#like its an incredible book with incredible highs but with HORRIBLE lows. no in between. so yeah I think you would
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2024 Book Review #10 – The Last Graduate by Naomi Novik
I read A Deadly Education last year and quite enjoyed it (and Novik’s unrelated Spinning Silver is just one of my favourite low fantasy books full stop so she has quite a bit of my trust), so I finally got around to putting in a hold request for the sequel. Broadening your horizons and reading outside your comfort zone means swimming through 400 pages of YA a couple times a year, right? Anyway, despite only barely remembering who anyone but El and Orion were when I went into this, was a fun read!
The book picks up more or less directly where A Deadly Education stops – with the horrible murderous monster-infested extradimensional wizard high school’s cleansing machinery repaired for the first time in generations, and the place therefor incredibly less monster-infested than previously. El, prophesied future dark lady of the apocalypse with a savant’s talent for specifically the sort of magic you cast after cackling and before someone puts a sword in you, doesn’t get to enjoy that much – her senior year seems destined to be spent being the target of just about every monster that’s left. Eventually you really have to wonder if the school is trying to kill you – and that question is where the plot really starts to go off.
So I said it before, but this is very much YA. I don’t mean that as an insult, or even a marker of quality, just that it’s a book from the perspective of a 17 year old looking down the end of high school and clearly written to provide a relatable emotional reality for an assumed audience of the same. So El sometimes acts like a cartoon character, and is pathologically incapable of expressing her emotions coherently or expressing affection for the guy she likes in any sane manner, and is far more blase about murder attempts and soul-eating monsters than emotionally awkward conversations – but honestly all that just rings as pretty true to life. Deeply aggravating at times, and her internal monologue and all its snark and doublethink does occasionally grate a bit, but overall it really works. She’s just a fun character to spend time in the head of, (and far less irritating in basically every way than she was in the last book. So hey, maturity!).
The emotional beats were all pretty simple and clearly telegraphed, and it isn’t exactly a book that requires you to sit down and ponder deep symbolism or metaphor to comprehend, but the pacing is tight and it’s very readable. The prose isn’t really anything to write home about – especially knowing what Novik can do when she decides to get fancy and show off a bit – but it very clear and just dripping with El’s personality on every page. I read this at the same time as I was picking through an incredibly dense and citation-heavy historical reader, and the contrast made me very appreciative of those virtues.
Character-wise – well, there’s El, and Orion (love interest, single-minded and near divinely-ordained monster hunter, golden boy of the most powerful enclave in the world), and there’s El’s few close friends, and then there’s a cast of dozens of students with maybe one memorable character trait who kind of drift in and out of the narrative as required. The amount of nuance and exploration someone gets drops off dramatically with each step down the list you go. Most of the cast shows up precisely when required and is more or less forgotten about directly afterwards – which does sell this being a school with over a thousand students in it! But the number of characters who really feel real drops off pretty rapidly.
(Also like, I assume it just comes down to social progress in the 2010s coming at you fast, but you really get the sense that at some point between the books getting written the publishers sent down a memo that you were allowed to say queer people existed now.)
Even more than Deadly Education, this is a book without any sort of singular villain, or even really any consistent antagonists. Some of the other students are assholes, sure, but the book’s whole thesis is that no one is that murderous or awful for the sake of it – they are because they’re rats in a cage, convinced that amoral self-interest and husbanding and acquiring every resource they can is the only hope they have of maybe living to see their families again. Offered a chance to do good, to actually change things for the better and help everyone without getting themselves killed in the process, just about everyone takes it. Even the semi-intelligent school itself gets in on it by the end, pressing the senior class to figure something out and make it obsolete – and the whole conflict of the final act is how and whether everyone will.
El and Orion can both kill basically arbitrarily large numbers of monsters (or people), so the monster-killing is never really where the book finds its drama either. I mean, both do a lot of it through the climax, but the actual tension mostly comes down to crowd management and logistics and whether everyone else is as committed to this as the two of them are.
As for what they’re struggling against – so like, this isn’t Divergent, by the standards of the YA I read in high school, the social commentary is both subtle and nuanced. But I mean, it’s also a story where highschool is four years or murder-hell-prison and justified only because it’s barely the lesser of two evils, and also a story where the poor and marginalized are only kept around more-or-less explicitly as ablative bodies for the kids the powers that be care about, with their only hope of good life being so impressive and useful to those kids that they try to bring them along when they ascend back up to the gilded paradise that is their birthright. So like, not that subtle.
As far as teenage romances go (which, for me, really isn’t very fair at all), El and Orion’s was surprisingly tolerable. It helps that they’re both actually deeply profoundly weird about it, and also that the book didn’t try to milk any drama out of will-they/won’t-they stuff or a love triangle. The ‘and they have sex for the first time the night before the final climactic struggle where one or both of them could very well die’ did feel right out of an old bioware game, though. (Also I’m just a sucker for tragedy and ironic mirroring/repetition, so the ending was great for me).
Look forward to finishing the series whenever I get around to it sometime in the fall.
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On Writing and Alan Wake
Talking about my writing is hard. I’m someone who wants to talk about it, but if you asked me to describe my feelings out loud, finding the right words would be difficult.
My current ongoing story, Out of My Hands and Into Your Heart, is finished, and has been for the past few weeks aside from some polishing. I started working on it back in late November. I wrote over half of my 2023 writing goal in one month alone last December. I think a large part of why this happened is because Alan Wake 2 reconfigured my brain and spoke to me on such a deep level as a writer.
With 7 chapters out now, I want to talk about the writing process and what I’m enjoying with my fic so far and why Alan Wake (as a character and as a game) is so meaningful to me.
It’s interesting to write about a writer. Obviously that’s the whole gist of Alan Wake, but I’m writing about a writer discussing the problems of writing and projecting onto his character. The meta layers appeal to me greatly.
First person POV helps me get into Alan’s head so much more (though this is in part due to how often we hear him monologuing in all 3 games). I know for a lot of people first person POV is an immediate turn off when it comes to fic, but more and more I think it deserves a chance with certain characters. To me, it just comes naturally for Alan (and on the flipside, Casey). First person POV is just another tool in the writer's kit.
I knew coming into this idea back in late November I wanted to provide my take on the story prior to the first Alan Wake game and Bright Falls. For Alan to be the man he is, kind of an arrogant asshole who doesn’t treat his wife and others well, I wanted to imagine what could have shaped him. Of course I wanted to have a shipping bent to my story with him and Fictional Alex Casey, so I started crafting my own interpretation of Alan’s narrative arc through the chapters of his life as told through his book publishing. There was one central question on my mind: What led to him wanting to kill off Casey?
...Which meant telling a well-rounded story rooted in canon to a degree. How does his relationship with Alice and Barry evolve over his writing? What highs and lows does Alan experience? How does he go from being a successful author to a shell of himself by the time the writer’s block hits?
So if the spiral is the metaphor for the creative journey of ups and downs, I decided to orient it as the story’s “villain” much earlier in the Alan Wake canon. The enemy in this story is Alan himself.
So I knew going into this Alan would do incredibly selfish and hurtful things—some of which could upset others, such as when Alan goes out on his own and is drugged by a group of so-called fans. No one likes to see their favorite characters doing horribly self-destructive things, but this is the nature of Alan's character and a large part of why I like him. He feels very human and vulnerable.
Amidst all this, the story posed a challenge because I needed to shift between the real and dream worlds so Casey and Alan could interact. The pivotal moment in book four when Casey confronts Alan always served as the signature moment of a character objecting to the whims of their author. On the one hand, I worried about not having Casey appear directly in the story sooner, but on the other hand, I thought it was important to treat the first chapters as a prologue building up to the real action and dynamics of the story: Casey and Alan’s (future romantic) relationship.
Which leads us to what I hope comes across as meaningful, if sad chapter seven. The kiss scene and its followup in Alan’s real world was important to the story, and it was a moment I was looking forward to sharing. Alan’s been carrying feelings for his character since his youth, but after his traumatic experience, he pushes it aside and tries to abide by heternormative ideals.
I chose to go this route based on how Alan behaves in the first Alan Wake game. Some of Alan’s behavior came across as over-inflated machismo, like he’s trying to prove he’s more than just a scrawny, out of shape writer. He gets into fights, he’s aggressive, defensive. I feel like it comes from a very vulnerable place of prior hurt. Alan could have easily been an easy target in his youth for being “too sensitive”, “too emotional”.
Further, Alan’s expectations of the kind of man Casey “should be” and the way Casey has become over the course of being “dimensional” in the context of years of storytelling reflect how sometimes characters take on lives of their own. You subconsciously push a character in one direction without even realizing it. Alan is so close with Casey without realizing the bond goes in the other direction too. A type of codependency where we rely on our fictional fantasies for comfort and support.
For now, that’s all I’ll say about the story. Though there’s only two more published books left, the story is far from over.
If you read this far, thanks for reading this post. I’m really proud of my story and enjoyed writing it. I’m grateful to be able to post something with consistency and reliability for once. I think this story reflects significant growth for me as a writer, breaking new ground with what I’m capable of doing when I’m inspired.
Thanks again to those of you who have read my story, kudos’d, bookmarked, subscribed, commented, reblogged/retweeted my posts. It’s very touching and I appreciate the support! Like Alan, it keeps me out of the Dark Place.
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my year of rest and relaxation review
this review does contain spoilers. this book is also undoubtedly 18+ and no minors should be partaking in it.
i want to begin this review by talking directly to those who dislike it. there were many mixed reviews from what i saw about this book before purchasing it, and most just cited the fact that the main character is awful as a person and horribly depressing. well, that is true. she is definitely that. but a bad main character doesn’t make a bad book. she’s still very well-written and captivating as a narrator, even if unreliable. if you prefer books where the main character is a good-hearted heroine, i promise there is a whole world out there for you. but if you are still willing to read, i would absolutely 100% recommend this book to you. holden caufield in “the catcher in the rye” is just as miserable, but apparently that book is a classic, i guess (i really had no pleasure in dragging through that one in high school.)
the premise of the book is super simple; she pretty much just wants to sleep the whole year, following feeling unfulfilled in life, and wanting some sort of rebirth. this summary makes it sound incredibly boring, but there is never a dull moment in the story. nothing my eyes wanted to skip over. i was hooked on every word and paragraph. Moshfegh writes in such a beautiful way that was simple (and a good break after reading sense and sensibility) but powerful, as if the main character herself was furiously scribbling into a notebook every time she came back to consciousness.
you never truly feel sorry for the character. she is a total asshole. a complete entitled, self-centered, rich asshole. but her thoughts are still expressed in a way that can be relatable. i think that’s what makes it so captivating. even though she exhibits extreme behavior, it is still relatable on a base level. being unsatisfied with the career you’ve chosen. the death of family to suicide, to cancer. a love-hate relationship between long time friends. wanting a fresh start.
i do also think Moshfegh picked the perfect time period to place this book in. 2000-2001 are very simplistic but complicated years. the emergence of new technology yet still just primitive enough. the joy of the VHS player where she watches movies on repeat makes it so thought dialogue is better concise, but she is also not scrolling for hours upon hours on social media distracting herself and putting herself to sleep that way.
the lingering theme on 9/11 is also pretty haunting. you can see from my updates that it was constantly on my mind, but the book truly has no reason for me to think that way. Moshfegh simply slips in unnerving details about its potential future presence, like Reva being moved into the twin towers for work, or how each date after she wakes up during her hibernation is explicitly listed. i thought for a second it would just cut off before 9/11. but the final one-page chapter is as well placed as i hoped it would be.
read this book, but don’t find yourself relating too much with it. don’t allow yourself to wish for similar events. i guess that is the problem many people have with it. but it is possible to read a book at base level and just appreciate the story. you don’t have to absorb it into your very soul. it’s fiction, after all. it’s not meant to be taken 100% seriously. enjoy yourself.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
this did conclude my reading challenge for the year as well. i had set it very low at the beginning of the year because truly i didn’t expect to read at all! and then suddenly i’ve finished 3 books in the span of about a month, which is so wonderful. if you’re interested in being friends on goodreads (i have none 🥲 say yes pls) it’s linked in the pinned post on my profile.
in the seventh chapter, she mentions that she read “war and peace”, and i’m taking it as a solidifying sign, as that will be my next venture for what will probably be the rest of the year. now that will be a long, intense review. and i’ll see you at the end of the year for that. <3
#aesthetic#studyblr#studyspo#bookish#bookblr#my year of rest and relaxation#book review#5 stars#goodreads
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What's your thoughts about Circe!Tamlin AU. Like the incident between tam-tam and Rhys, Tamlin managed to save his brothers but not his father and mother.
So his brother is the highlord, but in honor of the memory of their mother he banished Tamlin to an island for all eternity far off from the spring coast, and Tamlin is just there chilling, planting his garden, making elixirs and potions all that.
Sorry my brainrot is attacking me out of nowhere and I'm reminded of MM Circe all over again, Also hi! How are you :3
Hi! I'm very well thank you. Alright bear with me here, I had no idea who Circe was until I looked her up, what I found on the internet was she is an enchantress and minor Greek goddess, and I looked up MM Circe and I'm finding a book by a woman named Madeline Miller so I'm going to assume that's what your referencing, forgive me if I'm wrong. But I've now read the summary of the plot of Circe, and it sounds incredibly interesting, and her story looks fascinating.
I may know very, very little about Circe, but I do know a heck of a lot about Tamlin and I think this prompt is a very interesting one indeed. Here's how I think this scene would go.
Baile stood up, as proud and tall as he always had been. Even covered in his own blood and trembling from the wounds he had sustained, Tamlin, looking up from his place on the floor, was once again reminded the man before him was two hundred years old than himself. Bigger, stronger, mightier, fiercer.
Even mightier now. Tamlin watched as their father's now lifeless body, laying on the cold hardwood floors, shriveled up like a dried rose petal. The windows of his parents bedroom slammed open as a wind swept through like a hurricane, magic Tamlin presumed, that wind carried away his father's ashes. Spreading them back out over the lands.
Baile watched with mild disinterest, then it hit. The High lords power rocked Rosehall. Tamlin folded over the body in his arms, the body of his mother. He slapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, like he could block out the pulsing of power that thumped through the Spring Court. A new High lord, a new heartbeat to follow.
The land had chosen the eldest Spring Prince for its High lord. When the pulsing finally ceased Tamlin tentivily looked up, he saw his brother staring down at him. Eyes glowing a bright green before it receeded, leaving a deep emerald green in his eyes, replacing the gold-speckled eyes that matched Tamlin's. Those green eyes were every part their father. So the green was the a side-effect of the High lords power, had their father once had eyes like them?
Tamlin met his brother's flaming eyes, then he looked down, bowing his head low, showing respect for the male before him. No longer his brother, but his High lord.
"Get up." Baile ordered.
"High lord-" Tamlin began, his voice quivering.
"Get up." Baile's voice was now filled with the power of Spring. The High lord's authority. Tamlin's body reacted of its own will, not giving him a choice in the matter. He gently slid his mother's lifeless frame off of his knees and stood up. Shaking horribly and covered in red.
Tamlin kept his eyes to the floor, every bruise and cut aching from what they had done to him. His head was still pounding from the faebane his own father had forced him to consume right after drugging him so he would blindly reveal the location of Rhysand's mother and sister.
"Get out." Baile whispered.
At that Tamlin finally looked up, eyes wide, fear flooding him. Causing his knees to nearly give out, "Baile-."
"You will address me as your High Lord." Baile commanded and Tamlin was helpless but to comply.
Tamlin looked back down at the floor, and Baile delivered his first command as the reigning Lord of the Spring Court, "You will go to out to isles set between the territories of Spring and Hybern. There, you are to live out the rest of your immortal life, never to return to Fae or Human society. This deed is done in the name of Dahlia Fairburn, former Lady of the Spring Court. Our mother."
He could never return...
What about Andras? Lucien and Jesminda? Could he never see any of them again? Could he even say goodbye?
.... What about Rhysand?
"Please my Lord, reconsider-"
"Leave." The High lords words were final.
Tamlin obeyed. He glanced one final time at his mother, her golden curls, the exact same as his matted with blood, her eyes wide and lifeless. Then he ran. He ran as fast as he could, Rosehall was blur to his eyes, then he was in the forests. Then his memory became a faint haze.
He briefly remembered travelling the sea. The sickening feeling of blood caked and drying on his skin, the numbness he had felt, and the empty feeling of 'what now?'
He supposed he knew what now. He was in exile, never to return to his home again. Never to see the Spring sunrise, nor his mother's gardens. He would never hear the laughter of the River Fey children. He would never sneak through the Spring Court woods to try and trap a turtle dove. He would never see anything from his old life again.
He would never see anything from his old life again.
He faintly remembered the ship passing through a strait, a small strip of the sea that cut two of the islands beside it in half. Tamlin remembered standing on the deck, looking at the Spring Court Emblem waving on the sail, then winnowing. He barely remembered it, the faebane must've worn off meaning he had been at sea for some time.
He remembered standing on green grass, alone. The wind billowing through his hair. His now tattered, dirty clothing feeling like a second skin with how long they had been on him. He remembered first feeling alone and afraid.
Then he looked up at the clear blue sky. A raven flew free through the air. Creating a shadow on the ground. It circled around Tamlin like it was calling to him, then took off. Tamlin found himself stepped forward, then walking a little faster, then taking off in a sprint after the raven.
A laugh echoed through the world and Tamlin realized it was his own.
Free.
No more bruises, no more hurt, no more broken bones, no more name-calling and beating.
He was finally free.
**************************************
Centuries passed and Tamlin had found his place in the world.
He had built a small cottage on the isle. It was made from the dark oak growing on the land. Over time he had perfected it. It was small, and rustic, but he loved as much as he had Rosehall. He had created things over the years. Learned to harvest the herbs that grew freely over the land. He had used the Spring magic he did possess to grow more. He learned how to wring out drops of magic from the plants, ground magic was a beautiful thing.
With a little magic from an herb that he now grew in the garden he had made sitting outside, he had been able to turn spider silk into thread to weave. He made all his clothing from the silk of webs he found around his house, and from boiling the bark of trees in an elixir to turn it soft like fabric.
As of right now, he was knee deep in his gardens. Hands dirty and calloused. The shade of the large oak standing proud over his cottage was a welcome presence. Tamlin gently extracted the parsley he had been growing from its pot. He murmured soft gentle praises to the plant as if it were a child as he carefully placed it in the hole he had dug into the soil bed.
He continued his work long into the day. Once the sun began to set, he took a basket and began to harvest his dinner. Heading back inside he roasted the vegetables, cut up fruit and began to make bread dough.
A small bird landed on his windowsill, followed by another, then another and another, until a flock had appeared. Tamlin sighed, then smiled and took a bag of seeds from a cupboard in his kitchen. He opened the window and scattered the seeds outside.
The birds chirped quickly and impatiently as they fought for the first pick of the seeds. Tamlin laughed as he watched and began to firmly knead the dough.
Once the dough was left to rise, Tamlin walked over to his fireplace. Where a small cauldron boiled and bubbled over the flames. He took a jar of dried herbs off of the mantlepiece and tossed a handful into the mixture. Immediately a puff of purple smoke emitted, and the cauldron's contents began to turn to a ruby red color.
It was a healing potion. Tamlin made a few jars every couple of months. It was good to have it around. In case of wounds or injuries. Or in the odd case, he found an animal injured or dying on his island.
Once dinner was done and the healing potion was cooling off in jars. Tamlin stepped out onto his front porch. There was a rocking chair in the corner which he sat down in. Taking a notebook from the pocket between realms, he opened it up and began to write a poem. It was something simple, the conclusion to the day.
He had hundreds of books now, thousands of poems, thousands of songs he had written. They would eternally go unheard.
But he would still sing them to the stars and the sun.
The world may not hear him, but Tamlin hadn't gone quiet.
His songs still carried on the wind. And if he listened very closely, sometimes he could hear the High lord of Spring singing back to him.
I had a lot of fun writing this, again I don't know much about Circe, but this is what I came up with. Thank you for the prompt!
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An update on things
It’s me again people, hi! A lot has been going on lately and I thought I’d update you all on what’s been happening! :)
I'll be upfront, not much exciting has really gone on in my life as of late. I've barely left my room since Friday (its now Tuesday when writing this). Some sort of virus (not COVID, don't worry) has decided to plague me these past few days and I've been throwing up with high fevers and a headache that can drive any man to insanity.
Despite this, I have still tried my best to make time to read (and write too, although only a short poem). Recently, I finished a wonderful short story by Argentinian writer Jorge Luis Borges called "The Book of Sand". It was beautiful. It was anxiety inducing, gut wrenching, horror ridden and scary, but it was beautiful. The Book of Sand is a book with an infinite number of pages, there's neither beginning nor end. With an infinite number of pages comes an infinite number of lines, you open to a page and you will never see it again. Moments in this book are fleeting. There's a real juxtaposition in how this book influences people between the low and high-brow classes. A poor man was willing to sell the infinite book for some small change, and a rich man (a bible collector of sorts?) was able to grow utterly obsessed with the pages of this book. What was originally his possession ended up possessing him to the point where the man fears the very existence of such an endless book, wishing to burn it (he doesn't burn it, something about possibly starting an infinite fire that consumes the world?). I've got a sneaking suspicion this short story was a commentary on the fundamental human nature to be enchanted by possibilities, because to me, the pages of that book represented just that. Possibilities, unexplored and endless. A sea of chaos no man can travel. It was terrifyingly beautiful.
Jorge Luis Borges has a fascinating way of turning this concept of "eternity" on its head, contorting it into horrible beasts that threaten the very foundation of our humanity. His writing is incredible, really. I first got into Borges through one of his short stories, "The Immortal". I won't go on about it like the last, I just implore you all to read it.
Now to something more exciting, what I've written! Taking a little inspiration from Jorge Luis Borges, I've also grappled with the concept of endlessness in the form of a little poem I creatively titled "Labyrinth, Labyrinth":
Labyrinth, labyrinth grey walls and all,
Infinite floors and never-ending corridors.
In these halls the pitter-patter sound falls,
A whisper on the back, the forking path black.
And inside this labyrinth of all and grey walls,
We wander little stalls, and big book hauls.
The labyrinth expanse invites a little dance
But be careful to not get trapped in the forking paths.
Not the most exciting work I've ever produced, but it wasn't so bad either I think. Take from it what you will, I'm not going to tell you what it means to me, otherwise I spoil your role as the reader.
Beyond reading and writing, I've been putting together some teaching resources frantically. I plan on teaching about rhetoric and the art of persuasive writing and painfully annotated a ten-page Margaret Atwood speech in the process (while sick, mind you). What a chore that was, but the pink and purple pen certainly coated those pages. Maybe when I'm done, I'll share some of the things on this blog?
On top of writing poetry, I'm currently composing a persuasive essay from the perspective of Adlerian psychology, essentially arguing against the Freudian 'life as a narrative' perspective. I'll share that when it's done.
That's my little update on the things going on in my life, probably wasn't very interesting but I hope those of you who read it enjoyed what you read. I'll make another update tomorrow probably.
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Get Over You
Another Sirius reader insert! Are you surprised? So to summarise you and Sirius are friends and big shocker you love him, but you just don’t think he feels the same so you decide tonight's the night to get over him once and for all. But that doesn’t work out too well when Sirius is also out that night. If you have any requests for me please feel free to send them my way now that I have plenty of free time! Enjoy :)
Word Count: 3030
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“I’m not sure about this!” I say adjusting the tight-fitting clothes Marlene picked out trying to twist the dress, so it sits right. The seam still wonky and the hem line not quite straight I plod my way out of the bathroom into the kitchen to show her. She stands with two large bottles of liquor in her hands cackling when she sees me.
“How did you manage this?” She asks in a high-pitched tone that gets carried off with giggles waving the bottles around gesturing toward my body.
“Well, I thought the back was the front.” I huff.
“That reminds me of my days as a straight. Let me help you out babe.” She slinks up to me wearing a gorgeous midnight blue velvet dress that’s clung to her in ways I would never understand to be humanly possible. With force she grabs the fabric pulling it in the right direction for a few moments huffing and puffing as she does. She steps back with a smug look on her face. “You look hot. Now what are we doing with your hair and makeup?” She asks rubbing her chin as though she had a beard to ponder with.
“Just what I normally do. What time is it Mar?” I ask not particularly worried with the rest of my ‘hot bitch party look’ as Marlene put it.
“Oh, don’t worry we have plenty of time, have a drink and I’ll do you hair and makeup. Lily and Dorcas will let themselves in, so we don’t have to worry about it. Tonight, is going to be great.” Marlene spoke with a glint of mischief in her green eyes. Quickly she mixes me a drink in one of our fancier glasses which turns a strange brown, hands it to me like a child showing their parent a finger painting. I take it with caution and then she drags me into the bathroom sitting me down on a bin she turns upside down getting to work.
“So, are you looking forward to seeing Dorcas?” I ask knowing the answer.
“Knock it off you know I am. Also, I am the best makeup artist you look incredible. I was thinking of telling her tonight that I want more than just sleeping together. Do you think that’s a dumb thing to do?” She asks.
“Mar why would that be dumb?”
She huffs putting down the brush in her hand letting her head fall to one side. “Well, you keep saying you can’t tell Sirius how you feel about him because it would be a stupid thing to do.” She looks at the ground finding the product she was after next.
“That’s different you and Dorcas have a connection. You have a history together. I am just Sirius’s friend; I like being his friend it’s comfortable. He is someone I trust but I wouldn’t feel secure with him if he felt the same. I mean he’s Sirius Black he’s hot and he is just… uh I’m not enough for someone like that.” I say before gulping down the rest of the strange drink feeling it burn in my throat and warm my chest. Marlene doesn’t stop what she’s doing but I can tell she disagrees, and she wants to have this argument with me once again.
“Okay. Fine. If you don’t think it’ll work out how about we find someone else. To help you get over him. That’s the plan babe, tonight’s the night to get over Black.” She says finally standing back with a prideful look on her face. “All done.” She says holding up a mirror for you to see her work. She’s not done too much to change my normal look, but I think she mainly took over to have that moment with me. But either way I do look hot and feel good which is exactly what she was going for.
“You are good.” I say and then we hear the door open followed by the loud singing from our already drunk friends. We jump up from where we were sitting and comically rush into the living room to join in with the David Bowie song they’re singing. Marlene takes Dorcas by the hands and Dorcas holds Marlene as they sway singing and laughing. Lily pouts and then does the same with me.
“You look stunning babe.” I say to Lily who never has a bad hair day.
“Uh says you, I mean who allowed you to look this good?” She asks me, kissing my cheek and dragging me to the kitchen in need of another drink. “Have you already got a glass?”
“Yes, I do. I hope you’re a better barman than Mar whatever she made me should be taken to a lab for testing.” I laugh grabbing the glass from the kitchen. Upon returning I pull Lily in for a big hug, “I missed you Lil.”
“You were only gone for less than a minute.” She says squeezing me tighter.
“I know it was horrible!” I jest breaking away from her.
She dramatically overpours vodka into my glass followed by orange juice from the fridge and hands it to me overfilling with pride as she takes a sip of her own drink, cringing as she does. “That is so good.” She says pulling a face. “Did Marlene tell you that James and the boys are coming over before we head out?”
My widening eyes and downing of my drink tell her everything she needs to know. Which of course causes her to laugh and shout to Marlene to bring her cute ass into the kitchen.
“Did someone ask for a cute ass?” Sirius says waltzing into the room with a bottle of tequila in his large hands. James, Remus and Peter follow in after him and eventually so do Marlene and Dorcas. Sirius places the bottle down then searches our cupboards for shot glasses. He immediately goes to the right cupboard and grabs enough for everyone. “Shall we do shots?” He asks wiggling his dark brows. He pours out a shot for everyone without waiting for an encouraging response. I take the sherry glass repurposed into a shot glass and hold it up in a cheer to my friends. Sirius takes this opportunity to loop his arm round mine, so we take the drink with our arms intertwined. I can feel the blush creeping up my neck, but I quickly create space between me and Sirius wandering around to the other side of the kitchen ignoring the pout he gives me when I do. I look up at Remus who stands next to me.
“You look lovely tonight darling.” He says affectionately placing a friendly arm round my shoulder giving it a squeeze. We start a small conversation between ourselves discussing the books we’ve been reading, and the course Remus had been taking at the local college because he just missed studying that much. “I can’t even begin to tell you how interesting the speaker is! She thinks I should do a master’s degree and I am considering it you know. Put off the job stuff for a while and I do love literature.”
“Do it Rem that sounds exactly like something you should be doing.” I reply.
“Hey Moony, do you want another drink?” Peter asks dragging Remus away from me with a look of determination on his face.
I lean back on the kitchen counter behind me laughing at Lily and James dancing together slash play fighting. He picks her up off the ground and twirls her around, she just can’t stop herself from laughing. Her hair swinging around with a life of its own. When she’s back on the ground she playfully hits his chest, and he feigns pain. Then they both forget whatever they were fighting about. They just stare at each other with admiration and love.
“It’s disgustingly sweet isn’t it?” Sirius says leaning to one side so he’s closer to me. “I’ll be honest though I never thought he’d manage to get a girl like Lily.”
“She always fancied him more than she hated him. Good things James grew up a bit or who knows if they would have worked it out.” I say sipping on my drink.
“Nah they would’ve found a way.” He looks down at me and with grin. I look him in the eyes for the first time tonight. They’re warm and he holds my gaze with such intensity I can’t help but look away with a sharp intake of breath. “You look good tonight love.” He says in a low tone, so it stays thick in the air between the two of us. “But you always do look beautiful.” Which adds to the weight growing within my chest. I catch Marlene’s eye which I now notice has been on the two of us for a while. She understands that I require an intervention, so she drags me over to her and Dorcas saying they need someone to decide who’s right in their debate.
Under her breath Marlene says, “We need you to find you a rebound fast.” You nod taking her drink from her and downing it.
“Right shall we make our way out into the night?” Remus inquires clasping his hands together like a teacher.
Everyone queues for the toilet and makes sure everything is left clean enough, so it won’t be a problem for us when we’re hung over tomorrow. While I wait, I go into my room to grab a jacket or a bag to take with me. I hear someone follow me assuming its Marlene I ask, “Do you think I should wear a jacket with this dress?”
“Oh, definitely not, it would ruin the integrity of the look.” A low voice answers.
“Sirius hasn’t any ever told you not to follow a woman into her room uninvited?” I retort.
“Well, I normally wouldn’t love you know me, but you’ve been avoiding me.” He says playing with the fabric of my dress.
“What if I am?” I say picking up a bag and walking past him.
“Well, it’s okay if you are, I just thought I was imagining it. Good to know you are indeed avoiding me.”
I stop and turn around to look at him, “I just… look tonight I’m looking to get over someone and I’m not sure hanging around you will help me attract people Sirius. If I spend the whole night with you, I’m giving off the wrong impression. It’s not personal.”
“It feels a little personal.”
“Come on Sirius lets go.” I say holding out my hand to him, which he takes placing a kiss on the top of my had.
We walk out of my room into the hallway where we hear the others calling to us telling us its time to go. The walk to the club is colder than expected but Sirius wraps his arm around me to keep me warm. I can’t protest because it’s just for the small walk once we get into the club it’ll be fine, I tell myself, when we get in, I’ll keep my distance. But it doesn’t stop the electricity I feel when his fingertips brush along the exposed skin on my back. It doesn’t stop my heart beating too fast when he jokes with me speaking right in my ear. The heat of his breath on my neck and the idea of him being so close to me. All too soon we reach the club with a line along the stretch of the road. When we get in line, I position myself between Lily and Marlene to keep my distance from Sirius. It works to he doesn’t try to stand next to me or wrap his arm around me or even really talk to me.
When we enter the club the thudding music pulses through my body, and I make a beeline to the bar letting my friends scatter throughout the club. I find myself waiting to be served next to a tall man with bright red hair who has a gleaming smile and a large nose. He leans down to speak in my ear asking if he can buy me a drink, I accept.
“Sorry I don’t think I caught your name.” I state.
“I’m Fabian. I think I know you from somewhere.” He answers.
“Well, I work in the local bookshop so you might know me from there.” I respond. “Actually, you do look a little familiar… Do you have any siblings?”
“I have a sister you might know, Molly?”
“Oh yes! I know Molly, she’s dating Arthur.”
“They’re actually engaged now.” He says.
The conversation dies down a little after we talk about his sister and he soon excuses himself, “I think my brother is doing something stupid in the smoking area and I have to join in.” He explains shooting me his bright smile again before leaving me alone by the bar again.
“You’ve got a real determined look going on right now love.” Sirius speaks sliding into the free space next to me. I look up at him not caring about just how close his face is to mine. “Maybe that’s why Fab left.” I open my mouth to respond but Sirius offers me a drink, so I don’t bite his head off.
“You know him?” I ask.
“We run in the same circles. Look what asshole are you trying to get over with random people in this gross club.” He responds pulling a face.
“You don’t want to know.”
“I think I do.”
Biting my lip nervously I look him right in the eyes and tell him, “It’s you Sirius you’re the asshole.”
He swallows and raises his eyebrows. Seemingly unsure on how to respond. He runs a hand through his long intentionally messy hair and then rubs his face as if trying to understand what I’m saying. Trying to pull it into focus. I try to smile at him, but my face won’t let me, and I feel my sadness catch in my throat and pull at my chin. Quickly as though to make the emotion disappear, I wipe away a stray tear with my finger. Sirius catches me doing it and then he really sees how he has affected me, and I see the guilt bubble up through him. He says my name too quietly for me to hear in the club but the look on his face tells me that he doesn’t feel the same. The room feels too hot. Like there isn’t enough air for me in here.
“It’s okay Sirius.” I pause letting out a small sob, “You don’t have to say it I already know.” The heat builds up and I must get out of this stupid club because the room suddenly feels a lot smaller than before. I think he tries to call after me but all I can focus on is getting out of here. I break out into a small run bumping into people as I push my way through. When I get outside, I sink to the cold pavement and let the sobs rack through me like waves. This really isn’t how I imagined the night going. I look up to the night sky and a feeling of loneliness latches onto me. I don’t even try to avoid it. I go into full pity party mode, already thinking of the uncomfortable conversation I’ll eventually have to have with him about this. About how this will probably ruin our friendship for good. What will happen to the whole group of us? Then I hear his voice calling out for me in a panic and the loneliness washes out of me. He spots me and gently sits down next to be shrugging his leather jacket off and placing it over my shoulders.
“Love I didn’t realise how you felt. I wouldn’t ever want to make you feel like this. I hate myself right now.” He places a hand on my leg, and I look at him. He is crying too. I wipe away a tear holding his face with my cold hand.
“Why are you crying?” I laugh.
“Because I’m an idiot love I didn’t even realise you were an option for me! Are you kidding? Why wasn’t this something I knew about. Who else knew?”
“Just Marlene. But what difference does me being an option make?”
“Well only because I’ve been trying to get over you since we were 15! I always assumed you didn’t think of me that way, that I was just your hot friend.”
“Well, you are the hot friend, but I have had feelings for you for years. I just never thought I was good enough for you.”
“Good enough for me! I never thought I was good enough for you.”
The tears turn quickly into laughter realising how blind we’ve both been. I stand up offering Sirius my hand he takes it placing another kiss on my hand and we walk back to my apartment. I invite him into my bedroom where he kisses me passionately holding my body flush against his. He kisses me like he’s been waiting to kiss since the moment he met me. I kiss him back with the same emotion. We kiss until we break apart foreheads pressed together panting, trying to catch our breathes. Both smiling once again. A warmth exploding in my chest.
“Sirius I’ve been waiting to be with you for longer than I would like to admit. As much as I’d love to jump into bed with you right now and let you have your way with me.” Sirius laughs at this, “I just don’t want to go too quickly because I want this to work out. So instead of sex could we just hold each other until we fall asleep?”
“I do love that you worded it that way. Makes me feel like the guy in one of those sappy romance books. Yes, I’m more than okay with taking it as slow as you want my love. I can wait as long as you want. I would happily wait thousands of lifetimes for you.” He speaks kissing me again.
#Sirius Black#sirius x reader#sirius black x reader#sirius black imagine#sirius imagine#sirius x you#sirius reader insert#Sirius x Y/N#sirius black reader insert#marauders imagine#marauders era#marauders reader insert#marauders x reader#marauders era imagine
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I Suppose That Would Be Alright- Draco x Reader
Request: Hello!! May I request prompt 4 with Draco Malfoy where the reader saw Draco cheating on her and they broke up? & He tries everything he could to get her back but she doesn’t give in easily. This could be a little angsty. xD
Summary: Reader catches Draco cheating and breaks up with him. He desperately wants her back. Angsty with a little fluff at the end! (gif not mine!) masterlist
Words: 3,681 Requested: Yes
******PLEASE GO TO THIS POST AFTER YOU READ THIS STORY, I REALLY WANT YOUR FEEDBACK ON A CONCEPT I HAVE*********
For reference, L/n refers to “your last name”
I Suppose That Would Be Alright
Draco meant everything to you. You had been dating for almost two years now, and you were happier than you had ever been.
There was a different side to Draco that you got to see. To the world he may be tough and snarky, but to you he was sweet and caring. He was also overly indulgent, and you knew he would do literally anything for you. He always told you how much you meant to him, and you had always believed him. Until this very second.
Draco stands in front of you in the corridor, being snogged within an inch of his life by Pansy Parkinson. You stand there, frozen in shock as time grinds to a halt. The other students in the hallway dart their eyes between you and Draco, and start whispering. You whirl around as quickly as you can, unable to take anymore of their pitying looks or Draco’s snogging session.
As you run, you hear Draco calling your name, but continue to push through the throng of students. You tell yourself that you just have to get away. As you run, memories swirl through your mind.
The words swim in front of your eyes, blurring into nonsense. How were you ever going to succeed in potions, when absolutely nothing made sense? Tears gather on your lashes, further obscuring what little you could make out. With a sigh, you let your head slam onto the heavy potions book.
“L/N? What are you on about?” A snide voice rings out in the quiet of the library.
You whip your head up, and blink back the moisture in your eyes. In front of you stands a scowling Draco Malfoy. His silver eyes penetrate yours, and it makes you uncomfortable. You know what he’s like, and he so obviously is going to use this against you somehow.
“Shove off Malfoy.” You mutter angrily, swiping at your eyes with vigor.
Draco eyes you for a second, then takes the seat opposite of you. He reaches out a pale hand and slides the book out from under you, turning it to examine its contents.
“Potions, huh?” He says. He looks back at you, and some how his face is a little softer than before.
“I’m pretty good at potions, if I do say so myself.” He brags. “I bet I could whip you into shape L/N.”
“Why would you help me?” You question. His actions go against everything you’ve ever heard about him, and everything you’ve ever seen him do.
Draco shrugs, and juts his pointy chin.
“Beats having to help Crabbe and Goyle. At least you can read.” He says.
You catch yourself laughing, and it surprises you. Draco Malfoy is funny?
“Y/N.” You say, extending your hand across the table. Draco considers it for a moment, and then takes your hand in his cool one.
“Draco.”
The tears stream down your face, as the memories keep hitting you full force.
“Y/n?” Draco asks, sprawled out in the grass. “Would you call us friends?”
You look up from the book you’re reading and mark the page. You’ve been Draco’s friend for several years now, and you know his moods like the back of your hand. If you don’t give him your undivided attention he’ll pout for the next week.
“I certainly hope so. I don’t spend this much time with just anyone you know.” You say gently.
You always try to be gentle around Draco. He’s been horribly belittled and mistreated by his father, and though he will never willingly admit it, he craves the support he didn’t have growing up. You never want to treat him the way his father does.
Draco sighs, and then locks his eyes on yours. He scoots his head into your lap, and then sets his gaze on the tepid lake. It’s a cozy afternoon, and the soft light makes Draco’s blonde hair look even lighter.
“But friends can take each other to dances and things right?” He says. His voice is uncharacteristically timid, and it makes you smile. Draco is always softer around you than he is with others, but he is still usually cocky and confident. Now he is nervous, and it makes your stomach flutter.
“What do you mean?” You ask, smirking. Of course you understand what he’s getting at, but you’ll take any opportunity to mess with him.
He looks up at you then, grey eyes narrowing when he catches the expression on your face. Draco sits himself up and turns to face you. He’s much closer than you anticipated, and you feel a blush rising to your cheeks.
“You’re messing with me.” He says, voice low.
“Maybe.” You agree. You aren’t quite successful at keeping the breathiness out of your voice.
“Go to the ball with me?” He asks. You pretend to think about it for a minute.
“I suppose that would be alright.” You grin. “Poor Goyle, though. I think he already had his dress picked out.”
Draco rolls his eyes, but smiles back at you anyways. You can’t keep the blush off of your face the rest of the day.
The most important memory hits you last.
“That was so much fun, Draco.” You say as he walks you through the abandoned corridors to your dormitory. If you listen closely enough, you can still hear the faint sounds of the music. The night has a dreamy haze to it, and you practically feel like you’re floating.
“It was, wasn’t it? Doesn’t help that you had the greatest date.” He adds.
You laugh, happy and carefree.
“Y/n.” Draco says, catching your hand and stopping you.
“Yes, Draco?” You ask, blinking at him. The moonlight filters in through the hallway, and Draco’s hair and eyes are gleaming. He’s never looked more beautiful to you.
“I don’t want to be friends anymore.” He says.
Your face falls as you take in his words, and then he’s kissing you in the moonlight.
“I love you.” He says when he pulls away. It’s all too easy for you to stand on your tip toes, and press another hungry kiss to his mouth.
“I love you too.”
How could he do this to you? You loved him, and until now you had never doubted that he’d loved you just as much. You had been so blind.
Draco catches you before you can get away from him.
“Y/n, wait!” He says, griping your elbow to pull you back to him.
“Don’t touch me!” You shout, venom dripping from every word.
“It’s not what you think!” He starts.
“Not what I think? What I think is that you and Parkinson were just having a nice song. Don’t let me interrupt!” You snarl. You itch to whip out your wand and curse him.
“Y/n...” he says, giving you the wounded puppy eyes. They usually work, but not this time.
“I’m done!” You snap. “There are a lot of people in your life that let you toy with them, Draco. They let you move them around like chess pieces, but guess what? I’m not one of those people.”
“I know you aren’t!” Draco defends.
“I won’t let you treat me like one any longer. I loved you!” You say, tears streaming freely down your face. “I loved you for years and you were just using me.”
“No I wasn’t! That’s not true.” Draco pleads. “Y/n, I’m telling you nothing happened!”
“If that’s nothing then I’d hate to see your definition of something!” You wrench your arm out of his grasp and move away.
“Y/n, please...”
“I’m done, Draco. I’m done.” You say, and walk away. Even though you want to, you don’t turn around once. You know your worth, and you deserve more than to be treated like rubbish.
The next few days are incredibly hard. The entire school learns about your breakup, and there’s a flood of sympathetic faces wherever you go. People whisper when you walk into a room, and grow quiet when you come near. It’s humiliating and annoying, and all you want is some damn privacy to mourn.
It doesn’t help that Draco refuses to take the hint and leave you alone. He’s already tried to approach you a few times, and it’s getting harder and harder to avoid him.
Today you all share a class, ironically potions, and you usually share a table. You know that it will be impossible to get any learning done with him next to you. Maybe you could find someone to switch with you. Draco was still astoundingly good at potions, and there had to be someone who would want to reap the benefits of being his partner.
Finding that someone, however, was proving to be impossible. You weren’t really that close with anyone in your class, and after the second no, you were starting to get the feeling that everyone wanted to see the drama play out. You decide that if you had to sit next to Draco, then the best thing to do would be to get there last and leave first.
You walk into potions with your head held high, seconds before class begins. Professor Snape narrows his dark eyes as you walk in, but doesn’t say anything to you about it. Draco is in his usual seat, sitting stiff as a board.
He is paler than usual, you note as you take your seat. Dark purple rings his eyes, and betrays his lack of sleep. Your heart stutters being this close to him, but you are strong and you will ignore all of this.
Snape begins his lecture, and you hang onto every word. You’ve never been so focused on a lecture in your life. You’re busy noting every word that Snape says, when a note pops up on your parchment.
“I really need to talk to you.” It reads. It’s in Draco’s neat and proper handwriting, and you have the violent urge to destroy the loops with your quill.
You lock your jaw, and then continue taking notes as if you’ve never seen Draco’s message.
“Y/n, please. I’d just like to explain.” Another note says.
Again you ignore it, and you can feel the tension in Draco increase as he scribbles another hasty note.
“Y/n, please..” the words start.
“Enough!” You snap at Draco, loud enough to draw the attention of the rest of the class.
“L/n, I didn’t know that you were so educated about Acromantula Venom that you didn’t need my lecture.” Snape says in his slow drawl. “Please enlighten the rest of the class with your expansive knowledge.”
“I-I’m sorry professor, it won’t happen again.” You say. Snape looks more sour than ever as he turns his attention back to the lecture.
You feel the familiar pressure of tears behind your eyes. This time, they are angry tears. Draco couldn’t settle for humiliating you in front of everyone in the corridor, he had to also humiliate you in class too.
The second Snape dismisses you, you are running from the class. You give Draco no time to catch up with you, as you hastily make your way back to your dormitory. Maybe you’ll just have to hide out here forever.
Draco tries again during dinner. You knew you should have just had one of your housemates bring you a plate, but you hate feeling like a coward. You’re not going to starve to death because Draco couldn’t keep his tongue in his mouth. You refuse to let him have that much power over you.
You’re in the middle of forced conversation with your housemates when Draco makes his way over and sits down. Instantly, you feel a multitude of prying eyes on you, and you again have the urge to run.
“Y/n.” Draco says firmly. “I need to talk to you.”
“Leave me alone, Malfoy.” You say coldly. Draco flinches at your use of his last name. You’ve never called him Malfoy, not since the day you became friends.
“Y/n, nothing happened with Pansy. I love you!” He says as quietly as he can. It irks you that he’s being so quiet about it. If he really loved you, why was he acting like it was such a shameful secret.
“Right.” You say. “I’ll believe that when I see it Draco.”
You didn’t mean it as a challenge. Draco’s actions had already proven to you what he felt. However, his face brightens at your words and warmth blooms in your chest. You quickly stamp it out, and ignore the feelings. You’ll get over that soon enough.
“I’ll prove it to you! I swear I will.” He says, and then he swings his legs over the bench and walks out of the Great Hall. You have the sinking feeling that disaster is looming.
Draco’s first attempt to win you back involves flowers. Somehow, he manages to jinx a vase in your room to procure a new flower for you every morning. Of course, they are your favorite kind of flower, and the vase magically expands to include them all.
The flowers anger you because they are a sweet gesture and an impressive bit of magic. Why couldn’t his attempts be weak and pathetic so you didn’t consider taking him back? Draco was too good at wooing and schmoozing. You have to remind yourself multiple times a day that you caught him kissing Pansy.
To his credit, Draco leaves you alone for a while. He doesn’t try to contact you or force you to talk to him. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel his eyes on you all the time, and that potions isn’t the most intense class you have. But at least it’s something.
You have five flowers when Draco makes another attempt. Your favorite candy from Honeydukes now appears underneath the flowers. You carefully unwrap the package, and put the delicacy in your mouth. It’s delicious, as always, but it makes you sad too. You miss Draco more than anything, but your trust has been broken. Some chocolate and flowers won’t fix that by themselves.
You miss him, and you really should stop hiding from him and just talk. He was trying, and that’s at least enough reason to let him speak. You didn’t have to forgive him.
You go down to the Great Hall with determination. You’re going to get this resolved today, regardless of the outcome.
You walk into the hall, eyes searching for blonde hair and silver eyes. You find Draco at his normal table, and then your heart sinks. Next to him sits Pansy, who is staring at him with obvious heart eyes. Your anger reaches its boiling point as you stomp over.
“Draco.” You say, tone stormy. “We need to talk.”
Draco looks eager as he jumps from the table and follows you outside.
“What are you doing?” You hiss. “You can’t send me flowers and candy every morning and then still be hanging around Pansy whenever I see you! It doesn’t work that way.”
“Oh I’m sorry.” He says, voice haughty. He sounds like the Draco everyone else knows. “I’m just a little confused because I try everything to reach out to you, and you ignore me and all my effort and then get mad when someone else acts interested in me!”
“I’m not allowed to be mad that you’re with the person you cheated on me with?!” You snap.
Draco’s grey eyes narrow dangerously, and his body shakes with anger.
“You never listen to what I say.” He snaps.
“You know what? I was coming down here this morning to talk to you. I was hoping we could talk about everything, get it resolved, but I can see that I have my answer!” You cross your arms, and lock your jaw. You desperately try to stop your tears, but they spill over your lashes anyways. You collect yourself for a minute.
“If you’re going to be with Pansy, Draco, just let me move on.” You say quietly, voice watery.
Draco doesn’t say anything to you as you leave. As soon as you make it to your dorm, you smash the vase of flowers to pieces.
Weeks go by, and you are more miserable then you have ever been. You spend all your free time in the library, avoiding crowds and Draco. You don’t want to see him any more than you can help. Every time you have to sit next to him in potions it hurts. You don’t even go to Quidditch matches anymore to avoid seeing him. If he’s with Pansy then you’d rather not know.
One particularly rainy afternoon finds you in the library, potions book on your lap. You aren’t doing much studying, instead your eyes trace raindrops as they roll down the window. Your melancholy is broken by someone stomping up to you.
“I’m not with Draco.” A nasally voice says. Pansy stands in front of you, one hand on her hip.
“Ok.” Is all you say. You don’t want to so much as look at Pansy. All you see is Draco’s lips on hers when you do.
“Ok, so stop moping and just make up!” She says annoyingly. Even this doesn’t spark your anger like it should. You just feel numb and empty.
You don’t give her a response. Instead, you shift your potions book from your lap, and tuck your knees under your chin. Once settled, you turn your attention back to the rainy window, and ignore Pansy.
“Fine.” She says, storming off. “Keep being miserable.”
It’s only when she’s gone that you let yourself become a reflection of the window.
Draco tries again for a final time when he catches you in the library. Today, you are actually trying to study. Ever since you and Draco broke up, you had lost not only a boyfriend but your potions tutor. Now you were desperately trying to teach yourself, and it just wasn’t working out.
Draco finds you in much the same position that you were when you first became friends. You’re all but banging your head against the table when he speaks.
“Y/n.” You look up and find he looks as miserable as you do.
“Draco.” You say. Your heart still thunders when he’s near. You hate that he still has any effect on you.
“Listen. Just let me say this once and I’ll never bother you again.” He says, his grey eyes imploring you to hear him out.
You sit silently, waiting for him to proceed.
“I never kissed Pansy. She kissed me. I admit, I let it go on for too long. I should’ve pushed her off the moment she touched me, but I was so shocked and I froze. Then when I finally realized I pushed her away and you were already leaving. I never had feelings for her, nor did I ever want to cheat on you. You’re the only one I want.” He says.
“I know I hurt you, and that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I would never hurt you like that. I love you and it’s killing me to be apart from you like this, to think that you hate me. You’re the best part of my life, y/n, the only good part.” Draco takes a deep breath and continues.
“After this, if you still don’t want to be with me, then I’ll back off. I just wanted you to know the truth. I love you, and it’s only ever been you for me, never anyone else.”
You are in shock as he finishes his speech. Draco watches you process his confession with patience, and it takes you a few minutes to really understand what he’s saying.
You feel stupid when tears well up in your eyes again. You’re so sick of crying and feeling pathetic.
“It really didn’t mean anything?” You find yourself asking. “She kissed you?”
“Yes!” He exclaims. “It was 100% one-sided on her part.”
You sniff, thinking about it for a minute.
“Ok.” You finally say. “I believe you.”
Draco eases his tense posture and death grip on the chair he’s leaning on. He looks at you warily, trying to decipher where he stands with you now.
You look down at the table and your useless potions book. How funny that your relationship would come full circle. You know how you feel about him, how you‘be always felt. Even when you were broken up you still loved him.
“I’m sorry.” You say. “You tried to tell me and I didn’t listen.”
“Its not your fault!” Draco assures you. “It was me, I was being a right git.”
You shake your head, but for the first time in weeks you smile. When you look back up, Draco is smiling too.
“So, could I have a second chance?” He pleads.
You pretend to think about it for a minute.
“I suppose that would be alright.” You grin. Draco gives you a glowing look and matches your grin.
“On one condition.” You tell him, suddenly serious.
“Anything.” He tells you with sincerity. He walks over to your side of the table, and crouches down in front of you.
“I really need help with Potions.” Draco laughs and pulls you in for a bruising kiss.
It’s needy and passionate, and you let your mouth express to him everything you can’t yet put into words.
When he pulls away, Draco lets his forehead rest against yours. You relish this closeness with him in a way you never have before.
“I suppose that would be alright.” He whispers with a smirk.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed:) I am currently working on part 2 of “Don’t Call Me Princess” and that will hopefully be up in the next few days! Please don’t hesitate to request something, I write for several fandoms. I’m lowkey desperate for someone to request something Marvel.
#slythergirlimagines#draco malfoy x reader#draco x reader#draco malfoy x you#draco x you#draco x y/n#Harry Potter#harry potter fanfiction#Draco Malfoy
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All the time on Earth
Part 31 - Lonely
Summary: Even though you and George are on good terms, you feel deserted and lonely. When you sneak out with Fred to get away for a bit, George is mad at you for risking your life
Warnings: Angst, swearing(?)
(Also, I’m sorry but I’ve decided not to tag people - it’s just too much work. Feel free to follow me; I only post this story and you’ll see every time a new part comes up :) )
Word count: 5.5K
George Weasley x Reader // Fred Weasley x Reader (platonic)
Masterlist
It had been three weeks since George had walked out the door into the rain. For a good four days you had hoped that he’d come back and you could settle everything. But he hadn’t shown up. According to Bill, the twins were fine, their shop was always crowded with customers and they seemed relatively okay.
However, you couldn’t help but suffer. You kept replaying the whole awful conversation in your head, cringing and feeling ashamed. You knew you had rightfully become angry; George’s decision was just as insane as they come. But on the other hand, you also knew that you had made a mistake when you had started shouting at him. Both of you had been wrong, and now both of you were suffering because of it. Well… you hoped it wasn’t only you who had been suffering for the past few weeks.
You had to wait twenty nine days to hear the familiar pop again. You had been mindlessly flipping the pages of a book that you had read three times now, when the sound of someone apparating came from the garden. You looked at the clock; it was too early for Bill and Fleur to come home. You stood up so suddenly your chair almost fell over. You drew your wand and raised it so that it was pointing at the door.
Someone knocked. Then a voice, a voice that you had thought you’d never hear again spoke.
“It’s me. My name’s George Weasley, you call me ginger boy when you want to be cheeky. I call you witty, because you always have to have a comeback to whatever I say and because you’re never afraid to tell me when I’m acting like a true git —”
You opened the door and George fell silent at once. He looked skinnier than the last time you had seen him, and his hair was a bit longer as well. He was looking at you, his face stuck in an uncertain expression, his eyes in doubt.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey,” you whispered back.
The two of you were staring at each other, not sure what to say. Then George casted down his eyes and cleared his throat.
“Can I… can I come in?”
“Sure,” you said and stepped to the side. As he walked past you, you could feel the scent of the shop on him. Fireworks. Your stomach clenched and you closed the door.
“I…,” he started, forcing himself to look into your eyes. “I wasn’t sure if I should come.”
“Why?” you asked, maybe a bit more coolly than you had intended. “Because you might be followed?”
“No,” George shook his head. “Because I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”
“Oh. I see.”
Both of you fell silent again. You didn’t know what to say, where to start. You opened your mouth and then closed it. You were staring at your own two feet for at least a minute before you gathered enough strength to look up again.
“George —”
“Y/N —”
You cut each other off and met each other’s eyes again. You couldn’t look at him for long; his gaze was burning an aching hole in your soul. He looked lost, scared, uncertain; he looked like an abandoned child. He suddenly seemed much younger than he actually was.
You tore your eyes away from his face and saw his hands by his side. He was constantly making his fingers into a fist then releasing them again, clearly drawn by anxiety. You sighed. You were sure that in this moment both of you felt the same way.
He had hurt you. Yes. But you had hurt him just the same. You wanted to tell him how sorry you were… you wanted him to know that you had run after him into the rain… that you were still insanely in love with him and that fighting was stupid… You wanted to let him know that he was your everything and not having him around had driven you mad… and you just wanted him to know how much you’d missed him. But words seemed to fail you. You didn’t know how to say all those things… Not when you still had that miserable argument between you… Not when he had said he didn’t want to visit you in the future.
But you didn’t want to fight anymore.
You stepped forward, your eyes still fixed on his nervous hands. Slowly, very slowly you reached out, touching his fist, gently asking his fingers to loosen the fist and to hold onto you instead. And they did. With a sudden breath of air his hand welcomed yours and finally you were strong enough to look into his eyes again.
“I don’t wanna fight anymore,” you whispered. He nodded.
“Me neither, I’m…” he was desperately looking for the words. “Witty, I didn’t mean what I said —”
“I know,” you said reassuringly. “Me neither.
“I am so sorry,” he said, his head hanging low. “Really, I was… I was a horrible, disgusting prat, who —”
You stood on your toes and wrapped your arms around his neck. Even though the last couple of weeks were rough, you didn’t want to hear him bashing himself.
“Let’s just… Let’s just figure out something, okay?” you said while hugging him. When he put his arms around you as well, the warmth left by his touch was coursing through your body like electricity. It warmed you. “Because I really missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” his voice cracked. You hugged him tighter. “These weeks without you… It was absolutely dreadful. Even more when I realized that it happened because of me.”
“That’s not entirely true…”
“Yes, it is,” he said firmly. “You were right… about the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.”
“Then let’s come up with something,” you said as you let him go, but stayed close while looking deeply into his eyes. “Let’s have a plan, let’s figure out a schedule… Anything. Anything is better than not having you around.”
He didn’t answer at once. You saw doubt on his face. Before he could had come up with anything, you cupped his cheeks and talked in a very gentle manner.
“Love… You saw how these three weeks were… Dreadful as you said. It’s clear that… we need each other. I need you…”
“And I need you, too, but it’s dangerous —”
“I know, love,” you said, still watching your tender tone. “But I think we’ve reached a point where we simply have no other option but to accept the risk. Because this… this isn’t a life. What you’re suggesting is going to kill us both.”
“I can’t loose you,” he said miserably. “If the risk is too high, I cannot…”
“So we’ll make it as low as possible. Seeing you once a month is still better than not seeing you at all.”
“Once a month?” he said. “That’s…”
“Awful, yes. It’s…” you were only now realizing what it meant. “It’s horrible, but… would you be okay with that?”
You stroke his jaw with your finger. He took his time, thinking.
“Or even Fred can come and visit me once in a while,” you added with a weak smile. “I miss him as well.”
George chuckled. You took it as a good sign.
“Yeah, I’m sure he’d be delighted.”
“So is that a yes?” you asked carefully. George kissed your temple and murmured against your skin.
“Yes. Once a month.”
Once a month. Even though it was more than nothing, your smile still wasn’t completely honest. When George left that afternoon, the promise that you’d only see him four weeks later made you want to burst into tears again.
——
And so, weeks had passed. The schedule seemed to be working, it didn’t draw much attention and George said the members of the Ministry and the Death Eaters (which were basically the same thing at this point) did not seem suspicious. If anything, it made you at ease at least.
Every two weeks one of the twins showed up to spend one hour with you, keeping you company, telling you everything that had been happening in the world. And every time they left, they took a piece of you with them, eventually making you feel deserted and empty. You spent almost all your time in your room, barely going outside, not seeing the point since you’d already knew the garden and the small segment of the beach inside the protective charms like the back of your hand.
When you were not listening to the radio listing all the names of people who had disappeared or died, you tried to sleep. Your idea was that if you woke up late and went to bed early, two weeks would pass incredibly fast. However, since you were doing nothing other than worrying, mostly you just lay awake in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, trying to avoid your anxious and miserable thoughts. Oftentimes you grabbed your crystal necklace, letting George know that you were thinking about him; then, you waited to see the crystal turning its color, giving you small doses of relief that George was okay, too, and he didn’t forget you, regardless of what your damaged brain suggested.
Then the weather started to change; the wind was cooler, the days were shorter. December had arrived, marking the beginning of the fifth month that you had spent in hiding. You could count on one hand how many times you’d seen George. By this time you felt both physically and mentally sick. You had nothing to look forward to. Only one hour from George and one hour from Fred per month.
Today was one of those hours when you didn’t feel totally depressed, and it was only due to the fact that Fred was sitting at the table next to you, cutting up a blueberry pie that Mrs Weasley had made. He was rather cheerfully talking about something and nodged you with his elbow when you weren’t paying attention for the second time now.
“Oi!” he said, shoving pie into his mouth. “I’m talking to you.”
“Sorry,” you said and started picking your pie with your fork. You wanted to eat it but on the other hand you knew your nervous-all-the-time stomach couldn’t handle it.
“What’s gotten into you?” asked Fred, eyebrows raised.
“Am I a burden?”
The question burst out of you before you could had stopped yourself. Fred looked taken aback.
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
“I just… Never mind.”
“Hey…” he gently put his hand on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Sure, that’s why you just asked me if you’re a burden.”
“I meant…” you sighed and put down your fork. “I know I’m not good company. Nothing has happened to me in the last five months.”
“And?”
“And I’m sorry if this obligatory visiting is starting to annoy you.”
“Merlin, Y/N, something’s really gone wrong in your head,” he said in disgust. “You really think I don’t like to see you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Blimey. Did you ask my brother the same thing?”
“No.”
“Is it just me, then? Do you think I’m not your friend anymore?”
“It’s not that!” you snapped.
“Then what?”
“I… Forget it.”
“Tell me.”
He was leaning quite close, completely ignoring his pie before him. There was something in his eyes that let you know that he won’t judge you. You turned your head away, picking at your pie while you talked.
“It’s really hard, you know. I know that I’m lucky, and I’m grateful, but… everything is hell out there and I just really wish… I really wish I could do something. Help.”
“You’re helping by staying safe,” said Fred seriously. “By staying alive. I know it’s hard, staying here. I’d gone crazy, believe me. Not leaving the bloody house for months. I’m really proud of you.”
You snorted.
“For what, may I ask?”
“For holding on,” said Fred with a shrug.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Have you told George this?”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
You mumbled something about not wanting to bother him. Fred frowned.
“Well, that’s just stupid. Why would you bother him?”
“I’d rather just enjoy the time he spends here.”
“Y/N…”
“So how’s the shop?” you asked. You didn’t want to talk about your issues anymore and Fred, after staring at you in doubt for a few seconds, let you change the topic.
“Yeah, the shop’s good. Lot of customers. We’re quite busy.”
“That’s nice.”
“It is. We’re working on some new stuff, they’re quite amazing, you’ll see.”
“I wish I could see it. Or just see the shop again. Or just go for a walk, really.”
“Well, take your coat, Y/N, I’m taking you out,” said Fred jokingly. You chuckled.
“Can you imagine? Would be kinda crazy.”
“Yeah,” Fred smiled to himself. “Crazy.”
You locked eyes, staring in silence. You knew you were thinking the same thing.
“It… It would be crazy, though… wouldn’t it?” you said, asking for reassurance.
Fred tilted his head from left to right, thinking to himself.
“Yeah… It would. Unless…”
“It wouldn’t.”
“It’s kinda dangerous though…”
“Yeah, we shouldn’t…”
“Or should we?”
“Well…” you started carefully. “I mean if… we’re careful and everything… disguise ourselves, maybe…”
“Stay only for a little while,” nodded Fred. “Find a nice place…”
“A muggle town, perhaps? Where no one knows us?”
“Yes… Yes I think…”
“That should be fine.”
You were staring at each other again. You dared only to whisper.
“Are you serious?”
“Y/N… take your coat.”
You jumped up from your seat with a sudden wave of excitement. You were going out. You were leaving the house! You were going to see something else than these walls and the ocean!
“We need to get back before Bill and Fleur do.”
“Yes,” agreed Fred. Then he drew out his wand. “Now, come here.”
He examined you from head to toe, then indicated at your face.
“Would you like your eyecolor to change? Or your hair?”
“Should we do both?” you asked. “And I think we should change you as well.”
Ten minutes later you stepped out of the house as someone unrecognisable. Your hair was pink as Tonks’s, your eyes a strange color of purple. You had told Fred about muggle contact lenses, he was only willing to change your eyes to an extreme extend after that. You were wearing a big puffy jacket with green boots, and a scarf that said “Oxford University”.
“I have never heard of this place,” said Fred.
“Well then, great. We’re supposed to be muggles, right?”
He was now blonde, his brown eyes changed to blue. It felt weird to look at him, but the way he talked to you made it obvious that he was still Fred.
“Well, then, woman,” he said with a grin. “Are you ready?”
You looked at the ground as if you could see the invisible border. Your insides were shaking with excitement. You took Fred’s hand and closed your eyes.
“I’m ready.”
He took one step, pulling you with him. Your boots barely touched the ground when you felt yourself twisting in the air, having your lungs begging for air, then it was over and you felt yourself standing on concrete instead of sand. You opened your eyes.
“Where are we?”
You were standing in a dark alleyway between the back of two shops. On your right were some dustbins, on your left lay the street, illuminated by the setting sun.
“It’s a muggle town, er, village more like. I forgot the name but I remember dad bringing us here once when we were little. He wanted to show us the muggles.”
“I see.”
“Ready?”
“Sure,” you said but you couldn’t move. It was so surreal. It was so exciting and nerve-racking. You couldn’t believe it. Fred chuckled, smirking.
“Come.”
He grabbed your hand and started pulling you towards the main street. When you stepped onto the sidewalk, your mouth opened to the sight. The cars were bathing in the orange light of the sunset, a man and a woman were riding a bycicle on the icy road, laughing. Shops were all around the place, offering tea, coffee, bagels and scones. A nice little sidewalk with stairs led to a small lake across the road. Children were skating on its surface.
“You like it?” asked Fred, still grinning. His breath was like smoke in the cold December air.
“I love it. Thank you.”
“No problem, love.”
He bought two hot teas with honey, then you two started walking towards the lake.
“How come you have muggle money on you?”
“You never know when you’ll need it,” shrugged Fred.
You made your way down the stairs, now walking in the snow, sipping the tea. You found an empty bench not far from the lake, where the sun still warmed your faces but you could also keep your distance from the muggles.
“What are they doing?” asked Fred, indicating at the children on the ice.
“Skating,” you said. “You don’t know about skating?”
“Well, look at them,” he said with a funny tone. “Seems useless to me.”
You giggled.
“Just because it’s not quidditch…”
“It doesn’t make any sense —”
“It doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining!” you laughed. Fred frowned in mock outrage.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Yes, yes I am,” you rolled your eyes jokingly. “Wizards.”
He didn’t say anything but from the corner of your eyes you saw him smiling to himself and shaking his head. He then turned back towards the children. You took a sip from your tea.
“How does it feel being a blonde?” you asked.
“It felt normal until you brought it up.”
“Sorry,” you chuckled.
“Does it look strange to you?”
You looked at him. You squinted.
“It’s your eyes, more like. Not what I’m used to.”
“I’m still handsome I hope,” he smirked. You laughed.
“Everyone can dream.”
“You’re naughty,” he said. “I know I’m not as handsome as my brother.”
“Yeah?” you asked, quite surprised at his statement. Then he raised his head, closing his eyes with satisfaction.
“Now that I’m blonde, I’m more handsome.”
“Yeah, you are,” you said, then covered your mouth. Fred’s eyes burst wide open.
“Did you just —”
“No!” you squeeked. Fred nodded vigorously.
“Yes, you did! You said it!”
“No, I didn’t! I didn’t mean it like that!” you tried to save yourself but the damage was done. Fred laughed joyfully.
“Well, well, dear Y/N, the day finally arrived…”
“Oh, shut up…”
“The day when you admit the truth…”
“Oh, God,” you chuckled painfully.
“Oi, Y/N, what would George say to this?”
“Oh, shut up, you,” you said between laughs and hit him playfully on his shoulder. “You’re never gonna let me forget this, are you?”
“Never,” he said, beaming. “I’ll tell it to my grandchildren one day, let them carry on the story of this fine day, let the future know…”
“Oh, my God, just stay quiet now,” you laughed.
The sun was hanging low now, and the air was getting even colder than before. You’d drunk your last sips of tea and now you were playing with the paper cup, folding it in your hands. Fred was watching the children with interest, every now and then a small smile appeared on his lips whenever a kid did something funny. When the last beam of orange sunlight disappeared behind the hill, and the kids started to leave, Fred looked at you with a soft expression.
“I reckon it’s time to go.”
“I know,” you said. You’d been preparing for this moment the minute you two had sat down here.
“We can come again sometime,” he said gently, seeing your sorrowful face.
“When I’ll see you in a month?” you asked miserably. You turned your head away. You didn’t want to see his pitiful expression.
He didn’t say anything. Still staring at the lake, he put one arm around your shoulders and pulled you into a gentle hug. You let out a shaky sigh.
“I don’t wanna go back,” you whispered into the silence.
“I know.”
You raised your head a little, looking at him. He turned to you, his eyes meeting yours.
“Thank you, Fred.”
“You’re welcome.”
His lips curled into a sweet smile and even though he was blonde, even though he had blue eyes, you recognised him under his disguise. You recognised his mannerisms, the way he looked at you, the way he talked to you, the way he hugged you. All of it made you feel really melancholic.
“Take me back, please,” you said, accepting that there was simply no other way.
You stood up from the bench and walked back to the street, passed the shops and got back to the alleyway from where you started off. You offered your hand to Fred, but he refused to take it. Instead, he placed his hands on both side of your face.
“It’s gonna be okay, Y/N, all right? You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”
Seeing how intense he was, you nodded. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe him so bad.
“Okay,” you said, and offered your hand once again. This time he took it and you felt the familiar twisting and turning again.
You felt the salty air first, but you refused to look around just yet. Behind your closed eyelids you saw the village in the orange light, and the lake with the children. You wanted to hold on to it for as long as you could.
“Oh… Shit.”
Hearing Fred’s tense voice made you open your eyes. Every inch of your body winced in fear. In the backyard of the house stood George. He was facing you, staring, waiting.
“Oh, no,” you said. You couldn’t even imagine the scolding you were about to get. “Oh, shit.”
“It’s okay,” said Fred and gently grabbed your shoulder. “Come inside the charms.”
You stepped inside, keep staring at George in the garden. He didn’t move an inch. Fred saw your anxious face and leaned closer.
“I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll…”
“No,” you shook your head. “It’s… I’ll do it.”
You started walking, nervously biting your tongue. As you got closer, you could make out George’s expression. His face was pure rage and he was panting. You had never seen him this angry.
When you were only a few feet away, Fred stepped forward.
“George, before you start —”
“Shut up,” answered George, not taking his eyes off you. His voice was ice cold. Fred frowned; he didn’t let it end here.
“Now, listen —”
“I said,” George’s voice was shaking from the restrained anger. “Shut up.”
“It’s okay,” you said hastily, recognising that nothing could be done. You turned to Fred. “Go. Go home.”
“What are you —”
“It’s okay, Fred,” you said. “Really. Just go.”
Fred looked quite uncertain. He was staring for a few seconds, then he seemed to accept your request. He turned to George again.
“Don’t be so hard on her.”
“Leave.”
Fred fell silent, but you could see that he was about to say some nasty things to his brother. Instead, he waved his wand, turned back into his ginger self and walked towards the border. When he stepped outside, he disapparated at once.
“What’s this?” said George in a cold tone, pointing at your purple hair. Your voice was really high as you answered.
“Disguise.”
“Disguise,” said George after you waved with your wand and turned back to your normal self. “You two planned this out nicely, didn’t you?”
“We…”
“How could you?” he yelled and suddenly the words got stuck in your throat. You wanted to disappear. “Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through?”
“I…”
“One hour! We agreed on one hour! What do you think was going through my head when Fred didn’t come back after one hour?”
“I don’t know,” you whispered. His fury scared you.
“You don’t know? Try again!”
“That…” your eyes started to fill up with tears. “That something’s wrong.”
“Brilliant answer, Y/N. And how do you think I felt?”
“I d-don’t know.”
“Answer me.”
“W-worried.”
“Oh, worried is not even close. But let’s continue. When Fred didn’t appear another hour later, what do you think I thought?”
You shook your head in tears. George continued, cruelly.
“Nothing? Then how do think I felt when I came here to check if everything was all right but I saw the empty house instead?”
“I don’t know,” you mumbled. Tears started running down your face.
“I thought you were dead!” yelled George in rage. “I thought you were murdered! Would you like to be murdered, Y/N? Look at me! Would you?!”
“No,” you sobbed. George didn’t care.
“Then how could you be so irresponsible, Y/N? How? Do you have any idea —”
“We were c-careful!”
“I don’t give a damn!” he roared. “I would’ve never thought that you would be so careless, so imprudent to risk your own life! Don’t you listen to the radio? Don’t you hear how many muggleborns are killed? Or — do you think it’s just a game, do you think I come here only once a month as a joke?”
“No…”
“I was worried sick!”
“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same!” you shrieked. “The famous George Weasley would have just stayed put for months, wouldn’t he?”
“I am not the main target of the whole fucking Ministry!”
“That’s not my point!” you cried. Finally, you found your voice. “You have no idea what’s it like, being here, not doing anything all day but listening to the radio listing all the people who disappeared or died! You call that a life? I don’t have a life! I am locked up here, and yes, I should be grateful and I am grateful but I’m suffocating here! And I can’t feel anything but guilt, knowing that while others are on the run I still don’t appreciate enough to have my own room and sleep in a bed every night! You know what’s the worst? Everyone, every single person, you included keeps telling me to hold on until the end, until the good times come but… George, when will the good times come? For how long do I have to stay in hiding? A year? Five? Or ten? What kind of life is that? And I can’t do this anymore… I can’t… I don’t… I don’t know what to do and… I’m lonely, I’m so miserably lonely, I’ve seen you four times in five months and…. and… who says we’re gonna win? Who says it’s a guarantee that we’re gonna get our lives back? Who says You-Know-Who’s gonna loose and I won’t have to stay inside for ever?”
You sat down in the sand, trying to muffle your sobs. You couldn’t believe the amount of times you had cried in the past months. You felt yourself on the verge of insanity. Not because of the crying, no. Because of all the things that made you cry.
You felt a hand on your knee as George sat down, too. His voice was low.
“Why haven’t you told me this?”
“I’m telling you now,” you sniffled. You hid your face into your hands. George tightened his grip on your knee.
“You still shouldn’t have gone out today.”
“I know. Don’t punish F-Fred for it. It was my idea.”
“I’m gonna have a word with him, don’t you worry.”
“But it was —”
“I don’t care. Y/N…” he let out a groan. “Y/N, you have no idea what I felt when I saw the empty house. When I thought… I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.”
“I k-know.”
“Good. Now, listen to me because I’m only going to say this once. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Oh, shut it,” you sobbed. “You keep saying that but nothing’s all right.”
“I trust Harry.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s gonna succeed.”
“I trust that he will.”
He spoke with so much confidence, with so much strength that it made you feel even weaker than before. You knew you were only a shadow of your normal self and yes, while George was here, telling you all this, you could almost believe it. But he was going to leave as always, leaving you alone with your thoughts again only to appear a month later. You couldn’t handle it anymore. You needed him.
“Stay,” you said suddenly, barely louder than a whisper.
“What was that?”
Your lip trembled as you looked him in the eye.
“Please stay.”
“Y/N…” suddenly his face changed; he looked extremely remorseful. “You know I need to go back.”
“Please…” you begged, tears running down on your cheeks again. “I’m begging you.”
“Love…”
“Please…” you grabbed onto his jacket. You knew you looked absolutely pathetic. You didn’t care. “Just for tonight. Please.”
He gently wiped your face. His touch made you shiver.
“Y/N, I… I can’t…”
“Don’t…” you sobbed. “Don’t leave me alone…”
He was fighting an internal battle. You took his hand, desperately pleading.
“Please… Please, George…”
He took his time examining your face, brushing a piece of hair out of the way, then cupping your cheeks. His touch was so warm, and you missed it so much… Then he kissed you, gently and carefully and you knew that this was goodbye, that this was his way of letting you go without words…
“I need to go home,” he said and you cried. “But… But I’ll come back.”
“W-what?” you said, not believing your ears.
“I’ll come back tonight, okay? But I need to go home first. Talk to Fred, arrange a few things…”
“No,” you started shaking your head. “No, you… you’ll promise but you won’t come back…”
“I promise you I’ll come back,” he said, looking deeply in your eyes.
“No…”
“Do you trust me?”
You didn’t answer. You shook your head in despair.
“Do you trust me?” he said again, more firmly.
You wanted to. You wanted to trust him so bad.
“Yes,” you lied.
“Trust me,” he said with another soft kiss. “Only tonight, okay? This is an exception.”
“Sure,” you mumbled. It didn’t matter. You knew he wouldn’t come.
“Okay,” he said and he stood up. He helped you up, too. “Go back into the house, all right? Don’t leave, you understand me?”
“Yes,” you said, barely audible. He cupped your cheeks again.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” you said again.
“Good. Now go.”
You kissed him goodbye, stretching the moment for as long as you could. Then you turned away without meeting his eyes again, and wiping yours, you walked into the house. You could hear the sound of disapparation and you knew that he was gone.
And you waited. Because even though you knew he wasn’t coming back, even though you knew that he had promised only to make you calm down, you couldn’t help but hope.
When Bill and Fleur came home and you had dinner, you stayed awfully quiet. You felt sick and tired, you were exhausted and drained. More than once you caught yourself staring out of one of the windows of the house with tears in your eyes. Finally, around nine o’clock you couldn’t take it anymore and went to bed.
And you waited. Constantly wiping your wet cheeks you waited. Being disappointed after every passing minute you waited. Every now and then you looked at your necklace but it wasn’t glowing. George wasn’t thinking about you. He wasn’t coming back.
Around one in the morning you felt the tiredness taking over your body; you could barely keep your eyes open. It was really hard to accept the truth. You kept dazing off and jerking awake again, just to realize that you were alone, maybe more alone than you had ever been. And this feeling travelled through your body, poisoning every inch of you, and you were hurting, more than you had ever been hurt before.
But then, something happened. You were on the verge of sleeping again, when you heard footsteps on the corridor outside your room. You didn’t dare to move. It was Bill. You were sure. Maybe it was morning already and they headed for work again.
Your door creaked. You raised your head at once and saw a tall, ginger figure entering the room. In the dark, only with the moon shining through your window, he looked like a heavenly presence. You weren’t even sure if he was real or you were dreaming already. But then you decided that you didn’t even care.
He moved. He kicked off his shoes, he took off his jacket. He moved the covers and he climbed into bed next to you. His firework scent filled the room, embracing you, filling up the hole in your soul. He wrapped his arms around you as you moved to rest your head on his chest. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. Everything seemed to fall into place. You felt his fingers in your hair, gently brushing your face. And after four months of lonely nights you finally heard him whisper again:
“Sweet dreams.”
#harry potter#george weasley fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#imagination#imagine george weasley#george weasley imagination#george weasley x reader#george weasley x you#georgeweasley#george weasley#fredweasley#fred weasley#fred and george#fred and george weasley#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley x you#fred weasley imagination#gred and forge#weasley twins#hermione#ginny#ron#ron weasley#weasley#weasley family#hogwarts#hogsmeade#hp#hp fanfic
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Title: The Forgotten Day
Pairing: Levi Ackerman x nb!reader
Warnings: None, no spoilers
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 2.2k
Summary: The Survey Corps had no time to remember birthdays -- it was a miracle that anyone knew each other’s name, really. Imagine your surprise when you found a crudely-wrapped item with your name on it on your forgotten day.
Ko-Fi | Requests!
Notes: Unedited, written when I was lonely.
The Survey Corps had a high turnover rate, as was natural with the profession. How many had died since its establishment? Were any of them remembered, or was all that was left of them was a tiny inscription within the seemingly endless book of those that died in the service to humanity?
Birthdays were unimportant. For some, remembering that comrades were human beings with families, lives, and histories made their duty too difficult. It was decidedly easier to ignore those things. Comrades, at the end of the day, were a means to an end. A partnership doomed to fail. It was easier to forget about them when you didn’t know their important days.
It was hard for you to grasp at the beginning of your tenure. Despite your family’s economic status within the walls and regardless of your experiences with your birthdays, you found it difficult to trust the people around you when you knew so little about them.
Where are you from? Have you seen a titan before? Why did you enlist? Have you killed one before?
Sometimes, it was difficult to discern whether your friendships were born out of genuine care for each other or rather the respect that was necessary to function together as a unit.
Captain Levi had intrigued you from the start -- so many rumors about him lingered throughout the walls. He was a bonafide celebrity and a mysterious one at that. How many families told stories of him? How many children’s nightmares were soothed by the mere mention of his name?
You remembered the first time that you had ever seen him -- the Scouts marched through the quad on horseback, passing through Shiganshina’s marketplace. You crawled on top of the fruit stand’s fabric canopy, feeling it dip underneath your weight. You were so small then, it feels like.
Levi walked his horse into the quad, directly behind Commander Erwin. How could so much strength and resolve lie within such a small body? He didn’t strike you as overtly handsome at first glance. No, your appreciation for his appearance grew slowly over your years wearing your wings.
Admittedly, the years that you did remember your birthday were lamentable. Days off within the corps were few and far between, and when your birthday didn't matter, you couldn’t exactly do anything for it.
Your body felt as though it was about to explode; training only grew more intense the longer that you were enlisted. You supposed this burning pain was worth it -- the Scouts couldn’t risk any more people than necessary, and the best way to prevent deaths was extreme preparedness.
Your squad leader, the infamous Levi, pushed you harder each day. Keeping your cool, both physically and mentally, was difficult whenever he was around. Impressive was the least you could say about your captain.
He seemed peaceful whenever he trained, as though he were relaxing lakeside -- you allowed yourself a quick moment to picture Levi lakeside -- without a care in the world or a titan to slay. It was mesmerizing to watch him use the ODM gear; it was as though he were performing a beautiful and intricate dance.
Much to your chagrin, he ordered you to clean the muck from the stables and care for the hooves of the horses following training, a task that would surely take you hours. Levi, in all of his mysteriousness, was particularly anal about cleanliness.
Being alone with your thoughts was particularly distressing on your birthday. You couldn’t help but wonder about the people you’ve lost -- how many birthdays had they lived? How many more would there have been? Why were you given the privilege to live when they were gone?
For some faces that lived behind your eyes, you regretted not knowing them more. You noticed with anguish that many of those faces lost their sharpness in your memory, the years replacing their features with blurs and blobs.
The moon was rising by the time that you finished your appointed task. Your lower back throbbed, your calves screamed as you climbed the stairs towards your lodging.
Your room was perfectly modest -- only a bed, a dresser, and a desk were provided to you. The pillow was flat; you were not the first nor the last to use it. The blankets were made of a course and itchy material but did its job well enough.
Blinking, you noticed a horribly wrapped item sitting upon your bed. It seemed to be covered with the same paper the captains write correspondence with, tied with twine. Written on it was your name in nearly illegible chicken-scratch, but still, it was your name.
“Um,” you mumbled under your breath. Sitting before the present, you undid the complicated knot with your calloused fingers. Inside lay a book; it was leather-bound, old, possibly expensive. The inside of the wrapping paper had a small note written on it, which read: It's your birthday. Congrats on not getting munched on for another year.
You gasped quietly. It was your first birthday present in years, possibly ever. After the initial shock had worn off, you hungrily opened the book, skimming through pages after pages of incredible drawings, information about a world you'd probably never see.
You flipped back to the beginning, noticing that whoever gave you this gift had left a small note just under the first chapter heading: I keep hearing about the world outside of the walls. Thought you might be interested.
Closing the cover, you held the book tightly to your chest. Thank you, you thought to yourself.
Hearing Armin speak of the sea intrigued Levi. Throughout his life, he had never allowed himself to think of the world beyond the walls. By the time he went on his first expedition outside of them, he could only think about titans.
He had first noticed you upon your entrance to the corps. Erwin had given a rousing yet truthful speech, as he did at every graduation. Levi stood offside the stage, taking in the group of cadets that had stayed.
The Captain had long become used to seeing the fearful faces, the determined faces, the strong, the angry ones. Yours, however, intrigued him.
You looked resigned.
You looked incredibly aware of the sacrifices you would have to make, the people that you would lose. You looked so painfully aware of the trials and tribulations to come. It seemed as though you were the only cadet that understood the reality of being a Scout.
So he pushed you. He knew deep down that he pushed you harder than the others. Levi had even requested you to be apart of his squad. Erwin had looked at him with curiosity at that, only Levi, who could read the man better than anyone else, could see it.
It had been Erwin who had first noticed your feelings for your squad leader. You had been subtle, truthfully, and only a man as detail-oriented as the Commander could see.
He had noticed it after you delivered tea to his chambers, where he, Levi, and Hange were having a meeting to discuss the budget for the next quarter. You had lingered a mere millisecond when you handed Levi his cup, skin grazing against each other so gently. Levi had been surprised at just how much he felt at that slight touch, how much heat erupted on his hands.
You did not stay long after that, wishing Hange a goodnight with a gentle squeeze to her elbow -- Levi was unaware of the friendship that you two had.
Levi glanced at his Commander, who smiled over his teacup, looking pointedly at him. "What?" Levi asked. Erwin shook his head, a low chuckle coming from him. "What?" Levi asked again, impatiently.
"Nothing," Erwin replied, a soft smile gracing his features. "Just don't let yourself get too distracted, Captain."
He refused to elaborate.
Hange was the next to notice. You volunteered your extra time, particularly on your loneliest days, to help her with various experiments. Most of the time, you were on standby, looking out for Erwin. It was very clear to you that these experiments were largely unapproved.
Levi visited Hange's laboratory one day, a ration bar in his pocket. You may not have noticed him slip the bar into your bag's pocket, but Hange surely did.
It had taken plenty of prodding on the scientist's part to get Levi to admit a certain level of care and affection for you. You had been hurt slightly during an expedition. It was nothing serious, and yet the Captain insisted that you stay behind on the following day's adventure. You had fought tooth and nail to convince him otherwise, which landed you a day's worth of paperwork for insubordination. He strategically picked the following day, forcing you to miss the mission to finish the massive pile of work that was needed in a short amount of time.
"Y/N'd just be dead weight," Levi grumbled to Hange after she had cornered him. "I'm not going to babysit someone just because they got hurt and were too stubborn to heal."
Hange scoffed at her shorter friend. "It was only a twisted ankle, y/n was cleared for the mission immediately."
"I'm not going to risk another brat being killed because of a stupid, unhealed injury. That's final." Levi looked below them, taking in the four-meter titan underneath them. Easy.
He triggered his ODM gear, rearing his arms backward and slicing forward at the beast's neck, grinning as the nape fell off of it towards the ground. The titan fell, mouth agape, onto its side. Landing onto a tree limb, he scoured the forest floor for more.
Hange was not far behind. She landed beside him, intent on harassing him until she was satisfied with his answer. He rolled his eyes. Maybe it would have been less of a hassle to keep Y/N in the game. Babysitting didn't seem as awful as being stalked.
He hadn't meant to overhear Armin one night, but the conversation intrigued him. The sea. A forest that not even with fifty gas reserves could he traverse. Small pieces of white, cold fluff falling from the sky like a gentle rain.
A strange warmth built in his chest -- he could picture it all easily, but he couldn't picture any piece of the world without you being there with him. Levi wasn't sure how he felt about that.
He had crashed into an abandoned home after slaying a titan. He needed a moment to refill his gas tanks, and he needed a place under cover to do so.
Levi had landed in a library. Books covered most of the floor, the walls, the tables throughout the room. Besides the dust, the new debris, and the vines growing into the building, it seemed as though life had been suddenly paused and could start again at any moment. Strangely, he felt like he was intruding on something.
He found himself drawn to a book, hidden at the back of a shelf. The books that had once been in front of it had been thrown to the ground in the mad dash to escape the titan-infested city.
The spine of the leather-bound book had a portrait of a snow-capped mountain imprinted into the material. A mountain. He hadn't heard of one before he had overheard Armin that one night.
It had been covered, hidden.
Illegal, he realized. Interest built in his chest, he grabbed the book and flipped through it quickly, looking at the intricate drawings. He thought of you.
Slipping it into his waistband, Levi left the library through the way that he came.
Shamelessly, Levi dug into the records in Erwin's office long after the Commander had retired to bed. Y/N L/N, he read, yanking the file out of the cabinet and searching.
Six months away.
He made a note of it before slipping the file back into the cabinet and pretended he never did anything at all.
In the days leading up to your birthday, he found himself busier than he had expected. He had hoped to wrap the book days in advance, but life never turned out how he wanted or expected. He waited until after training and bought himself time by asking you to clean the stables and care for the horses.
You were just as fastidious as he was when it came to keeping things clean, something he was impressed by and thankful for at this moment.
He hadn't the time to go into town to buy proper wrapping, so he improvised.
Being a soldier was about improvising a bad situation into something better.
Something better was wrapping the book in stationary. "It looks like shit," he mumbled to himself. He attempted to save it by tying it with twine, but he looked out of his bedroom window and saw that you were already heading back towards the barracks.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought to himself. Undignified, he ran up the stairs towards your bedroom -- which he knew was yours based on how pristine it was -- and dropped the book onto your bed without much thought.
The next day, he watched with a rare smile as you read in the mess hall. Happy birthday, brat, he thought to himself. He took a sip of his tea, savoring it.
He wasn't sure if the warmth in his chest was from your appreciation of the gift or the heat of his drink.
#levi ackerman#levi ackerman x reader#fanfiction#aot#attack on titan#levi x reader#levi x y/n#levi aot#fanfic#drabble#shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction#singeki no kyojin#shingeki no kyoujin levi#snk#snk fic#snk fanfiction#snk fanfic
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i discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 1) (ASMR)
Childe/Zhongli, Alternate Universe (read part 2 here)
When Childe's younger sister tells him about the volunteer at the library, he does not make the connection between that and his new favorite ASMR YouTuber, Rex Lapis.
Childe has a very effective method of getting through college. His little sister, who’s caught him making coffee at three in the morning on more than one occasion the past week alone, would beg to differ.
“You’re the best older brother,” she starts off, and he’s sure she’s trying to convince herself more than him at this point, “but you need to fix your sleeping habits.” Then, because she’s his little sister, she’d flash him a smile and pat his shoulder reassuringly.
(The comment is not lost on him though. He understands his sleeping situation will eventually wear him down if it hadn’t already, but he believes if he’ll drink a coffee every morning and a Monster every night, he’ll get through three days. By the third day, he’ll hardly be coherent but that doesn’t matter because he’ll conk out for the next twelve hours and then repeat.)
“Don’t worry, Tonia,” he says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible as he contemplates whether it’s worth it or not to swallow a pill of 5-hour energy with his morning coffee. “Once break ends, I’ll get back to normal.”
“You said that six seasons ago.”
Childe frowns, trying to remember if his sleeping schedule was this dysfunctional last year. “Huh?”
“The Walking Dead seasons,” Tonia clarifies, as if she’s not twelve years old and the show is for grown adults. He thinks. He hasn’t checked Commonsensemedia ever since La Signora labeled him as a “helicopter parent” and his Netflix tab has been playing How to Get Away with Murder as background noise for the past few weeks.
Isn’t it a show about zombies though? Tonia’s sheepish smile tells it all, because it’s the same exact guilty look he had when he got caught red-handed as a kid.
(Once he remembers later, Childe promises himself, he’ll check out The Walking Dead.)
“Oh. Well. I have a lot of shows to catch up on, you know. Not to mention a ton of my professors gave me reading for over the break.”
A half lie. They did give him a lot of reading because each professor assumed that their classes were his only one, and with seven days left, he still has a textbook worth of reading to go through. But there are no shows that Childe would sacrifice his precious sleep for. As a matter of fact, he would love to sleep. He’s spent the majority of his classes back in high school sleeping and faking attention, saving his grade at the last minute — it was quite the extreme sport really, if he says so himself.
Whenever he tries to sleep recently, his thoughts run at several hundred miles per hour, and he spends several hours staring at the ceiling before succumbing to the computer at his desk and watching trashy movies. At this point, he must have gone through the entire romance comedy list on Netflix. (Not a proud point in his life but if anybody ever wanted him to give a list of best to worst romance comedy movies, he now has one.)
Tonia, on the other hand, isn’t incredibly convinced.
Admittedly, the excuse was lame. Also, he can’t easily lie to his little sister, who’s far shrewder than he takes her for at times.
“You never start your reading in advance. You like to speed read it right before your class or watch a five-minute video on the chapters while your teachers take attendance. But that’s… uh, ‘a bad work ethic.’” Tonia looks immensely proud of herself as she says this, finishing it off with, “Zhongli told me that.”
“Zhongli?” he repeats, trying to remember if that’s one of her classmates or some stranger that’s hoping to kidnap his sister.
“The guy that volunteers at the library sometimes. He recommended me a loot of good books to read, but he talks like an old man.”
“How old?” Childe can tell she’s enjoying this — talking about her new friend at the library that he’ll probably have to run a background check on.
“Like he’s in his sixties or something. But he looks… actually, he looks your age! And he’s a student too. I told him all about you.”
Well, that doesn’t sound very reassuring coming from the mouth of a twelve-year-old. He’s not sure if that translates to his social security number, his current dilemma, or just that he’s her older brother.
“Like all of the stories you told me when I was a kid. And then when Lumine came to pick me up, she stayed to show him pictures of you too.”
“Of course she did,” he mumbles, ruffling her hair. One of these days he’s going to move without telling his classmates and the twins won’t enter his apartment unannounced. (But Tonia adores their company and the stories they tell her far too much for him to actually do it. But that doesn’t mean he’s above making threats when they tell his little sister about the bet he made about white-out and how it could dye hair. The jury is still out on this one.) “She’s just mad because I get away with it and she doesn’t. But don’t do it yourself. It’s a bad habit,” he adds, remembering that he should at least try to be a good influence on his younger sister when he can.
“Okaaay,” she says unconvincingly, before shaking her hair and running off to her room with lunch he prepared for her.
Watching her close the door and no doubt continue her binge of The Walking Dead, he takes out his phone and texts Lumine.
Childe
12:35
ur a horrible influence on tonia
Childe
12:35
and whos this ZHONGLI
Childe
12:35
also is twd appropriate for 12 y/os
Twin 1
12:37
a normal person would say hi
Twin 1
12:37
also 1. me n aether watched it when we were 12 so probably and 2. some guy at the library that also goes to our school
Well. At least he’s somebody they know. But The Walking Dead?
Childe
12:38
thats not very convincing
Childe
12:38
also dont ppl DIE? get BITTEN???? what if she gets nightmares
Twin 1
12:39
isnt she 12 r u telling me u weren’t watching R rated movies at 12
Childe
12:42
thats very different from a 10 season long show that is hailed as “one of the greatest horror shows in history” and “paved the way for post-apocalyptic horror”
Twin 1
12:42
well if she has trouble sleeping she could always watch asmr. that helps me during midterms idk
Childe
12:42
whats asmr
Childe
12:43
asking for my sister btw
Twin 1
12:44
A feeling of well-being combined with a tingling sensation in the scalp and down the back of the neck, as experienced by some people in response to a specific gentle stimulus, often a particular sound.
Childe
12:45
wtf?
Twin 1
12:45
people on the internet make random sounds or just talk into a mic n its supposed to be very relaxing. how have u never found out abt this?????
Childe
12:45
idk the only thing on my youtube recommended r greatest stunts and chapter review videos
Twin 1
12:47
… makes sense
Twin 1
12:47
check out rex lapis’ channel he looks like ur type
Childe
12:48
i thought we were talking about my sister????
Twin 1
12:50
[message screenshots.jpg]
Twin 1
12:50
ya she told me everything
Twin 1
12:50
have fun i need to convince aether to not commit arson bc of his TA
Childe
12:51
hope he does it
He opens his Youtube app, typing in Rex Lapis and expecting Lumine’s suggestion to be a joke. Despite them being friends for nearly two years now, she’s never made any indication of knowing his type. And he’s sure he’s never been that vocal about it either, only shooting appreciative looks at history majors and paying more attention than necessary to the TA for ‘Tradition of Justice and Law.’ (It’s unfortunate that those short-term crushes never led to anything, but maybe that’s for the better seeing that Childe has never understood the appeal of relationships.)
It is an ASMR channel, judging by the ASMR playlist he finds as he scrolls through the account. The icon shows no face — only a microphone — which leaves him skeptical. Most of the video titles belong in a petrology lecture as well, which makes him even more convinced that it’s a joke. He finds a few readings of ancient literature and decides to pick ‘I discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 1) (ASMR)’ because that’s exactly what he needs. (Not the very moment — but ten hours later when he’s in the bed memorizing the pattern of his ceiling wondering why he stole from his fifth grade teacher’s candy jar during lunch.)
When Childe opens the video, he damn near gasps.
The man in the video is exactly his type. His eyes are a soft amber color, framed with long lashes, and it’s almost enough for him to lose his dignity and message Lumine a long thank you text about how she is always right and he’ll pay for her coffee for the following week. He smiles at the screen, albeit a little sheepishly, dark hair framing his face with a long ponytail that Childe can’t see the end of. On his right ear, there are a pair of earrings with a single feather that brush against his neck when he moves his head.
Even before he speaks, Childe is mesmerized, sure he’ll already memorize his features from the curve of his nose to the way he tilts his head, displaying the expanse of his neck.
Really — he reminds him of actors in historical dramas, the way he sits regally, and how he speaks. His voice is low and slow as he adopts a careful manner of speaking, leaning into the mic.
“I’m Rex Lapis, and I’ll be discussing igneous petrology today, which is part one in a three-part petrology series. I apologize in advance, seeing that my knowledge is limited compared to many petrologists out there but my friend Venti said that many of my viewers are here for my voice, so I’m very excited to start today’s video.”
Holy shit.
For the following week, Childe learns less about petrology, the philosophy of economics, and historical revisionism concerning matters of war and more about Rex Lapis, who is not in love with his voice but often finds himself in the middle of long tangents without explanations. His favorite book series is the Legend of the Lone Sword, which he says he’ll look forward to reading out loud for the channel. (Childe replays that part of the video again and again, captivated by his excitement as he mindlessly taps the mic while he speaks, his tangent cutting off mid-word — as it usually does, much to his dismay.)
His guilty obsession is not lost on Tonia, who realizes that instead of drinking Monster every night he’s been engrossed in his phone completely, often not noticing her or when the water starts bubbling. But because his sleeping schedule has been alleviated, she says nothing until Lumine comes over as she always does, not forgetting their weekly schedule of watching trashy movies while leeching off of Childe’s food.
Because he doesn’t trust the twins with the kitchen — even if they can cook — she instead spends her time sitting next to Tonia and spreading more of her anti-Childe propaganda while they wait. This usually involves Tonia occasionally calling out Childe’s name and asking, “Is that true?” or “Did you really do that?”
This time is different though.
Worried that Lumine finally decided to show Tonia a video of last semester’s presentation, he leans over, looking at the computer screen.
And he’s wrong. Unfortunately. Maybe it should’ve been his presentation because even if he botched it and accidentally projected his work process — screaming notes and all — to the class instead of his actual presentation, it would’ve been better than the two of them watching one of Rex Lapis’ videos together.
The ‘I read Erosion: Essays of Undoing to you as it rains outside’ video, to be specific, which is where Rex Lapis is embarrassed by Venti mid video when asked if this was his idea of a date with a lover. (And then it ends with Rex Lapis asking for video suggestions from the commentors, his face still flushed from the previous comments.)
Oh God — oh fuck.
“So he is your type,” Lumine says, her expression a bit too smug for his liking. Tonia looks half awake, scrolling through articles as the video plays, more interested in ‘Top 10 Glenn Rhee Moments’ than Childe’s crush. Her expression is a bit guilty as she does so — she’s biting her lip and avoiding his gaze, but he assumes that it’s just because they went through his YouTube history.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement,” he retorts, but the YouTube history she pulls up once Tonia hands the computer over to her says it all. (It’s quite mortifying, really — even Tonia is giving him a look, but it’s not as bad as Lumine’s shit eating grin.)
“Well… he does have a nice voice,” Childe finally says, thinking that perfectly encompasses his most recent obsession. Because he does have a nice voice — it’s soothing and speaks to him without really speaking to him directly. (The good looks are a bonus, he assures himself. A fantastic bonus, but a bonus nonetheless.)
“He does,” Tonia confirms, smiling toothily up at him, and he resists the urge to ruffle her hair with Lumine staring at him so skeptically. “But I don’t understand much of what he’s saying. He — heh — talks like an old man.”
“Don’t worry, Tonia, your brother likes him because he’s attractive,” Lumine informs her, now fast forwarding on one of Rex Lapis’ videos. “Did you know that he lives nearby?”
“Huh?”
The knife he’s holding clatters to the floor, and the two look down and back up at him with— hold on, why does it feel like they’re in on a secret he doesn’t know about?
“Yeah, he’s working on his grad thesis I think… Aether told me it was about something on history,” she muses. “That’s why I recommended his channel to you. He’s a bit of a celebrity in his department.”
Childe’s sure his jaw dropped now, trying to maintain his facial expression as he takes out a new knife to chop up the onions.
“Really,” he tries to say as calmly as possible, wondering how he should accompany Aether to his lectures without trying to seem as obvious as possible. His voice is a bit shaky he realizes but he can’t quite make the connection between Rex Lapis and actual graduate student that goes to his university.
“Yeah, actually…” Lumine is definitely pretending to think now, enjoying this far too much. “He—”
“It’s Zhongli!” his little sister yells excitedly, practically jumping up and down at this point as if she won the lottery. “Zhongli runs an ASMR channel and he talks just like that in real life! Right, Lumine?”
“Yeah.”
Childe sighs, holding a hand up to his face. The realization that he’s been obsessed with the same guy that hears about every stupid thing he did secondhand is way too much — and the fact that he’s been listening to his voice every night before he went to bed the past week is way too much. He’s sure his face is redder than before judging by the amused expressions on Lumine’s and Tonia’s faces — really, they’re mirror images of each other right now.
Not for the first time, Childe swears to himself that he’ll never let her into his apartment without signing a contract ever again.
#Genshin Impact#Childe/Zhongli#Childe & Tonia#Childe & Lumine#asmr fic p1#fuck ao3 (holds head in hands)#asmr fic
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The Way He Looks (At You)
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Words: 1,602
Summary: The reader is crushing hard on the younger Winchester.
Warnings: None
Written for Belinda for her June 2020 prompt.
Betaed by me.
---
“Y/N!”
You look up from your beer in the direction of the familiar voice and can’t help a grin when you see who it is. “Dean!”
Your friend weaves his way through the crowd towards you, two beers held high to try and keep them safe. His grin is a breath of fresh air in this place as you stand to hug him.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, squeezing him around the waist.
“We’re on a hunt,” he answers and that’s when you realize he isn’t alone.
A tall man is standing behind Dean, looking confused but interested in what’s going on. Tall is an understatement, actually. Dean is tall. This man is a giant. A gorgeous giant with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and fox-tilted eyes of a color you can’t quite identify in the low light of the bar. He has long hair, floppy in a way that reminds you a bit of a puppy. The ends curl a little around his ears, on the back of his neck, and where a few locks have fallen over his forehead. You want to run your fingers through it.
What the hell? Where did that thought come from?
Dean is speaking, stepping back and gesturing to the man with one beer. “Sammy, this is Y/N, a hunter friend. Y/N, this is my brother, Sam.”
Oh.
It’s honestly shocking that you’ve known Dean for so long and never met Sam. The man is the light of his brother’s life, Dean’s whole reason for existing. You remember when you first met Dean. Sam was still away at college at the time. He’d been grumpy about Sam leaving but also so proud of him for getting a full ride to Stanford of all places.
“Hi,” you say, offering your hand for Sam to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. Dean’s told me a lot about you.”
Sam smiles and oh. My God. Just when you thought he couldn’t look better. He has dimples. “It’s nice to meet you. Dean hasn’t told me much about you but all of it was good.”
“I sure hope so.” You give Dean a playful poke, making him squawk and almost spill his beer. “Did he tell you about the many times I’ve saved his ass?”
Sam’s grin widens and Dean sputters a protest. You just laugh and hop up onto the high chair you’d occupied previously, gesturing to the seat next to you.
“Have a seat, Sam. I think we’re gonna get along great.”
Dean is pouting as he takes the third chair at the table. “I’m going to regret introducing you two, aren’t I?”
You shoot him a wink. “One hundred percent.”
Talking to Sam is easy. He’s brilliant - of course he is, the man went to Stanford on a full ride, for crying out loud - and hilarious. You could listen to him ramble about anything for hours, you’re pretty sure. You could also listen to him and Dean banter for hours. The two play off each other beautifully, a snappy back and forth that has hidden warmth at its core. It’s a treat to see.
Turns out the boys are in town for the same hunt as you. You’d figured as much and immediately suggest working together. Dean agrees without hesitation and Sam flashes you another of his brilliant smiles. Butterflies stir in your belly.
You’re in trouble with that one.
--
After that hunt - which went really well, having extra hands is always nice - you don’t see the Winchesters again for several months. When you do, it’s once again on a hunt. The Winchesters arrive in town just in time to join you in adventuring into the nest of a shifter that’s wreaking havoc on an upscale neighborhood. Thank god they’re there, too, because the shifter ends up being a pair of shifters and if you’d been alone, you definitely wouldn’t have escaped with only a broken leg.
“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam says as he helps you into the backseat of the Impala after you’re released front he hospital. The cast is awkward, to say the least, and Sam’s huge hands are steady on your forearms.
“Don’t be,” you assure him. “If not for you, I’d probably be dead now. I thought I was ready for that hunt but apparently not.”
“Just goes to show that even when we’re as prepared as we think we can be, things can always go wrong,” Dean says as he slides into the driver’s seat. “I’m just glad a broken leg is the worst injury any of us got.”
“You need to take it easy.” Sam settles into his place in the passenger seat and twists around to look at you. You can’t help admiring him - it’s so unfair, how beautiful he is. “You should stick with us, at least until you’re leg is healed.”
So that’s what you do, except that you never actually end up leaving even after your leg heals.
--
The three of you make a great team. Plus, the bunker? Is fucking awesome. You stay there for the three months it takes your leg to heal and quickly fall in love with the place. It’s been a lifetime since you had a place you could call all your own, let alone your own room. Once it becomes clear that neither you nor the brothers want you to leave, you find yourself settling in easily and filling your space with your own things.
The downside of living with the Winchesters, though, is seeing Sam all the time. Well, it’s a downside in that you’re finding yourself falling head over heels in love with him and there doesn’t seem to be anything you can do to stop your quickly-developing feelings. Sam is physically beautiful but he’s also beautiful on the inside. Despite all the horrible, traumatic experiences Sam has been through, he’s still kind and empathetic to everyone he meets. His hands are rough with gun callouses but gentle when he holds rescued victims or pets the floppy ears of the dogs you two meet on your morning runs.
On top of that, he’s wicked smart. He loves books and spends hours in the library between hunts just learning about anything and everything. He organized the whole huge room himself when they first moved in, apparently.
Something about that is incredibly hot.
You may have met Dean first but you and Sam quickly become friends. You can spend hours together, running or watching movies, or even just sitting in the silence in the library surrounded by books. Dean is a good friend for nights out at the bar or nights in with junk food and good/bad movies. Sam is a good friend for afternoons of quiet study. You like spending time with Dean. You love spending time with Sam and it’s very quickly becoming a problem.
You’d hoped Dean would stay oblivious to your feelings but no such luck. He pulls you aside about six months into living at the bunker.
“You better ask him out soon,” Dean tells you without any lead-up to the statement.
You sputter, mind racing as you try to find a way out of this conversation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Sam. Ask him out.”
Your cheeks burn. “He doesn’t like me that way. I don’t want to make things awkward between us.”
“He doesn’t like you - Y/N, are you blind? That boy is in love with you. He’s been crushing hard since I first introduced you two but ever since you started living here? He’s been falling head over heels for you. Have you seen the way he looks at you? I haven’t seen him look at anyone that way since Jess.”
Jess. Sam’s first love, the girl he wanted to marry right up until Azazel decided to use her as a pawn to get Sam back into the hunting game.
Shit.
“You’re not fucking with me, right?” you whisper, staring at Dean and hoping he understands how serious about this you are.
“Never about this,” he assures you, reaching out to give your cheek a little pat. “Go get your man.”
You bat his hand away and he chuckles, looping his arm around your shoulder instead for a hug.
“Trust me,” Dean says, giving you a squeeze.
You nod and lean into him. You have your doubts, of course, but your mind is racing with all the new possibilities that Dean’s words have created.
--
Sam breaks first.
“Y/N,” he says softly, words loud in the quiet library.
You look up from your book to find him watching you. “Yes?”
“Will you. Um.” His cheeks are pink and he ducks his head a little, adorably shy. “Would you like to go get dinner with me?”
Your heart leaps, your stomach flips, and your mind comes to a screeching halt.
“What?” you manage to say.
Sam blushes hard and he looks away. “It’s okay, you don’t - I understand -”
Your brain finally processes what he asked. “Yes!”
He stops talking and stares at you in awkward silence for a second. “... what?”
Now your cheeks are burning. “I would love to get dinner with you,” you say.
Sam lights up and the sight warms you at your very core. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You return his grin. “Does Friday night work for you?”
“Yeah,” he says, tone softening. Almost as if he’s in awe - like he didn’t expect you to say “yes.” “Yeah, Friday works.”
You reach across the table to weave his long fingers between your own. “It’s a date.”
---
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Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @imsuperawkward @emoryhemsworth
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hi so like
“i saw this and thought of you immediately”
if you want to for any ship HDHDHDHDHD
@over-under-through1 Okay, so, I gave ya greens last time, and you said ANY ship, so I decided to give my rare pair some love. And it’s just sweet pure brain rot. Anyway, as always, thanks for the prompt!!!
Prompt: “I saw this and thought of you immediately” from the prompt list of ways to say “I love you” without actually saying it 😊 that whole list makes me go soft. Pairing: brick/bubbles
Word count: 4696// this was supposed to be a drabble :)))))
Summary: I’ve got nothing witty to say. Bubbles just gives our boy a gift and he almost hemorrhages.
(Bubbles’ love language would totally be gift-giving based on how crafty she is, my love language is definitely NOT gift giving so I hope this isn’t horrible)
Brick licked chip crumbs from his fingers as he flipped through the tv. On the floor, next to the recliner he had deemed his for the afternoon, his journalism partner—one seemingly disgruntled Blossom Utonium—was busy organizing their project into five hundred million different tasks. She was dividing them evenly, and despite her warnings and threats, he had already resigned to do his two hundred and fifty million assigned mini-steps last minute like usual. It was the same song and dance they did for every project they were paired up for, which was incredibly often and, frankly, not by choice, though now, he supposed he'd be a bit insulted if she went and picked a new partner after everything they had been through together.
Investigative Journalism 302 was supposed to be another blowoff class he had decided to take solely for the credits. Still, when it became clear to the professor that Brick wasn't going to be taking their class seriously, they had gone out of their way to ruin his life and pair him with Blossom Utonium. Despite the good A-quality content they churned out, it had not been an easy go around the first few times they had been paired together. They were too similar and too different in all the worst ways. She was too type-A to his type-B, and they were both too stubborn to admit when they were wrong. But, him and Blossom both had a penchant for sticking their noses in places they shouldn't, so somewhere along the line—probably around the time they had broken into More Co. to follow a lead and diffused a hostage situation at the Mayor's Manor—they figured it was easier to be friends, not enemies.
They were chalking up to be Townsville's resident Sherlock and Watson, except they both fancied themselves Sherlock and the other Watson, but, eh, what relationship was perfect?
This time around, they were investigating some strange chemical. The only lead they had come from Blossom's own father. He had apparently said something "cryptic" over Sunday brunch that had launched Blossom into overdrive. Eavesdropping on one of her old man's telephone conversations, she had listened to him mutter about the letter X, failed mutations, a strict deadline, and an explosion that may or may not have been the same explosion at the 'abandon' smelting factory two weeks ago.
She took the information personally since it involved her father, but Brick had met the man before and didn't think there was an evil bone in his body. The lab he worked for, though, was an entirely different story. H.I. Mechanics was one hundred different kinds of shady.
Three days from now, Blossom had decided that he would need to have the, again, two hundred and fifty million preliminary tasks done before their big stakeout. She’d be lucky if he decided to do three of them, but he entertained her ramblings anyway because the longer he stuck around her place, the longer he got to bum her cable.
That had become their routine. Meet at Blossom's place, let her rant like an anal madwoman, ignore her in favor of the reality trash tv that he loved but could not afford at his own apartment, and then have whatever painstakingly thought-out plan Blossom had concocted backfire on them in the near distant future. The process was like clockwork.
"—and if we go in at that time, really, why would they refuse us entry? The records we're looking for should technically be public record, though they're no doubt redacted. We're going to have to—you're not listening to me, are you?"
"Yeah," he hummed, more focused on the reality tv season wrap-up reunion he was watching, then whatever she was talking about, "that sounds good."
"So, you're not." She snipped, and the tone of her voice caught his attention.
"Huh?" He glanced at her for a moment before looking back at the tv, "Not what?
"Listening to me." She gave him a cross look, stepping in front of the tv, "You're not listening to me.
"Whaaa?" He tried sounding offended as he attempted to shoo her out of the way, "Noooo, what gave you that impression?"
"Listen," she snapped her fingers in front of his face a few times, and he felt his face scrunch up in distaste—he wasn't a dog, "both of my sisters are going to be home soon, and I don't want them to get mixed up in all of this, so we need to drill out the details of this plan before they get home!"
Blossom lived with her sisters—Buttercup, and Bubbles—in a two-bedroom apartment close to the University in downtown Townsville. All three went to TownU, which wasn't too surprising to Brick. It was an incredibly good school, and he'd admit all three of them were smart, but still, three for three had to be a little weird, right? And to think, people accused him and his brothers of being joined at the hips.
He gave her a dry look as she walked back to her spot on the carpet. "We both know that's not how this works."
Blossom slammed the book she had opened shut, "You're impossible."
"I think you meant to say consistent." He spared her one last glance before settling back into the recliner, "Really, Bloss, how in the world do you think you'd be able to keep this one from them? At this point, my brothers just assume I'm at the center of the mayhem."
She tsked, but the lack of argument was deafening. After a moment, she sighed, and her shoulders dropped, "I just don't want them to get hurt. Not like last time."
"Don't know what you're so worried about." He drawled, "I recall them saving us, not the other way around."
"And I recall the scar that's now running up and down Butters' back." She shot back, "This time, there will be no mess-ups."
"Yeah, wanna bet on—"
"Home!" Buttercup's voice rang throughout the apartment as the front door was slammed open and shut, "How we feeling about take-out—Oh, sup, Brick. You good with Chinese tonight?"
"We're working on school stuff!" Blossom exclaimed, scrambling to cover up the more elicit details of their ‘homework.'
Buttercup rolled her eyes, placing a hand on her hip, "I can tell. What's it this time, huh? Something normal or is there a bomb threatening to reactivate the volcano in Townsville Central Park that I should be made aware of?"
"It's norm—"
"—mutants." He interrupted Blossom, "The man funding your dad's company is sups sketch."
Buttercup shifted on her feet and crossed her arms, "Does this have to do with that Chemical-X stuff dad was talking about?"
"Don't you have a shower you should be taking?" Blossom huffed, glaring at the both of them, "You just finished a run, I can tell; you smell like a pig."
"That's what tipped you off?" Buttercup snorted, "Not the copious amount of sweat dripping down my face? Hey," she nodded her head at them, "ask me how my run went."
Together, he and Blossom rolled their eyes and sighed, "How'd your run—"
"Really well, wow, thanks for asking!" Buttercup smiled, "I beat my average, sooo think hard about what where you want to order from for dinner tonight. We're celebrating! I already texted Bubs," Buttercup stuck her tongue out at them, "she was much more enthusiastic."
"Then celebrate with her," Blossom frowned from her spot on the floor, fingering the edges of her notebook, "we've got a lot to finish tonight. I don't think we'll have—"
"Yeah, yeah. Listen here, hero-girl," Buttercup scowled, hands back on her hips, "you still gotta eat. Ima take a shower, you have till then to put the spy shit away. Speaking of spy shit," her glare shifted to him, "your brother done fixing my car yet?"
"Ask him, babe." He sniffed, looking pointedly at the tv, "I ain't the middleman."
He suppressed the urge to bulk as Buttercup lifted him up off the recliner by the collar of his shirt. A dark smile snuck its way across her face as she leaned close into him, "Considering the fact that you owe me for getting it destroyed in the first place, baby, then I think you are."
"A lesson in forgiveness would do you well, but fine, I'll ask." He sneered back, unwillingly to show the dread that ran up his spine when he saw the look in her eyes, "You do realize, though, it'd be faster if you just called—"
"Nope!" She sang, dropping him back down in the seat, like nothing had just transpired between them, "If he wants my number, he has to ask for it!" She walked down the hall towards the bathroom, "I don't make the rules."
He scowled, watching her walk away before turning his head back to Blossom, "She's lucky I owe her."
"You're lucky," Buttercup called from down the hallway, "that I saved your sorry ass!"
Blossom snorted, and he shot her a dirty look, "Don't encourage her."
"Oh, be quiet," Blossom snickered, "just watch TV like you always do, and I'll put—"
"I'm home!" A high, singsong voice rang through the house, as the door was once again thrown open, and his heart palpitated without permission. He forced his eyes to focus on the tv, and if Blossom noticed how he sunk low into the recliner, she thankfully didn't say anything.
"In here!" Blossom called back, and from the corner of his eye, he watched as Bubbles stuck her head around the corner. Quickly, he turned his attention back to the tv and tried his best not to seem at all interested as she practically danced her way into the room. She was always practically dancing everywhere she went. It was annoying.
"Blossy, oh my god, you will not believe what—Brick!" She exclaimed, shoving a finger in his face when she noticed he was in the room, "Wai—Brick Jojo! Do not move from that spot!"
He blinked and looked around at the spot he had forged for himself in their living room. His bookbag, snack bags, disregarded textbooks, and his jacket littered the space around him, and his body had imprinted into the recliner's seat cushions, so when he looked back at Bubbles and gave her a dry look, he meant it when he said, "Yeah, wasn't planning on it."
He looked away quickly when she beamed at him. Her smile was bright, sweet, and dimply, and also very annoying. People couldn't always be so immovably happy, could they?
Bubbles giggled and did a little hoppy-dance before she calmed down and looked back at him, "Ahhh, okay!" She wagged a finger at him, "You stay! I've got a surpriiiisseee for you."
"Again," He huffed, ignoring all the less-than-innocent surprise scenarios his traitorous brain played through, "wasn't going anywhere."
"If you're not going anywhere, why don't you actually do some work while you wait." Blossom's voice bit through the air, but he ignored her, going back to flipping through the tv.
"Yeeepp," He popped, his tone no drier than hers, "wasn't planning on that either."
Blossom mumbled to herself and looked at Bubbles, "Before you go, can you help me with these books? I'm putting them in my bedroom."
Bubbles held out her arms, moving around the recliner and out of his field of vision, "No prob-lamo, chica! What's this all for?"
"Don't worry about it." Blossom brushed Bubbles off, and her sister giggled again.
"What?" The blonde snorted, "Is there a bomb in the volcano?"
He could practically hear the way Blossom stiffened, "Why does everyone keep saying—do people think there's a bomb in the—"
"Blossom!" He groaned, "I'm fucking hungry, hurry up."
She hmphed and stomped out of the living room with Bubbles presumably following, so he relaxed in his seat, ready to blow out the deep breath he was holding when Bubbles' visage filled his vision.
Her smile crinkled the corners of her baby blue eyes, and the back of his neck instantly warmed at the proximity. He wasn't one for people invading his personal space, but Bubbles literally had no freaking concept of it. She was always shoving her face in his. So, unfortunately, Brick was very aware of the sun freckles that littered their way throughout her cheeks and it was particularly distressing because staring at her face made it easier to forget the No Touching Rule he was pretty adamant about people following.
"Stay." She reminded him; her tone tinged with lingering laughter. This close, she smelt like the physical embodiment of a bakery, and it took a significant amount of willpower to pull his eyes away from her.
"Whatever." He mumbled.
With another giggle—always with the dumb giggling—she was gone, and he was finally alone to collect himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered a string of particularly nasty curse words at himself. Objectively, he was well aware that Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup were…attractive, but he was never actually supposed to be attracted to any of them. They were the girls. They were just the girls. Ever since he had known them, they had been just the girls.
Blossom had a stick up her ass.
Buttercup could probably disembowel him.
And Bubbles giggled and smiled.
And it didn't matter if she giggled and smiled at him. Because she giggled and smiled at everything. She was one of those people, the kind of person that gave someone their undivided attention in a room full of people. She was good at making people feel good about themselves. She didn’t do it just for him. No see, if he was attracted to Bubbles, which he wasn't, it was because she was very good at making all people feel seen. So, he wasn't special. He wasn't. And it just—she would…he wasn't used to people just automatically assuming the good in him. People so optimistic tended to avoid him.
The positive attention was just making his head spin, making things confusing, and that was it. He wasn't one of those sad, lonely guys who mistook niceness for flirting. He had a clear head on his shoulders. It was just attention he was unused to. And it was a kind of attention he didn't need. Bubbles was just a nuisance. Her personality was too sweet. They were so different. Even if he did actually end up somehow magically liking her, it wouldn't work between them in a million years.
Besides, everyone already knew that pretty social butterflies didn't actually go for anti-social dweebs. Real-life wasn't an overdramatic coming-of-age rom-com. Realistically, she probably went for guys like Boomer.
He let out a shaky breath and turned up the volume on the tv. Some housewife was crying about something laughably petty, but he couldn't find it in himself to smile.
A second later, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a pair of hands clasped together over his eyes. He only relaxed when he heard Bubbles voice nice and warm next to his ear. "Peak-a-boo," she laughed, "guess who!"
He ignored the way her breath tickled his neck and frowned into the darkness, "A heart attack?"
"Oof, so close!" She snorted, releasing her hands from his face and leaning around the recliner, so he could see her smiling at him, "It's Bubbles!"
"Hello, Bubbles." He droned, not resisting the way his eyes rolled but fighting the way his mouth was trying to twitch into a smile.
"Ready for your surpriiisse!" She sang, walking around the chair so she could stand in front of him with her hands clasped behind her back. He pressed his way further into the recliner after their knees knocked together, distancing himself from her.
"As ready as I'll ever be." He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, "What is it?"
"It's a gift!" She rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet, still smiling.
"Okaayyy." He reached a hand out with grabby fingers, "Let's get this over with, give it here."
She tilted her head back and laughed, a real honest belly laugh, before she looked down at him again, and suddenly, he felt tiny under her gaze. "Oh, my goodness, Brick," She chided, "I'm not just gonna hand it to you! Close your eyes and hold out your hands!"
He adjusted the brim of his hat lower down his face and looked away, "I don't—"
"I said—" she repeated, reaching a hand out to pull his hat down completely over his eyes, "Close your eyes!"
"Fine." He hissed, trying to sound as grumpy as he was pretending to be and readjusted his hat as he shut his eyes, "They're closed. Happy?"
"Hold out your hands!"
He sighed but complied, and after a bit of shuffling on Bubbles' part, something small was placed in his hands.
"Okay," she announced, "now open your eyes!"
He opened his eyes and stared at the little…thing in his hands. He didn't know exactly what it was, but he figured it was some kind of fluffy…hat…keychain? He didn't know. He gave it a quizzical look before returning his stare to Bubbles.
"Ta-da!" she sang, accompanied by a pair of jazz hands, before she clapped them together, "Do you like it!"
"What…is it?"
There was a pause, and the smile on Bubbles's face fell away. "What is it!" She huffed, cheeks puffed out like an angry chipmunk, which was the worst angry face she could have because it just made her cuter, "It's a dog keychain!"
"This—" he held the keychain up for both of them to examine, "—is not a dog. It's a ball of fluff."
Bubbles' mouth dropped open, "It totally is! Look," she snatched it out of his hands, smooshing the fluff down so she could show off its' pointed ears, stubby little legs, and tail, "see! Puppy! A little Pomeranian! Baby puppy! Puppy, puppy, puppy!"
With something akin to bloodcurdling embarrassment pulsing through his veins, he watched as Bubbles continued to baby talk the offensive keychain, placing a tiny peck on its' small nose.
"And look!" She gushed, shoving it back into his face, "Look at its wittle red hat!" She squealed, bring it back to her so she could cuddle it to her face, "It's so cute I can't even!" Without warning, she dropped into his lap, which was around the same time his heart dropped into his stomach, "I saw it and thought of you immediately!"
He froze at the admission. He had never once thought of himself as someone who short-circuited very often, but people didn't compare him to a cute Pomeranian keychain very often either. In fact, he had been called a lot of things in his short lifespan—wiseass, smartass, punkass, there was a very consistent theme of derogatory titles thrown at him on the daily—but cute Pomeranian was not one of them. And, frankly, he couldn't say he was a fan.
"Are you comparing me to a Pomeranian?" He sneered, momentarily forgetting the fact that Bubbles Utonium was making herself comfortable on his lap, and he was neglecting to stop her.
"Duh!" She said rather flippantly, pushing the brim of his hat up and off his face, so they could look at each other. Another definite no-no that he was too flabbergasted to address.
"I would not be a Pomeranian!" He argued when he collected his jaw off the ground.
"Uhhh, yes, you would, lol." She argued back, playing with the fluffy little keychain in her hands. She kissed its face again, and in turn, his face only got hotter.
"Uhhhhhh," he mocked, "no, I wouldn't be."
She looked up from the keychain and gave him a somewhat patronizing look, "Yes, you would be."
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
She laughed, "Brick, yes! You're just like a Pomeranian! You're super intelligent, curious, feisty, you like being the center of attention," she looked off for a second in thought, waving a hand in the air as she talked, "and you've definitely got some tiny dog syndrome in you."
He blinked at her, gaping, as his brain worked overload to find something to dispute in that analysis, but when he couldn't find any, he spat at her, "Why do you know all this shit about Pomeranians, huh?"
"They're one of my favorite breeds!" Her face lit up, "They're just so cute! I love them! And you remind me of them, so I got this for you!" She held the keychain up again, "It's so cute!"
His mind ground to a sudden halt as the words' cute' and 'love' and 'you' repeatedly echoed in his head. His heart hammered away in his chest, and in his panic, he contemplated throwing her off his lap and burning the whole apartment complex to the ground. What was one more arson charge on his record, anyway?
"Bubs—stop saying…so what?" He asked, floundering before changing tactics. She wasn't the only one who could say embarrassing shit. "Does that mean you think I'm cute or something?" He flirted with a smirk, but it was only after the sentence left his mouth that he remembered Bubbles Utonium didn't get embarrassed. She smiled and giggled.
And that continued to ring turn even now, as she laughed, wrapping her arms around hia neck, she squeezed him. Only letting go of him slightly, to the bring the keychain up to his face, so she could bop the little dog’s nose and his nose together. "Of course!" She agreed, "Cute as a button!"
"N-no!" He sputtered.
"No," she pulled away from the crook of his neck, tilting her head in question, "what?"
"No," he sneered, "I'm not cute like a button."
She considered this for a second, tapping the keychain to her face, before shooting him a broad smile, "Handsome? Is that better?" Mirth tinkled in her big doe eyes, "You're our handsome boy?"
"That's worse!" He complained almost hysterically, running a frantic hand through his hair, knocking the hat he had somehow forgotten he had on from his head.
"Aw, Brick, come on," She rolled her eyes, catching the hat before it fell to the ground and plopping it on her head, "what do you want me to say then?"
"The truth never hurt," He spat as if he hadn't lied through his teeth at least three different times this week to three professors that he couldn't attend class because his beloved family pet 'Insert Name Here' had died.
Bubbles pouted, "But I told you the truth! I think you're handsome!" She held up the keychain, and with a horribly fake and cheesy deep voice, she used the gift as a puppet, "You're the most handsomest boy in the whole world!"
She solidified her point by making the keychain kiss his nose once more before pulling back to gape at him, "Wow, see even Mr. Puppy agrees with me!"
"Oh, right," he shook his head, in mock agreement, "a handsome boy with little dog syndrome, right?"
"Well," she shrugged, waving him off, "I never said you were charming."
His retort was caught off with a giggle, and she made the keychain kiss his nose once, then twice, and then his breath hitched as a third wet kiss was planted on his cheek by Bubbles herself. She pulled back with a coy smile.
"Brick…" she hummed, trailing off, and something about her tone made him swallow thickly.
"Y-yeah." He finally pushed out after a moment.
"Can I play with your hair?" She asked, leaning forward, laying her head on his shoulder as she twirled a lock of his hair around her finger, and he swore his soul left his body. No one, absolutely no one, touched his hair. No one wore his hat. No one sat on his lap. And here she was. And here he was. And he wasn't stopping her like he should have been.
"Uhh, umm, I—uhh—"
"Bubs, jeez!"
He jumped, choking on his own spit, as Buttercup marched into the room, her hair still dripping wet.
"Seriously, personal space, you're making him uncomfortable." Buttercup huffed, one hand on her hip as he gestured to his face, which was probably redder than his hat.
"Uncomfy!" Bubbles shot up, and a guilty look flashed across her face as she took in his face, "Ah, shoot, sorry, is this too much?" She took her arms away from his neck and wrung her hands together, for the first time blushing, "I just get too excited sometimes! I have a lotta love in my heart, ya know?" She finished with a bashful chuckle.
The small distance between them actually made it a little easier to think again, but she didn't need to know that. Embarrassed by the noticeable flush of his face and his reaction to Buttercup catching them, Brick shrugged and looked away, "You're fine."
That was apparently not good enough for Bubbles because she pleaded again, "I'm sorry!"
"I said," he hissed, wishing she'd drop it, "you're fine!"
"I'm still so sorry!" Looking back over, he was surprised to see her lower lip wobbling, "I shouldn't have forgotten!" She put her hands on her face, squishing her cheeks, as tears began to well in her eyes, and he sent a frantic look over towards Buttercup, "I know you're not a hugger, I should have asked and—"
"—Bubs, he said he was fine." Buttercup interjected again, "Now, you're just making him uncomfortable all over!"
Bubbles looked from Buttercup to him, back to Buttercup, and then finally to him once more. "You're fine?" She clarified, “This is okay?”
And all he could do was nod, "Yep."
Visibly relaxing, her eyes became less and less watery, and she shot him a relieved look.
"Sheesh." Buttercup mumbled and walked away, "zero to one hundred. Bloss!" She called out, "Come save your poor counterpart from the clutches of cuddly evil over here and let's order the food!"
"What!" Blossom called from her room down the hall.
With an exasperated huff on Buttercup’s part and something more frantic on his part, they both yelled out, "Food!" and there was a scoff from the bedrooms.
"No need to yell!" She shot back, "I'm coming!"
Buttercup shook her head before jabbing her thumb in the direction of their tiny kitchen and announced, "I'm getting the take-out menus."
Bubbles nodded and then, beamed when she noticed Blossom had walked into the room.
"Blossom! Look at this cute keychain I got for Brick!" She cooed, her eyes bright and excited again, which would have brought him some relief if she hadn't opened her big mouth and kept talking, "Doesn't it remind you of him? It's a Pomeranian!"
Face aflame once more, he snapped, "I'm not a Pomeranian!"
"Ho—ly shit!" Obnoxious laughter floated its way out of the kitchen that only made him grind his teeth, "He totally is!"
"It's the little dog syndrome." Blossom agreed, flipping her hair over her shoulder and ignoring the crude gesture he shot her way as she walked past him towards the kitchen, "BC, let's order from Lee's!"
"No way!" Buttercup argued, "Pa Changs!"
He turned back to Bubbles, who, despite it all, had yet to remove herself from his lap. He was about to make some remark about him pushing her off of his lap in the next three seconds, but the way her eyes flinted over his face made him pause. When she realized she had been caught staring, she smiled once more, bright and beaming, and his heart did another funny little dance.
"You like it, right?" She tilted her head, holding the keychain up so it dangled between them, "I…I can take it back if you want."
Her smile fell the slightest of fractions along with his heart.
"No!" His hand shot out, taking hold of the keychain, "It's—I like it, whatever." He sniffed and turned his head away, "So quit the kicked puppy shit, alright?"
Another smile. Another giggle. It felt like a sick joke, but Brick was pretty sure he was falling in love.
-----------------------------------------------
A/N: That’s right! It seems the only way I can write romance is with a shit ton of pining!!!! To love is to long, I guess. It’s a little awkward in some places, but it was for fun, so I decided to cut myself some slack and post it anyway! I hope you like it!!! The pairing doesn’t get a lot of love, but I think opposites attract dynamic is so so so cute.
Also, sorry this took me forever! First, I got distracted looking at cute dog pics and then halfway through writing the drabble I was like “hey what if I stuck Blossom in this and she and Brick solved mysteries??” So, then I lived with that AU floating around in my head rent-free, and now, finally, here we are. ANYWAY, in this AU, Blossom is in a very sapphic relationship with Princess, who, along with HIM, is the main antagonist. The Professor is the damsel in distress btws. Brick and Bubbles are disgusting cute. Boomer’s gay, who for tho?? Who knows! Not me! But he’s a freelancer, who’s hardcore freeloading off of Brick and Butch, and that’s all you really need to know. Buttercup has big Mom Friend vibes. Also, Butch is a mechanic and playfully flirts with Buttercup, which she thinks is funny until he actually starts really flirting with her, and then she’s like “um, sir, I am a maiden???” b/c she is actually both shy and a prude. (And you know I like my greens) Anyway, el oh el, it’s a good time.
inspo for the keychain (and brick):
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sick day
“Mum? My head hurts.”
Stella coughs as she pads into the lounge on her bare feet, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her little face flushed, blue eyes burning bright with fever.
She’s stayed home sick today, same as yesterday, same as the day before.
Whatever illness it is that is making its way around at school, it’s horrid. Neville has it too, apparently. Assire thinks about Mary, about how she must feel having a sick child to look after once again - even though this isn’t bad. Well, it is, but it’s nothing compared to… the horrible thing that happened. Assire remembers Mary’s little boy. Clever and quick and so very full of energy, full of life - until he began to fade, his body slowly but surely giving way to something dark, some insidious decay that got hold of him and would never let him go.
Assire had kept her distance, hesitant to interfere in another woman’s grief. They barely knew each other, back then. To reach out would have been inappropriate, surely. But Assire can’t help but feel that she let her sister in law down. Better give her a call, later on tonight. See how she is, see how Neville is. Assire might not be able to make up for the missed opportunities of the past, but she has here and now, doesn’t she? Never too late to set things right, do things a little differently. Yes, she’ll do that. She’ll call.
“Mum!” Stella’s voice is thin and reedy, thick with congestion. She sounds much younger than what she is, when she’s unwell. Assire beckons her closer, and Stella doesn’t hesitate, climbing up onto the couch and curling up in her mother’s arms, blanket trailing behind. She coughs again, wipes her runny nose with a crinkled pyjama sleeve. Assire brushes a strand of dark hair out of her daughter’s face. Her skin is hot to touch, a little sticky. How bright her eyes are. Blue as the sky on a clear morning, blue as the ocean on a sunny day. Stella has her father’s eyes. Assire wishes Stella looked more like her, doesn’t realise that she is right there, reflected so clearly in the way Stella frowns, in the way she blinks her eyes in astonishment, in the restlessness in her little hands.
Sometimes I still don’t feel as if you’re truly mine. A part of me. You feel so far away, and at the same time you’re so close.
“Can I get a hot drink?”
Stella shifts, pushing her bare feet against the armrest of the couch, pressing closely against her mother’s body. Assire pulls her close, presses her face to the crown of her daughter’s head, inhales deeply. Stella smells like green apples and Vick’s Vaporub, like wax crayons and unwashed pyjamas. She needs a shower, but Assire doesn’t want to force her to have one. Not when she’s unwell like this, not -
Assire doesn’t want to force Stella to do anything. No. She wants her to choose, to make up her own mind, to walk her own path without restriction, without limitation.
“She needs discipline”, Mary has told her, more times than Assire cares to remember. “She needs to learn how to cope with having rules. I understand what you’re trying to achieve, I really do, but it doesn’t work like that.”
But Mary doesn’t understand, and as far as Assire is concerned, things are perfectly fine just the way they are.
“I’ll make you some tea, alright?”
Assire stirs. Stella clings to her.
“No, Mum! Don’t get up!”
Assire sighs, relents, settles back into the couch, tugging at the edges of Stella’s blanket.
“No hot drink, then.”
“But I’m thirsty”, Stella whines, in her sick-little-kid voice. “Can I just have some of yours?”
“No, sweetheart. That’s black tea. It’s not for kids. And it’s gone cold anyhow, see?” She picks up her cup - with its chipped rim and its fading print of cavorting cats, her favourite - and presents it to her daughter. Stella holds it tightly, with both hands, the remnants of bright pink polish still noticeable on her little nails. Stella has lovely hands. Nothing like Assire’s own, their skin thin and sallow, already flecked like those of a much older woman, the nails bitten down almost to the quick. Stella’s hands are slim with long fingers, her nails fast-growing, strong, perfectly shaped. The hands of an artist or a musician, a clockmaker or a surgeon.
What will she grow up to do with those hands?
Assire worries about Stella.
Stella still cannot read. She only pretends, guessing the words based on the letters she can make out, relying on her memory to replicate the texts of her story books. At Stella’s age, Assire had been reading fluently for quite some time. As a matter of fact, she cannot recall ever not being able to read. Not like there was much reading material available when she was small. She’d read street signs instead, street signs and work rosters and every now and again that rare treat of a discarded newspaper that the wind had carried over the fences of the compound.
FLASH SALE DON’T MISS OUT!
Weekend Weather
Unemployment at Record Levels
Stella sniffs at the dark liquid in the cup, pulls a face, glances up at her mother with her bright blue eyes. The little girl takes a sip, erupts in a violent coughing fit.
“It’s gross, Mum!”
“I told you.”
“I want a hot drink! Hot chocolate or milk with honey in it!”
“Well, you’ll have to wait for me to make it then.” Another cough, smaller this time but twice as phlegmy. Stella spits into her pyjama sleeve.
“Alright. Can I play on your computer while I wait?”
“No, sweetheart. Now let me get that drink for you, yeah?”
“I don’t want a drink no more. I want a story instead. Can I have a story, Mum?”
Stella looks up at her mother with pleading eyes. As much as she sometimes resents her inability to be normal, like other mothers, her stories are the best. As far back as Stella can remember, Assire’s tales have taken her on a journey, deep into the centre of the earth or far beyond the skies, into other worlds, murky dreamscapes where nothing is ever quite as it seems.
“Any more”, Assire corrects her daughter sternly. “Speak properly please, Stella.”
The little girl sighs, rolls her eyes.
“You sound like auntie Mary! She always tells me to talk properly too. I don’t know why it’s so important. You know what I mean anyway.”
“You’ll understand someday. It’s complicated.”
“You always say that when you don’t know how to explain something.”
Assire bites her lip, taken aback by the accuracy of her daughter’s observation. This is a discussion she is nowhere near prepared to enter into right now.
“A story then. Alright. Are you comfortable?”
Stella wriggles under her blanket, inching even closer, settling down to rest her head in her mother’s lap, her restless little hands tugging at the tassels on Assire’s scarf. She loves her fiercely, in this moment, with her messy hair and her sticky skin and her febrile eyes, in her unwashed pyjamas with her unbrushed teeth.
Don’t grow up, she thinks. Or at least, don’t grow up too fast.
“Am now.” Stella coughs again. Assire pushes a strand of hair out of her daughter’s face.
“Let’s see. A story. Well, a long time ago, or maybe somewhere in the far distant future, far above in the High Wilderness Beyond The Skies, there was a girl. Only she wasn’t an ordinary girl. You see, instead of being born, she was made.”
“Made? You mean she wasn’t a real girl?”
“Oh, she was. She was just...where other people are made of skin and flesh and bone, she’d been put together from bronzewood and ivory and copper and steel and instead of a beating heart there was a clockwork contraption in her chest.”
“Was she brave?”
“She was. She was incredibly brave, actually. She-”
“She was never afraid!”
“No. She was afraid all the time. Of a lot of things.”
“Then she wasn’t brave.”
“She was. Because you see, being brave doesn’t mean never being afraid. Because if you’re never scared, that would make it easy to be brave, wouldn’t it now? But being brave isn’t supposed to be easy. It gets easier, though. What being brave means is being afraid and doing the right thing anyway.”
Stella doesn’t reply. Assire can tell by the way she wrinkles her nose, by the way she purses her lips, that she is thinking very seriously about this.
Good. Remember that, Stella. Remember that it is alright to be afraid. Because we’re all afraid, in our own way, and anyone who says they aren’t, well, they’re lying.
“What did she do, in the Skies?”
“She was a traveller. An explorer. She met a great many people on her journey, and if any of them were in need of help, she did whatever she could for them. Until one day…”
Stella listens intently as Assire spins her tale, but soon her eyelids grow heavy, her curious questions and interjections become less frequent. Assire lowers her voice, little by little, and soon Stella’s breathing becomes slow and even, every now and again disrupted by a small cough. Assire begins to hum, deep and low in her throat, a strange melody that she cannot recall ever learning, but she has sung it to Stella for as long as she can remember. Stella’s Song, they call it. It’s something they share just between the two of them.
She’ll be too old for it soon, just like she’ll be too old for bedtime stories. Assire wishes she could stop time, to keep her daughter here, like this, curled up in her lap, blissfully oblivious to life and all its hardships, its temptations, its wrong turns. Innocent.
Where will you go, Stella? Who will you become?
The thought fascinates and terrifies her at the same time.
“We’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”, she whispers as she straightens out the blanket that covers the sleeping child.
“We’ll have to find out.”
#vignette: assire#vignette: stella#i started this ages ago and abandoned it#then today i came back to it while trying to do sth else#funny how that goes but i'll take it tbh#nothing happens just a moment between these two#i love them so much#also i am so proud of assire actually being responsive to her kid#i think that was the time when their relationship was at the best#when stella is like primary school age#it deteriorated pretty rapidly once stella hit her teens#and had to be rebuilt when stella came home as an adult#it's not until the end of assire's life when stella moves back in to look after her parents#that they truly understand each other and see each other for who they really are#it's GROWTH (tm)#also shoutout to the fact that the story assire is telling her#is pretty much stella's sunless skies verse
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Summer Daisies (An Elain x Tarquin fanfic)
Chapter 1 | Word Count: 4301 | Rating: M
Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29978781/chapters/73803669
Elain revelled in the early morning sunlight. The light of day making its ascent as she sat on her balcony overlooking the lavish gardens of the River house. She had a book in hand and drank deeply from her tea. Summer solstice was one of her favourite days of the year. She looked back on the past 10 years and smiled at the memories of how her and her family had often celebrated on the longest day of the year.
This year Tarquin had invited them to Adriata to celebrate with them and Elain was beyond excited. She’d visited the Summer court only a few times, but it always fascinated her. The way the sea was so bright, and the salty air calmed her. She also wasn’t complaining about how beautiful Summer’s males were.
She’d decided to reject the bond between her and Lucien just over five years ago, and he’d taken it surprisingly well. Nothing had happened to cause the rift; After the war Elain had just wanted to be independent, to see what life she could make not tied to a male but the bond had still laid between them and it was easy enough to ignore it, especially as Lucien spent more time away, but that time spent where they had been mates but not mated was horrible because other males looked at her like she was taken, not that she’d set her sights on anyone in particular, but Elain didn’t like being seen as someone’s property. She was better than that. After rejecting the bond though, something still didn’t feel right, and Elain had needed more time to find her feet again.
However, something had shifted in the past few months. She was stronger and more confident than ever, joining the Valkyries for training and studying in the library when she wasn’t tending the gardens, but she looked at her sisters and her best friend Azriel who had people they were sharing their lives with, and Elain wasn’t ashamed to say she wanted to know what that was like too. Her sisters and Azriel had been fortunate to be mated to people who they loved with every ounce of their being. She knew that even without the mating bond they would have all chosen their mates. And that’s what Elain wanted, to choose. So, Elain rose from her chair, stepped into her bedroom and got ready to embrace all the world had to offer.
——
Nesta walked into Elain’s room as if she owned the place, with a multitude of dresses in hand. “I think I have a few really good choices here.” She said as a way of greeting,
“Let me see!” Elain squealed helping her carry the heavy fabrics. They were truly gorgeous. She could see Pastels and florals and lace; she did love this. Especially sharing it with her sister.
“Okay, so I have my eye on the Green one or the Royal blue one, but I don’t think you’ll mind if I claim either of those.”
“Certainly not,” Elain said as she stroked over a light pink gown that was now draped over her bed, “You��re right Nesta, these are gorgeous.”
“Thank you,” She said back, “But I’d hurry up and lay claim to one before Feyre comes.”
Elain glanced at all the gowns on display. She knows she shouldn’t have left it till the last moment but that was all part of the excitement. Somewhere along the way it had become a tradition for the girls to get ready together for events and Elain was so thankful that they had grown close enough to do that. “I’m going to go with this one.” Elain said, choosing a gorgeous Silky pale teal dress that had white flowers embroidered at the bottom of the skirt. When she turned it around, she saw it appeared backless with those same white flowers attached to a mesh that’d make it look as if they were stuck to her skin. This was the dress. “Good Choice.” Nesta remarked.
“I hope you two haven’t taken the good ones,” Feyre said in greeting, “I finally got the Children dressed so now Rhys just has to make sure they don’t spill anything on themselves.”
“Is Lyla excited?” Elain asked smiling at the memory of her niece showing off the dress they had bought for the occasion,
“So excited. It’s her first proper ball.” Feyre said, “She kept asking if she was going to dance with a prince tonight.”
“Well, I don’t hold a chance of catching a male’s eye if Lyla is there.” Elain laughed,
“She’s Six.” Feyre said,
“And already planning on seducing Princes at a ball,” Elain smiled once more, “Maybe she’s more like her Auntie Nesta than we thought.” Nesta just smiled broadly at that, proud that little Lyla was a little ball of energy, insistent on wreaking havoc and having fun.
“Just wait till you have children, Nes.” Feyre said, “I’m desperate to see what kind of trouble a little Cassian could stir.”
“Perhaps it might not be too long- “
“Nesta are you Pregnant?!” Elain basically screamed,
“No, Gods, No,” She got out quickly, “But we’ve been talking about it, having children.”
“That’s wonderful.” Feyre said hugging her sister,
“Thank you. On our last trip oversees we realised how lovely it might be for a child to travel and grow up seeing the world.”
“I’m so happy for you.” Elain said cupping her cheeks, a tear threatening to spill,
“Don’t get too excited just yet, it might be another few decades before it happens.”
“Do you guys ever think about what it would be like if we were still human,” Elain said, “How it’d be utterly unrealistic to wait decades to have children.”
“I mean Rhys and I hardly waited, but I do think about it.”
“I would not have married someone nearly as handsome.” Nesta said,
“I’d have married a horrible man and become a trophy.” Elain gagged at that thought,
“I’d have probably died a Spinster.” Feyre said,
“Come on, you had men fawning over you.” Nesta said,
“I’d hardly call Isaac Hale a man.” Feyre said causing Elain to giggle,
“Regardless, I’m grateful for this life.” Elain said,
“Me too.” Nesta and Feyre said as one,
“Did I walk in on a mushy moment?” Gwyn asked peering round the door,
“Gwyn! Come in I have the perfect dress for you.” Nesta said,
“Good, I’ve been struggling to find something.”
“I’m positive this will have Az on his knees.” Nesta said with a grin. The rest of the girls laughed in response.
It was going to be a good day. Elain could feel it in her bones.
——
The first thing that caught Elain’s eye was the Chandelier. It sparkled beneath the sun that was filtering through a skylight. The entire ball room was stunning, dressed in beautiful yellows, whites and teal. She had chosen the perfect dress. She loved how daisy garlands were strung from the ceilings and how the ballroom had an entire side that opened onto the gardens beyond the palace.
The second thing that caught her eye was The High Lord of Summer, donned in white with Golden cuffs that matched the Gold that lined his eyes, strolling towards them. He was gorgeous.
Of course, she’d met him before. The last they had talked properly was at the sporting events that had occurred a few years ago. Every decade there were inter-court Sunball games. These hadn’t been held for the best part of a Century with Amarantha’s reign and then the war with Hybern and then everything that went down with the mortal queens, but they’d held the first one in the summer two years ago. Elain hadn’t known much about sports, she knew people would compete in the mortal realms in different events, but she’d never deigned to care, but when she’d heard a rather enthusiastic Tarquin cheering his team on in one of the early matches, Elain had asked him to explain the game to her. The games had become much more interesting after that and she’d find any excuse to be near him during matches, even when they played against the Night Court.
Nothing had come of it though, she hadn’t wanted anything to come from it at the time, but now seeing him, calm, ethereal and downright stunning. Elain was re-evaluating why she hadn’t seen him that way before.
“Welcome,” Tarquin said in that deep voice of his sending goosebumps up Elain’s arm. It was boiling hot here, she shouldn’t be shivering, “It’s lovely to see you again.” He said clasping Rhys forearm, then giving Feyre a big hug and finally bumping a fist with Nyx. They had become incredibly close; Mostly down to the fact that Nyx had summer court powers. It had always been a thought, one no doubt all the High Lord’s had pondered, what powers would Feyre’s children possess; If she had the power of Seven High Lords would that pass down to her children or would they all receive something different. Nyx was already showing signs of immense power, but Summer’s called to him the most. Tarquin had lovingly offered to train with him and give him a safe environment to explore and master that magic.
“Excuse me, are you a prince?” We all looked down to see Lyla tugging on the High Lords robes. Feyre quickly pulled her away,
“No sweetie, Tarquin is like Mummy and daddy.” Mor explained to her,
“You’re a High Lord?” She asked in that adorable voice,
“I am,” He answered crouching down, “I believe you are Lyla.”
“Daddy says I’m a princess.” She said with a proud smile,
“Well, I believe a princess should get to show off that pretty dress.” He stood and took the little girl’s hand and led them into the gardens where the festivities were in full bloom.
Elain was blushing now and did not hide it when Tarquin glanced back at her. He was so good with her niece and nephew she could’ve swooned right there but instead she moved to Morrigan who was holding her wife’s hand. She almost didn’t want interrupt Emerie and her but Mor had already caught that Elain wanted to ask something. “Tell me about Tarquin.” Elain said,
“He’s Kind, Gorgeous, great with Children, supports those born into low-ranking families. But I think you already know all of that.” Mor said with a wink,
“But he’s never been married, no mate?” Elain asked,
“There are rumours his mate rejected him while he was still young, but he’s never confirmed that. I imagine like most he’s had lovers but none serious enough for us outside the palace to know of. He is young, soon to be a century, but I imagine his life has been so chaotic he might not have thought of romance.”
“He was not expecting to be High Lord, was he?”
Mor’s voice dropped so a soft whisper, “No, his cousin was killed by Amarantha. He’d tried to escape Under the Mountain and was caught; Rhys lied about his accomplices in order to save Tarquin’s life who had also tried to get him out.”
“He’s doing a great job considering everything he’s been through.”
“Maybe you should tell him that.” Mor said with that smirk, Emerie nodding along
“I think Lyla has already claimed him.” The three laughed in tandem, looking at the little girl holding onto his hand.
“Maybe you could ask him to dance.” Mor said suggestively,
“Maybe I will.”
——
Elain felt like her feet might fall off. She’d been dancing for hours not just with her brother in-laws but with Azriel and her nephew too. It had been so wonderful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced this much and felt so free. She suspected the wine probably had something to do with her giddiness, Cresseida had told her it had been made by the very grapes that grew in the courtyard. Elain had tried many different wines while being Fae, but this was the most delicious.
She was just happy. She was living, truly living. The stolen glances towards the High Lord also made her feel more alive than ever before. He was wrapped in his Host duties but each look or smile he shot her way had her heart beating fast. It was a good job he’d invited them to stay for a few days or she might have been sad they had not gotten the chance to speak.
It was now early evening, and the sun was beginning to fade. The longest day of the year was coming to an end. She saw Feyre on the other side of the ball room and made her way towards her,
“Have you seen, Lyla?” Feyre asked, “She keeps running off, but we need to put her to bed.”
“I think she’s enjoyed it today.” Elain said, scanning the room and the gardens beyond,
“She basically ate the entire banquet table.” Feyre said with a laugh,
“Oh,” Elain said pointing outside, “I see her. She’s… with Tarquin.”
“Thank the mother,” Feyre said, letting out a sigh of relief, “I’ll get her.”
“No, let me.” Elain said,
She took a deep breath and walked towards the High Lord. It might have been the wine or the self-confidence she’d built over the past years, but she held her head high and didn’t shy away when he looked at her and smiled once more,
“Elain,” he said by greeting,
“Tarquin,” she smiled back, then turned to her niece, “Lyla, I believe your parents are looking for you.”
“They are, but I’m not tired yet, and I want to dance.” The little girl said, trying not to yawn,
“I know, Sweetie, but…” she couldn’t think of the right words to say as Tarquin had come to stand so close to her,
“But” he continued for her, “I promised your Auntie Elain a dance before the party was over.”
“Okay.” The girl said,
“You’re here for a few more days, I promise to take you around the City and to dance with you before you go home.” He said with such a loving smile, and then looked to Elain as if the offer applied to her too.
“Okay,” Lyla said again, “Goodnight Mr High Lord, Goodnight Auntie El.” Elain picked up the little girl and gave her a big kiss before sending her to where her mother stood waiting. Tarquin stood beside her and watched as Lyla left the ballroom.
“She loves you.” Elain just said to him,
“She’s a very sweet little girl and her brother too.” The pair looked over at Nyx who was standing with Cassian, looking like they were up to no good. Elain let out a small giggle. “Have you enjoyed the day?”
“I have. It’s so beautiful here.”
“Well, you certainly fit in.” Did he just call her beautiful? “So, May I have this dance?” She just glanced at him, and the beautiful blue of his eyes were as beautiful as the ocean beyond them. It was what made her say,
“Of course,” he took her hand, “I might only be able to stay standing for one more song though.”
“Okay, I’ll make you a deal,” he said leading her to the bustling dance floor, “You give me a dance and I’ll show you my favourite view in this palace.”
“Deal.” She said, damn those eyes that looked at her like she was the only one he could see.
When they joined the dance floor the music changed from the upbeat tune to a beautiful lilting melody. It wasn’t like other balls she had been to. There were not set dances one had to learn, everyone moved freely on the dance floor, with a partner or solo. She glanced around to see other couples holding onto each other swaying along with the music. Tarquin spun her so she faced him and bowed to her before taking her in his arms. She beamed at that bow, he’d done it purely out of politeness than what was expected, and she knew she had shocked him just as much when she slid her arms around his neck.
Her fingers were brushing against the hair at the back of his head, she marvelled at the beauty of his face. This close up she saw just how smooth his skin was, she wanted to run her fingers over his cheek, in his hair, maybe even further down that glorious set of abdominals that were proudly displayed. His skin had been lightly powdered with some kind of gold dust that had become alive under the light from the Chandelier. He was the most beautiful male she’d met. She already found herself dreading the dance coming to an end.
A small gasp escaped her lips as his broad hands found her waist. The thin Silk fabric she had donned was not thick enough to stop the heat of his hands seeping through. And for a while, the pair just swayed, not quite meeting the others eye. Elain couldn’t speak for the High Lord, but she feared that if she looked into those eyes much more, she wouldn’t be able to stop the urge to kiss him.
“Would you tell me what you’re thinking?” Tarquin whispered into her ear,
“I’m thinking,” she started, “That this is one the most stunning parties I have been to. That daisies are my favourite flowers and I’ve never seen so many.”
“Why Daisies?”
“They grow anywhere and everywhere.” She answered, “When we were children, Nesta and I would sit in the garden and make daisy chains, or I would while she would read. I got told off by a nanny once for making one and placing it on Feyre’s baby head.” Tarquin chuckled in response.
“If that’s the most mischief you got up to as a child, I’m afraid you’ve got some catching up to do.”
“Well what kind of mischief did young Tarquin get up to?” She asked, “Or have you always been calm and Kind?”
“I’m flattered you think that” he smiled. That gorgeous smile. “The Captain of the guard had a son my age and we’d get up to all kinds of mischief. My favourite one was when we created a slip and slide in the palace corridors.”
“That does sound mighty fun.” She laughed
“It was until we broke a few fish tanks and there were all manner of creatures sliding along the corridor with us.”
“Oh no!” Elain gasped,
“Yes, we were not easily forgiven for that particular stunt.”
“And now? Do you find you have much time to get up to these antics now you’re High Lord?” before he could answer the song came to a finish. Perhaps she’d overstepped, she had no right to ask of his personal life, but all her worries were stilled as he said,
“I believe I promised you the best view from the castle.” Elain only nodded and took the High Lord’s hand before Winnowing her away.
——
“Wow.” It was the only word she was capable of saying.
“I told you,” he said. It was stunning, the sun was setting, and they had the perfect view watching it make its descent. But not only that she could feel, in her bones, the vastness of that ocean that laid below them. She could see the city of Adriata where other solstice festivities were gathering. Looked out on the ocean to see a multitude of boats also celebrating. The curve of the small beach and the caves and cliffs that stood high above the waters made Elain realise how Feyre felt the urge to paint. To capture such a beautiful moment would have been impossible though.
She didn’t know how long she had stood there. Just that she thought she could breathe in that sea air forever. She’d barely realised they stood on a balcony that she had no doubt were attached to the High Lord’s personal chamber. She’d almost forgot who she stood with. She looked back at him who was just watching her with unwavering attention. “To answer your question,” he said stepping beside her to lean against the railing, “Being High Lord has kept me busy and I haven’t yet found that work, life balance that comes so naturally to the others.” He confessed,
“I think you’re doing a remarkable job.” She said glancing down at his people who were joyously celebrating,
“Thank you,” he said so sincerely she thought her heart might break, “I do wish I had the time to do what I liked.”
“What’s occupying so much of your time?” She asked,
“Already trying to get Court secrets from me?” he said with an eyebrow raised, she knew he was joking but still -
“Not secrets, per se. Just if you wanted to share the burden, even just by talking, I’d be more than happy to shoulder it.” She’d never meant anything more in her life. She wanted to be there for him, to care for him. Shit, she was in deep already.
Elain looked up at him through those long lashes and he turned to her. She tried to figure out what lay in his eyes, if it was sadness or gratitude. The next thing she knew she was reaching up to his cheek, finally feeling that smoothness beneath her fingertips and brushing away a tear that had fallen from his eye. “My apologies,” he said with a small cough, “I wanted to show you this place because it’s special to me but here I am blubbering away.”
“Never apologise for that, Tarquin. You deserve the happiness of the world. It’s okay to dream.”
“And what do you dream of?”
“For a long time, I thought happiness could only lay in what I could do for others. I believe it will always be my calling to serve and help but I didn’t know who I was. So now I dream that I will never lose sense who I am, and that I’ll be able to help others on their journeys. I know it isn’t much.” She said,
“Elain, I wish I had your sense. It takes a lot to admit you need to find yourself and to do the things you love.”
“And what is it that you love?”
“I love being High Lord, truthfully. I dream of making big changes in my lifetime. I just sometimes wish it didn’t feel so lonely.” He looked into her eyes with that piercing gaze and Elain’s knees could have buckled, but she held strong. Her hands found their way to his face one more, and she didn’t know what had possessed her as she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. Everything had gone so quiet; she swore she could hear the stars twinkling.
She pulled back slightly, the weight of what she had just done not quite crashing into her. She was about the open her mouth the apologise but she couldn’t as Tarquin took her in his arms and kissed her. Deeply and Soundly.
She tried to track his movements. She felt his hands around her waist like how they’d been when they’d danced. But they were trailing over her back now, over the embroidered flowers that were trailing along the back of her dress. She’d never been kissed like this before. Like they’d just wanted to devour her, and she did not mind it one bit.
Tarquin let out a small moan into her mouth when Elain had begun threading her fingers through his hair, pulling gently. She wanted that sound again, wanted to elicit every possible noise he could make. So, she did not complain as he’d walked her to the wall and pressed her against it. They were still outside, the sea air still making everything that much more intoxicating. All thoughts left her as he slid his thigh between her legs. She’d been with a Fae male once and it was good but this, this was something else. Another small moan escaped his throat when Elain began to rub that bundle of nerves along his thigh.
It was too much, but she needed more. She broke the kiss and looked at him, his breathing utterly ragged as he looked upon her face. They did not part, she thought that they might not be able to not with so much between them now. “Elain,” he said his voice a little more than a rasp, “I do not know what the future holds but I know you’re the most beautiful female I’ve laid my eyes on. And if I have misread anything please stop me before I completley ruin this.”
“Shh,” Elain said, before holding his face in her hands again and kissed him again. Not as intensely this time but it still felt otherworldly, “I think,” she said onto his lips, “That you are the most gorgeous male I’ve ever met.”
At that he picked her up and carried her through the balcony doors to the adjoining suite. She was right. His personal chambers. “Is this okay?” he asked as he walked towards his bed. It had been okay for a very long time. He could have taken her on that balcony for the entire city to see. To hear. She nodded and said, “Won’t you miss the ball?”
“I have everything I want right here.” He said before dipping his head to kiss her once more. He lowered her to the bed, and she found herself surrounded by gorgeously plush cushions and then the very welcome weight of Tarquin above her. “Tell me to stop.” He said gently,
“Please don’t stop.” she smiled with equal gentleness. And nothing. Nothing in the world could have prepared Elain, as the High Lord of the Summer Court began to make love to her.
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i'd love tissaia x rita x philippa to be honest! nothing in particular, i just need more of the three of them together! hopefully but not necessarily having sex sounds lovely, i'd be super interested in their banter!
Oh, anon, this is such a great suggestion that I accidentally wrote 1,500 words of extremely explicit smut! I don’t know how in character the banter is, but I did try. All of this is inspired by the fact that apparently Tissaia and Rita co-edited a volume titled Masters of Magic on Curses – Selected Writings, which is honestly such an incredible academic power couple move. Please forgive any errors, I may have gotten a little carried away.
“Rita,” Tissaia calls, without looking up from the parchment in front of her, “have you seen my copy of volume two of Ars Magica?” Philippa is due to portal in soon, in order to discuss the chapter she submitted for the new book Tissaia and Rita are working on, and Tissaia wants to check a couple of her references before she arrives. She wouldn’t put it past Philippa to misconstrue Nina Fioravanti to her own ends, conniving as she is.
“Did you try the stack at your elbow?” Rita asks from somewhere behind her.
Tissaia suppresses a sigh. Of course, it’s right there. Any fool could have seen it—and she ought to have remembered it was there. She pages through the book briskly, searching for the passage by Fioravanti she’s thinking of.
Rita’s hand on her shoulder startles her, but only for a moment. Rita’s touch is gentle, rubbing small circles into her shoulder. Tissaia closes her eyes and forces herself to give in to this little kindness—one of many Rita gives so easily and Tissaia finds so difficult to accept.
“You’re not anxious about talking to Phil, are you?” Rita runs one hand soothingly down Tissaia’s arm in a way that should be infuriating, but is not.
“Certainly not,” Tissaia says, flicking to the next page.
“Mm, yes, which is why you’re paging through that book like you want to rip it to shreds.” There is a smile in the younger sorceress’s voice, a warmth that Tissaia has never possessed, even before she styled herself as the sophisticated and severe rectoress of Aretuza.
Tissaia very carefully relaxes her grip on the pages in front of her. She doesn’t like being teased, any more than she cares to be coddled. “I am not in the least bit nervous.”
“Well, you’re very tense for someone who’s perfectly at ease,” Rita replies, the laughter in her voice somehow capable of drawing Tissaia in, instead of pushing her away—a kind of charm that can’t be taught. She presses a kiss to Tissaia’s hair and adds, “Maybe I can help you relax.”
Rita’s fingers trail the column of Tissaia’s neck, feather light, before dipping down below the high collar of her dress to brush against her clavicle. Tissaia shudders, leaning back against Rita where she stands behind her tall chair. She has to bite back a moan as Rita continues to caress her throat. There’s a reason she favors tall collars and tightly buttoned tops, and it’s not, as she knows her students speculate, because she’s some repressed old maid. The skin of her throat is so sensitive she was once brought to climax just by the expert application of lips and tongue to that delicate flesh. To go about her day unprotected is to court the inopportune sensuality of a passing touch or a stray breeze—a distraction she can seldom afford.
“Philippa will be here any minute,” Tissaia says.
Rita only slips her hand further into Tissaia’s clothing, cupping Tissaia’s breast through the closely fitted bodice of her dress. Her lips take up her fingers’ place on Tissaia’s throat, and then she does moan in earnest. She feels her nipples peak and heat floods her at the pressure of Rita’s mouth.
“We haven’t time,” Tissaia tries again, weakly.
“You’d best be quick then,” Rita murmurs against Tissaia’s pulse.
The suggestion is irresistible. Tissaia rucks up her dress and petticoats, and slips a hand between her legs. She’s already wet and aching just from Rita’s teasing. Her fingers slip against her clit and she rubs herself hard, chasing her pleasure ruthlessly, a race to the finish with no one but herself to beat.
Rita hums her approval close against Tissaia’s throat and the vibration makes her gasp. “That’s it, touch yourself for me.”
They have both abandoned all attempts to soothe the tension in Tissaia’s wound-tight frame. Instead, they are both working, each in her own way, to wind her even tighter. Rita’s lips suck and graze at Tissaia’s throat, fingers twisting her nipple sharply so that Tissaia feels it in her cunt. Throwing her head back, Tissaia works her fingers faster, pressing roughly against her slick flesh, the fingers of her other hand clenched in the silk of her skirt. Her cunt is an aching knot, drawing tighter and tighter with every touch.
“This is just what you needed, isn’t it? I can see how badly you want it.” She bites softly on Tissaia’s neck, causing Tissaia’s mouth to fall open in a shock of pleasure. “Are you going to come for me?”
Tiassaia does, her climax pulling her in and then shaking her apart. Her thighs tremble and quake, her lips going loose as the tremor of her orgasm works its way through her. She slumps, boneless, against Rita, who is still lazily palming her breast. She is breathing so hard she barely registers the sound of the portal flaring into existence across the room.
“Oh, dear,” Philippa drawls. “I seem to have interrupted something.”
Rita leans down and brushes a kiss against the shell of Tissaia’s ear, and she doesn’t have to say anything for Tissaia to take her meaning—a reassurance, a question. Tissaia, relaxed by her orgasm and bolstered by the warmth of Rita at her back, gives a small nod in response.
“Actually, Phil,” Rita says, “we were just getting started—if you’d care to join us?”
Philippa’s golden-brown eyes sweep over the sight before her, and Tissaia is surprised to not to see the cool mockery she’s come to expect from Redania’s foremost sorceress, but rather a look of barely concealed avarice. “If you insist.”
With a few quick steps, Philippa closes the distance between them and drops to the floor between Tissaia’s feet. She wastes no time in pushing Tissaia’s skirts even further up about her hips, running her palms up Tissaia’s stockinged thighs to spread her legs.
Even knowing what’s coming, the first touch of Philippa’s tongue is a shock, her cunt still shivering from her last orgasm. But Philippa is unrelenting, licking into her in a way that makes Tissaia’s legs jump.
Behind her, Rita runs a soothing hand along her torso, gentling her like some wild creature. Tissaia needs that touch desperately, all of sudden, something certain to ground her against the fierce and almost too intense pleasure of Philippa’s mouth on her. Tipping her head back, she reaches up and draws Rita down into a kiss. Rita’s mouth is tender against hers, and Tissaia feels held and steadied in a way she would deny craving even under the greatest duress.
Philippa slips two fingers inside her, and begins to work them briskly. When she crooks her fingers and begins a juddering pace, Tissaia’s hips heave and she is dragged away from Rita’s lips by a yearning sob. She is past too sensitive, past anxious or tense or anything other than shuddering with want. Philippa’s fingers are rough and relentless inside her, while her tongue is soft and fleet on Tissaia’s clit, and the combination makes her thighs shake and her hips jerk up off the seat of her chair.
She is too breathless to ask for anything, but Rita knows what she needs—always knows, no matter how Tissaia refuses to say it. Rita leans down to hold her still, so that her golden waves tickle Tissaia’s neck, and Tissaia keens. One of Rita’s hands presses low on Tissaia’s belly, and the pressure is what breaks her, bringing the fierce rhythm of Philippa’s fingers into sharp relief.
Tissaia comes with a shout, her whole body arching as she floods her thighs, soaking Philippa’s face and her petticoats and the seat of her chair. Rita holds her as she shudders and shakes, her limbs horribly, beautifully beyond her control. It’s a long time before she stops trembling, the aftershocks of her orgasm continuing to make her twitch and shiver even as her breathing slows.
Between her legs, she hears Philippa groan, and she becomes aware of the slick sound of flesh against flesh. Though she can’t see more than the top of Philippa’s head, Tissaia can imagine what she looks like, leaning her forehead against Tissaia’s thigh, one hand up beneath her skirts as she brings herself off impatiently. Wrung out as she is, it makes her cunt throb to think of Philippa so overcome with desire that she couldn’t wait a moment longer. Philippa comes with a loud huff of breath, and finally sits back from between Tissaia’s thighs. The sight of her dripping face is not one Tissaia will soon forget, and when Philippa’s tongue darts out to lick at her lips, Tissaia is seized with the desire to kiss the clear taste of her own come from Philippa’s face. Perhaps she will. They can make the time.
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Cyberpunk 2077: Thoughts Partway Through
If you dig all the way back into my tumblr history, to the first few posts I wrote, you’ll find some musings on the genre of cyberpunk and how we’re really living it (and the future is boring, which is a trope). I’ve read and watched and mulled over the different ways to look at it for over a decade - probably longer. Suffice it to say, when I heard that CD Projekt Red was making a Cyberpunk game - a huge open-world mess of an RPG at that - I was excited.
Self-admittedly I have not played nor do I know a lot about Mike Pondsmith’s Cyberpunk TTRPG. I’ve read some lore and the source books, and there’s this definite feeling that it’s something I would have found really edgy and cool at 12yrs old.
I’m a big chunk of hours into the game. Here’s my two biggest (non-spoiler) takeaways:
1) Cyberpunk 2077 is simultaneously far too serious and nowhere near serious enough. There’s this tongue-in-cheek exaggeration of American problems, silly gangs, slightly carnival-esque violence everywhere so let’s have fun, goofy slang and this slight air of camp that’s hard to escape. But it’s all played po-faced, straight and committed, there’s no wink or crack of a smile. Pushed farther this game would easily be cyber-GTA (a comparison it should get anyway) - a farcical almost Idiocracy style send-up. I think this would be fine route to take considering the source material has a gang that genetically alters themselves to look like circus clowns.
Simultaneously, it could go even darker - no silly anything, death and blood and everything horrible in your face and unrelenting. No heroes to meet, no fun in gun fights - only pain and survival. AKA leaning more into the Deus Ex frame, though without all the whack-job illuminati conspiracy theories. Considering how ‘high technology, low life’ cyberpunk is at its genre roots, this sort of where I’d like it to go, all blood and guts and life-is-nasty.
In either case, the tiptoeing between silly and serious, while kind of refusing to acknowledge the silliness, sort of doesn’t work for me. It’s got a very odd Evil Dead vibe where you’re wondering if it’s supposed to be funny but nobody is laughing.
2) CD Projekt Red is a studio that was given a bit of a gift with the lightning in a bottle of the Witcher. Comparing against their past work, Cyberpunk 2077 is simply not as good a game as The Witcher 3 is. They are markedly similar games in a few respects - particularly how they drop you in medias res into the world and don’t hold your hand, and the loosely explained character optimization.
But the fact is that the things TW3 excelled most at - deep characters, gentle but deep world-building, a brutal and frequently fatalistic theme in a trope reversal from normal fantasy, incredible quest design, and meaningful consequences to your choices... well, only two of those made it Cyberpunk for sure, and another is yet to be determined. The quest design has been outstanding so far, and the world is brilliantly brought to busy and chaotic life. Whether my choices matter... will be determined later.
Something about TW3 and it’s characters felt organic, lived in. And Cyberpunk hasn’t managed to do that. Some of it is that it is very much the opposite of a trope inversion - cyberpunk is built on stereotypes. Some of it is that the characters don’t have history or pre-existing relationships with V, and that they feel... simpler, more one-note. Some of it is that V is far more of a blank slate than Geralt, more of an unknown to Night City. The life-is-cheap-and-nasty vibe I adored about TW3 doesn’t feel as serious here (see above). It’s a living world, absolutely, but it just doesn’t feel as... lived in, I guess. What this screams to me is that the source material MATTERS, and that the Witcher is just better source material.
There’s also less variety to the gameplay, sort of. There are many more practical ways to build a character than in TW3, but they also demand far more specialization. Some of the most interesting things in TW3 were the monsters and the different ways you could choose to deal with them or had to approach them. In Cyberpunk, to be effective, you have to pick your build early, and since a lot side quests basically amount to “go to the place and neutralize the dudes who are hostile to you,” you end up approaching most missions the same way. TW3 at least forced you to mix things up. It could also be that I’m spending a LOT of time doing radiant world-quests, which would also explain my out-of-balance high street cred rating.
Cyberpunk 2077 is and will be an important game. A huge, sprawling, delightful mess of an RPG with so much to do it astounds, a gorgeous look into excess and dark futurism.
I’ll have more to say once I finish things, I’m sure of it.
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