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windwheeler-aster · 2 years

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your bookworm

summary: for as long as you’ve known your partner, they’ve shown a huge interest in reading. in an attempt to bond, as well as to expand your own knowledge, you suggest going book shopping together. delighted, they bring you to their favorite book store.

masterlist

pairings (separate): diluc, albedo, jean, zhongli, and lisa x reader

reader info: uses gender neutral pronouns (they/them), reader is in an established relationship, reader doesn’t read often/that much. and reader is not traveler

word count: 3,784 words

genre: Modern AU, romance, fluff

format: headcanons and blurbs

warnings: usage of death in exaggeration/common expression, coupley/lovey dovey dialogue, public displays of affection (PDA), zhongli worrying about money, and brief descriptions of buying/browsing erotica

a/n: i’ve suggested no/little-lyric songs for background reading, to really stick to the theme. i hope you have a good time reading, folks💖(psst, if you like the songs linked here, i have a playlist on my spotify with similar music. it’s perfect for reading, studying, and writing. have a good day!!)

song recommendation: So This Is Love by Emile Pandolfi

diluc enjoys reading as a past time

he likes physical books better than their audio counterparts, mostly because he secretly enjoys the smell of a new book

if there’s a novel/series that diluc really liked reading, he’ll go out of his way to buy the hardcover version of the book

also, all of his favorite books take up one section of his large shelf. he can be very selective with what he likes

he enjoys a mixture of non-fiction and fiction books. from his favorite celebrities’ memoirs to small collections of short poems or/and stories that have no deeper meaning

diluc says it’s only a hobby to make the time go by faster, but it has evolved into something much greater

like, if you two have nothing else to do that night, diluc will shyly ask if you want to read together before bed

it’s really just you laying on his shoulder/chest as he reads aloud one of his favorite books, slowly bringing both of you to sleep

so if you suggest to go book browsing/shopping for a date, diluc is so excited and happy

he brings you to this big-name brand bookstore, mostly because they have all the newest best time sellers and a lot of his favorite authors

diluc doesn’t hold your hand, but holds the books you two are interested in and hovers by you instead

[more under the cut]

You knelt down to the floor, inspecting the books at the bottom shelf. One series stood out to you, admittedly because of the bright cover art. You grab one of the books, finding some difficulty pulling it out by its side. After some more effort, careful not to accidentally cut yourself on the fine paper, it was in your hands.

“That looks interesting,” Diluc murmured from above.

You stood. “Yeah, I’ve seen this book trending online recently.”

“Is it good?”

“Uh,” You flip the book over, trying to find an actual synopsis instead of the three word reviews, “I’ve heard good and bad things about it.”

Diluc grunted as an agreement. “From the cover, it looks like the main character is in a love triangle. Well, not a love triangle, but…y’know.”

“Yeah, it’s much different from other romances though,” You look on the inside sleeve for the synopsis. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard from some fans.”

The synopsis was basic, but gave you enough information to be interested. A boy has to choose between dating his best friend, a reliable and outgoing person, or the town’s local monster, an eight foot tall lizard person. Surprisingly, it is a very hard choice for this love struck boy.

Diluc watched with a mixture of surprise and interest as you move on from the synopsis to the first chapter. He couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes shined and your lips quirked upwards as you read on. He looked around and saw one of the staff members busy helping a customer, their eyes glancing over to the two of you.

Diluc would hate for you to get told off for just reading a little more into this book before buying it. He looked over to you and cleared his throat lightly, gaining your attention briefly.

“My dear, if you’re really interested in it, you can always read it at home.”

“Oh, I am definitely buying this,” You say after closing the book. “The first page is enough to get me hooked.”

Diluc quirked his brows. “Is it really that interesting?”

“You’re going to have to read it to find out,” you handed the book to him with a smile. “We can read it together, if you’re really that curious. I know romance books aren’t really your favorite, but it might be fun.”

A smile slowly crept onto his soft lips. “I’d like that.”

“Great,” You looked around, making sure that no one was looking, and then kissed him. “Now, let’s get you some new books.”

Diluc’s free hand brushed against his own lips, a swooning expression on his face. Slowly, he nods after a moment passes.

“Right… right. I believe the memoirs are over here,” He breathes out, absentmindedly finding your hand with his own. “This way, dear.”

song recommendation: The Flower Garden by Joe Hisaishi

albedo is a fast reader, going through lengthy work documents at a pace that scares everyone nearby

however he doesn’t enjoy all the wordy research papers that wait on his desk

but you know what albedo does enjoy reading? fantasy!!!

he likes to get lost in books, especially when the worldbuilding is so much different from reality

albedo usually reads the long fantasy series. the ones that have an average of 800 pages per book, with 12 books in one series

however, due to the book’s length, albedo usually does a mix of listening to the audiobook version and reading his paper copy

it just works for him, okay? don’t judge him!!!

reading with albedo might not be the best idea, as he’s usually really far into a series or book and he’d hate to spoil it for you

but if you ask about albedo’s favorite character, he will certainty talk about them for hours

he for sure has made fanart of some of his favs, but he mostly keeps them to himself

albedo will be so delighted if you ever suggest going book shopping with him! in fact, he’s already grabbing his to-read list and wallet

he would take you to a local bookstore, somewhere with a great reading atmosphere and affordable prices

albedo would have you trail around with him between the isles, elbows interlocked of course, whispering to you about the books he’s been dying to read

You leaned closer to Albedo, smirking as you tried to read over his shoulder. He was totally sucked into this book, carelessly flipping page after page as he loitered in the aisle. He didn’t even protest when you rested your chin on his shoulder. Albedo’s eyes only sparkled as he read on, making your heart flutter in the process.

“Is it good?” you whispered, catching his attention finally, “you just seem to be really enjoying it, that’s all.”

“I really like it, actually. The author has a really refreshing writing style, and they’ve really caught my interest in just a few pages—” Albedo’s voice trailed off as he glanced to you. “Sorry, um, I just really like it so far. This book has been on my reading list for ages and…”

You placed the book onto Albedo’s stack, holding it very securely against your chest. “No, no, please, tell me more. I like it when you talk about your things you’re passionate about,” you shyly glance away from him, diverting your attention to the spines of some fantasy comic books. “It’s, um… it’s really cute, honestly.”

“The way you’re looking away is pretty cute too,”

“I’m not looking away!” you retort, crouching down to the comic books’ shelf, “I just got really interested in this comic book, that’s all.”

Albedo crouched down with you, slowly looking away from your face and to the books. He watched you caress the book’s spine, moving your lips slightly and furrowing your brows. His lips twitched upwards when he saw you pull it out, intently reading the synopsis on the back.

“I’m pretty sure that’s called a graphic novel,” he whispered.

You hummed in response, too busy reading to give him a proper response. He frowned slightly and leaned over, now reading over your shoulder.

The book’s art looked pretty, but Albedo’s jaw relaxed slightly as he read the synopsis too. This graphic novel told the story of the out casted sorceress, ignored and bullied since she first showed signs of magical powers. But after suffering alone for so long, the sorceress finally accepts her role as the “bad guy.” Everyone else has already, except for this annoyingly persistent witch who swears she sees the good in the sorceress. The witch is determined to make the sorceress realize this, going above and beyond to prove— Oh, you’ve already turned to the first page. Fun.

“This looks really good,” he whispered, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You opened up to the first page, idly stroking the page with one finger as you marveled over the art. “Right? It’s so… so beautiful, I think I could stare at this all day.”

“I distinctly remember you saying something similar to me the other day,” he snickered. “Don’t tell me that I’ve already been replaced by a book.”

You turned away from the book and gave a quick peck to his left cheek, laughing into his porcelain skin. “First of all, it’s a beautiful book,” you leaned further over and kissed his lips, “and second, I’d never replace you, dear. Nothing and no one in this world could ever replace you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” you chuckle, pulling both him and yourself up off the floor, “now let’s get the rest of your books before we get yelled at for reading in a bookstore.”

“Aw, really? I was just losing the feeling in my knees and legs,” he groaned as he stood up fully, “now I gotta wake ‘em up again.”

“I love you,” you breathed out, intertwining your elbow with his, “but if we keep using this bookstore as our own library, I don’t think we’ll be allowed back.”

He smiled. “I know. And… I love you, too, by the way.”

“Good. Now, you said something about a book of short stories complied together... something we both could read?”

“Right, right, I believe we passed it in the horror section,” he turned the two of you around, carefully guiding you to follow him, “come on, dear, this way!”

song recommendation: Menuet by Toshifumi Hinata

despite reading work papers at lightening speed, jean is a pretty slow reader

she just really likes taking her time reading books, savouring each chapter that she finishes... don't judge her please

secretly a big fan of romance & mystery, both as separate genres and when they’re put together

jean reads more stand alone novels than series, honestly

it’s only because she likes seeing her favorite characters get their happy ending and character arc in only one book it’s also because she has little to no patience to read a series longer than 3 books

jean doesn’t really like audiobooks. there’s no really big reason why... she just doesn’t like them

but jean wears earbuds whenever she reads at home. it’s easier for her to concentrate with background noise she can control

her music is at a low volume though, so she’ll hear you if you need anything

if you ever offer to read aloud for her when she’s really tired, jean just absolutely melts

congratulations, you now have a very lovesick jean who would do anything for you while you read to her

jean will blush pretty hard if you make eye contact with her while reading some lovey dovey dialogue

if you ever suggest going book shopping with jean, she’ll be incredibly happy

she would take you to local bookstore with a great cafe nearby, ordering you two something to drink while you shopped together

Wordlessly, Jean handed over your to-go cup. She smiled once her eyes met your own, letting a quiet chuckle escape. In one swift action, Jean intertwines her fingers into your own.

“Thank you so much for coming with me,” she murmurs, leading you further into the quaint bookshop. “I know that with our busy schedules it can make it quite difficult but… But I really do appreciate it.”

You took a sip of your drink, smiling into the cup’s opening. “No problem, sweet heart. Afterall, I’ve been dying to see the more bookish and nerdy side of you.”

“Oh, stop it you—” she said, her voice trailing off as Jean spots something interesting. “Oh, actually, hold onto that thought, honey.”

Jean drifted away from you, stopping in front of a table of best-selling romance books. Her fingers trailed over each cover, even if it was the elven couple or cyberpunk lovers. Jean gave each one a bored look, barely turning the books around to read the synopsis. Finally, you saw something that caught Jean’s eye.

You watched her reach down to a monochrome book, the two romantic leads posing suggestively on the cover. She inspected it for a moment, tilting her head and letting her ponytail fall onto her shoulder.

"Oh, she's pretty," you murmur, "not as pretty as you, though, sweetheart."

Jean tsked. “Oh, stop it you. You’re going to make me blush if you keep it up.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

She looked away from the cover, a light blush finding its way to her cheeks. Jean leaned into your side as she did so, trying her best to keep her adorable laughter to a low volume. You glanced around and saw some other customers and a staff member give her a curious look, which made you put a protective hand around her waist. Slowly pulling your eyes away from them, you looked back at your girlfriend with adoration.

“What’s the book about?” you asked, taking a sip from your drink. “It looks really interesting.”

“I think it’s about this…” Jean flips the book over, squinting slightly to read the synopsis, “this time traveling and reincarnated couple? Like, every few years they find each other but then they lose each other. It’s their thirteenth time meeting each other now, and… and they’ve finally found a clue to why this keeps happening,” she pauses for a moment, exhaling heavily. “Pretty interesting, right?”

“This looks so good, oh my goodness,” you say, peering at the same synopsis she was looking at. “Sweetie, we have to get this.”

“Really? You… you don’t think it’s a little too much or…” Jean trailed off, eyeing the price tag.

“If we buy it, we can read it as many times as we want,” you reminded her, tracing a light circle into her waist.

Jean sucked on her bottom lip, freeing it once she made her decision. “Alright, as long as we get to read it together.”

song recommendation: (forever?????????) by glass beach

whenever he can, zhongli reads

whether that be in between rides to and from work, while waiting for clients, or when he’s alone with some free time

he’s a big fan of angsty and deep stories, something with a huge twist at the end

zhongli reads an unhealthy amount of angst

his favorite tropes are probably one-sided love, something about that makes him feel so much

also when one of them dies, or both of them

zhongli doesn’t really cry whenever he reads, he mostly just sighs in sympathy for what the characters are going through

he doesn’t understand audio books really well, and it’s odd to hear someone who talks like him read it back

so he would much rather just read it on his own, thank you

although...zhongli is a sucker for you. so if you ever ask for him to read to you, it’s an almost always guaranteed

he genuinely smiles when he notices that he’s put you to sleep, pressing a sweet kiss onto your forehead

so, imagine the smile on zhongli’s face when you show him this bookstore you found

and when your offer to pay for them? there are literal hearts in his eyes as he guides you around

Zhongli handed you another book while his eyes scanned the spines of each book on this shelf. Before accepting the book, you stare at him for a moment. You quietly admire the way his brows furrow slightly, how his amber eyes narrowed as he read book titles. The way his gloved hands skimmed each book made you envious of the books.

Eventually, you accepted the book and placed it on top of the others. Once you adjusted yourself, balancing the six books in your arms flawlessly, you looked back down to your lover.

“You seem to be picking a lot of science fiction books today,” you commented, raising yourself on the ball of your heels, “that’s a little out of the ordinary for you, isn’t it?”

He hummed, pulling out another book. This one was slimmer than the others, with a blue flower encased in ice on the cover. Another soon to be Young Adult classic, you thought.

“I think I picked out a few horrors too,” Zhongli responded. “I’m going to try and branch out in other genres.”

You tilted your head back up when he began to rise from the ground. “Y’know it’s nice to read some uplifting and happy stuff too, right?”

He shook his head, chuckling. “To you, perhaps, but I find satisfaction in even the saddest of—” Zhongli stopped himself from placing the book onto your pile, slowly sucking in a breath as he eyed it. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think to limit myself—”

“It’s fine, Zhongli,” you assure him, adjusting your hands’ placement on the books, “really, I don’t mind.”

“Dear, we can leave a few of these behind. Really, I don’t mind at all. I don’t want to empty your wallet over me—”

“Please don’t worry about it,” you say, “I like doing these types of things for you. It makes me happy to see you happy, darling.”

Zhongli hesitated for a moment. He looked at the books in your arms again, guilt weighing him down. He didn’t even look at the price tags, this outing was sure to put a dent into your savings. But then Zhongli looked at your eyes and those worries disappeared.

“I love you so much,” he breathed out suddenly.

You smiled at him. “Well, I love you too. Now, you want to go shopping some more or call it a day?”

“We can stop here,”

“You’re sure?”

Zhongli inched closer to you and gave you a simple kiss on the cheek, not caring if someone spotted you two. “Positive.”

song recommendation: By Your Side. by Omori

lisa is a literally a librarian. she reads day and night, as though her life depends on it

you’d think she would be sick of reading, but lisa usually finds something interesting to pass the time

if you ask lisa, you’ll discover that’s she tediously working her way through all of the library books. yes, she is slowly going insane at the process

doesn’t listen to audio books because she doesn’t want her life to be totally overtaken with books

lisa for sure is a booktuber. no doubts about it.

she has a decent subscribers to viewers ratio, but lisa doesn’t care too much about the income it brings

it really is just a youtube channel where she can be passionate about some of her favorite authors and series

you have accidently become a beloved member of the channel, with hundreds of comments gushing about you

lisa makes sure to read each one to you, ignoring any of the odd hate comments of course

also exclusively reads books from the library, rarely ever buying books

until you suggest going to this quaint local secondhand bookstore, promising to treat her to any of the books she wanted

before you could say another word, lisa is excitedly asking you for the bookstore’s address and stuffing things into a spare tote bag

You and Lisa snuck through the aisle, despite the store being advertised as filming friendly. You lowered her go pro as you passed other customers, getting some filler footage of your shoes and the hem of Lisa’s skirt. Once you had successfully dodged them, offering them a polite “good afternoon” before walking onwards,you turned on the go pro.

“You wanna get some filler footage first?” you asked, eyeing the books to your right. “Something you can speak over when you edit?”

“Actually,” Lisa said, inching closer to you, “I’d really like to just spend some one on one time with you. Without the cameras.”

“Oh, yeah, I’d really like that too,” you stammer, quickly shutting off the go pro.

She giggled, placing the go pro into her bag. “You know, you’re pretty cute when you get flustered.”

“Lisa, I swear,” you trail off, trying your best to ignore the growing heat in your cheeks. “So, you said on the way here you wanted to find some… trashy erotica?”

“Oh my god, thank you so much for reminding me,” She grasped onto your wrist, pulling you along as she tried to navigate through the aisles. “I feel like we passed that aisle— Oh! Right there!”

Before you knew it, Lisa had pulled you into the aisle. Some of the books on the shelves had simple cover art, nothing really risque. But then they were placed right next to the extremely suggestive titles, with somehow even more suggestive covers. As Lisa fawned over each book, pulling you along eagerly, you suddenly found the floor to be much more interesting.

“Hm, it seems the owner put their donated romance books here too,” She murmured, gently pulling you over to another side of the shelf. “Oh, dear! Look at this, I think you’d really like it!”

Carefully, you peeled your eyes away from the floor and looked at Lisa. Then your eyes drifted away from her mischievous ones, finally settling on the book she held in her hand.

It was actually a pretty cute book. The cover art was bright and colorful, depicting two people working hard in a kitchen. You felt a smile grace your lips as you opened the book up, reading the small message scribbled into the book’s first pages. Then you turned to the first chapter, a little eager for a taste of what this book had in store.

“You’re not even going to read the synopsis?”

You looked up from the book. “Wait, am I supposed to?”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Lisa reassured. “I was just so surprised that you started reading it immediately.”

“Well, of course!” You beamed. “You suggested it, and I just assumed that with all your reading history… you really did know what you were talking about.”

She smiled at you, her eyes crinkling at the very edges. She grabbed the edge of the book you held, lowering it away from your face. Lisa gave you a gentle kiss, smiling into it as your cheeks burned. When she pulled away, Lisa had the cockiest grin equipped.

“You have no idea how much it means to hear that from you, my love,” she whispered. “Now, let’s go head over to the horror section before I just start sounding like a love interest in one of these books.”

thank you for reading 💖 all forms of interaction to my posts are appreciated 💖

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lickthecowhappy · 4 months

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Playlist Analysis: #6 - Wear Your Love Like Heaven

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#6. Wear Your Love Like Heaven – Donovan

This is an Aziraphale song.

Overview:

This is a kiss song. This is a “Do it again” song. This song is for those two seconds that Aziraphale kissed back, and that briefest of moments he very nearly did tell the Metatron where he could stick it.

Understanding my assumptions about their physical relationship is important in how I hear this song. My assumption is that there isn’t one. Not between them and not with anyone else. We know they like to hold hands but how often does that even happen? I think there hasn't been a “holy kiss” which would have been a common greeting at some points in history, nor even one of those European cheek-kisses. I believe both have likely given chaste kisses like these to humans in the courses of their Good™ and Evil™ duties over the millennia (appropriate hand kisses for royalty during the 500s perhaps?), but I don’t believe either being had experienced a kiss with any sort of romantic pretext. Not even for the purpose of temptations.

This song lists the names of pigments one might see in the colors of a sunset. Starting with blue and progressing through darker and deeper reds, interspersed with prayers for another kiss.

The lyrics are fairly repetitive, so I will abbreviate many of the repeated choruses.

Lyrics:

Color in sky, Prussian blue Scarlet fleece changes hue Crimson ball sinks from view

A description of a blue sky with clouds turning red as the sun sets. I have two thoughts on the sunset analog: both the beautiful, romantic visuals of watching a sunset, and the sun setting on a relationship as it appears to be doing at the end of season 2.

[Chorus - your] Wear your love like Heaven Wear your love like Heaven Wear your love like Heaven

These lines evoke the feeling of being awash in love. A warm robe of companionship draped over cold loneliness. An adornment others will see and know you are loved. And with the color imagery throughout the song, we can imagine a vibrant, eye-catching, bold, striking garment that leaves no viewer in doubt of its significance. And in this specific context, “like Heaven” really means “instead of Heaven.”

[Prayer-chorus] Lord, kiss me once more Fill me with song Allah, kiss me once more That I may, that I may

A first kiss can feel spiritual. They certainly aren’t all good, and their kiss was so bad I lost sleep over it. But sometimes, a first kiss can cause your soul to sing out to the gods for another. In this world God exists, so to imagine an angel silently praying to God for another kiss from a demon is most high poetry. My “Do it again” meta-knowledge is second or third hand, but I buy into it entirely. The acting definitely supports it; Aziraphale desperately pinning down the shadow of Crowley’s lips with his trembling fingers. What would have happened if there was a second kiss?

[Chorus - my] Wear my love like Heaven Wear my love like Heaven

The same chorus as before but instead of adorning oneself in the love of another, this is about expressing one's own feelings. The disaster of miscommunication, and pain, and bad timing, and danger made the prospect of another kiss impossible. But if they had the safety, the time, the right words, and the patience to tell each other all the things they held back, Aziraphale might have been emboldened to openly and proudly wear his heart on his sleeve, whether or not he ended up leaving Earth.

Color sky, Havana lake Color sky, rose carmethene Alizarin crimson

More reds are listed, growing darker. The sun is already gone and the bright reds deepening passion.

Chorus-your > Prayer chorus > Chorus-my

The desire to adorn oneself is expressed again, the prayer repeated, the desire to display emotion.

Cannot believe what I see All I have wished for will be All our race proud and free

Precedent has been set. An angel and a demon, (albeit those with some level of privilege) have publicly displayed their bond, expressed their affections, and have eloped to be together unharried. Aziraphale sees that it isn’t just a wish that can never come true. He also sees that he has just been given a position to help make that change. If Gabriel and Beelzebub found each other, he and Crowley found each other, maybe other angels and demons are out there hiding their love too. He’s going to make a difference if he has to tear it all down.

Chorus-your > Prayer chorus > Chorus-my

The desire to adorn oneself is expressed again, the prayer repeated, the desire to proudly display emotion. The prayer chorus has been repeated three times. The number three biblically represents divine wholeness, completeness, perfection. A complete prayer like the Seraphim singing "Holy holy holy!" A very happy Season 3 renewal to all who celebrate.

Carmine, Carmine

Carmine is the darkest red listed and is sung twice as the music winds down and fades. As the joy ends. Below is an image of some carmine hair dye. I’m not saying it’s EXACTLY Crowley’s hair color in season 2 but…

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#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #music analysis #brain rot #i spent a normal amount of time on this #therapy for good omens 2 #ineffible husbands #ineffible divorce #good omens meta

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ameliora-j · 3 years

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before i fell // dm x reader

words: 2.8k

warnings: angst, talk of a breakup, mention of loss of virginity, mention of not eating, mention of not sleeping, pansy is kinda ooc and so is draco, the slytherins are assholes

a/n: i used a lot of olivia rodrigo lyrics bc i listened to SOUR while writing lol. lmk if i should add other warnings and happy reading babies!

you would be cliche and say that you fell in love the way that you fall asleep. slowly and then all at once. but you couldn’t because you didn’t. it wasn’t a john green novel and you weren’t hazel grace lancaster. falling in love wasn’t simple, and that description of it truly… didn’t describe anything. falling in love was more complicated than that. there were more layers to it than that. falling in love was rather… quick and unexpected. unexpected like snow in the middle of march. or rain when there’s not a cloud in sight. quick like waiting months for an event and finally when the time comes, it feels like you blinked and then it was over.

falling in love with draco malfoy was all of these things and more. falling in love with draco malfoy brought upon more layers than that. falling in love with draco malfoy brought pain. not just any kind of pain, no… horrible, heart wrenching, gut twisting pain. pain that began by bubbling itself in your chest right at the center of your heart, then slowly but surely worked it’s way outwards. encapsulating your entire body and making every inch of your body ache. pain like when you get attached to a character and the author kills them off. pain like when you finish your favorite book and you realize that you’re not truly in that universe and none of that actually happened. pain like when you’re two hours, fifteen minutes, and twelve seconds into avengers: infinity war and peter parker says “mr. stark, i don’t feel so good.” pain that you’ve never felt. pain that can’t be described. pain that you felt for days. pain.

you thought it was strange when the platinum blonde slytherin sought you out. he came to you one day while you sat silently at the black lake. you were alone, but only because you liked to be. you had friends of course, many actually, but you chose to be alone. the black lake was your place of solace. then along came draco. he sat beside you, a good distance away, but his presence was known. you looked to him for an explanation but he offered none. just smiled at you and turned to his notes, so you did the same. the second time he came, he sat closer, but still in silence. the third time is when he struck up conversation.

“yln, yeah?” he questioned.

“yn, actually. but yes, yn yln. and you’re draco malfoy?” you asked.

“i am,” he smirked at your knowledge of his name and then you returned to your studying. after that, the two of you talked every time he came and sat with you. short discussions about the weather or the potions assignment. you don’t know when, but soon they became longer. discussions of your day and your family. your interests and how you got your name. how you loved the rain and the stars and how you loved hogwarts, but you often missed home. draco knew you inside and out and you knew him—and before long, you called the tall, skinny blonde your boyfriend.

you walked the halls of hogwarts together, hand in hand. draco walked haughtily with a hard scowl and you with a bright smile. while you walked cheerfully and waved to your friends and to first years while draco glared at anyone who dared look at the two of you. he took you to parties in the slytherin common room and you wore his jersey proudly at quidditch games, even when he played against your house. he bought you lavish gifts at all of your trips to hogsmeade and he showered you in kisses, praise, and affection. you were whole heartedly smitten with the sole heir to the malfoy fortune.

it was one fateful day in the common room when your heart absolutely exploded. that was the day you knew that you fell in love with draco malfoy. you had been a thing for about two, going on three, months. you were sitting in the slytherin common room, reading in silence when he asked. you were pressed against his chest and he pressed a soft kiss to your head. “‘ve been meaning to ask you something,” he murmured gently. this caused you to close the book and turn your full attention to him. “want you to wear this,” he said, holding out a ring. “it’s the malfoy family crest.”

your stomach and your heart exploded into billions of butterflies and you launched yourself forward, straight into his chest. millions of emotions overcame you as you squeezed his neck as tight as possible. you nodded into his neck as a few stray tears fell. he kissed your head repeatedly as he slid the ring onto your finger before pressing his lips to your’s gently. you giggled excitedly as you stared down at the ring on your finger. “do you like it?” he asked you.

“i love it, dray. i love you. thank you s’much,” you confessed for the first time as you cuddled back into his chest. you don’t know what it was that made the blonde boy seek you out, but you’re glad he did. if only you knew the true nature of his intentions. but alas, you were oblivious.

it was the beginning of the school year, on the train to hogwarts. in the compartment of what was labeled as “the slytherin squad.” there sat theo nott, pansy parkinson, blaise zabini, and—your now boyfriend—draco malfoy.

they were all sitting around, taking the piss out of draco for all of his past failed relationships when it was brought up. “i’ll bet malfoy couldn’t get a girl to fall in love with him if he paid her,” theo spoke.

“i’ll take that bet,” draco countered.

“alright. but we get to pick the girl,” blaise decided.

“what?” pansy asked as theo began to look around the compartment. it was a few minutes before he found the victim. it was then that your fate was sealed. there, sitting in the back corner, head tucked deep into a copy of the fault in our stars, was you. you. awkward and quiet. you with seemingly no friends. poor little unsuspecting you.

“that one,” nott smirked evilly.

“what the weirdo?!” draco exclaimed incredulously. “no way!”

“so then you forfeit?” blaise asked, causing draco to release a frustrated exhale.

“alright i’ll do it,” he rolled his eyes.

“then we give you five months. make yn yln fall in love with you in five months and we’ll do your homework for the rest of the year,” theo posed.

“and if i don’t?” draco asked.

“and when you don’t… thennn,” blaise taunted as he searched for a deal that was fair.

“then we get two hundred galleons each and you have to apologize to potter for making his life hell,” theo smirked. draco scoffed at this and rolled his eyes, but nodded nonetheless.

“and what are my conditions?” he raised an eyebrow.

“she has to say it first. you can do anything you want or need to get her to say it, but you cannot say ‘i love you’ first,” blaise spoke.

“this doesn’t seem fair to yn,” pansy piped in.

“shut your mouth parkinson. no one asked your opinion,” theo growled with a roll of his eyes. but it was too late. there was absolutely nothing the girl could do to get the three to change their minds. she just had to sit idly by and watch draco malfoy break your heart as she said nothing. she wished that she could stop it, but their minds were made up. and the three of them were very stubborn.

it was a few days after draco gave you his ring when your bubble came crashing down. you were walking to meet draco at your spot at the black lake when blaise and theo intercepted you. you knew who they were, of course you did. they were your boyfriend’s best friends, however why they were currently speaking to you, you had no idea.

they told you it would be quick. that they just wanted to show you something in the slytherin common room and left little room for argument, so you had no choice but to follow them there. they sat you on the couch and began to discuss your relationship with draco. you were very confused and had no idea why you were here. “so… draco hasn’t told you?” blaise mocked a gasp of shock.

“no?” you raised a soft eyebrow as you stared on. this made theo smirk evilly as he pulled up a projector and pointed his wand at it. a picture appeared, it looked like a memory. “what’s this?” you asked before the boys urged you to ‘shh.’ you sunk further into the couch as you idly watched on.

you truly weren’t paying attention untill you heard the voice of your boyfriend. the words he spoke stung. you were soft. emotional. the way he spoke about you absolutely crushed you. it would crush anyone, but it shattered you especially. “she’s so fucking weird!” “i’ll take that bet.”

‘s all you were. all you ever were. just a stupid belt. another notch in his belt. it was that moment that draco had barged into the common room. but by then, it was already too late. the tears had already sprung to your eyes and you were preparing for a torrential downpour as you heard his voice. “i’m out!” he announced breathlessly. he froze in his run as his eyes fell on you and what was playing on the projector currently. “bunny…” he whispered softly as his hand touched your shoulder, but you quickly jerked away as if his hand had burned you on contact.

“don’t call me that. don’t touch me,” you demanded as the tears began to fall. “that’s all i was? a bet?” an involuntary whimper sounded from the depths of your throat. “i feel so stupid.” you shook your head.

“no, bunny please listen to me,” you didn’t allow the boy to finish as you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself.

“don’t call me that!” you demanded. “in fact don’t call me at all. don’t… don’t talk to me draco. ever again. i can’t believe i fell for your stupid joke. i feel so… i feel like an idiot,” you spoke. you shook your head, hastily wiping at your eyes untill you saw stars. it was then that you decided to walk away.

“YN STOP!” draco yelled. “LISTEN to me,” he demanded.

“NO!” you shouted as you turned to face him finally. “godric draco, i wish you would’ve thought this through before i went and fell in love with you,” you sniffled as you wiped your snot on your sweater sleeve.

“yn please just let me explain. please listen to me, please,” he begged.

“i feel like you betrayed me,” you shook your head. “i told you everything. you were my everything. draco i loved you. i actually loved you. i thought you loved me too but i guess you’re just a really good actor,” you sniffled once more. “i hate you draco. i really fucking hate you. i don’t want to hear your bullshit explanation because i know that you’ll never feel sorry for the way i’m hurting right now.”

“it was a bet!” draco shouted as you walked away, hand on the door knob. you scoffed as you muttered a sarcastic, ‘no shit.’ “that’s how it started yes, but then i got to know you. i figured out who you were. i learned that your favorite color is yfc and that you prefer night over day because you love the stars and that your favorite star is scorpius and you would name your son after that star one day. i learned that you love to read and you love when it storms but you're afraid of the thunder. you only dance when you’re drunk and you giggle when you’re nervous and i love that giggle. with everything in me i do. your favorite book is yfb and you choose to be alone but you let everyone be your friend. you’re gorgeous. inside and out and while it may have started as a bet, somewhere along the lines i fell in love with you so yn please. please don’t leave,” he whispered the last part as his voice came out broken.

you took a deep breath in before you began to speak. “you couldn’t have cared less about someone who loved you more. i’d say you broke my heart but you broke much more than that,” you shook your head as you furiously wiped at your eyes again. “i gave you my all draco. you were my first everything. i gave you my virginity for merlin’s sake. all to find out that i was just some stupid bet,” you scoffed.

“yn please believe me when i say that you’re so much more than that,” he begged again. “i came to tell them that they won. that i wanted out because i fell in love with you too!”

“it doesn’t matter if you don’t see me as a bet any longer. the fact is that you did. i’m worth so so much more than that.” your breaths were ragged as you spoke. “i really wish that you had thought this through before i went and fell in love with you.” you repeated with a small sniffle. “don’t you think i loved you too much to be used and discarded? don’t you think i loved you too much to think i deserve nothing?” you were openly sobbing at this point.

“yn please believe me when i tell you how sorry i am…” he spoke softly.

“don’t tell me you’re sorry. feel sorry for yourself. because someday i’ll be everything to somebody else,” with this you turned away from him. you hastily opened the door and practically ran out of the common room and away from him.

at that moment you decided to forget about it. draco, and the bet, and love, and everything. like in the vampire diaries, you decided to turn your emotions off. you laid in your dorm crying for hours before you made that decision, however. your dorm mates checked on you often, but you never offered more than merely a half hearted shrug, letting them know that you were still alive, but barely breathing. you skipped classes and meals. you were a mere shell of yourself. it was about two weeks before you could face draco again. and even then you couldn’t truly. you went into the great hall and found “the slytherin squad” sans draco.

pansy looked at you sympathetically while theo and blaise basked in the glow of their new victory. you pulled the ring off carelessly as you stopped in front of them, hair disheveled and uniform askew. you had dark bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep you’d gotten in the past fourteen days and your eyes were rimmed red with the weight of your emotions. “c’you just give this back to malfoy,” you murmured half-heartedly as you dropped the ring on the table in front of the three. just speaking his name brought you pain.

your shoulders were sunken in defeat and you were but a shell of your usual cheerful self. you don’t even know when the last time you saw daylight or had fresh air was. “wait yln,” pansy called hesitantly. you turned to face her, still staring down at your mary janes as you pulled and twisted your fingers untill you heard your knuckles pop. “you… you really love him, don’t you?”

you just shrugged your right shoulder as you used the heel of your palm to wipe the snot from your rapidly reddening nose. “i was just some stupid bet,” you replied as tears begin to spill rapidly over your waterline.

“if it’s any consolation… it was those two bozos’ idea,” pansy told you as she pointed to blaise and theo.

“doesn’t matter,” you murmured. “he’s still a traitor,” you answered as you walked away, forgetting all about the slytherin prince and his stupid friends. forgetting all about how he hit you with a train of his “love.” forgetting all about how for three months he was your everything. forgetting all about how he wrote to his mum about you and you wrote to your parents about him. forgetting all about draco malfoy. the platinum blonde boy with stormy grey eyes who had a long story buried beneath his haughty exterior. the boy who you called your first. your first kiss. your first time. your first love. forgetting all about the boy that made you fall in love just to tell you it was all a bet.

attempting to revert back to how you were before you fell.

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

Meant To Be // G.W.

Request: Hi! Could you do a George x Reader where he asks her to teach him to dance for the yule ball, because he wants to impresses somebody else, but then they ✨fall in love✨, maybe they didn't know each other before this for that extra awkwardness? Thank you 💕 - anon

A/N: This is so utterly self indulgent and heavily inspired by that one scene from Anastasia. Dimitri was my first love, not even gonna lie to you all. Also, I am the furthest thing from a dancer so if I have explained anything wrong in this, I am so sorry! Despite that, I hope you all enjoy!!

Warnings: she/her pronouns, pining, feelings, emotions, dancing, mentions of food, feelings of sadness, very very light angst. THIS HAS A HAPPY ENDING!!

Word count: 4.1k

Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry had many traditions that dated back to the time of the four founders; the houses and their competition, the Quidditch tournaments, but the one that excited the entire student body had to be that of the Yule Ball.

The Yule Ball accompanied the Triwizard Tournament – a competition held between the magical schools of Europe to promote cooperation and boost friendly relations between students. From the very announcement of the Triwizard Tournament, the student body of Hogwarts became more focused on the Yule Ball and what to wear rather than the dangers posed by the trials being faced by their fellow students.

“The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the other houses for over ten centuries. I will not have you, in one night, besmirch his name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons,” McGonagall’s voice calls out across the hall; her eyes steadily meeting every single gaze of the students sat around her.

Those in the hall seem to cower under her scrutiny; the power that she wields over this house being enough for every student in Gryffindor to try their best to impress the head of their house.

George has very little faith in himself at this point. A master prankster, and secretly one of the smartest wizards in the school, he has little talent when it comes to dancing. As he watches his youngest brother take to the floor with the head of Gryffindor, George feels something close to dread settle like lead in his stomach.

He would need help, and he would need it fast, especially if he wanted to ask Margot Banbridge to the ball. Margot – the girl who had caught his attention at the beginning of the month with her secret smiles and wide blue eyes. George so desperately wanted to be the one to take her to the Yule Ball, but then again, so did many of the other lads in the year. George needed to stand out and being able to dance would be the perfect way to do so.

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

The common room is loud that very evening. All students talking about the upcoming ball and the lessons completed today. Ron’s face was still red from his dance with McGonagall; he would never live this down. However, for now, George wasn’t too concerned on joking with his brother, but rather how he was going to solve the predicament he finds himself in.

“What do I do, Fred?” George pleads to his twin, “I have no idea how to dance!”

Fred laughs, “Can’t help you there, mate. I’m just as clueless as you.”

George groans; resisting the urge to shove his face into a cushion and wallow in self-pity. If he didn’t know how to dance, how could he impress Margot?

“Talk to (Y/N),” Hermione offers, absentmindedly turning the page of the heavy hardback laid in her lap, “She dances as a hobby. She might be able to help you, George.”

“Do you think she would?” George asks, worry niggling the back of his mind. He had so rarely spoken to you before despite being in the same house, “We’ve never really spoken before.”

Hermione nods, “I think she would. She’s always been kind to me when I’ve asked her for help.”

George smiles; nodding at his younger brother’s friend. “Alright,” He decides, “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

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

You could feel his gaze burning a hole into the back of your head. All morning, in every class your shared with the Weasley twin, his eyes had rarely left the back of your head. By morning break, it had started to get on your nerves. By lunch, you were more than ready to accost the redhead and demand the reasoning behind this newfound attention he seems intent on giving you.

Pausing outside the Great Hall, you move to one side to let younger Gryffindor’s pass. Out of the corner of your eye, you see George pause, turning to his twin to look as if he wasn’t just following you for the sake of it.

“Weasley!” You shout. George jumps; not out of terror, but out of being caught ogling so openly. Fred laughs as he leaves his twin to talk to you. George rubs a hand across the back of his neck, “(Y/N)… fancy seeing you here.”

You roll your eyes, “What do you need?”

“What? What makes you think I need something from you?” George questions; slightly affronted at your sudden jump to his needing of something, even if it was right.

You place your hands on your hips; shooting him an unimpressed look, “This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had in our whole seven years of education so it’s safe to say you want something from me. That, and the fact that you’ve been burning a hole into my head all morning so what do you need, George?”

George sighs; running a hand through his too long hair, “Hermione said you would be able to help me.”

Your face softens at the mention of the bright witch; you had a soft spot for the younger girl, her knowledge and thirst for witchcraft something to be found as inspiring. “What did Hermione say?”

“That you dance as a hobby and that you might be able to teach me.”

“Hermione is right on both counts. I do dance, and I am able to teach you,” You state, “But why do you need to be taught, George?”

George leans closer to you; his voice dropping to a whisper as he confesses, “I want to ask Margot Banbridge to the Yule Ball.”

“Ah,” You sigh, “So it’s all for one night with a girl.”

George frowns, “It’s for more than one night. Hopefully something will start after the Yule Ball, but I need to be able to impress her first and not step on her toes.”

A small smile graces your face as George struggles to get through the sentence without blushing. “Meet me every Saturday in the Room of Requirement. I’ll teach you how to dance.”

“You will?” He asks; hope shining in his voice.

“I will, but I’m doing this to protect the poor girl’s toes, Weasley,” You state sternly; your smile lingering at the sweetness of the redhead.

George nods solemnly, “And it’s a service you shall be recognised for. Thank you, (Y/N).”

Without helping it, a smile crosses your face. Grabbing your bag, you hoist it up on your shoulder, “Room of Requirement on Saturday at 10am, Weasley. Don’t be late.”

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

By 10am on Saturday, George can only be described a bundle of nerves. He had barely made it through breakfast; Fred teasing him all the way through it as Ron and Harry laughed along with him. The only support he found was in Hermione who seemed genuinely pleased that he had asked for help. George sent her a small smile as he managed half a piece of toast before rushing from the Great Hall; frantic about not wanting to be late for his first lesson with you.

His hands shake as he walks past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, thinking of you and your whereabouts. The door appears after his third walk past and George hurriedly tugs open the door before he can talk himself out of it.

The room in which you have conjured reminds George of the Hall in which McGonagall had taught her first and only dance lesson. However, you’ve conjured a whole wall of mirrors that have a bar running across the middle.

George pauses in the entryway as the large wooden door slams shut behind him. The noise still hasn’t alerted you to his presence as you fiddle with a record player, a small collection of vinyl’s laid out on the small table. He watches you twiddle with the settings; the volume dial and checking that the needle is secure before turning to survey the room.

You jump when you spy George standing by the door. You greet him with a large smile, beckoning to him with an outstretched hand, “Come on in, George, I don’t bite.”

George laughs despite himself; stepping further into the large room. “What is this place?” He asks.

You turn around; arms stretched wide as you explain, “This is what the dance studio back home looks like. It’s where I spend all my time when I’m home for the holidays, so I bring it here when I can.”

“It’s wonderful,” George comments; breathless at the sheer amount of detail and personality personified by the room. He barely knows you, yet he realises he’s standing in an incredibly personal room that you’ve trusted him with. He feels honoured that you’ve put this much trust in him already.

You smile at him in thanks before turning your attention back to the vinyl’s littering the small table. You tap your fingernails against the table as you sift through the records, trying to decide which would be best to start with.

It takes a moment or two, but eventually you settle on a vinyl catering to classical music. You turn to George, holding the cover up for him to see much to his dismay, “The first few dances will be to instrumentals I’m afraid, so it’ll be classical for now.”

George frowns, but he nods, nonetheless. He’s never been a fan of classical music; not understanding the feelings that could be evoked from it. He needed lyrics in order to feel something; he needed to hear the pain or joy in the singer’s voice for him to feel the true extent of the song.

“First things first, show me what you think a hold looks like.”

George raises his arms; only feeling slightly foolish as his right arm stretches out and his left arm curls around an invisible body. His left splays across an invisible back, and he watches you appraise him.

“Am I okay to touch you?” You ask; not wanting to make him jump as you start grabbing his arms. At the nod of his head, you start to feel his framework, checking for where it lacks in definition.

It takes the better part of fifteen minutes to explain why his frame is essential to the dance when George believed that it would be his footwork that solely mattered, but by the end of your rant, he understands it all a lot better.

Then you move onto the footwork. Explaining to George that spending every minute of the song staring down at his feet was going to cause more issues than anything. You can’t help but laugh slightly each time he steps on your foot; he apologises with such sincerity that it’s hard not to forgive him either though you know your feet will be bruised tomorrow. However, as the song finishes and the needle begins to click onto empty record, you feel that George has what it takes to become a good enough dancer to woo Margot.

Breaking the hold, you rush to the record player, lifting the needle from the record and setting it to one side. “Tell me about Margot, George. Why her?” You ask as you pat your face down with a towel and grab a bottle of water, offering another to George.

George shrugs, taking the offered water bottle, “She’s gorgeous, and she’s ridiculously talented in Charms and Transfiguration.”

“Huh,” You comment.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” You reply, shaking your head with a smile George couldn’t define, “I didn’t think you would favour brains over looks for some reason, but you’ve surprised me.”

“Have you got a date?” He asks; curiosity getting the better of him.

You shake your head, “No date, but I am going to the ball with a group of my friends. It’ll be a good night; I’m looking forward to it.”

“It will,” George echoes; mind faraway, to a night in the future where he grabs and keeps the attention of Margot.

“All we need to do now if get you ready for it. You’ll be a pro in no time, Weasley.”

“You think?��

“I don’t think, I know,” You gloat, a smile crossing your face, “If we continue to meet every week until the ball, you’ll be waltzing Margot into a tizzy.”

George barks out a laugh at your words, heading for the door, “I’ll see you every Saturday then.”

“Every Saturday,” You echo as George leaves. You shake your head; vaguely wondering about the outcome of these lessons.

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

Two weeks into the lessons and a friendship forms between yourself and George. He was so enthusiastic; he was happiness personified. It was hard not to find yourself caught up in his retellings of pranks he was behind, or stories of being at home over the holidays. He had a knack for storytelling; punctuating in the right places and creating a set up that had your sides hurting from laughing so hard.

You find yourself sitting with his friends more – at meal times and in the common room; getting to know the rest of the golden trio other than Hermione, and finally meeting Fred Weasley.

“So you’re the one who’s been teaching our Georgie how to dance,” Fred states; mischief in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

“I am,” You comment, smiling politely, “He’s doing well, if you wanted to know.”

Fred grins, reaching for the jar of orange juice in the centre of the table, “I don’t doubt it.”

George rolls his eyes at the small conversation taking place between you and Fred. You smile at his reaction, but also at the blind faith placed in George by his twin brother.

“You should have seen him the other night, (Y/N),” Fred cackles, “He was practicing some footwork, stating that he needed to get it right before your lesson.”

“You weren’t?” You ask George; delighted in the blush staining his cheeks.

“I was,” He admits shyly, “But it was that really tricky part that I couldn’t get last time.”

“That’s adorable, Georgie,” You coo; reaching over to pinch his cheek. He bats your hand away with a laugh but keeps hold of your fingers for a tad longer than he should have, enjoying your attention and the sound of your laugh.

“How did you get into dancing?” Ron asks; voice curious as he munches on a piece of toast.

“It was something my mum signed me up for when I was four years old and it grew from there.”

“Do you mainly dance ballroom?” Hermione asks; eyes bright as she basks in the happiness to have her older friend sit with her usual friends.

“Not just ballroom,” You state, “I tap dance too as well as some ballet.” At their wide eyes you backpedal, “My mum wanted me to have the grace and dexterity of a ballerina before she realised I much preferred the other two. I finished ballet when I was thirteen, but I still do the stretches,” You shrug, “They help with the warm ups for other dances.”

George grins; eyes darting between you and his friends, “What did I tell you? She’s a wonder.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re only calling me that because you feel guilty for how often you step on my toes.”

Fred snorts, “Does that often does he?”

George blushes; reaching for his drink. You shake your head with a laugh, “Not now. He did a lot in the beginning, but he’s much better now.”

George’s blushes deepens as the warmth of your words settles on your skin and he meets your eyes. The gaze holds; both of you forgetting you’re sat at a table with friends as you both smile softly at the other.

Someone clearing their throat has you breaking the gaze with George. Your face heats as you meet the interested stare of his twin brother; Fred’s eyes darting between you and George as if seeing something that wasn’t obvious for the two of you.

Conversation starts up again; Fred talking to George and Ron asking Harry about a piece of homework. As their voices gather around you, you give yourself a moment to come to terms with the feelings raging in your body. You let yourself have a single instant in which you wonder whether this friendship has developed into something more for you.

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

A week before the ball and you’ve accepted your feelings for the redhead. You’ve accepted that in just over a month, he’s not only formed a friendship with you, but he’s also gotten you to fall in love with him. At eighteen years old, the world tells you that you’re too young to know the meaning of the word, but what else could describe the way you feel when you look at him? What else could explain the racing of your heart when he meets you outside your classes, an arm ready to grab your bag?

At eighteen years old, the world expects you to know so much, but not your own mind. However, at eighteen years old, you know that you’re in love with George Weasley, and all from him asking you to teach him how to dance.

“What do you think? Ready to practice a waltz, George?”

He laughs lightly; the sound being music to your ears, “Let’s try a waltz.”

From the moment the needle meets the vinyl, George has his hold ready. You glide into it seamlessly; hands joining together as George begins to lead you through the one, two, three steps of the waltz.

Distantly, you hear the music sounding from your record player. Distantly, you hear your footsteps on the wooden floor, but all you can focus on is how good it feels to be in George’s hold. To have his hands on you; how warm they feel against your skin and just how much you want him closer to you.

He continues to lead you round the floor; his eyes not leaving yours as his grip on you becomes tighter. Your mind heads into overdrive; wondering how it would feel to have his hands on different parts of your body; how he would react if you leaned forward that little bit and kissed him.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy…” You murmur; whether it’s from the spinning or from the close proximity of George, you can’t tell.

“Kind of lightheaded?” George asks; a small smile on his face, “Me too.”

“Maybe we should…” You trail off; truly not wanting this moment to end as George pauses mid spin.

“Stop spinning? I think we should too.”

“We have stopped,” You say; refusing to drop the hold, refusing to leave him.

George shakes his head; his mind becoming clearer as he comes too from the daydream he found himself in as he spun you around the Room of Requirement.

Neither of you know how long you stand there; his hand on your waist and yours on his shoulder. Neither of you know how long your chests heave; from the breathlessness of the dancing, but also from the hormones and emotions flying about the room that neither of you are truly ready to address.

Stepping back - protecting your heart mainly - you drop the hold, moving off to the side where your bag waits for you. George opens and closes his mouth a few times; unable to find the words he wants to say, unable to comprehend the feelings coursing through his body this very minute.

Holding your bag to your chest, as if having a physical barrier between yourself and George will stop the cracking of your heart, you whisper, “I think you’re ready, George.”

“You do?” He asks. They aren’t the words he wants to say; they aren’t the words that are carved into his heart, mind, and soul, but they are what he says because he can see the look on your face, and he doesn’t know what to do.

You nod, trying your best to stave off the wobbling of your lip and the breaking of your heart until you’re back in your room. “Yeah,” You say; smiling weakly, “You’re ready, Georgie. Go get your girl.”

You leave him there; rushing from the room with the last of your broken heart trailing behind you. The tears begin to fall on your way back to the common room; unable to look anyone in the eye as you sprint to your room and throw yourself on your bed.

Hiding your face in your pillow, you barely repress the scream that’s been working its way out of your chest. The way your heart was cracking in your chest, you felt certain the whole school could hear it. You felt the fool; how could you not fall for him? How could you not fall for every aspect of him? You saw him at his most nervous and you saw him at his most confident; you saw every aspect of him, and your heart gave itself so willingly that you hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

It was too late. He was ready; he could waltz the night away with Margot and he would be none the wiser to your feelings. There was no need for him to know just how he made your heart race, or how he was the reason behind most of your smiles these days. He didn’t need to know how he featured in your daydreams; distracting you from classwork.

He didn’t need to know any of that because by the end of the Yule Ball, he’ll have wooed Margot and you’ll have returned to your dance studio alone.

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

The dance studio feels cold without him; as if in the sort time you had been teaching him, it had also gotten used to his warm presence and the light he exudes.

Following your old routine, you select a record and place it on the player. Setting the needle down, you roll your neck, stretching your muscles out as the first song begins to play.

Needless to say that while you lose your body to the music, the steps being second nature to you, you do not lose your mind. Your feet follow the steps, but your mind does not quieten as it flips through images of what George could be doing right now. How his hand would feel on small of Margot’s back; how his hand would clasp hers tightly as he leads her confidently around the dancefloor.

You hadn’t been able to attend the ball in the end. Too afraid of what you might see, and what you might feel. Too afraid to meet the eyes of those you now class a friends and see the pity reflected in their eyes as you realise that your feelings for the Weasley twin had been obvious to everyone but him.

You gasp as you catch movement in the corner of your eye; regretting leaving your wand so far away on the table. You hold a hand to your heart as you face whoever had found your room.

He stands just in front of the door; chest rising rapidly as if he ran to all the way here.

“George?” You question; automatically stepping closer to the redhead, your heart starting to sing at his very presence. Every part of you wants to reach for him, but the logical side of you makes you wait.

“I waited for you,” He states plainly with no greeting, “I waited for you and you didn’t come.”

Your eyes drop to the floor as you confess, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t watch you with her.”

You couldn’t watch from the sidelines as George danced the night away; dancing what you had taught him. It only felt like further punishment, and for now, you had had enough of that.

“I waited for you,” He repeats.

“Why?” You ask; needing to know.

“I couldn’t take her. Not after our final dance lesson, it wasn’t fair to her or to you. So I didn’t take her. Instead, I waited outside the Great Hall for over an hour, hoping you would make an appearance. When you didn’t, I had to come find you. I knew you would be here.”

You sniffle, “You came for me?”

George nods, “I realised something after our final lesson.”

“What?”

He steps further into the room; striding forward until he stands in front of you. He tilts your face up sing two fingers; his eyes shine with happiness as he whispers, “I don’t want to dance with anyone but you.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t. If I’m to dance with anyone, it’ll be you. I think we were meant to be; don’t you agree?”

You nod your head, faintly brushing your lips against his as you whisper, “I agree. I think we were meant to be.”

********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @birdie-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @xfirstfemale-marauderx @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ithilwen-lionheart @ilovejjmaybank

George Weasley taglist: @susceptible-but-siriusexual @ickle-ronniekins

#george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george x reader #george weasley

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

Starlit Vigil

Dannymay Day 4: Stars _____________________________

Everything has a story to it, a tale interwoven into it’s very being from it’s birth to it’s death. Sometimes the mystery of the story is as much a story in and of itself.

Scientists and researchers can’t say when the constellation first appeared in the night sky. It could be seen above Antarctica, near where the edge of the continent meets the Indian Ocean. It confounded a great many people as stars simply didn’t appear out of nowhere. But these did, slowly over the course of several decades sometimes years apart but two appeared within hours of each other. Each new star, eight in total, had a glistening, almost unnatural twinkle to them. The constellation was named Mnemosyne after the Grecian goddess of memory and the stars eight of her nine daughters, better known as the Muses.

You’ve always had your eyes turned towards the stars and Mnemosyne in particular had always captured your attention. You can’t really explain what it is about those stars that speak to you. Maybe it’s sheer impossibility of their existence. Perhaps it’s the particular beauty of these stars, sometimes appearing to shift in shape and change colors. Or it could be the story behind the stars, the mystery that couldn’t be solved and so imagination filled in the holes left behind.

They say there was a great king, hundreds of years ago. A king who was powerful and kind and helped create the world as we know it. The land of the dead exists and certain people can interact with those beyond it. Technology and understanding have advanced dramatically and, while no life would ever be perfect, there was a general sense of peace that could felt in this world and the next. This king loved our world so much it’s said he plucked the greatest jewels he could find and placed them in the stars where he could watch over and cherish them forever. It’s a sentiment you can understand.

You study astronomy in school and when you’re given a chance to travel to the Antarctic Circle to study Mnemosyne, you can’t say yes fast enough. The bitter cold and isolation is a small price to pay to see your favorite constellation up close. Maybe when you see it with your own eyes, you can unravel some of the questions people have been asking over the years. Why the goddess of Memory? Why are the stars named after the Muses but missing the muse of astronomy, Urania? What is the true story behind the supernaturally bright stars that appeared out of nowhere?

It’s hard to sleep during the day, partially because it goes against your normal circadian rhythm but you’re also too excited for night to come. For the stars to come out. You bundle up in the warmest clothes, pack your cameras and notebooks and throw the highest quality telescope you can carry over your shoulder. Arriving at the best site for star gazing, you are so delighted by the clear skies and sparkling stars that it takes you an extra moment to realize that you’re not alone.

At first, you think it’s one of the many researchers conducting studies at the pole but it’s soon apparent that this is someone new. Their hair is stark white, almost appearing one with the blustering wind as it’s blown around. You can’t see what they’re wearing because a thick white cape covers them entirely; it has the consistency of freshly fallen snow. Atop their head floats a crown made of pure, crystalline ice. Your eyes widen behind your protective goggles. The existence of ghosts was common knowledge by now but it’s another thing to see one up close. You turn to leave, before the spirit notices you.

“Don’t leave,” he says quietly but despite the roaring of the wind, you can hear him perfectly clear. “You came to watch the stars too, I don’t mind. Mnemosyne is my favorite.”

“Mine too,” you say back without even thinking. “I would love to know their stories.” The ghost turns to smile at you and his eyes are a bright, glowing green without any pupils or sclera.

“Come, I’ll tell you about them.” You know you shouldn’t. While most spirits aren’t malicious, this one exudes a power you can’t even imagine. But you find yourself stepping closer anyway. You want to hear the stories of the stars and his smile is the warmest thing you’ll find for miles. Somehow you know this ghost won’t harm you. He points up at Mnemosyne and your twin gazes stare up in wonder.

“They say souls and stars are made of the same ingredients. When I was a boy, I loved this thought. There was something comforting in knowing that, no matter where I went, that I could carry the stars within me,” the ghost explains, looking at you joyfully.

“But unlike stars, souls are mortal, impermanent,” he says, his smile turning sad. “So I thought, why not put a soul into a star? Then it could last for eons.” He turns back to the stars with a melancholic expression. “Danielle was the first, my little sister. She was always fragile and after only a decade of life, one day she just broke. Her core was too damaged to become a full ghost so I offered her another way to live on. I took the brightness of her smile and made it into a star, into Euterpe. She was the muse of lyrics and poetry, they say she was the ‘bringer of delight’. It suited Danielle.”

“My enemy died next,” the ghost continues. “He hurt me and, moreover, hurt the ones I loved. But he was the only one who truly understood me. His existence comforted me no matter how much bad blood existed between us. His life was full of misfortune, most of it self-inflicted but his fear of death pulled on my heart. My last move in our battle was to make him a star as well, Melpomene, the muse of tragedy. I put him far away from Danielle, I think he’d hurt her.”

“My parents passed a few decades later,” the ghost whispers. “Mom went first, in her sleep. Dad always followed her example so it wasn’t a surprise when Dad followed her in death before the day was done. They were scientists, I think but they loved me very much. Things were tense, I remember being afraid for some reason but their deaths pained me. They were too fulfilled to become ghosts. I grabbed bits of their essence before it dissipated and made the stars Polyhymnia and Terpsichore, the muses of hymns and dance respectively. They were a perfect couple, partners in everything. A song and a dance, always in time with each other.”

The wind rustles the ghost’s cape, he clutches it as if he is cold. You cannot tear your eyes from the the soft grief on his face.

“Valerie went next, some sort of illness; I can’t remember the details,” the ghost frowned. “She had no desire to become a ghost, no matter how much I asked her to stay. I am King of All Ghosts and yet I got on my knees and begged for some part of her to keep with me. In the end, I stole a bit of her fading spirit and crafted Calliope, the assertive muse, the author of epic poetry. She shines so brightly up there like she had in life.”

“Jasmine died peacefully in her sleep like our mother. She was always protecting me, even in death. Her devotion to knowledge and my wellbeing kept her by my side for many years but it wasn’t enough to last forever. When her spirit was nothing more than wisps, I took her core and placed Clio with the rest of our family. The muse of history, the proclaimer of great deeds fit my older sister well.”

“Tucker and Sam stayed with me the longest. Tucker went first, a quick death from an aged body followed by years as the playful spirit I always knew him as. Sam, my life and my love, passed the same and was my queen in death as she’d been in life. But love can delay death but not deny it and their spirits needed to move on. I kissed them both, my soulmates and made them into stars. Thalia, the muse of comedy and idyllic poems for the light Tucker brought to me. Erato for Sam, muse of love and its poetry for all that she inspired and gave me.”

You see glowing tears running down his face, he holds his hands out to the night sky. His fingers are curved as if wanting to reach and tenderly brush the faces of people long gone. Only they’re not gone completely. You look at the stars with a newfound appreciation. They are no longer pinpricks of long dead light but people who lived and died and yet still lived on in such beauty. If you look closely, you can almost see them. Brushes of red hair, dark rugged skin, the glint of glasses, a flash of amethyst eyes.

“There’s no Urania,” you say quietly, the wind tossing them.

“Not yet,” he says longingly, “but soon. The Zone and the Earth are at peace, they won’t need my protection for much longer. When that happens, my spirit will leave this world and join my loved ones in the stars as Urania.” This ghost has been dead for longer than you’ve been alive, longer than many of your most recent ancestors. But his love can still be felt, still burns high above in the sky for everyone to see. What better eternity is there?

“May I tell their story?” You ask and he only nods in response, not taking his eyes off Mnemosyne. You get the feeling he has forgotten about you, caught up in the light of his loved ones shining down on him, waiting. All at once, you realize how late it is, how cold. You leave to return to the research shelter, to write the history of the miracle constellation.

The stars made out of souls, crafted by love.

Twelve years later, you are not surprised when you look up and see a ninth star in the constellation of Mnemosyne. It glows brightly, twinkling with the other muses as if in conversation. You can only smile through your tears, so profoundly happy that Urania’s lonely vigil is finally over and they have assumed their rightful place among the stars.

#dannymay2021 #danny phantom #i'm not crying you're crying #this came to me last night in the bath #the idea that Danny takes pieces of his loved ones soul and made them into stars #so that they can stay with him while he finishes his duty as Ghost King #I want to stress they all DID move on #these are just pieces of them #stars are echoes of light long gone and same for these stars #they're the memory of friends and family and enemies #people who meant so much to Danny that he blazed their souls across the sky so they could watch over him #while he finished he duty and waited to join them #Danny Fenton never went to the stars #but because of Phantom he was able to finally walk among them #arm and arm with the family of his soul #thats not a bad afterlife shining in the sky softly watching over the earth you spent so long protecting #dont fucking touch me #wanted to play with second person pov lmk if it sux #its danny fucking may now open up and eat your soft tender angst

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fukuokadivision1 · 2 years

Text

"If you want to go quickly, go alone. If you want to go far, go together."

Introduction

Ming Kawanoe is the third and final member of the Fukuoka rap battle team, MIHANASA. She is known by her MC name, Miss Ming. The proclaimed "mom" of the group, Ming does her best to make sure both her family and friends are well-cared for in the dangerous city of Fukuoka. And despite being cast out from her family and losing her right arm, she still manages to face each day with a smile.

Ming is a beautiful young woman in her early 20's with snow white skin and light brownish hair that flows downward to her upper back. She has heterochromia, as her eyes are different colors. Her right eye is golden-yellow and her left eye is emerald green. She has a birth mark on the lower left side of her face below her mouth.

Much like Gentaro Yumeno, she dresses like a traditional Japanese woman from the Sengoku period. Her attire is mainly made up of yukata, with her favorite being a pink one with cherry blossoms with red and white trims. It is tucked inside of her past which are lavender and fastened with a purple waist belt around her waist. She wears a pair of brown geta with white tabi. Lastly, she has a pink flower charm on the left side of her hair.

Name Meaning

Ming (ミング) - 'bright, light, clear'

Kawanoe (かわのえ) - 'river field'

Aliases

- Sensei - Her students

- Sis - Tasuku

- "Mom"/"Mother"

- Pretty

- Yukihime

- Disfigured

- Amputee

Biographical Info

Gender - Female

Age - 21

Birthday - July 27th

Ethnicity - Japanese

Hair Color - Light Brown

Eye Color - Golden-Yellow & Emerald Green

Height - 174 cm/5'8

Weight - 50 kg/110 lb.

Star Sign - Leo

Piercings - None

Markings - Has a tattoo of an 'X' on the back of her neck.

Family

Mother, Deceased

Father

Stepmother

Brother

Half-Brother

Voiced By - EMI MARIA (Rapping)

Fun Facts

MC Name - Miss Ming

Occupation - Teacher's Aide/Babysitter

Division - Fukuoka

Position - Third Member

Favorite Food - Okonomiyaki

Least Favorite Food - Soba

Likes - Children, learning, her friends, cooking, her brother, Gentaro Yumeno, feeding birds, sunny days, using her feet

Dislikes - Her brother's shamelessness, people making fun of her missing arm, her stepmother, misbehaving children, leg cramps, perverted men

Hypnosis Microphone

Ming's Microphone is a throat microphone that she puts around her neck, allowing her to rap hands-free.

Her Speaker takes the form of a large brown-covered book that is opened up. The characters on the pages are the lyrics to Ming's solo song.

Her rap ability, Stern Talking-To, has her rapping to her opponent, belittling them as if they are a child. This causes the opponent's embarrassment to rise, causing a drop in their defenses. She can only use this ability once per battle, and only on one opponent.

Ming's rap themes revolve around the love she has for her friends and family. She raps about the ordeals of her past, and how she has come out stronger for them, and that relying on your family can make everything alright. She also raps about her love for children, and how we must love and nurture them so they can grow up the right way.

Personality

Despite being the youngest of the trio, Ming is, without a doubt, the most mature of MIHANASA. Jokingly dubbed "mom" by her friends and the other children of Fukuoka, she cares deeply for the people close to her. As stated, she is very mature and knowledgeable, especially when it comes to survival and general common sense. Even though she is the youngest, both Sanyu and Tasuku know better than to upset Ming, who, as they can attest to, is "quite scary" when something upsets her.

Though she is normally a patient person, Ming can become quite irritable and upset when dealing with belligerent or uncooperative people, namely her brother. She becomes quite embarrassed whenever he does something she dubs as 'shameless', which usually ends with Tasuku flat on his back after receiving what he calls a 'Ming Chop' to the head. However, she truly loves and cares for her brother dearly, as she wordlessly and faithfully followed behind him after he was cast from their family household.

As stated, Ming cares deeply for her friends and family. She also holds a special place in her heart for children, as she dreams to someday become a mother and raise children of her own, which is why she enjoys her job as a teacher's aide, since it combines to things she loves the most: learning and children. She considers the children of Fukuoka to be worth more than the most priceless treasures in the world. So when she received word that they were being bullied and hurt by a bunch of adults who had nothing better to do with their time, they quickly find themselves in the war path of an enraged Ming who teaches them a stern lesson that they wouldn't soon forget.

Background

*Coming soon*

Trivia

When she was younger, she briefly worked as a prostitute in order to earn money for food for her and her friends.

She, at first, regretted cutting off her right arm. Not only because it upset her brother, but because that was her dominate hand. After a while, she admitted that she was glad she cut it off because it made her train to use both her left hand and her feet in order to get tasks done.

Her MC name is what her students often call her since many of them can't say 'sensei'. She also likes it because it sounds similar to 'missing', which is a reference to her missing arm.

Though she has enough money to get a prosthetic arm, she always refuses to get one. When asked why, she responds that her missing arm is what makes her 'unique'.

She is a huge fan of Gentaro Yumeno and his books. She hopes to meet him in person so she can get an autograph.

#hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #hypnosis mic #hypmic #hypnosis microphone #fukuoka division #ming kawanoe #MIHANASA #character bio

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troublesometrollhunters · 3 years

Text

~ Douxie is a lowly street urchin. He's the lowest class you can get and he's barely considered a person none the less a commoner. He has no place being near the castle or being offered by the Merlin to learn magic at the side of Morgana. He doesn't fit into the world of Nobility surrounding Camelot or the Royal Court. And yet as Merlin puts his hand on the young boys shoulder leading him to the castle as he holds a sleeping Archie close, Douxies never felt more at home.

~ When Douxie meets you it's love at first sight. You just looked so healthy and clean and kind. Almost angelic. With rosy cheeks and a bright smile he couldn't help but stare at you as your mom talked to Merlin about something. You were in the most beautiful clothes he'd ever seen and your hair was recently brushed and done. He swallows trying to find his words but you don't seem to mind as you fill the silence with your sweet voice. Archie stirs in his arms and as you leave with your mom waving a goodbye Archie gives him a knowing look as Merlin smacks his head.

~ "Absolutely not Hisirdoux." Merlin is firm on that point. Douxie is allowed many freedoms now that he lives in the castle but there are also many new rules. One of them is that he apprentally is not to talk with the Nobel he met his first day as Merlins apprentice. Or any Nobles he meets unless he is with Merlin and they address him first. His rank may be higher now that he is Merlins apprentice but it will never be high enough to truly intrest someone of your stature or decorum. At least that's what Merlin tells him.

~ So of course he may not be able to "talk" to you but Archie can. So the ten year old Douxie comes up with a plan! While he's working besides Merlin he sends Archie off too learn more about you. The familiar seeing Douxies interest in you is quit keen on gaining knowledge for his young master. So the cat sneaks off to ask you some questions.

~ Your alone in your room studying when he finds you. You're reading and when he appears your eager to pet him. I mean he is a small fluffy cat. However when he speaks you seem hesitant to talk back at first, afraid that a fae is tricking you or you might get cursed. But a talking cat is so exciting and he seems very well mannered so you end up answering all his questions in exhange for some of your own. When Archie comes back that night Douxie learns everything about you Archie had learned. Apprentally you're the child of a Dutchess or perhaps a distant cousin of King Arthur but whoever you are Archie confirms you're way out of Douxies league. That in no way stops them however.

~ Merlin said Douxie is not to court you. But he isn't intrested in marriage (yet) he only wants your hand in friendship. After all your his age and you live in the castle and you seem super nice. He may be a middle class mage but he does live in the castle which means little Douxie often has free riegn of it. He's worried about guards spotting him near your room so he sends Archie too you with questions he has. Sometimes he's brave and he'll catch glimpses of you throughout the castle. He always gets a dopey smile on his face after he's seen you.

~ One day as he sits at his desk looking at the window waiting for Archie to come and tell him more about you he gets a surprise. His face lights up seeing his familiar and he notices something in the cats mouth. Archie smiles as he hands over a letter.

'Hisirdoux I've heard a lot about you from your familiar. Archie says you should give him more treats for his troubles and I agree he's a good cat who often visits me when I am lonely.

My name is (Y/N) and although we haven't formally met and talked alone I remember you. Merlins apprentice learning magic! That must be so exciting! Much better than my dull tasks in the court! I am always with escort or guard or parent otherwise I assure you we would've met and talked again. I often catch you in the corner of my eye and it always bring a smile to my face. You seem very kind and many of my friends sadly are not. So I have come up with a plan. For now I can not meet you in person but someday soon I will find a way.

Until then lets write letters. It'll be an adventure.

- Love (Y/N)

~ Archie doesn't mind being a messanger. He finds your friendship with Doxuie endearing and soon comes to care for you as much as the boy. Douxie immediately gets excited at the idea of writing you a letter and responds as soon as he finsihes reading yours.

~ Dear (Y/N),

Merlin said I'm not supposed to talk to you but he never said I couldn't write too you! You're brilliant for thinking of this and I don't listen to everything he says anyways. Merlin is a great teacher and I am grateful to him but he is also a hard enforcer. Learning magic under him is difficult and I do a lot more cleaning than actual magic.

But that's okay! I enjoy working under him. What must your life be like I wonder? A Royal in the Court? What do you do? What are you Royal duties? I mostly mop, sweep, and write endless hours of boring homework nothing exciting like this!

P.S I gave Archie lots of pets and treats just like you asked!

- Your friend Hisirdoux Casperan

~ Soon starts a game of back and forth. Every night or every other night you write letters to him and he writes back. You exchange smiles in the hall and nod at each other in passing. It's the biggest secret either of you have ever had and sometimes it takes everything not to giggle at the sight of each other. You may not be able to hang out properly but as you begin to get to know each other more intimately Hisirdoux takes more risks too see you and you in turn do the same.

~ A year goes by and Douxie starts adding in small things to your letters. He loves giving you little gifts and trying to catch a reaction in the hallway, as dangerous as it might be, he loves seeing your smile whenever you receive something. Pressed flowers, poetry he read in old books, and knick nacks he found in town being some of his favorites to give you. In turn you give him sweets, books you like to read, small sketches, interesting facts from your studies, pretty crystals, and anything else you think he'll enjoy.

~ As teenager's Archie had been your letterman for years. Acting as a middle ground since it was almost impossible to meet alone. You and Hisirdoux had become closer despite not being able to meet in person much and as you both were given more freedom as you got older you found ways to meet and talk, Archie acting as a look out as you snuck moments alone.

~ You both find out the castle has secret passages throughout the walls when your about 13. Douxie and you are now able to meet in secret and have free reign of the castle at night when everyone is asleep. Some nights you both sneak into the kitchens stealing tarts and other sweets, other nights you spend in the library reading together into the early hours of the morning, and other nights are spent wandering the castle learning all it's secrets. Sometimes you even sneak to the roof or observatory and stare out at the stars talking about your dreams and what you wish to be and do.

~ As he becomes better at music he finds himself sitting beneath your rooms balcony or practicing outside your room so you can hear his music. You only encourage his craft and your encouragement makes his heart soar. He loves singing silly ballads to you and has even snuck in some romantic lyrics.

~ He loves showing off his magic. He's so proud of his craft and he's proud of how your eyes light up when you watch him do a spell. He enjoys watching your reactions as he casts his latest mark and often does spells he probably shouldn't to try and impress you. His favorite trick is summoning a flower and tucking it behind your ear. Your blush is always so pretty as he places it for you.

~ He sneaks into your library or places you go throughout the day to leave you things to find. Pressed flowers became a common occurrence in your books, or bits of a song he'd wrote slip into your school notes. Sometimes drawings and other small assorted things will appear through out the day as you do your duties as well. Unknown to Casperan you keep everything he gives you in a box under your bed in your room. All the letters he's written to you are safely tucked away in a large hollow book you made.

~ It becomes easier for him to sneak into your room or you to sneak into his as you get older. There are secret tunnels in the castle walls you use to meet up.

~ As you grow older you know your hand will soon be given to some other Nobel family but you dream of a life with Douxie. One where you could be yourself and you could live a life of love, magic, and adventure. He made you happy and although it wasn't practical you often daydreamed of running away together or becoming a mage yourself just so you could marry him.

~ One night when Archie goes to check up on you and say goodnight he runs back to Hisirdoux worried. Apprentally the ball of furr had heard you crying and ran back to tell young Casperan. He of course ran to your room doing his best not to be seen. You were waiting for Archie to come say goodnight but you'd fallen asleep and then woken from a terrible nightmare. Your door opens and looking up you sniffle and stare at Casperan with scared eyes. He lays next to you and you lean against him closing your eyes and taking in his comfort. Holding you close he uses his magic to play you a song staying with you until you drift asleep.

~ You're both more than friends. You both know it but neither of you have admitted it. The Royal Court would never allow you to love each other. You could never be married officially and eventually you'd be forced into a loveless life with someone else. However tension is rising in Camelot and things are changing. Magic may soon be banned and with it Douxies passion. You're idea to run away becomes more and more appealing as the world around you slowly dissolves into choas.

~ One night while everyone was asleep you sneak into his room. Shaking him awake you put a finger to your mouth and drag the sleepy boy to the stables. Under the moonlight you both ride out of Camelot to spend one night together. One night where you can just be who you both are. You explain your plan. What you should do and although Douxie does not want to leave he agrees it's unsafe.

~ You pack. You know you can't take much but you've arranged for a carriage with two horses so you and Douxie can at least start with something. All your jewellery and valuables along with pouches full of gold, silver, and copper from the Royal Treasury are put into a large satchel you hide under your bed. You pack a few of your least fancy dresses and steal pants from the stable boy. All of your favorite books, drawing supplies, and poems are shoved into a different satchel. You hide the hollow book of letters and all the gifts Hisirdoux wrote you in the stable and you prepare to leave.

~ Packing the carriage late at night under the stars Douxie and Archie meet you. Douxie has a satchel full of potions, a purse full of magic scrolls and books no one will miss, the letters you wrote him, and his lute. He also grabbed dried meat from the kitchen, biscuits, and canteens of water.

"Love are you sure?" He's so tender so soft and so full of love. You know this is meant to be.

"Without you Douxie life is not worth living. You love me not for my riches. Not for looks. Not for my status but for me. No matter what happens I love you."

~ That's all Douxie needs to hear before he takes the reigns and you both leave. Fleeing your life from Camelot and going on a new adventure. One of adventure, magic, and love. You know things will never be the same but that's alright. You have him, he has you, and you both had Archie. As you flee under the stars avoiding trolls and traveling several towns over you know this is meant to be.

(Comments and feedback appreciated :D)

#hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux x reader #douxie x reader #wizards x reader #noble reader #morgana #merlin #archie #hello!#i read way too much douxie fanfiction #so heres the boy #i love him #fair warning still havent seen wizards 😬😬😬#hope this is good!#cannon divergent #in which douxie finds someone he loves and leaves Camelot before everything goes to hell #douxie #long post

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imagineaworlds · 3 years

Text

Rules & Roses

“are you following me?”

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sex. Pretty sure that’s it.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Non-binary!Reader x Emily Prentiss (poly triad)

Word Count: 2073

Paranoia was starting to kick in. After days of running that same path without seeing another trace of that woman who reminded me of Lauren, I was genuinely starting to worry about just how fucking insane I was. I mean, think about it this way: I dedicated six years of my life to loving Lauren Reynolds so passionately that nothing else in the world mattered. As long as I had her, I was content. Then, one day, without warning, she was gone, and I was left to pick up the pieces. After those six years loving someone to the point that my life became theirs, it was hard to move on. Truthfully, I don’t think I ever did. There I was, thirteen years later, and my whole life was still about Lauren. For all I knew, she disappeared of her own free will. She woke up on that Wednesday morning, decided that she had enough of me, so she made it seem like she was going to the market, but she was really getting as far away from me as possible. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised. I mean, I thought she loved me… but Lauren liked to keep moving, and she didn’t like to get close with anyone— hence why I hardly knew anything about her— so it was possible that she just got bored of me. If that were the case, then I was definitely insane for still being head over heels in love with her.

Not knowing what happened with her, or with us, made it impossible for me to gauge if it was okay for me to actually still be strung on her or not. The good news was, however, that I could run it out every morning at the park. Since it was slowly getting colder, the tourists were spending more of their time in the city where there was artificial heating. As for the usual faces I saw on the path, they were still there. The older couples that liked to walk the path on the warm, sunny days so that they could stare at all of the different flowers in the huge garden all day were already long gone, probably cooped up in their homes to stay warm with each other. I envied that life. It was the life I wanted with— Stop. The point of running was to just focus on the burn in my lungs and legs. Playing my music as loud as I could in my ear was also to help deter any wandering thoughts. If anything, I could just focus on the lyrics and pretend that I was elsewhere in the world with her— No.

Thirteen fucking years and I still couldn’t shake Lauren Reynolds.

As I reached the top of the U-turn, I decided to sit down on the bench there for once. Usually, it was taken up by one of the older couples or a lazy tourist; but, since they were all gone— and no one else was going to dare to sit on the cold metal— I got to stretch out for a moment as I caught my breath and tried to end this tug-of-war in my mind. People continued to pass. As they made their way around the U-turn, they each sent me a glance, all for different reasons. Some were confused, others were curious, and others had just accidentally looked over at me. There was confusion because it was way too cold to just be sitting on a metal bench in the park, and curiosity because they wanted to make sure I was alright. With every glance that came, however, I tried to see if I could spot that woman who looked like Lauren. I really wanted to see her again. Not because I wanted to talk to her or something, but because I just needed that reassurance that it wasn’t her. I needed to move on. Despite the fact that I hadn’t seen her again since that first glance, I was holding out hope that at some point I would get to prove to myself that I wasn’t cray.

“How are you not freezing?” his muffled voice passed through the music playing in my headphones just enough to catch my attention.

I looked up at him. It was the man from the other day, the one who bumped into me— the six foot Nordic God that I had ignored. I gulped. “I’m used to it.”

“Ah. So, you can say more than ‘sorry’.” He laughed. My eyes raked down his figure, taking in every detail of him. Since it was so cold out, his hair wasn’t all sweaty and sticking to his forehead this time around. His brown eyes were just as dark and endless this time as they were the first time, though, and I felt myself getting lost for a second before I caught myself on the detail of how his nose flared to stop himself from smiling when he saw me staring. “I’m Aaron,” he said when he realized that I didn’t know how to respond.

I smiled up at him. “Nice to meet you.”

“What’s your name?”

I stayed silent, my headphones still in my ears. I thought that it was common knowledge that you weren’t supposed to bother someone when they had headphones in. Then again, Aaron looked older, so it was possible that it was a generation rule, not a societal one. I stood from the cold bench to show that I wasn’t going to answer him. His eyes followed mine. As I jumped on my toes to try and warm myself up, my gaze continued to search his body. He was wearing a tight grey Under Armor shirt that showed off his loose abs that he was working on, and his biceps… Again, a six foot Nordic God. As for his pants, he was wearing knee-length black sports shorts over black tights to keep his legs warm. My eyes snapped back up to meet his face when I heard him chuckle.

“You’re shy,” he said to me.

“Not really.”

“So, then, what’s your name?”

This guy wasn’t going to give up— but, again, Americans were normally people that kept to themselves. If they didn’t, it was a huge red flag. The fact that this guy bumped into me the other day, and now he was trying to use that brief interaction as an excuse to talk to me again was unnerving. Stranger danger, right? That was an American concept, for the most part, but I supposed it was a valid thing to be concerned about. At this point, I had learned that they were onto something with their “stranger danger” concept. Despite the fact that this man was very attractive, looks could be deceiving. I wasn’t going to give him my name or any other attention, really. The less the better. I shouldn’t have stopped on that bench. I shouldn’t have stopped on the path the other day when he bumped into me, and I shouldn’t have stopped on the bench this time. I needed to learn to just keep moving. Just because I had all the time in the world to do what I want in the mornings now, that didn’t mean I should lolligag.

“I should go,” I said.

This time, he didn’t stop me with any kind of protest or hold on my hips. I wasn’t sure why, but that one detail from that morning stuck out the most— well, besides the fact that I thought I saw Lauren. He had knocked into me because of my sudden halt, and in order to save me from falling flat on my face, he caught my hips and held me until he was sure that I was okay. Even then, I had to pull from his touch. With all of the caution I had been proceeding with, it was irking me that I couldn’t forget how he held me. Maybe it was just the fact that he was attractive. I was easily blinded by love and sexuality— use Lauren Reynolds as the prime example— so, I couldn’t trust even myself when it came to attractive strangers like the six foot Nordic God who was following me around.

When I arrived at my car after my run, I sat down in the driver’s seat, the door still open so that I could knock the dirt off my running shoes and change into something more comfortable. As the sun was coming up for the rest of the morning, it started to warm up, but only slightly, I missed being warm all the time. Even with the constant traveling Lauren and I did, we managed to catch everywhere when it was warm. We never ran into snow unless it was on purpose. Like, this one time, Lauren took me to Poland so that we could stay in a cabin where the snow could trap us in, giving us all the time in the world to just be together and not be interrupted by anything. I hated the snow without her. I hated the cold without her. She used to keep me warm, no matter what. Now, I had no one to keep me warm, which made the cold— especially the D.C. cold— unbearable.

“I didn’t mean to scare you off earlier,” he said.

I rolled my eyes before looking up at him. “Are you following me? Do I need to call the cops?”

He laughed. “No. I just wanted to apologize. I’ll leave you alone—”

“Good. ‘Cause I will call the police—” My threat fell short when he dug into his pocket, pulling out a black wallet, then flipped it open so that I could see the inside. My jaw dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

I scanned every line of the I.D. laminated next to the bright gold FBI badge. “So, your name really is Aaron.” That was a relief, I supposed.

He laughed again. “Yeah.” He pocketed his badge. “I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was just on a run the other day with my friend, and we were racing, so I was trying to keep up after she passed you; but I wasn’t looking where I was going, so I ran into you.”

“Did she win?”

“What?”

“Your friend. Did she win your race because of me?”

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from widening his smile. “Yeah, she did. She would have won anyways. She’s fast.”

“You’ll have to challenge her to a rematch, that way I can bump into her next time so that you can win.”

I shivered suddenly. I tried to pass it off like I was cold, but, in reality, it was because I had just realized that I was flirting with him, even though I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with a stranger. It was just that he pulled out that badge, and it suddenly gave me a sense of security with him— even though it could have been a fake badge, or the fact that he was still a stranger with a badge. I shouldn’t have been warming up to him as quickly as I was. I knew it was wrong. I knew that it was dangerous. Yes, neither of us could stop smiling. After not smiling for so long, I thought I forgot how to laugh. Then he came along, and it seemed easy to smile and laugh. It was natural. Unlike the other day, this wasn’t forced or awkward. We were just two people who happened to keep running into each other on the path, and because of that, we felt the need to create polite conversation. Still, it was wrong— It didn’t have to be wrong. No. It was. A badge didn’t mean he wasn’t still a stranger to me.

Aaron seemed to notice the truth behind my shiver, though, so he backed down. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay…” He turned on his heels to make his way to his car.

“Y/N,” I said urgently.

He stopped. “What?” he asked while turning back around.

I swallowed hard. “My name’s Y/N. I figure, if you’re in the FBI, you’d find out sooner than later.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“It’s okay.”

Aaron bit his lip nervously. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Aaron. See you tomorrow.”

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

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss fanfic #emily prentiss fanfiction

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

Text

BTS Reaction || You’re Really Smart

A/N: As someone who has a REALLY low IQ I decided to try and change it to you’re really smart, I hope that’s okay? If no one gets the lyric reference in Namjoon’s I might cry…

Seokjin:

Namjoon had the great idea of taking everyone to an escape room for the day and here you were paired up with Jin, Taehyung and Jimin who were all walking around aimlessly as they tried to figure out the room. Namjoon had told you to go with them while he went with Jungkook and Yoongi you figured it would be a breeze and for you it was. You'd already figured out the clues but kept your mouth shut cause the boys were too busy trying to come up with it.

"Guys?" You asked looking up from the floor to meet Jin who looked like he was ready to swear at his kids, Jimin who looked about ready to cry and Taehyung who was staying calm throughout.

"Why did we do a horror escape room, I hate this," Jin said to you, you smiled at him and then whispered in his ear the answer to getting out, at least into the next room.

"How long have you known this?" You shrugged your shoulders, to you it seemed simple but according to the boys it was almost impossible for them to even see how to put any of the clues together.

(X)

You all made it out of the horror escape room in record time and Jin was throwing his arms around you,

"And this is why she's the best girlfriend." He yelled kissing your cheeks and then laughing as you pushed him away, dramatically wiping your cheeks where he'd kissed you.

"You guys cheated, she has a high IQ," Yoongi mumbled you stared at him with an eyebrow raised,

"Namjoon has a high IQ though..." Namjoon stared at you and then over at the boys who were expecting an explanation.

"Just because someone has a high IQ doesn't mean their massively smart." You told them and then Namjoon agreed with you. Both of you going into a long rant about how IQ tests are measured in different ways and not everyone has a good IQ because their minds are stronger in other ways.

Yoongi:

"Yoongi can we go back to the hotel I'm tired." You yawned to Yoongi as you walked around the streets, he'd brought you along to Amsterdam with him on tour and was trying to get some sightseeing done but you'd been up all night researching for a paper.

"Maybe if you didn't stay up all night there wouldn't be a problem." He chuckled, tapping your cheeks in an attempt to wake you up. You both walked over to a small cafe and ordered a coffee, where you stood at a table and leant your head on your hands. Eyes closed as Yoongi flipped through a tour guide book trying to find his next spot.

"This will wake you up, explain string theory to me since that's what you were researching." You nodded and thought over how you were going to explain it to him,

"It's a theoretical framework in which the point-like particles of particle physics are then replaced by one-dimensional objects, strings. The theory describes how the strings propagate through space and interact with each other...String theory is a theory of quantum gravity." He stared at you from across the table, you hadn't even opened your eyes to explain it.

"That was as if it was just stored in the back of your mind...How did you do that?" You shrugged your shoulders and opened your eyes, Yoongi was starting to look uncomfortable.

"What?" You mumbled standing up straight as he pulled you back in the direction of the car he'd rented.

"Going back to the hotel."

"To sleep?!"

"No." He smirked grabbing your hand and pulling you faster through the crowds of people so he could get to the hotel as quickly as possible with you. He'd always loved how smart you were and hearing you talk about something like String theory as if it was common knowledge made him want you more.

Hoseok:

For as long as you could remember you'd had a fascination for true crime and all things like that, your brain seemed to store all of the facts about that and not much else.

"We should enter a quiz." Jungkook said as you walked into the pub in Malta, you looked up from your phone and nodded in agreement, turning to look at Hoseok who was nodding as well,

"It'll be fun." You giggled pulling Hoseok over to a table and getting the team name ready.

"It's all based on common knowledge by the looks of it," Jungkook said as you and Hoseok giggled from across the table. You'd been dating for three years and you were still just as happy as the day he asked you out.

(X)

It was the last round and so far you were doing well for points but the last round was on true crime, Hoseok looked at you and nodded. He was the only one out of all of the boys that knew about your extensive knowledge of serial killers.

"Who knows this?" Jungkook asked in confusion, you took the paper from his hand.

"Types of a killer? Easy, organised, disorganised, and mixed." Jungkook stared at you,

"How many people did Harold Shipman kill?" Jungkook read out the next question while Hoseok watched as you answered it without blinking.

"200 but that's only ones that have been confirmed, there are a lot around him that are labelled suspicious."

You won the quiz but on the way back to the hotel Hoseok had his arm linked around your waist and Jungkook asked for facts about other serial killers,

"Ted Bundy had a collie called Lassie." You yawned as the door to your hotel was pushed open, Jungkook was wide awake and wanted to know more though. Asking question after question while Hoseok walked you into the bedroom,

"Talk about it in the morning Kookie, I'm sleepy." You whined dropping onto the bed, Hoseok following you and smiling at how brilliant his girlfriend was

Namjoon:

Namjoon had fallen in love the moment you opened your mouth to talk to him. You were both walking around a museum together, your brother had Jimin decided to bring you along and now you were alone with Namjoon, both walking in uncomfortable silence until you both got excited over the same painting. You began listing of facts about the painting and artist and Namjoon just stared as you spoke about it, and then watched as you did the same with the next painting. Now, whenever you went out on dates he found himself learning more from you than he did from the small plaques on the walls beside the paintings.

"Where do you store it all?" Taehyung asked one day while you were out with Namjoon, hands locked together as you strolled through the Natural History Museum. It turned out your facts didn't stop with art, it included History and other subjects.

"I don't know, I think my brain is like a sponge and it just soaks it all up." You giggled, Namjoon smirked and span you around under his arm,

"I don't care where it comes from, your sexy mind is my favourite." He whispered in your ear, kissing your cheek as you giggled trying to push him away. When he first met you he'd never seen the need for public displays of affection but there was just something about you, something that made him want to show everyone that you were his and he was proud of you.

"I love you." He whispered to you as Taehyung wandered off, you'd only been dating for two months but he knew it was real.

"I love you too." You whispered back to him with a smile on your face, rushing off to find Tae.

Jimin:

Much like Namjoon when he first started out in the industry, you and your group were featured on a lot of different quiz shows because you were smart.

"Next we have Jimin and Namjoon from BTS and Y/N and Lucia from H.E.A.R.T." The producer said into the camera and all of you went to introduce yourself to each other and to the cameras.

(X)

The show had gone amazingly and the whole time Jimin couldn't keep his eyes off you, he found himself watching the way you worked. How whenever there was a question partially hard you would push your glasses further onto your nose, or throw your hair into a ponytail. He was teased by the host and Namjoon for staring of course, and it only made you blush whenever you felt his eyes on you and you looked up to see him staring at you.

"Where did you learn to memorise all this stuff?" He asked when you were all standing in a changing room together,

"I don't know, I guess I've just always stored it away." You laughed looking over at Namjoon who was with your band member, talking about songs you should all work on together.

"It's so hot." Your breath hitched in your throat from how outspoken he was and you blushed a bright red colour,

"I think you're hot too." You giggled, looking at the floor as you bit down on your lip trying not to come across as too eager for him but he was now blushing.

"We should hang out sometime...Without all the quizzes, maybe get some food? Or if you're too busy maybe just a drink." You tried to hold back the small laugh and nodded, touching the top of his arm to stop him from ranting.

"I'd love that Jimin, call me sometime." You told him, writing down your number on his hand and then walking out of the changing room with your band member.

Taehyung:

Taehyung knew about your extensive knowledge of Shakespeare and used it whenever he could, right now you were sitting in the dorms with him and the rest of the boys talking about old English, Tae was in a debate with Jungkook over Charles Dickens and Shakespeare.

"Look all I'm saying is Y/n can tell you different Sonnets by heart and then the meaning behind it." You looked up from your noodles and stared at Jungkook who was staring at you, Namjoon looking up from his book to hear the argument between you all.

"Sonnet 130?" Namjoon said, closing his book. Taehyung turned to look at you and you swallowed the noodles that were half hanging out of your mouth.

"My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rar. As any she belied with false compare." Namjoon blinked at you and Tae had a giant smile across his face.

"Meaning?" Yoongi questioned finding himself more invested in the conversation now you'd said a Sonnet without blinking or looking it up.

"Okay so for the shortened version it's offering the readers a different look at female beauty and what it's like to love someone with all their shortcomings and for what they don't like." You explained, going back to your food and turning to look at the TV while Tae was sitting there with a smile on his face, arm wrapped around your shoulder.

Jungkook:

You were standing in the kitchen making yourself a cup of tea when you heard Jungkook scream, you thought he'd just died in a game at first but then you heard him rushing around the living room,

"Kookie?" You questioned walking into the room to see him on his phone, you looked at the desk and his computer screen was black,

"I was in the middle of a game!" He yelled, clearly stressed out over the fact that his computer was potentially broken, he began taking it apart to see what was going on with it and then stressed even more because he couldn't figure out what was going on.

"Let me." You said throwing away the apple core and walking over, you put your glasses on and bent down on the floor.

"Wait here," You walked off upstairs and he waited for you as he looked for a new PC online but you knew he didn't need to do that, you searched through the boxes until you found it and then came bounding down the stairs carrying the power supply, taking his out and replacing it, connecting everything up to the correct holes and making sure the motherboard was linked up properly. Booting up the PC and watching as Jungkook's mouth fell open as he watched you doing it.

"What?" You questioned putting the side back onto his PC and putting it back on the desk and brushing off your hands.

"How did you know to do that?" You shrugged your shoulders and walked back into the kitchen with Jungkook asking you question after question.

tagline:

@babymochichimmy @ficdump101 @yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @yourguessisasgoodasminemate @kpopfanfictionhoes @lyoongx @rjsmochii @mitzwinchester @callingmyangel

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whitecrowapothecary · 3 years

Text

Like A Dream

Jaskier has had dreams for as long as he could remember- of monsters and magic and all the things that go bump in the night. He dreams of golden eyes and silver swords and honeyed ballads.

AKA the modern immortal/reincarnation AU no one asked for but I’m writing

Read it on AO3 here!

There’s music around him. Coming from him, his throat warm and honeyed with the lyrics he sings. Not him- the bard, the unknown man who captures his mind at night when he closes his eyes. He- they- are playing for an audience. Jaskier is used to this, the wayward looks, captured attention, but it’s… new. There’s an instrument in his hand he’s never learned to play and lyrics on his lips he’s never written, clothes resplendent of another time, another world, and he drinks it in with abandon. Full, flowing skirts, jackets made of the richest silk brocade in all colors, though all are muted compared to the bright, rich amethyst ensemble he seems to have donned for the performance.

He’s deep into his set, if he should call it that, singing about a fishmongers daughter just to get a laugh out of the crowd when his eyes catch on a small, insignificant detail. Jaskier sings and sways among the royalty around him, but all he can see is gold with flecks of amber, curious cat eyes watching him from the shadows. He takes a step closer, then two, then three until he’s propelling through the crowd, and just as a jaw covered in a neat snow white beard is unearthed from the shadows, a blare sounds, and the image shatters.

He gasps awake, clutching at his chest and trying to quell the shaking of his hands. Sweat sticks his hair to the back of his neck and his forehead in small curls which Jaskier rakes a hand through. On the nightstand, next to the bed, his phone vibrates, clanking softly against the wood until Jaskier scoops it up and hits answer. There are only a handful of people who will actually ring through.

“What, Pris?”

“Ah, woke you up huh? Touchy touchy. You haven’t forgotten about our brunch date, have you?” The voice on the other end is perky, far too awake for Jaskier’s liking right now.

“No, no of course not. You aren’t here yet, are you?” He slips from bed, grimacing and rummaging through his closet for something to wear, phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder.

“Almost, a block away.”

“Shit, okay, let yourself in?” The woman on the other end hums, amused, and Jaskier hangs up. Leave it to him to fail to set an alarm for something like this. He drags his sorry carcass into the bathroom, intent on getting a shower. He feels cold and sticky for all the wrong reasons, and when he looks at himself in the mirror the blue in his eyes is offset by the purple bags underneath. It’s… not an attractive look for himself. The hot water pounds against his back when he hops under the spray and he groans, letting it wash over him. Praying it’ll wash away the dream that seems to cling to him, digging at his bones and refusing to leave.

He’d had the dreams for as long as he could remember- at first they were nothing more than terrors, dreams of hideous, foul smelling creatures with sharp claws. Claws that regularly tore into the soft flesh of his belly, or the tender meat of his thigh, leaving him to wake up screaming and thrashing in bed. His parents, bless them, had tried everything to help, from heavy medication to therapy to a stint in a mental facility, but nothing took the monsters away. Medication only trapped him within his dreams, unable to wake up until he was well and thoroughly taken apart, and therapists only insisted the monsters were representations of some trauma he’d sustained as a child. The stay at the mental facility, well, that was more a break for his parents than thirteen year old Jaskier.

He’d learned to hide them, since then, to hold people at arms length and keep them from seeing what he truly was. The monsters rarely followed him into real life, but on the occasion he saw mention of a kikimore on the news, or a striga cropped up in Germany somewhere, well, it was all too easy to flip the channel and pretend. Now though… it was becoming harder and harder to leave his dreams behind when the sun came up. The dreams had shifted when he was almost eighteen, from monsters hunting and maiming him to something else- instruments and performances and gaudy, awful clothing he had no name for. Days spent walking and walking and walking, sweating under the sun but grinning like it didn’t bother whoever was in his dreams. It was harder still, to pretend that the performer in his dreams didn’t have his hands, his wonderful, skillful fingers, or the voice he’d spent years fine tuning.

He’s knocked from his reverie by the sound of his front door opening and clicking shut and the smell of food drifting in. His stomach growls loudly, protesting it’s current situation, and Jaskier hurries to finish his shower and get dressed. He’s got a towel in hand, scrubbing at his hair when he pads out barefoot and spots the blonde currently tinkering with his tv remote. Her blue eyes are bright, friendly, and she motions to the spread of food currently piled on his coffee table.

“Got you coffee.”

“Thank Melitele.” He makes a beeline for it, not caring the way it burns his tongue as he gulps it down. That draws a laugh from his companion, and he throws himself onto the couch, settling his legs across her lap and tossing his towel onto the chair nearby. He’ll get it later. “You’re a godsend, you know that Priscilla?”

A small smile plays on the woman’s lips, colored by rouge lipstick, and she raises a brow. “I do, but it’s nice to hear. Did you not sleep at all last night, Jaskier?”

“Ah, I’m afraid my muse kept me up, as usual.” He grins at her, reaching out to snag a strawberry from her plate before bending to get at the french toast on the coffee table. It smells absolutely divine, and maybe some food will make him feel more like himself and less like a shell of someone else.

“You really need to learn how to prioritize sleep.” Priscilla says, shaking her head fondly and digging into her eggs. He hums, half paying attention to the news on the screen. It’s nothing new, stocks going up and down, the latest in sports, and something about him, actually. Talking about his newest single that’s put him up in the top ten- Her Sweet Kiss. Jaskier clicks away before they can play the music, drawing a laugh from Priscilla. “You know, you never told me where the song came from.”

“Didn’t I? A whirlwind affair in Europe, during my last tour. She was… incredible, shall I say? Truly someone never forgotten.” He’s bullshitting and Priscilla knows it. The song had come to him, as most do now, in his dreams. Ringing through his ears in a voice so close to his he can feel his throat burning when he wakes up. She doesn’t press though- she knows better than to push Jaskier too far. The glassy, far away look he got when thinking about whatever it was that inspired his songs was sad, old, and lingered on Jaskier’s face the rest of the day. Jaskier focuses on eating now, barely tasting bite after bite and only stopping when his stomach is full. Priscilla does much the same, but she chatters through the melancholy.

Jaskier stops himself on a random show, listening to Priscilla but staring at the screen. It’s something nonsense, talking about old instruments, but his hand stops mid bite, the french toast falling back onto his plate with a wet smack. He stares, wide eyed, at the wide, oval bowl of the instrument and the short, sturdy neck. The strings, there are more than a guitar but not nearly enough- no, his had more. Six pairs, one singular. His?

“-ier? Jaskier, what is it?”

“What is that?” His voice sounds strange, words twisted faintly by an accent he’s never had before, and he sets his plate down as Priscilla looks between him and the tv.

“An instrument? You put on the show.”

“But what kind?” At this Priscilla frowns. She doesn’t seem to know either, and she shrugs reluctantly.

“We could ask Essi, I’m sure she knows more. Why, do you recognize it?”

“No.” He says softly, switching the tv off. He ignores Priscilla’s worried look and goes instead to put on socks and shoes, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. It’s big, engulfs his frame, but there’s something about it he couldn’t get out of his head when he’d seen it in a thrift shop off of 28th. It’s also entirely too hot outside to need it, but he feels naked without it, and the hood will give him a better chance at remaining hidden. Not that that happens much anymore. Priscilla has the food cleaned up when he steps out of his room, and she swings her keys around her finger, lingering near the door.

“Where are we going today, my famous friend?” Jaskier rolls his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Anywhere but here. I think I’ll go mad if I hide in bed anymore.”

“That’s the spirit! There’s this new music store on Madison we could check out, and then that little bistro for a late lunch-” Her words fade from his ears as they merge into the crowd outside of his apartment building. He slips on sunglasses, nondescript ones he’d gotten from a random gas station, and prays that today he looks like anyone else. With Priscilla at his side, arm looped through his, no one pays much attention to the couple wandering down the street, chattering away. Jaskier feels a rush of gratitude for his friend, for the unwavering presence she is in his life. He’s not sure how he would have managed his budding fame without her, or handled being recognized everywhere once his face and name and music became more common knowledge.

“You’re the one who wrote the songs.” A rough voice reminds him, teasing.

“Yes, well, I didn’t expect them to break into my HOUSE for an autograph!”

“Get better doors. And a guard.” He drowns in those eyes, an endless pool of gold, and he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair away, a smile stretching his lips wide.

“Why would I need anyone other than you?”

Jaskier stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk, pitching forward, and it’s only Priscilla next to him that keeps him standing. He rights himself, cheeks pink, and laughs despite his heart pounding in his chest.

“Ah, rather clumsy today. I probably should have had more coffee.”

“Or more sleep.” She counters, Jaskier laughing again and nodding in agreement. More sleep is definitely what he needs. A nice, dreamless sleep. Maybe if he gets that, he’ll be able to function like a human being again, instead of walking through the world with half a mind stuck firmly in fiction. The music shop is a quaint, cute little building tucked in a strip of other quaint buildings, and Jaskier ducks into the dim light of the shop. There are rows and rows of cds, vinyls, movies and more, and his eyes track along them all, taking in the sights and colors. There are plenty of instruments on the wall, guitars, basses, a couple of keyboards and a few sets of bongos even. There seems to be little rhyme or reason besides the alphabetical arrangement of the displays, and Jaskier spends his time wandering while Priscilla goes straight for the vinyls.

He’s near the back of the shop, by the counter when he spots an instrument on display behind the glass display. The sight is enough to make him freeze, and he stares at the smooth wood, the graceful curve of the instrument, finding that his fingers have begun to twitch. This can’t be a coincidence.

“Do you play?” A voice breaks through to him, and he has to blink a few times before he can focus on the man standing before him. His dark hair curls rather attractively, falling around his face and framing rather striking hazel eyes. Jaskier’s countenance sours immediately, and he squints suspiciously. It takes the man a moment, but he grins wide when he recognizes Jaskier. “Dandelion! A pleasure to have you here.”

“Valdo. This is your shop?”

“It is indeed, opened it up after my last album.” He’s proud, almost annoyingly so, but Jaskier begrudgingly has to admit the shop is rather nice. His eyes wander back to the instrument behind Valdo, and Valdo raises his brows. “You never said if you played. Would you like to hold it?”

“You’d let me?”

“I’ve seen how you care for your guitar. I’d warn you it’s expensive, but I know you’re good for any damages.” Jaskier snorts as the other man goes to grab the instrument, and his fingers drum against his thighs. “Do you even know what this is?”

“Not a clue.” Jaskier’s hands are reaching for it as soon as Valdo holds it out, and he tucks the strap around his body. The neck settles into his hands, fingers resting on the strings, and a line of tension holding his body razor tight snaps.

“It’s a-” The soft sound of Jaskier plucking out a melody stops Valdo short, and Jaskier closes his eyes to ward off the dizziness.

A fire crackles merrily in front of him as he plays, tinkering away at a tune with his notebook close by. He isn’t sure about the harmony of the piece, the way the notes blend together. There’s something missing, and he can’t figure out what it is. He stops with a heavy sigh, scrubbing at his face and wracking his brain.

“You’re missing the lowest note in the harmony.”

“Pardon?” He looks up, sees the sensual curve of a small smirk on a very ruggedly handsome face, and those eyes, always those eyes staring back. The man comes over, reeking of pine and metal and home, and reaches to softly pluck at one of the strings. The note rings out and Jaskier latches on.

“Try.” The man whispers, and Jaskier does, drawing the note into his harmony and grinning at the fully bodied life it brings.

Jaskier’s head is spinning when he finally opens his eyes again, Valdo staring at him with unabashed surprise. Priscilla is at his side, hand on his elbow to hold him steady, and he glances down at the familiar way in which his hands hold the lute. Because that’s what it is- his favorite instrument, the thing that made him coin and granted him fame and found him a-

Jaskier’s heart cracks in his chest, and his breath punches out of him in one big whoosh. He lifts the lute over his head, pressing it back into Valdo’s hands before turning to bolt out the front door of the shop. He doesn’t know where he’s going, merely that he has to get away, to find somewhere safe. He feels a thousand eyes on him, whispers following his frantic fleeing, and he ducks into an alleyway, hiding behind a trash can and pressing his back to the brick wall. There’s a stitch in his side from his frantic running and his hands won’t stop shaking as he rakes his fingers through his hair. The song rings through him, as fresh as the day it was written, and the lyrics come to him unbidden.

He’s crazy. He’s well and truly crazy, because there’s no way what he’s seeing can be real, but it’s so vividly him, buried so deep in his heart that there’s no way it could be fake either. His breath comes from him faster and faster, and tears blur his vision as he folds his knees up to his chest and rocks. Priscilla finds him that way, huddled in a ball amongst the trash, sobbing and muttering to himself, and she uses the large hood of his jacket to hide his face as she gets him home. Jaskier has calmed enough to get himself up the stairs when they manage to stumble their way back, and his chest aches from the pounding of his heart.

The tremor in his hands hasn’t abated yet, but the mug that’s pressed into his hands doesn’t shake, so he just enjoys the warmth that it brings him. Priscilla seems at a loss for words, but Jaskier knows what she wants to ask. “Just say it, Pris.”

“What happened? You haven’t been yourself all morning- first with the tv, and then the lute in the shop? Jaskier, I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I have dreams.” He says, voice so soft it’s almost lost in the sound of his heartbeat. “And lately, I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.”

Priscilla reaches out, touching his shoulder lightly, and her face is soft, sad. “They’re just dreams. What you do here, the music you make, that’s what’s real.”

Jaskier nods, but his heart is plummeting in his chest and he doesn’t know why. Priscilla’s words should be a comfort, someone rooted in his reality telling him that his dreams are just that- dreams. The result of an overactive imagination. That’s all they are, all they’ve ever been. Jaskier tries not to let the thought suck him down somewhere he doesn’t want to go, but it’s near impossible to fight the tide rising in him. “They’re just dreams.”

He takes a sip of his lukewarm drink to find that it’s tea- the stuff he usually drinks as a last resort before bed time. It’s never worked before, but Jaskier downs the rest of it and hopes that this time, it will. Priscilla waits until he’s finished to take the cup, and when she comes back she’s holding a very large, very lute shaped object in her hands. Jaskier frowns, confused, but takes it from her anyway, tracing fingers over the lacquered wood. It’s smooth and warm under his touch, and he finds himself picking at the strings just to hear the sound. “Valdo said that it was yours.”

“I didn’t pay him.”

“He knew you’d say that. He said, and I quote ‘I’ve only been holding it for him.’ Whatever that might mean.” Jaskier schools his features into careful indifference, trying not to let his discomfort show. What in the hell does he mean by that? He’s going to have to go back to the shop and talk to him to find out, but he’s not inclined to leave his apartment for the foreseeable future. Priscilla, sensing the mood has gone down, ruffles Jaskier’s hair and gives his shoulders a squeeze. “Take some time, Dandy, get some sleep, then come back.”

Jaskier makes a soft noise in his throat at the silly nickname, but it’s sweet and Jaskier has never told her to stop. He watches her duck out of the apartment with one last look his way, and once the door clicks shut, locking behind her, he grips the lute tighter. He hasn’t ever played formally- has never been trained, and while a guitar is similar, there’s more strings than ever and he expects to fumble.

He doesn’t.

His fingers know what to do even without his brain, and he hums along to the melody from before. Here, in the safety of his apartment, he plays and plays until the song is firmly committed to memory and he’s written down the lyrics to go along with it. A song about the monster of the wood, a cruel, hungry creature with the head of a deer, stalking him in the night.

“You need to listen to me-”

“I’m your barker, for better or worse. How can I bark if I never see anything?”

“You stay alive for a day longer.” His hands shake with anger, chest burning with it, and the man in front of him, golden eyes fierce and animal, glares back just as hotly. They’re nose to nose practically, and his head pounds in time with his heartbeat as his hands come up, shoving the man away and watching in shock as he goes.

“Go then. I’ll be here, tending your fire and watching your horse, as that is all I am good for.” He turns then, but a hand grabs at his arm, turning him around on his heel. He pulls against it, fights to be released, but Geralt’s hand bunches in his shirt above his heart and holds him. “Geralt-”

“For better or worse, Jaskier.” His eyes meet gold, molten and scalding, and he’s speechless at the sincere intensity in Geralt’s gaze. “I would rather it be better.”

“You don’t get to decide that-” Geralt cuts him off with a kiss, lips hard against his own. It’s awkward, a bit painful, but Jaskier tilts his head, pulls back a bit and Geralt responds in kind. He kisses, Jaskier decides, like a man who has been kissed not nearly enough, and he commits himself to fixing that immediately. Geralt’s grip loosens in Jaskier’s shirt, but Jaskier’s hand comes up to bury in snow white locks, keeping him close as his heart rockets into his throat.

The strings of the lute dig painfully into his fingers when he comes to, and he shakes himself, releasing his tight hold and groaning when blood rushes back into the pads of his fingers. He tucks the lute back away in its case, not wanting to look at the flowers painted onto the wood along its wide belly. He tells himself not to touch the lute, to leave it alone so that all this will go away, but the longer he sits on his couch, leg bouncing and tv on some awful movie the more his fingers itch to play.

Instead, he forces himself to get up, to pull out his vacuum and mop and cleaning supplies. He spends the afternoon scrubbing down every inch of the apartment, puts away his laundry, and even tidies up his desk, which is a rather artful disarray of papers. Some, like Priscilla, call it a mess, but Jaskier knows where each piece of paper goes, and he prefers it stays that way. Cleaning can only distract him for so long, and once the smell of lemon cleaner becomes too much he caves, grabbing the lute and ducking out onto his balcony.

The sun is beginning to descend on the city, and he allows it to warm his bones and loosen his muscles as he plays. Each song that comes from him is new and old and entirely his, each rich, resounding note a piece of him. The instrument is no more a stranger to him than his guitar, or his flute, or any of the other instruments he’s picked up and enjoyed along the way. Its weight, the feeling of the double strings pressing under his fingers is home to him, and he plays long after the sun is set. There’s a reckoning, a righteousness within this instrument that calls to the deepest parts of Jaskier’s soul, and he finds himself crying with no real reason as to why.

He cries silently, holding the lute close to him and staring out over the city. Cars rush past his building, far below, and somewhere nearby a dog barks. But it’s all background noise- it’s nothing compared to the harsh intake of his breath or the way that it shudders out of him. When he can’t stand it anymore he retreats back inside, leaving his lute on his dresser before stripping down and crawling into bed. There, buried under blankets and utterly, terribly alone, Jaskier closes his eyes and dreams.

“You’re alive.” A low, rough voice breathes behind him. He turns, but he already knows what will be waiting for him, and he can feel his face lighting up in a grin.

“Geralt! Of course I’m alive, how could the world bear to part with me just yet?” His heart jackrabbits in his chest at the sight of the man before him, clad as always, in dark armor and a stormy, conflicted expression. Well, the expression is new. The armor, not so much. He finds himself smiling for no real reason as to why, but Geralt’s face is open and honest and terrified, and he can’t keep from reaching out to gently touch his cheek.

“There were rumors- about a bard, having been murdered by a beast.”

“As if I could be harmed by a beast with you protecting me.”

“But I wasn’t.” Jaskier takes a step forward, cupping his witcher’s cheek and smiling when Geralt leans into the touch.

The dream dissolves as Jaskier shifts, drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness. The latter wins out, and his body drifts away while his mind slips again.

Blue eyes stare at him through the mirror. It isn’t a great mirror, small and cracked and woven with imperfections, but he won’t need it for long. He only needs to make sure his hair is presentable, his golden doublet unmarred by any stains, and that his smile, when shown just so, is as charming and delightful as always.

“You’re fussing.” Geralt says, and Jaskier knows, his heart knows that voice and the hand that slides over his hip better than anything. He finds himself leaning back against a strong chest, laughing and tipping his head back.

“Some of us care for our appearance before a performance.” An amused hum, and then lips on his neck, gentle and sweet, kissing a trail up toward Jaskier’s waiting lips. He sinks into the kiss, turning as Geralt’s arms come up and around him, careful not to crease Jaskier’s clothes.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Most of the night. You’re free to come, love. I’m sure they’d love to pester the White Wolf himself.”

“Mmm, pester is right.” The warmth in his chest is softer now, with no edges of anger, and he knows what this is. It’s love. Pure and unfettered by doubt.

That same warmth burns in his chest when he jerks up in bed, leaping from under the covers to run into his bathroom. The mirror he has now is perfect- gleaming with the fresh cleaning he’d done just today and showing his reflection without any defects. The same blue eyes stare back, sweeping over the same lips, the same cheekbones and nicely shaped jawbone. The same messy, tousled brown hair as the bard in the dream. As him . Whoever he was- is- is long gone- left behind in another life completely. That isn’t him anymore, it can’t be, but when he thinks, and thinks hard, they’re there. All the memories, the times in between his dreams. The first time he’d seen Geralt, sitting in the back of a tavern refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, to draw any unwanted attention to him. The feeling of his hair, so devoid of color, twisting around his fingers as he washed blood and viscera from them. His friends- Priscilla, in her blue and red ensemble with the poofy shorts, Essi, a near twin to Priscilla, only shorter and plumper. Valdo, his rival, the troubadour who writes songs without any meaning but somehow comes out on top.

Valdo.

Jaskier scrambles for his phone, dropping it twice before finally swiping open the screen. He has his number, more to make sure he never answers than anything, but now, now he needs it more than anything else. He hits dial without letting himself think, holding his phone to his ear and shifting nervously from foot to foot. The line rings and rings, and just as he thinks it'll go to voicemail he hears a soft click.

"Dandelion? It's nearly three in the morning, what could you-"

"I'm not crazy."

"Debatable." Valdo's voice is amused, but when Jaskier doesn't respond he quickly grows serious.

"You said you were keeping the lute for me." His words are rolling in his mouth, voice mangled by an accent that he can't seem to keep away or bring back. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and then a long, shuddering sigh.

"I was, Julian. For far, far too long. Meet me at the diner on Broadmoor." The line goes dead and Jaskier is left to get ready, a long, long dead name ringing in his ears.

-*-

There are three diners on Broadmoor. Jaskier curses his luck, but only one seems to have the lights on and so Jaskier heads that way first. He pulls on the door and is hit in the face by the smell of stale coffee and hash browns. He glances around, searching, and spots Valdo in a booth back in the corner. His face is drawn, hair a mess, but he has a cup of coffee waiting For Jaskier when he slides into the cheap plastic booth. Valdo slides the mug toward him and he clasps it in his hands, sniffing lightly. He debates putting sugar or cream in it, but he needs the caffeine too badly right now to care much about the bitter taste. Valdo watches his internal debate with a raised brow, leaning back in the booth and sighing.

“You remember.” Jaskier accuses, wincing at the way his tone sounds. Valdo takes it in stride, tilting his head in a small nod and sipping at his coffee.

“I always have. I didn’t know if you would this time around.”

“This time?” Valdo nods again, and Jaskier is quickly becoming frustrated by the non answers. “Valdo, what the fuck is going on?”

“Reincarnation. You’ve heard of it before, yes?” Jaskier nods, and Valdo continues on. “There are some of us who keep coming back. Not always with memories, not always whole. I seem to have no problem keeping them, but others like Priscilla, or Essi, or-”

“Are they really reincarnations?” Jaskier frowns- how much is it reincarnation if you’re just the same body without knowing if your consciousness is the same?

“I said that, didn’t I?” His glare is enough to set a house on fire, but Valdo doesn’t fold under the pressure, instead waving for menus to be brought over. “For decades I was unsure why. Why us? Nothing seemed to connect us together, just random strangers being brought through life. Until I found out you came along as well.”

“You’re saying that I’m the link?”

“You know us all, have some kind of connection. You are the one constant in each of our lives.”

“But the others, they don’t remember?”

“They never have.” Valdo orders something for the two of them, waving away Jaskier’s protest, and plows forward in his conversation. “You don’t always either. I’ve held that lute for the past two reincarnations, neither of which you retained memories for. But you remember now, or are beginning to.”

“Yes.” Jaskier’s voice is a whisper, and admitting it, saying that it’s real takes a weight off his shoulders he didn’t know he was carrying.

“Tell me how?” It’s phrased as a request, and Jaskier nods, staring at his coffee to try and ward off his tears.

“I was seventeen when my dreams started feeling real- performances or days on the road, nights spent stitching wounds or bandaging cuts. Lately they’ve-”

“Been bleeding into your waking hours. Like when you played in the shop.” Valdo’s interrupting makes irritation flare in the back of his mind, but he tamps it down. He’s only trying to help, and is filling in more details than Jaskier would have gotten on his own. Their food comes then, and Jaskier watches as some kind of breakfast scramble is placed in front of him. It’s heavy with hashbrowns, eggs, bacon and cheese. It looks awful. Jaskier digs in hungrily, groaning at the heavenly taste- shitty overnight diners always have the best food. They eat their food in relative silence, too hungry and tired to care much to continue with something else in front of them.

This all seems fake, too good to be real. Valdo’s instant reassurance of what he’s feeling, what he’s dreaming, it has to be some kind of con, some way to get dirt on him. He expects the other man to laugh any minute, to call him crazy and tell him he needs serious help. He’s waiting for a punchline that isn’t coming, and it makes him anstier and anstier by the second. It explains so much- the old, old memories he has of a time before electricity, or running water, of nobles and peasants and monsters. Of witchers and sorceresses and bards. There are newer memories too- of him in a diner much like this, sitting across from a man with white hair and shining golden eyes. Of dancing in a club to his own music, standing alongside all the others in a rally, holding a sign protesting the inequality that ruins his life while cameras show his face. Through it all, his companion is there- a silent, steady presence.

“There’s- a man. Who I am desperately in love with, no matter who I am.”

“Your witcher. White hair, cat eyes?” He doesn’t need to nod for Valdo to know the answer, and he grins. “His name is Geralt of Rivia, though Rivia is long gone now.”

“Is he…”

“Alive? Of course. They, unlike us, do not die.”

“They?” He doesn’t even get a chance to let Valdo talk, his vision going blurry and ears ringing.

“C’mere asshole!” Jaskier laughs, darting away from the witcher intent on catching him. It isn��t Geralt- his hair is dark and cropped short, voice smoother, less gravelly. He’s also much, much more expressive.

“Catch me if you can!” His lungs hurt from running and laughing so much, and he squeaks as hands grab the back of his doublet and yank him to a stop. Jaskier squirms as arms wrap around him, and he pouts, letting himself go deadweight. “You aren’t supposed to use your witchery powers, you know.”

“Oops.” He’s let go then, and Jaskier shoves the other man lightly, grinning.

“Ass. Maybe I’ll go find Eskel, at least he follows the rules of the game.”

“Rules are for peasants.”

“Then you should fit right in, Lambert.” He dodges a swat to the back of the head, laughing and disappearing further into the keep.

Valdo is staring at him expectantly when he blinks, the stone walls and cold breeze fading away from his mind. His food is lukewarm in front of him, and he takes a big bite just to avoid having to say anything yet. Valdo is too smug for his own good though, and he sits forward, grinning.

“Jogged your memory, eh?”

“Shut up.” His insufferable grin only grows bigger, and Jaskier wants to smack it off his face or strangle him. Either would work, honestly. “Is there some way to contact him, or any of them?”

“Not unless you’re a government official, or happen to know someone who had a pest problem. But, there is something that might work.”

“What?”

“Your songs. I'm sure you've already written new ones with the lute- release them in an album. If they’re listening, which is near impossible not to with your reputation, they’ll find you .”

“What if they don’t?”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to bed a government agent.” Jaskier scoffs, wrinkling his nose, but Valdo wags his eyebrows and he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest. He falls into silence then, staring down at the rest of his food, and his voice is soft when he finally finds the courage to speak.

“Thank you. For keeping it safe.” When he glances up, Valdo’s eyes are bright, shining with relief.

-*-

Jaskier does what he does best- he writes a few songs, then writes a few more, until he’s bursting with music and lyrics and ideas. He gets himself into his studio and doesn’t leave until he’s recorded an entire album, with his lute being the main focus. It brings with it a new, exciting kind of charm that his producers eat right up, a kind of mystical energy that isn’t present in any of Jaskier’s other songs.

It’s also a release- he lets go of the monsters that haunted him, bringing them roaring into his music instead and letting them run wild. His dreams are still plagued by memories, but the more he plays, the more he tries to remember, the easier it gets. Turns out when you stop fighting against a piece of yourself, letting it in is much, much easier. The music videos are his favorite part of the whole process- he crafts one specific to each song, embedding as much of a message as he can in the hopes that one of the witcher’s will see. Will see him and know him, and extend a hand.

He tries to look up the witchers, to see if there’s any kind of way to find them online, but Lambert is too common a name and he has no clue what last name he would use, if any. Eskel’s name yields less results, but still too many for him to narrow down, and he’s left back at square one for them. Geralt’s name? Now that pulls up results.

‘ The witcher, most formally known as Geralt of Rivia, is one of the world’s only practicing monster slayers, and a bit of a recluse. He was last spotted hunting some kind of sea serpent along the mediterranean, and then boarded a plane bound for America.’

‘Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, was allegedly seen decapitating a local woman at a train station in France. When questioned by police, they were informed that the woman was a bruxa who had been preying on locals. Mr. Rivia was released without further incident.’

That article makes Jaskier laugh, and he prints it out to tack above his desk on his cork board. Leave it to Geralt to scare everyone around him while doing his job. Any article related to Geralt gets its spot on the board, actually and he’s fairly certain he looks like a stalker, but they’re his only glimpse into what Geralt has been up to. It makes the pain easier to handle, knowing he’s just been too busy to seek Jaskier out, and certainly not ignoring the neon signs that are his music. Half of them are Geralt’s exploits, after all, and if he doesn’t recognize them then Jaskier has failed to faithfully recreate them.

But the songs work- somewhat. In a small town somewhere in the midwest, a witcher hears Jaskier’s music, and begins to hunt for his white haired brother.

Jaskier, in the meantime goes about his life, bouncing from interview to interview, one of which he’s in now. The chair is somewhat uncomfortable and the lights are a little too bright, but the woman interviewing him is new, nervous, and he does his best to put her at ease.

“You’re doing great, love. What were you saying?”

The woman blushes, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before asking again. “Your newest album, it pulls away from the bouncier, lighter tone of your second album. Why?”

“Good question. Writing fun music is wonderful, lovely, but I, and I’m sure you’ll be surprised, have my own fears. Monsters that haunt my dreams, who begged to be put into song.”

“So the songs are based on dreams?”

“Now you’re catching on.” Jaskier winks, drawing another giggle from her, and he leans back in his chair, tilting his head. “No one can tell me they don’t dream of dark and twisted things sometimes. Of wanting a knight in shining armor to come save them.”

“That’s an incredible way to put it. Are any of the monsters in your songs real?”

“Oh yes. The leshy, or leshen is a forest spirit that is said to roam the deepest parts of a forest. There are also ghouls, terrible hunchback creatures who stalk battlefields, and basilisks, large winged creatures with iridescent scales and scalding breath.”

He sees his interviewer shudder, and his gaze goes soft, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Where did you hear about these monsters?”

“From a friend, years ago.”

"Do you still talk to them?"

Jaskier's eyes find the camera, and it's a terrible cliche to spike the lens, but he does it anyway. "We lost contact a while back. I'm hoping that… through my music, I can find him again."

"Well, I'm sure your fanbase can help!"

"That they can." Jaskier grins, glancing back at the interviewer, and he hears someone yell cut behind them. He stands, shaking her hand and giving her a quick hug. He murmurs a few words of encouragement, and when he ducks into the room they've designated for him he tells his producer to send her something. Flowers or a gift or anything. She handled him like a champ. It's thankfully his last interview of the day, and he grabs his lute, which he brought just in case before ducking out the door. He makes his escape from the building out onto the street with relative ease, slinging his lute across his back to navigate the crowds easier. The amount of times he’s had to refuse security before they learned was more than he could count. He's stopped a few times by fans, asking to take pictures, and he glances at them on his phone once his Twitter dings.

@dandelion stopped and took a picture! Best day ever!

The rest of the post is filled with heart eye emojis and hashtags, but Jaskier stares at the photo. The awful stripes and swirls on his button up are reminiscent of a bowling alley floor, but his jeans are cute and his boots top the whole outfit off. He thought it'd looked cute when he put it on, and is pleased to see that others agree. He looks better in general- the bags under his eyes are all but gone and there's a confidence in the set of his shoulders he hadn't noticed before. Like knowing who he is has completed a puzzle he didn't know he'd lost a piece to.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket as he skips down the steps to the subway, whistling merrily the whole time. The public transportation in the city had to be his favorite thing in the world, aside from jelly donuts and Geralt's eyes. It makes going from place to place a snap, and he doesn't have to constantly tell people he can't drive when they ask where his car is. The train is running a minute behind, as usual, but Jaskier books it down the rest of the stairs and through the turnstile, jogging up just as the doors slide open. People file on quickly, taking their seats, and Jaskier moves to step on when he spots snow white hair.

That in itself isn't unusual- plenty of old people ride the subway, but it's a man who looks no older than his mid thirties. He's dressed in all black, jeans and a heavy sweater, and strapped to his back are twin swords, their pommels shining dully in the fluorescent lights of the train. A duffle bag hangs from one shoulder, nondescript, but a pale, scarred hand hovers over it protectively. Jaskier is aware he's staring, holding up the train, but his feet are rooted firmly in place as his head begins to pound. The man- Geralt- irritated by the lack of movement turns to see what's going on, golden cat eyes cold and hard. The sight sends vertigo crashing through Jaskier so wildly that he feels his knees give out, and his vision blurs as he collapses onto the ground.

-*-

"No, no. He's fine. Don't hold the train for us." A voice, rough and low and heavenly drifts through his consciousness and he groans, burying his face in a warm, nicely toned chest. Strong arms wrap around him, holding him, and he sinks into the embrace without really thinking. When he moves the arms tighten around him, holding him closer, and he finally rouses.

He cracks an eye open to see an officer in front of them, debating with Geralt about getting him medical care, and he groans, sitting up and plastering his best smile on his face.

"Sorry love, my sugar dropped again. Was I out long?" The officer stops when he speaks, and Jaskier tilts his head curiously. "Tell me you didn't call them, you know I don't want the attention."

He looks up at Geralt, false frown on his face, and Geralt shakes his head. "Another passenger. I told them you were fine."

"That I am! I'm very sorry for the confusion, I just got off of a rather long interview and was a bit hungrier than I expected." The officer looks between them, brows furrowed, but tucks his notepad away and nods reluctantly.

"If you're sure you'll be alright."

"Feeling loads better already! Sorry again Officer!" Jaskier watches until the officer leaves the platform, and then shoves his way out of Geralt's arms. Geralt lets him go without a fight, sitting on the bench and watching as Jaskier paces the length of the platform, ranting. He's speaking in a language he knows but doesn't know, but it's better than letting everyone else hear him.

" I dreamt about you for years! Years, and the first thing I do is pass out when I see your goddamn face. Son of a bitch." Jaskier glares accusingly at him, but the corners of Geralt's mouth tug up in a smirk and Jaskier can feel his heart going a mile a minute. " I could have broken my lute, or-or been cut in half by the doors all because you were on the subway you big old insufferable-"

" You dreamt about me." Geralt's voice is soft, fond, and Jaskier loves and hates the way his voice curls around elder speech. " Jask, I didn't know you'd come back."

" Didn't- didn't KNOW? I am, and I am going to brag here, insanely famous, Geralt. Like on the news famous. How in the WORLD did you not know?"

" I don't watch the news."

"Of course you don't- of course I would get the one witcher in the whole wide world who doesn't watch the news ." He's cut back into English at some point, and he stops, fists clenched as Geralt stands up with his palms out. It's something he's seen Geralt do with Roach a thousand times when she's being antsy, and it drives him up the wall. "I am not a horse , Geralt, I am your fucking barker."

"You're acting more like my horse right now." Geralt is close enough now Jaskier can smell the soft cologne he's wearing, and his knees go weak again with the fact that he's actually here.

"You jackass -" Jaskier launches forward, throwing his arms around Geralt's neck and pulling him down to kiss him senseless. Geralt takes it in stride, scooping Jaskier off his feet and spinning with the momentum. He's careful of Jaskier's lute, but his hands are strong and firm as Jaskier is thoroughly crushed to his chest, held so tight that neither of them seem to be breathing. Jaskier doesn't care- his feet are off the ground completely, a fistful of white hair in his hands again and Geralt's lips on his. He has a beard, neat and taken care of, and Jaskier's other hand slips down to cup the side of Geralt's neck, thumb brushing through the coarse fibers.

Geralt is the first to pull away, Jaskier tipping forward blindly to kiss him again, huffing when Geralt smiles and bumps their noses together.

"Train is coming. As much as I've missed this, I'd rather not miss the next one."

"Tell me you aren't leaving me." Jaskier presses their foreheads together, eyes closed to keep any potential tears at bay. “Please.”

“I have to check into my hotel.”

“Geralt of Rivia, if you think for one minute you aren’t coming home to sleep in my bed you’re a fool. Fuck your hotel room.”

“It has a jacuzzi.�� Geralt laughs when Jaskier pulls back to glare, and Geralt holds onto Jaskier’s hand, guiding them through the throng of people and onto the train. Geralt motions towards a seat, but Jaskier stays plastered resolutely to his side and just rests his head against Geralt's shoulder. He sways with the movement of the train, but Geralt’s arm is around his hip, holding him steady as the train goes around a curve and slows a bit. He feels more at peace with Geralt next to him than he has in years, and he’s drifted off to sleep when Geralt moves just a bit, dipping down to whisper in his ear. Elder speech brushes against him, trailing down his spine, and his eyelids flutter as he leans in to hear him better.

“What stop do we get off at, Jaskier?”

And oh, if hearing his name from Geralt’s lips isn’t sublime. “Two more.”

“ You were asleep.” Jaskier chuckles softly, turning his head and kissing him lightly.

“ I’ve lived here for years. I know how long I have.” His elder isn’t nearly as pretty or fluid as Geralt’s but he seems to enjoy it all the same, pupils widening at the sound, the sight of Jaskier’s lips moving. He feels like prey being hunted and he loves it. True to his words, two stops later Jaskier is the one to lead them off the train and up the many, many stairs to the street above. His hand never leaves Geralt’s, afraid that if he lets go the man will disappear into the crowd and leave him alone again. His apartment building isn’t far from the station, and he has to pass through three different checkpoints before he’s even flagged into the building. All of the security guards eye Geralt with barely hidden suspicion, but Jaskier is either oblivious or doesn’t care. The hot, possessive kiss that Jaskier pulls Geralt into while waiting for the elevator is answer enough.

Jaskier’s head is spinning again by the time they make it to his door, and he sags against it, panting lightly and trying to get his key in the lock. Geralt’s hand comes up, guiding the key in as he stands just close enough for Jaskier to be intimately aware of every inch of him. Jaskier gasps, shakes against the door and finally manages to shove it open. He hurries into the room, past the kitchen and into the living room. His lute is slung onto the cushions gently just as his knees give out again, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch, Geralt at his side a moment later.

He can’t feel his legs- he really, really can’t feel his legs, and he isn’t sure that it should seem like such a good thing. Geralt is a hard, hot presence between his thighs, and he arches up into Geralt’s touch, whimpering his name. He wants, he wants so desperately and he feels like he could fall apart at any moment, his breaths coming faster and faster as Geralt grins down, at him teeth sharp and glistening and begging to be buried in flesh. He reaches up, brings him down and kisses him, lapping into his mouth just to taste and let a fang scrape against his tongue.

His chest is heaving when he blinks from his memory, and oh, oh he’s embarrassingly, frustratingly hard. How in the hell does he explain something like this? His knees smart from where they’ve hit the floor and he pitches himself forward, out of Geralt’s surprised hands, his palms slapping against the wood of his floor as he pants. It’s better than letting Geralt see him, worked up over nothing. But he doesn’t get the chance to even think of a lie- he hears Geralt’s sharp intake of breath, the soft huff of a stunned laugh. Geralt is on his knees next to him before he can move, lips on his neck and teeth digging just so into the pale, unmarked flesh. Jaskier keens without meaning to, the noise spilling from his lips, and his cheeks flush when Geralt makes a triumphant noise, pulling back and using a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back make him sit back.

“If you say anything smart, Geralt, I will throw you off my balcony.”

“You don’t have to hide from me.” Is all he says instead, and he takes Jaskier’s hands, guiding him to sit on the couch while he takes care of Jaskier’s lute. Jaskier watches, knees pressed to his chest to hide his slowly dwindling erection as Geralt hunts around his apartment, breathing deep and seeming pleased at what he finds. He lingers briefly by the bedroom door, but seems to think better about exploring there just yet. Instead he reaches up, undoing the clasp across his chest and letting his swords slide from his back. He places them on the coffee table and pulls his sweater up and over his head. Jaskier watches it all, eyes wide, and he jumps as the sweater is tossed at him. He catches it with only a minor fumble, pressing it to his face and breathing deep.

He can almost feel the growl that rumbles through Geralt at the sight, and he grins, toothy and bright, sniffing again. It’s easy to lose his train of thought at the sight of Geralt- Modern clothes suit him well, from the cut of his jeans to the way his t-shirt shows off the rather lovely shoulder to hip ratio he has. Practically perfect. What really arouses him, and this shouldn’t ever be admitted out loud, is the amount of weapons Geralt has on him. There are two pistols tucked into sheathes under his arms against his sides, at least two knives tucked into each boot, not to mention the swords he’s already discarded.

“How do you draw the pistols with your sweater on?”

“I don’t.” Geralt’s voice is amused, and he reaches to unbuckle the leather harness, silver rings glittering along his fingers. There are no fingers that are bare of rings, whether they’re smooth, simple bands or ones studded in small spikes. It’s… ridiculously attractive and Jaskier fears for his heart at this rate. The holsters slip off of his shoulders and they too are left on the table with his swords, though he doesn’t go for the daggers in his boots at all. “You’re staring.”

“I’m allowed to.” He breathes out, reaching a hand out as Geralt pads over. His fingers splay against Geralt’s chest as the older man leans down, kissing him slowly, the warm metal of his rings sliding across Jaskier's cheek. Jaskier shivers at the sensation, making a soft noise as he stretches up further to try and get closer. Geralt pulls back too soon, always too soon, and Jaskier groans with disappointment.

“Tell me what happened when we came in.”

“Do we really have to talk about that now?” Geralt leans back, eyes searching his face, and Jaskier sighs dramatically, tugging Geralt to sit next to him on the couch so he can lean against his chest. "I wasn't born with my memories. I had- it feels stupid to repeat this all- I had night terrors as a child."

"Of monsters." Jaskier nods, pressing Geralt's sweater to his face and speaking through the fabric.

"Particularly of me being eaten by them. When I got older, graduated high school, they shifted focus. They showed me, or the bard I thought was haunting my dreams, following you, performing at a banquet, being chased by a farmer's husband. Within the past few months they got worse. They slipped into my daydreams, took them over, until I could hardly go outside without seeing something that would set them off."

"Is that what happened on the platform?" Jaskier shakes his head, sighing.

"I don't know what that was- a reaction to seeing you again, after only seeing you in dreams maybe? All I remember is getting hit by the worst vertigo I've ever felt, and then I was waking up in your arms. This last time- I'm not sure. I really don't want to keep collapsing though, my knees won't be able to take it."

His joke is weak but Geralt chuckles anyway, pressing his nose into Jaskier's hair. "I'll get you kneepads."

"My hero." He feels a rumble go through Geralt's chest and that brings a smile to his face. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Tell me about you, what you've been doing. I, for one, have been struggling with my memories and made it as a musician. But you, last of the witchers, are impossible to find info on."

"How do you know I'm the last?"

"Internet speculation. Don't worm your way out of this." Geralt sighs heavily, shaking his head and muttering to himself before Jaskier turns and plops himself into Geralt's lap so Geralt has to look at him.

"Eskel and Lambert retired a few years ago. Contracts are few and far between."

"What do you do then when you aren't fighting monsters?"

"I… Translate." Jaskier doesn't think he's heard right, and he tilts his head.

"Pardon? Was my very sexy boyfriend about to tell me something even sexier?" Geralt raises a brow at the word boyfriend, but Jaskier can see that he's pleased by the automatic assumption that they're together. Like they were never apart at all.

"I interpret. Mostly for doctors offices or business meetings. I'm occasionally called to the field when researchers need help."

"What languages?" Geralt doesn't say anything, cheeks flushing a faint pink instead. Jaskier grins then, pleased as all get out, and he leans forward, bumping their noses together and watching the way Geralt's pupils open wider at the contact. "What languages, Geralt?"

"There- aren't many I don't know."

"Someone's been busy."

"I had time. And language barriers make hunting harder." Jaskier laughs at the defensive tone to Geralt's voice, leaning their foreheads together and laughing until Geralt kisses him to shut him up. And even then he giggles against Geralt's lips, wiggling when Geralt tickles at his ribs.

"No wonder your elder is good." Geralt huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and leaning back so he can look at Jaskier, gaze sweeping over Jaskier's face slowly.

"My brothers and I are the only ones fluent."

"In the world?"

"There are small elven communities hidden around, but other than that, yes."

"Where are your brothers?"

"Somewhere in the midwest." Geralt says it with a shrug, as if it isn't a big deal. "They move frequently."

"Too used to being on the Path." Jaskier muses, though it's truer than he might realize. “What about you, where do you settle?”

“I don’t.” Jaskier tilts his head, thinking about that. He isn’t sure why Geralt would ever settle down, since he’s the last witcher active apparently. It would make sense for him not to have any place to call home, but the thought bothers him. A lot more than it should.

“You have a home here, if you want it.” He whispers, heart in his throat, and Geralt’s whole demeanor softens. His eyes look more amber in the setting sun coming through his balcony, and Jaskier leans forward, lips brushing Geralt’s at the same time his phone rings. He groans, intent to ignore it, but Geralt’s fingers dip into Jaskier’s back pocket to pull it out. He hits answer, holding the phone up to Jaskier’s ear as he glares.

“Jaskier, who the fuck are you kissing?”

“Hello Priscilla, nice to see you again, I’ve been just dandy since we last saw each other.” Jaskier takes the phone from Geralt, pressing it to his ear on his own.

“Jaskier, Twitter is in an uproar, there are pictures everywhere.”

“Naughty pictures?” Jaskier puts the phone on speaker while he moves over to Twitter, scrolling through the thousands of tags he’s gotten in the past two hours alone. They’re all the same picture, which Jaskier saves immediately, some better quality than others. There’s him in his bowling alley button up, held aloft in Geralt’s arms, kissing him senseless. It’s a rather artistic photo, the contrast between his bright colors and lute and Geralt’s stiff black clothing and threatening swords. “Ah.”

“That’s all you have to say? You haven’t seriously dated anyone since high school and that's what you say?” Priscilla is pissed, rightfully so, and Jaskier winces.

“Look it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, I just-”

“I asked him not to.” Jaskier can hear the sharp intake of breath over the phone from Priscilla when Geralt talks, and she’s much more pleasant this time when she speaks. Traitor.

“Oh. And you are?”

“Geralt.”

“And where are you from, Geralt? How long have you been dating my best friend?” He sees Geralt’s lips quirk in a smile, and he rolls his eyes, letting Geralt do the talking. At least that way he isn’t getting yelled at.

“Rivia. We’ve been seeing each other for a few years now, I would say.” Jaskier snorts at the lie, except well- it isn’t really a lie. They’ve been together for years and years over entire lifetimes.

“Rivia?” A distant quality overtakes her voice, and Jaskier winces, clapping a hand over his ear as Priscilla squeals. “Jaskier, please tell me you aren’t dating Geralt of Rivia.”

“Uh.” Geralt’s lips twitch upward as he raises a brow at Jaskier’s hesitation, but Priscilla is laughing, wheezing out little breaths, and Jaskier waits for her to calm down before he answers. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no it’s just unbelievable.”

“Hey!” There’s offense in Jaskier’s tone, and Geralt’s hand rests on his hip, squeezing lightly. Jaskier shudders at the touch, scowling, but his witcher is the picture of innocence. “I guess the cats out of the bag, eh love?”

“Mhm.” Gods Jaskier has missed those little sounds, the answers but not answers.

“You have to say something on Twitter before your fans break the site. And introduce us properly.”

“Right, right. Dinner okay?”

“Only if I get to pick the place.”

“Deal. I’ll call you later, okay?” Priscilla gives an affirmative and hangs up, Jaskier tilting his head at Geralt with his brows raised. “So, Geralt of Rivia, ready to be official with a popstar?”

“Not really. But with you? I’ll manage.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, moving to tuck himself against Geralt’s side. Geralt’s arm snakes around him, hugging him a bit closer as Jaskier raises his phone.

“Say cheese!” He grins wide, waiting until Geralt isn’t glaring to snap the photo. It’s a good one, Geralt’s eyes liquid and warm, the corners of his mouth tilted up in the smallest of smiles. It’s definitely going to be his wallpaper. Jaskier posts it onto Twitter with a simple caption.

My knight in shining armor.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #modern au #reincarnation au #immortal geralt of rivia #flaskbacks #popstar Jaskier

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thecuriousblitz · 4 years

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Blake the Western Yin (陰) and Yang the Eastern Yang (陽), aka damn.. more RWBY meta

This is a follow-up post to an earlier one I did, where I freaked out over how Yang was inspired by the greatest Chinese martial arts female character ever [TDLR; Yang is 99.9% a literary conduit for a 1959 beloved classic about overcoming personal trauma and conquering life with your soulmate, plus wild Bumbleby allusions.]

Having identified some cool Eastern influences on RWBY meta lore, it was surprising to see just how deep this rabbit hole goes. By the time I’d thought through the philosophical implications of Bumbleby, I was - again - in awe of the rich tapestry of double meanings RWBY gifts us with.

Without further ado: My thesis on why Monty is a frigging genius, in three parts.

Yin and Yang, Part I: Shadow and Light

Most recognize the circular black and white symbol for yin and yang, which at its simplest represents the powerful duality of equal and opposite forces.

Applying classic RWBY name etymology, we know that Blake is derived from the Old English word blæc, meaning ‘dark’, or ‘dark-haired’ (although in very yin and yang style, it’s also a potential derivative of blāc, meaning ‘bright’ or ‘pale’). Hence Blake’s dominant color scheme of black.

And Yang... ah, shit. Yang’s name originates from the Chinese character yang (陽), meaning ‘sunny’ or ‘light’. Correspondingly, her color is yellow. Given that Weiss literally means ‘white’ in German/Yiddish, does this mean the Monochromers among us can declare a checkmate?

Nothing against Monochrome, but the answer is hell no.

Black and white might visually represent yin and yang, but the original Chinese is what gets us to the true heart of the concept:

Without waxing too much on Chinese character components, the character yin (陰) literally translates to ‘shadow’ (the right half ideographically combines the components jin 今 ‘now’ and yun 云 ‘cloud’), while the character yang (陽) as mentioned denotes ‘sun’ and ‘sunlight’ (the right half depicts the sun’s rays shining down).

Note both characters share the same lefthand component (阝), emphasizing the idea of complementarity; when shadow and light unite, they form a greater, more dynamic whole.

Given the show’s consistent juxtaposition of Blake with shadows (eg. From Shadows, her semblance, Belladonna referencing ‘nightshade’) and Yang with the sun (eg. I Burn, her semblance, literal name is ‘the sun’) it’s undeniable that RWBY’s true yin and yang are Blake and Yang.

Others have expounded on how their characters and fighting styles complement each other, ie. Blake is withdrawn and prefers evasive combat, whereas Yang is extroverted and prefers head-on combat. Much has also been said about Blake and Yang’s complementary colors of purple and yellow (we’ll get to that later).

But allusions to yin and yang imply a deeper connection between the two. It suggests not only that Blake and Yang complement each other, but one is incomplete - cannot exist, even - without the other. Why? Because shadow is the absence of light, and vice versa. Without one, the other loses meaning. Without night there is no day, without disorder there is no order... without Blake (yin) there is no Yang (yang).

Yin and Yang, Part II: The Tiger and The Dragon

Now there’s a lot of shit out there around the different manifestations of yin and yang, so I’m sticking to a particularly relevant one that’s common knowledge in East Asian culture: the Tiger and the Dragon.

The old Chinese proverb “龍爭虎鬥” (roughly translated ‘the dragon makes war, the tiger does battle’) reflects classic yin and yang symbolism. It refers to the conflict between equally matched spirits who are as different from each other as shadow and light, but at the same time are strangely kindred and interdependent. “Mortal enemies intricately linked together by destiny,” as some have put it.

In RWBY, no two characters fit this angsty Tiger (yin) and Dragon (yang) dynamic better than Blake and Yang.

For one, Yang Xiao Long (陽小龍) translated means ‘Sunny Little Dragon’.

Blake... well, Blake is a literal cat.

Furthermore, the tiger is a ground animal representing Earth, and is thus traditionally positioned slightly lower in the yin-yang swirl relative to the dragon, a winged creature connected to Heaven (and by extension, the sun). In their interactions with each other, the tiger’s momentum tends to be from the ground upwards ↑, while the dragon’s is sky downwards ↓. Irrefutable evidence that Blake is a bottom.

This earthbound tiger/airborne dragon dynamic tracks Blake and Yang’s respective emotional journeys incredibly well, both individually and in relation to each other. I love how the lyrics in dedicated Blake/Yang/Bumbleby soundtracks make this explicit:

From Shadows/I Burn: Blake, being a Faunus and raised in the White Fang, grows up feeling ‘born into subjugation’, ‘crushed’ by human rule, and vows to ‘rise above ↑’ the darkness ie. the conditions forced on her and her people. Yang’s relatively carefree nature, on the other hand, has her challenging enemies to shoot their rockets as high as they can, because in true dragon-style, she’s soaring way above and will ‘take them down ↓’.

All That Matters: Following the loss of Yang’s arm, Blake’s departure, and their eventual reunion, their dynamic has shifted. The lines ‘Thought that I could pull you from the shadows / Maybe help you find your wings and fly’ indicates a more subdued Yang, who in attempting to protect and get Blake to open up to her, has had her own figurative wings clipped, and is grappling not only with defeat, but also the difficulty of ‘pinning down ↓’ someone who has betrayed her trust.

Nevermore: This is Blake and Yang’s song following Adam’s defeat, a resounding confirmation of their growth as individuals and as a couple (’Not dying now, we're protecting our own’). That the title of the song is ‘Nevermore’ - a Grimm born of shadow, but one that shares the dragon’s ability to soar, is a really cool nod to the balance found between Blake’s yin and Yang’s yang. It was in acknowledging, not erasing, past mistakes (shadows) that freedom was finally found.

Yin and Yang, Part III: Purple and Yellow

This one is straightforward. We all know the color of Blake and Yang’s eyes, clothing accents and auras mirror each other. But something else I’d missed before - purple has traditionally been associated with royalty and power... in the European West.

The color associated with power, and traditionally reserved only for emperors and empresses in Chinese/Eastern culture? Yellow.

Our resident RWBY yin and yang duo not only manifest royalty in their respective domains and symbolically bring together East and West; but more importantly, when Blake looks at Yang, and Yang looks at Blake...

Both see a literal queen in the other.

In conclusion, thank you Monty for orchestrating this exquisite story; one that teaches us beauty and balance are found in each other’s diversity.

#bumbleby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #rwby meta #rwby

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timeforelfnonsense · 3 years

Text

The Lusty Eladrin Maid (2/3)

Astarion x Dafni || E || Ao3 (See for specific tags) || Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series

The longer they swayed, pressed chest to chest, hip to hip, the more certain his lust addled consciousness became that the sensual curves of her body belong just below the consumption of blood on his hierarchy of needs. Those big, glittering topaz eyes, that blithe, pixie grin that tugged at the corners of her plush pink- She had him completely bewitched. If Astarion was asked right then and there to describe Hanali Celanil, he most assuredly would have said the elven goddess of beauty and joy as a shapely spring eladrin with wild curls the color of gillyflower and a generous sprinkling of golden freckles.

He’d have to take her to a real ball one day. Some Upper City function with good wine and better gossip. Somewhere with lots of shadowy nooks and covalently placed furnishings. His mind conjured a vision of Dafni dressed in a gown of silk and tulle. A full, flouncy number that sparkled in when the light caught it just right. Anyone else would appear garish in such a gown, but somehow on Dafni it only added to her mythical beauty.

She’d be the envy of all in attendance, but of course, she’d spurn them all for him. Astarion felt his cock stir at the thought. There was an undeniable eroticism in the knowledge that he had the favor of someone others desired. Oh, how the rabble would seethe with jealousy when the pair of them emerged for an unoccupied study! Dafni’s hair slightly messed, her lips kiss swollen and wet.

They could burn all they liked, this alluring enchantress was his.

His hand traveled down her spine to her backside, giving the perfect plumpness a quick squeeze. Dafni responded with a lewd squeak.

“Such a lovely little Coquette.” With a rakish grin, he began gathering up the hem of her gossamer dress, the back of his knuckles grazing the skin of her thigh. Dafni’s breath hitched at the sensual contact. He caught her one of her hands by the wrist, guiding her to the edge of her skirts, “Can you hold this for me, darling?”

Dafni nodded, eagerly gathering up fistfuls of fabric. Astarion slowly sank to his knees, his hungry gaze fixed on her endearingly flustered expression. Once he was settled into the patch of flowers and wild grass, Astarion nudged her thighs apart. He kissed his way up her leg, stopping for a gentle nuzzle against the twin punctures he’d left behind during a previous tryst. He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of her thin pink knickers, in one firm tug he had her hips bare. He gave a low, fierce noise, his bottom lip caught in the sharp grip of his teeth. He guided one leg over his shoulder, he kept one hand on the base of her spine, holding her firm and steady. He traced the line of her folds with his index finger. It had only taken a bit of kissing and a dance to get her wet and wanting.

Parting her petals with his fingers, Astarion set to work. Her taste was earthy and warm but there was a hint of sweetness, like wild honeysuckle, so very Dafni in its nature. He swept his tongue along every inch of lovely quim, greedily lapping up her arousal.

Her fingers buried themselves in his hair pulling him closer to her core with enthusiasm. The sensation of her dull fingernails, lightly dragging across his scalp sent an instantaneous ache to his groin. He could always be certain Dafni was truly pleased with his presence between her legs when those slender fingers wove their way into his hair. Astarion let out a sharp intake of air as Dafni, lost to wanton urge, dragged him closer with a particularly enthusiastic pull.

“Such a needy, needy girl. He hummed between the ravenous strokes of his tongue, “You are getting close aren’t you, darling?”

“Mmmhmm...” She affirmed through a breathy sob and another meaningful yank of his roots. Dafni whimpered as he slipped his middle finger into her heat and then another, pumping and stretching until a high dulcet cry shook through her whole body.

Dafni’s eyes squeezed shut, a symphony of multicolored stars exploding behind her the darkness of her eyelids. She felt drunk and dizzied with pleasure. Her knees were jelly, her stationary leg threatened to buckle but Astarion kept his hold sure.

“That’s a good girl.” He purred, untangling himself from the limb tossed over his shoulder before guiding her down to her knees in the soft grass beside him.

Astarion placed a kiss on the center of her forehead, his hand sliding up the back of her head, nimbly untying the knot of her handkerchief. He ran his fingers through the wispy hairs at the nape of her neck. The calloused pads of his fingertips dragged their way down the exposed skin between her shoulder blades before they found the gauzy fabric of her frock. He traced the satin ribbon that ran down the back of the dress. As he began working the lace free of each tiny eyelet, he drew her into the sweetest kiss she’d ever received, his lips brushing against hers in slow, lulling presses.

The dance, that perfect kiss, it was as if he’d somehow gotten a hold of her girlhood journals and set himself to make every foolish daydream come true. Dafni cupped his face, coaxing him closer, cradling his strong, noble countenance with the same gentle reverence she would nature's most delicate creations. If only she could return the favor. Find some secret wish hidden boyish fancy locked away in the dusty attic of the fortress of hurt and anger that guarded his heart. If only he would allow her inside those daunting walls long enough to find it.

When Dafni cared for someone, it was never in half measures and she cared for Astarion more than most. He’d seen more hardship than soul ought to have. The thought of it made her stomach wrench and the knowledge that he had lived it, that felt as if her heart were caught in a vice of cold iron. She knew he despised her sympathies, mistaking her loving concern as pity. That no matter how much affection she poured into him, there would always be scars, not just the physical ones, that would linger. Still, she could offer him solace and refuge- A place for him to rest his weary soul and began healing.

Dafni brought her arms over her head as Astarion Freed her from her dress. She watched as his elbows bend, preparing to toss the pile of rainbow chiffon Gods knew where. Dafni’s brows pulled together tightly, catching his wrist in a loose grip she shook her head.

“I’m rather fond of that dress and I’ve had to go hunting for it among shrubbery once already.”

With an overstated roll of his claret red eyes, Astarion gingerly placed her dress down in the grass beside them. The annoyance that colored his features was quite short-lived. Free of her frock Dafni draped herself across the forest floor, her thighs parted exposing her glistening core to his gaze. She took up a fistful of his white cotton shirt, pulling him into the cradle of her hips.

He’d always thought her ravishing but, seeing her bare in the daylight…

If he weren’t dead already, the sight of Dafni, drenched in golden sunlight, thick, delicious thighs spread open in a sinful invitation, would have surely stopped his heart cold. Somehow the universe had managed to fit all the wild, joyful warmth of springtime into her splendid curvaceous body.

Astarion ran the back of his hand across the warm, speckled flesh of her rosy cheek. Dafni gave an approving sigh, nuzzling into the touch. He traced his way down the line of one of the pale, raised marks that decorated her full hips. Delicate, wavy paths that overlay all of her most ample and lovesome places- like tendrils of creeping ivy vine crawling their way up a forest church.

He gave one of her heavy breasts a squeeze, his thumb toying with its rosy nipple. Dafni let loose a bright keen as he took the little peak into his mouth. Her hips jerked upward, rocking back and forth over the hardness straining against his pants.

Dafni had him relieved of his shirt in a frenzied blur. She has chided him about his treatment of her frock but it seems she held no such scruples when it came to his clothing. Not that he was terribly put out, he found the wild desperation quite rousing.

“Astarion?”

Gods, the way she said his name. Dafni's voice always had a musical quality but the tuneful lilt rang most clearly in her elvish. Every time his name graced her plush pink lips he felt a distant pang of gratitude he hadn’t been given something more common.

“Daffodil?” He brushed a stray curl from her face, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes!” She said with a small, musical giggle, her hand coming to rest over his own at the side of her face, “I was just wondering if perhaps…”

“Perhaps what, dear? I don’t blush easily, pet. Make your request.”

“If you insist.” She took in a deep breath, her chest pressing against his most tantalizingly, “I was wondering if perhaps you’d take me as we are positioned now? With you on top. As you did the last time we found ourselves alone in this meadow?”

It was an almost innocent request.

His response should have been, Of course, darling! I’ll ravish you any way you’d like!

His chest tightened at the memory of her hand on the ruined flesh of his back- Of the sound of her tender promise he needn’t hide from her. All the delicious, debaucherous things she’d said that night, none had felt half as intimate the quiet reassurance murmured in her distinct, lyrical elvish. The sweet sincerity of her words had been enough to undo him that night.

You don’t have to hide from me.

Her liting voice still rattled about his skull like a harpy’s charm. He had foolishly allowed himself to believe her for a few, remarkable seconds. She was wrong, of course. There were most certainly parts of himself that always would remain locked uptight. Safe from those wide, curious eyes and that quivering lower lip.

He did want to do it, to cradle her close and gaze into those big, beautiful eyes as he hilted himself within her. He’d bedded her plenty of times, confident as could be! Why should this be any different?

I’ll feel vulnerable too and that terrifies me.

I’m already in too deep with you.

You’ll grow tired of me eventually and then I’ll feel like an idiot.

“It’s alright to say no.” She assured, “I would never ask you to do anything that made you uncomfortable.”

The words felt so like her.

Soft.

From the structure of her lovely face, her sea of floral adorned ringlets, to the fullness of her figure, or the bountiful, caring heart that thumped steadily beneath her breast, everything about Dafni was enticingly soft. Every part of her calling out to him, Just a little closer, let me shelter you from the storm inside your chest.

Dafni was one of those rare souls who was truly kind. She had no agenda or duplicitous intentions. Just a good heart and sheltered upbringing.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck. Her arms pulling him into a snug embrace. The feeling of her chest rising and falling against his own was almost hypnotic. He could have lost himself for hours in the soft tide of her breathing. He raked his fingers through her messy hair.

“You’ve already made me so happy.” She murmured against his skin, “This morning has been like a dream.”

She was so precious.

A delicate flower that had somehow crept its way into the cracks in his soul. She made him feel needed. Special.

Maybe even loved?

He felt a rush of bruising guilt as the thought crossed his mind. He couldn’t give her love. Not yet- possible not ever. Love felt like a four-letter word. A word that could put them both in an early grave.

He shouldn’t have let things go this far. Gods knew he tried to keep some distance between them, to resist the strange pull he felt. Every time he would surrender to his desires. He had already allowed her this close, what difference did one more inch make?

Astarion felt heat pricking at the tips of his ears. She was making him into a sentimental fool! One of them needed to be sensible about things and it was certainly not going to be Dafni. He knew it was not a matter of if but when he’d be forced to break her heart. That was the conundrum of caring for her. On one hand, he couldn’t bear to see her hurt but it felt inevitable that he’d hurt her himself.

He did care for her.

He could allow himself that much. Perhaps, it was not in the way he should- Not the way she deserved, but it was as best he was able to for the time being.

She’d been a good and loyal friend. Someone he could trust to watch his back in a fight. She made him laugh and brought him the most joy he’d felt in centuries.

No, it wasn’t love. He was far too old and world-weary to name it as such. They had only known each other for a short while. She was young and by her own admission flighty when it came to relationships. He was bitter and hardly the sort of fairytale prince she’d want. Still, Dafni had taken up residence in a hidden corner of his heart. She was the one thing he felt he had any sort of claim to in centuries.

It wasn’t love, but maybe it didn’t need to be for it to be meaningful?

Maybe it could be one day? When he knew he was truly free of Cazador.

“Yes.” He whispered wrapping his arms around her waist.

What was the harm in another inch?

#astarion #elf writes #elf gets spicy #dafni of gwynneth #sunshine & starlight

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graphiteshards · 4 years

Text

sugary night // tipToe lyrics+ translation (日本語の歌詞と英語の翻訳)

since i can't find it anywhere, here are the lyrics to a song that i love. may have spent a couple hours on a night very close to a midterm to do this instead of focusing but i am proud nonetheless:

sugary night by tipToe.

砂糖の夜に

灰色のこの部屋は少し蒸し暑い

開いた窓

隣人のタバコ

隙間から見える月

扇風機の風

私が読む本の主人公は大抵

夜に散歩をする

生ぬるい空気を吸う

肺中にその毒が回る

目眩がする

[page flip]

ここの自販機にしかないと思っていたジュースは

わりとどこにでもあった

[opens can]

自分のものなんて初めから一つもなかった

よくあるセリフを思い出した

本当はどうでもいいんだけど

[page flip]

いつもより少し遠いコンビニに行く

やる気のない店員

あーあくびしてる

眩しすぎる光に刺されて

店を出る

綺麗な星空がどうだとか歌詞思い出す

空を見上げても相変わらず

星は一つ見えなくて

まぶたを閉じる

[swell]

目を開けると誰かすぐそこに立っていた

目の色が綺麗な人だった

暗くてよく見えないのになぜかそう思った

近づいてみると夜の香りがした

その人は夜なのだと思った

その人は私にいろいろなことを話した

さっきのコンビニ店員はは猫を2匹飼っているということ

じつは星は砂糖だということ

ここから星が見えないのは

自分が絵の具で塗りつぶしてしまったからということ

あまり美味しくなかったからね

と少し笑った

その人はあくびをしながら

どこか行ってしまいそうだった。

ついてってもいい？と聞いた

私の方を振り返って手を振った

またね

おやすみ

[page flip]

灰色のこの部屋は少し蒸し暑い

開いた窓

隣人のタバコ

隙間から見える月

扇風機の風

translation:

Sugary night

This grey room is a little humid and hot

The window’s open

Neighbor’s cigarette smoke

Seeing the moon through a slit in the window

The breeze of the fan

The main characters in books I read are usually

Taking a walk at night

Breathing in the lukewarm air

It turns to poison in the lungs

I feel dizzy

[page flip]

The juice I thought was only for vending machines here

Is everywhere

[opens can]

I remember a common line,

That I didn’t have anything from the beginning

I don’t really care.

[ page flip]

I went to a convenience store a little further than usual.

An unmotivated clerk

Oh, he's yawning

There's a stinging bright light, and I leave the store

I remember the lyrics about the beautiful starry sky

Even if you look up at the sky,

You can’t see a single star.

I close my eyelids.

[swell]

I open my eyes and someone stands before me.

A person with beautiful eyes.

I thought so even though I couldn't see him clearly in the dark.

When I approached him, I smelled the night.

I thought that he was the night.

He told me various things

That the convenience store clerk has two cats.

That stars are actually sugar.

That we can't see the stars because he covered them with paint.

"It didn’t taste good", he laughed a little.

He heads somewhere while he yawns.

"Can I follow you?" I ask.

He turned to me and waved his hand.

See you,

goodnight.

[page flip]

This grey room is a little humid and hot

The window’s open

Neighbor’s cigarette smoke

Seeing the moon through a slit in the window

The breeze of the fan

sorry if there are any errors, this is by no way an official translation. in fact, this was translated with my extremely limited knowledge of the japanese language and briefly consulting my cousin, who helped tremendously.

#tiptoe #music #japanese song #monologue #tipToe #jpop #translation #japanese #english

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stillness-in-green · 4 years

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Spinaraki Week, Day 3: Emptiness | Harmony

Hope it’s closer, hope it’s somewhere When it’s over, hope we don’t care I’ll be there, too, there when it comes true So take me down with you

A fan soundtrack — with accompanying fanfic shorts, if desired — for Shigaraki and Spinner, from Gigantomachia, to Jaku, and beyond.

(google drive | youtube playlist)

Below the cut, the fanfic shorts and links to the lyrics.

forever or never — cinema bizarre // take me under — man with a mission // so cold — breaking benjamin // silver lining — hurts // all i need is love — sakai mikio // stay alive — may’n // fake wings ~ bitter sweet ver. — kajiura yuki // roads untraveled — linkin park // all of my days — alexi murdoch // shØut — sawano hiroyuki

———–

Track 1 | Forever or Never

They were two weeks into fighting Machia and Spinner right in the middle of another series of complaints about what kind of food Shigaraki was eating—as if he could even make time for anything more complicated than supplements and protein drinks when getting enough sleep was way harder to manage—when Shigaraki made up his mind, leaned forward, and kissed him.

“S’nice that you’re worried about me,” he said to Spinner’s gawping. “But if you’ve got something to say, you should come out and say it.” He was floating on sleep deprivation, the world too many colors, too bright and too fuzzy, and Spinner sitting right in front of him, the most colorful splotch of green on the smudgy brown woods, pink eyes staring—they’d been staring a lot lately.

“Machia could break me in half tomorrow. Tonight, even.” He laughed raggedly. The knowledge felt like his family’s hands—too heavy, nausea-inducing, but still offering an endless freedom. “I don’t want your last words to me to be, ‘Shigaraki, you need more carbs.’”

“…Well, you do!” Spinner sputtered, but he set the latest round of pills and juice packs down roughly in front of Shigaraki and beat a hasty retreat. Shigaraki watched him flee; a lazy grin sat on his face with alien comfort.

Track 2 | Take Me Under

Somehow, even though he looked like he was about to pass out mid-stride, Shigaraki was still pulling away from him. Everything he touched dissolved into flecks of ash, while the zealots on the bad end of Spinner’s blades remained doggedly fleshy, snarling and wrathful, all shouting voices and grasping, tearing hands and maybe Shigaraki had nightmares like this, maybe he was used to them and that was why he cut through it all so easy.

Spinner dragged his arm through another vicious slice, dragged his legs through another step, focusing on Shigaraki’s narrow shoulders. Don’t go without me, he willed. Bring me with you! I wanna see it too!

Track 3 | So Cold

“Not gonna talk about Stain-sama anymore?” Shigaraki asked, an edge of challenge leaking into his voice. Spinner had been weird since Deika, hanging on Shigaraki’s words with a hushed air of attentiveness that made Shigaraki too aware of the sound of his own voice when he’d hardly ever worried about that kind of thing before, and definitely not among allies.

Spinner flushed, the suffusion of red across his scales suggesting he had a bit of chameleon in there somewhere, but not a very cooperative bit. He rubbed his neck, looking away at the common room the League had requisitioned for their private meetings.

“….Maybe now and then?” he hedged. “I mean, he was the reason I got out. I’m grateful to him for that. But it's like I said back at the shack. I joined the League to find a purpose. It wasn’t—it wasn’t ever about Stain himself, exactly.”

“You find something better?” Shigaraki tipped his head on one side. There was a vague itch in his chest, a wiggling little need to hear about this new purpose—it was a leader thing, probably; he got Mr. Compress his sushi, and Toga was never shy about what she wanted, and now here was Spinner ready to spill his big goal. Like getting a 100% complete, taking stock of what it was going to take for his allies to get what they wanted.

Spinner looked back up, expression weird—eyes a little wide, vulnerable, like he’d just been hit or he was bracing for it, but the set of his mouth around his beak firm. He looked at Shigaraki like he was trying to stare a hole through him, but he nodded.

“Gonna tell me what it is?” Shigaraki pressed.

“It’s… You don’t need to worry about what it is.” Cagey asshole. “We just gotta keep going.”

Shigaraki drew his nails down his neck almost idly, a simmer of dissatisfaction in his skin, holding Spinner’s gaze long enough for him to go through both awkward shifting and a stubborn bounce back. His eyes were clear—too clear, Shigaraki thought, and it hit him.

The horizon.

He folded forward, struck to laughter, though the annoying feeling in his chest worsens. Spinner had showed up all enamored with Stain’s ideas about a purge this, a cleansing that. Or course he could see the appeal of emptiness.

“Who’d have thought you were fucked up enough to want that?” he murmured, snorting when Spinner stiffened in offense. “Okay. We’ll keep going, then.”

Track 4 | Silver Lining

Shigaraki after the first stage of the surgery looked pale—even more so than usual—and drained in ways even Gigantomachia hadn’t left him. He didn’t want to talk about how it went. He pressed an unselfconscious kiss to the corner of Spinner’s mouth and leaned against him, listening and nodding to Spinner’s faltering report on how things are going with the Front, chipping in now and again with an opinion or an order. To Spinner’s immense relief, he even managed a few sarcastic comments.

When Ujiko came for him, Spinner almost couldn’t breathe, didn’t even really try until the black gunk welled up in his throat to send him back to the villa. He wiped his mouth after coughing it all up and straightened.

There was work to do.

Track 5 | All I Need Is Love

Endeavor hit him with another blast of fire and the meaninglessness of it all pulled laughter out of Shigaraki like broken teeth. He let himself fall back from the force of it, landed on feet that seemed to know what to do with only minimal guidance from him.

His body hurt—hurt in ways he’d really thought he was past feeling, but then, fire had always been a particular brand of all-over pain—and the feeling in his chest was worse. The awareness floated at the back of his mind, a list of cold facts pinned up in his brain under a spotlight, cognition in the style of lepidopterology.

Heroes had found the lab.

The Doc had kept that lab hidden for longer than Shigaraki’d been alive. The heroes had to have gotten new intel somehow.

All the possible sources for new intel were holed up in the mountain villa.

Flying heroes were rare, but not so rare that there wouldn’t be more fighting him here (Majestic alone would be doing a better job playing keep-away with Eraser Head) if they weren’t occupied elsewhere.

The conclusion sat at the bottom of the list: Machia was on his way, but Shigaraki wouldn’t know who he’d lost until the moment the big gorilla got here.

Still, there was just the barest trace of comfort there—Machia was on the way, and either the others had made it or they hadn’t, and soon he’d find out whether Spinner meant it or not, about wanting to see this horizon.

Track 6 | Stay Alive

Earlier than expected, Toga had said. Spinner clung onto Gigantomachia for all he was worth, eyes on the horizon as the chaos of the battle at the villa finally receded behind them. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, throbbing with the memory of Shigaraki at the bottom of that crater in Deika, his tangled hair and bare shoulders all but glowing, pearl white, in the shafts of pale sunlight filtering back down through the scattering debris. Shigaraki tucked up against him in the cheap bed Ujiko kept in the lab, tracing his fingers along Spinner’s scales with unthinking abstraction, not afraid, not disgusted, not even paying all that much attention.

Spinner had been helpless then and he was no better now, terror thick in his throat as he watched the horizon for anything—the hospital, a telltale cloud of dust, a sign, just—just anything to give him a bit of hope.

Track 7 | Fake Wings ~ bitter sweet ver.

Shigaraki hadn’t regained consciousness yet. His burns had healed, but the deep, dry fissures in his skin wee slower to close. They corkscrewed down his arms and speared out viciously over his chest, cicada shell cracks, and who knew what had been trying to pull itself out of that body when Spinner and the others had finally made it to him?

Two crevices ran up either side of his spine in eerie symmetry, each branching once before continuing up, angling along the inside edges of his shoulder-blades. Spinner tried not to look at them more than he had to—every time he did, he’d get horrible mental images of wings shuddering their way free, sticky and wet with blood and enzymes.

He smiled. Spinner reminded himself of that every time he sat down to reapply hydrocortisone and calamine. When he saw us on Machia, he looked at us and he smiled.

It had looked pretty ghoulish, but a lot of Shigaraki’s smiles did. More importantly, though, he’d looked at them with recognition. Whatever had been brewing in him to make him look like some kind of haggard, slough-skinned revenant, Spinner had watched it recede when Shigaraki’s red eyes fell on them, on him.

He dared to run one hand over Shigaraki’s hair, rinsed painstakingly clean by Spinner and Mr. Compress as soon as they’d gotten settled in the tiny, two-road hamlet Skeptic had directed them to. They were laying low for now, hoping to meet up with stragglers from the villa, Re-Destro and the rest, but Spinner couldn’t make himself think about it with any clarity. Not when Shigaraki was still out and they didn’t have Ujiko around to tell them what was wrong.

Wake up, Shigaraki. Please. Please.

Track 8 | Roads Untraveled

“Did you see it?”

“Shigaraki!” Spinner started violently when Shigaraki whispered the words. “You’re awake!”

“And you’re loud,” Shigaraki grumbled. Pain ran a latticework over his body; he wrestled one arm out from under the sheets someone had tucked him into and examined it. A freshly-healed scar spiraled up his arm, putting him vaguely in mind of narutomaki. Skimming the injury, his eyes caught on the hole in his palm and it struck him, foggily, that he didn’t actually know if Sensei had always had those or if they came with Air Cannon.

Sensei. He thought the name slowly, deliberately, letting the syllables prod at his own mind, seeing if there was any response. Nothing poked back, though he still felt strange, emptied out and scraped back into a new container, all mushed up from the transition. Weird. Nothing he couldn’t get used to, but still.

Spinner was still talking, he realized belatedly, and tuned back in in time to hear, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to you sooner. It just got so crazy so fast, we—”

“Spinner,” he interrupted, because there was a ring of shame in Spinner’s voice and Shigaraki wasn’t in the mood for it. “What’d you think of it?”

“Of what?” Spinner asked. He’d changed clothes, out of his polka dot vest and dark cargo pants and into a plain cotton button-up that fit him too tight around the shoulders. Not one of his, and not his style, either, so probably a loaner, or stolen, which meant they were in another hideout.

Shigaraki briefly debated whether he was angry about that and immediately decided that anger was much too intense for how empty he was feeling at that moment. He answered Spinner instead.

“You know what.”

It took Spinner a second to put it together. He might have done better if Shigaraki had stopped staring at him for a minute, but Shigaraki didn’t much feel like doing that, either. Spinner’s awkwardness was comfortably familiar.

“It… It was amazing,” he answered finally. “Practically the whole city was gone.”

“Bigger than in Deika?” Shigaraki asked, more for confirmation than reassurance.

“Way bigger.”

“Papers have a death toll yet?”

“They’re still just talking about casualties—a few thousand, ‘expected to rise.’ But Skeptic says they’re way underreporting.”

That’s still too low. They must have figured us out, Shigaraki thought, even as Spinner frowned, somewhere between angry and distraught.

“Hawks got information out somehow,” he went on. “I’m sorry. We should have—”

“We didn’t. That’s all. We’ll just do it better next time.” Shigaraki tried to lever himself up. Immediately, Spinner leaned in next to him—not trying to browbeat him into resting, which was a nice change, but hooking an arm around his back and giving him a good sturdy vertical surface to brace against. Or maybe just rest against. Fuck, he was tired. I’m gonna kill the Doc; super-regeneration is supposed to work better than this.

“How’re you feeling?” Spinner asked anxiously. Spinner was—weirdly comfortable. Warm. Solid. Shigaraki lost whatever his response was going to be, letting himself go lax against Spinner’s side. “Shigaraki?”

“Feel like I’ve been cold since I got out of the tube,” he answered, too tired to bother with anything but the truth, to which Spinner immediately held him closer. Heh. Bonus. “How about you? Find anything to fill you up while I was away?”

“Not that I’ve got to show you. The whole villa was—” Spinner paused, frustration giving way to suspicion. “Was that a dirty joke?”

Shigaraki snickered and leaned back, pulling Spinner down into the bed with him. Spinner fell with a muffled yelp. “Eh.”

“I don’t believe you,” Spinner said, but quietly, and didn’t follow it up. Slowly, his hands found their way up to Shigaraki’s face, those sharp claws of his infinitely careful as he pushed back Shigaraki’s hair. “Gonna sleep some more?”

“Gonna make me?” It didn’t sound like such a bad idea, honestly. Spinner would have told him something by now if wherever they were wasn’t safe.

“I don’t think I could if I wanted to,” Spinner muttered. “You got really ripped.”

The confused, not quite envious tone dissolved Shigaraki into dry cackling. Of all the shit to focus on.

“Guess I did.” He decided to let himself have the moment—no telling how long it’d last, after all—and relaxed with a sigh into the circle of Spinner’s arms.

Track 9 | All of My Days

Shigaraki slept in his arms.

There were a thousand other things to worry about, things Spinner had sworn he’d start thinking about as soon as Shigaraki woke up, but that boat had obviously sailed, seeing as Spinner’s brain had decided that now was the perfect time get stuck on things like, Thank god he’s still him, and, How did it wind up like this? not to mention a repeating chorus of, I’m so glad he’s alright, and a bunch of fragments like, I never thought I— and, Back then, I—

He exhaled, stirring Shigaraki’s hair. Splayed lazily on his chest, Shigaraki snored softly, undisturbed, drawn back from hazy-eyed detachment by that last burst of laughter, which had been cutting and mean and perfect—and, judging by how fast he’d dropped back off, had also tired him right back out. He’d gotten heavier, which Spinner already knew from muscling him around the house for the last two days, but like this, his weight just felt right. Reassuring.

Savior and liberator, those were the words Re-Destro used for Shigaraki, and Spinner had always rolled his eyes about it, because it was too much, flowery and over-exposed. But when he thought back on his life before, just a set of scales stretched thin over a hollow ache, just fitful anger with nowhere to turn but inward…

He sighed again and tightened his grip, just a little. There was a lot ahead of them still, bad news to break, temporary separations and permanent losses. But despite that, just in that moment, Spinner felt—okay. Like things would be all right. Like the moment he was in was enough. And it’d been such a long time since he’d felt that way that he couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty for it.

Shigaraki slept in his arms, and Spinner let himself breathe.

Track 10 | Shout

The little house they were in—a guest house, the impersonal decor of which had not survived half a week with Toga, Mr. Compress and Skeptic all under one roof—was steadily transforming into their new base of operations. Gigantomachia had been hollowing out a space below ground, dank and shabby compared to the repurposed flood cisterns beneath the villa, but it was slowly filling up with people—stragglers the old MLA smuggled in, because Hawks might have figured out who the Army’s heroes were, but even he was never going to get a full member list; the Army hadn’t even kept one. They’d been doing the hide-in-plain-sight operation for generations, and being back in a scenario where they could get raided again mostly just seemed to fire them up.

Shigaraki was back on his feet again like he’d never been off of them, scars—what was left of them—faded to thin white lines and mostly hidden behind his clothes. He was right back to black, too, courtesy of a fashion expedition Toga and a few local kids had run to the nearest town over.

The news was still going crazy; no matter where Spinner went in town, there was always a boxy little TV or an old radio on with people standing around paying keen attention to the complete meltdown happening across the country—the destruction of Jaku City, Shigaraki’s escape, the discovery and capture of Ujiko, Endeavor’s connection to Dabi (which Shigaraki had apparently figured out half a year ago, in the aftermath of that very first Vanguard Action Squad attack), Hawks’ disfigurement, quirk-erasing bullets, the resurgence of the Meta Liberation Army—a 24-news cycle wasn’t enough to cover everything, and while “vindictive glee” wasn’t quite what Spinner had had in mind back when worried about keeping morale up, well, he still wasn’t going to complain.

They had their feet under them now. Every day, plans were being redrawn, the math being refigured: subtract the element of surprise from the MLA’s operations, but add in the damage done to the Hero Billboard Chart’s precious top ten; take away the Noumu, but wait, actually, maybe don’t, because just how impregnable is Tartarus, exactly? Shigaraki was free, and if he wasn’t quite at 100%, well, Ujiko wasn’t going to be around to finish the job for a while, so there was nothing for it but to move forward, and the way forward stretched before them unobstructed.

Shigaraki still planned to tear it all down, stone from stone—if anything, his fight with the heroes in Jaku and finding out about Twice afterwards had left him even more determined. Somehow, no one seemed to mind. The ordeal had burned their leader clean and sharp, a light burning at the end of the universe, impossible to blot out.

Spinner had never felt more ready to take on the world.

#spinarakiweek2020 #shigaraki tomura #iguchi shuuichi #spinner bnha #fst #bnha fst #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha spoilers #my hero academia #my writing #ficcing

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