#sometimes she snarls lyrics and she did again once and well.

[livingecho-arch]

@lunarscaled​​   /   i have brain rot for them in this au shut up just take this ♡

tw ; abusive relationship ( vis & vivian ) , violence , possible murder , imprisonment , drinking . it will be tagged as ❛ v ; guard dog ❜ for those who may wish to block this from dash . 

vivian was gone for a few days , perhaps a week . she had business within the port of the bladed district & deemed it too much trouble to come all the way back home just to return early the next morning . but ah , the two had a fight the night before she left . . . was that the true reason for her leaving him alone again ? no ⸻ it can’t be . his wife would not lie to him , right ? the fight was not their worst one , far from it . it was just another couples squabble , all couples had that ! it was his fault anyway –– he should have known better then to speak back so strongly to one of her friends . they were . . . kind to him . spoke of how pretty he was , that vivian & vis were so lucky to have one another ! 

why didn’t he feel lucky ?  oh , wasn’t he so blessed to be married to a woman who’s friends valued him ! 

he sipped his wine . his fourth one today . it was never enough . besides . . . today would be the day she returns & he had to be happy to see her . so vis sat , in his sitting room watching the fireplace roar . . . the only source of light in the otherwise dark room . his eyes stared deep into the dancing & flickering of the flames . sometimes he could make out a person in that fire . was that person dancing ? perhaps they too , felt like the flames of love . burnt . scarred , but warmed too . that's what love was ? to be kept warm : laying the the grass during the summer months , lazy & relaxed . to place your hand directly in the fire & watch your skin bubble & melt away at it’s touch but don’t pull away ! it worth the warmth . it worth it & this is how it should be . this is how it will always be . so why bother fighting it .

vis leaned back into his chair , wine glass tilted & almost spilling out ⸻ until he heard the turn of the knob . he jolted up , tipping the glass into the nearest planter so she may not see how much he had today . vis turned to face the door , smilingly softly with hands in front of him . so politely , so softly . like a naive woman on her wedding day ! but when he saw those dark curls his body relaxed –– ah , when did he get so tense ? 

❝ oh . . . lyric . ❞ it was not disappointment in his voice , no far from it in fact . it was utter relief . 

❝ you should announce yourself when entering i thought ⸻ well i . . . i-it doesn’t matter . please sit with me . i have some snacks if you’d like some . . . ❞ he gestured to the spot next to him on his couch . the plushest seats ever seen , made of the finest blue velvet & edged in gold painted wood with intricate details of serpents in the seas . vivian would hate to see that dragon on ❛ her good furniture ❜ but it was his ! he bought everything here ! still , she wasn’t here . . . what she didn’t know would do harm . besides , vis could bat his eyelashes . play that wide-eyed-beauty role up . ❛ oh they looked so sad . . . how can i say no to good puppy eyes ? i know when you look at me with big eyes i can’t help myself vivi ❜ & she would melt once more to him . 

so the shade returned back to his own seat & patting the space next to him . ( oh -  how regretted dumping his wine . . . such a waste . . . hopefully the plant enjoyed it .  ) it was nice to have lyric around . behind sharp teeth & snarling ; they were soft to him . almost like a guard dog at his feet ⸻ baring fangs towards anyone they seemed a threat to vis : vivian included . head in his lap as he sat , flipping through paperwork or simply enjoying a good book . sometimes vis would even read aloud to them . ah , how fast they fall asleep on him during those moments . so cute ! 

too bad the guilt of keeping them here ate at him . vivian & her division found them , washed ashore all alone & deemed them an asset to the kingdom . like a weapon to learn how to master . a dragon to best any enemy valskhan would have : so vivian took it upon herself to keep lyric in his home to ❛ train ❜ . lyric could leave any time ⸻ but the whole army would be after them to bring them back . DEAD OR ALIVE . so was there really a choice for lyric ? it kept him up at night . 

❝ have you had lunch today ? if not i can ask miss clara to bring you something . anything you’d like . oh , do tell me if the fire is too much . . . i’m always a bit chilly . ❞ short dresses don’t offer much warmth in this cold weather of valshakn . but that was his uniform . either way , he crossed his legs & brushed forward some hair an attempt to cover his shoulders . a moment passes before he turns back to the fire to speak again ( why couldn’t he meet lyric’s gaze ? ) . 

❝ i . . . she comes home today . you’ve been nice . . . can i ask you to keep that up ? ❞

#lunarscaled #⚜ ・ speak only when spoken to . — BEFORE THE DEATH OF VIVIAN VERSE ! #v ; guard dog #tw abusive relationship #tw imprisonment #tw drinking #tw long post #𝓥˙˖* °⸻ ❛ you still want it … the inner sanctity ⅋ its an evil but the evil is necessary . ❜⎜❲ ic .❳

[binniedeactivated]

if you’re not busy can i request a smut where like yeonjun is super jealous and he like fucks his name into y/n’s skin??

I can’t stand you. || yeonjun💦

╰─▸🖤❝ @[𝒃𝒖𝒈𝒔𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈.. ]  ✎𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝒚𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒋𝒖𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓  ✎ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆¡   ✎ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕; 640

[@𝒃𝒖𝒈𝒔𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒆] 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒇𝒇...

“so how long have you been in korea?”.

soobin asks you from across the table while taking a sip of his drink. 

“I actually just moved here not too long ago. I wanted to be english teacher at first but I enrolled in university just because I’m not too sure anymore”. 

you answered honestly, all the while hugging yeonjun’s arm. He set up a double date tonight, he thought it would be a good idea for everyone to get acquainted that way. 

“english teacher? that’s adorable”. soobin smiles and you smile back of course. you weren’t nearly thinking about that job again. 

“yeah, i love kids I thought it would be fun to teach english you know?”.

“i can see you as an english teacher to be honest. you have the personality for it”.

“what does that mean?”. you ask, pretending to be insulted. Soobin could only laugh seeing that you might’ve took it the wrong way. He puts a hand up in defense. 

“No I mean, you’re bright and beautiful. I’m sure the kids would’ve loved you”.

you curl your lips in awe. 

“aw well thank you soobin. I think you’re an amazing leader”.

yeonjun rolls his eyes while he pretends to read the menu. He couldn’t focus on what he wanted to eat while hearing the both of you flatter each other to death. Soobin turns to his girlfriend, asking her if she found something to eat. You thought it would be a good idea to turn to yeonjun as well. 

“baby do you know what you’re getting?”. you ask innocently. he ignores you though until the waiter comes to the table and takes the orders and the menus. After you all were finished ordering you hug his arm tighter, hoping he’d at least look at you. 

“so have you thought about anything while you’re in University?”. soobin continued.

“not exactly. I’ve been trying though. There are just so many options with so little time”.

“if you’re struggling you know I can work out a spot for you at the company”.

yeonjun’s eyes bulge out of his sockets. soobin barely gives the homeless people he meets opportunities like that. so what the hell was he doing giving you one?

“really? oh no i couldn’t!”. you blush. 

“you can be a hair stylist, makeup artist, lyric writer. Just tell me”. 

“nah. I’m sure yeonjun wouldn’t want me to interfere with his work”. soobin laughs. 

“i wouldn’t mind though”. 

yeah, of course you wouldn’t. yeonjun thought. He stood to his feet and glared down at you. 

“come with me for a minute”.

he ordered. You thought nothing of it as calm as he was. He probably wanted to get you a drink at the bar or something. you gave soobin a small whisper assuring him you’ll be right back. you tried your hardest to follow yeonjun but he was walking way too fast and he even passed the bar on his way.

“jun slow down! where are we going?”.

you called out. he stopped at a door and waited for you to approach him. Once you did so he grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you into the bathroom with him, locking the door behind him. 

“jun what the hell is wrong with you?”.

he snarkily points his finger in your face while your back laid against the door. 

“oh you’re real bold right?”.

“what?”.

“just flirt with my best friend in my face? As if i’m not sitting at the table with you? how stupid are you?”.

“no one is flirting with soobin. He sparked up a conversation so I joined. what’s the big fucking deal?”.

“oh so him calling you beautiful and you blushing like a single woman doesn’t ring a bell to you?”.

“He can’t call me beautiful? So no one else gets to think I’m beautiful because I’m dating choi yeonjun?”.

“you know that’s not what I mean”.

“no i don’t care about what you mean! You’re just a jealous piece of shit. What is it? you think soobin looks better than you or something?”.

“I’m not jealous”. 

“then what the hell are you yeonjun? you got me against a fucking bathroom door yelling at me because your best friend called me good looking. This is as jealous as it gets”. 

“what did I just say?”.

“no what did I just say!? You’re a jealous piece of shit”.

yeonjun steps closer to you with his jaw clenched. 

“call me that one more time”.

“you’re a jealous. piece. of. shit”. 

and it was just like yeonjun to never show his anger in his face much but much more through his actions. He grabbed you by your wrists like before and threw you over the bathroom sink. he immediately wraps his hand around your throat and presses his dick against your ass. 

“take your panties off now”.

he snarls, and not being able to do much under his grip you do as you were told. He shoves you further allowing your ass to perk up, pressed perfectly against him. He unzips his slacks and shoves himself inside you. you watched it all unravel through the mirror in front of you. you looked helpless and his hand was beginning to make marks on your skin. 

“you’re a fucking slut don’t you know that?”. 

he hisses picking up a rhythm while fucking you. you closed your eyes in bliss. sometimes you didn’t know how bad you wanted yeonjun until he was already inside of you.

“yeonjun i didn’t flir--”.

“shut the fuck up”.

he hisses once more and slaps your ass while he was at it. The more his dick delved through your hole the wetter you became. you didn’t want to with the way yeonjun was talking to you but he was always so sexy while he was angry you couldn’t help it. you bit your lip and mewled at the dirty looks he gave you through the mirror. 

he grips your waist and plunges into you deeper and rougher than before. you grasped the bathroom sink in hopes that you wouldn’t hurt yourself. yeonjun honestly couldn’t care less. 

“you probably think soobin can fuck you like this don’t you?”. 

“mmmph--noo jjun”. 

“you’re a liar”.

he said so harshly it felt like he practically spat on you. he grouses in a low tone, snatching his lower lip up with his teeth. 

“fuck--your pussy feels good”. 

you whimpered which only made him go faster. he loved hearing you hopeless. he loved hearing you sound like you were on the verge of crying. He loved hearing you sound like you couldn’t take his dick at all. 

yet he drills you hard. each time your body shifted you whined, your pussy throbbing wet and swollen. with his grip on your neck and him fucking you in a public bathroom you truly felt like a whore. you felt like you deserved to feel like this. maybe you did flirt with soobin. maybe you did blush when he called you beautiful. 

maybe you had thoughts about him fucking you like this. yet you knew he never could. 

“jjun--fuck jjun!”.

you sob, feeling your eyes clog with tears. those sensational butterflies in your stomach ate at you with so much pressure it felt like torture. you wanted to cum but you felt stuck. yeonjun bruises your ass again, 

“I don’t want you flirting with anyone else do you fucking understand me?”. 

“yes! yes jjun!”. 

you cry with his dick overloading you with ecstasy. you wanted to explode. and to make matters worse he was hammering you harsher than before. 

“because what?”.

tears frenzied down your hot cheeks. He bruises your thighs and ass with his hand again and again. 

“bbbecause I have a-- fuck! junn oh my god”.

“because what?”.

“because I have a bboyfriend!”. 

“good girl”. 

he smirks while groaning. He drapes his body or yours just to kiss you on your tear stain cheeks. you never understood how nonchalant yeonjun could be when he was fucking the hell out of you. 

“is my good girl crying?”. 

you nod your head slowly wailing his name. your ass claps on him hard. he bites your neck with his teeth, leaving another bruise for everyone to see. 

“jjunnie! I’m going to cum”. 

he fucks into you harder until you’re squirting all over him, and also until he was filling you with his hot fluids. he relieves you of his grip and breathes heavily, zipping his pants back up. and poor you, your mascara was smeared and you were fucked out and all bruised up. you just wanted to sleep. 

yeonjun could execute rough sex pretty well. but he was also a sucker for after care. he takes a couple of tissues and wipes your face; even pulling your dress down passed your thighs to hide the bruises he made. he kisses the ones he created on your neck just before he plants one on your lips. it was a disaster, what he’d done to you. and he knew it. 

“I’m sorry baby. I guess I am a jealous piece of shit aren’t I?”.

#txt #txt smut #choi yeonjun #choi yeonjun smut #choi beomgyu #choi soobin #kpop

[lifeofkaze]

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 5

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N:

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Language, reference to smoking (cigarettes), allusions to NSFW topics

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @carewyncromwell @night-rhea

Gettin' sold, second hand

That's how it goes, playin' in a band

It's a long way to the top if you wanna rock 'n' roll

~ AC/DC - It’s A Long Way to the Top ~

Halfway through their first week back on tour, their time in London was slowly drawing to an end. Lizzie couldn’t quite believe how fast the days seemed to fly by, each one a blur of tiredness, boredom and the addictive rush of adrenaline when they were on stage. Every day and night was like the one before and totally different all at once.

It felt like only yesterday that she had stepped from the plane back from America; at the same time, being surrounded by all the familiar faces and living in long established routines, her break from the hustle and bustle already seemed like an eternity away. Lizzie could still feel the last traces of jetlag wearing her down sometimes, but at least her shifted rhythm helped her stay energised during the shows; not that she was getting much sleep afterwards either.

Wrecked from her chronic lack of sleep, Lizzie had missed her alarm this morning. When she arrived at the largest dressing room of the O2 Arena, she found the rest of the band already assembled.

Merula and Everett were sitting at the huge table in the middle of the room, Everett scrolling through his social media accounts while Merula was painting her nails in a dark violet colour. Skye was slumped onto one of the sofas at the back of the room, a magazine spread across her lap. She looked up from the colourful pages as she saw Lizzie enter.

“About time you’re showing Jameson; thought you’d gotten lost somewhere. Where’ve you been?”

Lizzie sat down on the arm of the sofa Orion was sitting on; he lifted his head briefly and smiled before bending over his notebook again. Lizzie tried catching a glimpse of the lyrics he was scribbling down but he covered them with his hand. With a shrug, Lizzie turned her attention to Skye.

“I overslept and then ran into Charlie. Murphy and KC are gone somewhere, ‘having a meeting’ apparently.”

“That’s what they’re calling it these days,” Merula muttered under her breath, making Skye snort with laughter.

“Anyway,” Lizzie chuckled, “they’re not here to show the new pyro girl around. They left the job to Charlie, but apparently she’s late and no one knows how to reach her. He’s a little grumpy about it.” She furrowed her brow in concern. “I hope that doesn’t make for a bad start. Charlie had better behave, from what KC told me the newbie is promising.”

“A female pyro tech, just when I thought I’d seen it all,” Everett scoffed. “I mean, how good can she even be?”

Merula arched an eyebrow at him, her eyes sparkling dangerously. “You have a problem with a woman on the job, or what?”

Everett blatantly ignored her, however. “Hopefully we’ll have something to look at this time, right Orion?”

Orion was trying not to roll his eyes. “What we portray on the outside pales in comparison to what we carry in our hearts; as long as she’s a good person who is sure of what she’s doing, nothing can go wrong.”

“Getting along with Charlie would help, too,” Lizzie added.

A grin tugged at Orion’s lips. “It would indeed.”

Everett looked at him sceptically and shook his head. “Listen to you, as if you didn’t care about looks as well.”

Now Orion finally looked up from his notebook for good and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Stop acting all innocent, everyone knows you’re getting your fair share of groupies as well,” Everett laughed, obviously finding the thought of someone preferring Orion to him hilarious. “Hotel room walls aren’t the thickest, you know.”

Lizzie almost choked on the bottle of water she had helped herself to. She was trying her hardest not to blush as her eyes flickered to Orion. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before she busied herself with the lid of her bottle, hopefully looking more innocent than she felt. She could tell by the way Orion was trying to keep a straight face that Everett’s remark came just as surprising to him as it did to her.

Clearing his throat, Orion replied levelly “I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s a wonder you’re able to hear anything over the racket you’re making most nights.”

Everett shrugged. “At least I’m open about it.”

“As much as I hate to say it, but Ev has a point,” Skye chimed in all of a sudden. She was waving her magazine through the air. “According to the Daily Mail, you’ve had at least six affairs ever since we’ve been to Spain. They mark you down as quite the casanova.” Same as Everett before, the thought seemed to amuse her to no end.

Merula rolled her eyes at Skye. “Why are you even reading that shit?”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Skye shrugged. “And it’s fucking hilarious.”

Meanwhile, Lizzie had regained her composure. “Well, don’t keep us on the rack. What’s the latest news?”

Skye cleared her throat before scanning the pages. “After things got frosty between us in Poland, Lizzie and I have apparently decided on an open relationship. Good for us,” she looked up and blew her friend a kiss, which made Lizzie giggle. “They’re still taking bets when Merula is going to come out of the closet -”

“What is this bullshit with me being gay all the time,” Merula snarled.

“You just give that vibe, I know what I’m talking about,” Skye shrugged indifferently before carrying on. “We already had Orion being a ladies’ man and Ev… “

Skye trailed off as she read the paragraph again and looked up after she had finished. “There are pictures of you with Rita Skeeter in here, what’s that about?”

“None of your business,” Everett answered brusquely.

Lizzie saw Skye’s face darken at his tone and quickly snatched the magazine out of Skye’s hands. Just as anticipated, Skye’s attention immediately went to her as she tried to get it back.

The potential fight being dissolved before it had begun, the mood was gradually calming down again. It was an almost relaxed atmosphere in the dressing room, when the door opened and Ethan walked in. He looked very tense and as the door fell shut behind him with a bang, the muscles around his mouth were tight. He exhaled slowly, his hands running over his lessening brown hair.

Skye was disconcerted to see her father looking so unusually stressed. “Dad, what’s wrong?”

He held up a hand to silence her before producing a crumpled package of cigarettes from his pocket. Flicking his silver lighter open, he held the flame to one of them. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

“You do realise that there’s smoke detectors in here?” Lizzie pointed out apprehensively. “I don’t know about you but I don’t care much about getting soaked.”

Ethan took the glowing cigarette out of his mouth again and put it out against the nearest table. “Fucking rules,” he muttered. “Nobody gave a shit back in my days.”

Orion looked up from his notebook, his dark eyes unreadable as they took in Ethan’s nervous demeanour. “It’s clear to see that you’re agitated, but a pain is shared is a pain halved. What’s the matter?”

Ethan sighed, wistfully closing the packet of cigarettes before stowing it away in his pocket. “I had a few calls back and forth with the label over the last few days.”

“So?” Skye urged him on.

“They’re not particularly impressed with what the press is writing about you at the moment. They’re considering cutting the budget for the next album by half.”

His words went down like a lead balloon in the silence spreading throughout the room; no one could believe what they were hearing.

“Why the fuck would they do that?” Skye finally managed to croak out. “The next album was going to be our biggest production so far.”

“Why are they even thinking about it?” Lizzie agreed. “We’re playing to a full house every night. We’re doing a great job, if I may say so, and the reviews have all been really positive so far. The press has been good.”

But Ethan shook his head. “No, Lizzie, the press hasn’t been good at all. People don’t care about professional reviews in respectable magazines anymore. Everything the public sees is what’s written in those goddamn tabloids.” He was eyeing Skye’s copy of the Daily Mail with a grim face. “And they’re having a field day with you; have been for a while now.”

His look darkened further as his gaze swept the round of musicians assembled in front of him, resting particularly long on Everett, who didn’t budge in the slightest.

“Some of you are taking this whole ‘rockstar’ lifestyle too seriously. What was fun and games in my time doesn’t work today anymore. I’ve been told that the label had to fork out a good amount of money to get some positive stories about you out, counter the negative attention you’ve been getting.”

His words were met with icy silence, none of them feeling personally addressed by Ehtan’s barely hidden accusation.

“Listen,” he continued more placatory, “I know sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll are all fun to do, I’ve been there myself. But these days, people aren’t as easy about diva behaviour and trashed hotel rooms.”

Again, he was giving Everett a hard stare. “Cleaning up behind you costs the label hard cash. Cash they’re now cutting from the production budget.”

“That is very unfortunate to hear,” Orion spoke into the ensuing silence. “Is there anything we can do to make them reconsider their actions?”

Ethan’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Good that you’re asking! I already designed a battle plan for us, we won’t have them compromise our work that easily.”

He placed both of his hands on the table where Merula and Everett were sitting, tapping the smooth surface with his fingers. “I’m thinking about going all out on the charm offensive. We’re going to be doing more interviews, more meet ‘n’ greets, fan events, charity bullshit, more of everything. You name it, we’re going to do it. We have to show the public you’re not some off-hook dickheads but still the old friends with a fucking heart of gold like you were when Equinox started.”

Merula snorted derisively. “Nice thought, but I doubt that will impress the guys from the label. You said it yourself, they’re all about the money, they don’t care about this sentimental bullshit.”

“You’re right,” Ethan said, “that’s why I struck a deal with them.”

The way he was avoiding Orion’s eyes was boding ill on Lizzie. And sure enough, Orion’s shoulders were tense as he spoke, his voice noticeably cooler than before. “What kind of deal?”

“They want to know if your new material is worth the huge investment. We need to prove that we’re still the best horse in their stable and they should place their bets on us instead of the new blood they recently signed, like that Winger guy.”

He ran his hand over his dark goatee as he met Orion’s eyes. “Some representatives are going to come to one of the shows in Manchester, see whether what you’re doing is still good enough for their full support.”

He raised his chin in a commanding gesture as he continued. “And they want to see how the crowd reacts to the new songs.”

Lizzie involuntarily held her breath. Orion was particular about his music; Ethan could have just as well asked him to set down his guitar and never touch it again.

And sure enough, his answer to Ethan’s proposition was simple. “No.”

But Ethan wasn’t about to acknowledge defeat so easily. “Yes. If we give the crowd and accordingly the label a taste of what’s to come, they’re going to see that we only deserve the best of the best once we’re ready to hit the studio again.”

Orion, however, remained unimpressed. “No.”

Ethan blinked, clearly irritated at the refusal to cooperate. “Why not?”

“None of the songs are ready to be shared. You don’t serve your guests a half-cooked meal and neither do you hang a picture missing its colours on the wall.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked Ethan straight in the face, the look in his eyes unwavering. “I won’t have my unfinished work being sold for profit; that’s not what this is about.”

Ethan glared at Orion, but instead of a sharp remark from his side, Everett spoke up. “We could play my stuff.”

Clearly surprised at the unexpected offer, Ethan turned his attention to the singer of the band. “You got songs of your own?”

Everett shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure I do. Just promise me they’ll be featured on the album and they’re all yours.”

Hesitant about giving Everett the confirmation he was asking for, Ethan focused on Orion again. “‘No’ is your last word?”

Lizzie had heard some of Everett’s songs before. They weren’t bad by all means, but they were lacking the finesse Orion’s music brought with it. She knew Ethan would take whatever he was offered, but that wouldn’t be in the band’s best interests.

“I know you're protective of your work,” she told Orion quietly, giving him an encouraging smile, “but you showed me what you’ve written so far, and some of the songs are almost there. They’re the best you’ve ever done, believe me. Everyone’s going to love them.”

Orion held her gaze for a moment, searching for the affirmation he needed to agree to a deal he didn’t want to make, but knew he had to in the end.

When he finally tore his eyes away from hers, he looked at Ethan and sighed. “Fine, have my songs. Under one condition,” he added, nipping Ethan’s victorious grin in the bud. “Until I’m completely satisfied with them, I’m going to sing them.”

“Excuse me?” Everett bristled up, “Am I the singer of this band or you? Get out of my fucking spotlight.”

Orion shook his head. “You misunderstand; I’m not trying to fight you for your place in the sun, my friend. But I wouldn’t know how to explain to you what I want the songs to sound like until they’re really finished.”

Ethan snorted. “Stop being a diva, Orion.”

But Orion was adamant in his resolve. “I’m not. All I want is for the people caring about our music to get what they deserve; and they don’t deserve some unfinished songs that aren’t even played the way they’re supposed to be.”

Both Ethan and Orion were staring at each other for a moment longer, before Ethan threw his hands up in exasperation. “Fine, have it your way then.”

Not believing what he was hearing, Everett stood up from his seat. His aggressive energy seemed to fill the room, making it feel a lot smaller than it actually was.

“Are you for real?” he snarled at Ethan. “I’m the frontman of this band, not him! It’s bad enough that his songs are the only ones that get played when mine are easily as good.”

He turned to Orion, eyes sparkling with anger. Lizzie, who was still sitting next to him, tried not to shrink back before him, but Orion met his gaze as calmly as ever. However, this seemed to anger Everett even further.

“You always said you didn’t want to sing, you were perfectly happy with doing background vocals if you had to. Why now all of a sudden? Tell you why, you’re not happy there’s someone else who knows how to write a decent song in this band. Do you consider me a threat to you or what?”

Everett’s voice had risen considerably. Skye and Lizzie were sharing a worried glance as the two male members of their band were glaring at each other, Merula just looking to and fro between them with a bored expression.

Not wanting things to go south even more than they already were, Ethan stepped between Orion and Everett to break their eye contact. “Ev, calm down. There’s no need -”

He was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Taken by surprise, it took Ethan several attempts to make the strain disappear from his voice. He cleared his throat one more time before calling to whoever was waiting on the other side of the door.

“Come in.”

#hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm au #rockstar au #orion amari #skye parkin #merula snye #lizzie jameson #when stars ignite #besties collaborate

[stardancerluv]

Steps Forward

Summary: You are getting ready to move in, is that still possible?

Note: A companion piece to When You Take Care of Each Other

Lyrics in italics from Brass in Pocket by The Pretenders

Warning: Mentions of blood, Roman x reader have sex

Roman, was angry and splashed in blood. The negotiation for the new building had gone sour. Luckily, Zsasz and him and got out and took out most of them.

His suit was ruined, it had been a fucking new one. As the car bumped and dipped his annoyance over what had taken place grew. He was in no mood to deal with any thing.

His phone buzzed to life seeing it was you, he couldn’t handle you. He knew is anger would rule the conversation. If anyone screwed with you today there would be even more blood and he knew you didn’t like that. So closing his eyes, he sent the call to voicemail.

He was glad he had you, but he was in no mood to deal with anyone. All he wanted was to wash off this blood off, a stiff drink and you between his legs. He would settle for the first two. If he was with you right now, he knew deep down without even intending to it he grab you in a way that may leave marks or his heart wouldn’t be in it, he knew you deserved more then that.

He’d explain later, not that he felt like he should have to. You knew he was a busy man and one that could get angry. If only you were living in the penthouse already, he wouldn’t have to deal with damn phone calls.

Tonight, he’d ask you when you were finally going to move in. He was eager to show you the closet he had built for you. He’d be in a better place by then.

But right now his anger was hot and it rushed in his veins. When his phone buzzed again, he barely looked at it. Seeing that it was Gambonie., he answered it. He could unleash his anger on him.

“What the fuck do you want?” He snarled.

“I’ve handled the men.”

“What do you mean?”

“All I wanted was the raise the price, not start a war. They’re gone.” The man said weakly, Roman could practically see the man’s nervous sweat.

Roman rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Fuck that warehouse was it. I was just feeling a little greedy and wanted more, but a war I didn’t.”

Gambonie, wasn’t want to lie, well not lot. “Well then great.“ His usual smile he plastered on, was there. That irked him, he let it drop. “Gambonie, so you’re now my lieutenant now, m’kay?”

“Yes, certainly I couldn’t come close to the protection nor the business you do.”

“That’s fucking right. I’ll call you in a few days and we’ll meet.”

“Sounds good.” The man hung up.

Roman finally did smile and this one he let linger. Was always good to gave more allies.

*****

You sighed when your call went to voicemail. Roman had been incredibly busy as of late. Ever since you finally said yes to moving in.

He was the one who had asked, yet he was the one who felt like they were backing off from the idea. You could understand that even though it hurt. He had been a single bachelor for quite a while before you entered his life. If he was so uncomfortable about the idea why did he even ask. The thought stung.

It had not even entered your mind to move in when he asked but you understood why he did.

After negotiating a few deals today, you wanted to tell Roman that you could officially start packing. Also that if he wanted to help or send some over he could. Of course, you’d rather have him help. As you begun to look over your dresses, tonight when you would come see him at the club you would remind him what he had in you.

******

Roman sighed and leaned back into his pillows sipping at his whiskey. He gave your side of the bed a glance. After draining his glass, he got up and dressed.

When he came out from his closet, he came back to a message from you. It made him press his lips together.

MyQueen: I hope to see you tonight. 😘

To MyQueen: Come, beautify my table. He slipped his phone into his pocket after.

With a final splash of aftershave and with his gloves on, he headed dowb to his nightclub.

******

You felt pretty good. About a quarter of your life that you want to bring with you to live with Roman was packed.

Wrapped in a towel, you now eyed your dresses. Not long ago, you and Roman had gone quite on the shopping trip. He had closed a huge deal. So you eyed the dresses with their tags still on them. You wanted to wear something fresh. Grab his attention, make him really see you. You exhaled.

With just a wink, you knew you’d crawl over to him if asked. But tonight, you wanted him to feel the pull you had on him. You needed it. Especially, with the last few nights he had schmoozed his fair share of the females that came to the club.

Sometimes, it really clawed at you. When he’d do it you’d have to sit at his table like a good girl drink your drink and if you were lucky Zsasz wasn’t with him so you’d make small talk. Well, you’d talk and he’d politely nod. Zsasz, rarely talked.

Though if Zsasz was with Roman when he schmoozed you had to be a good girl and sit there. Usually, you’d try tune out and begin think of your new projects.

Not tonight, you mused with a triumphant smile. You brought out your two favorites. In the end, you chose your favorite of the two. When it came to you and Roman, maroon was a lucky color. You were struck suddenly by a fantastic idea.

To Dinah: Hi Lady! I had a quick request.

From Dinah: What does the princess want?

You sighed. Her sarcasm was really annoying. Roman was always kind to her but sometimes, you wondered if it was worth it.

To Dinah: Seriously?

From Dinah: I’m kidding. Long day, neighbors upstairs wouldn’t stop screaming at their kids.

You rolled your eyes.

To Dinah: That’s rough, I’m sorry.

From Dinah: Sometimes are better then others. What would you like?

To Dinah: Can you sing Brass in Pocket for me tonight?

From Dinah: Spat with Roman?

To Dinah: We don’t have spats. He just gets too busy.

From Dinah: Well, he is a busy man. But sure, I can sing it.

If it wasn’t her sarcasm, sometimes the fact that she was older and knew him longer, since he rescued her after thugs that killed her mother, you felt like she was talking down to you. You never cared to have to staff or her for that matter treat you special upon Roman’s insistence.

You always tried to be nice and friendly, some were back while others were distantly cold. Dinah, you could never read. The dancers were the worst since they couldn’t flirt for extra money or help from since you showed up.

Shrugging, you finally replied. To Dinah: Thank you! 💐💐

From Dinah: No worries.

You quickly text him and then began to get ready.

To Romy: I hope to see you tonight. 😘

*****

You smiled when you saw he had answered after slipping your phone into your purse you made your way over.

Coming, in the private way you cut the lines and you were able to grab a chair at the bar. You barely climbed into it when the bartender with a warm smile slid you a drink. “Thank you.” You said sweetly.

You were absently nibbling on one of the cherries when Zsasz came over. “Roman’s in a meeting but says he’ll join you at the table soon.”

“Oh?” You looked around, you didn’t spot him. “Where is he?”

“He’ll be around. Private meeting.”

“Oh. Ok.” You didn’t let yourself slump. It was just a message to keep you occupied or at least that was what it felt like at times. “Thank you.”

You slid off your chair and easily made your way over to his table. Slipping off your purse, you looked around. People paid you no mind or at least they pretended that they didn’t.

In a corner, hearing some shrill giggles and a rather loud, “Oh Romy.” You couldn’t help but glance over. You saw a shock of deep green hair accompanied by the golden tresses kissed with shades of blue and red and there was no mistaking who was there.

Was it wrong that you rolled your eyes, you had never cared much for either clown. It was Harley hanging off Roman that one night that had stopped you from pursuing any chance with him. His stories about the crazy duo only aided in your dislike so seeing them you grew more annoyed.

Seeing them would bring out the razor’s edge of his personality. Normally, that would urge you to be more of a good girl for him. Not wanting to add to what being around these two did to him. Tonight you didn’t want to be good. You wanted to be sexy and powerful, reminding him why he chose you to be his.

After seeing the fake smile he gave them and most of Gotham, you made your way over to dance floor. You managed to find, Dinah’s eye and you shared a look.

Once the song, slowed there was a pause. Panic prickled at you, what could she possibly be doing then you knew.

“Sometimes here are the Black Mask, we like sing old favorites. Here is one in particular for Y/N.” The crowd gave cheers and you instantly want to shrink away.

Gonna use my arms

Gonna use my legs

That wasn’t what you wanted.Though you gathered your strength there was no going back now.

Gonna use my style

Gonna use my sidestep

Gonna use my fingers

You tingled, you took a breath and you began dancing. You let the beat and the words over come you.

Gonna use my, my, my, imagination

'Cause I going make you see

There's nobody else here, no one like me

I'm special.

You felt Roman’s gloved fingers wrap around one your upper arms and moving you; you found yourself facing him.

His face looked like it had been carved from stone. You couldn’t tell if he was mad or amused but you found him incredibly desirable at that moment.

“You are special.” He said loud enough for you to hear.

You smiled, he easily then draped your arms around his throat and you continued to shimmy in front of him. His hands settled on your hips, which he squeezed, it was a hard squeeze which reminded your willing place of being his as you danced. You loved how well the two of you could move together.

As the song ended and he twirled you bringing you to his side. “Absolutely fantastic! Shots on the house!” As there were cheers and appreciation ringing through the club. He let out his trademark “Woo! That only made the crowd excited. In that excitement. He sliced through the crowd with you.

Breathless, he brought you over to the elevator never having to wait long for it. The two of you disappeared into it. The music, the clinking of glasses and women’s heels on the dance floor faded into the distance as the thick silence in that elevator grew louder before the doors even manager to close. He pressed the button for the penthouse as you stood there not really knowing what to expect next from him so you gathered your breath. Your heart was racing in your chest.

He turned to you, some of his black hair fell into his forehead. As he moved and in doing so he backed you into the wall.

“What the fuck was that about?” He snarled

Your mouth dropped open at the ferocity. You shook your head trying to tell him, that wasn’t how you wanted eee it to go. You only managed incoherent sounds.

He silenced you as grabbed your mouth, all you could do was look at him. You felt as his gloved thumb smudged away the deep red lipstick you had taken forever to decide to wear and apply.

“I fucking notice!” He bellowed followed by the feeling of his lips against you. He kiss was harsh.

You couldn’t help but break it as his hand had somehow managed to find yours and he pressed it against his hard on. The pure wantonness of it made you tilt your head back with a moan.

You barely were able to enjoy it as, he tore you out of the elevator. You let him, push you against the wall beside the elevator. You only had the strength to follow his led at his point.

His hand reached under your dress. He grabbed your panties. “Roman.” Was all you could manage. His eyes met yours, a smirk curling his lips and you let him push your panties down so they with a whisper fell to your ankles. You barely stepped free of them when he grabbed you. Managing to hold you against the wall he opened his slacks and entered you moments later. A deep moaned from his lips, exciting you further.

Your arms were around him as you tried to find some kind of certainty in it, your fingers immediately entwining and pulling at his hair as his mouth finally met yours again. You both managed to move together each move brought more sweet yet a sharp pleasure that if tipped one way could be delightfully painful but this was just bliss and fulled a hunger you had not realized was lurking in the shadows of you.

******

Breathless, your dress still resting on your hips and his pants open, belt undone he pulled you close on the cool marble floor of the penthouse.

He chuckled. “Damn it, baby.” He said to the ceiling before looking over at you. “What you pull out of me. I fucking love you but what was that tonight?” He rose his eyebrows.

First you just shook as he said those three little words. He so rarely did. But when he did, you knew he needed to say as much as he needed hear himself say it and you just soaked it up and added to the bliss of passion the two of you had just shared.

“I just felt like maybe you were having second thoughts.” Which saying that, hearing that made you feel foolish. “So I wanted to remind you how I can excite you as much as you excite me.”

He sighed, and tucking his belt to side moved onto his side so it wouldn’t hurt you. Being with Roman, one got used to his belts. He looked down at you. “Oh baby. I want you all the time. I think since I distracted none of them will over analyze those fucking lyrics.”

“I’m sure they got distracted by the free shots.” He nodded.

You reached up letting your thumb caress his cheek gently. “I asked Dinah to sing the song, I never thought she’d do that. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“My silly girl, I am so glad you do.” He bent down and this time the kiss was slow, soft.

He pulled back. He made a face. Taking out his handkerchief he rubbed away the smudged lipstick. You managed a thank you, before you shared another kiss.

******

“Keep those eyes closed.” Holding your hands you let him lead away from some of the boxes you had brought over to the penthouse the next day. He was leading you towards the direction of his closet. “Open them.”

You distinctly noticed a difference which you couldn’t put your finger on as you looked at the door.

“Now open the door.”

“Umm, ok.”

You did and shocked washed over you. It was the closet of dreams. You let him bring you inside. You settled comfortably on his lap in the middle of the most elegant only equal to his which a few times you had snuck into for a t-shirt when he’d be away.

His arms gently held you in place. “You like it?”

“I love it. I don’t know what to say.” You hugged him tightly. “Its amazing.”

“I never had the desire to share, I may still struggle with it from time to time.“ He met your eyes before continuing. “ I had this made for you, that’s why its more whimsical then mine but I made sure it was an equal to my own.”

He tilted his head in the direction of the maroon dress you had worn last night. It was the only article of clothing in the closet.

“Let’s get more then that in here.”

“Yes, lets!” You nestled close while holding onto him. You tried not to cry, you’ve never been so happy. You tried even harder as you felt him gently run a hand up and down your back.

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @queenofgotham800 @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @blondekel77 @saphic-susperia @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @lemairepstuff @generallj

#femi!reader #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor imagine #ewan mcgregor fanfiction #ewan mcgregor angst #ewan mcgregor pov #ewan mcgregor fluff #roman sionis #roman sionis imagine #roman sionis pov #roman sionis angst #roman sionis fluff #roman sionis x y/n #roman sionis x you #roman sionis x reader #black mask #black mask imagine #black mask fluff #black mask angst #black mask fanfiction #black mask x y/n #black mask x you #black mask x reader #steps forward #roman sionis smut #black mask smut #bop #birds of prey #birds of prey fanfiction #birds of prey imagine

[bastardtetsu]

{day 09} vanilla ice cream | tsukki x reader

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, secret pen pal, mutual pining a lil bit?

wc: 1.5k

warnings: sick reader (hangover/cold), mention of drinking, some swearing, tsukki showing human empathy

⍋⋆*❅｡. 25 days of fic-mas mlist .｡❅*⋆⍋

somehow it all reminds me of doctor jekyll and mister hyde for right before my eyes, a man that i despise has turned into a man i like

—vanilla ice cream; she loves me (music by jerry bock, lyrics by sheldon harnick)

the first thing you notice as you wake up is your pounding headache. it’s hard to be surprised at your state after the amount of alcohol you consumed last night - not without good reason, of course. as awful as you’re feeling now, it’s nothing compared to the hell that was last night.

it wasn’t supposed to go like that - it was supposed to be a magical, maybe even romantic evening. you had been looking forward to meeting your mystery friend ever since the two of you started messaging each other online, but you hadn’t expected to develop a full-blown crush on this person without even finding out what they look like.

but the more you got to know their personality, exchanging playlists and talking about your similar tastes in music, the more your messages to each other became fonder, even flirty at times. perhaps it was the level of anonymity that made you both so comfortable talking to each other, but you quickly became each other’s most trusted confidants.

when you started working at the record store, things became a little more stressful as you adjusted to your schedule becoming tighter, having to handle the occasional nasty customer, and dealing with one coworker in particular who must have being rude to you written into his DNA. talking with your anonymous friend is a much-needed escape, a distraction from the mundane, a hidden treasure that only you get to enjoy.

so as you sat waiting in the cafe last night, a rose laid out on the table as you had promised your dear friend, nothing could’ve killed your vibe faster than the aforementioned rude coworker - tsukishima kei - showing up and ruining everything.

you could tell he was only there because you’d insisted on leaving work early to make this date, and he wanted to see if you were lying. he only proved his intentions more when he had the audacity to sit down at your table and make jabs at you for meeting up with someone you met online.

“you’ve been waiting an awful long time haven’t you?” he taunted.

“tsukki, if you don’t leave this table—“

“and you’ve never even met them? this is how people get murdered, you know,” he sneered condescendingly. you almost got thrown out because of how loudly you screamed at him. thankfully you didn’t - although you did seem to strike some nerves with tsukishima, which you felt a bit bad about - but even though you waited at the cafe until closing, nobody showed up, leaving you alone with a single rose and a full bottle of wine.

needless to say, you have every reason to feel like shit this morning. not only are you hungover and heartbroken, having heard nothing but radio silence from your friend, you’re starting to feel lightheaded and stuffy-nosed too. you waste no time calling in sick, burying yourself in your blankets as you try your best to shut out the pounding in your head and the salty tears beginning to sting the backs of your eyelids.

suddenly, a knock at the door jolts you back to reality. “who is it?” you call out weakly.

another knock. you drag yourself out of bed with a quiet groan and go to answer the door, only to be met with a familiar lanky blond.

“what do you want, tsukishima,” you demand dryly, “did you have something you forgot to say last night? if you do say it fast, i don’t feel well today.”

“yeah i know, you called out of work,” he replies ambivalently, “that’s why i’m here.”

“oh, so you’re here to check up on me again, make sure i’m not slacking off?” you taunt him, your temper rising.

“that’s not—“

“you gonna go back to work and tell everyone i’m lying? that i just don’t care about my job?”

“no i’m n—“

“well joke’s on you, four-eyes, ‘cause guess what? i’m not giving you the chance.” you immediately start gathering your belongings, preparing to go to work.

“what?”

“i won’t be that late,” you mumble to yourself, throwing a coat over your arm as you hurriedly grab your keys, “fuck— where the hell is my other shoe??”

“oi,” tsukishima says firmly, “y/n. you need to lie down.”

“fuck off,” you bite back at him.

“no seriously, you look like you have a fever.”

“i don’t care,” you snarl, “help me look for my shoe, i know it’s here somewhere—HEY!!!”

there’s not much you can do but continue screaming at him as tsukishima scoops you up in his scrawny arms - which are evidently way stronger than they look - and carries you to your bed, dumping you unceremoniously on top of the blankets.

“THE FUCK WAS THAT?!?” you shout. he just shrugs.

“what was i supposed to do? you wouldn’t get back in bed.” he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. arrogant prick. you slump down into your blankets, feeling too depleted to pick a fight anymore.

“i brought you something.”

your head shoots up as a plastic grocery bag lands next to it. opening it up, you find a tub of vanilla ice cream inside. “it’s the best thing to eat when you’re sick,” he states.

“a-ah,” you stutter hesitantly, “thanks.” is tsukishima being… nice to you?

“did that uh… friend of yours ever show up?” he asks cautiously.

“no,” you mutter bitterly, “i waited til closing. guess you were right, meeting some stranger from the internet really was a stupid idea.”

“hm,” he grunts awkwardly, looking away from you.

“i mean,” you continue, “the least they could’ve done was give me some sort of explanation. instead they just fucking ghosted—“

“they didn’t ghost,” tsukishima interjects suddenly, almost defensive. “i mean— it hasn’t even been a day, they’ll probably hit you up later.”

“and how do you know?”

“because—“ he stops short, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “i saw the guy last night. on the way out of the cafe.”

“wait—what??” you exclaim, “you saw them? how do you know??”

“they were supposed to be holding a rose, right? like the one you had?”

“yeah— wait, how do you know about that?”

“it wasn’t hard to figure out. people usually don’t sit at cafes with loose flowers on the table unless it’s something dumb like that.”

“shut up, you wouldn’t know romance if it bit you in the ass,” you snap back, “so he’s a guy? what did he look like? did you talk to him? what did he say?”

“yeah, uh— he asked if i knew you,” tsukishima recounts, “and he wanted me to tell you he’s sorry for bailing, but something else came up.”

“anything else??” the eager glow in your eyes is suffocating as you stare him down, hungry for more details.

“yeah. he— he was kinda ugly.”

“…seriously?” you respond, half unimpressed with his attempt at a joke and half nervous that he isn’t joking at all.

“what, does that matter?” tsukishima replies mockingly, “i thought you liked him for his personality.”

“i do,” you jab, “and you know what, i don’t care what he looks like. and i certainly don’t care about what your salty ass thinks of him. i’m gonna message him right now, actually”

“have fun,” he says dismissively, turning to make his way out before pausing to pull a record from the vinyl collection on your shelf. “you like this album?”

“yeah, duh. it’s been one of my favorites for years.”

“huh. me too,” he replies, “it’s crazy how it stays with me. sometimes i swear i can hear it in my head while i’m asleep.”

“that’s funny,” you say, “my friend does the same thing. he hears it in his sleep.”

“heh. that is funny,” he mutters quietly as he turns to leave.

“tsukki—“ you stop him before he exits, “thanks for today. you’re not as awful as i thought.” a tentative smile graces your lips.

“whatever,” he mutters, quickly turning his face away from yours, “see you at work tomorrow.” as he retreats out the door, he prays you didn’t notice his blushing cheeks.

once tsukishima is out the door, you waste no time crafting a new message to your friend - but you find yourself struggling to piece together sentences as you snack on the ice cream tsukki brought you, the cold sensation easing your aching throat. was that really the same guy who’s been an asshole to you since the day you started working with him?

it’s incredible that the two of you even spent 2 minutes together without being at each other’s throats like usual, and even more so that someone as harsh and bitter as tsukishima would do something as kind as show up at your door with ice cream when you’re sick. he even said something to make you feel better - and it worked.

realizing that you’ve zoned out, you quickly snap your attention back to your message. but as you continue typing, you find your thoughts continually drifting back to the tall, bespectacled blond and his uncharacteristic kindness.

by the time you manage to write what you have to say and hit send, tsukishima is safely out of earshot when the new message pings on his phone.

he smiles and hopes that you figure it out soon, too.

a/n: i hope the ending for this one is clear addsdsdf,,,, i watched the entire roundabout she loves me revival to get inspired for this (and by get inspired i mean remember the plot details of she loves me bc i had only seen it once before lmao) tbh the narrative of this fic actually covers like 3 different songs, bc old musicals are weird and thought it was necessary to make looking for a shoe an entire number. anyways, all I have to offer you today is laura benanti being utter perfection and all of my love <3

taglist: @izagraceee​ @musicgetsmeoutofbed​ @azo-musxas​ @tsumurai @ghostlydiamond135 @animeboysimppp

#haikyuu!! #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukki x reader #haikyuu x reader #25 days of ficmas #e writes #.txt

[officerjennie]

Hey Jennie!! How about 6 or 37 from the prompt list for the witcher? Have fun!! Also, I love your writing ❤️❤️❤️❤️!!!

Since you didn’t mention a ship and I’m feeling Curious about one, I’m going with 37 “Wanna dance?” with Jaskier/Aiden :3 Hope you don’t mind the ship!

CW: Rated T. No real warnings? Some roughhousing between Lambert and Geralt. Aiden being a little shit. Lambert, too, being a little shit. Pretty tame flirting. Meet Cute Mischief. WC 2.6k+

--

It wasn’t every day that they ran into one of Geralt’s fellow witchers, let alone two.

Jaskier had watched, at first in horror, as a rather feisty fellow had hurdled himself towards Geralt and tackled him to the ground just outside of the village. They had just taken a contract over some odd noises and mysterious events surrounding an abandoned keep, one the villagers themselves had insisted on them taking despite how many times Geralt had told them he doubted it was anything - apparently it sounded much less like a monster and much more like a secret getaway for the young folk about but the innkeep had been certain something foul was afoot. 

At the very least, Jaskier thought it would make an amusing tale, already crafting lines and lyrics as Geralt tied Roach up in the stable and went off towards the keep (allowing Jaskier to tag along without complaint for once, considering it shouldn’t be dangerous).

Which is one reason Jaskier was rather startled, to put it lightly, when he was suddenly witness to one of the toughest brawls he’d ever seen Geralt take part of. Geralt had grunted and then snarled when he hit the ground, rolling and grabbing for the other man’s limbs, them both rolling while Jaskier clutched at the strap that held his lute to his back, some rather undignified squeaks escaping him while he struggled to keep up with their movements. 

But he couldn’t just stand there stalk still while his nearest and dearest friend was fighting for his life. He jerked his arm into motion, grabbing for the dagger Geralt had tried to convince him not to buy half a year ago at one of the southern markets, and managed to fight it out of its sheath and hold it at arms length, waiting for just the right moment to throw it at the accoster. 

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, darlin’.”

He jumped and whipped around, dagger first, and the man who’d snuck up behind him didn’t quite duck in time to completely miss the blade. It cut into his cheek, a drop of blood slowly dripping down, cat eyes staring at him in a way that made him freeze.

A smirk that Jaskier really wasn’t sure was from amusement or a promise of death stretched his lips, showing off some very sharp teeth. 

“G-Geralt?”

“I’m busy, Jaskier.”

A thump from behind him allowed Jaskier to jerk his head around, seeing Geralt pining the other man face first into the dusty road - but the other man was laughing, even as Geralt’s face was twisted into a snarl, the both of them dirty and scratched up from their fight.

“Damnit, Lambert,” he gave the man another shove but then got off of him, and Jaskier almost squeaked out that that was very much not a good idea - but then Geralt was helping the man up, the anger fading from his face as he dusted some of the dirt off of him.

Dusted...the dirt off of him, yes, because that’s something completely normal for enemies to do with one another. Help clean them off. After fighting. Maybe Jaskier had never woken up that morning after all and this was just some strange dream? Would explain the way the other other man leaned forward into his face sudden, nose twitching as he sniffed, a thoughtful frown tugging his lips down as Jaskier leaned away from the invasion.

“Smell like lavender, but not the flowers. Fancy your oils, huh?”

“Do you know these men, Geralt?” He took a step back away from the one that was once again giving him that smirk, beating a hasty retreat to his friend’s side. Geralt, for his part, finally looked away from the man he’d started to exchange some pleasantries - or what counted as pleasantries for his dear witcher, which was mostly grouching - and turned to look at the other witcher.

He cocked his head, and Jaskier knew before he said anything that Geralt didn’t know that one. “Lambert, one of my brothers.” He slapped Lambert in the chest with the back of his hand, passing the hit off as handing him back the weapon he had gripped in that hand. The man - Geralt’s brother, apparently - took it and buckled it to his side, though not without shooting Geralt a shit eating grin. “The other one I don’t know.”

“Oh, I’m wounded, Lamb.” The man practically purred the words before bowing with a flourish. “Aiden, not necessarily at your service.”

“Don’t call me Lamb, kitty cat.”

“Watch who you call kitty cat, sweets.”

From the increasingly dangerous looks on the two witchers’ faces, Jaskier thought it best to interrupt them then. “Jaskier, long time sufferer of all the hmms and grunts that Geralt passes as communication - though perhaps we could save further introductions for later? We have an, ahhh, rather important contract to be getting done.”

It wasn’t a contract they ended up doing alone. Lambert and Aiden followed them with little hesitation, the promise of shared coin more than enough to garner their interest (though Aiden made a few faces at the correct of a small amount of coin). Really it wasn’t all that surprising, after all; though Geralt was a rather closed book about a lot of his personal life Jaskier had learned over the years that his brothers were very near and dear to him, and he saw them very little throughout the year - winter being the one big exception.

The two brothers spent most of the journey trading snarky remarks and the occasional shove, Geralt doing his best (and utterly failing) to seem like he wasn’t as into the roughhousing as his brother. With those two rather busy catching up it left Jaskier to follow behind them, wondering what tales those two had to share, what journeys they’d spent together, what hunts they’d conquered.

“Didn’t know what I expected,” Aiden mused, suddenly next to him, his silent steps making Jaskier jump when he finally noticed him. “But it wasn’t what I see, ya know? Big hero and all that.”

“Huh?”

“Suppose anyone could seem a hero, if the right bard sings of them.” He gave a wink, his arms crossed behind his head as he walked, the silver beads in his tight braids glittering in the sunlight. It took a moment for Jaskier to catch up with what he was saying but finally he did, turning back to look at the brothers that walked ahead of them, both looking very much like the heroes to him.

Who else would carry such broad swords so proudly on their backs, wear such armor, but the heroes? Maybe not all witchers would be quite as heroic as Geralt but Jaskier was firm in his belief that they were all capable of such, like so many of his own kind seemed to sniff at in disbelief.

“You’ve not met him before,” Jaskier said a little tightly, trying to not get too defensive of his friend. “No one looks like their proudest moments but he exemplifies them nonetheless. As much as he loves to blather on about not getting involved he puts himself right where he needs to be, even when no one would think to thank him for it.”

“No one but you.”

Jaskier blinked at that, not really sure what Aiden was on about. But he didn’t have time to ask, Geralt motioning for them to come to a halt now that they’d reached the keep, the group of them going quiet for now.

It was, as it turned out, not just a gathering place for the young folk. Aiden was the one who found the mountain lion kits and quickly shooed the rest of them away, sniffing about the rest of the place himself without their help and coming back with a shrug. Nothing but cats and ghosts.

“And not the fun kind of ghosts.” Aiden tossed a coin idly into the air, a rather dirt caked one he’d found during his scrounging. “Just old smells, tattered fabric, a faded painting or two. No monsters here, dear pups.”

“Then what about the noises?” Maybe he sounded a bit whiny but Jaskier had walked all the way here for essentially nothing if it wasn’t even a romantic getaway; his feet were tired and his muse demanded fuel.

But Aiden just flicked the coin in the air again, letting it land in his palm as he said, “Ever hear a mountain lion scream, little bird?”

He had not, and when Aiden made them stick around til he did he regretted admitting as much. Jaskier was very glad to make it back to the inn, empty handed or not.

The innkeep, however, was very reluctant to let go of any coin, even if there were now three witchers and a disgruntled bard there to stare him down. In the end Jaskier managed to convince him to part with some of what he’d promised though not all, and to make up for the rest (to keep that anger he saw flash in Lambert’s eyes at bay) he promised to perform and earn enough coin to keep the gull flowing.

It was a real shame he didn’t have any ballads yet for the other two. His performances went as well as usual, the crowd eating out of his hands, the general mood shifting from hot tension to easy fun. As the night went on he saw even the witchers easing into their corner, the innkeep pleased enough with the promised production that the gull was soon free to the three, something that brought a brilliant smile to Jaskier’s face and a new wind to his songs.

There had been a rather shy woman near the edge of the room at the start of his performance, who left sometime through but came back later in the night. In her hands was a lute of her own, and in-between a brief breather between songs she came up to him and asked, if it wasn’t a bother, if he wouldn’t mind, would it be all right if she joined in as well.

And who was he, honestly, to say no to such a quiet and hopeful request?

She was an absolute talent and Jaskier had nothing but praise for the music she weaved with her fingers. It was a bit of a fumble at first, them not knowing the same songs, eventually crafting some new ones just for this particular crowd to enjoy. Because she was so shy and hesitant Jaskier had to admit he was worried the room of rather drunken bar tenants might not take kindly to her attempts but he was pleasantly surprised, and after a time he even left it to her, bowing out to marvel at the pride and confidence that held her shoulders straight now.

There was no doubt about it, she had talent. He leaned back against a wooden pillar in the room, his breaths a little heavy from exertion, his heart light in his chest. Oh, what a time to be alive, to witness the youth come into their own.

No matter that he was still young himself. He could have wistful, old man thoughts if he liked.

“You seem to do that to people.”

“You seem to love to sneak up on others, you daft-” Jaskier cut himself off, startled into his sass and nearly falling over when he jerked away from the pillar. Aiden now leaned his shoulder into the side of it, one dark eyebrow raised, his eyes alight with amusement - which just made Jaskier wish he hadn’t stopped his sass, if he were honest.

“Startle easy, little bird?”

“What do you mean?” He ignored the second question, for now settling back into his spot, habitually checking that his lute was indeed still on the table to his right where he’d placed it a little while before.

“Bring that out in them.” Aiden nodded his head towards the woman, but his eyes didn’t leave Jaskier. “Whatever you’d call that. Confidence. Belief in their self. Their proudest moments, you have a knack for bringing those out, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” He sniffed delicately, but did add, “Though I suppose I am a rather decent influence. Hard to be around such talent and not seek it out yourself. And I do have quite the air of confidence I’ve been told.”

“And your smart, and beautiful, and have the single best taste in fashion, and are oh so modest to boot,” Aiden drawled, that dangerous smirk coming back, and this time perhaps it was the atmosphere around them - the belly laughter from the crowd, the smell of drink in the air, upbeat and cheerful music kept in time with the stomping of boots on the floor - but that smirk made Jaskier’s heart flutter dangerously in his chest.

Despite the implied insults. Or, fake compliments. Or assumed bloated sense of self that Aiden was suggestion - there were plenty of ways to take his teasing but Jaskier was certain it wasn’t meant to be harmful.

Mostly certain.

“Do you usually travel with Lambert, then?”

He wasn’t really sure what possessed him to ask that. Before he had much time to think on it he flicked his eyes away from that dangerously handsome face - handsome face? - and focused instead on his newest pupil, who had taken a request for a dance piece that was apparently popular in the area. A few in the crowd started to push some tables aside drunkenly, saved by the few sensible not drunk patrons, and soon her fingers were plucking away and the place became twice as lively as it had before.

“Yes, I do, little bird.” Jaskier dared to glance over at him, able at least to not get distracted by the beads in his braids, now nearest to the side Aiden kept shaved. “Lamb and I have been through quite a lot over the years. He’s got my back and I’ve got his, no matter the circumstance.” Something dangerous flashed in his eyes but it was gone when Jaskier blinked next, cat eyes focusing on him again instead of off into the distance on memories he had no knowledge of. Yet. “He is my friend, and I don’t say that word lightly.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“The bird threatens the cat now?”

“Oh are we speaking in third person now?”

He really wasn’t sure what had come over him, but something about Aiden - something about that look in his eyes, how the gold in his eyes seemed to glow against his dark skin, how the even darker freckles dusted his cheeks beckoned his fingers to brush against them-

There was just something about him that drew Jaskier in.

Aiden cocked his head, studying him, and for just a moment Jaskier felt very much like the birds he loved to compare him to, trapped in a cat’s gaze. But it wasn’t fear that made him lean forward just so, towards the man he’s amazed he’d never even met before halfway through that day. 

And then Aiden’s gaze softened, just for a moment, and he said so softly that Jaskier could have been entirely mistaken that he heard it at all: “You’ll do.”

Before he could ask him to repeat himself, the softness was gone, replaced with a mischievous grin that looked like it belonged on those full lips. “Music’s picking up, little bird. Care to dance?” And before Jaskier had even registered he’d said yes he found his hand snatched up lightning fast, whirled into the crowd of men and women and others who remained faceless to him - because the only face his eyes could see was the one with that sharp grin with teeth, owned by the man who danced with cat like grace and a body that was deceptively lithe, whose eyes never once left him in turn.

#aidskier #aiden/jaskier #jaskier/aiden #jaskier x aiden #aiden x jaskier #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #proofreading who? don't know her #persony-pepper #jaskier #aiden

[shadow--writer]

If I Catch Fire Then I Change my Aim

HA I DID IT (hm de dum . song lyric titles will die with me and holy fuck I should make a master list of this bsery). Finals kicked my ass and I, of course, bit back but I am back on the writing bullshit of everyone’s nightmares.

Maeve x Lucas. Amani slaps some sense into one of the two dumbasses. 3.9k (how am I still surprised by this? I have learned time and time again I cannot stfu)

TW: mention of past abuse 

@dela-png

The day was warm. She had her door open as she finished organizing her herbs. It did absolutely nothing to help the deep pit in her stomach.

Her bangs kept falling into her face, she had tucked the handkerchief away again. Every time she looked at it she saw the raw hurt on his face. 

And that was a distraction. 

In her line of work she couldn’t afford distractions. 

Even so she was distracted. By the pit in her stomach even though it had been...weeks. Again. He misunderstood what she said and didn’t come back. 

She rubbed her temples with a low groan.  

They were both idiots. 

Morons. If there was another word for it, that could be applied. 

She did regret cutting him off, but judging by his reaction to her little nickname, it was for the better. She was fine without him. Yeah. She was fine without…the nice feelings he brought. The flowers. The food. 

Mmhmm yeah she could go on just fine. He was just one person in a large world of many. 

Ugh but someone tell her heart that. 

She groaned, laying out on the counter, the worn surface cool against her cheek. Pining was the worst. Especially when it was unrequited pining. Well sure it wasn’t unrequited before but now it for sure was. 

Even if he did prop her tables up again and bring her lunch one last time. 

After taking her words in the totally wrong way. 

She huffed. 

Why did this have to be so complicated? It wasn’t fair.

She really had to go and fall for the guy who was like a dense hyperactive puppy (a very cute one but this wasn’t the time). Oh and then she had to let her trauma string her along like a little puppet. 

Ugh he was right. Of course he was. Three years and she still wasn’t over anything. 

She stretched out her arms, now resting her chin on the counter. She really should be over him. Over the words he used against her still ingrained in her very being. Gods she was just an idiot. 

He was right about one thing. She did muck up every relationship she’d ever had. 

She hated admitting he was right. But of course he was right, he was always right. He always had to be right. He got angry when he was wrong. 

She pushed herself to stand, pressing the heel of her palm to her eye. Always right. 

She chuckled without humour. Yeah right. 

She moved away from the counter, staring at the chipped blue paint she couldn’t scrub away. The pain was still a little raw. She knew it was an accident and he just took her words the wrong way. But it still hurt to see him look at her that way. Such unabashed hurt and anger. 

Almost worse then when she rejected his kiss. 

She turned away from the pain, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She was never going to get over Lucas if she kept thinking about him and dragging the pain out. She just needed to bury her feelings. Bury the hurt. 

This was all fine. 

Maybe once things calmed she’d go home. Lucas didn’t want to see her again anyways.

She would just be a hazy memory in a few months time anyways. His first heartbreak. 

She bit her lip. Ouch that hurt to think about. She knew she was someone's bad memory. But she didn’t want to be his.

Maybe if she were different it would be okay. 

Who was she kidding? She couldn’t turn back time anymore than she could fly. 

It was her biggest self indulgent dream. To be able to fly. Sometimes when she was standing alone with the breeze, she felt like she could take off and never land. 

Great. She was starting to sound like her Mhamó. Always had her head in the clouds. 

The door slammed open, yanking her from her musings. 

In the doorway was a fully healed, and very angry looking Amani. 

Oh great it was ‘piss-everyone-off-o’clock’. 

She shifted a bored look at the angry lady in her doorway. “Oh and how may I help you this fine afternoon?” Her voice was dry and filled with sarcasm. Was it so much to hope that she’d be left alone just once in her life?

She was still recovering from her clinic being raided. 

“I can’t believe you’d not only have the audacity to dump him like that but insult him in another language.”

Ah. So this was how today was going to pan out. 

Lovely. 

She crossed her arms. “Audacity? What I do and chose to do are none of your business nor your concern. I did it to protect him.”

“From what?!”

“Me.”

“Oh boo hoo.” She chucked a nearby pot at Maeve. She dodged, the glass shattering. Great more for her to clean up. “Protect him from yourself?! What a load of bullshit!”

“You are a spitfire,” Maeve replied, dodging the box of masks that were thrown at her next. “But I’d appreciate it if you stopped throwing my things. Most of them are new.”

Amani snarled. “I hear you’re a spitfire as well. I wonder what I’d have to do to get you to insult me in another language.”

Her gaze at Amani turned icy. “It takes quite a bit to push me over that edge.”

“Liar. You did it to Lucas.”

“I did no such thing. He took a detour off a cliff to get to that conclusion. You do know languages are used for things other than insults right?” She dodged a stool. Amani was getting increasingly more pissed off. 

Just-fucking-wonderful. This is what she gets for helping Will at the dock. This is what she gets for being nice. For catching feelings. And then trying to break things off knowing she was going to muck things up. 

Hateful stars above. 

“That’s-” Amani let out another frustrated growl. “True I guess.”

“...you two really like jumping off cliffs to conclusions. Astounding.”

Amani’s eyes were narrowed into slits. The gold paint on her lips shone in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Maeve could admit she was almost pretty. 

You know, if she wasn’t currently trying to kill her with her own stool. 

“I thought you liked him.”

“I did.”

“Past tense?”

Maeve kept her gaze, hands trembling at her sides. She hated Amani’s tone. “And what of it?”

Amani searched for something on her face, a smug grin creeping across her face. “Ooh you like him. You still fucking like him.” The expression darkened again. “So how could you?!”

“My reasoning is my own.”

“I am his best fucking friend, you think he doesn’t tell me this stuff?!”

“He can tell you his side of things. But that is only half of the picture,” she said, keeping her tone level and cold. She could feel her anger bubbling in her gut. Amani was right to be mad. She and Lucas were both right to be mad. “What happened on my side of things with me is with me only.”

“Don’t you have friends to talk to?”

“No. Not here I don’t. I didn’t see the need for them.”

Not after what happened the first time. 

Amani froze. “That...is a terrible way to live.”

“Oh great a lecture. And I thought you were pissed at me. Come on now, lay it on me. Let’s see what you can do.”

“Oh don’t get me wrong I’m fucking pissed. But holy fuck do I feel bad for you. Cutting off people who want to be your friends?”

“You included in that?”

She shrugged. “Uh yeah. We were on the same wavelength. I liked you. Well, when you weren’t being a bitch.” Alright, she did deserve that one. “And then you fucking went and ruined everything with him.”

“If ruining it is how he stays away from me, fine.”

“What’s got you so fucking scared?!”

She flinched, nails making little crescents in her palms. She was easy to read when you looked for the signs. She was scared. She was terrified. 

“He does,” she whispered, letting go of everything. If Amani wanted to know, fine. 

She didn’t...she didn’t want to hold onto it by herself anymore. 

And fuck she knew her sisters would beat her over the head with the dumbassery she pulled to spare her own feelings. 

“Why?! Did he do something to you?”

Her head snapped up. The words made her remember the faces at the market. “What? He’s never done anything to me. He’s only been...a sweetheart.”

Amani’s shoulders drooped a bit. “So then why did you leave? Why are you so scared of him? He’s not...that way anymore.”

She pursed her lips. That way anymore? The fuck was going on? 

“If you want to know, fine. Fine! Throw my own shit at me, berate me and then have the audacity to ask questions now but fine. I did like him. But I don’t want him getting close to me.”

“Why not?!”

She fought back angry tears. Ugh she hated being pushed to this point. Hated it! “Because I am a fucking selfish person.”

“This is being selfish? This is the OPPOSITE of selfish!”

“Maybe me wanting him to be around was selfish and too much for me to ask for!”

“For what?!”

“Myself! I don’t deserve anything he’s given me. I don’t deserve his affections. I don’t deserve anything like this!”

“And why the fuck not? Why do you think you don’t deserve any of this? Because I can tell you for a fact that’s not just you speaking there.”

She froze. “I- It’s just-”

“You fucking like him! Still! Don’t past tense me,” Amani said with a low exasperated sigh. “And holy fuck you two need to learn to talk to one another.”

“Like...his palm said,” she whispered to herself. 

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“Even if you still like him...why did you just...leave him like that? Say those things? Push him away? ‘For his own good’, bull-fucking-shit.”

It was her turn to growl. “I said this! But I’ll say it again to get it through your thick skull. I’m pushing him away because I’m fucking selfish okay?!” Her voice was starting to crack. She was starting to crack. Under the scrutiny. 

Under the fact someone was willing to listen to her.

“I’m not some perfect thing. I don’t know what he’s told you or what he’s made up about me but that’s not me.”

Amani’s eyes widened. “Hold on...Maeve?”

She threw her hands in the air, blinking back tears. Cracking and shattering. She hit her breaking point. 

Weeks now. Since she first told him to leave. 

Another few after he took her words in the wrong way. 

She...fucking gods, she missed him.

“I’m just...I’m selfish, okay?! I don’t want him falling in love with an idea he’s made up. I don’t want him falling for me and then realizing he doesn’t really like me. I don’t want him falling in love with me, period.”

She shocked the other woman into a jaw slack expression. 

She scrubbed her eyes, she didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to cry. But now that she was, the tears just wouldn’t stop. 

“I’m tired. I’m tired of love. I’m tired of romanticizing everything. I’m tired of loving, giving and then being broken. I’m tired of people loving me and then deciding that they need to change me. Because they don’t really like me.” Tears were freely streaming down her face now. “I’m not perfect.” Her voice cracked over the words.

They were true. 

The rung true.

She was a broken mess. Fuck, she hated love for the longest time. It only got worse. 

A festering wound.

“I’m tired of being changed like I’m not a fucking person. People will always find something wrong with me. People don’t like how...weird I look to them. And it’s not even weird!” She was yelling, her voice breaking. “So what if I glow? So what if my hair has some weird silver metallic looking streak in it. My tattoos aren’t even that odd. So then why?”

She sniffed. “Why is it that I’m always the issue? My personality is too much. I talk too loud. I’m too crass. I argue too much. I’m not quiet enough. I am not good enough for anyone.”

There was a pause. 

She was really letting this all spill out of her. The dam had been broken.

“Holy shit, what the fuck happened to you?”

“Eloquently said,” she replied with an eye roll, staring up at the ceiling. She willed the tears to stop. “Love fucking happened. And I hate it. I hate having to...second guess everything so he likes me.” 

She wasn’t talking about Lucas. She wasn’t...really talking about Lucas. She never had to second guess herself around him. 

And that was refreshing. It was so refreshing that it scared her. 

“Because I...” She let out a low whine, an embarrassed heat rising to her cheeks. “Because I like him. And I don’t...I don’t want to like him like…” she waved her hands around. “This.”

“But you do.”

She lowered her gaze to meet Amani’s again. “What if he doesn’t?”

The look Amani shot her was both exasperated and withering. “...he tried to fucking kiss you. He gave you his copy of Thumbelina.” She flinched at the mention. That wound was still fairly fresh as well. 

She had...read it so many times. She didn’t know why she read it so many times. It was nothing special. Fluff with a happy ending. But...maybe it was the thought of being a little closer to him through the words on the paper that brought her pause. 

Amani continued on her tangent, ignoring Maeve’s reaction. “He brings you things to eat. Holy shit he talks about you all the fucking time. He gifts you flowers. What more evidence do you need!?”

“Gifts are not evidence.”

“Flowers, Maeve. He brings you flowers. Why can’t...why are you still doubting it? Why not like him openly? Why?”

She finally let the truth out. The doors opened and her chest was cut open again. Heart on display again. She hated being this vulnerable. Hated it.

But it was...nice having someone to talk to. Even if she tried to kill her with her own stool.

“Amani, I am not perfect. He might make me out to be. He might see me as such. I don’t know. But I am awful, Amani. I’m an awful awful girl.” Amani’s brows furrowed at her word choice. Every time she said it she thought of sugary sweet words. A beautiful lie. 

A hand around her throat. 

“I’m a terrible person.” She sniffed, holding her arms. She was spiraling. Always spiraling. “I’m selfish. I push people away when they need me. I’m mean. I’m flighty. I’m stubborn…too stubborn. My temper gets the better of me. I’m an awful person.”

“Having a temper doesn’t make you a bad person,” Amani said, her voice now softer. It was different from how angry her tone was. “None of those things make you a bad person.”

Eyes glittering with unshed tears, her head snapped up with her tone. “Then what am I?!”

“Human.”

Maeve froze at the rawness of Amani’s voice. “You’re human just like the lot of us. You’re no angel, believe me. Neither is he. Neither am I. We all have done things we regret. That’s what makes us fucking human. You put him on this pedestal like he’s innocent in all this. He’s not. I know better than anyone.”

She swiped at her eyes, sniffling loudly. Amani slowly shuffled closer. “But how we love makes us human. It doesn’t even have to be romantic but, you don’t just like him. You love him, don’t you?”

“I...I don’t know,” Maeve admitted. Her tone was deathly soft, soft enough that she could only feel the way her mouth moved around the words. It was the first time she’d said it out loud. “I don’t know and that’s what scares me. What if I do? What do I do then?”

“You tell him.”

She felt her whole body flinch, tear streaked cheeks tacky. “What?”

“You heard me. Tell him. If you love him don’t keep it to yourself. Dumbass is dense as a brick but I’m sure he loves you too. It’s not...this doesn’t feel like a ‘like you’ situation. I dunno it’s just…I see it in his eyes. The way he looks at you, how he talks about you. Lord you should hear the way he talks about you. I haven’t seen anything like it.”

“He doesn’t really love me,” she said bitterly. Always in denial. 

Amani smiled, it looked a little tense with her frustration. Her eye twitched. “Yes, he does. I know my best friend. He’s head over heels and you hurt him.”

“Because that’s who I am. I hurt people.” She clutched her stomach. “I hurt him because I’m selfish.”

“Why?”

She wanted to stop running. 

From everything.

And just let the floor swallow her whole.

“I don’t want him getting close to me,” she whispered to the floor. “I don’t want him to see the mess that I am. I don’t want him to see all my broken pieces. I...I don’t want him to leave.”

Years. It had taken her years to open herself up again. So then, why him? Was there even a reason? 

Amani moved to gently reach out to clean her tears away. “He’s broken too, you know. He’s been broken down and pieced back together many times. Sometimes pieces get left behind. Sometimes they go missing. But I have never seen him light up the way he does when he talks about you.”

“I don’t deserve him.”

“Gods Maeve, it's not about deserving him. The world doesn’t deserve him. Fucking hell if we’re talking about it, I don’t deserve him. But it isn’t about that. It’s about want.” Amani huffed softly. “So tell me, do you want him?”

The word was choked around her lips, threatening to drown her. It sounded cheesy to her own ears but it just...felt true. “Desperately.”

Amani smiled, it was softer now, tilting her head up with a hand. “Then go for him. Show him how you feel. Sounds sappy as all hells but love him without holding back. If you really think you’re the only one who has reservations about this, then you’re wrong. He was a mess when you first told him to leave.”

“A...mess?”

“An angry sad mess to be sure. Oh and don’t forget how embarrassed he was. And then the self depreciation. He’s gonna give me grey hair.”

Maeve snorted. “You and me both.”

“Well you already have some.”

“It’s silver thank you.”

“Silver shmilver. Back to my original point before you distracted me.” Amani booped her nose. She wrinkled it at the touch. “Show him what good can be in the world if you look for it.”

“I’m...not good.”

Amani let out another huff, grasping Maeve by the shoulders and staring dead into her eyes. Normally she was fine with intense eye contact. 

This was a little too intense. 

“Yes, you are.”

Maeve’s hands shook. Those evil vile hands. The hands that failed to save so many people. 

The ones that burned.

“How good can I possibly be?” she spat out. “How much good can someone see in me? I’m just me.”

Amani sighed. “First of all, you’re going to give me a headache. Second of all, I have never seen him so...different. Almost...happier? Whenever you’re mentioned he lights and perks up and I’m embarrassed for him.” Maeve felt her ears redden. Amani looked at her, unimpressed. “I see the feeling is mutual. Goddess you two are going to make me sick. But, I think that’s good.”

“Is...is it?”

“Yes dumbass. Did you not hear my spiel? I am not going through it again. If Lucas ever found out I’d be this sappy singing his praises to the girl he has affections for he’d never let me live it down.”

Maeve chuckled, rubbing at her eyes. 

“Oh I mean that. Don’t you dare laugh, he remembers the weirdest shit. And if you think you can get away with all your problems and then having them rise to the point of cutting him off, think again. He will lord it over your head. ‘Remember the time you tried to cut me off?’ and shit. That is, after you two fucking apologize to one another. Lord one bad thing and he jumps to a conclusion and you close yourself off.”

“...you jumped to the same conclusion.”

“That’s the past! It’s behind me now.”

“...it was literally twenty minutes ago.”

“I’m a different person now.” Maeve sighed, making Amani crack a grin. “Glad you’re not crying anymore.”

She bristled. “Me crying a bad thing?”

“No but now I’ve seen both you and Lucas really cry for the first time and let me tell you, that was an experience.”

“I...made him cry?” Awful. Vile. Evil. 

“Uh yeah. He kinda broke down. Not a pretty sight. Didn’t get up for a while. Then the miscommunication about the whole ‘nickname insult’ thing was just salt to the wound.”

“Why was he crying over me?”

“Well he’s in love for one thing.”

“...is he though?”

“I am three seconds away from smacking you. But yes, congratulations you were the first person he cried over. A feat in itself but why’d you think I was so pissed?”

“Maybe...I am terrible.”

Amani’s glare was once again, disapproving. “But, holy fucking god, I see it’s had a similar effect on you. Shit, you two are just so fucking dumb it’s unbelievable. You don’t get love like this every day and you just push it away. Why?”

“It’s…” Her eyes darted around to rest anywhere but on Amani. “...not love.”

“Mmm sure, that’s not what I see but you do you I guess.”

“Even...if it was love...why? Why him? And why...me? Why now?”

“You think I know? Sometimes it just happens. It’s not some dumb fuckin ‘fate’ thing. It just happens. I’d say it’s part of being human. It’s part of our connections. Sometimes you love romantically, other times not.”

“How do we know it’s...not something...else?”

“You really like making this harder for me. God damn. Because of the way he looks at you. The change in him. Bitch the way you look at him. Holy fuck. The way he looks and talks about me is different from the way he looks and talks about you. And that’s fine. I’m his best friend, and you’re...you’re…”

“...me?”

“Something new. Something exciting. Something terrifying. He’s lived here his whole life, you and I are something new to this place. But...even then, you’re different, the feelings he has for you are different. He asked me how to go about kissing you. Bitch what other fucking evidence do you fucking need?”

“He asked...how to kiss me?”

“Yes! He was scared to. Then of course you rejected it, which, nice fucking going.” She winced. Okay she deserved that one as well. “But what more do you need? I’ll ask again, what more fucking evidence do you need me to provide? At the very least he likes you a lot.”

She chewed on her lower lip, reopening the small cut she had worried into it days prior. “And...if he does...what do I do then?”

Amani looked ready to strangle her. “Uh duh. You go for it. All love is is a leap of faith. Why not jump?”

“And if I fall?”

Amani sighed, but the grin creeping onto her face was crooked and her eyes filled with a strong light. “Well, he’ll be there to catch you.”

#the arcana #the arcana game #my writing #maeve #lucas #maevas #maeve x lucas #angst with a happy ending #this is fine

[aro-of-artemis]

no grave can hold my body down (i'll crawl home to her)

A jukebox soulmate au where your missing stuff finds its way to your soulmate.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29147940

They say that there's someone who makes up the rest of your soul. That they're your perfect match and once you meet them, once you touch them, your wandering souls will be fused back together, whole and unbroken.

 Luke's not sure who they are. But honestly, he just wishes his shit would stop going permanently missing. You lose something and it's sucked through some kind of hole in space-time to be found by your soulmate. Luke would really like to have a conversation with whoever came up with this system cause it sucks.

 Cause he's a forgetful guy. His brain is always going a million miles an hour, with at least three different trains of thought chugging away and sometimes the tracks cross and there's a collision and all the passengers have to bail out and it's just a mess, okay? Keeping track of his stuff tends to fall by the wayside a little bit.

 It's how he lost his favourite beanie. And don't get him started on the number of individual socks that have just poofed themselves out of existence. He always has to have a box of new guitar picks handy because as soon as it's not in his hand or clamped between his teeth, it's as if it never existed. He just hopes his soulmate appreciates them.

 But it's a give and take. He'll reach into his pocket to find scrunchies, hair clips, endless bobby pins. Just generic stuff that tells him very little about who his soulmate is except that they probably have long hair. (Once, he found one long, dark hair curling around the folds of a scrunchie. He keeps it tucked between the pages of a notebook, stashed away on his bookshelf.)

 (And yeah: they. He's spent a lot of time thinking about this. He's had crushes on all sorts of people and their gender never really made a difference, but his introspection also leads to a solid black ring resting on the middle finger of his right hand.)

 One day, he opens his school bag to find a homework page that does not belong to him. He looks at it, front and back, scouring for a name, a hint, a clue, feeling a thing with feathers rise behind his ribs, reducing his lung capacity and making him draw in shallower breaths. But nothing. Just the slightly messy handwriting of someone who thinks faster than they can write. He sighs and stuffs it back in his bag, reluctantly retrieving his maths book. His frustrated sigh must have been audible because Reggie leans over from his own desk.

 "Hey, you all right, man?' His eyebrows are drawn up together, lines of concern creasing his face.

 "Yeah, yeah. Just soulmate stuff junking up my bag."

 It's not always junk, though. A bracelet turns up on his bedside table. He starts wearing it every day. He refuses to take it off, even to sleep. Sheet music to an unfamiliar song is found wedged between his records. This particular item makes his heart beat faster, his chest tingling and warm. Because they're a musician too. It makes sense, of course. No way his soulmate could not like music. It's basically Luke's entire soul (or half soul, he guesses). But the confirmation makes him feel both calmer and more anxious. He wants to meet this person.

 His favourite item to ever turn up is a photo. A woman and a little kid sit in a field, turned towards each other, faces pointed away from the camera. But he can see their smiles. He sleeps with it next to his face on the pillow the night he finds it because he doesn't want to look away. In the morning, he tucks it into the back of his song-writing journal where he keeps the rest of his heart.

 At 17, he and his best friends are on the precipice of being legends. As he pulls his guitar from the case, a long, striped scarf flutters to the ground, the kind someone might tie in their hair or loop around their wrist. He ties it around his bicep for good luck. It makes him feel like his soulmate is there, by his side, cheering him on.

 They meet a girl - Rose - who looks so familiar. Something about her smile. But he just can't quite put a finger on it. All he knows is that her presence is reassuring. Safe. He doesn't know her but he feels a tug in his chest that says family. The same tug he feels when he looks at Alex and Reggie and Bobby. (He's changed his mind, his half of his shared soul is made up of these three dorks and the music they make together.)

 And then he dies. As darkness closes in around him, he thinks I'm sorry, boys and I'll never get to meet them.

  ---

 "Flynn!" Julie whines. "I can't find my homework anywhere!"

 Flynn rolls her eyes. "Did you check your school bag?"

 "Yes," Julie bites out, not actually mad at Flynn, just at the situation.

 "Your desk?" A nod. "Your dad's car? Under your bed? Your locker?"

 Julie has to stop her. She knows from experience that Flynn'll just keep going. "Yes, it's not anywhere."

 Flynn shrugs nonchalantly, a smirk pulling the corner of her mouth. "Well, guess it's gone to your soulmate then."

 Julie groans loudly in frustration. She pulls her beanie (their beanie) down over her eyes and slumps back against her locker, trying desperately to not look like she's pouting but definitely pouting. Flynn just gives her an unimpressed look.

 Julie breathes out harshly through her nose and resigns herself to retrieving the schoolwork she does have from her locker.

 "Ugh, gross!" she exclaims, fishing a pair of boxers out from where they had appeared in the dark recesses of her locker.

 Flynn's snort turns into a full belly laugh as Julie holds them away from her body, arm extended as if she were holding hazardous waste.

 She chucks them back in and slams the door shut. "Come on, let's get to class."

 Flynn follows, tripping over herself as she continues to laugh her way down the hall.

 ---

 Julie isn't sure who her soulmate is or whether she knows them already. Of course, it's pretty rare to meet them in high school, but a girl can dream. Unfortunately, it seems that her soulmate is terrible at doing laundry because she'll often find individual socks lying on her bedroom floor and undies crumpled in the corner of her bathroom. The beanie that turns up is quickly added into regular rotation and if it isn't on her head, it's tucked into her bedside table. The muscle tank threw an interesting spanner in the works as it set her mind to imagining the kind of person who might wear something like that. (She might, maybe become a person who wears something like that. Occasionally. When the desire strikes her.)

 She's fairly certain that they're a musician. She's constantly finding half-written lyrics strewn around her room in the most atrocious handwriting seen outside of a doctor's office. The lyrics - those that are legible - are beautiful. Occasionally they'll be lyrics to a Trevor Wilson song, though, which is a bit weird but she assumes they must just be a big fan. She appreciates their good taste.

 Another hint is the guitar picks. She finds them everywhere: in her sock draw, between the pages of her school books, next to her toothbrush. One memorable time, she found a pick snarled in her hair. And all of them, every last one, are covered in tooth marks. As if her soulmate has a habit of chewing on their guitar picks. It's kinda gross. Even so, she collects them in a jar on her desk with the date she'd found them written on the back.

 ---

 The boys turn up and her life is turned right-side up. She tells them to stay out of her room. Constantly. Boundaries, she reminds them. Alex and Reggie get it, they can respect her personal space. But, Luke. She knows he goes in there because he keeps leaving his stuff everywhere.

 On this day she finds his flannel just draped across her bed, as if he's trying to irritate her. She snatches it up and storms down to the studio.

 "Luke!" she shouts as she enters the studio, ready to tear him a new one. "What have I told you about going in my roo-"

 She stops short because all three boys are ripping the place apart, looking for something. When he turns around to face her, she sees tears wetting his face that he quickly tries to swipe away. Her heart leaps into her throat.

 "Luke, what's wrong?" she tries to ask but is interrupted.

 "You found it!" His voice is a little watery but exuberant.

 "I -- what?" she shoots him a quizzical look.

 "My flannel. Well - my dad's flannel, but -" he cuts himself off, scrubbing his fist over his eyes.

 Julie scoffs a little, gently. "Yeah, dude. You left it in my room."

 His eyebrows furrow in that way of his.

 "No, I didn't."

 "Uh, yeah. You did."

 "I haven't been in your room."

 "Well, clearly you have," she says, shaking the flannel a little and holding it out to him.

 "Thanks," he says softly as he grabs it, still looking at it with a bewildered expression. But he shrugs it on and uses the sleeve to wipe away what remains of his tears.

 When Julie looks over at Reggie and Alex, they're exchanging a meaningful look that Julie can't quite read. When they notice her gaze, they both glance away, once again fascinated with the chairs on the ceiling.

 Huh.

 ---

  "Julie! Stop leaving your homework in my song-writing journal!"

 "I didn't put it there!"

 "Well who did, then?"

 The patented Reggie and Alex LookTM makes an appearance.

 ---

 "Hey! I used to have a beanie like that!"

 "Uhuh."

 "I did! It was my favourite until I lost it."

 Julie nods but doesn't look up from her homework.

 ---

 "Ew, gross, Luke! Why do guitarists chew on their picks?"

 He shrugs a little sheepishly. "It just helps me think. Besides, if I put it down it just kind of … disappears into the void." He gestures vaguely at the aforementioned void.

 "That's true," Reggie pipes up. "He's always got a back-up supply!"

 Alex scoffs a little. "Yeah, but he's the only guitarist I know who chews on his picks."

 "Well my soulmate chews on theirs," Julie puts in, "So Luke's not the only one."

 She hears the implement in question clatter to the piano. When she looks at Luke his eyes are wide and a little sad. None of them had really talked about soulmates. She's not sure about the implications that being dead has on finding a soulmate. None of them had found theirs before they died.

 Alex, however. He'd managed to literally run into his soulmate in ghost form, so who knows. She's not sure if there are any rules. Whether both parties have to be dead or if one can be alive.

 (If she's honest with herself, she's spent a fair amount of time thinking about this. Thinking about Luke. She pushes the thought away when it pops up cause it's not possible but it always creeps back in. But they can't even touch so it’s a moot point. That longed-for skin-to-skin contact that bridges the gap between souls remains elusive. The silly daydream of a love-struck girl.)

 ---

 "Julie," Flynn says worriedly as they sidle up to their lockers, "Where's your ring?"

 "My rin-" she lifts her right hand to her face and studies her empty middle finger with distraught consternation. The space where delicate twists of black metal usually sit is bare. "My ring! I - I'm sure I put it on this morning."

 "Yeah, I saw you wearing it," Flynn confirms, her eyebrows furrowing.

 Julie can feel a tide rising in her throat, swelling up behind her eyes, each crash of the sea battering against her ribcage in a heartbeat tattoo.

 A poof to her right interrupts her rising panic. She looks at Luke, eyes wide and watering.

 "Julie! I came to bri- What's wrong?" he cuts himself off when he notices her distress.

 "My ring is gone!" Her voice is tight, as if trapped in her throat.

 Flynn had cottoned on Luke's presence and had begun to move around to where he stands to prevent their peers from thinking Julie's well and truly gone off the deep end. (Julie thinks distantly how grateful she is for such a wonderful friend.)

 Bafflingly, a bright smile splits Luke's face. "This ring?" And pinched between his pointer finger and thumb is Julie's ring.

 Julie's entire body visibly relaxes and it's as if her spine contracts a couple inches, muscles no longer held taut by emotion, the tide pulls out.

 "Where did you find that?" Her voice is practically a whisper now, adrenaline having sapped all energy.

 Luke shrugs nonchalantly. "It was in my pick container for some reason."

 Creases form on Julie's face but she gratefully receives the piece of jewellery. She slips it into its rightful place and when she looks up she realises Luke's eyes have gone wide. Her eyebrows pull up into a question.

 "You -- no, sorry, nevermind." He shakes his head and takes a step back. Julie moves forward a step. Flynn glances around to make sure no one is watching.

 "No, Luke, it's okay. What's wrong?"

 He shakes his head again, eyebrows drawing together and the hint of a smile on his lips. Instead of answering, he reaches his right palm out to touch hers, letting their rings knock together.

 "Oh," Julie breathes. She's not sure how she'd missed it before. Maybe just that it had blended in with all his other rings.

 "Yeah," he says, bashful, "Oh."

 Julie smiles at him and he smiles right back.

 ---

 The Orpheum happens. And the boys are clinging to the last shreds of themselves and she's crying out Go, save yourselves.

 But No music is worth making, Julie, if we're not making it with you.

 And she hugs him. And she can feel him. The places their skin meet spark with some cosmic electricity but there's no time to dwell on it because she has to save Alex and Reggie too.

 It isn't until later, when Reggie exclaims, "Hey, what's that on your back?"

 She twists around, glimpsing the shape of a hand darkening the skin of her lower back. Her head whips around to look at Luke and she notices. "Luke, your shoulder!"

 One hand flies up to his left shoulder, tracing over the darkened patch where Julie's palm had first rested against his skin. Their eyes lock.

 "You're-"

 "We're-"

 She's not sure who's making which language-adjacent sound.

 Alex is looking back and forth between them, a grin pulling across his face while Reggie's mouth hangs open in realisation. But they stay quiet. The see, told you so's will be saved for later.

 Julie starts moving, crossing the room towards Luke. Luke seems to shake out of a stupor, surging towards her as well. They meet in the middle, her arms once again wrapping around his neck in a replay of their earlier embrace. His hands find their spot on her back.

 "It's you, it's really you - " she's babbling. She continues to babble. Luke moves a hand up to smooth back her hair and gently places his lips against her forehead, finally causing her tongue to cease. The touch is so painfully tender it feels like a branding iron against her skin. They stay there for a century or so, just rocking to an inaudible beat, clinging to one another.

 Finally, Luke tucks his chin so that he can rest their foreheads together, breathing the same air.

 "You're amazing, Julie Molina. I would die a thousand times to find you."

 She nods, unable to form words cause, yeah, so would she.

 They pull back and her eyes slide over left arm, landing on the scarf tied there. "My scarf!" She tugs on it a little.

 Luke chuckles, sliding his palm along her jaw. Realisation crosses his face. "Oh, that is my beanie."

 His head whips up and around when loud guffaws break past stifling hands. Alex and Reggie have dissolved into borderline hysterics. He looks back at Julie whose eyes fill with shared mirth. A laugh bubbles up in his own chest, spilling over and out of his mouth.

 And finally, surrounded by Alex and Reggie and Julie, his soul is complete.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke #jukebox #fic #my fic #jatp fic

[tanoraqui]

[previous]

so there’s fog, you know, soft and empty fog, except that sometimes there are people in it. There are songs, soft and sweet, except the song about the woman named Janet isn’t allowed at all - the song- the song his...the song for which He beats him, when he sings, beats him and beats him until he can’t taste anything but blood, and he swallows it and sings louder for spite - and feels terrible immediately, for disrespecting Him so terribly. 

Acacia comes for him, dresses him and scares off his attendants, and he remember...Wei Wuxian remembers a little...

“Your daughter’s dead,” he says abruptly, as they pretend to have every right to walk the corridors. “Your lost Rhodia - but she had a son.”

“What?” says Acacia, hungry.

“He’s a bit of a brat,” Wei Wuxian says, in the contemplative way of someone still partly asleep. “But only because he’s loved and well-cared for, and knows it. Also because he’s a brat. He sent me here.”

Acacia pulls him along a little faster

But they don’t make it. Blind Michael’s more clever, more cruel lieutenants interrupt them, and Blind Michael himself, and Wei Wuxian is dressed for a Ride and a wedding, and Blind Michael becomes a god in his eyes, through his eyes - and they Ride

oh, how they Ride.

With a thousand eyes and none his own, Wei Wuxian sees it: through the cold-capped mountains they Ride, horse-hides steaming in the clouds. Through the sea-wide lakes they Ride, over and under. Through the stony hills they Ride, and all the beasts scatter in their wake. Through the golden streets they Ride, and human and faerie alike cower.

until the Hunt reaches a lightly flooded crossroads, and with a thousand eyes and none, Wei Wuxian watches a woman form from the water. She’s dressed like a pirate and stands like a queen; her skin is darkly scaled and her teeth are as sharp as a shark’s. 

“With the holy water in her hand,” she shouts with a captain’s voice, “she cast the compass round. At twelve o'clock the fairy court, came riding o'er the mound.” And, “Michael, this is ending.”

[NB: our lyrics for this evening are “Tam Lin” by Steeleye Span, my favorite version of the song/poem]

Hands pull Wei Wuxian down from his horse in the confusion, drag him forward and pin him in a vicious headlock just above water just deep enough to drown. He struggles to return to his lord and he goes limp and hopes the familiar arms will flip him over, into the water facefirst

He can’t quite see who’s holding him; the Huntfold gaze he’s part of is still focused on Blind Michael and his half-sister

“Get out of my way, daughter of Titania,” he sneers, and probably several other things. “You have no right to be here, tonight.”

“Oh, am I the one being a selfish, manipulative egomaniac?” Amphitrite calls back. “But fine.” She stamps her foot as a child in temper, a woman drawing a line in the sand, and the air reeks of ocean and fresh kills, deep currents ripple in the flooded intersection. She points toward the held figure near her feet. “That’s my descendent you’ve got there, by birth if not by blood, and I want him back. He was under my protection when you took him, and he owes me a debt.”

several other Riders have been pulled down, too, now struggling and limp in the hands of unseen strangers

“You have no right!” Blind Michael snarls again (only a child in temper)

“Friends and family and companions of blood always have a right.” Amphitrite warns one last time, “You can still walk away, Michael. I don’t really want you to - I’m not Annie. But I’ll let you.”

“Who would come for him?” Blind Michael demands.

“Lan Wangji, heir to the Duchy of Cloud Recesses,” a voice says from above him, as cool as though it was rude of Blind Michael to ask. “My claim precedes yours.”

“Wen Qing.” “Wen Ning.” They speak almost at the same time, Wen Qing somehow sounding exasperated through her steely determination, and Wen Ning only, rarely, confident in his. “He’s our idiot.” “He’s our friend.”

“Luo Qingyang, formerly of the Court of Golden Sun,” says the one holding down his legs, and for the first time, Wei Wuxian scrambles completely organically to remember. Wait, that’s not- Mianmian? “Wei Wuxian saved my life, and those of many I love, and I don’t see why that debt should go unpaid.”

“Jiang Yanli,” declares the one with a firm arm around his neck, “Princess-consort of the Kingdom of Golden Sun and heir to the Duchy of Lotus Lakes. I’m bringing my didi home.” 

She speaks with such furious intent that he almost expects to see Madam Yu when he looks up, a thousand eyes fading to just his own. But it’s his shijie who smiles down at him, and tightens her headlock (Madam Yu would approve)

Blind Michael raises his hand and change hurts (change always hurts) but Wei Wuxian was made for it. He is sleek and long and made of nothing but muscle - and fang and poison, and desperation to escape the grip that suddenly slips on his neck. He is nothing but neck. He slides and twists and swipes his tail, and the grip tightens around his middle with a startled gasp. He twists and rears and lunges and bites, sinks venom into blood and the grip goes slack - 

- and the best Daoine Sidhe blood-healer in a generation, in several generations, slaps Jiang Yanli’s back and grimaces, and Jiang Yanli grits her teeth and tightens her hold and above and before them, Amphitrite chants, “They've shaped him in her arms, into an roaring snake. She's held him fast and feared him not, to be her lovely mate.”

Another change. Wei Wuxian is a beast of dark fur and gnashing teeth, slashing claws and sharp as a sword and twice as savage. He is the wildness of the Hunt itself. He swipes at his captor - he cannot be contained, he will not be contained - and strikes her across the cheek; he writhes and snarls and - 

- a pale hand shoves a sachet into his face; a glimpse of ice-blue eyes and a strong hand shoves his head down into it, his nose, and orders, “Calm.” He inhales to snarl and strike again and breathes in pure, alchemically enhanced catnip and...it’s kind of like being hit with a truck, if the truck was dreamy serenity but also raw LSD. He wants to escape the arms now locking more firmly around his neck, but he also wants to nuzzle up into Lan Zhan’s hand now scratching his head, and also never take his head out of this really amazing-smelling bag...

“They've shaped him in her arms, to a wood black beast so wild. She's held him fast and feared him not, the father of her child!“

A third. Wei Wuxian is heat, is pain, is light, screaming, ecstasy, agony, destruction, life, fire. (“They've shaped him in her arms again, fire burning bold!”) He isn’t sure he even wants to go back to Blind Michael, but he can’t stop burning. (“She's held him fast and feared him not, till he was iron cold!”) Jiang Yanli cries out and Wen Ning grabs her arms to keep them steady, gasping in pain himself, and Luo Qingyang drags all three of them down into the water, which does very little but -  

“ - They've shaped him in her arms at last, into a naked man,” Amphitrite calls at the last. “She's wrapped him in the green mantle, and knew that she had him won.” And at last it is true: Wei Wuxian sags, exhausted and bruised and not a little blood, his own and his sister’s and his friends’.

He licks his lips absentmindedly, and realizes he’s naked when Lan Wangji looks away with a stiff expression. Luo Qingyang rolls her eyes and pulls a spare robe out of somewhere and throws it over him, and it catches Jiang Yanli as well, because she does wait to hold him closer and cry-laugh against his shoulder. “A-Xian! Are you okay? We were so worried! You’re not to do that again, do you hear me?”

“Ah, shijie,” Wei Wuxian gives a laughs right back, only a little fake. “I’m always okay! And you - ” He’s about to say something about how magnificent she was, but a dash of his memory catches up and he actually does pull away from her a little just enough to look in her face with horror. “Wait, Princess-consort - no! Shijie, you didn’t marry the peacock?!”

(while around them other families reunite, and a few weep - not all held tight enough. while Blind Michael shouts and whines his protest and Amphitrite invites him to fight or fuck off)

Jiang Yanli smiles tearfully. “I wanted to wait for you, we all did, but...” Her shrug encompasses everything from true love to royal politics. But her smile both widens and softens as her hand runs over her stomach. “I’m even pregnant already.”

Wei Wuxian almost smiles, before he sits up with a horrified start. “No - Janet’s first baby didn’t - Wen Qing! Wen Qing, is the baby okay?!”

His panic is infectious; Jiang Yanli’s eyes widen and Wen Qing drops to her knees and presses her hands to Jiang Yanli’s side, swipes a drop of blood from her cheek and tastes it, and all stop until she says, “The baby’s fine. You should rest, though. Both of you. All of us.”

Blind Michael and his Hunt turn away in shame, ride away in defeat...all but one. Acacia lingers, golden.

Two figures wade carefully through Amphitrite’s flooded crossroads to greet her, one head black and the other dark, dark red. 

“Grandmother,” says Nie Huaisang, part curiosity and part awe. 

Acadia reaches out without a thought. Her hand stops in the air above Amphitrite’s lapping waves (which wouldn’t last for much longer, not on land, but for now still fought back the touch of Blind Michael’s realm). 

She smiles sadly as her hand drops. “You do look like her. I don’t suppose you’d like to come home with me?”

Nie Huaisang bites his lip with the longing of a faerie meeting (one of) his Firstborn for the first time. But he says decisively, “No thank you. It seems kind of terrible.” He hesitates. “Would you...like to come home with me?”

Acacia doesn’t laugh, though her smile twists like she might have, once. “Would you pull me through into my sisters waters yourself, child? Would you hold me tight and fear me not, and set me free?”

“If Huaisang cannot, I’d be happy to, Lady,” says Nie Mingjue, every maiden’s picture of a strapping young knight and duke. “My brother’s family is mine, by definition, and Lady Rhodia is much-loved by all of Butcher’s Hill, whether or not she still dances with us.”

“I’m glad,” she tells him, after a pause the length of a flower petal’s breadth, and turns her gaze back to Nie Huaisang. “But, no. Live well, grandson. If you ever take your bloody hero’s Choice - ” her gaze flicks over his shoulder to Wei Wuxian, and back - “I hope you choose your mother. You have her wits as well as her face.” 

And she turns and rides away without another word.

And for a brief while, it’s over.

TBC

#mdzs #the untamed #october daye #my fic #flash forward 15 years to jin ling who's a perfectly normal daoine sidhe-merrow halfblood thank you very much #except that okay he CAN slide from one end of the spectrum to the other at will #like it hurts like hell but he can do it #can't change anyone else but can do himself #all hallow's eve ride change magic man. it messes up the in utero

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Seventeen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me @rinad307 @superspiritfestival )

i know all of us read for an escape, and that is especially true for fanfiction, so the only thing i will say here is this: i am sorry that elected officials have bastardized the phrase “thoughts and prayers” because i believe it is a sacred one. please know i am entirely sincere when i tell you i have been thinking of and praying for you all, especially my black american readers. i hope this grants you few minutes’ reprieve from the pain of the world. i wrote it for you, dear reader.

---

February 8 - Year of

Just as Nesta was finishing her preparations for dinner, Emerie knocked on the door. Nesta untied the apron she had donned before going to open it.

"Hello," she said in greeting, and not Happy birthday, even though that was why Emerie was coming over.

"Hi," Emerie answered.

"Dinner's ready. Come in."

Nesta was not naturally inclined towards cooking, and in their little cottage under the Wall there hadn't been much to cook with, but here she was learning. Sometimes she and Cassian even cooked together now.

"This looks nice," Emerie said, inspecting the duck carefully.

"I've learned, all right?" Nesta said, remembering the first and last time she had attempted to cook for Emerie. This time she had used Cassian's recipes.

"Where is he, anyway?" Emerie asked.

Nesta shrugged, although she knew. Whenever he left with a vague I have to go, it was to Velaris.

"That looks loved," she said, nodding towards a book on the countertop. She frowned. "Haven't you read that already?"

"It's children's stories. You're supposed to read them again."

"Or children are," Emerie said, stifling a grin as she poured herself some water.

Nesta scowled. "Cassian still likes them." They had even read some together. Nesta bit her lip tightly, trying not to think of the evenings spent in the living room, her reading aloud some of his childhood favorites.

"You have a great voice, you know that?" he said to her quite suddenly, interrupting what he had claimed was the best story in the book.

She had scowled at him then as she was scowling at Emerie now. For Nesta's voice had been described as many things: shrill, thin, even grating, once, by some horrible girl from her old village—but never great. "Shut up," she had snapped.

His eyes had widened and his arms went up in surrender. "What? I mean it!"

"You do not."

"I do! It's...clear. Soothing. And sometimes..." he moved his head from side to side, trying to think of the right descriptor. "Lyrical."

"Lyrical?" That was certainly a first.

"Yeah." His face had split into a grin. "Do you sing?"

"No," she said, forcing her head back into the book. "Don't interrupt me, or I won't read anymore of this Nicholas thief..."

"Nicholas, the Thief Who Stole the Night! And fine. Keep going."

But perhaps some of the memory bled onto her face, judging by Emerie's smirk.

"How do you normally celebrate?" Nesta said, quickly changing the subject.

Emerie's brown face fell flatly. "I don't, really."

"Well...how do people here normally celebrate?"

She shrugged. "Like this, more or less."

"Duck?"

"No, doing what they like. With...you know. People."

For the second time that evening, Nesta forced the flush out of her cheeks. A person knowing that they are one of your two friends isn't nearly so miserable when you are also one of their only friends.

---

December 23 - 4 years after

The children face leaving Velaris to go home to Sugar Valley with the same excitement they greet everything, but Elain is fighting back tears.

"We'll see each other again soon," Nesta reminds her, slightly exasperated.

"No, I know," she says. "I'll just miss you."

"You can come and visit whenever you want."

"Well, I will." She wipes her eyes. "I'll move in with you."

"Don't sound so miserable," Nesta says, laughingly.

"I just want to be with my whole family all of the time." Elain rubs at her face again, and, without much warning, throws herself at Nesta.

"Ugh—all right, Elain...yes, I'll miss you too..."

"Come on, Elain," Feyre says, walking towards them, Avery on her hip. "Give her some air."

"I'll miss you," she says again, muffled against Nesta's neck

"I won't," Nesta tells her, making both her sisters laugh. She hides a smile.

"You know," Elain says, finally taking a step back, "you don't look like you had a very relaxing vacation."

No, she'd wager she did not. Because after falling asleep in bed with Cassian on Solstice Eve, she had not managed to sleep at all for the two nights after that. Perhaps being back home in her own room would help grant her some peace of mind.

"There's not really a holiday from being a mother," she says instead.

Elain's eyes light up, looking over eagerly at Feyre. "We could give you one! We could take care of the kids for a few days and you could have some time with—for yourself! Or..." she says, backtracking at the look of alarm on Nesta's face.

"No, no, it's fine," Nesta says, bringing up her hands. "I just don't think I'm ready for that yet."

"We're here when you are," Feyre says, putting Avery down and throwing an arm around Elain.

"Mummy, I want to stay with my aunts," Avery says, tugging on her hand.

"They'll come visit soon. Where are your brothers?"

"Cass and Rhys have got them...oh, here they come."

"All set?" Rhysand asks when they reach them.

Nesta narrows her eyes at the extra bag he's holding.

"Is it all right if I join you?" Cassian mumbles in her ear, appearing at her side.

Well, she doesn't have much choice now, does she? "Sure."

"I just want to spend some more time with you all while the Illyrians are still celebrating."

This mollifies her slightly. "Of course."

After more tearful goodbyes from Elain—the children all seem upset to leave her, too, which softens Nesta's heart in a way she had not expected—Feyre and Rhysand take hold of them all and they are finally home.

"Elain and I will come soon," Feyre says, squeezing her tightly. "Thanks so much, Nesta. We loved having you in Velaris."

"Bye, Aunt Feyre."

"Bye, Aunt Feyre!"

"Oh, goodbye, you three!"

"We hope to have you again, Nesta," Rhysand says, the picture of politeness.

But Nesta doesn't think she will ever be able to look at him without glaring. Still, she maintains the same civility he does. "Thank you."

And she doesn't even snarl at the cooed "Bye, Uncle Rhys!"

"It's been a long few days," Nesta says. "We're going to take a nap."

"I'll get them down," Cassian says, picking up all three of them in one swoop, making them shriek with laughter.

"Thanks," she calls after him as he wrangles them up the stairs.

She supposes he's given her some time to herself, but there's stuff to do. She's got so much new crap she needs to put away...and what on earth is she supposed to feed Ollie's new caterpillar?

Half an hour later, when Cassian sees her sitting at the kitchen table scrawling out a list, he laughs.

"I thought you'd take a shower or something."

"I have so much to do," she says, rubbing her eyes.

"Those authors you found?"

"They've given me some samples...I need to decide what I'm giving to Adil." And she was incredibly busy trying to avoid him, of course.

"Well...when can we talk?"

Nesta looks up at him. She sighs. "Now." She pushes away the work in front of her.

Cassian perks up, obviously not having expected this.

She opens her mouth, but he holds up a hand.

"Actually, do you mind if I go first?"

Nesta blinks. "Sure."

He gives her a reassuring, relaxed grin and pulls out a chair. "I really wanted to thank you for agreeing to come for Solstice. It was the best of my life."

She can't stop her lips from tugging upwards. "The children enjoyed it as well."

"I hope you did, too."

Her slight smile falters, and she moves to pull back. He puts his hands over hers. "Nesta, I know that you're still hurting. But we've come a long way since a few months ago, and I want to keep that. And grow stronger. I don't want to do anything to jeopardize what we have now...and what I want us to be."

This is far too confrontational—

"I don't want to scare you off," he says softly, "but I don't ever want to leave things up to interpretation with you." He pauses for a moment, perhaps not even noticing how he traces her fingers with his. "I want us to be a family."

That isn't fair. Of course she wants that. What's the alternative? That her children come from—from a broken home? "A family can be many things." The hoarseness of her voice is unfamiliar to her.

"I know that." A short laugh escapes him, probably as he thinks of his own makeshift family in Velaris. "But I also know what I want ours to look like."

Is he going to spell it out for her, in the name of loose interpretations? She hopes he doesn't. She's not ready for that, she can't hear him say it.

"It was perfect, wasn't it?"

"What was perfect?" she asks blankly.

"That night. The two of us in one room, the three of them in another."

She flinches. "That was..."

"A mistake, I know. But it still happened." He still hasn't moved his hand. She hasn't moved hers either. He squeezes it tightly. "I know you liked being under the same roof, too. Let's just...not lose our momentum. Let's keep going. This pace is fine for me."

What if it's too fast for her, though? Or her children? Or—and this might be worse—too slow for them?

Sometimes she feels like she never got out of the Cauldron. Like she's still drowning.

---

January 1 - 1 year after

The last of the Solstice decorations were being taken down when Nesta walked to the post officer, the letter she was twirling in her hands drawing far less attention than the ever-growing bump under her gown.

Everyone was staring at it. And—ugh—it was only going to get bigger, wasn't it? Amorette had told her that a triplet pregnancy could result in gaining anywhere north of forty-five pounds. And also to stop referring to her belly as it.

There's no easy way to write to someone I know I never intended to speak to you again, but I changed my mind because I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant, by the way, because I don't know how fae pregnancy works, apparently. Which I guess means I shouldn't be having sex, but well, at least I've stopped now. Write back!

After hours of writing and crumbling up parchment and throwing it against the wall, Nesta had settled on the more gentle:

Cassian,

Write back.

Nesta.

Nesta knew perfectly well how pathetic that was, but after the way she left, she couldn't say anything else. She didn't want him to come here. She didn't want to go there. They'd have to meet in some neutral territory.

Announcing her pregnancy, she believed, was not something she could do in a letter. She had to do it face to face. Not only because she thought, well, he deserved being told that way, but...

Because of her reasoning for almost everything: she was a coward. That was the truth of it.

She had left him, and now he had the opportunity to leave her right back. Pregnant and alone. Delaying his finding out was delaying the possibility of that happening.

So even though she hated herself for sending that letter, she knew it was the only option she could bring herself to go through with.

December 23 - 4 years after

After playing at the park and dinner, putting the children down for the night, Nesta asks Cassian if he'll be all right alone with them for a few hours.

"I'm just going out to meet Amorette," she says.

"Before you do," he says, standing up from the couch and slipping his hand into his pocket. "I forgot to give you this...in all the—er—excitement."

He pulls out a small black box, very much like the one she had turned down years ago. But he opens it and she knows it's not the same one, because of the gift.

A white gold heart on a fine chain, with three tiny stones in the left corner. One deep violet, one royal blue, and one slate grey, each engraved with a letter: A, N, and O.

She traces it lightly with her finger. "Thank you," she says. "It's beautiful. I have...I have yours, too. Wait a moment." She rifles through one of the bags in the kitchen. "It's not—I mean, I guess I should've...you..."

"Give it here, Nesta," he orders, making her laugh slightly. She hands him the book.

He unwraps it and his eyes widen.

"I didn't really make it for you," she explains. "I just started it when they were born and kept adding on. But...I thought you might like it."

She keeps things. Three tiny bracelets Amorette had snapped on three tiny wrists, locks of hair cut for the first time, the first cohesive "art project"...

He looks up at her after flipping through some of the pages, eyes shining. "Thank you. Can I..." He gestures to the necklace, which she's set on the counter.

"Oh. Yes."

He picks it up as he walks behind her. Is it the cold of the metal that makes her wince slightly, or his body heat so close to her.

"Thank you," she says, looking down at it, after he fastens it. "It's beautiful."

"Say hello to Amorette."

It's rather abrupt of him, she thinks. But perhaps he's worried about pushing her too far. At any rate, Nesta takes her leave, and it's only a few minutes before she is knocking on her friend's door and being ushered in.

"Nice necklace," Amorette remarks right away.

"Thanks."

"It's a heart."

"I noticed."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, what warrants a heart necklace?"

Nesta rubs her temples. "Can't I have a drink first?"

Amorette laughs before obliging.

She frowns as she takes the glass from her, jerking her head towards a chair in the corner of the room. "What's all that?"

Amorette's clear blue eyes slide over. "Oh. Paperwork."

"You don't normally bring this much home with you."

"Some research, actually," she admits, "from another hospital. In Ciyaluck."

Nesta raised an eyebrow. "You're working with a hospital in Ciyaluck?"

"Not exactly...they've put out some interesting stuff. They asked applicants to do their own...never mind," she says, waving her hands.

"No, wait. You're applying for something? That's great."

"It's up in the air, really. And I'll spare you the gore. Tell me what happened in Velaris."

Nesta takes a deep breath. "Cassian and I fell asleep in the same bed and Nicky walked in on us."

Even Amorette's healer-patience and understanding are not enough to stop her eyes going wide and her jaw dropping. "You slept—"

"No! We just fell asleep!"

"Oh." She pauses. "But...you were in bed together?"

"We didn't do anything," Nesta hurries to say. "Really. Just fell asleep. We didn't...nothing. It was just..." Nesta lets out a groan and drops her head into her hands. "Nicky saw."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yes." Earlier today. She had stolen a moment alone with him.

"What was your favorite part of the trip?" she had asked, pulling him into her lap, and listened to his ramblings about everything he enjoyed for a few minutes before gently stopping him. "Do you remember when you walked into Mummy's room? And you saw me sleeping there with Appa?"

His brown cheeks darkened, going rosy at the top. Eyes cast down, he nodded.

"And how did that make you feel?"

He shrugged, still not looking at her.

"Sad? Or angry?"

"No..."

"Happy?"

"I don't know."

"You know we both love you very much, right?"

"I know."

"And you're allowed to come into Mummy's room when you wake up in the morning. Or if you wake up in the middle of the night. You know that?"

"I know."

"Would it..." Nesta paused, wondering how best to phrase it. "Would it be good or bad if Appa slept in Mummy's bed again?"

Nicky had looked up, his grey eyes shy as he started wringing his hands. "I don't know."

"All right," she had said, keeping her tone cheerful. She kissed his forehead. "Do you want to go play at the park?"

"Well, that's all right, then," Amorette says when she finishes recounting the events of the afternoon.

"How is that all right?"

"He's not upset," she replies. "He may not know exactly how it makes him feel, but it's not bad."

"What do you think he is feeling, then?" Nesta tries to decide based on his expression when he walked into the room that morning. He had averted his eyes...embarrassed?

Amorette echoes her sentiments. "In the moment, at least. But from what you said...I think he might be pleased."

Is that worse than him being upset? Nesta can't tell.

"Look, he's clearly not losing any sleep over it, and neither should you. You spoke to him, reassured him, made it clear he can come to you. What else is there?"

"I don't know...do you think he told Avery and Ollie?"

Amorette shrugs. "Well, they're not very good secret keepers."

That much is true. "Should I talk to all three of them?"

"If they ask. Parents have done worse things to their children than falling asleep, Nesta," she teases. "When you traumatize them enough for them to run away, it'll be for something worse than this."

Nesta sighs and stretches out her legs. "Suppose you're right...thanks for the book, by the way." An extremely rare edition of one of Nesta's favorites. "Although I don't know if I should thank you for supporting my competition."

"As if," Amorette says, grinning. "Adil tracked it down for me."

Nesta feels a warm flutter in her stomach. "Oh."

She has so much here, doesn't she? The thought doesn't leave her, throughout the whole evening with Amorette and the walk home. Not just for the children...but for her. Adil and Miri and Amorette...and neighbors...and Zeyn.

Who calls her name just as she walks up the steps to her porch.

---

February 16 - Year of

The cold of the Illyrian mountains did not melt alongside the snow, but all of the iciness inside the General Commander's house had gone. There were quiet moments of awkwardness here and there, when Nesta could hear him not mentioning the forbidden words: Velaris, Rhys, Feyre, etc., but the other moments outnumbered them and were pleasant. Which was why Nesta had agreed to join him on one of the mysterious meetings he always disappeared to.

He had asked her a few days ago, after coming home from one of these meetings. Slumped on the couch and complained about how the preferred method rebellion appeared to be directly disobeying him.

"Step down," Nesta suggested, and he had rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't see why you try so much. There are more armies than just the Illyrian one. So let them choose a new commander if they hate you. Be the other armies' commander."

He stretched his arm out, his fingers trailing the spot next to where her knee was under the blanket, and smiled softly. "But I'm Illyrian, Nesta."

She knew that. "Well...I just don't think you should be giving so much to people who don't even want you there."

"There's no way," he said. "Think what the rebels will do if I step down."

"I don't understand. They're Night Court, aren't they? So aren't they loyal anyway? And aren't they pleased to have an Illyrian High Lord?"

"They don't see themselves as Night Court," he said. "They live amongst themselves. They are only Illyrian. So they don't like having an Illyrian High Lord. They like Night Court society about as much as you do," he added ruefully. His grin tugged downwards slightly as he mused, more to himself, she thought, "Actually, you do have quite a bit in common with them..."

"With the Illyrians warlords?" Nesta asked drily.

"Camp lords. We're not at war."

"Not at war yet, you said."

His fingers inched farther, and she leaned back as he began to rub one of the dimples in her knee from over the blanket. "Come with me."

He was still touching her. "Come with you where?"

"To a meeting."

She hadn't thought he would be able to convince her, but his pleading and a rare burst of curiosity on her part won out in the end. So after a morning of his teasing her that they were going to be late and her grumbling that it was so early, Nesta found herself at the entrance of a building in an Illyrian camp that looked very much like the one she and Cassian lived in.

"Lysander's the new camp lord," Cassian told her. "Relatively young. The old one...well. Not a fan of Rhys' or mine."

"Did you kill him?" she asked, half teasing, half genuine.

"What? No! I didn't kill him...and keep your voice down, if you're going to accuse me of political assassination."

"How'd he die?"

"We're not sure," Cassian admitted. "It might have been an accident. But probably not."

"Are you going to find out?"

"We are." He grinned at her.

Nesta scowled. "That's what I'm here to do? I thought you wanted me to sit next to you."

"You will. And add another healthy dose of fear while I interrogate."

"This is stupid," Nesta said, crossing her arms. "Don't you have a mind-reader on hand?"

"This is a new camp lord," he reminded her. "I want him to see me as his commander, not Rhys' lapdog who calls him in anytime things get rough."

She could appreciate that, at least. "And I'm your lapdog?"

She expected him to give her a wicked grin and say something stupid like, You're a wolf, but he only laughed and said, "No. Who would believe that? You're just here on an excursion."

"That's a big word."

"Oh, shut up. I need your help. All right?"

"Fine," she agreed, forcefully making her tone sound begrudging. "You don't think the new camp lord killed the old one?"

"I don't. But I could be wrong. Let's go see."

The building was not much nicer than the tents the Illyrian military had pitched during the war...and the people's attitude towards Nesta have not changed. Muttering greeted her when she entered the room at Cassian's side, and some of those religious hand gestures were thrown in her direction.

She stifled a scowl. She'd been living in Illyria for six months now. If she were going to unleash hellfire down upon them, wouldn't she have done it already?

Cassian didn't waste much time on introductions. On their part, that is. "This is your new commander's table?" He motioned for Nesta to sit down next to him.

Lysander cleared his throat. "I decided on a chain of command, yes."

He was nervous. That was...good? Because he was nervous about doing something without Cassian's permission first? But if Nesta were living here, she wouldn't like knowing that her camp lord was nervous when presenting his decisions.

Oh, she didn't know what she thought. She didn't really understand the politics before her and she honestly didn't care to.

The whole meeting seemed spectacularly boring to Nesta. Even things that should have been interesting—Cassian asking why no females had been chosen for the new commander's table, discussions of Illyrian separatists starting a fire in the middle of the camp—were not. She just...didn't care.

She didn't think much of it was interrogating, either. Until Cassian said, "It seems odd that an established camp lord, who was well-versed in aerial combat, fell to his death. Don't you think, Lady Nesta?"

It had been quite some time since she'd heard that made-up title. But she gave no indication. "I do," she said.

They all flinched at the sound of her voice.

Cassian ignored them, pretending like they were the only ones in the room, as he leaned back and said, "What's your theory?"

Nesta looked around. "Was he popular?"

"He was not."

"Hm." Nesta thought for a moment.

If Cassian had wanted a politician, he would have brought Rhysand.

So she didn't think up any veiled threats. Instead, she turned to Lysander, and asked, just as she had asked Cassian, "Did you kill him?"

Asking Cassian, though, had not been nearly so funny. There was no chorus of sharp breaths, no sputtering.

But the answer was the same—more or less.

"No, Lady!"

Ooh, he would've had to be quite young to look at her with that kind of fear. But it was still hard to tell with faeries, for her.

"I don't think he did it," Nesta said.

"Anybody else?" Cassian was looking only at her.

She studied them all carefully. There—two from Lysander's right. He was calling on his gods far too much for an honest male.

"Did you kill him?"

His brown face bleached. "I did not, Lady." There was, perhaps, less terror in his voice than in Lysander's, but that wasn't very impressive. Perhaps he did not kill the old camp lord, but he definitely knew who did.

"This doesn't strike me as a good commander's table," Nesta muttered to Cassian, who chuckled slightly.

"Lysander...and you...stay. The rest of you, take your leave."

It wasn't something that she hoped to do again, she thought to herself. She didn't particularly enjoy intimidating people; she didn't like to be around people in the first place. But it was for a good cause, she supposed. Tangentially working for the Night Court, but weeding out corruption, right?

And she couldn't deny it—she did enjoy the secretive grins Cassian kept shooting her way.

---

December 23 - 4 years after

Cassian doesn't mean to eavesdrop. Really. He just thinks, when he hears Nesta coming up to the door, that she'll appreciate his help with her coat. Walk her into the living room where they can go over the book she had given him.

But then he hears her say, "Zeyn."

He freezes. Is he—here to spend the night? Should he leave?

Footsteps away from the door, and a kiss.

"I missed you," he says.

"I missed you too. Thank you for your gifts. We loved them."

When had he given her a gift.

"Suppose they're asleep."

"You can see them tomorrow." She pauses. "How was Solstice here?"

"Same as always. Madam Sabina had the kids put on a dance show."

Nesta laughs. "I wonder what the routine was like."

"Oh, it's such a shame you missed it. I can only hope this routine is repeated an infinite amount of times at every single town fair, so you have a chance to see it."

"Fingers crossed."

She's not sending him away, but she doesn't seem to be inviting him in. He notices, too.

"He's here, isn't he?"

Zeyn's voice has changed. He's not cold, but he's certainly not warm.

Nesta's own voice is unapologetic. "He's my children's father, Zeyn."

"But what is he to you?"

Cassian holds his breath. He doesn't want to listen in anymore, but he's too in-tune to her voice. He'll hear her from anywhere in the house now.

"He's my children's father," she says again. "That's a lot, Zeyn."

"Come on, Nesta, you know what I mean."

He wishes he could see her face—well, no, he doesn't. He saw it earlier tonight. She's not ready. He knows that.

Finally, ever so soft, she says, "I don't know, all right?"

Zeyn waits another few seconds before saying, just as softly, "All right."

"I can't have...anything...right now," she says. "It's too much. I'm focusing on the children."

"You always focus on the children."

"Well, really, Zeyn, what the hell do you expect me to do?"

"No, it's not wrong. I'm just saying...do you really think if you take some time to figure out what you want you won't be focusing on them?"

Privately, Cassian agrees with him.

"I don't know."

Now she sounds tired. Cassian doubts she'll want to look at the album with him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Zeyn...all right?"

Another kiss. "All right. Good night."

Cassian is sitting on the couch in the living room by the time Nesta makes it to the door.

"Hey," she says, untying her boots as she sits down.

"Hey," he says, casual. "How was Amorette's?"

"Great," she says flatly. "How's the album?"

He can't stop the smile on his face. "Great."

She chuckles slightly and reaches for it. "Did you see the little handprints? When they wake up, we can ask them to hold their hands against it...I still make them do it sometimes...they've just gotten," Nesta pauses to sigh and smile slightly, "so big."

"Ollie was always the smallest?" he asks, looking at the prints.

"Yes. I guess he'll be bigger than Avery one day." She laughs. "Oh, wow...do you ever think about what they'll be like? What they'll look like? Nicky looks more like you every single day."

Cassian perks up. "Really? Do you think?"

She nods. "He's started losing his little cheeks already. They're really not toddlers anymore. Three and a half."

"Three and a half," he echoes.

Nesta flips some of the pages. "And the hair. Look, Avery's hair was so light when she was born. I thought she was going to be blond."

They sit for another hour or so, talking about their children. This time, when Nesta starts to doze off, she claps her hands together and announces she is going to bed.

Cassian doesn't mind in the least.

---

some of y’all might not be aware, but since last week was so tough for me, i turned to you. i asked for prompts to write things that might distract me, and i am so pleased that it distracted a lot of you. some of these are lpg-verse, some are not. all are short, and hopefully fun for you.

you can continue to come to me when things are hard for you. my writing will always be here to provide an escape, and i am always here to lend a listening ear.

don’t let the bad days win.

Chapter Eighteen

#nessian #acotar fic #acotar au #nesta archeron #nessian fic #<3 you all.

[kentuckyanarchist]

There are few albums as bipolar as Boys and Girls in America—few that combine euphoria and aching nostalgic sadness in the same way, and fewer still that do it both masterfully and in absolute earnest. The Hold Steady’s third record greets you right from the start with a double motion: the album cover, all kids with hands in the air, hot pink with confetti flying (“up to yr neck in the sweat and wet confetti” as “Most People Are DJs,” from Almost Killed Me, had it), cuts against the very first line, where Craig Finn riffs on Jack Kerouac to affirm: “boys and girls in America have such a sad time together.” Kerouac evinced the same bipolarity in On the Road, and Hemingway too, Steinbeck too, not to mention Dylan, not to mention Springsteen—it’s part and parcel of a particular kind of American lyrical masculinity that likes to bellow and wail about its sensitive seriousness. Writers in this tradition—and Finn, whose first four Hold Steady albums approach flawlessness, is among the very best of them—plumb the unchartable depths of sorrow that provide everyday hedonism with its uneasy foundation. They give voice to a pain that can’t be outrun no matter how hard their characters try, one that catches them up in solitary moments and/or comes to suffuse whole segments of lives.

It was a feature, no doubt, of Almost Killed Me, the Hold Steady’s debut from 2004; it was unavoidably present in Separation Sunday (2005), their high-concept dramatisation of that line from “Thunder Road” about waiting “for a saviour to rise from these streets”. But on Boys and Girls songs like “Hot Soft Light” pummel you with it: the drunken reassurances and unsubtle heavy metal references of the verses cascade into the nightlife typology of the chorus, where all possible encounters are reducible to ideal types, “the guys / with the wild eyes when they ask to get you high” and “the girls / that’ll come to you with comfort in the night.” “Hot” and “soft”, such a simple pair of monosyllables, do all sorts of work here: they’re a mellow high before it becomes a problem (“it came on hot and soft / and then it tightened up its tentacles”); they’re a callback to the summing-up of human existence as just “hot soft spots on a hard rock planet” (“Most People Are DJs” again); and, when the title drops in the final line, they’re the body and the blood, Christ himself at the centre of the cross. In other hands counterposing religious ecstasy with drug-induced euphoria might seem pat, or at least like a failed attempt to shock; in Finn’s it seems entirely sincere.

Songs like “First Night” trade in a kind of nostalgia that’s not without its darkness and drama. More than almost any other Hold Steady song “First Night” runs off of Franz Nicolay’s keyboards, but there’s vastly more there too, in the strings and backing vocals especially. In the quadrumvirate of characters (not forgetting the narrator), Holly aka Hallelujah aka the central character of Separation Sunday is central, and she’s still in rough shape. The flashforward from that first night, when Holly “slept like she’d never been scared”, to last night, with Holly disconsolate and trembling, echoes in the shaking keyboards, over which the album title becomes a mantra in falsetto. At which point Finn, who from Lifter Puller days is well-acquainted with the art of the sneer and the snarl, intercedes: “don’t bother talking to the guys with their hot soft eyes”—those two adjectives for the last time—“you know they’re already taken.” All of which is not to forget that in the phrase “she was golden with barlight and beer”, “First Night” also coins the most beautiful ever way of saying “she looked hot when I was drunk.”

Songs like “Party Pit” take up the mantle of ceaseless mobility from Kerouac (the tradition Deleuze describes in which “everything is departure, becoming, passage, leap, daemon, relationship with the outside”) and run with it, juxtaposing a wayward narrator with an old friend who never escaped the vicissitudes of the teen scene. (As a 16-year-old I cycled home most nights across the Carter Bridge, over the railway just north of Cambridge railway station, and the line about crossing “that Grain Belt Bridge / into bright new Minneapolis” became wrapped up with that quotidian experience. I don’t know if “bright new Minneapolis” is a joke or just a conscious bit of mythmaking—I’ve never been to Minneapolis but I don’t see it as a city with lights so bright they can be seen glittering from above—but the image resonates nonetheless. And for the record: you’ll find lyrics sites saying the line’s “brand new Minneapolis,” but it’s not. Listen to this version.) Finn’s narrator’s been away to school and come back (“to start a band, of course”) but the heroine’s stayed put, “pinned down at the party pit,” stuck going round and round in circles, “gonna walk around, gonna walk around, gonna walk around and drink.” The party’s the site and source of sadness here and getting away’s jinxed too: coming home’s a bittersweet endeavour as much because of what’s stayed the same as what’s different.

And “Stuck Between Stations”, with its unpromising source material, its dated central metaphor, its shoehorning of a guilty-pleasure or problematic-fave author (as John Darnielle’s said—Darnielle being a man who knows his Berryman and knows his Hold Steady—the “sometimes in blackface” of Berryman’s Henry worries away at any too-friendly reading of that sad Minneapolis bard). It might not be the best Hold Steady song but it might be the one that most overtly strives for grandiosity in a Springsteenian mould, it might be the one that succeeds most evidently at making a bold statement that finds a way to hit home regardless of one’s circumstances. And the album’s clearest statement of ambivalence and bittersweetness is in the “buts” of its chorus: Berryman, at the time he took flight, we learn, “was drunk and exhausted but he was critically acclaimed and respected / he loved the Golden Gophers but he hated all the drawn out winters / he likes the warm feeling but he’s tired of all the dehydration / most nights were kind of fuzzy but that last night he had total retention.” Strung out but at least having made something of oneself—at home but not all year round—finding the booze sometimes a chore—and sometimes somehow glorious! It’s all there.

Lyrically, I wonder if this is achieved through a sort of wilful mythologisation. Berryman, after all, probably didn’t really love the Golden Gophers, but why not flesh out his story with the claim that he did? “How a Resurrection Really Feels,” from Separation Sunday, delves into its heroine’s despair but also zooms out to describe the graffiti tributes made to her by other unnamed characters—to show her story’s a legendary one in its own universe too. Once again Springsteen got there first, this time in “Highway Patrolman,” which invents a whole fictional town and county, and a slow dance for the characters to wax nostalgic about, all in order to build a world in the song and thereby make something somehow universal. Across all the Hold Steady albums the same characters recur in different (not always that different) predicaments, but their stories never totally cohere. They have the feel, at times, of characters in your peripheral vision or even on the edge of a dream, cohering to make certain points then splintering once more. The stuff of strange, half-true legends.

And then there’s the god question. Finn doesn’t just see love, or hope, or beauty, or tenacity “in the clumsiness of young and awkward lovers” (in “Citrus”), he feels Jesus there—and in so doing captures a sort of lowdown American pantheism found from Emerson to the Beats, not to mention in the final scene of Bruce Almighty. The particular form that the mystical takes in “Chips Ahoy” is not the same form it took in most of Separation Sunday, but in the narrative of the girl with a sixth sense for winning racehorses it’s there nonetheless. Even the stuttering puh-puh-puh assonance of “pinned down at the party pit” conceals a deification metaphor, its martyress fastened tight to the scene—as Lifter Puller more bluntly put it, she’s “nailed to the nightlife like Christ on the cross.” (As a disbelieving teenager I had a disproportionate number of Christian friends, I guess I was drawn to people who believed in things. It’s possible I thought I had something similar in certain bands, certain songs.) God, in America today, is as fiercely contested signifier as everything else, but it’s clear that the omnipresent God of Boys and Girls is also a personal God, not to mention a lenient, ecumenical one.

Boys and Girls met me at a particular time in my life, a couple of years after it was released, in summer 2008, which is probably the biggest part of the reason it’s stuck with me (other texts are sepia-shaded for the same reason: Bob Dylan’s “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere,” Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle, the first Conor Oberst solo album). The rest of the first four Hold Steady albums are probably just as good, but this one works in certain ways that set it apart. It’s less cynical than Almost Killed Me, less weary than Separation Sunday, less nostalgic than Stay Positive, and more holistic than all of them. It turns out that the holism and the bipolarity amount to the same thing.

#the hold steady #craig finn #boys and girls in america

[millennial-star-gazer]

The Draconic Demon Within: Chapter 4: A Demon’s All-Consuming Rage

The Draconic Demon Within

Genres: Romance, Friendship/Family, Drama/Angst, Hurt/ Comfort, & New Adult Fanfiction

Vera's April 2018 Prompts: Soul, Empyrean, Savage, Memory, Trust, Fear, Unstoppable , Resilient, Supernatural (Implied) Lost (Implied) and Loathing.

Nalu Lovefest 2017 Prompts: Dreams

Nalu Week 2019 Prompts (Implied:) Lost, Curse, Trial, Treasure, Chance and possibly Bare.

Pairing: Nalu/EndLu,( Natsu x Lucy/ E.N.D. x Lucy)

Rating: M for language, steamy and mature adult sexual content (all consensual) in these and future chapters. Reader Direction is advised.(You have been warned!)

Summary: Now faced with the reality of who he is truly is, the son of Igneel must contend with the new darker instincts of his new demonic identity- all while navigating through his ever-growing, intense feelings for a particular celestial wizard. Originally a Submission (semi -au) for Nalu lovefest 2017 (on my previous celestialgeekmage account and now an entry for nalu week 2019 with chapter 3. (Also was on my earliest previous accounts of teamedwardjace/Twishadowhunter in the past. Also part of Vera's April 2018 prompt challenge from fic-writers appreciation on cosmicdragonwizard).

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Chapter 4: A Demon's All- Consuming Rage

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A/N: Hey guys, it's your girl back again with another installment of TTDW! Fun fact: Being temporarily off work for a few weeks due to pandemic has provided some extra free time to edit and posta new chapter for this fic ( which is on account of the temporary closures of public institutions, and public spaces along with non-essential businesses/services in Ontario-the Canadian province I'm from). This isn't to suggest I'm not without fear or concern about the pandemic or potential effects on global infrastructure but at least I'm mostly coping as best as anyone can at this time. Hope you guys are all too. ( A bit more on this in the A/N at the end of this chapter .) Anyway, hope that this chapter and my other fanfics along with those from amazing writers can help you all while stuck at home. All right, that's pretty much my whole spiel for now. Without further ado, here's Chapter 4 of TTDW-Enjoy! 

(Note: Scroll down past the read more button/cut for the  designated legend menu and actual story content).

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Disclaimer: Fairytail does not belong to me, but to the most honourable Hiro-sensei instead, for whom without this work of love wouldn't be possible. 

Read Previous Chapters of TDDW and on platforms here:

(Copy and paste the links into another  window if need be)

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Previous (Click Here:)  (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/185917542578/the-draconic-demon-within-chapter-3)

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C. A03 (Click Here:) (or here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365061/chapters/40861307)

2. Ongoing Master  Post Of All My Writing (Click Here:) (or here: https://millennial-star-gazer.tumblr.com/post/179665258923/master-fic-rec-post)

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Legend:

Italic: Song Lyrics/Quotes (or flashback dialogue)

Bold: First Person Thoughts

Bolded Italics: Empathized, stylized Word(s) or bloodthirsty fantasies

Bolded Italics (Within and Outside Bracket) including for author's side notes also known as (A/N:) within brackets (though none for side-notes in this chapter ).

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"Your body is full of rage.

Every sinew. It is easy to read.

You speak volumes with a clenched fist."

( Paolo Bacigalupi: The Drowned Cities)

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"Seriously? Luce's alive?

That…. I can't...

A wave of overjoyed relief was washing over Natsu from the spectacular news about his best friend still breathing.

"Hear that Luce?!" He sobbed, not bothering to wipe the moisture from his eyes." You're alive and gonna be okay— Thank God! Really... don't ... know what I'd do without ya…," Scarlet-red eyes remained focused/trained on the face on the motionless angel in his arms.

"Pretty sure the guild and the rest of the people we know would be just as devastated if they lost such an incredible person and wizard . Glad you're okay either way though." Natsu's hands were stroking sweat-plastered strands of Lucy's hair back from her eyes with delicate care .

Really glad she's still in fact alive and kicking…

In that very moment , it was as if the world had fallen away; leaving just the two of them. Nothing else seemed to matter then . Not cold-blooded enemies in the room, or the recent battle just moments before; Not even E.n.d's unnerving metamorphosis. Just a dragon-demon and his most precious star with those subtle breaths, the visible rise and fall of her chest that somehow escaped any kind of major notice before.

Words can't even describe how relieved I am . Digits combed through Lucy's blonde tresses from crown to tip in a physical display of tender affection.

Hmm... Lucy's hair feels really nice. Natsu couldn't help but marvel at texture of her beneath his fingertips .Don't think I've ever stopped to fully appreciate it before .

"Gotta say that your hair feels really nice, Luce." Natsu voiced this innermost thoughts aloud; though his words were coming in soft. ."Smells real amazin' too."

Damn was the appealing fragrance of jasmine with a hint of cyclamen flooding his senses beyond intoxicating."like jasmine and that other flower we saw once— cyclamen, I think. . You've been using a new scented shampoo again, I see. Not that I'm complainin'."

"Psh—Listen to me" Natsu tacked on with a rueful chuckle that was still a bit thick from all that weeping before. " Gettin' all sentimental and crap. Hell... stripper would never even let me live it down if he heard . Still be damn proud of you though just like I am for how well you handled yourself in battle. Why don't we tell him all about it once you're awake and we're out of here?. Bet he'd like that . Till then, the two of us just need to sit tight and figure out our next move, okay?"

Wait ...

The fire demon's hands continued their fond movements- only for blood to freeze in his veins when noticing an unsightly contusion on Lucy's forehead; accented by a small gash just above her brow.

When did this happen? I swear those injuries hadn't there been seconds before .. .

Crimson eyes scanned his best friend's battered frame for further damage in alarm . My God... Natsu's breath caught in his throat at the sight of that line of discolorations on her legs . Not to mention all those scratches along with the small gash peeking out through the tattered remains of Lucy's Star dress .

"Oh Luce..." He sighed, remorseful voice breaking on her name. "Can see that you're in pretty rough shape right now. I'm so sorry. Honestly don't know how or why you had a delayed reaction to all the damage. But this wouldn't have happened if I only had grabbed you and run or got your spirits to transport you to their world, Hell— Maybe we could've both escaped and I could've helped kept you safe while figuring out this new demon form means for us together. Anyways, time to put pressure on your wound."

A hand tore a loose piece of fabric to apply pressure on the hemorrhaging wound. "See? You'll be okay . Gonnal get ya' all fixed up and good as new in no time ."

Damn Luce stills looks like an angel to me, Natsu mused in reverent admiration . Even with those injuries...

"Ooh- how cute!" Jackal's dervisie voice cut  through  the other demon’s reverie; whose arms automatically protectively tightened around Lucy's frame out of fierce instinct-automatic without a second though. Not to mention those two pair of eyes he could sense that set him on edge."

"Aw Damn." Jackal broke in again with a gleeful taunt that bordered on sadistic."That poor,pretty girl of you is covered in ugly bruises and scratches, Dragneel."

That little ...

Natsu's head automatically snapped around to meet Jackal with a baleful snarl. Damn was that all that black rage roaring in his veins all too consuming.

"There's that growling again" Jackal cackled, clearly unfazed at by the alpha demon's bared canines ." Bared fangs and what not. Such a shame what happened to Blondie here , or is it? You really did a number on her, huh Tempester?"

"Huh," Tempester mused, bland disinterest colouring his tone."it seems I did . Kind of forgot that my curses can sometimes have o delayed side effects on people . Who knows? That pathetic wrench might even have internal bleeding.

"You goddamned bastard!" The flame- eater raged, fury boiling over. "Lucy ain't pathetic or some kind of toy to play with ... God.. All those injuries… are you fault and . I swear that You're both gonna pay for what you did to her!"

"Oh-You think so?" Jackal scoffed with let out another infantilizing laugh —beyond infuriating .

"Someone's rattled." Tempster pointed out, listless eyes trained on the stone-brick wall ahead. "Unfortunate."

"You don't say," Jackal deadpanned, with a disdainful roll of the eyes ."But Seriously Though , E.N.D, do you even hear yourself? .I mean getting all riled up over a human girl in that way —talk about pathetic. Sure said girl is extremely beautiful with a killer bod and feisty personality to boot—I'll give you that. But is she worth losing your cool over or fraternizing with? I don't think so and neither should you . God knows all that pent up rage and aggression would be far more suited for another cause. Not to mention, you'd better off without her life tainting your judgement and hindering your full potential as the most powerful of all etherious. So let's resolve this, shall we? Hand over the celestial wizard and I'll gladly dispose of her for you . Sound good?"

" 'Sound good?'Sound Good?!’ Are you kidding me?"!

Good God did those last words only serve to incense the snarling dragon further.

" There's no way in hell I'm gonna give Lucy up or let either of you touch her!"

"Come on Dragneel-be reasonable."

"No-rot in hell!"

"Oh honestly E.N.D.-"

"My name is Natsu!"

"Well okay then, Natsu— Just calm down ." Jackal's couldn't seem to resist reprimanding the fire demon; as if he were some errant child pitching a fit ."You're being ridiculous. Anyways, tell you what. I promise to make her death as qui-"

"Shut up!"

" Quick and mostly painless..."

"I said shut up!" En.d's voice rose to an ear-splitting roar that could've struck terror into the hearts of the gods themselves. "Try anything on her and I swear I'll kill you!"

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To Be Continued

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A/N: Well that's Chapter 4 folks- hope you enjoyed! Now a bit more about the pandemic situation in Ontario . Like many other provinces and countries around the world,, the government of Ontario has opted to shut down/ temporarily close non-essential services, businesses, public spaces and institutions to help curb the spread of the virus for a few weeks (or more) before spring break. Such institutions include all schools and childcare centres/ services in those settings which applies to the childcare company I'm currently employed with. You know on account of most of their centres and programs being based in public schools. (Independently-run Daycares also remain closed. And yes i'm a ECE by trade for any who were wondering or didn't already). Schools and child cares were tentatively scheduled to reopen after April 5th; though the closures have been extended for another month (according to Doug Ford (the premier/leader of Ontario). Not ideal but at least it gives me some extra time for me to work on things alongside my writing(i.e editing upcoming chapters for fics and WIPS). All right folks, that's all I have to say on that subject.

As usual, please feel free to let me know what you think by leaving a comment/review , through a reblog or by any other means. Be sure to check out the rest of my writing while staying tuned for future updates of my fics and new projects along the way! (Links above, in the navigation and in bio If on tumblr . Also on fanfiction.) Anyway, take care and stay safe! Ta ta for now!

#fairytail #ft fanfics #nalu #endlu #natsu x lucy #natsu dragneel #etherious natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #future lucy dragneel #the draconic demon within #my writing #millennial stargazer writes #millennial star gazer #please reblog

[random-imagines-blog]

Jenny of Oldstones {Frodo Baggins x Reader}

Requested by: @depressed-comics Wordcount: 2241 Summary: Encouraged by Pippin, you show off your singing skills to the company. Your best friend Frodo is taken aback by the fact you never told him you could sing. Notes: Song is Jenny of Oldstones by Florence + The Machine

Having a Baggins as a best friend meant that you were always in for a world of adventure. It started with being babysat by Bilbo, and listening to the tales of his adventures. And then as you grew up, it turned into going through his vast library and pulling the tomes off of the shelves and going through them. You loved the tales of the dwarves best. Elves were cool and all, but it seemed like all that they wanted to do was look pretty in the trees. Humans were too easily corrupted but the dwarves - they just wanted to make things. You related to them in that way, though you didn’t want to work in the mines and make pretty golden things. You wanted to make music, but you kept that to yourself. Only your friend Pippin knew, and that’s because you stumbled upon him when he was singing. You showed him that you could sing too, and the both of you would sometimes meet up at night and practice duets together. The only thing was, you made him promise that he wouldn’t ever reveal it to Frodo. You were a bit frightened of what he might think if he found out. It was the only thing that you had that was separate from him.

The world of adventure grew bigger when Gandalf came from Uncle Bilbo’s birthday. It had started off with fireworks, and ended up as the beginning of a quest. You refused to leave Frodo’s side on most occasions, so of course Gandalf wasn’t even going to attempt to hide this from you. Sam then listened in from outside, the fumbling gardener that you also considered to be a close friend, and soon enough, you knew what you had to do.

You were swept into a journey straight out of Bilbo’s stories! Gandalf seemed to be the writer, and the instigator of them both. Running into Merry and Pippin, going to Bree, being far from the Shire, that was adventure enough. But then Aragorn, the night riders, Rivendell, meeting the elves, forming the Fellowship! And on top of that, being the only female on the ten-person group! The people back in The Shire were never going to believe this.

It was your second night away from Rivendell. Mordor, especially Mount Doom, still seemed so far away. The land was still in peace where the ten of you were camping out for the night, creating a fire before the skies got too dark. You were peeling up some potatoes for a makeshift stew, using the knife that you had gotten in the Elven city. Everyone got new weapons there, and you thought yours was pretty nifty, though you were a little disappointed you didn’t get a fancy sword like Aragorn. Still, you had your eyes set on using it the next time that Boromir offered to teach you and the other hobbits how to fight.

Sam was on one side of you, peeling some carrots and throwing them into the pot. Frodo had his head on your lap, stretched out as he seemed to be in constant contemplation. It was hard not to look at him with pity these days. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders. And not just that, but an evil overlord on top of that world, making it heavier and heavier by the day. Pippin and Merry weren’t helping all that much, not that you had expected them too, and they were pestering Boromir about some argument that they had earlier that morning about him eating the apple that Merry specifically wanted. Legolas and Gimli were on opposite sides of the camp, not having gotten used to one another and Aragorn was across from you, stripping rabbits for the stew.

“You alright?” You asked Frodo, taking a break to run your fingers through his curly hair. He looked up at you with his wide blue eyes and nodded.

“Just tired,” He said, quietly. You knew he didn’t like to complain much, even though he had the biggest burden to bear out of all of you. You gave him a wary smile, knowing that it was more than that, but you would let it go. If he really wanted to talk about it, you had full faith that he would come to you. That’s what best friends did.

“Know what would go great with dinner?” Pippin asked, coming and sitting by you and Sam.

“Your help,” Sam muttered, throwing his carrots into the pot. You chuckled at his answer, somewhat agreeing, but then again - you weren’t sure that Pippin could cook at all. His help might actually hinder the meal.

“A song!” He grinned widely at you in the earnest way that he always did when he would try to get you to sing. You shook your head quickly, and looked towards the boiling pot as a distraction.

“Go ahead and sing then, Pip.” You said, picking up another potato and started to peel it.

“I’m sick of his voice, let someone else sing for once,” Merry joined the group, warming his feet by the fire. That he hadn’t helped to create, by the way. He looked over at you with a joyful, but mischevious expression on his face. “Come on, y/n, I’ve never heard you sing, you’ve got to know some songs.”

“He’s right, you never sing,” Sam said thoughtfully, his mood slowly turning from annoyed to curious. “Even at the parties.”

“Everyone knows y/n doesn’t sing,” Frodo jumped in, thinking that he was defending you. He sat up and put his arm around your shoulder. “So leave her alone.”

“She does too sing!” Pippin said,  making you shoot a glare at him. “Oh come on, we’re on an adventure, a quest! There’s no better time for you to show them than now!”

“Do you ever think with your working brain, Took?” You asked, leaning into your best friends embrace.

“There’s no harm in a song,” Boromir smiled his most charming smile and took a seat around the fire. Eventually, the elf and the dwarf did too. The only one who took no interest in the conversation was Aragorn, who continued to work at the rabbit. “Especially from a lass. Treat us to a song!”

You flushed slightly under Boromir’s smile. You might be a Hobbit, but you could appreciate the beauty that humans have. He was so unlike all of the Hobbits that you had seen. But you still preferred the curls of Hobbits over the lankiness of Human hair. “If you don’t mind your ears bleeding, I guess I know a song.”

You avoided looking at Frodo as you started to sing the song. Your voice was like a fog across the ground, spreading as you grew louder, the lyrics from your childhood spilling out. It was a song that your mother used to sing to you when you two went to pick flowers for her to sell at the market. It was a bit of a sad song, but it was good for nights like this.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts, the ones she had lost and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most...”

Pippin was smiling widely like an idiot. Merry and Sam had their jaws dropped. They’ve never heard you sing, and now they were both wondering why that was. They were entranced by your voice - but not as much as Frodo was. His mouth was closed, but he was biting the inside of his cheek.

“The ones who’d been gone for so very long, she couldn’t remember their names. They spun her around on the damp old stones, spun away all her sorrow and pain.”

Aragorn threw the chunks of meat into the boiling pot. Boromir crossed his legs as he sat on the ground and leaned in to listen. Frodo leaned away from you, his arm leaving your shoulders.

“And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave...”

Legolas leaned against a tree, his arms crossed in front of him. His eyes shone against the darkness, almost as bright as the fire beneath the pot.

“They danced through the day and into the night through the snow that swept through the hall, from winter to summer to winter again, till the walls did crumble and fall.”

Frodo got to his feet and took a couple of steps away from the fire. Sam had to quickly throw himself forward to stir the stew before it started to bubble over. Gimli came over, mumbling to himself, but stopped when he heard your singing.

“And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave...”

You finished the song and rested your hands on your lap, unsure of how to react to the scattering of applause that came from your companions. Well, from all except one of them. The important one. Frodo had walked away completely by the time your last note hit the air, and you looked at the way that he had gone. Sam picked up one of the potatoes left in your pile and started to peel, allowing you to get up and to follow your best friend. You found him by the river that you had camped near, running his fingers through the shallow water, his exposed toes just sunk under into the sand. The moonlight was enough light for you to see him fairly clearly. “Are you mad at me?”

“You kept a secret from me,” Frodo said, his voice as soft as ever. It was almost hard to tell that he was angry, or at least it was until he turned to face you. There was a snarl on his face, which took you offguard and you took a step backward. You had seen that face, but never was it geared towards you.

“It wasn’t exactly a secret, Frodo, I-” You knew that you had no real defense against this. It was something that you kept from him, for no good reason either.

“How long have you been singing with Pippin then?” He asked, his volume getting louder. He kicked at the water, making ripples in it which spread away from the shore.

“We’d just grab a tankard and then go by the lake,” You explained. “He loves to sing, you know that, and one night I just kinda ... I guess I joined him.”

“You just kind of joined him?” He shot back.

“It’s just singing, Frodo, it’s a hobby. Lots of people do it! It’s not like it’s against the law or anything! You’re acting as if we’ve slept together or something.” It started to seem like Frodo was just looking for a reason to get upset, and so you were getting mad in retaliation. How dare he be mad because you have a good singing voice! “I know that you’re stressed from this quest and all, but turning against your best friend because of a song is not the way to deal with that. I expect an apology.”

Frodo was clearly not expecting your attitude. He blinked his wide blue eyes a couple of times before looking down at his feet. “I just thought that we did everything together. I always told you everything.”

“And I tell you-”  You suddenly understood exactly why he was mad. You closed your mouth back up and hung your head. You took a deep breath before you would talk again. “It’s just singing. It’s not like I do it often. Only when I’m cleaning up around the house, really.”

“And when you’re out with Pippin somewhere, practicing!” Frodo said right back.

“A very short list.” You pointed out. “I wouldn’t even call it a hobby. But fine, when we destroy the ring and get back to the Shire and things to back to normal, I’ll sing more for you, how about that?”

“I’d like that,” Frodo said after some consideration. You smiled weakly, hoping that this was the end of the argument.

“I hate fighting with you, Frodo. I promise, I’ll never hide anything like this ever again. In that case, I should tell you something else.”

“What?” He asked, big eyes glowing crystal in the moonlight.

“I stole Merry’s mother’s recipe for strawberry tarts, and have been practicing them,” You said with a coy grin. “I planned on bringing you one once I get it perfect, but it hasn’t happened yet. I’ve gotten pretty close, though.”

“Strawberries...” Frodo said, his mouth beginning to water at the thought. It had been some time since he had a strawberry tart, and with the journey ahead of them, it looked like it would be even longer before he would have the pleasure.

“I suppose I’ll have to start up again the instant we get home,” You lit up, glad that your best friend seemed to be back to normal again. You shyly took his hand, which he squeezed in return, and headed back to the camp site in time to try the rabbit stew.

#Frodo #Frodo Baggins #Frodo Baggins x reader #Frodo Baggins oneshot #Lord of the Rings #Lord of the Rings oneshot #LOTR #LOTR oneshot #requested #oneshot

[angst-fairygodmother]

Sing Once Again With Me: Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again (The Witcher; A Phantom of the Opera AU)

A/N: This was tricky. I made it tricky for myself by changing who/what our beloved protagonist thought the Phantom was at the start. But that’s okay. Word Count: 1879 Content Warning: Angst, violence Taglist: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @joz-stankovich @sennextheassasinkingoflight Previous Chapter: Madame Giry’s Tale Cross-posted to AO3: here

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As soon as he was released from the prison, ostensibly into Yennefer’s custody, Geralt’s first instinct was to go and check on Jaskier.

“He’ll be asleep,” Yennefer cautioned. “Let him rest, and get some rest yourself. See him in the morning.”

Geralt shook his head. “I need to see him now. I…don’t intend to leave his side until this is solved.”

She studied him for a moment and then sighed. “I can let you into the dormitory hall, but the rooms are shared by a half-dozen performers each. Who will raise an alarm and wreak havoc if you disturb them unexpectedly. There is a small alcove not far from the door to his room, if you really insist on it, you can rest there.”

He took her hand in his and squeezed it affectionately. “Thank you Yennefer. For everything you’ve done and are doing.”

She rolled her eyes. “You fall for the bard and suddenly you’ve gone all soft on me.”

~

Geralt dozed fitfully, propped in the little space Yennefer had directed him toward. Jaskier knew that the witcher was waiting there for him, and that if he asked it, he would go with him happily. But unfortunately, that was the problem. He loved Geralt and knew that the other man was only trying to look out for him, but since everything began, he had felt suffocated, strangled by the concern on the faces of those closest and contempt on everyone else’s. He needed space. He needed a moment alone. He needed to think.

He pulled his cloak tightly around him as he slipped past his sleeping guardian in the pre-dawn light, trusting his familiarity with the music hall to guide him where light could not.

~

He had only meant to take a short walk, let the crisp morning air clear his mind, but some impulse or instinct carried him out past the city walls to the cemetery with its hundreds of quiet, unremarkable dead.

“I wonder,” he breathed, words misting in the air before him as he leaned against a low stone wall separating the graves into years, “are any of you the ghost that haunts me now?”

He stood there for a long while, thoughts tumbling over each other. Was this spirit indeed, as he had once hoped, the one his grandfather spoke of? Why then had it turned cruel? And why was wearing a mangled version of the face of his first love? (Well, calling Valdo his first or love were perhaps being overdramatic, but there had been something unique and special about their relationship when they had been young and foolish boys at school, something neither of them had ever cared to categorize.) And if it wasn’t the spirit, what was it? What did it want from him?

He felt tears stinging at his eyes as he began to wander again, the wind biting at him through the layers he’d put on. As a younger man he might have loved this whole ordeal, the drama and the twisted desire, the waring feelings within him for the monster and the hunter, every element a piece of the perfect story, a ballad of epic proportions, one for the ages and the history books. But now, he just wanted peace.

A monument caught his eye and called to him, a hooded figure playing the violin, carved so lifelike that he could almost hear the aching notes.

Valdo Marx A True Artist Never Dies May His Song Be Everlasting In Our Hearts

Jaskier drew in a sharp breath as numb, gloved fingers reached out to trace the letters of the inscription on the plinth.

He had wondered, when he came to the city where he knew Valdo had been a frequent performer, why they had never run into each other, but thought that perhaps it was just a matter of timing or of Valdo having found somewhere better to be, after all they were quite far from Cidaris, whence he drew his fame. As it had gone on, it had become no more than a passing curiosity. It was better that they never met, what with being rivals. But still, he had never imagined nor wished the man dead (the incident with the djinn far from his mind at that moment).

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, as if the hardened stone could give him answers. “How can he be dead? Unless…”

He took a step back and planted his hands on his hips in an attempt to look imperious, drawing on what memories he had of learning to be a proper noble from his father.

“I don’t know if this is how any of this works, but I hope that you can hear me. If you’re really dead and haunting me then say so. Tell me plainly.”

Silence reigned over the cemetery, so complete that Jaskier thought he could hear the snowflakes that now fell from the sky as they settled on the stones and ground around him.

“No I suppose I didn’t expect that would work,” he said after a while, shrugging. “Well, it was worth a try.”

Still, he could not peel himself away from the beautifully carved marker. He sat heavily, regardless of the cold and wet and cast his eyes upward, as if hoping to find some face beneath the player’s hood. Instead he found only shadow.

“That doesn’t seem right for you, you know,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the statue. “You were never the mysterious hooded-figure type, and of all the instruments you played the violin was your worst. Course, trumpeting angels wouldn’t be right either. Too nice, too clean for you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, briefly wondering if criticizing a dead man’s grave to the air when his ghost might or might not be haunting him was a good idea, but decided that it probably didn’t matter. What could it do, make Valdo haunt him more?

“Can’t fault them completely I guess. They were trying their best. You were…impossible to capture in a single thing. There was just too much of you, and too contradictory, for that.”

He fell silent, leaning back and closing his eyes, as he had against the man himself when the two worked on lyrics together (when they weren’t competing fiercely), in the rare moments of peace between them, under the trees at Oxenfurt.

“How did you die I wonder? Did you have to suffer? Were you alone? Gods I hope you weren’t alone. You hated silences and being left completely to your own thoughts. It wouldn’t have been fair.”

He was crying now, the tears freezing to his face painfully while he continued to ramble.

“I do miss you sometimes. More so since I settled than when I was travelling, but I think that’s because I could convince myself we’d only just narrowly passed each other and might cross paths again.”

He sighed.

“I didn’t want to reunite or rekindle the…passion between us. But you were my first friend you know, the first person who saw me as Jaskier, or as a musician. I loved that you considered me an artistic rival and the way we fought. It was the first time I didn’t think someone only saw the Viscount de Lettenhove.”

Suddenly, he stiffened. The wind carried the sound of his name, whispered, coaxing, to his ears. He stood, dusting off the seat of his pants, and waited. When he heard it again, he tried to follow, wending further from the gates, toward the decrepit and tumbling mausoleums that stood, long forgotten, near the walls.

One of the sets of great, iron doors stood open. An eerie, reddish light glowed from within as Jaskier climbed, entranced.

“Who are you that calls to me?” he asked, voice whispering and awed.

“Have you forgotten your Angel of Music?” the answer was soft, almost hurt. “You know who I am. Come to me, my sweet.”

Jaskier nodded, his steps drawing him nearer. “I tried to deny you. I turned from you. I still feel like I should be fighting against this pull…”

The response was hypnotic, sonorous, perfectly cadenced to fit into Jaskier’s mind. “But you know, in your soul, you can feel it, we are two halves. You cannot resist, do not want to resist. Come to me, come to the Angel of Music.”

He was nearly at the doors when another voice cut through his mind, breaking the hold over him that the spirit seemed to possess.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called, thundering up on Roach. “Stop!” He dismounted before the horse had fully ceased her movements, drawing his silver sword as he ran to the bard’s side.

“Geralt!” the cry was startled, but pleased, a thundering terror suddenly sweeping over Jaskier and threatening to drive him to his knees.

“Whatever you think, whatever’s going on, this thing means to harm you.”

With a snarl, Valdo leapt at the witcher, diving out from behind one of the mausoleum’s statuary in a flurry of black cloak and the flash of steel as his own sword struck out.

Geralt dodged, barely, and the pair locked into combat. The clash of blades shattered the stillness of the morning, their ever-moving feet stirring up the mud and slush, sliding to keep their balance. Jaskier cowered, pressed to the banister of the stair, struck numb with fear and the confusion of it being for both men.

More than once the Phantom tried to blind or distract Geralt with a swirl of his cape, and at least twice his aggressive movements had seen the witcher tumble to the ground. Still, strength for strength and blow for blow it was an even match, and as they moved, Jaskier followed, wide-eyed and open mouthed in horror.

The Phantom punched Geralt, who stumbled back with the sickening crunch of his nose breaking. When he recovered footing and sight, the ghost was gone, only to reappear moments later from around a statue, striking at him from the back. Geralt barely dodged, feeling the blade slice into his shoulder, and shouted.

Rather than slowing him though, this seemed merely to light a greater fire within the witcher and he lunged, startling the Phantom, who stumbled down a short set of steps. Using the height, plus his own natural size, Geralt pressed the advantage against the lither opponent. Knocking his sword away, he swung back, ready to behead the other man and see the whole thing end.

“Geralt, no!” Jaskier called out, rushing to his side. “Please, not…not in a cemetery, not like this.”

Geralt stepped back, panting heavily, and turned to the bard in confusion. Jaskier’s eyes were wide and pleading, the blue shining with tears and fear and pain. He gritted his teeth, turning back to the creature on the ground, fury pounding in his blood. And then he sheathed his sword.

He swung himself onto Roach’s back and reached down to pull Jaskier gently up behind him.

“Let’s go,” he growled, taking off at a hard canter.

Jaskier wrapped his arms tightly around Geralt’s waist, casting a last glance back at the Phantom, who was now standing and watching them go, the tension in him obvious even from the growing distance, before pressing his face between Geralt’s shoulder blades with a soft sob.

#Sing Once Again With Me #The Witcher #Phantom of the Opera AU #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #Valdo Marx #Valdo Marx x Jaskier #Now. Let it be war upon you both #angst #something of an underwhelming sword fight if I'm being honest #and a 100% unintentional TAD reference

[annabethfuckingchase]

The Princess and the Half Bloods

It was eleven at night when the music started floating into Annabeth’s open window.

Fast-paced and loud, the punk music seemed to flow directly into her already throbbing head. Writing a four page paper on the demographics of the Confederate army during the Civil War this late at night will do that to you, especially when you have dyslexia. The cool, fresh air from the window was the only thing keeping her sane right now.

But the consistent beat and the screaming of the lyrics by the boy next door were working hard to undo all the relaxing that the night breeze was doing for her. There was no way she could focus on her work with all that noise not ten feet away from her. She kept her legs crossed under her laptop but let the top half of her body flop backwards on her bed, burying her head in her pillows. There was no doubt in her mind how the conversation was going to go, but she really needed to get this paper done.

Sighing, she sat back up and unfolded her legs, going over to the window. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, back to her, belting out the song and playing along with his guitar. He was singing and playing in a different key than the song, weaving his own sound into it. He was good, very good. Not that Annabeth would ever admit that to him. Especially when his window was wide open and that sound was keeping her from her work.

“Percy,” she called, leaning out part way out of the window. He didn’t hear her. She tried again. “Percy!” Nothing. She leaned out as far as she could without falling and yelled, “Perseus Jackson!” He hated his full name.

It worked. He looked behind him, frowning. He seemed annoyed to see her, which was fine as she was constantly annoyed to see him. 

'What?’ He approached his window and called over the music, 'What do you want?’

“Can you turn that music off? Or at least turn it down?”

“I can’t, I’m practicing. Besides, this is a great song!” he shouted to be heard.

“Well I have to write a paper and I can’t focus with it so loud. I have to get it done tonight because tomorrow is the football game and-” she started to explain, but he cut her off.

“Why don’t you just shut your window, then?” he rolled his eyes and started to turn from the window.

Annabeth could’ve tried explaining about the calming effect the open window had on her, but she suspected that wouldn’t get her very far. Though to be fair, the route she chose didn’t get her very far either. “Why don’t you?” she shot back. “It’s eleven PM, you shouldn’t be playing it that loud anyway. Some people are trying to sleep. What about your mom?”

He faced her again. “What is your problem tonight?” he asked exasperatedly.

“What yours?” she demanded. She was starting to get frustrated. “I’m just trying to write a paper. You don’t see me screeching at all hours of the night when you’re trying to do your homework. If you ever did any, that is.”

“You are my problem! My practicing is every bit as important as your paper.”

“How is your hobby as important as work I need to do for a class?”

“Just close your window! It’s not like the whole world is subject to your personal rules!” He was nearly screaming at her now, and she wasn’t sure if it was to be heard over the music or because he was growing increasingly upset.

“It’s not even a personal rule! It’s being polite! I have to do this work because I’m a productive member of society. You aren’t. You sit there, playing in your little band, not even making an effort to get out of your garage, not doing anything in school, not preparing for life at all! What are you going to do, Percy? Because you’re going nowhere fast!” Something that looked like hurt flashed in his eyes, but Annabeth blinked and it was gone, so fleeting it might not have been there at all.

They had both been leaning out of their respective windows, hands braced on the sills to keep from leaning out too far, but now Percy lifted one hand towards her, middle finger extended. “Sit and spin, Princess,” he snarled.

Annabeth growled and slammed her window closed, the glass shivering from the force. Percy slammed his right after, despite the fact that he had technically won the argument when she had closed hers. Idiot. She flounced onto her bed and crossed her arms angrily, glaring at her unfinished homework. She stayed in that position until her father came knocking to check on her.

“Hey. What was all that noise?” he asked, looking around for the damage.

“Me,” Annabeth responded curtly.

Her dad rolled his eyes. “Thanks, but I’d figured that out myself, funnily enough.”

She sighed. “It was the window. I slammed it.”

“Why?”

“Percy Jackson is a problem.”

He chuckled and leaned against her door jamb. “You two used to be so close. Couldn’t separate you for anything. Why do you have to go picking fights with him now?”

“I don’t!” Annabeth cried indignantly. She flung her finger toward the window. “He purposely antagonizes me.”

She glanced over into Percy’s room, where she could see that he was in the same predicament. Sally, his mother, had come to see what had happened and the conversation seemed to be going exactly the same as Annabeth’s, down to the finger pointing through the window at her. She quickly put her hand down.

“Okay, kid, whatever you say. Just keep it down and try not to break anything,” her father said, turning back to his home office.

“I’ll break him and his stupid speakers,” she muttered under her breath. She looked at her mostly finished paper and sighed. It’d be fine for tonight, she could do it in the morning. Coffee and quiet were what she needed now.

In the Chase household, there was nearly always a fresh pot of coffee either made or brewing. She wanted to stomp the whole way, but instead Annabeth crept into the kitchen, wary of her father’s warning and her stepbrothers sleeping. She returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug, holding it closely with both hands.

As soon as the door was closed, she locked it and went to her closet, pulling up the little rug that decorated the floor. A little square, two feet by two feet, lay underneath. A little indentation just big enough for her fingers was carved out as a handle and she pulled it up. Hidden there was a vertical tunnel that went down for a while, ending well below ground. A rusty old ladder was attached to one of the walls, and Annabeth slid herself into the tunnel until her feet rested on one of the rungs. She carefully lowered herself down with one hand on the ladder and her back braced against the opposite wall, desperately trying not to spill her coffee.

She reached the bottom- without spilling a drop of coffee she noted smugly- and walked down the hallway to the metal door at the end. There had been a handle on it once, on both doors, that wouldn’t unlock without a key but Sally had taken them off long ago so the kids could play in the bunker beyond.

The Jackson’s and the Chase’s had been close as far back as anybody could remember. Her great- times whatever- grandfather and Percy’s great- times whatever- grandfather had built these houses themselves over a hundred and fifty years ago. During the Cold War, Annabeth and Percy’s grandparents had built the bunker together, preparing for the possibility of a nuclear war. When Percy and Annabeth were five, their parents had shown them the bunker and allowed them to turn it into their private fortress, complete with an arsenal of nerf guns and makeshift nuclear missiles for playing war and some old furniture that was no longer needed in the houses above. The toy weapons still sat collecting dust in a toy box in the corner.

It had been years since Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase had been friends. It started as a normal drifting apart, as friends do. It hadn’t turned openly hostile until Annabeth had started dating Luke in the eighth grade. He was a senior in high school at the time, and Percy had said one day that it was inappropriate. He was right, of course, but she hadn’t seen it that way at the time. She’d accused him of being jealous and things had spiralled from there.

The funny part was that Annabeth had actually been the jealous one, when he started dating Rachel. Or maybe it wasn’t actually all that funny.

Annabeth sat down on the torn up couch with her feet curled under her and sipped on her coffee as she got lost the past. She had come for some quiet, and she had certainly gotten it. It was almost too much. The silence was ringing in her ears.

She leaned over and turned on the old CD player that sat on the little table next to the couch. A song was just ending and ‘She’ started to blast out from the speakers, way too loud, but it didn’t really matter now that she wasn’t writing. Annabeth leaned her head back on the armrest, closed her eyes, and began singing along.

“She, she screams in silence, a sullen riot penetrating through her mind.”

“Waiting for a sign, to smash the silence with the brick of self-control.”

Annabeth shot up from her relaxed position, a little bit of her coffee sloshing out of the mug and landing on the concrete floor. She hadn’t even heard Percy come in through the door that led to his own room. She narrowed her eyes but still sang the next line. “Are you locked up in a world that’s been planned out for you?”

“Are you feeling like a social tool without a use?”

“Scream at me until my ears bleed!”

“I’m taking heed just for you.” Percy came over and lowered the volume on the CD player before sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “I didn’t know you liked that kind of music.

She scowled but answered quietly, “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. What are you doing down here?”

“I come down here a lot at night, actually,” he replied at the same volume.

Annabeth rolled her eyes and spoke in a normal voice. “Yeah, I know.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised. “How?”

Annabeth gestured to the CD player. “You change the cd every couple days.” Then she pointed to the corner, where a recliner sat. “Sometimes you leave your jacket on the chair when you fall asleep in here. Which I know you do because I’ve walked in on you crashed on the couch. I come in here in the mornings.”

Percy nodded. “I know. You leave coffee cups.”

Annabeth raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t realized Percy ever noticed her early morning escapes. He’d never mentioned it. Then again, she’d never said anything about him coming down here either.

“But what are you doing down here now? I thought you were listening to music in your room,” she pushed, looking up at him and hating that she had to look up. For most of their childhood, she’d been taller. Only in the last couple years had he hit a series of growth spurts that put him above her.

“And I thought you were writing a paper in yours,” he countered. “I came to just… get away for a little while.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah, me too.”

“I’m sorry. About what I said earlier, “ he said nervously after a long pause, picking at a frayed part of the couch. “The, you know, sitting and spinning part.”

“Yes, thank you for clarifying.” A small smile lifted her face and he returned it. “And I’m sorry about what I said about your future. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Don’t be,” he sighed. “You were right. We’re never getting out of Jason’s garage.”

“You just need to start playing some small gigs first. Parties, bars, that sort of thing. Maybe get some recording time and make a demo to hand out to people. You’re… actually very good,” she forced out.

Percy’s smile grew. “You think I’m good?”

“When you aren’t interrupting my schoolwork, you definitely are. I haven’t heard the rest of your band but if they’re half as good as when you were playing earlier, I’m sure you could get anywhere you want to go.”

“Thanks, Annabeth.” He put his hand over hers on her knee and stared off in the distance, thinking. She didn’t move her hand and neither did he. “We have recorded a demo, actually. Christmas gift from Jason’s mom. But we don’t really have any recording execs to give it to. We mostly hand them out for free to anybody that seems interested. Which is mostly just family and some friends. Grover and his girlfriend Juniper are probably our biggest fans.”

Annabeth looked at him, contemplating for a moment. Then she looked down at her lap. “Look, I don’t know if this will help much, but The Big House is a kind of bar slash music venue in the city. Sometimes industry execs hang out there, looking for new bands to sign.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Percy said. He still hadn’t taken his hand back and it was warm where it touched hers.

“Well, I kind of know the owner. Actually, I work there semi regularly. I could set something up for you. And maybe we could start selling your CDs. You know, assuming you guys are any good,” she offered, throwing in the barb in case she was getting too friendly with him. He didn’t answer for a minute and she glanced back up at him. He was staring at her, mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“You’d do that? Really?” He looked like he couldn’t believe she’d do something kind for him. Which, she mused, shouldn’t have surprised her. It had been a long time since she and Percy had been kind to each other. 

“Well sure. It’s a win-win.” She took her hand back and put on a haughty air, conscious of Rachel. She probably shouldn’t be holding hands with another girl’s boyfriend, even if it was warm and comfortable, familiar. She shook her head to clear it. “You get to play for other people and maybe one day get signed, and Chiron- the owner- loves me for bringing him new talent that might bring in more customers. If you’re willing to play regularly, that is.”

It took him a minute to formulate an answer but then he was enthusiastically babbling. “Yes, yes, of course. We’d love to play there regularly. I mean I’d have to talk it over with the band, but I’m positive they’ll be in. And that’s such a good idea, selling the CDs there. I just- thank you.” She found herself wrapped up in Percy’s arms, getting squeezed just slightly too hard. “Thank you so much.”

“Any time, Percy,” Annabeth laughed when he let up enough for her to breathe.

He pulled back and it was his turn to contemplate her. “Really? You mean that?”

“Yeah, sure. Why not, right?” she shrugged, a smile still on her face.

“Well then, you’re hired.”

“What?”

“You’re hired. You’re going to get us a gig and a place to sell our demo, you more than deserve it,” he grinned. 

Annabeth paused for a moment, considering. “Yeah, I could do that. Actually, I’d be great at that.”

“Don’t I know it. Looks like we’re going somewhere after all, Princess.”

#the song lyrics are from She by Green Day #pjo #percy jackson #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Percy #annabeth #annabeth chase #percabeth #sally #sally jackson #fredrick chase #childhood friends #punk #punk rock #band #au #fic #fanfic #my writing #one of mine

[lifebeginsbyleaving]

Hurt me now or Save me

This story is for the sterek week prompt lyrics and quotes. There are two songs for this oneshot.

Hurt me now, by Quinn Lewis is from Stiles POV and his side of things.

 Save me, by Noah Kahan is Derek's POV/ internal feelings.

If you can I would recommend listening to them first then while reading.

Thanks! Hope you like it.

                                   Carter☺

"Stiles- Stiles just STOP!"

Stiles' flurry of movement and rush of words stopped. There was a distance between them this time that felt different, insurmountable.

Derek looked like speaking pained him. "Just stop. You're too loud. I'm tired of this. Stiles we're nothing. This is nothing, it has always been nothing-"

"Der how can you sa-"

His objection only served to make Derek more determined. "You're nothing to me."

Stiles' adamancy disappeared to be slapped with a look of broken betrayal and sorrow.

Stiles' eyebrows were furrowed in pain and Derek's were wide with a look of shock, unbelieving in the hurt he inflicted.

Stiles' mouth gaped and his voice shook. "I- I- I'm nothing? In all our fights I've been annoying, inconvenient, a bastard, a shit, intolerable, an asshole, but I have never, ever, been nothing to you. But maybe that is what I am. Maybe I'm just wasting my time. Maybe I've wasted all this time confusing you not wanting to be saved for really not worth being saved. I wanted to believe it so bad. That you could love me, but you can't, can you?" He felt his stomach drop out as he went to turn away.

Derek caught his arm. "Wait. That's not- I didn't- I didn't mean it like that."

"No, no it's okay." He had a bitter smile on his face. "I know I've already hit the ground. Come on Derek, don't pull any punches. I already know. You said we should just let it go." Stiles snatched his arm back.

Derek remembered void Stiles having more emotion in his eyes than he did now.

Derek desperately grabbed for his hand, but again Stiles pulled away.

"I'm nothing." He nodded his head minutely. "Okay. Consider this me letting it go."

"Fuck Stiles don't leave. I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry I didn't mean to make things worse. Please just stop!"

Stiles didn't even flinch at him shouting as he grabbed his keys of the counter.

Tears blurred his vision as he drove. He was turning corners sharp and fast. It always ended like this when Stiles was holding out for something that would never come, but maybe it should actually end this time. A plume of smoke from the engine had him pulling over. He punched the wheel once he was stopped. "God! Why does every thing I love break down!" He dropped his head against the wheel. As he sobbed his mind forced all the memories from their fights to be replayed.

****************************

"Don't be a dumbass Stiles!"

Stiles looked around at the pack with a look of incredibility. "Me?! I'm being a dumbass?! No. No sir. That would be the stupidwolf that thinks he can run out of the blast radius in less than three seconds! I don't care if you're Barry fucking Allen you aren't getting out of there before you get blown to bits! And I will not le-"

"You won't let me what? You Stiles Stilinski what exactly won't you let me do? We aren't debating why you won't let me go, I'm asking how you think you could stop me?"

"We both know I am more than able to stop you."

Lydia's eyes shifted swiftly from one to the other with an edge of uncomfort. "Alright boys you're both special. Now can we please calm down.

Derek scoffed haughtily eyes not even leaving Stiles'. "You mean your little sparklers Deaton lets you set off time to time?"

Stiles' eyes glowed a bright purple as he snarled more wild than any wolf. His fingers twitched as he spat his words. "I'm not afraid of you anymore. Let's go sourwolf. Let's see if you've gotten any immunity to electricity." Threatening purple sparks flickered off his hands. "Oh wait, no. We both know you don't. Still why don't we try. From what you've told me it sounds like fun. She had fun with you didn't she?" Stiles took a threatening step forward.

It was like all the air got sucked out of the room. They all knew he went to far. There was no taking that back. There was no easy way to unthaw the chilling defensive look Derek gave him.

Scott jumped in between them and locked eyes with Stiles. "Enough. Calm down." Derek growled. He looked to Derek. "Both of you."

Stiles was almost always the last one out from a pack meeting except for Isaac, but it still shocked Scott as everyone trickled out how he remained.

"Hey dude do you want to come over to my place to hang out?"

"That sounds good bud. I'll meet you there later."

Scott frowned. "No I was thinking now." Scott let his eyes very obviously drift towards the kitchen where Derek was.

"No I'm cool bro. Go get everything set up. I'll be there." Stiles patted his chest.

"Stiles he might need some time. You shou-"

"I know what I should do. Do you? I'm really cool dude. Go." He spoke with only a fraction of the edge he had before, but Scott still felt the sharpness in his voice.

Scott reluctantly headed out. "Call if yo-"

"I know."

There was silence for several minutes.

"Did you just Solo Scott?" Derek spoke walking into the kitchen drying his hands on a towel.

"He deserved it."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "No he didn't." He put the towel around his neck.

"No he didn't." His eyes met Derek's pleadingly. "No he didn't. I'm sorry."

Derek shrugged. "He didn't, but I did."

Stiles looked remorseful as he shook his head. "No you didn't."

He smiled. "It's okay. Anyways come help me with dinner."

Stiles grabbed his hand and he turned back. "Hey you need to quit this habit of shutting me out. Let me in."

Stiles stared into Derek's eyes with an intense searching look.

"Derek, you didn't deserve that." Stiles grabbed one side of the towel with each hand and pulled his head down. He rested their foreheads together. "I used what I knew about your past against you, to hurt you, to torture you just like she did, and that was not okay. That was horrible of me and I'm sorry. You did not deserve that."

"Okay."

"Do you actually believe that? Do you actually see what I do?"

He huffed. "To be honest? I don't know. I don't know if I believe it. I don't know why you bother. Why do you try and save me when I have only made things worse for you? And sometimes I wonder 'Am I being selfish?' Because when you say things like that to me I don't care. I don't care if I'm worth it."

Stiles intertwined their hands. "Believe it. I bother because you don't always make things worse for me. You can make them so much better. You are worth it."

***

"Stiles you need to leave me. Go. Figure a way out I know you can."

"You bet your ass I can. I'm going to figure a way out for both of us."

"No Stiles just go. It's okay I deserve this. Remember how angry you are at me? I left with out you. I did this to myself. I keep ignoring you. I keep leaving you and the pack. I deserve this."

"What?! Derek oh my god, I'm a moron! No, that's not what I meant. You don't! I just- I was angry. I didn't mean what I said.  And I'm not leaving you so don't waste your energy."

Derek would need all of it. Attached to his legs was a weight and in the numbing water of the lake they were trapped in by a magical ice dome, they were freezing. Stiles arrived and blasted through the ice as Derek was drifting down once again. He was getting too tired from having to swim up while being pulled down. The water was so frozen it felt like icicles stabbing into his flesh. He was tired of fighting. He had just made things worse with the Asle fae.

"Stiles u-use your agic like you did to g-get in. Get o-ou go. Don't b-b-bother. Let m-me go."

"Uggh can yo-ou just shut up. I'm trying to think. I'm never going to stop saving you, so a little help would be appreci-ciated. Besides it was a one way trip. The only way I'm g-getting through that ice is if so-someone lets us out or if you break u-u-us out."

"W-what? You're so sup-pid! Why ould y-you do that?"

Stiles was sick of this fight. They've had it so many times. "Because you're pack, and that means no matter how w-worthless you think you are if you're dr-drowning in a lake I'll always reach for y-your hand dum-m-mbass."

Derek was too tired and cold to argue. "Why can't you j-just bur-rst through ag-gain?" Stiles could hear Derek's teeth clattering together, or was that the echo of his own? He couldn't tell and he was just so cold.

"Because I had heat out there. My magic n-needs balance, but it needs at least a spark of something to balance against. I can't create someth-thing out of nothing I just f-fan the flickers into flames and w-weaken the flames to flickers to even out or manipulate the balance. And I don't kn-know if you'v-ve notic-ced, but n-no heat h-h-here."

Derek passed out and in the quiet he heard the muffled roars of the Asle.

Stiles kept shaking him and clutching him close to his chest trying to wake him up. "D-d-d-der jus-st wake u-up!"

"Sti-Stiless I-I I um itz c-c-col. I'm ir-ired"

"Hey! H-hey. No. N-no, don-n't d-do this. Pleasse just hang o-on." Stiles was also shivering, but his shakey hand gripped Derek's. "We-e need to ju-ju-st hang on t-t-till the pack fi-finds us."

"Ake i-ine."

"Wh-what? D-d-d-derek! W-wake up!"

Derek woke back groggily. "T-take m-m-m-m-my he-heat. T-take M-m-ine."

Derek blacked out and then he woke up on a table at Deaton's with a gasp. "Stiles!" He looked around wildly at the concerned faces of his pack. Well, some of, Scott, Lydia, Erica, and Stiles were all missing.

Derek spoke with a broken voice. "No." Derek shook his head. "Where is he? Please." Derek looked pathetic, like he would do anything in the world to get the right answer. "Please!"

Deaton's calming voice spoke. "Derek calm down. You were out for six hours, but your body isn't still at a hundred percent. Don't stress yourself."

He shouted again. "Where is Stiles!"

The icicles that were assaulting Derek's legs earlier turned to vines of thorns reaching from the bed to twist around and shred his muscles. They were keeping him in place as much as the lake had frozen him. He felt like his heart was chilled to the core with thinking that they would've reassured him by now if Stiles was okay.

Derek looked at Isaac pleadingly. "He has to be okay. Tell me he's okay."

Isaac walked to his alpha's side. "We dealt with the Asle. We-"

Derek shouted angrily. "I don't care about that! Where is he!"

Isaac flinched from his tone.

Boyd came up behind Isaac and put one hand around his shoulders and the other on Derek's arm before speaking. "He's in the woods still."

Derek looked furious. "Bring him here now! I don't care if-if he-he's... Just bring him here! Why would you leave him?!"

Allison spoke up next. "We couldn't move him."

That sounded terrifying. "Why not?" Derek started to get up and Boyd caught his shoulder. He growled at Boyd. "I have to go see him! You aren't telling me anything. I need to know what is wrong."

Allison spoke up next, "We don't think you should, but he still had a heartbeat."

Derek frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. "Still has a heartbeat? What does that even mean. Why won't you just say Stiles is okay?!"

Deaton spoke up next, "Because we don't know if he is. Drink this." Deaton pressed a mixture to Derek's lips and no matter how much He wanted to slap it from his hands or spit it at him he knew he needed it, and he knew Deaton wouldn't continue speaking until he did. "We don't know what's happening, and we couldn't bring him here."

Derek looked murderous. "You left him there not knowing if he was okay!?"

"Yes. Scott, Lydia, and Erica are with him now. They will call with any updates. I, however had to leave to help you. You would have died."

Derek let out a choked sob as tears started flowing. "So? Who cares. You left Stiles! You heartless bastard! He's your apprentice! HE'S YOUR RESPONSIBILITY! AND YOU DIDN'T HELP HIM! You let him go! He's alone because of you! He's hurt becau-"

Deaton's calm patient demeanor shattered like a mirror and suddenly his words echoed heavily in Derek's mind as if they were refracted from multiple mouths. The jagged edges slicing into him mercilessly.

"No, Derek you let him go! He's alone because of you! He's hurt because of you, not me! I had to choose between helping you or figuring out what was wrong with him. I had to choose between the punk kid that's been following his best friend into my office for years and sneaking the cats extra treats- who is also yes, my apprentice- and the boy my alpha made me swear to protect the day he was born. You are both my responsibilities. I am his teacher, and your emissary. Just because you can make everybody else's lives hell by using the pain of your past and family to harm the people around you now doesn't mean I can! Did I leave him? Yes. I chose to help you because as soon as I got there he looked me in the eyes and begged me to save you. After he got done taking what little heat that remained from his body to burst through the ice, dragging your unconscious body through those glacial waves, and casting a spell to protect you from the Asle he still used his last conscious moment to plead for your life. He had that much faith that you were worth saving. My faith however is wavering."

Deaton looked at him disappointed.

"Derek do you fully understand what Stiles is? He's not just some kid, some witch, or even just an emissary. He is a spark. Most alphas would kill to have something that rare and that once in several life time special. And yet you treat him like a child that doesn't know the stove is hot. Stiles could have enough lightning under his skin to burn down entire forests and you treat him like his opinion doesn't matter because he could get hurt. In trying to save him from you, you forget to actually save him. He doesn't need to be protected from you, he needs to be protected by you."

Before anyone could react Derek bolted out the door.

When he got closer to the lake he smelt burning and saw the glow of fire in the darkness. He shifted fully to run even faster. Once he broke the tree line he transformed back to see Scott, Erica, and Lydia all surrounding a giant circle of raging fire illuminating the dark forest. Through the flames the outline of a body in the middle could barely be seen, Derek felt his knees go out, but the ground under them didn't even register.

He smelt the smoke from the day he lost everything once again. He was utterly empty. He let out a choked sob.

That caught their attention. The next moment Erica was at his side and Scott was talking to him. He couldn't hear him over Lydia's screaming. Once she appeared over Scott's shoulder with a destroyed look upon her face he realized it was him. He was screaming while letting out choked sobs.

He didn't know how much time passed till Erica moved, but it felt like decades. Without Erica supporting him he fell forward onto hands gripping the dirt. His screams fell to a steady rhythm of pouring out of tears and breaths and the pounding in his ear subsided enough to finally be able to make out words.

"En to it. Derek you need to calm down. Listen to it. Do you hear it? Derek can you hear me, can you hear it?"

The confusion calmed him enough to look up at Scott. "H- hear what?"

Scott looked relieved. "Good. Good. Just take a few breaths."

When did the pack get here? "What? Hear what?"

Scott guided him up and supported him along with Erica.

Scott started dragging him towards the fire and the tears started all over. "No! No no no! I can't. I can't. Please. Don't make me. Please."

Scott looked sympathetic. "You need to see it Derek."

Lydia put a hand out in front of them. It was burned, and Scott and Erica's skin and hair were covered in soot and the clothes they were wearing weren't theirs. He didn't know how he didn't see it before, her arms looked terrible. The alpha in him reacted to her pain. "Maybe that isn't the best idea. He needs to calm down." As she spoke Derek lifted up a hand and gently brushed it against her skin. Lydia looked down at the black veins crawling up Derek's arms after she finished speaking.

"No it's okay. I need to do this. I need to see him."

They looked at him in a strange way as they helped him along.

"Derek I don't think you understand, hell I don't fully understand."

"Well then make me!" Derek snapped, tired of being told he didn't know things without anyone telling him anything. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Scott took a breath before responding. "I got a text that Stiles thought you were going to confront them on your own, he said he'd text when he found you and I never got a text. So I called the pack and Deaton and we looked for you guys, but by the time we got to the lake it was too late. You guys were already out. The Asle were surrounding you both, but there was a giant ring of fire that kept them away. You were still closer to the lake, but Stiles was slowly dragging himself to where he threw his phone. As soon as they saw all of us they fled. Once they were gone the ring of fire closed in on Stiles and engulfed him. Then Stiles told Deaton to take care of you before passing out. I ran in to get him, but as I drug him out the circle moved so he was still in the middle. Erica ran in and got me out. Deaton tried a few spells to get him out, but they didn't work. They took you because you were dying, and we stayed with him."

Derek tried to stay focused on what Scott was saying to not think about where they were going, but now they were close enough he could feel the heat on the face he had resolutely pointed down. It couldn't be pushed from his mind.

Derek stopped and they must've thought it was close enough because they didn't urge him farther. After a few moments of steadying breaths he looked up.

His eyes widened, and how mouth dropped. "He- he looks-"

Erica interrupted. "Alive. Deaton doesn't know what's happening, but yeah. Listen Derek, really listen."

He trained his ears and for awhile all he could hear was the crackling of the fire, but then he heard it. The steady unmistakable rhythm of Stiles' heartbeat.

He bolted towards the fire.

"Derek no!"

"Stop!"

They ran after him, but he was faster.

When he touched the edge of the fire he expected to feel the flames, but he didn't. As soon as he touched the fire it disappeared, like it was never there. All that was left was the smoke and charred remains of the ground surrounding a breathing unburned Stiles.

He ran and knelt by Stiles. He could feel the pack surround them. He picked up his head and gently cradled him. He tried to take his pain, but he couldn't. Stiles' heartbeat quickened. Derek could feel him stirring.

With the heat coming off Stiles, he felt the ice encasing his heart since the lake finally thaw. He was crying once again.

Stiles' eyes fluttered open, and the pack all held in a breath together.

"Ouch. I didn't like that fight."

Derek let out a choked laugh and gripped him tighter.

"Derek promise me we won't have to fight that fight again. Just tell me, I don't want to wait this out. I'd rather it hurt now. I need to know. I'd rather you hurt me now."

Derek shook his head. "No Stiles. Never, never again." Derek gripped him closer to his chest and whispered his words into the darkness.

"I promise."

***

"Oooo that boy was one doozy of a trip." He turned his snakelike eyes to where Derek was tied up. "Boy oh boy, that Kate chick really did a number on you! Tell me-"

He looked mocking yet playfully innocent.

"Sourwolf- You don't mind if I call you that do you?- have your wounds healed from your- hm let's be polite and say 'indiscretions'? Hmm, have you learned your lesson yet? Or are you going to let loverboy in and add another sentence to your record. First was Paige, then Kate, now Stiles. Though I do say New York wouldn't be far enough for your exile this time, you know, with the whole one's and incident, two's a coincidence, then, uh-oh three's a pattern! Oh wait, I didn't say that did I? No. That was loverboy. Sorry the memories do tend to get all gobbled up."

He scrunched his nose cheerfully, then his face fell to a look of despair.

"Oh wait, no. You don’t know. Not yet. You will though. You'll know when you find the used up husk that used to be your beloved. You see I sucked him drrrrry. I took every last memory. His first, his last-"

"I swear if you've hurt him-" Derek spoke with vitriol.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Relax would ya. I didn't hurt him." His eyes lit up with excitement. "It was so much worse. I took every last minute he ever lived and I sucked it out of him. Hehehe."

He showed a giddy sort of excitement.

"I did. I really reeeally did.  I took his first day of school, I took him dragging tall, dark, and dopey out into the woods, I took his idolization of the redhead, his love for his father, meeting every last member of his pack, meeting his best friend, meeting you. He knew too, he knew it all as it was happening. As I was taking every last part of himself that made him, him he knew. So as I took him watching his mother slowly forget who he was he thought- Hehehehe- sorry. Ehm got the giggly pants. He thought, 'Oh god I'm just like her. I'm going to look at the people I love most and not even know them. Know I'm hurting them.' In one of Stiles' last moments of truly being Stiles he thought about you all and how much losing himself would hurt you."

A faux sadness clouded his face, but the grin soon resurfaced.

"And you know the kicker Derek? The real kick in the pants is in his last moment, his very last, he screamed out your name, even after all that you've done to him. And you've done a lot to him, you guys shoot hateful words at each other like enemies across borders. He takes hits from you like a soldier. Pew pew pew."

The creature acted like he was shooting across the room.

"But to be fair your boy can take a hit. Still, for your name to be the one he called out after how much you hurt him is something. And you did sourwolf."

Derek growled at the use of the nickname again.

"You hurt him so bad he thought you hated him as much as you hate yourself."

He got close and whispered. "Which is a lot. You should work on that."

He skipped away again.

"Or not. It won't make any difference to him anymore. It won't even hurt him now. He won't care. Although, did he really before?"

That snapped Derek out of his head. The one thing he always knew is Stiles always cared about him, even if he didn't. He felt a surge of anger knowing what he took from Stiles.

When the pack got there the snake was still alive tied to a chair, but his mouth was bleeding like a waterfall. Derek was sitting in a corner.

"He wouldn’t shut up."

Scott spoke in a scolding tone. "Derek!"

Derek glared. "The only reason he's still alive is because he knows where Stiles is and how to fix him."

Once they found him it hurt so bad not seeing an ounce of recognition in his eyes. Before it was them all forgetting Stiles now it was the other way around, and he didn't know how Stiles didn't go mad. He wanted to just shake him till he called him sourwolf.

The snake gave him back his memories, but he wouldn't remember. Even after several threats the snake couldn't do anything further, he said Stiles had to remember on his own, even if Derek kept him chained up till he starved.

In the end, after several horrible weeks, they all took turns telling him things to get his memory back.

"Stiles please you have to remember. Remember who you were. Please. I love you. You're everything-" Derek looked shocked he had said that. "You're everything to the pack."

It was his father that got him to remember finally.

As everyone was celebrating with Stiles, Derek snuck out.

"You'd let me live... why?" The snake rubbed his wrists where the cuffs were.

"Because you're going to take the memory of our fight. And only that! Or I swear I will cut you to pieces so slowly you will wish you could take your own memories."

"Deal. But I'm still unclear why."

"He would never forgive me if he remembered what I said. I said horrible things. I could tell it was over."

The look he gave him, even if it was erased from Stiles' head, kept ringing in his. First the look of alarm, then the look of determination as he grabbed mountain ash to throw at the snake in his bedroom, next the confusion at seeing Derek too, it froze his filled hand long enough for the snake to dart to his neck. His mouth gaped open and Derek turned away from the look of utter betrayal. Finally when he looked back Stiles had the same look of peaceful sleep he had before.

"He didn't take our fight away Derek."

His eyes widened so far Stiles thought they would've popped out.

"Yeah he probably figured he could hit Mexico before you caught on, but he didn't know you put Boyd, no, Peter onto his tail. Yeah he's long dead by now. Right?" Derek stood still, barely nodded.

"He actually gave me his memory of you asking him to violate me. Even after everything I just went through. After it all you still asked him to do that to me." Stiles smiled bitterly.

"I'm so- I didn't know wha- You wouldn't ever hav-"

"I forgive you."

Derek looked even more shocked. "Wh-what? Why? I- I don't understand? Why would yo-"

"You wouldn't understand. Derek 'Why do you try to save me.' Hale. You are pack. Am I still mad? Fuck yeah. Am I going to get over it? Unfortunately. Why? Because it doesn't matter what you say to me, what you do, I see through all of your misdirections. I see who you are. I see you Derek. Before our fight I got close to territory that you aren't ready for, so you snapped. I got close so you pushed me away, and you did and said things to ensure I wouldn't want to come back. You are unforgivable because you want to be unforgivable, because you don't think to deserve forgiveness. You push people away so you can't hurt them. You shut people out, out of habit. When someone gets close to you and proves themself worthy you bare your teeth, not your neck. I'm not falling for it. You aren't going to bite me..."

Stiles scoffed.

"Not with those bunny teeth. Besides, we're finally getting somewhere. You mentioned my father's drinking being my fault in a fight after I asked you out. I think this is a step forward." Stiles chuckled.

Derek's eyes filled with tears and he rushed Stiles into a bone crushing hug. He took deep lungfuls of Stiles' scent with his nose in the crook of his neck. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I don't know why I say those things."

"Because you're scared. Everyone you've ever loved has hurt you. Some unintentional, some not, but still. Every last one of them. You have never known a love that didn't mean pain."

"It's okay. I deserve it. I hurt them too."

"You won't hurt me. I believe that. You just have to stop pushing me away."

"I thought I lost you."

"Never, sourwolf, never." Stiles tucked Derek even closer to himself.

****************************** After the flashes of angry shouts and hurt feelings stopped he knew this felt different.

He was so done, done fighting. He needed to know, and he would beat the answer out of Derek if it came to it. He got his jeep working again and turned around. The entire ride Stiles felt the lightning coursing through his veins.

Stiles flung the door open and rushed Derek.

"Stiles what are yo-"

In one swift motion Stiles grabbed his hand yanking him towards him, then used both hands to grab the sides of his face and smashed their lips together.

It wasn't aggressive, but it didn't lose any of its intense edge to fizzle into something softer. It wasn't loving, or passionate. It was by no means a sweet kiss, but it wasn't bitter or angry either. There was no decoration or expectation, just desperation.

They both pulled away out of breath.

"I think we both know the reason we fight so much. Because we both know there's something here worth fighting for."

Derek looked beaten and confused. "Stiles just let it go. Let us go. Let me go."

"No. I see who you are. We are worth fighting for. You are. So I'm not going to stop, but if you want to keep fighting me tell me now. Because if you're gonna hurt me hurt me now. I need to know." Stiles tried to betray that this was his very last chance with his pleading eyes. He let go of Derek's hand.

"I'm sick of fighting." Derek spoke like he was tired of even having to talk about fighting. He reached for Stiles' hand.

"Good good. Just let me help you. Derek, let me save you. Let me help you. Do you want me to?"

"Save me. Please. Please Stiles you're everything to me. But I don't know how to be the man you think I am. I don't deserve to be him."

Stiles remembered the empty words he's said before. He had to make sure this was the last time.

"Okay. Okay, say you do. Say you deserve all of the terrible things in the world. Say it was somehow your fault that an older woman tricked and seduced you when you were too young to know any better. Say the tragedy of your family didn't happen to you, it happened because of you. Say you are the worst person on the planet. Say you actually deserve what you think you do. Say all of that, but what about the pack? Hm? They don't deserve that. They don't deserve seeing you in so much pain. They don't deserve an alpha so focused on punishing himself for the past he forgets to make the future better for them. What- what about me? I deserve to have you. I do. After all the shit I got through, I deserve to get to be loved by you. You need to stop pretending you aren't worth it because I will never stop reaching for your hand. I- I love you Derek. You, you. The Derek that has messed up and failed and lost more fights than he's won. I always have and will, but I need you to at least like yourself. You have to let go Derek. Love them and remember them? Yes, always. But blame yourself? You need to move on if you won't do it for you do it for them. Do it for us."

Derek laid his forehead against Stiles' and closed his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you anymore. I don't want to, but I might. I'll work on it. I'll go back to therapy. I'll pray that I will change into who you think I am. I'll work with you, but I might still push you away. I might still hurt you now, but I want to be saved." Derek grabbed his other hand too.

"Then I'll save you."

#sterek #stiles x derek #stiles #stiles stilinski #derek #derek hale #spark stiles #angst #sterek angst #angst with a happy ending #fighting #seriouslyalotoffighting #derek hale deserves nice things #hurt me now by quinn lewis #save me by noah kahan #song fic #sterekweek2019 #sterekweek #stereklyrics5 #lyricsandquotes