is organizing a safe house out of state while Sam and Bucky are working on getting a plane and pilot to fly you to it. Peter is making food and trying to stock up the house with groceries for the near future and Nat is overseeing his orders to make sure he doesn’t put just junk food on it.

Whist everything around you is moving faster than you can imagine for you to be out of the compound before Steve gets back, which according to Bucky is in the next hour, You and Wanda spend time packing your clothes and essentials you’ll need to have. The quiet in the room is comforting even though you can feel the anxiety slowly overcoming you at the idea of finally leaving Steve.

Wanda breaks the silence as she bombards you with a hug, “I could feel your pain, I thought this might help” and it does, Wanda has an aura around her that is so comforting for everyone around her. You both continue packing before you’re interrupted by Bucky knocking on your open door, he smiles sadly, “we’re ready for you” he says and you nod, picking up the two duffel bags lying on the floor, leaving a piece of paper on the bed before you walk out to the quinjet.

Bucky stops you before getting on the plane, as he grasps your arm, he pulls you into a hug and you know this is his way for apologizing for Steve’s behaviour. “it’s not your fault Buck” you whisper, and you feel him nod into the hug, you were both friends through Steve and you knew just how scared he must be in fear of losing you because of what his friend had done.

Peter is next and you can’t help but laugh through your tears as you see him with tears running down his pouting face, he looks like a puppy. “c’mon parker pull it together’ you roll your eyes and pull him into a hug as he sobs, “you do know I’m coming back, right?” you whisper as his sobs stop and he nods and you both giggle together. “we’re ready for take-off” you hear the pilot through the megaphone, and you release peter to walk onto the plane.

As soon as the door opens for you, you hear your voice being called desperately. “Y/N!!” you hear, and everyone turns around to meet Steve’s broken expression. “NO! Please just hear me out!!” he’s screaming through his tears however Bucky holds him back. “No! Stop the plane please! I need to talk to her” he yells and tries to fight off Bucky to get to you, but you ignore him and wipe your cheeks and make you way onto the plane, “NO! Please y/n stop! I’ll be better baby! Just get off the plane please!” his screams are drowned out as you make your way to the couches on the plane and sob.

“Y/N! Please! Let me talk to her! Please someone! Let me talk to her!” his voice becomes hoarse from all the yelling as he watches the plane take off, he doesn’t stop struggling in Bucky’s hold until the plane disappears. “I’m sorry, God I’m so sorry” he cries into his hands before he collapses, crushing your handwritten letter in one hand as he sobs. Bucky lets everyone leave as he sits with Steve on the ground, watching his best friend fall apart on the dark asphalt.

[suzukiblu]

Dude I get paid tomorrow, how much to bribe you to edit the next chapter of think pink???

. . . . . . honestly I don't know if I've really been asked about my editing rates/prioritizing rates before, haha, but thank you, mysterious stranger, I'm glad you like the fic that much! ❤️ So if you're seriously inquiring after that, I'd be willing to do a conversion on my usual Ko-fi tier thank-yous to move editing the chapter higher up my to-do list with my sub tier thank-yous, as opposed to down near the bottom where it admittedly currently dwells.

The main delay right now is I gotta reread the previous three chapters to make sure I don't fuck anything up in the continuity/conversation, and then it's roughly 24k to edit after that. There shouldn't be any MAJOR edits or rewrites, fingers crossed, but it's still a pretty decent chunk to read and correct, which is part of why I haven't made much progress on it. So I'd probably say I'd be willing to move it up the list into more immediately active editing as opposed to "I'll get there when I get there" editing at half my usual "tier thank-you"s rate, so like . . . 5 USD per 1k words' worth of editing, let's say?

So basically, if that's something you'd want to pursue, I'm open to it! If you'd be interested in that, you can dono whatever you like to my Ko-fi and just put "think pink edits" in the message, and I'll bump the equivalent amount of editing up my to-do list/writing schedule.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Compartmentalization

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 23

“How much do you think they know?” he asked when you were out of earshot of the buildings and the guard posts, looking over at you. “About the bioweapons, Umbrella . . . all of it.”

“I don’t know. Probably not as much as they should.”

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

Over the next few days, Leon could see the knowledge that you and he gave to Krauser being put to use. There was more running. More hand to hand. He paired people up in groups of four for sparring. One versus three. Whoever was the lone combatant finished the day with fresh bruises, and by the end of the week, everyone was painted with blues, greens, and purples. The Major had the squad spend many long hours at the shooting range, where he would accept nothing less than perfectly emptying the magazine of a gun into the designated target. 

No matter how far down range Krauser set them up, no matter if they were moving or not, that target was always the head.

“The things you’re going to be facing won’t go down from anything less. And some of them . . . not even then,” Krauser had said, and Leon saw the news unsettle the squad standing at attention around him.

But he didn’t go into detail describing what everyone would be up against. Instead, he just told the squad how you would be in for difficult fights. How you would all have to use whatever was at your disposal.

Pistols, rifles, shotguns . . . 

Krauser didn’t seem to care about running up a munitions tab, because if anyone missed a shot, then he would make them start over with another mag, once theirs ran out. He would keep them after hours, if they couldn’t do it. Some of them even found themselves putting in overtime, staying at the range when they should have been getting lunch. 

You and Leon were almost always putting in overtime. 

Not because you were terrible shots. Far from it. But because, once Leon figured out that Krauser didn’t care about how much ammunition was being lost, he would miss on purpose. One or two shots every mag, Leon would intentionally aim just a little far off. Just enough that Krauser made him stay. Sometimes he would miss naturally, of course, but a lot of the time, he remained at the range of his own accord. Because the more practice he got, the better. The more prepared he was, the better. 

And you . . . well, you’d seen him shoot. It didn’t take you long to figure out that he was throwing on purpose, but when Krauser handed him another mag, both you and the Major shared a look of suspicion. 

Only you received the little grin Leon gave you after, though. 

And just like that, you were miraculously missing shots, too. Not enough to stick out, necessarily, but enough to give you both a few extra minutes of practice. Then one of you would get your perfect round, and the other would delay a few minutes longer and do the same. 

If Krauser suspected anything - which Leon imagined he did - he said nothing to stop it. Just his usual disappointed jabs, and then he would send you and Leon off to a late lunch when you two decided you had enough.

You would meet up back at lunch later, sitting with Williams and Alenko, who you started training with during off hours as well. And when Valeria joined the group, for training and lunch both, Leon was hardly surprised. You’d told him about the deal you’d struck, and how she’d bloodied your nose in your sparring match, but you’d kicked her ass in the end. 

He wished he could have seen that victory, but when Valeria trained with you all, he got a close enough approximation. 

What did surprise Leon about Valeria was that, for the most part, she was restrained enough when it came to poking fun at his relationship with you. He’d expected every other word out of her mouth to tie to some innuendo or implication. And those remarks certainly came, but mostly she was focused on practicing. On fighting. 

As for Williams . . . the tall woman seemed pretty keen to focus on other things. Namely, Valeria. 

Leon smiled when he first noticed it. Wondered if that was how he’d looked in those early days when he watched you fight. 

Hell, he probably still looked that way, he knew. 

But then, even you looked at him with that longing expression sometimes. He caught you when you thought he wasn’t looking, every so often. 

Amidst all the pains of training, all the nightmares and worries, it felt good to be wanted. To be valued and cared for by someone. Even if it was just in little heartbeats of stolen affection. Even if he wished things could be different, sometimes. 

But for what this life was, it wasn’t so bad when the two of you were together. 

Even if those moments were few and far between, in an effort to keep this going. And in those next few days, Leon had precious few moments where the two of you could really be what you wanted to be for each other. He stole kisses from you every so often, always in the evening when no one was looking. He would nip at your neck and press against you for just a moment. Sometimes you would pull him into the shadows and do the same. But there was nothing more. Not yet. Leon knew it was because, frankly, the two of you were still spooked by the whole ordeal with Valeria and Krauser. True to the agreement the two of you had made, you were trying to be cautious. 

And besides, as much as he wanted you, the conversation with Krauser had reminded him well enough of the stakes of the fight you were all preparing for. And more than he wanted you in those brief moments of bliss, he wanted you safe. 

Leon would train hard for that fight. 

He pushed himself hard, thinking of racing through the streets of Raccoon City as he ran the base, or went through the obstacle course. Imagining that each shot he missed was an opportunity for the undead to tear into him. Or someone he was protecting. Each rep of weight training that he pushed through, he thought of needing to be strong enough to face down the inhuman monsters waiting for them. He pushed himself just as you did, and Krauser pushed hardest of all. 

Leon couldn’t say he liked much about the Major, but it was good to see that he was actually, genuinely trying to prepare you all. That you and Leon having to relive part of the worst nights of your lives wasn’t for nothing. 

But still, the Major didn’t tell the rest what they would be facing. Not exactly. There was no debrief where he went into detail about the monsters that Umbrella had made. No preparing the others for skinless horrors, or too-big men that seemed to never die.

Just more training.

And Krauser wasn't stopping at marksmanship and close quarters combat. He taught you all how to choose targets in a group. Covering retreats, moving in to help a wounded comrade. A week in, a truck arrived, and the squad worked together unloading and cataloging it all. It held guns. Sniper rifles, grenade launchers . . . all heavier ordinance than what you’d all been training with so far. There were even some bows, all made of carbon fiber and with mechanical arms. 

“If you can learn to aim a bow, aiming a gun will be no problem,” Krauser said on their first day working with the bows, and then had far too much fun watching you all struggle with the new weapon. 

Not that arrows would be better against the undead than bullets, but Leon knew it wasn’t just about learning how to shoot a bow. It was prep work for the sniper rifles that went untouched, getting them all used to the concept of measuring distance and factoring in wind, gravity, and movement. And suddenly, you and Leon didn’t have to fake missing to spend longer on the range anymore. 

Leon was all too grateful now for pushing himself when it came to strength training, because pulling back that bowstring over and over, knowing he was going to miss and need to start over again, was making his arms shake. On that first day, the entire squad was held up, and you were all sent to the mess hall with only fifteen minutes left of lunch. And by the time they got there, after hours of drawing back a sixty-pound bowstring, in addition to all the heavy-lifting everyone was already doing, most everyone could only barely carry their trays to the tables. 

It made the close quarters combat drills later in the day particularly interesting. Or sad, Leon supposed, because no one put up a good fight. 

But you and Leon, as ever, met after dinner in the training yard. 

Williams and Alenko accompanied you, and Valeria made it clear that she wasn’t going to participate in the sparring, but she was going to watch. And she got a kick out of the sluggish attacks and redirects that you all put on display, each of you too exhausted to fight at the speed you normally would. But you were all still fighting. Williams and Alenko might not have known the extent of the bioweapons under Umbrella’s control - if they knew anything beyond vague concepts at all - but they were training hard. 

And it made Leon ponder something - something he brought up to you when the two of you found a moment alone.   

“How much do you think they know?” he asked when you were out of earshot of the buildings and the guard posts, looking over at you. “About the bioweapons, Umbrella . . . all of it.” 

“I don’t know. Probably not as much as they should.” You answered quickly. Like you’d been thinking about it, too. All the intel the two of you had given Krauser, all the specifics, and he still hadn’t told anyone at large. He’d adjusted his training structure, true, but he hadn’t sat the squad down to tell them exactly what they might be up against. 

And it was weighing on Leon, because he didn’t see how the government could train people to take down Umbrella if they didn’t show those people what they were up against. 

“Do you think Krauser’s gonna tell them?” he asked, looking over at you, seeing you deep in thought. 

“He knows more than the government wants him to,” you say after a moment. “If he tells everyone on base, they’ll go for him. For us, too.” It made sense. The Major knew things he shouldn’t have, and there were only two places on base he could have gotten that information from. Two people. 

But still . . . “Does that matter?” Leon asked, his brows cinching together, his gaze fixed on you through the darkness. “So what if they get mad at him, or at us? If they’re gonna throw us at these things, the people we’re fighting with deserve to know what they’re facing.” 

You frowned, your eyes trailing off somewhere. You stopped walking, shaking your head. “He’s not gonna let us go blind. He’ll tell them.” 

“Then why hasn’t he already? It’s been a week. The longer he waits, the less prepared everyone is.” He could feel himself getting heated, his frustration with Krauser, but here it was, bleeding into this interaction with you. 

And you met it with frustration of your own. “He’s got to have reasons. He’s got reasons for everything he does-” 

“Like putting edged knives in our hands and making us think we’re going to fight with them?” He wasn’t quite sure where the words came from. One minute he was thinking of the need to prepare his fellow recruits for what’s out there, and the next, all he could do was remember the cruelty of that lesson. The way the Major had intentionally faced you against something that had traumatized you - even if Leon knew you would loathe that description of what had happened to you. 

“We’re not going to be using training knives out in the field-” 

“But he didn’t have to do that. It was fucked-”

“Leon, all of the shit we’re going to be fighting out there is fucked-”

“I know that!” Leon hissed, shaking his head. “And if he can make us think we’re going to make each other bleed for a training exercise, then he can fucking tell them what they’re up against.” 

The longer-lasting light of spring let Leon see the way your eyes flashed, but whatever reply you were going to give was swallowed down after a moment, and you looked away. Like you we’re sorting out your thoughts, and Leon knew it was because you agreed with him - but you also trusted Krauser. That was what made you repeat yourself when you looked back up at him a few seconds later. “You’re right,” you nodded, saying it through tight lips. “But he wouldn’t have asked us for all of that info if he didn’t plan on relaying it. He’ll tell them.”

But Leon wasn’t convinced. Not entirely. “You put a lot of faith in him.” 

You pursed your lips, and for the first time, Leon thought he saw some give. Like you were more conflicted about Krauser’s actions than you let on. Even so, there was conviction there, too. “He saved my life, once,” you said eventually, your voice quiet. 

And Leon, after a moment, nodded. “The night in Finland. I know.” He supposed it was time to come clean about that. 

A look of surprise pinched your brows together and your eyes widened a touch. “I didn’t tell you that,” you said, and then your expression changed, because you realized who had told Leon. 

“Krauser did,” Leon admitted. 

You stared at him for a moment, and Leon worried that you might have been angry. Not necessarily at him, but at the Major. Even if he thought Krauser was an asshole, even if Leon disagreed with half of his methods, he didn’t want to compromise a trust you’d built. 

But then you forced out a breath of a laugh, rolling your eyes. “See? Guess you don’t have to worry about Krauser keeping information to himself.” 

Leon cracked a smile then, shifting his weight onto one leg, feeling tension he didn’t know he’d been carrying fade. “Maybe not.” 

“What the hell made him tell you that?” you asked, threading your thumbs in the belt loops of your fatigue pants, looking at him in confusion. 

Leon wasn’t quite sure how to explain that he’d had that conversation with the Major after that first kiss. When you’d asked for space and Leon had dealt with it by throwing himself head-first into training. Let alone that Krauser had, in essence, told Leon that you and he needed to get each other off your asses and deal with the shit that had been haunting you. “He told me that you and I had a lot in common,” Leon eventually settled on that explanation. “That we both needed to get past what happened and focus on the here and now.” 

That incredulous look on your face only grew, then, but it was soon replaced by amusement. “Funny. He’s said something similar to me.” 

Leon smiles a little, then. “Easier said than done, I guess.” 

“Easier said than done,” you agreed, looking down for a moment before going on. “Hard to focus on the present when you’re training to fight the things that keep you awake at night, I guess.” 

The air between the two of you grew heavy, as it always did when your past or his came up. And it was easier to bear its weight when there were two of you. But Leon could tell that something still troubled you. He didn’t have to wait long to learn what it was. 

“How much did Krauser tell you? About the base?” 

And then, Leon felt his throat constrict, remembering the few details that Krauser had given him about Finland and about the base you’d been stationed at. “Not much. Just that it was burned down. And that . . .” he didn’t want to say it aloud, but whether it went unspoken or not wouldn’t change the fact of the matter. “And that you were the only survivor.” He wasn’t sure what his expression might be conveying, then. Only that he watched you for your reaction carefully, never taking his eyes off you. 

And he wanted to reach for you when he saw the pain in your eyes. 

You nodded; your jaw set tight as it so often was when you were upset. But when you blinked, Leon could see resolve there, not just pain. “And we weren’t even up against all the shit you saw,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I don’t want that to happen again.” You stepped closer to Leon but looked back at the base. Towards where the barracks were. “I do believe that Krauser’s going to tell them what they’re up against, but if you’re worried, then talk to him. And if for some reason, he’s not planning on telling them . . .”

“Then we will,” Leon nodded. You didn’t argue. 

You did offer him a small smile, though, as the two of you continued your walk. “We’re on a fast-track to getting court-martialed, you and me.” 

Leon chuckled. “Didn’t peg you for being such a troublemaker.” 

“You should have seen me when I first enlisted. I was a pain in the ass.” 

“But you still made Sergeant.” He looked over at you, his hair brushing against his eyelashes on the one side. He didn’t bother hiding the pride in his gaze, even if it maybe wasn’t his pride to give. 

It made you smile, and that was all that mattered. 

“I was lucky my Captain was forgiving of my bullshit,” you shrugged, a fond smile curling your lips. And then, that smile turned to something else. Something distant. Mournful. 

“He sounds like a good man.” 

“He was.”

And Leon knew then that your Captain had been among the dead in Finland. That he was one of your ghosts. 

And then he remembered that third dog tag around your neck. The one he’d glimpsed in those early days. And he wondered what name it was, stamped in the metal. He wondered which of your ghost's names you wore in silver. 

“I’ll tell you about him, some day.” Your words were almost wistful. A promise that he didn’t need you to make, but one he valued anyway. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Leon nodded. 

It was a risk, you both knew it, but you took his hand for a moment as you walked back to the barracks, squeezing tight. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: Hey gang sorry for the delay!

[sl-walker]

Preview...

...from the next yet-unposted chapter of Stardust.

--

“I could eat at least three horses right now,” Booster said, looking over his array of plates and bowls, completely undeterred by the fact that it wasn’t even seven in the morning yet and the only people as awake and ready to go as him were the various geriatrics in the IHOP getting an early-bird special.  The way he saw it, caffeine existed for a glorious purpose and while he hadn’t needed any to get moving today, he had been in an insomnia-hangover himself a worrying number of times and therefore he held no mercy (and only conditional compassion) for those who were dawdling on waking up. “Maybe three and a half.”

“Oh no, Secretariat goes cannibal and destroys his brethren in his haste to fill the empty pit of his stomach,” Ted fired back, though it was with laughter in his voice as he clutched his mug of coffee like he’d shank whoever might try to take it. “Thoroughbreds everywhere react to the scandal tonight on CLTV in a stunning exposé!”

Brenda, Paco and Jaime were all nodding over their plates, looking like they hadn’t even actually woken up to roll out of bed.  Even then, Brenda picked her head up and squinted blearily at Ted. “Aren’t thoroughbreds the high-strung horses that keel over if you look at them cross-eyed?” she asked.

“I literally just asked that myself yesterday!” Booster said, pointing at her with his fork and well-speared sausage.  “Gotta say, I’m not sure how I feel about being compared to a critter that dies so easily.”  He was, however, a little more worried that the ‘high-strung’ part might be too on-target for his comfort.

“S’okay, I might have to kill you for being so awake right now,” Jaime mumbled, teetering over sideways until he was tucked halfway between Booster’s shoulder and the back of the curved booth. “And so happy about it.”

“It’s not my fault you stayed out so late.”  Still, Booster set his fork down long enough to reach across himself and lightly ruffle Jaime’s hair in something like a mixed apology and commiseration. “C’mon, today’s gonna be great.”

“You were out running by 5:30, ese, humans don’t do that,” Paco said, before shoving his plate of bacon and eggs away so he could fold his arms on the table and drop his head down onto them.  “Not normal, sane humans.”

All things being equal, Booster was an early-riser by nature, if not always factually; that he’d slept as well as he had the night before meant he felt pretty amazing right now, though. “In fairness, Paco, you were still awake when I left to go running.”

Paco groaned and shook his head against his arms. “Only ‘cause you were channeling Maria von Trapp in the kitchen.”

Booster opened his mouth to ask who the hell that was, but Ted shook his head with a grin and held up a finger before pulling his phone out and aiming at them.  When Booster raised his eyebrows in question, Ted mouthed, ‘Bianca,’ then took a shot of him and Jaime, the latter of whom might have fallen back asleep in the less-than-a-minute since he’d last spoken.  Booster made sure to beam for the camera, though, because he knew it would make a funny contrast to the probably-asleep teenager using him as a blackout blind and pillow.

Whatever Bianca texted back must have made Ted happy, because he smiled.

“Who’s Maria von Trapp?” Booster asked, before diving back into his breakfast.

Brenda finally managed to rally enough to drag her coffee close and start into her pancakes. “Who hasn’t seen the Sound of Music?”

“I don’t think they have whimsical anti-Nazi musicals in his time,” Ted said, sliding his phone over, presumably so Booster could both see the picture and Bianca’s response.

Booster dropped his fork again just to snatch it; the picture was admittedly very cute.  Bianca’s string of emojis in answer was every bit as cute.  Booster quickly sent the picture to his own phone and then slid Ted’s back to him. “I wouldn’t be against watching some whimsical anti-Nazi musical,” he said, on a delay.

“If you show him that, we are never, ever, ever getting back together,” Paco said, rolling his head to the side towards his-- maybe girlfriend?  Ex?  Who even knew, Booster couldn’t keep up with it, it seemed to change by the day.  “We would never stop hearing it.”

“Oooh, incentive,” Brenda snarked back.  Then, casual as can be, she wet a fingertip in her mouth and stuck it, wiggling, into Paco’s ear.

The subsequent shriek made every single person in the vicinity -- regardless of their hearing aids or lack thereof -- jump half out of their skin.  A line cook in the back swore something that sounded Eastern European in origin.  Jaime jolted out of his hiding spot and Booster was certain the reason the kid didn’t armor up and have a cannon cycling, ready to go, was because both Booster and Ted immediately reassured him that it was safe.

Brenda had turned fire-engine red.  Paco was glaring at her while swiping at his ear.  Jaime was looking around with his mouth hanging open, clearly having lost the plot.

Ted chewed his bottom lip, obviously about to bust up, even as someone managerial-looking started in their direction, IHOP nametag glinting menacingly in the sun.

Booster put on his most charming smile and said, “Perfect timing!  Can we get the check?  And some boxes?”

[gracexthoughts]

of violent delights chapter 2

round one

2 september 1995

Mattheo's POV

I'm late. Second class of the term and I'm already late. Not that anything important is done in the first lesson of term, just lectures about O.W.L.s and starting to make something of ourselves. Personally, I'll pass.

I move leisurely through the now empty corridors of Hogwarts as I make my way to McGonagall's class room. Some first year runs past me, probably lost, and I sigh. Everyone is always so happy to come back to the castle in the fall. Sure Hogwarts is better than being at home but I'm still counting down the days until I'm completely free. I reach the doors to the Transfiguration classroom and check my watch, 5 minutes late. I shoulder open the door and step into the classroom. At the noise, everyone's heads turn to me.

"Mr. Riddle! You are late. 5 points from Slytherin," McGonagall's voice cuts through the air.

"Apologies, Professor," I say dryly, kicking the door closed behind me and scan the room for empty seats.

"Well come in, let's not delay any further. There is an empty seat up here next to Miss Potter," McGonagall says, turning back to the papers in her hand. My eyes find the empty seat right next to Miss Perfect herself. I sigh and drop into the seat next to her, eyeing her carefully. Her jaw is clenches and her shoulders tight, clearly making an effort to ignore my presence.

Euphemia Potter. Gryffindor Princess and Little Miss Perfect. She and her brother are the most self righteous people I've ever met. When the Potters break rules, they win house points, awards and are called heroes; when Slytherins break the same rules, we lose house points and get our arses thrown in detention. Euphemia spends her free time running around with the Weasley Twins, setting pranks and causing havoc for the rest of the student body, in particular Slytherins. But the princess never gets caught and if she does, she just bats her eyelashes, tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder and is off the hook. Her brother isn't any better. I spent most of last term being blamed for opening the Chamber of Secrets (which I had never heard of in my life) but innocent little Harry Potter just happens to actually find it, kill a basilisk out of pure luck and starts telling everyone he saw the ghost of a young Tom Riddle, my late father. All just in time for the end of term. Two words: Dragon Shit.

I look at Euphemia out of the corner of my eye, watching her studiously listen to whatever McGonagall is droning on about. The worst part of Euphemia? She's drop dead gorgeous. Most of the guys in this school want her and she fucking knows it. And no matter how much I hate her, I can't deny that the curve of her figure, the fullness of her lips, and the way her auburn hair highlights the bright green of her eyes is about as perfect of an appearance as you can get. As she listens to the lecture, she fiddles with the ring on her left pointer finer and I catch a glimpse of the infamous lighting scar on her wrist, the one she shares with her brother. Although I don't understand why his is on his forehead and hers is on my wrist.

Euphemia and I have been at odds since our third year. Before that, she was quiet and more shy; preferring to study in the library and read more than anything else. I didn't like her then, but she was tolerable. She and her friends stayed out of my way and we minded our own business. Third year rolls around, however, and Harry comes to Hogwarts and all anyone can talk about is the Potter siblings. That year, Euphemia went from a quiet and studious person, to the bane of my existence. She'd joined the Quidditch team, quickly becoming an impressive chaser, and come out of her shell over the summer and suddenly guys wanted her and girls wanted to be her. Me? I just wanted to kill her. She got it into her head that I was the one trying to get some magic stone Dumbledore had hidden in the castle to bring back my father, as if I want that, and basically threatened me. 

Yes my father was Voldemort and yes, sometimes I use that fact to my advantage to get my way but I don't buy into any of the shit my father stood for. I may not remember him, but the scars on my mother's back tell me all I need to know about the piece of shit. I don't really care about blood purity or any of that crap but to have any kind of power in Slytherin, you better at least act like you do. Especially if your last name is Riddle.

Euphemia turns her head suddenly, eyes meeting mine as she raises her eyebrow at me. Shit, she caught me staring. I hold her eyes for a moment before turning back to McGonagall. She turns back to front too and sighs slightly, as if me looking at her actually bothers her.

After a very long and dry lecture by McGonagall about her expectations and plan for the year, the period ends. Euphemia stands quickly, moving to stand with her groupies. The Weasley twins-- I couldn't tell them apart if my life depended on it and they are equally irritating so really what's the point--stare daggers at me before they turn to leave the classroom with Potter. I sigh and roll my eyes, turning to my friends, gathered out in the hall. Elladora, Evan, and Theo are out in the hall. I make eye contact with Theo and give him and nod as I approach.

"Oh!" Elladora exclaims as she pretends to faint into Evan's arms. Evan and Ella laugh loudly. Ever since hearing the rumor that both the Potters fainted on the train yesterday began circulating, Ella has been relentless. She despises Euphemia more than anyone. "Salazar! How could anyone be so pathetic?" Ella turns to face Euphemia, whose face is stoic although her eyes are fiery. She levels Ella with a defiant stare and turns away rolling her eyes, seemingly unaffected.

"Aw you hurt the princess' feelings," Evan laughs cruelly, nudging Ella with his shoulder as we start making out way to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Good! She's so pathetic. Can you imagine fainting because you're too afraid of a dementor? Big and scary Potter is finally showing her true colors," Ella continues, laughing maniacally.

"Ella, stop! Dementors are horrid no matter how brave you are," Astoria pipes up, joining us in the hall. Astoria, unlike the rest of us, is friends with Potter and often defends her to the rest of us. 

"Still, it is kinda funny," Theo adds as we sit down at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.

"You don't even know if its true," Astoria argues.

"So what? As long as it gets under the princess' skin!" Ella laughs with Evan.

"Get's under who's skin?" Lorenzo asks, taking a seat next to me.

"Don't ask," I grumble, not wanting Euphemia Potter to infiltrate my brain anymore than necessary.

"Euphemia Potter," Theo supplies to Enzo before turning his gaze to me as I grab some food from the center of the table. "What's got your wand in a knot? Sitting next to the hottest girl in school messing with your head already?"

I flip Theo off and take a bit of my apple.

"You're sitting next to her now?" Enzo asks, trying to hide his surprise.

"I got to class late. Only desk open."

"Matt, you're already gathering tardies? We've had two classes!" Astoria exclaims, looking at me disappointedly.

"Sorry, Mum," I retort sarcastically.

"So not only are you going to be doing rounds with Potter twice a week, but you're sitting next to her in classes now too?" Evan smirks, probably concocting a little story to entertain himself.

"He's going soft," coos Ella mockingly.

"Fuck off, Ella," I say, my temper starting to rise causing me to grind my teeth.

"They're gonna fuck!" Evan pronounces, causing Enzo and Theo to laugh.

"HA! I'll take that bet," Enzo laughs though a bite of food. I level Enzo with a glare, causing him to raise his hands in mock surrender.

"C'mon Matt, you can't deny you want a piece of that!" Evan outlines the shape of a woman with his hands, making lewd faces as he does.

"She's not a pie and you're disgusting," Astoria deadpans.

"Euphemia Potter is nothing but a spoiled brat. You can have my piece, Ev," I grumble, grabbing my bag and standing. I've had enough tormenting for one day and I still have to deal with prefect rounds tonight. I need some quiet. 

✦                                                                                         ✦                                                                                            ✦

Later that evening, I emerge from my room, needing to meet Euphemia for our first prefect rounds. I ignore someone calling my name as I make my way through the common room and push my way through the Slytherin dorm entrance. Standing, directly on the other side of the corridor, is Euphemia Potter. "Good let's go," I say curtly and continue walking down the hall. The first hour passes agonizingly slow. A part from a few words from Potter and some grunts of acknowledgement, we pass the time in tense silence. I watch the girl from the side of my eye. At some point during the day, she pulled her long auburn hair back from her face and into a ponytail but her uniform is as prim and perfect as it was this morning. 

"Stop staring at me," she says suddenly, not turning to look at me.

"I wasn't," I grumble. 

"Oh good, you can still speak. I was getting worried you had lost your command of the English language," she says, her tone haunty as her eyes flick to me for a moment. 

"Just not willing to share my talents with the likes of you." She rolls her eyes in response and turns away, peering down a dark corridor as we pass by. "Did you really faint?" I say suddenly and, to be honest, I'm not really sure why. She keeps walking but her posture stiffens as if readying for a blow. 

"You've barely made a sound all night and you open with that? What, have you been working up the nerve to ask?" 

"Did you?" I press. While I admit I do enjoy riling Potter up, there's a genuine curiosity there too. 

"Why are you asking?" She asks, stopping to turn to face me, her arms crossed over her chest. She looks up at me, her expression guarded and defiant. 

"Why are are you avoiding the question?" I challenge. Her jaw flexes as her eyes search my face and she takes a measured breath. 

"Yes, I did and I'm not ashamed. And no matter how much you and your friends try to make me feel ashamed I won't." Euphemia speaks quickly. I didn't actually think she'd admit it and I can't hide the smirk forming on my face. 

"Never seen you admit a weakness before, Princess," I chuckle, continuing our walk of the corridors. 

"Don't call me princess!" She snaps after me, trailing along in my wake. "And it is not a weakness." 

"Whatever you have to tell yourself, princess," I retort, enjoying the reaction I'm getting. 

"Did you even see the dementor? I bet it didn't even come close to you," she grumbles, catching up to me. I don't respond. Truthfully, my friends and I didn't see it and didn't even know why the train had stopped until we were almost at the station but I'll be cursed before I tell her that. "You didn't did you?" Euphemia continues to press, chuckling when I don't respond. "Godric, that is so typical of you lot. Making fun of things you know nothing about. Do you ever-" 

"Shut up, Potter. You don't know anything about me!" I snap, grinding my teeth. 

"Oh yes, and you know all about me, right? You know everything. The great Mattheo Riddle, who is smarter and better than everyone else. No one else could possible suffer because you have the monopoly on pain!" She rants, sarcasm and disdain leaking into her tone. 

"Oh like you know pain," I snap, "The Perfect Potters have it so hard! Everyone loves you and lets you do whatever you want." 

"You don't know anything about me or what I've been through!" She yells, turning to face me, anger and fire in her eyes. 

"Please! Don't give me the whole orphan act, I bet you don't even remember any of it!" I yell back. I raise my hand, waving it through the air as if to brush her off, but as I do, the perfect and fearless Euphemia Potter does something I don't expect. She flinches. 

Just a for a second, her shoulders tighten and she stiffens, as if preparing for a blow, and fear flashes in her eyes. But then its gone, hidden back under the mask of anger and loathing. I lower my hand slowly, examining her face. We watch each other for a long moment before she takes a step towards me, glaring up at me defiantly. "I remember plenty." 

She holds my gaze for a long moment before turning away and continuing down the hall. We walk in tense silence for the rest of our shift. As round the last corner, Potter turns to head up the flight of stairs on our left. "Meet me outside Gryffindor Common Room on Thursday," she calls over her shoulder as she stars up the stairs, not sparing a glance back my way as she walks out of sight.  

[hail-brod]

A Chance and Beyond (5)

Previous chapter: (Chapter 4)

Next chapter: (Chapter 6)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Loki x FReader

A/N: AAA. Sorry for the 2 weeks delay. Busy sched and all that college stress honking at me. Just glad finally had the time to write!

Warning/s: Light angst?, light cusses, mentions of a home's destruction, nothing else probably (please tell me if I missed something!)

WC: 4.4k

You go to a trip with your sorcerer friend and also visit your other sorcerer...friend? Whatever he is to you, you just can't keep him away on your mind. Simp. And it seems like, you're getting quite attached to where you are. Bad. Very bad. Or is it?

As soon as you and Strange made your move to walk towards a road, you had come to realize that the people rounding and helping around the said 'Norway', we're dressed like....asgardians.

All with the females' flowy skirts and the males' simple tunic beneath their worn out cloaks, that feels like it has been drastically changed. It has been far from what you've always seen, far from the bright and luscious colors that everyone delighted in. Each and every one of them was adorned with a somber hue that even their countenance could match.

There's a pit in your stomach that uneased you so as you flew your eyes amongst the people you pass by. Some of the houses we're nearly finished while the others we're just being started. Tents we're also given afoot at a separate side of the field where the remaining people stayed idle for rest. Some peering eyes turn to you and Strange, no doubt more curious at the man in a bright red cloak.

You though, you peered right back in question and in concern.

"This is still Midgard?" you lowly asked, turning to your sorcerer friend. "Earth?"

"Yes."

When he turns to you, there's not much answer you could get from his expression. His inexpressible stare greeted you but it cracks with something else that unnerves you more.

He turns away, staring forward. "If you still need that grimoire, I'm afraid we'll have no luck getting it anymore."

You feel yourself slowly stop beside him. There's that growing hopelessness in your eyes, baring at his back as he continued, not noticing your halt. You glance around one more time.

You know what he meant. And it adds to the pile of needles piercing through your heart. Part of it was your lowered chances to travel back to the TVA, but what overrides it is knowing that there's a reality where Asgard have met it's terrible fate. Knowing that these people we're forced to leave their home-world because of it. And there's no doubt many we're also perished.

At this point, you're being used to the downing weight on your chest. You try to breathe deeply.

"You alright?" you snap your head towards Strange, who has stopped walking and now looking at you. He seems firm but he eyes you gently.

"What happened?" you almost ask in a whisper.

"I can't...tell you what exactly occurred. I don't know much about it..." he says. He turns his head somewhere and when you did the same, you see an unfamiliar sky-blue spacecraft parked far in the distance. "All I know is that, your crown prince and everyone else fought to save your people's lives."

There's a pause of the moment.

You couldn't say anything after that, so you continued to follow Strange. You feel proud knowing that Thor still has the determination to save others, as a hero and as a prince. Basking at the sight of a few asgardians with melancholic smiles, still finding hope amongst their families and friends—you know that Thor had done his best to protect everyone else.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

You also wonder if Loki did the same. You doubt he wouldn't be affected by all of this.

After a few turns and questions from your companion, asking where Thor might be to the passing asgardians, you're led to a crowded area situated near a harbor.

Resources of woods we're being hauled and carried by people, probably for construction of the houses. Others talked and yelled orders, throwing baskets over their shoulders, there's nets, and other supplies being given to mothers, fathers—everyone. They we're all busy.

"I didn't know asgardians we're this...cooperative." Strange mentions next to you.

You strained a smile. "We've had many wars." you say. "I'd wager it's the same here. We make sure our allies are always taken care of, especially their honor in battle."

When you finally spot some people bowing their heads to a gathering little circle as they walked past them in the distance, you and Strange paced up your steps.

You recognized two people conversing with someone unfamiliar to you. You see Thor's form and in front of him was a woman with intricate braids adorning her hair. And at their sides, was the raven haired god that you just realized you aren't prepared to see again.

He was talking to them, probably discussing a plan or an idea as the other two listened to him. You hesitated to follow your cloaked companion who's heading towards them as you tried to blend in with the busy crowds. Although, before you could decide to brave yourself up and walk forward again, he met your eyes.

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest.

Why, just before you we're adamant when interacting with him. Maybe you we're just fooling yourself.

When he saw you, he stopped moving his mouth to talk as he gradually widened his eyes. It wasn't long before Thor and the woman turned their heads towards Loki's line of sight, landing on you. You briefly stiffed.

But Thor immediately broke out into a grin when he realized who caught his brother's attention. "My lady! What brings you here?" then he sees Strange. "And Doctor, of course."

"You sound disappointed." Strange gave him unamused look.

"What, me? Nooo." Thor tries to pat him on the back, but Strange's cloak slaps his hand away. The god frowns at the garment.

"Don't even attempt it."

Just as Strange arrived at their sides, with a courage you forced yourself to pick up, you followed suit. You try to sneak a glance at the god who's now directly in front of you. Loki looks down on you with no more than a brief stare and immediately flickered it between the other two men.

"Who's this?" the woman with the braids suddenly asks, attention on you.

"Oh, this is..." Thor says your name—which you certainly know he wasn't supposed to when Loki points him a dead look. It went unnoticed by his older brother. "A fellow asgardian! Not from around here but I won't disclose furthermore on that."

She raised a questioning look at Thor. "Really?" she says, eyeing you. "You don't look like it. I'm Brunnhilde."

You nodded, quite hesitant to meet anyone's eyes lest you might accidentally find yourself in Loki's cerulean ones. "Pleasure to meet you." you say with a polite smile.

She quirked a brow and grinned. "And a noble at that. The pleasure is all mine." she adds playfully. You confusingly blinked.

"Why, yes..." Thor's chuckle booms. "..how'd you know that?" his expression contorts, looking at her as if she just crossed him unmistakably.

"I've spent enough time with dickhead nobles to know which ones can run their pouty mouths to pray dumb orders." she darts her eyes to Thor then turns to you with a crank of her head. "Don't worry, you're not one of them."

You like her already.

This Brunnhilde woman seems like a very laidback person. Well, not so much if you consider her hardened muscles and confident stance. Someone who's likely a trained warrior.

"What about me?" Thor asks Brunnhilde. She turns to him and gave him a stare for a second, then shrugs. She eventually bid her goodbyes to the princes and you, mentioning along the lines of being needed for escorting newly imported goods at the pier.

"What did she mean-" Thor imitates Brunnhilde's shrug, eyeing the direction she left with irritation. "Sometimes I feel like she keeps insulting me."

She probably was.

"Enough of that, we came here for something." Strange suddenly says, turning to you then back at the princes. "We had already tried to use the Time stone and I'm afraid we need some alternatives."

This peaks Loki's interest, quirking up a brow. "And you need us to...what?"

Strange slowly shrugs as he tilted his head to you. "I believe this would be asgardian matters."

All eyes turned to you. You blinked and took a deep breath, unsure of what to say. It's not fair that he could just avert the attention to you the least you expect it.

"First of all, Asgard..." you paused. "I need something from there, but now I suppose that would be....unattainable." you lightly bared your eyes on the two princes, expecting them to say something. Though, your eyes dances around the other asgardians, scurrying about and making this place their new home.

Thor immediately tensed up, a sudden sadness visible in his eyes. "My lady, if you must know..." he starts, stepping closer to bring a hand on your shoulder and utters lowly. "we can have a chat somewhere else so you can prepare yourself with my...tale.."

His voice trails off but you reply. There's a feeling in you that doesn't want to know what happened; it might as well affect you more than it should. "No, it is fine. Your people have clearly seen the hardships. I can only imagine what truly happened. Honestly, I don't even want to imagine..." you gently inclined.

You feel the change in you to know what caused this. Maybe fear is running its way to your mind; another breaking point daring to burst you. In another time, maybe you want to know. Just...not right now.

Thor gives you a sympathetic look and nods, hands falling from your shoulder. "Alright then. Asgard is...gone, but our people will find their safe haven here. As you can already see," he lifts his palm up to present his surroundings, but he suddenly turns grim. "And what you seek to retrieve in Asgard, no doubt, has met the same fate. The realm itself is..."

"I understand." you say, the weight in you threatens to crash.

You breathed in. What now?

If the grimoire itself is gone, what other options do you have? There's not a single alternative that would be able to tell you how to conjure that command within the infinity stone. Not a single spell that would be able to link with it; no compatibility to successfully activate the magic.

Are you truly stuck here? It seems like the Norns have turned a blind eye on you—more than ever.

"What do you even intend to retrieve in Asgard?"

Your thoughts break as you turn to look at the voice. A voice you can never forget. When you finally dart your eyes on him, he had crossed his arms, eyes firm on you. But you know that isn't the firmest look he can give.

Loki raises a brow, awaiting your answer. You dazed off for a bit, rethinking if you should say it. Any asgardian sorcerer would know how absurd it is to consider something so dangerous. "The grimoire of Banna Fróðleikr." you almost muttered in shame.

The moment his firmness faded, you knew he's heard of it. He frowned but you didn't miss the brief concern laced in his expression. "Why in the Hels would you want to use it?"

"The 'Banana' what?" Thor snoops in, confused.

Loki ignores him as he takes a few steps closer to you. Your heart raced. You wanted to back up but your feet grounds you down. You soon noticed his movement was hesitant. "I believe you know what that grimoire holds; how dangerous the spells are contained there." he says, expecting you to elaborate.

It was clear he was questioning why you needed such a thing. And it doesn't really help that you we're already subjected as a suspicious stranger by his 'comrades', or even him. You know how dangerous it is. But you've experienced far worse fates. The spell is your last option and the only option you can think of, and you're willing to risk it if the chance is still presented.

"One spell." you say, clearing it. "That's all I ask from it, not with something ominous nor malicious. I don't intend to use it that way."

He momentarily creases his brow. Any lie that he had probably try to pick up from you was nonexistent. "It's still a big risk. Actually, it depends on how much risk the spell can do."

You see him soften but he immediately puts on his mask. A sudden feeling of belonging churns in you when you took a moment scanning his face, but you shook it away with a blink. "Well...does it matter now?"

He lingers his eyes on you—much more intently. As if digging through your memories and memorizing every detail on your face. You know he's trying to look for any hidden intent.

Then he breaks it with a faint sigh. "I have it."

Huh?

"You have...what?" you say, stunned.

Strange looks at him with a huffs. "You just can't get your hands off of anything, can you?"

That earns him a glare from the god. But you only blink several times as Loki turns to the others with irritation. That served you a chance to observe him furthermore. The opportunity to have him there just a few steps away from you, made you feel surreal. You start to realize how mature he looks. That he's slightly taller than you're used to, while his black locks seemed even more refined with more curls.

And the last time you held them, you we're worried sick on the ground as he rested his head on your lap, bleeding. He wasn't even grunting in pain but chuckling as he stared up on you. At some point, you would've thought he was a bloody masochist.

Alas, you stopped yourself. You hear Thor say something scoldingly at his brother. You bring yourself back in the chatter and remembered why you we're momentarily taken. You still have some things to address.

"Will you both shut up? And stop antagonizing me, I only have the copy; not the real thing." Loki bites back.

"That doesn't make any difference." his brother remarked.

The grimoire. You have a chance.

"Wait," you jump in. "wait, that's...that's great. Good great." you tried to say. You feel the relief washing through you. When Loki turns to you, you realized your eyes never left his form. He almost took your breathe away.

Oh, by the Þrír Wells of Yggdrasil. Why do you keep getting distracted?

The said god raised a brow, seemingly judging you for sounding too chirpy at the revelation of a dangerous item. "Is it now?"

"W-Well, I mean..."

As you tried to redeem yourself, you can't help but be sidetracked when he slightly tilted his head to the side with a quaint smug look.

All words die on your throat.

It hurts when you see your Loki in him, but at the same time, it swells that you're witnessing him all over again. Right here—in front of you.

"Danger is hardly great," Strange declares. "but fine. Whatever spell you want to do, it'd better be worth all the risk." you hurried your attention towards him and eventually notice his uneasiness, eyes darting here and there.

"Of course..." you trail, concerned. Why is he now worried over the plan? "I can't promise anything but the odds can be on our side." you try to reassure.

As you debated in your head to ask whether the midgardian sorcerer is having second thoughts, an asgardian bellows mirthful words to Thor. The man informs him of something about a preparation for a bonfire feast, which also inspirited the other asgardians into a cheer.

That brings a ghost of a smile on your lips. It has been tough yet they still manage to see light through these times.

Thor brings out a baritone laugh, hands on his hips. "Never thought they'd be this eager to have a brief feast. Then again, asgardians are never brought down that easily." he says, a bittersweet gentleness in his tone.

"I just hope you're not going to let them consume our food supplies in one night." Loki declaimed in feign annoyance.

"Oh, you worry too much brother. Hmm, perhaps that is why you're my wingman." this time, he tries to pat Loki in the back which earned him an eyeroll.

"Or more like a babysitter." you hear him mutter under his breath as Thor turns away, addressing cheerful words at his people. You couldn't help but huff out a light laugh, that being not unheard from Loki's ears as he points you a look. One that he tries to hide as he stands up straight, authoritatively.

Well, isn't he tough?

Before you could forget about your mission, your cloaked friend calls your name.

But Thor interrupts him. "Why don't you join us for tonight?" he stares at you and then hesitantly at Strange, as if he didn't want him to accept. "Only if you are not busy of course. You and your- " he lightly waved his hands around. "silly sorcery stuffs."

"Oh. I don't..." I don't know. Should you? There's no arguing you're tempted to. Looking around....these are the people you're fighting with fate to see again.

Only for a brief moment. Only for one night. Maybe you deserve it.

Do you?

You glanced at Loki who's eyes away from you yet you know he's listening. With him again—just for a little while...

You then fly your eyes at Strange, but oddly, he wasn't paying attention to the conversation. Instead, he was frowning into nothingness—as if there was a presence he was trying to detect. It was your turn to call his name.

All the other eyes turn to him, wondering the same thing. This brought the cloaked sorcerer out from his troubles and immediately replies, stern. "Let's resume tomorrow. I have some business in the sanctum." he says to you, turning to his side. There's a sense of rush in his movements yet he still manages to sound composed. Before you can follow him with questions, he continues. "You can stay here if you want. I can come back here tomorrow morning."

You were taken aback, gears turning to immediately decide. "Is that really fine?" you stall, not sure if you should assist with what's bothering him or just be selfish and stay.

He quips you a look. "I know you want to stay." he opens a portal and you're left grounded on your spot. He gives you one last look and points a glance behind you with a low whisper. "And it seems like they do too."

You don't know what to say to that. You never expected you'd be in this situation given that you had been thinking a lot more about getting out of this place. And now you're faced with what you've always wanted, but at the same time, this isn't where you're supposed to be. You're supposed to be acting; to move out where you have stuck yourself in.

But are you really stuck right now? To you, it feels like there's already roots growing underneath you.

When he entered, he didn't waste a second closing it, knowing that you already made up your mind.

"That settles it then." Thor's voice booms behind you. Even if you can't see him, there's no doubt he's grinning widely.

When you turned, you weren't mistaken.

Your heart was running fast.

You didn't even run, not so much as a jog. And yet, as you walk beside the young prince, you couldn't calm yourself down. By the Hels, you know you were nervous...and more conscious. What could've probably caused that? Your first few interactions with him we're adequately placed within meters away, and just right before your not very pleasant morning.

Now, you we're inches beside him. Of course you had to peek glances—and he certainly looks like he wants to avoid you.

That made you even more nervous.

Had you said or done anything wrong? We're you acting too odd for a stranger and he sees you strange? Had you made yourself a fool in front of him?

Maybe, you had been too straightforward the last time you talked. That explains it.

When Thor proceeded to lead you both to the site of the bonfire feast, he had placed himself ahead of you, giving his regards to his people with encouragements. While you and Loki trailed behind him quite meekly; although, having his chin up makes him look more confident and high in power compared to you—who looks tense and far from his confident aura.

But said aura hides something underneath it.

You start to wonder if his people also treat him differently for being...him. You can't be too sure if circumstances are alike than the ones that you've known...but you already had your fair share of witnessing the other people's distrust against him.

A certain blond soldier comes to mind. Well, not just him. You're quite certain there's a lot more people, more than the Avengers, that are not in favor of his character.

It proved to be right when a few asgardians hesitantly bow their heads with a strained smile towards the young prince as they scurry away with not so much a glance. A big contrast to when they greet Thor; a warm smile and a tone of cheeriness, matching even his bright demeanor.

Some things do never change.

But it was also quite...new. Or different.

Sure, in your timeline your people would always regard him with a fearful and scornful stare, but never in a way that seems like they're trying to...see him. In this timeline, their hesitancy almost feels like a test of the waters, testing if they'll burn themselves or freeze in fear of his wrath—or if the chance serves it, maybe neither of those. There's a hiding trepidation in their eyes, but their intention for genuineness wishes to push it far out of their heads.

And when you witnessed Loki's attempt at a polite nod on every bow he receives, you know he's doing the same.

You know there's a mask hovering over his guarded demeanor, but you also know he's capable of being genuine. You hadn't realize your tensed form have downgraded to little abnormal heart beats when Loki himself caught your attention on him.

"Distracted once again now, are we?"

Screw it, you're tense again.

He stares down at you as he says it, but there's an implied teasing on his tone. He's clearly remembered your last conversation.

"No, no." you try to laugh it out. "I'm nowhere close to being famished at all."

"Shame. Considering that you've been invited to a feast, you'd at least have more room for a banquet meal." he says, looking ahead.

"Is that an offer?"

He narrows his brows and lightly snaps his eyes on you. What?

As if he heard your thought of confusion, his expression fades out into a softer manner. You realized he was observing you and somehow, whatever it is he saw, brought his guard down.

Maybe because this time, you didn't hide your intentions with a teasing grin. We all know what would've happen if you did. It could be you this time and not the meal.

"You're bold," he starts. "considering the forbidden book as your way out of here. Not many would dare attempt to read such destructive texts, especially amateurs." he averts the subject.

You lightly scrunched your nose. He continues before you could say anything. "But, you are no amateur, I can admit that. You're...well-versed..in the least I could say. Undoing my disguise spell work is undeniably no easy feat." he admits. You can feel that he's limiting himself for any more words that he could give, possibly because he doesn't want to flatter you too much.

He's definitely acknowledged your sorceress might.

"That is actually high...coming from you." you say. You try to hide your swelling pride as you looked away. "I'm honored."

He stays silent for awhile before replying. "You...think highly of me?"

There's a hint of disbelief in his tone when he asks. "Well, yes." you simply answer, though you can't help but feel your heart swell for being quite forward. Still, you know it's the truth. "I don't see why I shouldn't think so."

You leave it at that as you pondered for awhile. You've definitely let yourself become an open book.

Admittedly, he pokes unto it. "Do you, perhaps, idolize your second prince in your timeline, girl?" he teasingly says.

You didn't reply, cheeks daring to flush.

You've definitely had an ounce of respect for the prince especially at sorcery, but to idolize him? You wonder.

You couldn't seem to bring out a valid answer, or a decent one at that. Maybe a sensible or a non-superfluous information that will ultimately sound too despicable for his ears. If you lie now, he'd know.

Though, you don't really have much of a choice. So you just keep stalling. "Isn't idolizing too much?"

"Is worshipping a god not so?"

Ah, fair. He's a god and a prince, and as an asgardian you're very much inclined to worship your gods and obey His Highness. Not something out of practice at all.

When you kept quiet, he added more. "Still, if not idolization then maybe something...far lighter, I garner?"

"Admiration?" you instinctively answer.

"Well, yes..." he points you a quick stare, one that seemed cautious. "...admiration...?" he eventually questions, as if it just had caught up to him and frowns at you.

Just when you we're about to take your words back, or try to justify yourself, Thor bellows yours and Loki's name far ahead. You hadn't noticed how far he had gone and how different the surroundings looked. There we're no more houses mingled together, instead, you we're far much closer to the sea. You we're atop a grassy cliff stretched to the far side and it's edges seem to bend slightly upright, as if forming a some sort fence. It makes the land feel much more like a larger cockpit but in a cozy way.

And the ocean's view is just...breathtaking.

Somewhere in the center of the place was the unlit bonfire; the woods we're piled up together like a massive tent and around it, people placed boulders and more sets of woods to sit on.

Evidently, night was nearing as the sun slowly sets down, bearing witness to everyone preparing the feast.

It's been awhile since you've been to a bonfire feast, especially not with this amount of people. But you know how right this feels.

For once, you don't feel out of place.

Previous chapter: (Chapter 4)

Next chapter: (Chapter 6)

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@oscarissac2099 @lcolumbia1988

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[ageofbajabule]

Roommates | Chapter 5

picture creds to samsfallingsky on ig.

Danny x F! Reader

Word Count: Roughly 5.3k

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Mentions of cheating, some Violence, Alcohol

If you haven’t read part 4

If you want to join my taglist fill this form out🫶🏻

Author’s Note: Hello everyone!! Chapter 5 is finally here! I’m so sorry for the delay! And I hope you all enjoy this, and Roommates is soon coming to an end…🥹🩵

Her POV

After shutting the door you sat on the couch crying to yourself after hearing Danny say that. You had thought he had changed, but you were proven wrong again. Would he ever change? Or would he constantly give you the hot and cold effect.

Who cares, you’re here to work. Not to make a relationship work, this should strictly be professional. But you couldn’t help but think at the idea of being with Danny. Sure he was an asshole, but deep down you knew the real Danny was in there somewhere buried and asking for help. But how would you get that Danny back?

Danny’s POV

Once you heard the door click shut you knew you were done for. She had heard what you said, but it wasn’t true… She wasn’t a quick fuck. She was more than that, but she wouldn’t believe a word out of you now.

“So, Texas is next up?” You asked Sam, “Yeah, Fort Worth. It’s like a 9 hour drive I think. So plenty of sleep on the bus.” He chuckled softly, walking Rose to the tour bus. “Yeah…” You sighed softly stepping onto the tour bus. You shuffled your way to your bunk bed, placing your shoes by the small table on the bus. You slid into your bunk, closing the curtain getting under the blankets letting sleep overcome you.

Her POV

You finished making sure everything was stored away, before heading onto your tour bus with some of the crew immediately going to bed.

The drive to the next state was a bit bumpy. Considering you’ve never really been on a tour bus before. But you also didn’t sleep much after hearing those words from Danny. After all if he truly thought you were a quick fuck, you could always talk to Gabe. Since he wouldn’t leave you alone last night, two can play at that game.

If there was one thing you could do, it was to piss Danny off. And what better than to piss him off with some guy you truly weren’t interested in.

The buses had rolled up to the hotel, you had gathered your things making way into the main lobby. Communicating with the receptionist on getting everyone’s room keys ready.

The guys had come stumbling into the hotel, groggy and sleepy. “Morning guys.” You smiled softly at them, as you gathered their room keys. “So we have two days off until the show. I know today you guys have free will to do whatever your heart desires. But I do know there is dinner tonight with the crew and everyone. Then tomorrow you guys have an interview in the morning, and a small photoshoot in the afternoon. Soundcheck will be the morning of the show as usual.”

The guys had all nodded. “Great work Y/N! I don't think we've ever had a more prepared worker.” Jake had chuckled lightly, smiling at you. “I’m just doing my job. And don’t want to mess anything up.” You laughed lightly, seeing Danny steal a glance at you. You looked away for a moment. “Uh, so here are your guy’s keys to your rooms. You are all on the same floor, it should be like that for this whole tour, and then I will be in a room at the end of the hall.” You passed each of them their room keys.

Once you got to Danny you handed it to him slowly then turned away. “I’m sure you guys want to freshen up and such before heading out for the day. There is a zoo that I figured everyone would probably like to check out then. So, once you’re all ready just text the group chat and we’ll meet up in the lobby.” You smiled softly, “Oh I hope this zoo has penguins!” Josh said excitedly. You giggled softly, smiling at him. “I’m sure they do, but for now I’m gonna go freshen up.” You parted ways from the guys.

As you walked away with your bag, you felt like a set of eyes were burning through you. And sure enough when you entered the elevator, as you turned around you caught Danny staring. You looked off to the side, pressing the button on the elevator to take you to your floor.

➳

It was around 3 in the afternoon. The guys had messaged the group chat that they were ready to head to the zoo. In which everyone met in the lobby. Josh is wearing a brown jumpsuit with his new society symbol. Along with Jake wearing his go to button up shirt, with very few buttons buttoned, and a pair of worn jeans. Sam wore a very mismatched outfit, and Danny opted to wear black jeans and a yellow muscle tee. You couldn’t help but look at him, he was still undeniably attractive even after what he said to you…

“Ready to go?” You smiled at them, they all nodded piling into the van. You opted in sitting between Jake and Josh, letting Danny and Sam sit next to each other. You striked a conversation with the twins immediately, talking about the upcoming outfits for this tour and the ideas they had in mind.

While Danny tried to have a conversation with Sam about something back home. Danny would try to steal glances at you, but you just ignored him as much as you could by engaging in conversation with the twins more.

Once you all had arrived you exited the car, and Gabe had come to the zoo from another van with the rest of the crew. “Hey Y/N!” He had walked up to you, “Hey Gabe…” You shot a smile at him, deciding to head up to the entrance you had all paid your admission to get into the zoo. “What are you most excited to see?” You smiled while keeping a conversation going with Gabe.

“Um, I think the giraffe’s.” He chuckled softly, walking close by your side. You knew this would definitely set Danny off.

The rest of the day in the zoo was spent pretty much with Gabe, however you noticed Danny had been lingering behind the two of you with Sam beside him. You had opted to use the restroom breaking off from the group saying you’d catch up with them later.

Once you used the restroom you had come out, to find Danny waiting outside. “Hi Danny.” You said in an annoyed tone. “Y/N let me ex-“ “No Danny. There is nothing to explain. I think you’ve pretty much made it clear last night that I’m just an easy fuck.” You yelled at him, but only loud enough between the two of you.

“But you’re not!” He threw his hands up. “Really? Cause it sure as hell seemed like it? Why would you say that if you truly don’t mean it?” You put your hands on your hips. “It’s not as easy as you might think.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Let me guess, is it ‘Bro Code’” You looked at him, and he looked back. “You can’t be serious Daniel.”

You laughed nervously shaking your head. “Wow, really living up to the fuck boy type aren’t ya?” You walked up to him, “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s not gonna fly with me. I know you’re better than that, Josie even said so.” You scoffed walking away, feeling him pull your wrist to pull you to him.

“I can show you I’m not like the rest of them…” He held your face close to his. “Danny…” You looked down, but he tilted your chin up to face him. “Give me a chance.” He had pleading eyes. “Danny… I can’t. You’ve already hurt me so much…” You felt the tears burning your eyes. “So you would rather run to Gabe…” He scoffed, pulling away from you.

“It’s not like that Danny.” You looked at him. “Then what’s it like? Cause to me it seems like you have some sort of interest in him.” He chuckled, “Gabe is just a friend. Nothing more. I don’t even find him-“ “Find him attractive or find him interesting? It’s because you want me…” Danny pulled you to him. “Please. Give me a chance.” You pushed him away slowly, “I think you need to work on yourself before trying to make something work between us…” You sniffled, feeling your tears fall.

You felt him let go of you. “I’m sorry…” You wiped your tears walking away from him, going to an exhibit of Wolves. You found Josh looking out at them, you made yourself not look like a crying mess before clearing your throat letting Josh know you were there.

“Oh, Hi Y/N.” He smiled softly, “Hi Josh…” You stood next to him. “I’m assuming you and Daniel finished talking”, he shifted his gaze towards you. “How did-“ “It’s honestly not hard to tell when your brother is in love with someone, and they love them back…” He chuckled softly. “What is it?” He smiled softly, “I’m all ears.”

You let out a small sigh, “It’s just. One minute he is this sweet amazing guy, and then he just becomes cold… Like as if I’m nothing to him, but just another girl in his eyes?” You sat on the bench, as Josh then sat next to you.

“I’m not excusing his actions… By any means. But, Daniel has… He’s been through the ringer, with his last relationship especially.” He scratched the back of his head. “Josie didn’t particularly fill me in, not that she needs to. But Daniel just…” You put your head down.

“You remember Jasmine?” Josh put a hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him, nodding slowly. “Heard of her…” You made a half smile.

“Well, the reason Danny is the way he is. Is all because of her. She filled all these thoughts of lies into his head. Trying to make him the villain… But in the end it was all her…” He spoke softly, “Did she…” “Did she cheat? Is that what you are asking?” He looked at you, you nodded. “Yes… And tried to say that it was because he didn’t give her enough attention… That all he cared about was the music and the boys… But Danny really did balance out his every day to day life. He gave her everything he could.” He sighed softly.

You looked at Josh, “So… Danny. Has been beating himself up ever since?” Josh nodded at you, you felt your heart drop. “Josh… I.” He shook his head, “There was no way you could’ve ever known… Danny doesn’t like to talk about her. And I understand why. But… He needs to move past it.” He sighed softly, you nodded. “If you wanna know more… Maybe you should talk to Danny. I think he’s scared of loving you. As you can tell, last time didn’t go so well.”

“Come on. We should get going, we have dinner reservations tonight. And should head back to freshen up.” He stood up offering a hand for you to get up.

You took it standing up, “Thank you, Josh…” You smiled at him as he smiled, pulling you in for a hug. “Of course.” You smiled softly, hugging him tightly before letting him go.

➳

Dinner was at a secluded yet expensive restaurant. The boys insisted on dining here to have a relaxing night, and to treat their crew to a well deserved dinner as they claimed. You had opted into wearing a sleek black dress with an open back. Fitting all of your curves, and opted to wear red strappy heels to pop out the outfit.

You had went in a separate van from the guys arriving with other crew mates filing into the building as you were guided to the table you would be dining at. You heard someone clear their throat and saw Danny’s head snap up to look at you, you caught a glimpse of his eyes blushing and looking away for a mere moment to try and avoid eye contact.

Then Josh chimed in, “Y/N you can sit next to me.” You smiled softly, mentally thanking him and sat down next to him which was a couple seats away from Danny. You adjusted yourself in your seat, looking down at Danny, catching him staring at you again. You shot your eyes back to look at Jake across from you. “So Jake, did you enjoy the zoo today?” You smiled softly engaging in small talk.

“Yeah, it was nice to see so many animals.” He chuckled softly, “Although I do feel quite bad for some of them… Some should just be left in their natural habitat. But I can understand why some are there, better taken care of?” He shook his head, “Sorry I’m rambling…” You shook your head, “It’s quite alright Jake.” You smiled softly.

Gabe had taken a seat next to Jake, which you looked up at him smiling softly. “Nice of you to join us, Gabe.” He nodded, smiling at everyone. “Wouldn’t miss it.” You heard a chair move on the floor, indicating someone was getting up. You looked up to find Danny standing up and walking away, “What’s his issue?” You heard Jake ask, and Josh looked over at Sam raising his hands. “He said he had an important phone call to take.” Sam shrugged, you knew Danny didn’t have an important phone call. He was just pissed to see you interacting with Gabe.

You leaned over to whisper in Josh’s ear. “I think it’s because of Gabe…” You pulled back to see Josh nod his head and motion for you to go. You sighed softly, standing up from your seat. “Going to use the ladies room.” You smiled softly, walking away from the table making way towards the hallway of the restrooms to find Danny standing at the end of the hallway.

He in fact did have a phone call. One hand in his hair pulling it nervously, his back was facing you. He hadn’t known you were there yet. “Josie… I fucked up. I don’t know what to do.” He sighed, “I mean. I didn’t do anything to entirely fuck it up, but I just keep fucking up. And I’m trying not to.” You heard him mumble some ‘okays’ and ‘yeah’ then he finally said his goodbyes and thanked his sister before getting off the phone.

You played it off that you had just made your way to the hallway. “Danny?” You called his name just above a whisper. He turned on his heels, “Look, I’m not entirely sure it's smart for us to have another conversation. Especially after how today went…” He looked down at you.

“Well we need to have a conversation. Maybe not here, but some time and some where…” You played with your hands. “Y/N…” “Danny. Please.” You looked up at him, pulling his hand into yours. “We can’t keep doing this…” He caressed your cheek. “I want you to be happy, and I’m scared I can’t do that for you.” He looked at you with hurt in his eyes.

“Danny… I-“ He pulled you closer to him, kissing your lips softly. You wrapped your small hands around his, kissing him back softly then pulled away. “Tomorrow. We will talk. I don’t want alcohol to have an influence in any of this conversation…” He rested his forehead against yours. You nodded slowly, “Tomorrow. Breakfast after your interview?” You giggled softly. He nodded, “Sounds like a plan darling.” He kissed your forehead softly, “We should probably head back.” He chuckled and walked away first, you gave it a little bit of time then made your way back sitting next to Josh again.

“So…?” Josh leaned over to your ear. “Tomorrow he and I will talk…” You whispered back, smiling softly. He smiled softly, “See. It’ll work out.” He chuckled softly.

For the rest of dinner you kept stealing glances with Danny, shooting a smile and blushing from the small acts. After a couple glasses of wine, everyone was ready to head back to the hotel. Josh suggested you rode back with them. You had sat in the back between Danny and Sam. Sam was busy talking on the phone with his girlfriend Natalie, while the twins had their own small talk. Danny played your hand that rested on your thigh.

Intertwining your fingers together, he rubbed his thumb across your hand. You looked down at your hand then back at him, smiling softly. Then Sam had finished his phone conversation which made Danny and you slip your hands away. Your heart ached, longing to be able to show your love for him… But you understood why.

➳

Next morning came. The day was filled with two interviews in the morning. Leaving some time for the guys, before their photoshoot in the afternoon.

You had done a check-up on them making sure they were awake. You had knocked on their doors earning very quick responses that they were in fact awake and ready for the day. Lastly you had come up to Danny’s room, when he answered he was just finishing getting ready. “Morning, beautiful.” He smiled softly, “Morning…” You couldn’t stop yourself from blushing. “Just checking that you are all ready to go. Van will be here in a few minutes to take you guys over to some radio station I believe it is. For your interview as a band, and then a short one with Jake.” You smiled softly.

“Don’t forget our breakfast together then…” He smiled softly, you nodded your head. “Trust me, I didn’t forget. Could hardly sleep last night because of the nerves.” You giggled softly. He pulled you in closely to kiss your lips softly. You kissed him back, then slowly pulled away. “Listen we can’t let anybody see us until this is all figured out…” You sighed softly with a little bit of hurt. You wanted to express how you felt to Danny in front of everyone. But you wanted to make sure you heard everything before biting the bullet.

“Yeah… I’m sorry.” He put his head down scratching the back of his neck. “It's okay, I just don't want to be a secret is all.” She rubbed his cheek with her hand. He nodded, “Well I should probably head out, before I get yelled at for being late.” He chuckled softly, you nodded. Just let me know when you’re back and we’ll go for our breakfast.” You smiled softly, walking back towards your room.

➳

The early morning of the guys' events went by rather quickly. Danny had sent you a text signaling he was waiting in the hotel lobby for you. You fixed your outfit, and adjusted your hair before heading out to meet him in the lobby. That’s when you bumped into Gabe. “Oh shit, sorry…” You looked up at him apologetically. “Oh it’s alright. Hey, um did you want to go out tonight?” You looked at him and gave a light smile. “I’m sorry Gabe… Not tonight. I think the guys had made plans and asked me to join them.” They hadn’t but you needed something to go with.

“Oh, alright. Well if plans don’t turn out, I’m here.” He chuckled lightly walking away. You nodded and made way to the lobby, walking up to Danny as he waved you down. “Sorry, I bumped into Gabe on the way down here…” You sighed softly. “Is he still trying to make moves on my girl?”

You blushed at ‘my girl’, “I’m sorry, my what now?” You giggled softly. Danny wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you close. “My girl…”

“Come on lover boy, I’m starving.” You swatted his arm playfully. He chuckled following behind you. Luckily there was a breakfast joint not too far from the hotel. It was within walking distance, you both decided to sit on the little balcony outside. It was only you two seated out there.

“This is a cute little place.” You smiled softly. “Not as cute as you.” He smirked, looking over at you. You scoffed playfully, “Good one…” You shook your head giggling softly as you blushed.

“Alright. So, what do you want to know?” He opened the menu, observing it and deciding on what he wanted to order. “I want to know about her…” You looked up at him with soft eyes. He met yours, his body tensed a little bit. “What is there to know…” He closed the menu, fidgeting with the edges. “Well Josh told me the basics… But said I should talk to you more about it. I know she hurt you… And filled your head with lies…” You put your hand across the table to grab his. He pulled his hand back slowly.

“Danny…” “Y/N… She is in the past for a fucking reason.” He said through gritted teeth. “Daniel, I’m just trying to figure out why you’ve been acting like you have been towards me.” You snapped at him. “I’ve been acting towards you?” He smirked, “Yeah, you’ve been acting like an asshole!”

“I have?” You watched as Danny sucked in a breath, his eyes looked tortured. Almost as if he was having a battle within himself. “It’s not that easy to explain.” He looks at you with hurt in his eyes. “Well I’m all ears. You said we were gonna talk. So let’s talk, let me in Danny…” You sighed softly, reaching for his hand again. He sighed deeply, holding your hand in his.

“Jasmine was… She was my everything. And then… she just broke my heart and tried to say it was my fault…” He had tears forming. “But all I ever did was give her everything I had to offer… But it just wasn’t enough.” He sighed, you rubbed his hand softly with your thumb. “Danny…” “And the worst part is, she slept with the proclaimed guy she told me not to worry about…” He sniffled as tears fell.

“Tried accusing me that I was sleeping around when I was on tour, I invited her to join us all the time. But she always turned it down saying she couldn’t because of work… Even though Jita takes some time off to join Jake for a few weeks or so. And anytime I planned a nice trip together she would make a fit, and shut it down immediately. So then I would just go with the guys or play my drums figuring out different sounds and techniques for new music. And she swore up and down all I cared about was myself, the music and the guys…” He let out a small cry. “I saw a future with her, and she just tore me down… And I guess I’ve just reflected on the words she left me with and acted on it…” He looked up at you with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“Danny… I’m so sorry.” You put your other hand around his, kissing it softly. “You’re not a bad guy. You’re a great guy who got his heart broken by an ungrateful bitch.” You bit your tongue. “Sorry…” “No it’s okay… she was a bitch.” He chuckled softly, “I just. Was scared I was going to hurt you. I mean, I kind of already did with being a dick towards you… And I really am sorry for that.” He looked into your eyes. You smiled softly, looking into his eyes.

“Y/N, I just… What I’m saying is.” He blushed, putting his head down. “I want you in my life… And I know I’ve been an asshole to you for the past two months going on almost 3 months. I just want to start fresh, and treat you the way you deserve.” You felt a few tears threatening to spill, “Danny… All I ever wanted was an explanation and you… Did more than that.” You sighed contently, “Danny I’ve been crazy about you ever since we first met. As silly as that sounds.” You giggled softly, and he laughed softly. “Funny thing is, I was too. Josie even told me to make a move… I was just, I don’t know.”

You smiled at him, “Josh told me that you were scared to love again. I think that’s what was holding you back… And I completely understand, after going through a breakup like that… It’s hard to come back from.” You looked into his eyes lovingly, he nodded watching you.

“So, why don’t we start fresh? I’m sure the guys would be happy that we’re not at each other's throats.” You giggled softly, “Yeah I like the sound of that.” Danny chuckled, smiling softly. “But with one exception?” You looked at Danny with a questionable look, “What exception?”

“Be mine? And only mine. I want you to be my girl. And I want you and only you…” He held both of your hands. You looked into his eyes, nodding your head. “Yes… I- I will Danny…” He smiled leaning over the table kissing your lips softly, as you kissed him back.

“Oh thank god, I thought I was going to walk out of here a lonely man…” He chuckled softly, you shot a glare. “You’re on thin ice… So I'd watch it.” You giggled softly. “I think I’ve learned from my mistakes, I don’t want to lose you…” He smiled softly.

“Alright, let’s order. I’m starving and you still have a photoshoot to attend after this.” He nodded signaling the waiter over to place your orders. “But then I have you for the rest of the day right?” He smiled at you softly, “As long as your schedule stays clear after the photoshoot, then yes.” You smirked at him. “Oh I’ll make sure it stays clear.” He chuckled softly.

➳

Breakfast with Danny was wonderful, you got to know a lot more about him and his family. Along with him learning about yours. And how the two of you lived so close to one another but never crossed paths before.

Danny insisted on you joining the guys on their photoshoot, but you wanted to stay behind and catch up on some work for tomorrow’s busy day leading into Friday.

You decided to head down to the hotel’s bar. Sitting at a small booth, texting Danny to let him know where you were when the guys came back in case they wanted to join you.

A few hours had passed and you were only 2 tequila soda’s in. It was around 6pm and Danny had sent a text signaling he would be down soon. And the guys would join later. You smiled, sending a response back, before finishing up your work and putting it away in your bag waiting for him to arrive.

You had seen Gabe walking into the hotel’s bar. You caught eye contact with him, groaning quietly to yourself. Will this guy ever get the hint? You’re clearly not interested in him. He made his way over to you, “Hey Y/N!” He smiled softly, “Hi Gabe…” You gave a half smile. “Are you alone? Mind if I join?” He smiled, “Uh, Danny is actually meeting me here soon. And the others will be joining…” You took a sip of your drink.

“Well would they mind that I join?” He smiled softly, you thought to yourself. Danny would mind, in fact it would set Danny off you thought. “Uh, sure why not.” You smiled softly, regretting letting him join. You weren’t sure how Danny would react, and of course Gabe sat next to you, and quite close actually. “So, what have you been up to?” He asked taking a sip of his beer. “Oh just finishing up some work for tomorrow’s show and Friday’s show.” You nodded, “What about you?” You tried to keep the conversation simple or to a minimum until Danny arrived.

And of course, Danny was taking a little longer. “Talking to the crew about how insane the new set up is on this tour. I mean Nashville was just an insane evening, it turned out amazing.” He chuckled softly, and you nodded. You caught Danny coming in hot out of the corner of your eye. He raised an eyebrow at you motioning towards Gabe, you gave him a defeated look while shrugging.

“Danny! So glad you joined us.” Gabe smiled at him, Danny smiled back sitting across from you, “The others will be here in the next half hour. I thought you’d be the only one here Y/N…” He said a little annoyed. “Gabe decided to join, he saw I was alone and well…” You gave Danny an apologetic look. “Can’t leave a woman alone by herself in a bar these days anymore…” Gabe chuckled softly, you felt uneasy around him. And Danny could pick up the vibes.

Gabe continued to talk about the stage techniques and set up with Danny while you chewed on the inside of your cheek, waiting for the others to join. And finally the three Kiszka boys piled in. You tapped Gabe on the shoulder, “I’m gonna get a refill, you guys want the same?” Danny and Gabe nodded. “I’ll be back.” You smiled as Gabe let you slip out, and followed behind you.

“You know… You really are beautiful…” You could hear the sultry tone to his voice making you cringe. “Gabe… We’ve already had this conversation.” You went up to the bar placing an order for everyone. “Y/N, come on. Give me a chance… So what if we work together?” He chuckled softly, grabbing at your waist. “Gabe, I said I wasn’t interested.” You shoved his hands away. “And don’t touch me.” You looked at him with angry eyes.

“Woah, hey now… No need to get angry. I’m just-“ “You were just leaving.” Danny spoke up startling Gabe. “Hey man… It’s not-“ Danny grabbed him by the shirt. “It's not what it looks like? It sure did though man. How about you leave my girl alone. And get the fuck out of here…” Danny was beyond pissed, you could see the rage in his eyes.

“Your girl…” He scoffed looking over at you. “You’ll fuck the rockstar, but not me. Fucking easy skank…” He smirked, your eyes went wide. Then Danny’s fist met Gabe’s jaw, knocking him down. “Don’t you ever call her a skank!” Danny gripped his shirt, holding him to the ground. “Come on man, I’m sure she’s an easy lay.” He chuckled, and Danny clocked him again. As the guys rushed over to pull him off of Gabe.

“Danny! We can’t cause a fucking scene in here.” Josh snapped at him, as Sam picked Gabe up walking out of the bar, Jake was checking on you making sure you were alright. “You think I’m gonna let him talk about Y/N like that?” He was angry, and looked over at you with concerning eyes. “Are you okay baby?” He walked up to you, caressing your cheek. You nodded, “I’ll be alright… I just didn’t think that would happen.” You let out a shaky breath.

“Wait, baby?” Josh and Jake looked over at the two of you. “Are we missing something here?” Jake chuckled softly, waiting for a response.

“Well, uh…” Danny smirked, looking between all of you. Sam joined the group again, “Alright he’s being sent off. Got him fired for sexual harassment… What did I miss?” He looked around. “Daniel was getting ready to fill us in on something rather important.” Josh said with a smirk.

“Oh, well what is it Daniel?” Sam questioned him.

“Y/N and I are dating…” He smiled, pulling you close to him.

.

.

.

.

to be continued…

Taglist -

@laneygvf @lyndszee @fkfearandliveyourlegend @starcatcherry

[storm-called]

finished the current story of Janthir Wilds today! thoughts and ramblings beneath the cut

so, initial reaction: this expac is probably going on par as being my favorite (alongside PoF). The story, while not as emotionally-wrenching or shocking as previous expacs, still had enough gravitas that I kept thinking about it even when I wasn't playing. In actuality, I appreciated the slower pace the story took, oft with characters even vocally reminding the PC (and Poised Arrow) to slow down, to not rush into things. It gave me the chance to sit with the story that was being told, to let the full weight of it sit with me.

What I enjoyed the most was, of course, the setting. The environmental design was stunning, and there were multiple times I just stopped and marveled at the surroundings. I even opted to ride my warclaw to the next quest marker most of the time, rather than using a waypoint, just to be able to absorb everything.

The musical scores were also top-notch, probably beating out PoF and EoD's OSTs as my new favorite. The ones that stuck with me the most were the opening theme and the one that plays when you fight Greer and Decima. I am a sucker for a good hurdy-gurdy twang, so I might be biased.

With Greer and Decima, in regards to that final fight, while it was not the most challenging fight a story boss has had (I think Mordremoth's avatar will always take the cake with that), it was mentally stimulating. As opposed to the final bosses in SotO chapters, Greer and Decima's fight(s) made me think about the mechanics being used and plan around them accordingly. The warclaw not only felt included in those fights, but vital for a smooth run. I did get knocked down a few times (by Decima in particular, who was, in my opinion, the more challenging of the two), but it never got to pull-my-hair-out levels of rage — nor did it feel repetitive and easy.

Another thing I keep thinking about is the world design outside of the main story. I haven't completed some of the bigger side stories yet (though I plan to), but I swept through the collection quest that gets you the meteorite spear before I was even a quarter way through the main story — a feat an expac has not managed to get me to do since PoF; that is, abandoning the story to simply explore the map. Certainly with SotO, I stuck pretty linearly to the story and only explored the maps as a begrudging act of collecting map currencies. I felt no draw to explore, whereas with Janthir Wilds, I kept getting distracted by every little event happening and was happy to delay the story for whatever tidbit of minor lore was happening.

All in all, I think Janthir Wilds is an excellent recovery on Anet's part after SotO, and I dearly look forward to the rest of the story they present with the titans out in these wilds.

(and fuck you, Isgarren)

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

you be my fire and I’ll be your gasoline, Ch.7

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After three and a half years of being unable to touch this, all there is to say is: ah shit, here we go again But in all honestly, I am so sorry that it took this long. Life has been all over the place, and since the last update I have managed to get a university degree, find a new best friend, decide that I am willing to risk it all and pursue writing as a career, and gain a whole new understanding of love. For those of you who'd been with me over the years -- I hope with all my heart that you will enjoy the very much delayed continuation of this story, and I thank you a thousand times over for sticking with me through it all. For the new people -- I promise the next chapter won't take three years for me to write.

The first couple of days on the road go by almost unnoticed, the weather kind to the world, blooming more and more with what seems like every passing hour. They travel through the endless meadows and forests, keeping to the shade during the hottest hours, and the further South they get, the more the air fills with a sweet, heady scent of flowers and early fruit. Every now and then, they find themselves beneath the lush canopies of apple trees, and Jaskier reaches up from the saddle to pluck a couple of plump, crisp fruit from the branches, feeding them to Cerbin and Roach. The apples are still a bit too tangy for his taste, but the horses love them, and so, it seems, does Geralt, because he eats them with just as much appetite. Jaskier makes a face at him every time, but that doesn’t deter the witcher from his snacks. 

They fall into the rhythm of each other easily, setting up camp at night like they’ve done it a thousand times before. While Jaskier tends to the horses and lays out the bedrolls, Geralt disappears into the woods to find something to eat, the fire already lit by a snap of his fingers, Igni working its tricks every time. It’s something that Jaskier very much misses when he travels alone — no matter how many times he’d started a fire in his life, he never became much of a fan of the process. Tending to the fire was just fine by him, just not the igniting part. Geralt didn’t mind, though, never rolling his eyes or huffing with displeasure, like the other Geralt loved doing on the days when he was unhappy with whatever it was that he was unhappy with. 

And Jaskier— Jaskier loved him, he did. He’d loved him for years, and it wasn’t something that he could just will to go away — he’d tried, gods know he tried, — but that love, painful from the very beginning, twisted the knife in his heart with a new sort of cruelty now, when he saw just how different Geralt could be. For it was Geralt, other version or not — with every passing day, Jaskier could see more and more familiar gestures and habits, caught the all too familiar pronunciations of certain words.

It caught him off guard, sometimes. 

On their second evening on the Path, when they’ve already had their fill of dinner and were warming their hands and bellies on rosehip tea, Geralt was telling the bard one of his endless stories, and the way he said “The ship’s captain knew fuck all about the waters he was sailing” sounded so much like the Geralt that Jaskier was used to, down to the little huff of amusement, that for a moment, he just froze in place before shaking his shoulders, like he could physically make the sudden ache lift. If the witcher noticed — and Jaskier knew that he probably did, — he didn’t say anything, continuing with his story without pause. It was something that Jaskier had noticed about him even before they set out on their way to Cintra — Geralt didn’t pry. It was impossible to hide anything from him, at the very least because he was a witcher, and witchers could tell emotions apart by scent, but despite that, Geralt let him be time after time, not asking questions that Jaskier wasn’t ready to answer. 

Jaskier wondered, sometimes. when they were riding in comfortable silence, the only sounds between them the soft knocking of their horses’ hooves, if Geralt knew. If he knew of the feelings that Jaskier carried in his heart for his other version, the feelings that he hid so expertly in the furthest corners of his heart, afraid that the slightest ray of sunshine would bring ruin if it was to ever touch them. And though they hurt, though they made Jaskier feel like he’s going to choke on his own blood one day, his heart finally giving out and ripping itself apart in his chest, he couldn’t give them up. He carried all that love, all that deeply-rooted, aching longing in his heart like a glass shard, but a shard of something dear to him, something that he protected like a precious stone. It didn’t matter that the sharp edges were leaving cut after cut on his heart, that one day he would shift something in his chest with not enough caution, and the shard would finally cut too deep for him to survive the blood loss. 

It meant too much to him; it made him whole, in a way that he couldn’t explain even to himself, let alone someone else. The pain was part of him, had been for so long that he could barely remember a time without it, and in Jaskier’s mind, it was almost a sign of him being alive, something vital, like the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, the blood in his veins. It is what it is, he would tell himself over and over again, If this is how the gods will it, then it is how it’s supposed to be, no matter to what end. 

He didn’t really believe in the gods before he met Geralt eight years ago, but then, as time went on and the only warmth the witcher would ever show him would be a reluctant parting embrace, Jaskier found some solace, some consolation in the thought that it was all happening to him because it was meant to be happening. That it wasn't his own poor choice of loved ones, that it wasn’t some sort of cruel fate but was, instead, simply what it had to be. It was easier that way, it was a means to protect himself, and the recent years of hunting taught him that when it came to protecting yourself, you were to use any and all possible ways to do it. What mattered was that you shielded yourself from pain and death, how you did it had no role to play in the equation. 

None of that he talked about with Geralt, though he knew that the easy, near-instant trust that grew between them had space enough to allow for it. And he doubted that it would’ve been any different even if the topic of the conversation was someone that Geralt had never even heard about.

They did, however, talk about Coën. 

Jaskier confessed to Geralt — after some persuasion — that he wasn’t completely honest with the Wolf before, and that when he said that he’d spent a couple of weeks with Coën, he only meant that he’d spent a few weeks with him the first time they’d met. After that, over the years, their paths have crossed again and again, and each time was as sweet as the ones before. With a part of his heart that was still his own to do with as he pleased, Jaskier loved him, of course, because Coën was impossible not to love. 

That , Jaskier didn’t tell Geralt, but he could tell that he knew. 

That was an easy love, though. The kind of love that Jaskier was used to from his years in the Academy, intoxicating and heady, but also gentle, kind to his jaded heart and his restless mind. There was, of course, the ache of missing him when he was gone, but Jaskier had Coën’s sword on his back as a reminder of the witcher, a part of him that linked them together. Coën, in turn, carried with him a necklace that Jaskier had worn for years before giving it to the witcher. 

“When’s the last time you saw him?” Geralt asks, his golden eyes shifting to an rich amber, reflecting the campfire burning between him and the bard.

Jaskier can tell that there isn’t the slightest trace of jealousy in the witcher’s voice, that he’s genuinely interested to know. Coën, Jaskier reminds himself, is dear to Geralt in the other realm, the closest thing to a brother that a witcher can have, second only to the other Wolves. 

“Seven months ago now,” Jaskier says, at length. “Almost twice as long as it usually takes us to find each other again. But then again, he is quite preoccupied with the Poviss court.”

Geralt lifts a brow in surprise, taking a swig of wine from a bottle they’d bought in a town they passed by in the morning. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and passes the bottle over to Jaskier. 

“The court?” he asks.

The bard nods. “He’s with the Intelligence.”

Geralt’s surprise at the information becomes so apparent that Jaskier snorts, nearly choking on his wine. He’s never really had the chance to tell anyone that one of his lovers is part of a grand spiderweb of Intelligence here in the Northern Kingdoms, and it feels a little too good to finally see a reaction to take it all back, claiming it was a joke. 

“That is, I imagine, how he always knows where to find me,” Jaskier goes, as a way of explaining. “I like to think that he looks out for me in the months that we’re in different kingdoms.Though he would never admit to it, naturally.”

Jaskier falls silent for a while, looking into the fire with the slightest of smiles curing his lips. Geralt doesn’t break that silence, though the bard can feel the witcher’s gaze resting on him. He wonders, distantly, if he’d be able to listen if it was Geralt that was telling him about someone that, in one way or another, had claim to his heart. If he was being completely honest with himself, he knew that the answer was “no”. Whether that made him the lesser man, he didn’t know, but Geralt wasn’t forcing him into finding out. After he’d mentioned Ciri — the daughter of a woman he loves , — on Belleteyn, he never spoke of either one again. It is yet to happen in this realm, and I’ve got no right to tell you the future , he said, allowing Jaskier to believe that that was if not his only, then his main reason, at least. 

“I take it, Coën that you know is not the same?” Jaskier teases, passing the wine back.

“That, or he’s damn good at keeping secrets,” Geralt huffs. “Which is, I suppose, one of the main requirements to being a spy.”

Jaskier laughs, casting a glance sideways, where he can hear Cerbin rusting in the bushes. Roach is grazing somewhere nearby, flicking her ears at the stallion, too young and too impatient to stay in one place for long. 

“What’s he like?” Jaskier asks, finally, after days of keeping his interest at bay. “ Your Coën?”

Geralt considers it, shifting to lie down next to the fire, one arm behind his head. With the other, he pats the space next to him, and Jaskier doesn’t need much more persuasion — putting his lute, that he’d kept on his knees before that, — aside to come lie next to the witcher, the evening warm and heady with the scent of jasmine. 

As he lies down, Geralt wraps an arm around his shoulders, turns his head to press a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s hair, effortless with his affections. Jaskier shines with it, moving even closer and letting out a content breath, his eyelashes fluttering closed. He doesn’t think about the days slowly but surely creeping up on them, about how every new stretch of road brings them closer to the moment when they will inevitably have to part — he allows himself to be in the present, basking in the attention and the warmth. 

“Well, he’s certainly not a Poviss spy,” Geralt begins, with a chuckle. “He's surprisingly much more like a Griffin than a Wolf, really, which is to say that if he wasn’t like a brother to me, I would’ve called him a knightly know-it-all. More than anything, he loves to talk about his principles, and it’s those that let him to—”

Abruptly, Geralt cuts himself off, and Jaskier can feel his body tense before relaxing again. But before he can ask, before the sharp pang of alarm in his chest transforms into words, Geralt goes on, not allowing him enough time to speak:

“It’s those that have led him into trouble more than they’ve ever led him to anything good. But, of course, trying to change his mind or convincing him of something that doesn’t align with how he sees it is about as fruitful as trying to convince a fucking foglet to stop ripping people to shreds.”

Jaskier laughs, quietly. 

“Sounds like him,” he says. “He’s got his ideals that he protects vehemently, and if he decides on something, no amount of pleading, reasoning or threats will ever change his mind. Not to mention that he, naturally, has to know all there is to know about everything and everyone. Pretty sure that that’s the main reason why he’d joined the Intelligence. They need people like him there.”

“True,” Geralt agrees. “But I don’t think that the Coën that I know would turn your head nearly as much. I don’t want to call him a bore, and he isn’t, but he’s certainly not the one to take a human to a hunt or sleep with someone he’d just met. I cannot imagine Coën flirting with anyone, though he’s got his charms.”

Jaskier mostly ignores the second half of the sentence, because the Coën he knows definitely knows how to get just about anyone into his bed. but he does say:

 “Coën doesn’t really think I’m human.”

At that, Geralt’s surprise becomes palpable. He props himself up on one elbow, making Jaskier shift with a displeased little sound. He’d been so comfortable with his head on the witcher’s shoulder, after all. But he understands the reaction, of course. And he remembers them leaving the inn five days ago, the sudden surge of energy that washed over him like a wave when Geralt placed his medallion on the bard’s neck. Jaskier remembers the world around him coming into such sharp focus that it almost hurt, his fingers tingling with a feeling he couldn’t begin to describe despite his talent with words. Over the days, he kept coming back to that in his thoughts. 

Geralt looks at him without words, but his quizzical gaze speaks volumes regardless. Jaskier sits up, runs his hand through his hair, takes in a breath. 

“The more he trained me, the more he told me that it’s pretty much impossible for someone with just human blood in their veins to take up hunting the way I have,” he says. “That I move too fast for a human, that silver daggers lie too lightly in my hands. That wounds heal on me a little too quickly, and there are fewer scars than he’d expect a human to have after.”

He shrugs, a move of his shoulders that isn’t as easy as he’d like it to be. The topic had never really bothered him, but in the past days, he thought about it too much to now be able to brush it off with nonchalance.

“Elven blood, then?” Geralt says, after a while.

“That’s what he told me,” Jaskier agrees, but he can’t stop thinking about the fact that witcher medallions shouldn’t react to elves, let alone quarter- or even half-elves. “He even told me, once, of Hen Ichaer , Elder Blood. But that I absolutely do not have.”

Jaskier laughs, and in his merriment, he fails to catch the glimpse of a shadow that passes over Geralt's features. By the time Jaskier looks at him again, the witcher also has a smile on his lips, a glimpse of sharp canine showing.  

“Yes,” he nods. “I suppose, you would’ve known if you had in you some of the most powerful magic known to the Continent.”

The conversation trails off after that, shifting to other topics. They talk about the road ahead, about the towns that they could stop at, with Jaskier obviously insisting on Oxenfurt. Novigrad, on the other hand, as they collectively agree, is not a place that’s worth paying a visit to. 

“Is it as bad in a few decades from now as it is currently?” Jaskier asks, back in the warmth of Geralt’s arms. “With all my love for busy streets and the bubbling life, I much prefer the torch-lit cobble streets of Oxenfurt, full of students and professors. I might’ve grown too old to enjoy Novigrad.”

Geralt snorts. 

“You’re twenty-six.

Jaskier shoves him in the side.

“Yes, and the last time we visited, I was twenty-five, which is already too old to find any delight in that gods forsaken city. Life on the road has made me way too fond of peace and quiet.”

He lets the “we” slip before he can catch himself, and Geralt, naturally, picks up on it. Jaskier knows what he’s going to ask before the question is spoken:

“You and your Geralt?”

“He’s not mine,” Jaskier replies, automatically. “And, regardless, I wasn’t with him. If I hate Novigrad, then he’s deadly allergic to it.”

“Coën, then?” 

The memories, warm and brilliantly-clear, like the waters of a river in the heat of summer, wash over Jaskier as he nods, a smile playing on his lips. He’s half-asleep already, the burning fire warm on his skin, Geralt’s presence a steady, now-familiar security at his side. The visions of the past come to him as saturated and full of life as if he was still there, at an inn on the outskirts of Novigrad. 

“I’ve told you before, and I will tell you again — you’re insane, Jask,” Coën laughs, closing the door behind them and setting the logs in the fireplace aflame with a wave of his wrist. “The next time you decide that you’re in dire need of slicing the heads off a few drowners, can we please find some place that is not the Novigrad docks to do it.”

Jaskier is still high on the adrenaline from the hunt. His every sense is still sharpened, the tips of his fingers tingling with the taste of victory. It was by no means effortless, but the struggle made it all the sweeter. Coën didn’t interfere, watching from the flanks with pride burning in his eyes, and all the spoils of victory were for Jaskier alone to collect. 

It wasn’t even a contract — they went out to hunt for practice, as without Coën, Jaskier was still reluctant, most of the time, to get himself into trouble willingly.

“As much as I hate this city, I have to give credit where credit is due — it’s perfect hunting ground,” Jaskier says, putting his sword aside and undoing the buckles of his armor before falling onto the bed, reveling in the feeling of the covers under him. The night air is filled with the scent of wild flowers. “Where we killed five drowners tonight, there will be ten tomorrow.”

Coën shakes his head with an indulgent smile, comes closer, sitting down on the bed next to the bard. His green eyes catch the reflection of the flames, and shine brighter with the familiar gold. He pushes his black hair from his face only for it to fall back a second later, and leans down, brushing his lips over Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“ You , not we.”

Jaskier opens one eye to look at him.

“Hm?”

“ You killed them, Jask, not we,” Coën repeats, tugging his boots off and getting onto the bed properly to pull Jaskier to his chest, where the bard rests his head with familiar ease. “You impress me more and more every time we meet. Though sometimes I do wonder if I’ve made a horrible mistake when I’ve decided to teach you to hunt.”

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier snorts. “You know I’ll be safe.”

Coën brushes his fingers over Jaskier’s cheek, drawing his attention and leaning in closer to his lips, his own upturned in a grin.

“Who’s talking about your safety? I’m starting to worry you’ll take all the contracts from me.”

The memory fades slowly, leaving behind a pleasant warmth. With it, though, it brings another one, one that Jaskier hadn’t had the time to think about, caught up in the sudden passion that bloomed between him and Geralt. The memory of their first night together, and the witcher calling Jaskier his. No matter how many lovers you’ve had or are going to have, you’re mine , he said. And Jaskier knows that he asked for it himself, knows that back then, he longed for it, ached for it — the feeling of belonging to someone. But when he really thought of it, when he thought of this realm’s Geralt, thought of Coën, he couldn’t quite find that same feeling in his chest anymore. 

Shifting again, Jaskier just barely holds himself back from cursing under his breath. 

Feelings were a complicated thing, he knew, but he still, from time to time, forgot about it, even though they’ve always, inevitably, caught up to him. Back at the inn in the middle of nowhere, it was all too easy to completely lose himself in the sudden, heady attraction, in the feeling of being desired, needed. And he didn’t regret it, not for a moment, but he also saw now, in clear view, that the three months ahead weren’t going to be the same. He wanted to be honest with Geralt — as much as he could bear to be, — and that meant facing his own heart first. 

The bond between them was undeniable, like they’ve known each other for years, but now, when his head cleared slightly, Jaskier thought about it a little more soberly. A week ago, if Geralt had told him that he’s got the means to go back to his realm that same evening and asked if Jaskier wanted to go with him, he would’ve said yes. Now, as some time has passed, he wasn’t sure that that was the decision that he could make so easily, if at all. 

This realm was everything that he’d ever known. His friends and colleagues were his, his hard-earned career and reputation were here. Coën was here. Geralt was here. 

No matter how harsh the witcher that he’d known for eight years now was, no matter how much pain he caused him, both intentional and not, Jaskier couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. And no more than that could he bear the idea of never seeing Coën again, his beloved Wolf, the only creature in the entire world that had always seen Jaskier for more than just his colourful silk and velvet, the lute in his hands. They were never in what Jaskier would necessarily call a relationship, but every time they met, it was like they never parted. 

The last time they saw each other, after Coën had, as always, found him through his spiderweb, Jaskier ran into his arms right in the middle of the dusty country road, paying no mind to the farmers working in the field that looked up at them with what was disapproval at the very least. And Coën paid them all even less mind, pulling Jaskier so close that the bard could feel something in his shoulder crack, before kissing him with everyone watching. That was one of the things that never failed to mesmerise Jaskier about Coën — the way he simply did not give a fuck, ready to challenge the entire world, his sharp canine shining brighter and more deadly than his daggers. Jaskier never felt more alive and more safe than when he was with him. 

Could he really give it all up, even if it was so easy to think it to be Destiny?

“Jask?” Geralt’s voice pulls Jaskier abruptly from his thoughts and memories. “You still with me?”

Jaskier almost laughs at the double meaning that the question has to him. Instead, he clears his throat, a blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“Sorry, I must have drifted off a bit,” he lies, trying to will his pulse to remain steady. “What were you saying?”

Geralt gives him a look that lets Jaskier know that the witcher can tell he’s lying, but for whatever reason, he doesn’t press. Would Jaskier have done the same, if the roles were reversed? Would he be able to just let it go if he saw that Geralt was so blatantly dishonest with him? That, as Jaskier realised with a sharp twist of something in his chest, was one more question to add to the list of thighs that demanded answers. 

“I asked if you were with Coën,” Geralt repeats, finally, and Jaskier thanks all the gods when the witcher relaxes again, readjusting the blanket that he’d thrown over them both earlier in the night. Jaskier really could’ve drifted off like this, the lie was almost believable. “In Novigrad.”

Jaskier makes himself more comfortable, rearranging their position into one that will allow him to actually fall asleep. It’s past midnight, and his worries are starting to get too much for him to keep them at bay, so going to sleep and ignoring them all together seems like the best option he’s got. It’s not necessarily the best decision, but it’s one currently available to him. He was used to baring his heart to everyone that would and would not listen, his songs filled with the bitter sting of heartbreak as much as heroics, but doing it before a crowd of patrons felt somehow… distant. Like he was saying it all with a mask on, or in another language. That veil of impersonality, thin as it was, kept him from feeling too vulnerable. But speaking about his feelings and his hears like this, one on one? Jaskier wasn’t sure he had it in him, not after everything. 

And so, pretending like none of it existed, even for a couple of hours, was all he could do. 

“I was, yes,” he says, finally, tucking himself closer to Geralt’s chest. The witcher’s medallion hums softly from his proximity, and that’s yet another thing that Jaskier can’t allow himself to think too hard about right now. “He tends to like Novigrad, actually. And, surprisingly, he knows how to make it bearable for his companions. That was probably the only time I visited that I didn’t want to leave immediately after stepping foot beyond the city walls.”

Geralt chuckles, a genuinely amused little sound in his throat, and noses at Jaskier’s hair, clearly also ready to drift off. After they’d left the inn, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other for two more nights, but after that, they did settle into something more gentle, the precious hours of darkness, which were now only getting shorter with the summer heat, were dedicated to sleep rather than heady passion. As fun as it was, the Path demanded it’s due, and they were both experienced enough to know that being well-rested is more important than having fun. 

That, however, in no way meant that they’ve had enough of each other. Sleeping through the night left them with more than enough energy to spend it during the day, be it on a bank of a river, while the horses were enjoying the cool waters, or hidden somewhere in an apple grove, aways from the prying eyes of passers by.  

“If the Coën that I know heard that, he probably would’ve claimed this realm’s version of him either out of his mind or possessed by a demon,” Geralt says, with a soft laugh. “For as long as I’ve known him, he’d always hated Novigrad with a burning passion. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure that there is nothing on the entire Continent that irritates him more than the Free City. He doesn’t even like to talk about it, let alone visit it.”

Jaskier echoes Geralt’s laughter, trying to imagine the man that he’d never seen but, in some way, knows. Geralt had told him that Coën’s counterpart from the other realm also has black hair and green eyes, that he’s also tall and never dresses in anything other than black. He does, however, have a beard that Geralt had confessed to being jealous of, and that is not something that Jaskier can imagine.

“I don’t think I would’ve recognised him if I were to run into him in a tavern, like I did with you,” he finally says, and Geralt hums, like it’s a question that they’ve both been trying to settle for a while. “But then again, you are more recognisable. With the hair and all.”

“I’m quite surprised, actually,” Geralt says, shifting again and making Jaskier groan with frustration. He’d already learned that the witcher loves tossing and turning before finally falling asleep. “At how quickly you believed me. You know, with your Geralt being—”

“Not mine,” Jaskier corrects him, without even thinking anymore.

Geralt barely stops to acknowledge his words.

“Yes, yes, not yours,” he says dismissively. “With him being the famed White Wolf and everything. I could’ve been an imposter or a mage disguised behind an illusion, for all you knew.”

Jaskier’s already half-asleep, and he’s not willing to think about the what’s, if’s and maybe’s of the whole situation. So in response he just grumbles:

“I’ve asked you questions that only Geralt could know the answers to, and you knew the answers.”

The witcher, it seems, is in no mood to sleep, for he goes on, and Jaskier has no idea where he’d gained that sudden burst of energy right before going to bed. The fire warms him, makes his body feel pleasantly heavy, and Jaskier allows himself to drift further and further off, without really listening to Geralt and his lectures about how the bard should be more careful with trusting strangers. 

After a while, the length of which Jaskier would not be able to determine even if he wanted to, he realises that there’s been a stretch of silence, indicating that Geralt is waiting for some sort of an answer from him. Having missed most of what’s been said, the bard just waves his wrist, pulling the covers closer to his chest.

“Alright,” he says, the words slightly slurred by sleep. “If I ever meet yet another version of you, I promise not to trust him no matter what he tells me.”

Behind him, Geralt makes a sound of approval, like Jaskier had passed a test that the bard wasn’t even aware he was taking. 

“And what of Coën?” he asks, after a few more seconds, jerking Jaskier out of his sleep once again. The bard frowns, having lost the thread of conversation. 

“What of Coën?” he repeats, willing himself to stay awake long enough to finally answer all the questions that Geralt has decided to ask him instead of keeping them to himself until the morning.

“Say that you were to recognize him, somehow,” Geralt goes on, and it sounds like he’d either explained it thrice over already or it’s simply the most obvious thing one can think of. Jaskier doesn’t have the willpower to figure out which one it is. “Would you have approached him, slept with him? That is, if we pretend that the Coën that I know is a bit more easy-going. That is to say — would you have done with him all that you have done with me?”

Whether Geralt is trying to figure something out for himself or simply has nothing better to do, Jaskier does not know, and he’s way too tired to try and figure it out. But, regardless, he replies:

“No, I wouldn’t. I’m too—”

“You’re too used to your Coën,” Geralt says, before Jaskier can finish. Despite the stress on the possessive pronoun, he doesn’t sound jealous, rather wistful, like he’d found another part of an equation that he’s trying to solve.

This time, Jaskier doesn’t correct him, finally falling deep into the dreamless darkness of sleep.

[read it on ao3]

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Request Statuses

Okay, said I’d do this yesterday, so here it is. I’m not naming who made what specific request here, whether anonymous or not. Just dropping them here so everyone can check on the status of their request.

If you don’t see your request here for whatever reason, please let me know!! I haven’t deleted any since I joined Tumblr, so there is always a chance that it didn’t go through.

I will update this regularly as statuses change; and when I update it, I will update the date next to the link in my Masterpost.

Created 30 Oct 2023

Updated 2 Dec 2023

Tongue Ring (Sanji x Reader)

Status: Accepted, actively in-progress

Only One Bed (Mihawk x Reader)

Status: Accepted, outlining, definitely NSFW and it’s also going to be hilarious

Marine!Reader x whomever of your favorite pirates would be more likely to seduce her to the dark-side.

Status: Accepted, brainstorming, definitely going to be Shanks because he absolutely would a thousand times over.

Sanji x picky eater!reader x (possibly) Zoro

Status: Accepted, brainstorming may be more than one part but probably no more than three, definitely going the love triange route and including Zoro.

“Tell them you’re pregnant” story with Ace and/or Sabo

Status: Accepted, but delayed until I get further in the manga, bear with me on that. I will definitely be writing Ace once I re-familiarize with him. This is the first time I’ve reread the manga in probably ten years. I barely scratched the surface with Sabo last time I read, mostly only flashbacks, so I’m not yet familiar with him at ALL.

Headcanons: How the Straw Hats (East Blue crew in particular help each individual member cope/recover when something triggers them.

Status: Accepted, brainstorming, may be a few

Sanji x secretly-a-princess!Reader

Status: Accepted, outlining, in development, will be multi-chapter, and there’s going to be a puppy for some reason.

Sanji x curvy!Reader headcanon

Status: Accepted, not yet in development

Too small, oneshot fic(s), Shanks x Reader and possibly others, NSFW

Status: Accepted, in development for Shanks, may or may not do Mihawk as well

Sanji x Reader with eating disorder

Status: Accepted, brainstorming, also researching because it's a subject that deserves to be depicted realistically

OPLA character x S/O!Reader who looks cute and bubbly but is actually quite strong.

Status: Accepted, brainstorming, leaning strongly toward Zoro because I love the idea of him with a bubbly lil s/o

Headcanons (inspo from Because I Got High) where reader either gets too messed up from smoke/alcohol or side effects from something like anxiety meds, and character has to comfort/calm them down

Status: Accepted, planning to do Sanji, Zoro, Shanks, Mihawk, and Buggy, got a little of it drafted out for Zoro, Shanks, and Mihawk

OPLA!Sanji and/or Zoro x Reader; drabble on a reader who is older than them (mid 30s), who thinks she is “too old”

Status: Accepted, brainstorming, I’m in my early 30s so heavy relate

Mihawk x Reader; he meets a singer at Baratie and falls for her (likely being in denial over it)

Status: Accepted, not yet in development. Probably going to be a two parter at least, and also shamelessly throwing my own flair in because I sing/play guitar, so reader’s probably going to be a guitarist as well, as long as that’s cool.

General Mishanks request:

Status: Tentatively accepted, probably going to aim toward younger Mishanks (early 20s). I’ve only done one Mishanks headcanon re:how they first met/became rivals, so this is a little out of my ballpark, but I’m willing to give it a try. If I feel I can’t write it in a way that I’m satisfied with, I will let you know.

Comedic NSFW, Mihawk x Reader

Status: Accepted, brainstorming, already cackling like a witch standing over a cauldron over this one

IMihawk x Reader request, fluffy, Mihawk needing a bit of reassurance because he's a bit insecure of how tight Reader's friendship with shanks is becoming

Status: Accepted, brainstorming, will probably start outlining soon. Actually going have something akin to this a bit in my Mihawk x OC fic, Hearing Problems, but it's still going to be a couple chapters down the road before I get there, so this would be a good way to explore the idea.

Headcanons request for Shanks, Zoro, Sanji, Mihawk and Buggy taking Reader to a masquerade ball

Status: Accepted, going to have to study the fundamentals of masquerade balls a lil and decide how I want to go about this exactly. If it's okay a couple of the scenarios may be them meeting Reader AT the ball. Because I feel like Shanks would probably just gatecrash for the hell of it (he heard there was an open bar and just went for it); and the thought of Zoro getting lost and accidentally stumbling into a masquerade ball with no idea what's going on has got me 🤭

Shanks x Reader x Buggy, age gap, Shanks and Buggy get isekai'd into our world, Halloween vibes, further details here

Status: Accepted, early brainstorming stages, this just seems like it would be so much fun thank you 🙏

Mihawk x Reader, proposal

Status: Accepted, will be treated as a sequel to YSAM and Ten Years, details here

[pepperonijem]

vi. silly things & sensible people || all my love

"Silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way." - Emma; Jane Austen

Summary: sometimes all anyone needs is a gentle nudge in the right direction Pairing: high school!bucky x f!reader Warnings: food mentions Word Count: 3.1k A/N: we all need a friend like wanda <3 || sorry for the delay! I had a job interview this week that I spent all weekend prepping for... i passed! (i'm moving to korea this summer lol)

previous chapter || back to library || next chapter

Wanda opened her notes app and started a new note, titling it with the date and began her weekly letter to her pen pal, wanting to update them on her life... or mostly her best friend's life.

You will NEVER guess what’s been happening this semester. Did you guess? Well whatever you guessed is probably wrong… unless you guessed that my best friend just confessed to her crush without TELLING me about it first. 

It was absolutely insane, I was getting out of class and on my way to find her and Steve for lunch when I saw a HUGE crowd by Steve’s class and right at the center of it all was Bucky Barnes and the only girl crazy enough to give him a handwritten note in the middle of passing period. I only saw the end of it, but it was… brutal. I’ve known Bucky long enough to know he isn’t the friendliest person out there but even for him… it made me so upset. He didn’t even take her card, can you believe it? 

Honestly, this whole time I didn’t realize she actually liked him enough to confess to him. I always thought it was a passing crush, but I guess I was wrong. She was pretty badass for that. But obviously Steve didn’t think so. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so dejected. I wonder if he’ll ever work himself up to do the same thing.

OH. But the craziest part is that a week after she confessed to him, she ended up moving into his house. Turns out her dad and Bucky’s dad were college besties. Isn’t that insane? It’s just like this anime Natasha made me watch with her once. We were in tears the whole time but uh, that’s a story for another day. Or a story for never. She swore me to secrecy after that night.

We actually didn’t realize that she had moved in with him until after the big exam we took when Bucky stormed in and she handed him a picture of the two of them asleep together at the dining table. 

Then that night, she ended up spraining her ankle and Bucky had to take her home so he didn’t get to go to IHOP with us. Sad for him, that was a fun night. Not for Steve… again. By the end of the night he was crying to Sam’s rendition of an ABBA song and chugging down strawberry milkshakes. He’s lactose intolerant and he slept over at my house that night. So… not much fun for me either. I–

“Wanda, get off your damn phone and help us move the couch.” Wanda looked up from her notes app to see Natasha, Tony and Scott waiting for her to grab onto the fourth corner of the loveseat.

“Sorry, sorry,” Wanda apologized before rushing to help them move the couch to the opposite end of the room. “Why are we doing this again?”

Natasha let out a grunt as they dropped the couch ungracefully onto the floor. “Scott thought it would be cool to have a pillow fort.”

“We’re doing this for a pillow fort?” Tony asked in shock. “I thought Scott’s mom just wanted us to redecorate.”

“Tony, why would his mom want both of the couches facing the walls on opposite ends of the room?” Natasha asked with a roll of her eyes. Tony shrugged his shoulders and plopped himself down on the couch. 

Natasha dropped down beside him with a sigh. “When is everyone else gonna get here?” she asked.

“Well Steve had to pick up Sam, but he should be here soon.” Wanda looked down at her watch at the time to compare it against the ETA Steve had sent earlier.

Tony checked his phone as he leaned over the back of one couch. “Rhodey just texted. He just parked outside.”

“What about Bucky?” Scott asked. 

Natasha shrugged as the doorbell rang and Wanda went to answer it, letting Rhodey in. “Sorry, I had to pick up the kid,” Peter walked into the kitchen with a proud grin as Rhodey rolled his eyes.

“Yeah but we brought food,” Peter exclaimed as he placed a brown paper bag on the kitchen counter. 

“You brought your Chipotle,” Rhodey clarified as he walked to the fridge to grab himself a bottle of water. 

Scott laughed and shook his head as he took the bag and handed it to Rhodey to stick in the fridge. “Did you guys happen to get Bucky too?” 

Rhodey shook his head in response. “I offered him a ride, but he said he had plans.”

“Plans?” Scott echoed. “We are his plans. He’s never missed a board game night.” Wanda could hear the pout in his voice. 

“He didn’t give me any details but I think it has to do with his roomie.” Rhodey commented, checking through his text messages to see if he left any details out. “He said he’ll be busy all day.”

“His roomie, huh?” Tony repeated with a raised eyebrow. “Have you guys noticed he’s been weird lately?”

“Yeah,” Natasha replied. “Last week I asked him if he liked her–”

Before Natasha could continue, Tony walked toward the group gathered by the island, eager to join the gossip. “Yes!” He exclaimed. “Bucky always sends these weird memes that no one gets exam days, but last week, we had a literature exam and guess what?”

“What?” Rhodey asked flatly. Natasha nudged him in response, reminding him to be polite.

“He didn’t send anything,” Tony noted. “When I asked him what happened, he told me he was up the night before studying… but Bucky never studies for literature exams because he’s a nerd who already read the books.”

Before anyone could say anything else, the doorbell rang and in came Steve and Sam. “Hey,” Sam greeted. “What did we miss? We bought drinks.”

Wanda looked over at Natasha as Steve walked in, silently begging her not to finish her sentence from earlier around Steve. Natasha gave her a subtle nod as she attempted to shift the attention to the newcomers.

“Where’s the rest?” Natasha asked as Sam set down his drink on the counter while Steve found a spot beside Wanda.

“Oh,” Sam replied. “I meant we stopped over to buy ourselves drinks from Starbucks. That’s why we’re late.”

“Remind me to start being more specific when I tell  you guys to bring things,” Scott replied with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Anyway, what else were you saying, Tony?”

Tony thought for a second, remembering his train of thought. “Right, so I did some more investigating,” he continued. “And when we were getting into groups for our Shakespeare analysis – I swear I’ve never seen him move this fast, not even at a football game – I saw him join his roomie’s group. He even smiled when she waved at him. I’ve never seen him smile at anyone.” 

“He’s not exaggerating,” Natasha confirmed with an eager nod of her head. “I didn’t even realize they were friends, but it seems like lately they’ve been besties or something. Isn’t she supposed to be your best friend, Steve?”

Steve put his hands up in defense before speaking, his voice just a little too loud and too high to sound calm and collected. “She can do whatever she wants,” he said. 

Although the other boys couldn’t tell, Wanda knew Steve didn’t fully believe the spite in his own words. So coming to her friend’s defense, she joined in. “Yeah, but isn’t Bucky yours?” She asked Natasha, turning the question back to her.

“Chill out,” Natasha shrugged her shoulders. “I was just curious to see if you guys knew anything else.”

“We don’t,” Steve said flatly. “Are we going to play or what?” Natasha and Wanda shared a look, realizing that Steve was feeling a lot more than he was willing to let on, so they accepted his change of subject. The others rushed into the living room as Wanda and Steve stayed behind.

Wanda watched as Steve leaned against the counter, pushing his forehead into his palms as he let out a sigh. Wanda stood beside him facing the opposite way, her elbows leaning against the countertop. Her heart felt heavy at the sight of her distraught best friend.

“Steve,” Wanda began gently but firmly. Steve shook his head, already knowing where this conversation was headed. “Salad. Now.”

Steve let out another sigh, running a hand through his golden hair, and Wanda wasn’t sure if he would answer her, but after a beat, he finally lifted his head. “Lettuce… I’m sad. Chicken… I’m mad. Mostly at myself,” he confessed.

“Why?” Wanda asked quietly.

“For never being brave enough to say anything,” He admitted to Wanda, hanging his head. “It’s just… we have something so good and I didn’t want to lose that. But sometimes…” he trailed off.

“Sometimes what?” Wanda pushed.

“It’s just,” Steve sighed. “Do you remember that time in the eighth grade when the three of us got in that huge fight?”

Wanda let out a dry laugh. “The one where you thought the two of us were dating behind your back because we went to a movie together?”

Steve grew a small but sad smile. “Not just any movie,” he clarified. “You watched The Hunger Games without me. It was my favorite book.”

Wanda nudged him playfully. “Steve, you had the flu,” she reminded him. “We wanted to take you but your mom said if she found out you snuck out and we got the flu from you she would stop making us that sponge cake we like. That would’ve been the end of our 14-year old lives.”

Steve let out a chuckle as he nodded at the memory. “I know,” he continued. “But for a week after that, I felt so left out. Like suddenly you were her best friend and she was yours, and I was the odd one out.”

“Is that why you ghosted us for a whole month?” Wanda asked, eyes wide with surprise as Steve nodded in shame. 

“It was dumb, I know,” he cringed at the memories of that time. “But I think I was jealous. Of you.” 

Wanda snorted a laugh at his comment. “Of me? Oh buddy,” she laughed as she pat Steve on the shoulder.

“I know, I know,” Steve ran his hand through his hair again. “But anyway, I think that’s kind of how I feel right now. Like she’s everything to me… but I’m not to her. And it’s not like she owes me anything… I think I just keep thinking, what could I have done differently?”

Wanda thought through her next words carefully, letting silence rest between the two of them. Well, silence was relative. The others were in the next room arguing about whether or not it was fair to let Peter choose to be Colonel Mustard when he doesn’t know how to play Clue.

 “I can’t say I know what you’re feeling,” Wanda began. “But for me, I think that when I start focusing on things like that, my mind gets stormy. I stop seeing things clearly, and I start doubting myself and the way I fit into my friendships. But then you two always remind me that’s not real. What is real is that I would give everything for the two of you, and if I needed it, both of you would do the same for me. It’s one of the most stable truths of the universe. 

At the same time, I also know that both of you would want me to be happy, and to choose what makes me happy. The same thing I would do for you. And I will always help you to figure out what that is when you can’t see it, like you do for me. When I remember that, the skies clear a little, and I see the sunshine again. I see you guys.”

Wanda turned to Steve, who wiped at a tear forming in the corner of his eye. She gave him a gentle pat on the back and turned to leave him to his own thoughts for a bit. 

Honestly, she was a bit surprised at her own wisdom. She wasn’t usually the friend people came to for advice, but maybe they should start, she thought. She hoped her words got through to Steve, as seeing her best friend hurting was weighing heavily on her as well. She was, however, very excited to tell her pen pal about this situation.

After she made her way into the living room, Natasha moved to sit beside her on the couch, now turned to face the television. “Is he okay?” she asked, nodding towards the kitchen where Steve still stood by himself.

“Yeah, he’s just raiding the leftovers,” Wanda joked. She was lying, but she felt that Steve wouldn’t want to explain to everyone else what had him so emotional.

Natasha nodded, not fully believing her words, but accepting them nonetheless. “Do you wanna play the next round?” She asked instead. 

“Nah,” Wanda pulled out her phone. “I have to work on my letter.”

“Oh to your pen pal right?” Natasha asked. “I can’t believe you’ve been writing to each other since middle school. Why don’t you just ask for his number?” She attempted to look over Wanda’s hands to see what she was writing down.

“Yeah, ask for his number and invite her to the winter formal,” Sam chimed in. “Unless he’s catfishing you.” The group laughed and Wanda laughed along.

“Yeah, yeah,” she rolled her eyes and continued typing in her note from earlier, updating her letter with the most recent events. However she didn’t get very far before she got a call from Bucky. “Bucky’s calling me?” She asked aloud in surprise.

“Answer him!” They all called in unison, as they looked away from the game to flock towards Wanda, even Steve, who walked in from the kitchen. Wanda looked over to him and he responded with a small smile and a nod, encouraging her to answer the phone.

“Wanda,” Bucky’s voice filled the room from Wanda’s phone speaker. “I need your help.” The group gathered around Wanda all looked at her with wide eyes as they tried to contain their curiosity. However it was Scott who couldn’t hide his gasp, even as Sam slapped his hand over his mouth.

“Hey guys,” Bucky sighed. “Sorry I couldn’t make it but I really need to borrow Wanda for a second.” 

Wanda chuckled as she watched the group disperse with disappointed looks and resume playing their game. She walked back over to the kitchen, and Steve headed for the living room to give her privacy. 

“What’s up Buck?” Wanda asked when she was finally alone.

“Uh,” Bucky sounded like he was thinking about what to say. “How do you feel about a road trip?” 

Wanda couldn’t hide her surprise at the question. “Road trip?” She repeated.

“I can give you the details later,” Bucky said. “But just tell me you’ll come with me.”

“When?” Wanda questioned. “And why me?” 

“Tonight. Right now even,” He sounded panicked and Wanda was beginning to feel the same. “I called you because Natasha already said no.” As if on cue, Natasha had popped her head into the kitchen and Wanda waved her over. 

“Nat,” Wanda began. “Why the hell is Bucky asking me to go on a road trip with him right now?”

Natasha let out a chuckle. “Just hear the poor boy out,” she suggested as Wanda looked at her suspiciously.

“I need to pick up your friend’s dad,” Bucky explained. “Long story short, she was upset he couldn’t make it to the awards, so I reached out to him and basically now he agreed to be here for one night, and his flight is landing soon and the airport is over an hour away and I don’t want to drive alone, but I can’t bring her with me because it’s a surprise and –”

“Woah,” Wanda stopped his rambling with a chuckle. “Long story long, more like.” She looked back at Natasha who raised her eyebrow as if to say See now? Wanda nodded back to her as she let out a hum of thought before an idea popped in her head.

“I’ll come,” Wanda said with a mischievous smile that was hidden by her gentle voice. Bucky let out a sigh of relief, and Wanda could hear his shoulders relax. “But you have to come pick me up from Scott’s house, since I left my car at home.”

“Sure, yeah,” Bucky agreed desperately to her condition. “Thank you so much.”

Twenty minutes later, when the doorbell rang, Wanda almost felt guilty for what she was about to do. But when she thought about it some more, she reminded himself of what she told Bucky just earlier, and her conscience clears just in time for her to open the door to see a panicked Bucky, dressed in sweatpants, a hoodie, and mismatched socks.

Someone will thank me later, she thinks to herself as she pretends to double over in pain. “Wanda?” Bucky asked in concern. “Are you okay?”

“I ate someone’s leftovers,” she pretended to let out a grunt of pain. “And it’s really not agreeing with me,” she cursed under her breath. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can come with you.” She apologized.

“No, no,” Bucky dismissed her. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” He walked in and shut the door, leading Wanda to sit down at the dining table as Natasha walked over with a medicine tablet and a glass of water. 

“Here,” she handed them to Wanda. “Don’t worry Bucky, we’ll find someone to fill in.” Before Bucky could protest, Natasha had walked to the living room and came back with a confused and annoyed looking Steve.

“Steve said he’d be glad to go with you,” Natasha beamed. He very much did not look like he was glad to go with Bucky.

“Uh…” Steve began before Natasha nudged him from behind. “Yep, yeah, I’d be happy to… sit in a car with you for an hour and a half… to pick up my best friend’s dad…”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but after looking down to see the time, his eyes widened in worry. “Okay, perfect,” he said instead. “Let’s go before we’re late. Bye you guys, tell the guys I said hey.” and he grabbed Steve’s wrist and headed out the door.

Wanda and Natasha followed behind them, Wanda now forgetting about her act and leaning against the post on the front steps.

“Do you think they’ll hate us?” Wanda asked Natasha as they watched the two boys get into Bucky’s car from the front porch.

“Oh absolutely. For a month at least.”

[the-era-of-shadow]

Hi, I think it's about time I give you another update

The last one was in December 2023, I think? New Year's Eve.

Most of what I described in that post has come and gone - and then some, and other stuff mentioned more vaguely is more near future than distant, and I can be more direct!

But first, I wanna bring up the video that's meant to go with Musings. The big one that I said would cost me some to have what I need for it. It's still in production! It's just. A lot. I'm hoping for it to come out within the year. I bet that makes it clear as to just how much I've taken on. Whoops-

In the meantime, I do have a LOT more of a simplistic video in the works that ties into Musings less directly! And also the next part of Vanilla's Self Reports should be coming soon too!

But now, onto the fics!

The pinned post has been updated a few times between these two updates - but I'd like to point out that it was updated again today! I think I mentioned it before in December's update, but I have a schedule that goes all the way to the end of Arc 2 - and I am slowly drip feeding it to you! - Here's today's rations :]

[MINI FIC] What is Paradise? - Release: June 30th

[FULL FICS] Mission: FOX FRENZY & Mimicry of A Rivalry - Dual Release! Release Date has been internally decided, but I'm not gonna put that info out publicly just yet - just in case I have to delay for whatever reason

[MINI (probably?) FIC] This is Who We Are - Release Date Unknown - will be after MFF & MoaR

[MULTI CHAPTER] The Day The Moon Died Act 2 Case 02: The Report of An Unreliable Narrator - Release Date(s) Unknown - Will be after TiWWA

Also, make sure to stay tuned into the @violet-hill-saga blog~

That's all I needed to say for now! I'll try to make these updates more frequent, I swear ^^

[daemonoferror]

Asgard's Bard- Chapter 3

TW Phobia of birds, swears, Heimdall not being in a heimdall x reader fic.

Summary: Odin got you a gift, how nice of him! Also PROBABLY musical historical inaccuracies? Sheet music definitely is wrong. But I tried my best. My defense is if it's wrong, the dwarves or Aesir probably invented it early, okay?

--------

You're grateful when sunlight floods your room and signifies the start of a new day. At best you got in a nap, but you aren't tired. You feel energized, and the sun rising finally means it's a reasonable time to get out of your room.

Before leaving you made sure to grab the talharpa and its bow off the wall. It's not as familiar to you as the lyre, but it's close enough. You're just excited to play something at the pub, a personal mission in mind to breathe life into the space often occupied by the dead warriors.

You step out of your room and to the hall. You set the instrument on the table, and get a plate of food. It occurs to you that you could eat at the pub, but perhaps it's better to delay your arrival, as to not be cooped up in a tavern all day long. You sit down with a large plate of food, and an herbal drink with it. It looks and smells delicious. You only get a few bites in before a booming voice behind you makes you jump, almost choking on your food.

"Bard." Thor says. You start coughing, sending little shocks of pain through your back. You had almost forgotten that pain, your soft bed doing wonders for it while you laid awake, antsy.

"Thor!" You exclaim through your final coughs, taking a drink to help. "You startled me. How may I help you?" You clear your throat.

He stares you down, and you cannot see a single thought behind those sad eyes. "The All-Father is waiting for you outside." He says after a moment.

"This early? What for?" Thor shrugs, but for a split second there's a smile on his lips that he has to force back. He clearly knows something, but you'll let it slide. "Well, can I finish my breakfast first?" You ask, it'd be so sad to throw away a perfect meal.

Thor seems to think for a minute. A long minute, long enough to make you wonder if he's telepathically communicating with the All-Father for an answer. "Yes." He says at last, and he sounds confident in the answer. So much so he sits down next to you, making you smile as you take another bite and thank him for his patience. "What's that?" He asks, pointing at the talharpa.

"It's an intrustment, pretty similar to a lyre or harp, just with a bow string." You explain in between bites of food.

He chuckles, "I had thought your instrument came with a weapon." He says, pointing at the bow for it.

It makes you snort, "Ha! Yeah, you might get one good wack in, but it couldn't hold an arrow if that's where your mind goes."

"Good to know." He jokes, though he seems to seriously take note of the information.

"I was going to play it at the tavern today." You mention in between bites, "I guess that'll have to wait a while now." You mumble.

"I'll bring it with me. Was heading there anyways." Thor offers immediately. He reaches out for the instrument, and picks it up with more care than you'd expect- like he'd break it if he wasn't extremely gentle.

Figuring you'd be tired or busy with whatever the All-Father needed you for, you protest "Sure, but the All-Father's-" Thor interrupts you.

"It won't take you all day." Thor dismisses with a shrug, "probably." He tacks on. He's smiling again, and something tells you he's not great at keeping secrets. Part of his no thinking policy, perhaps. At least it reassures you whatever the All-Father wants isn't dangerous, or grueling. It's exciting, and encourages you to eat faster.

You shrug, and agree to let Thor take the instrument with him. "Alright. Thank you, Thor." He only grunts in response. You try to chat a little longer as you finish your meal, but the conversation dies fast. Thor doesn't seem to like speaking more than he has to, and clearly nothing else you have to say is interesting enough to him. Still, he must appreciate your company because he stays by your side until you finish eating.

The empty dishes clatter a bit as you stack them together and pick them up, sliding out of your seat to properly put them away. "I'm gonna head out." Thor tells you as you clean up, standing up with the talharpa in hand. He didn't wait for you to say goodbye before he started to leave, and soon after you'd follow after him out of the great hall.

All-Father is waiting right outside for you. He smiles when you step out, and extends his arms to you. "Ah! There you are!"

"Apologies for being late-" you start, you had no right to keep a god- much less the All-Father- waiting.

"No, no, don't worry about it. You're here now, that's the important part. C'mere, there's somethin' important I need your help with." Odin beckons you to follow him, but you're weary. A few feet away is a swirling circle of black feathers, just like the one Odin had stepped into yesterday, and been swarmed by ravens before disappearing. It was deeply unsettling to you. You knew of tales of Odin using the birds to travel, but it seems quite impractical and truthfully horrifying in person. Imagining a raven full of hatred flying straight at you made you grimace, and had you frozen in place. Odin recognizes the fear in your expression, walks beside you, and pats your shoulder, "I know, it's scary the first few times. But they're harmless. They can't move you anywhere if you don't allow 'em to, and it's so fast you don't even notice you left the ground. It'll be fine!" He reassures you, and gives you a gentle shove to make you stumble a couple feet. It's exactly what you needed to remind yourself you can walk, taking a few small steps towards the circle.

You do your damnedest to steel your nerves. You have to trust the All-Father, and you don't want to waste his time. So with a deep breath and one big step, you enter the circle.

"Ha! There you go!" Odin laughs, standing beside you as you squeeze your eyes tight. The flapping of wings and occasionally squawk makes you flinch. Hundreds of birds circling you almost like prey- it feels nightmarish. For a split second the ground is gone from under you, and your heart drops to your stomach. You nearly collapsed on the ground when it's over. You try to catch your breath, not quite sure where it went in the first place, a hand over your pounding heart.

Odin chuckles, "See? Not that bad." But his expression falls, seeing how shaken up you are, "Eh, well, you'll get used to it." He dismisses. Yeah, you'll get used to it, you repeat to yourself. It was only for a second, you're okay. Once your breathing evens and the ground beneath you feels stable under you, the realization you're in a new place sinks in, and you look up.

It's the middle of a city. There's a large statue next to you of Odin- at least the depiction of him you knew before meeting him. The town seems to be built around the lush greenery of the realm, the beauty of which could make you jealous compared to Midgard. It's extremely humid, almost unbearably so. The most stunning part though is the architecture. Small circular houses and buildings built into the landscape. Everything looks expertly crafted, with ornate details.

"Welcome to Svartalfheim." Odin says, and the name instantly clicks with you. The home realm of the dwarves. The craftsmanship makes sense, then. "Follow me." Odin commands, and you do as told, tripping over your feet a bit, excited to see more of the land's beauty. "So," All-Father begins as you walk. Out of nowhere one of his terrible ravens swoops out of the sky, straight towards you. Terrified, you duck, but the bird lands perfectly on Odin's shoulder. "Muninn found this last night." You straighten your posture to look at what All-Father was holding. A torn piece of paper. "I'm assume it's yours?"

The poem. Shit. Throwing it to the ground probably wasn't the best idea. Should've burned it instead. "Oh, yes. I'm sorry, let me just-" you go to take the page from him. He obviously tries to hold it away from you, but he's slow. It's enough to make you pause and give up, though, to ensure you don't seem rude.

"Eh, don't worry about it. Just know for future reference, Asgard had very strict rules against littering." He chuckles, "I take it your first time meeting Heimdall wasn't all you imagined?"

"Not- quite." You say begrudgingly, reminding yourself you're speaking to his father, the All-Father, who might not appreciate someone speaking negatively of his son.

"Yeah, he can be an asshole." Odin laughs, and his blunt reply makes you laugh too. "What'd he do now? Insult you? Yell at you? Accuse you of treachery?"

"Sort of all of it." You admit. The two of you walk across a bridge, which Odin stops in the middle of and turns to you.

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. You'll have to excuse Heimdall. He takes his job very seriously and- and, well, I think he worries." Odin shrugs with a heavy sigh. He nods to himself, satisfied with his answer, and continues walking.

"Worried? He knocked me to the ground instead of just asking me to step away from the lift. I'm sure he was so worried." You grumble to yourself sarcastically. You could almost feel the sharp pain in your stomach where the hilt of the sword hit you.

"Yes!" Odin answers despite you clearly not trying to speak to him. You worry you've struck a nerve, he seems passionate while he explains, "He's especially particular about no one going up on that wall. Thor went up there when he was drunk once, right? Dumb bastard lost his balance and fell off." You gasp! You had no idea! You'd never heard a story about it before either. All-Father just shrugs, "He had mjölnir, he was fine! But Heimdall hasn't liked anyone else on the wall since." His expression softens, he seems to realize he told a secret not meant to be shared and quickly tacks on, "ah, I probably shouldn't have mentioned it- it's a sore topic to both of em. You won't say anything, will ya?" He chuckles, a little embarrassed. He's like any other parent realizing they telling an embarrassing story about their kids.

"Of course not." You promise with a big smile. You could write a song about the great fall the God of Thunder took off the wall, and the horrified look the Watcher of the Aesir wore as he witnessed it. Except that seems like an excellent way to make an enemy of two gods, and would not bode well for you.

"Good. We're almost there, it's this building right up ahead." All-Father directs the both of you back on track. You can hear muffled music from inside. It's not a tune you recognize, in fact it sounds unfinished, by the sudden pauses after a note that didn't quite fit in, followed by the same melody with a new note. Still, the parts you could hear were beautiful, and the chance to meet a fellow bard was one you always met with excitement.

--

The building you enter is a forge. The heat inside doesn't offer relief from the humidity outside. In the corner of the room, the one furthest from the furnaces and other equipment, was a dwarf, sitting on the floor with an instrument in his lap. "Ah, All-Father. We were starting to wonder when you would arrive." He says curtly, without looking up or breaking from playing.

"All-Father!" Another dwarf drops what she's working on with a surprise gasp, turning to the both of you.

"Yeah yeah, it's me." Odin addresses the startled blacksmith. "Is it ready yet?" He asks impatiently.

"Yeah, of course! I put it away so it wouldn't get dirty. I'll go get it." She doesn't wait for a response before shuffling off to a connecting room. Odin seems annoyed by this, crossing his arms and tapping his foot as he waits.

In the meantime you walk over and address the guy playing music, "That song is beautiful."

His eyes dart up to look at you, seemingly accessing if you could be mocking him. "Thank you." He says, with a little semblance of a proud smile. "It's still a work in progress, something is off, just can't place what."

"Maybe you could try-" All-Father interrupts you, just now noticing you two talking.

"Ah, yes" He introduces you to the man and then tries to do the reverse, "and this is, uh, uh-" he snaps his fingers, as if trying to remember as best he can the man's name.

It goes on for an embarrassing long time until the man gives in, "Raeb." He answers for the All-Father.

"Raeb, Raeb, of course. He's a... uh. I don't know? A musician of some sort?" All-Father states with a shrug. He's clearly disinterested, but perhaps feels it important to talk, even if he has nothing to say.

"Sure." Raeb doesn't agree or disagree, but is clearly irritated. There's obvious tension between the dwarves and Odin. Neither of them seems to like the other, or even want to tolerate the other's presence. But the All-Father has been nothing but kind to you, even without being an Aesir. So the hate doesn't make much sense to you. "And you are the new 'bard of Asgard'? I am riddled with envy." He says dryly, words saturated with sarcasm. The smile on his face tells you he's joking, but the remark makes Odin scoff.

"You do not have to converse with him. It's probably best to ignore him." He advises you. Raeb takes this as his que to turn his attention back to his music.

You frown and tell him, "it's always nice to meet a fellow bard, though."

"Likewise." Is his short response, not looking back at you, indicating the interaction was over. At the same time, the other dwarf re-enters.

"People gotta stop moving my things." She mumbles under her breath. "Sorry bout that! Here it is." She beams.

She holds out a lyre, like the one you had at home, but so much grander. It's made of a red wood, with the sides plated in gold. It's covered in engravings, and you can tell it took a lot of effort and care to create. It's a beautiful instrument, and with a nod of approval, the woman walks past Odin to hand it over to you. You think this must be what had Thor so happy, the surprise All-Father had planned, but you didn't assume anything until it was in your hands. You treat it as if it's made of glass and easy to break, beford slowly looking to Odin with a speechless grin.

"Well? Play it. Make sure it's in tune and such." He encourages you, and very carefully you strum the lyre. It plays perfectly, and the strings glow a soft gold after they've been plucked.

"What-" you mutter in shock, turning the lyre back to you to watch the glow settle, the strings returning to their natural color.

Raeb speaks up at your wanderment, "I prefer mechanical elements to mine, but magic works just the same. Sort of." He mutters the last part with a shrug.

"Raeb was a big help. Don't let him fool you, he was so excited someone wanted a musical instrument. He had so much fun designing it." The lady, who apparently will stay unnamed, tells you.

"Well, it was all my idea. Unless you hate it. If you hate it, then... er, I don't know why we came here, why're we here?" All-Father looks around the room as if he's just an old man with a failing memory. When he's done with the bit, he laughs, "You don't hate it though, do you?"

"No, I love it, it's gorgeous! Thank you!" You beam brightly, holding the lyre close to your chest.

"Glad to hear it. In that case, we shouldn't linger. I have another matter I need to discuss with you." Odin kind of abruptly turns to the door, starting to leave without another word.

"Oh. Yeah, well- good day to the both of you!" You tell the dwarves as you leave so you can keep up with All-Father. Raeb waves to you in reply. A little ways away from the store, another circle of ravens are forming, and you feel your stomach twist. "What is it you want to discuss?"

"Well, it'll be easier to explain back at my study. There's a piece of music I want to give you. It's special, though, I found it while exploring the realms." His explanation stopped short as he stepped into the circle. He looks at you and frowns at your apparent uncertainty. "You ready?"

You take a deep breath and nod. You take a big step into the circle and stand beside him. As you close your eyes tight and hold your breath, Odin grips your shoulder. The birds flock around you, and it's still just as terrifying as before, but this time your brain knows enough to block it out, like a performance you were nervous about. The hand on your shoulder reassured you, to. When your feet didn't touch the floor, you figured it had to be already because Odin didn't budge in the slightest.

When it was over, All-Father patted your shoulder before stepping away. You breathe out and open your eyes. You're in Odin's study, and he's already scouring through each shelf and drawer for the piece of music.

"So, you've noticed all the snow in midgard, right?" Odin mentions as he searches.

"It's fimbulwinter, isn't it? You inquire. It had been here for over a year, with non-stop snow, but some people were still insistent that there was no way fimbulwinter had started.

"Yes, unfortunately." Odin sighs. He grabs a book and flips through it, stopping on a certain page and tearing it out. "But, I have a hunch that this can stop it." He grins and holds the paper up. "The title roughly reads 'rebirth of spring'. I found it originally carved in stone in Alfheim, and wrote it down in hopes one day I would find someone talented enough to play it."

"And I'm that someone?" You try to feign confidence and not laugh picturing yourself as some hero.

"Exactly. Now take this," he pushes the paper into your hand. "And I want you to take the next few days to learn it. Can you do that?" You look at the sheet music, it seems simple enough.

"Yes. A few days is all I need." You assure him with a nod, and he chuckles. In a few days you might regret promising that much, though.

"Good, that's what I want to hear! Go on, I've got some work to catch up on- and hey! Now so do you!" He laughs, shooing you away as he returns to his desk. As you leave he calls out to you, "Oh! And you are becoming a wonderful addition to Asgard!"

The affirmation makes your smile so big it hurts your face. You're not just a midgardian getting in the way, you're a useful member of Asgard! It feels amazing, and powerful. You walk proudly back to your room.

You sit down at your desk, lyre in hand and sheet music in front of you. With your new found confidence, you pick the first measure of notes. You think you do it correctly, but the notes sour when you play, instead of glowing gold, the strings glow a blood red. Your eyebrows furrow, and you try again, slower to ensure it's right. Once again the chords sour. Not only do the strings glow red, but an unnaturally quick annoyance falls over you. You grit your teeth and fix your posture. You huff, "okay. It's just dissonance. It's supposed to sound bad, songs do it to create interest. Just. Keep. Going."

You play the next measure, and it sounds worse than the first. "Shit." You cursed under your breath, "am I playing in the wrong scale or something?" You check, but there's nothing written to indicate one way or another. You still try adjusting the notes and replay the song. It's an improvement, but there's still some bad notes that irk you. You try to push through them and continue the song with hope it'll improve.

You play for hours, you start to lose track of time. Adjusting the notes only does so much to fix the music, and no matter how much you try to push past it, the awful sound grinds on you, makes you impatient and angry. Your teeth could just shatter from how tightly your jaw is clenched. The sound is terrible and hurts your ears. The strings do more than glow, they start to burn with every bad note you play. You don't even notice the cracks forming in the ground beneath your feet.

Something snaps within you after playing a particularly awful measure. You shoot up from the chair- knocking it over in the process- and throw the lyre down. "Shit! Fuck, fuck! Fuck this!" You scream, clasping your hands over your ears and crouch down. You can't recall ever being this angry over something so simple. Music takes patience, you know that. You shouldn't be mad, you just are.

"What are you throwing a tantrum about?" Sif's annoyed voice in your doorway catches you off guard.

"It's not me! It's this fucking lyre!" You yell. You stand up, stomp, and point at the offending instrument.

"You need to calm down." Sif orders, "I will not stand for this tone of yours." Her voice is fierce and not to be trifled with.

You scoff, but she stays and watches you pace around your room for as long as it takes you to calm down. "Why're you here?" You ask, wishing she wasn't as the anger tugged at you.

"Thor asked me to drop this off for him." She raises up the talharpa for you to see, before setting it in its place on the wall. "He was disappointed you didn't show up today."

The rage quickly switched to guilt. You promised Thor to play at the pub, but you had forgotten all about it by now! "Oh no! I didn't mean to, I didn't realize it's gotten so late!" You whine, putting your head in your hands.

"My husband does not need more reasons to drink. He needs to be a father to his daughter. It's probably for the better you didn't go." Sif assures you. She enters your room, picking the chair and lyre off the ground. "It seems you've been busy anyways. What are you working on?" She asks, tilting her head as she notices the music sheet on the desk.

"All-Father wants me to learn this in the next few days." You flop down on the bed as you explain. "But it sounds terrible."

"Hm. Did All-Father write this?" She wonders allowed as she reads over it.

"He copied it from a stone carving." You explain with a sigh, an ache in your back as you try to relax into the mattress.

"So maybe he just wrote it down wrong. Suppose we change the notes so they fit basic music theory?" She suggests and looks over at you.

"What? No! This is important, I need to play it just as it's written. There's no way the All-Father would mess this up." You protest and shoot up in bed.

"Sometimes it's necessary to break the rules." Sif states with an almost mischievous grin.

"Not when it's from the All-Father! I'm sure he'd know-" Sif cuts you off.

"The All-Father is an," she scoffs, "intelligent man. But he's called All-knowing because he wants to know everything. Not because he does know everything. If he did, he could play this piece without your help." She hands you the lyre back, and sits down in the chair across from you. "You need to be more confident in your own abilities. Forget this song for a minute." She slides it further down the desk, out of your sight. "Why don't you play a song you're familiar with?"

You don't know if you feel like playing after earlier, but you still ask, "like what?" To humor her.

"I don't know. What's the first song you learned?" A lullaby. You hadn't played it in years, but without much thought your fingers pluck the right strings. It's simple and sweet, but you get lost in playing it. The strings are a soft glowing warmth under your fingertips, no longer violent and burning like earlier. You start to feel tired as the song ends, and even Sif yawns. "That was lovely. Do more of that." She compliments as she rises for the chair.

"Thank you." You speak quietly and rub your tired eyes. You might actually be able to sleep tonight, you think.

"It's late. Get some sleep, worry about fixing All-Father's mess in the morning." Sif wishes you a goodnight before leaving your room, closing the door behind her.

Before you go to bed you play the lullaby one more time. You fall asleep only halfway through it.

[nero-draco]

My thoughts about this event:

Pretty good event. The writing is pretty strong given I quite invested right away instead of where I usually just press view dialogue and skim through the beginning. Probably helped since this event series is nearing its endgame so the tension is there right at the start.

Vane was pretty great in this event and really shows he is the heart of this series event. From his trying his best to be the vice captain that can protect everyone, to his pep talk with Arthur, a boy whose world around him changing so fast for him to properly adapt, to him talking about how Lancelot needs time to grieve over the loss of loved ones until he himself realize he is the one who want to cry the most and need time to grieve. All pretty well done.

Mordred is solid in this event, his friendship with Cruz is very good and his determination to find out the truth is nice. I'm curious what happened to Cruz. Some theory says that he transformed into Griffith, if so could Morgan used him to blackmail Mordred to do what he says? Like "Only I can turn him back to normal, if you want that to happen do what I say".

Merlin is more sinister than I thought, given his original idea to use Mordred to resurrect his king. Like is the king gonna be puppet or something? Cause I don't think the king will be happy with Mordred being sacrificed. Unless it doesn't require sacrifice and only needed Mordred to awaken his sheath power. Which probably the case since Uther is shown to be resurrected at the end of event.

Sylph corruption and the people being maddened into revolt is the only thing I'm groaned at in this event. Mainly cause it comes out of nowhere. To reader the war just happened in span of few chapters and its hard to buy things went so bad for the citizen like that. At least it helped somewhat that the ancient miasma magic bs is part of the reason.

Wales fall is a big surprise. I wonder what happened to Percy and Aglo. Did they or one of them get captured, or they both managed to get away? Regardless Wales fall is a good momentum to break the status quo and increase the tension to the final saga.

I think we do have good momentum to make the next anniv event the Dragon Knight/Arthur event, but I wonder if we can still have one more chain event before concluding it all in anniv event, which would mean to delay DK anniv event to next next year. I say this because we have like 3 antagonist which is Merlin, Morgan, and Beast of Calamity. And there's also need to integrate Lamorak and Gawain into the story. Which could fit into 3 part of Anniv event, but I feel like the story gonna be rushed into "Complete the checklist" rather than have the story flows naturally. Whatever it be hopefully Cygames do the best option.

Been a while since I do long post on Cygames event but DK is one of things I'm invested in GBF.