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chicgeekgirl89 · 3 years

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The Way Our Horizons Meet: Chapter 4

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes

Summary: Carlos' perspective through the aftermath of T.K.'s shooting. Follows the events of episodes 1x08-1x10.

A/N: I had a few requests to write T.K. and Carlos’ conversation about what happened in New York. Hopefully I did it justice!

CW: Mentions of past drug use, overdosing, suicide (just mentioned, not attempted)

Read Chapters 1-3 on AO3

Carlos woke slowly in the morning. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains and he frowned trying to get his bearings; usually he was up before the sun, even on his days off. He liked to get a workout in early, before the day had really started. He shifted in the bed, wincing when he realized his left arm was full of pins and needles.

Blinking his eyes open fully he came face to face with T.K.’s sleeping form. Carlos’ mouth slowly curved into a smile. It had been a long time since he’d woken up to someone else in his bed. Even longer since it had been someone he really cared about.

Carlos watched him for a moment, just taking it all in. T.K. was lying on his back, mouth slightly open, chest rising and falling slowly. Last night had been…perfect, was the word that came to mind. There had been nothing between them anymore, nothing standing in the way of their feelings for one another, and they had spent many hours making that clear.

His arm was trapped underneath T.K.’s pillow, hence the numbness running all the way up to his shoulder. He didn’t want to wake his sleeping boyfriend (wow it felt good to call him that), but his arm was starting to tingle painfully. Slowly he attempted to ease it out from under T.K.’s head. Despited his best efforts, T.K. immediately began to stir, inhaling sharply and opening his eyes. “Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep as he rolled onto his side to face Carlos, allowing him to free his arm completely.

“Hey,” Carlos said fondly, flexing his fingers as feeling began to return. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“That’s okay.” T.K. smiled sleepily.

“Did you sleep all right?”

“Mhmm,” T.K. said as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Carlos’. “Did you?”

“It was…the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while,” Carlos said honestly.

“Well,” T.K. grinned lazily at him, “we were pretty enthusiastic when we got back here last night. You were probably exhausted.”

Carlos grinned back, running a hand down T.K.’s side, resting it on his hip as memories of the night before flitted through his brain. They’d had to get a little creative considering T.K.’s stitches situation. He didn’t seem any worse for the wear though. “I think I was.”

T.K. looked a little more awake now, his eyes glinting with that look he got when he wanted something. Carlos liked that he knew what so many of T.K.’s different looks meant now. “Are you still exhausted?” he asked, voice low.

His fingers trailed slowly down Carlos’ spine, causing him to shiver. “Not in the least.”

“Good.” T.K.’s mouth was on his in an instant, hungry, searching, and Carlos lost himself in the kiss as they picked up where they’d left off the night before.

It was an hour later that they both lay in the bed, T.K.’s head pillowed on Carlos’ chest. “I like waking up with you,” he said quietly.

T.K. didn’t say anything for a long moment and Carlos felt the certainty and bliss of the last few hours stutter in his chest. He thought they’d finally been on the same page, but maybe…

His hand fell back to the bed as T.K. abruptly sat up, determination on his face. The sheets twisted around his waist as he crossed his legs and looked seriously at Carlos. “I want you to know what happened in New York.”

Carlos pushed himself up on his elbow, reaching his free hand out to touch T.K.’s knee. “You don’t have to. There’s no pressure. You can tell me now or never, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“I know,” T.K. cupped Carlos’ face in his hand and stroked his thumb across his cheek, his gaze fierce. “And that’s why you deserve to know. If we’re going to give this a shot, you should know everything.”

“Okay,” Carlos said softly, mentally bracing himself. Based on what little he did know, he didn’t think this would be easy to hear.

T.K.’s eyes fell to the bed as he collected his thoughts. “I had only been clean again for about six months when I met Alex. I was at a friend’s birthday party, testing my sobriety in a way I probably shouldn’t have been. Someone introduced us, and we hit it off right away. I realized later the whole thing was a setup. But I was okay with it because Alex was charming and fun and I was so desperate to get my life back on track. He was stable, had a good job, knew where he was going in life; he was everything I wasn’t.

“We were together a little over two years and it was good. We didn’t fight or have problems. I just…didn’t see who he really was until it was too late.” T.K. swallowed hard and twisted his fingers into the sheets. “I loved him. I really did. I wanted to marry him. I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him.”

He laughed ruefully and shook his head. “My dad never liked him. My mom did, but my mom likes anyone I like. My dad…he didn’t say anything outright but I could tell. And even if he had said something I probably wouldn’t have listened. I’m uh, I’m kind of stubborn.”

“I’ve noticed,” Carlos said with a smile.

T.K. smiled sheepishly. “Yeah well, sometimes it’s for the better and sometimes not so much.” His face fell a little. “I had it all set up. Dinner at this fancy place, I was going to propose right before dessert. So cliché, but that’s what I was going to do.” T.K. gave a humorless laugh. “And when he got there I got so excited and I just couldn’t wait. I pulled out the ring and started to get down on one knee and he stopped me. Grabbed my arm and told me to sit down.”

T.K.’s jaw worked and Carlos could tell tears were near the surface. “Hey,” he said, sitting up so they were eye to eye. “Take your time.”

T.K. nodded gratefully and blew out a shaky breath. “He’d been cheating on me. With his spin instructor. They were in love. Now I wonder if the spin instructor was even the first. There were times he seemed distant, and then a couple months would go by and he would be all attentive and sweet again. I think there might have been others, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.

“I had never felt so stupid. Like it was my fault. If I had just been better, done more then he wouldn’t have had to cheat. And I should have seen it. I just wanted so desperately to tick all the boxes that proved I was doing the right thing in my life that I didn’t see any of the warning signs until after the fact.”

T.K. rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, no longer able to meet Carlos’ gaze. “I knew where to get pills fast. So I left the restaurant and I picked up some Oxy and went home. I didn’t even try to stop myself. I just did what I do best in a personal crisis: completely self destruct.”

Carlos’ heart picked up its pace. He knew where this was going, knew that this story ended with them here, together in bed right now, but that didn’t make it easier to hear.

T.K. cleared his throat. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I just…wanted it all to go away. The thought of being left, of not being enough…it eats away at you until it’s all you can think about.”

He shook his head. “I took a few and when that wasn’t enough I took a few more and then a few more. And the next thing I knew I was on the floor, puking my guts out, with my dad and his crew picking up my pieces. It wasn’t my first overdose, but it was the closest I’ve ever come to…if they’d been even a minute later…”

Carlos felt his throat growing tight. He’d come so close to losing T.K. before he’d ever even known him. The thought made him oddly protective. He wished he could somehow reach into the past and keep T.K. from ever knowing such incredible hurt.

“My dad didn’t report it, not the way he should have. If he had I would have been fired,” T.K. said, his voice breaking a little as he spoke. “He basically took control of everything and told me to pack my stuff. Because of me he uprooted his whole life and dragged us here.”

He looked up nervously, trying to judge Carlos’ reaction. “You know the rest.”

“You were right,” Carlos said softly. “That is messy.”

“It’s a lot, I know,” T.K. said quickly. “I just…I want you to understand why some things might be hard for me. I fell so hard and so fast last time and I can’t take risks like that again. My dad, he needs me, now more than ever. I can’t do anything to put my sobriety in jeopardy. And I realize this,” he gestured to the disheveled bedding and their naked bodies, “doesn’t exactly look like going slow, but as far as feelings and stuff like that go…”

“Hey,” Carlos put a hand on his knee, “I will never pressure you into anything you don’t want. We’re in this together.” He looked T.K. directly in the eye. “And I want to be really clear here; you can trust me. Always. It’s going to take time for you to see that, for us to build that trust together, but you can. And any mistakes I make along the way are mine and mine only, not a reflection of you.”

T.K. looked at him for a long moment, a hand coming up to softly touch Carlos’ face. “You’re so ridiculously perfect.”

Carlos shifted, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“Well it must be true then,” T.K. said with a smile.

“That is…incredibly sweet,” Carlos said. “But if this is going to work, you can’t put me on a pedestal like that. The only place for me to go is down.” He slid his fingers between T.K.’s. “You and I are the same; flawed, human. I am not some…god among men, now matter how much I might want to be. I have my stuff too. Which I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

“You can’t possibly have baggage like I do,” T.K. said, leaning back against the pillows.

Carlos shrugged. “Yours might be more obvious, but mine could be worse. You have to watch out for the quiet ones, isn’t that what they say?”

T.K. raised his eyebrows and smirked. “You certainly weren’t quiet last night.”

Carlos threw a pillow at him, which T.K. easily deflected. Carlos shook his head, but he smiled. “That is not what we’re talking about.” His face grew serious. “If this is going to work you have to love me for who I am, not some idealized version of me.”

T.K. blinked at him for a moment. “Love you?”

Carlos’ cheeks flamed and he rushed to take back the word that had slipped off of his stupid, besotted tongue. “I didn’t mean—I—“

T.K. laughed. “It’s okay, Carlos.”

“No, I’m sorry. You just poured your heart out and I can’t keep my damn mouth shut—”

“Carlos,” T.K. leaned forward and kissed him, effectively cutting off his apology. “It’s okay.” He traced his fingers down Carlos’ cheek. “I may not be ready to say that word yet. But I am ready to be with you.” He brushed a kiss over Carlos’ nose. “And I like you,” he kissed his cheek. “Very,” his ear. “Very,” his neck. “Much.”

They were falling back into the bed again, limbs tangling, lips finding bare skin. They clearly had so much more to talk about, but for now, what they’d said was enough. If this was love, it would find them the time to take care of the rest.

#911 Lone Star #Tarlos #Tarlos Fic #T.K. Strand #Carlos Reyes #1x08 #1x10 #The boys are having some feelings #And sexy times #As per usual #The Way Our Horizons Meet #Chapter 4

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nellie-elizabeth · 3 years

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The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: New World Order (1x01)

Watching this show is going to be strange for me because I genuinely ship Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson with one Steve Rogers... so basically I just want to watch them sitting around being sad about him being dead the whole time. But I'm open to the possibilities, here, I really am...

Cons:

Positioning the bad guys here as... well, as communists who want a world without borders, and then making them into terrorists... let's just say I'm side-eying this pretty hard. You have that twist at the end, where the United States brings forth a new symbolic hero, a new Captain America, and my brain immediately started spinning forward as to where this is going to go. See, we've got anarchist baddies who want to destroy all the flags on one side, then we've got this pretender to the throne on the other side. But the issue won't be that there's something inherently flawed with the whole concept of a militarized heroic folk legend for Americans to idealize... it'll be about how it's the wrong man carrying the shield. At some point, in a moment of triumph, Sam will take the mantle on for himself, and then we can safely and comfortably cheer as our hero takes down the big bad commies who don't love 'Murica enough. I want to be wrong. I want them to mix things up, to challenge things, but all I can see is that the ultimate heroic conclusion is going to be "government control of Captain America is Bad, but Captain America himself, and what he stands for, specifically America, is good."

While I know this episode needed to set up a lot of puzzle pieces, I did think there were moments of somewhat clumsy exposition with both Bucky and Sam's story-lines. We've got Sam who's worried about his sister and her kids losing the family home and boat, and going to get a loan. There were some good moments in here, but it was a bit paint-by-numbers, and some of the dialogue fell into that "as you know..." trap where characters were having a conversation, then needed to stop and tell us it's a conversation they've already had a million times before. They're having the talk for our benefit as the audience only. That's a tough needle to thread, and they didn't quite thread it. The same thing happens during Bucky's therapy appointment. First off, the whole waking up out of a dream thing, cut to a therapist talking about nightmares... another cliché. And then we have the therapist walking him through the three steps, and restating them for the benefit of the audience, even though in the ordinary course they wouldn't lay it all out like that again, since Bucky would already know. It's a small thing, I'm nitpicking, but there were some rough aspects to the start of the show.

Pros:

First off, let's just acknowledge that the show looks great. That whole opening action scene with Sam rescuing the guy, flying around, helicopters blowing up, the base jumping tech... damn. It felt like I could be watching an action sequence on the big screen, in any standard MCU movie. Maybe not the climactic fight, but one of the shorter, introductory ones for sure. And that's what this was, wasn't it? A strong, exciting, high-energy start to the show.

I really love Sam Wilson, y'all. There's something so incredibly powerful about watching a show like this with a black man in the leading role. He's such a good person, he's charming and funny and bad-ass but compassionate. He's a little cocky but nowhere approaching an asshole about his power and fame. He's stubborn but that just shows that he really cares. The movies don't have a ton of screen-time with Sam, if we're being honest, but I already really liked him, and here I'm seeing the chance to flesh out the details and let Anthony Mackie do his thing on the silver screen. It's all really working for me so far.

I like the side characters we're folding in here - his sister seems like an interesting character with a lot to offer, and I love that Sam has these nephews in his life to care for, something to anchor him to the world in a way that Bucky, who I'll talk about in a second, kind of doesn't. It provides a nice contrast between them. I also really liked Torres, the man who helps teach Sam about the Flag Smashers (ugh, that name) and seems like a solid dude who wants to make a positive difference in the world. I hope we see more of him too.

(Also, while I'm sure Rhodey was just a brief appearance in this first episode, it was so good to see him too! I'll miss him in the MCU, if he doesn't keep popping up.)

The last thing I'll mention on Sam's side of the story is that bank loan scene. It was such a punch in the gut to see Sam denied the loan, and one of the reasons being "you don't have any income for the past five years." Well... Sam didn't exist. He got Thanos snapped. This feels so realistic to me, that the system would not pivot to adapt to the new situation, but instead leave more and more people out in the cold. Then you have the bank employee trying to get selfies with the Falcon, all excited to meet an Avenger, all while denying him and his family the money they needed to make ends meet. It was such a devastating scene, and you could see so much hope draining out of Sam's eyes. I'm anxious to see where this goes.

And then you've got Bucky Barnes... let me just say, that despite the fact that he's a super assassin, whenever I see Bucky on the screen I just want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from all harm. When I saw how Sebastian Stan was debuting on the show, in a flashback to his Winter Solider evil days, I literally said out loud, "oh no, poor Bucky" as if I wasn't watching him murder a bunch of people in cold blood. I have such an intense desire for him to be okay, so seeing him not being okay, but trying in these small ways to atone for his past actions, makes me so proud of him already.

Despite my undying belief that Bucky Barnes is deeply in love with Steve Rogers and that nobody will ever take Steve's place in his heart... I thought the date scene was actually very cute. The flowers, the board game, just chilling in the restaurant... I don't know. I hope that woman is in the show moving forward. I want Bucky to be happy. I want him to make new friends, forge connections in the world. I also really liked the stuff with Yuri, and when the reveal happened about Bucky having killed his son, it was a severe punch to the gut. Maybe I was supposed to have guessed it before the show told me, but I didn't, and when I realized why Bucky had befriended this old grumpy man... oh god. It's all too tragic.

On the one hand, it makes me a little nervous that there are only six episodes in this season, and in the first one we didn't even see Sam and Bucky interact. On the other hand, it's a pretty smart move to keep us waiting, at least a little, for the duo to emerge and develop a rapport. I can't wait for the fun banter, as I think Sam and Bucky are both funny, snarky people albeit with different attitudes and ways of expressing said snark. And I also can't wait for some more serious content between them, as they ruminate on all they've lost in the wars they've fought, on how hard it is to be suddenly missing five years of your life... and on Steve Rogers, a great friend (*ahem* boyfriend *ahem*) that they've both recently lost.

They're also holding back on Sam taking up the mantle of Captain America. I wonder if that will be a point of contention between Bucky and Sam. Bucky was there, Bucky gave his blessing, honestly, when Steve handed over the shield, and it was the only thing about Steve's ending in Endgame that didn't make me insanely furious. I want this to be a point of conflict with them, I want them to argue about the best way to honor Steve. So much juicy material here! And I'm intrigued by this "new Captain America" concept, even though I'm wary about where they're taking it, in terms of theme... we shall have to see!

All in all, this was very standard Marvel fare. I like the characters, the action is creative and enjoyable to watch, there are some emotional gut-punches and some funny lines here and there. Nothing mind-blowing, nothing so innovative and fresh and new, but just more of the same... a same that I've come to really love over the past decade or so.

8/10

#review #falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier review #fatws #fatws review #the falcon and the winter soldier

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strekkingur · 3 years

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MEET THE MUSE POWER HOUR!!

━━ take a seat and REPOST this detailed little bio with criteria to introduce the world to your muse. no reblog karma or tagging ━ if you see this on your dash, feel free to partake in it!

☆ ━ B A S I C S .

NAME:: Eiríkur A. Sævarsson / Republic of Iceland

NICKNAME(S):: Eiki with family, Ice by others (call him Ice Ice Baby and you get hit)

AGE:: 1,147 yo, stuck at 18 in human age

GENDER:: male, he/him

NATIONALITY:: Icelandic

☆ ━ A P P E A R A N C E .

EYE COLOR:: a very pale blue actually, but being an albino and having so little pigment in his eyes, the blood vessels of his retinas show through the iris and make his eyes appear almost violet in colour... his actual eye colour can be hard to tell

HAIR COLOR:: white as snow due to albinism

HAIRSTYLE:: short/medium length, usually tousled beyond hope. He has thick, straight hair (tho a few unexpected waves often appear here and there) that has a mind of its own. On top of that, his home country is known for its unpredictable weather and high winds so any of Eiríkur’s attempts to style his hair nicely will be in vain within a few hours. The end result looks as if he hasn’t brushed his hair in a few weeks

HEIGHT:: 180 cm / 5′11′‘

WEIGHT:: 67 kg / 147 lbs

BUILD:: lanky, very narrow frame, gangly and awkward with legs for days... you know that teenager stage where it looks like someone attached a string to the top of their head and pulled up? that what I’m trying to say is he’s like a noodle

TATTOO(S):: N/A

SCAR(S):: covered in burn scars thanks to being volcanic (plus a few “oopsies”)

PIERCING(S):: N/A

PREFERRED FASHION:: his beloved lopapeysas paired with black skinny jeans and a nice pair of boots (either ankle or knee high). Often wears all black or dark colours (dark blue, dark grey, deep mossy green, brown) and combined with his white hair and pale skin, ends up looking like he’s escaped from an old b&w photograph. He doesn’t care for accessories other than a pair of earbuds either plucked in his ears or looped around his neck. Usually wears two layers (wool can be itchy directly against the skin) and when the weather gets colder, he adds a furry-hooded parka and gloves to his ensemble but often skips other warm items of clothing like scarfs and hats

TYPICALLY SMELLS LIKE:: his asthma doesn’t handle strong smells so Eiríkur doesn’t wear cologne or use any scented soaps or shampoos, usually he only smells clean, a little musky, a warm vanilla kind of smell like an old and beloved book. Residual smells from his daily life may include wool, animals, coffee, rosin, etc. Sometimes he may carry faint hint of sulphur, again, thanks to being a volcanic nation

☆ ━ P E R S O N A L I T Y .

POSITIVE TRAITS:: allocentric || appreciative || calm || caring || challenging || charming || creative || compassionate || dramatic || efficient || focused || imaginative || liberal || loyal || neat || non-authoritarian || observant || witty ||

NEUTRAL TRAITS:: stubborn || perfectionist || sarcastic || confident || prideful || competitive || rash || unsentimental || artful || casual || complex || emotional || honest || outspoken || sensual ||

NEGATIVE TRAITS:: abrasive || argumentative || blunt || crass || cynical || egocentric || fatalistic || hesitant || indulgent || irritable || lazy || libidinous || meddlesome || moody || neurotic || passive || possessive || vague ||

LIKES:: animals (especially horses), reading books and studying, learning new things, Nordic Noir, true crime podcasts, sci-fi, listening to music, playing music, nice shoes (esp tall boots), feeeeesh (fish is dead serious business), coffee, pancakes, ice cream, liquorice, sweet pies, pastries, all kinds of sweets tbh, birdwatching, windowshopping, hiking, wide open spaces, having the newest gadgets, NatGeo documentaries, knitting his own sweaters, cheerful and optimistic people, dark humour, bad puns, witty jokes

DISLIKES:: being treated like a naive child who doesn’t know how the world works, feeling insignificant and unheard (read: being ignored), his family (depending on the day with Denmark but Norway is quite solidly on the black list), pretentious people (England), pointless decorum, dishonesty, indirect communication, power distances, deadlines, other people’s insistence to punctuality, and all other useless “hassle”, people who are busy just for the sake of being busy, people who call Icelandic horses ponies, people who diss his traditional food, judgmental people, people and things that (dare to) tower over him, people who pick on others, people who dislike animals and/or animals dislike them, snakes and spiders and other creepy crawlies with too little or too many legs (he feels very conflicted about Sleipnir), neckties... (cut for length)

PHOBIAS / FEARS:: being abandoned, being powerless, lacking a voice and a purpose in the world, getting attached to people, having his trust betrayed, death and dying (both his own and other people he unfortunately finds himself caring about), asphyxiation, needles (or any medical stuff really)

HABITS:: wearing earphones 24/7, always either listening to music and/or singing or humming under his breath, wearing all black clothes, speaking his mind regardless of any and all consequences, siding with the underdogs, showing up at least 15 minutes late to any engagements, reading ferociously about the topics that interest him so that when the conversation lands on those topics he can obliterate his opponent, getting stuck on wikipedia rabbit roles, second-guessing and arguing with himself, taking an average of three days to reply to texts (just call him if you need something), showing up to visit unannounced, baking about once a week, always having homemade desserts to offer to guests but refusing to say they’re homemade

☆ ━ R E L A T I O N S H I P S .

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:: demisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:: biromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:: something may be afoot with Sarafina ( @orkidpayanke )

☆ ━ H E A L T H .

CHRONIC CONDITIONS:: moderate allergic asthma, PTSD of abandonment, a few specific phobias, hayfever, dry skin and eczema (melancholic by nature but does not fill the criteria for depression)

ADDICTIONS:: caffeine; he can definitely be a bit dangerous to deal with without it

ALLERGIES:: dust mites, pollen, mould (main triggers for his asthma but almost any irritants can set him off: tobacco smoke, air pollution, ash/volcanic fumes, perfumes - please don’t wear strong perfume around him - cold air, dusty rooms, chest infections), also gets a rash around his face and neck from strong sunlight

☆ ━ H O M E .

PLACE OF RESIDENCE:: a house by the sea in the outskirts of Vogar

METHOD OF TRANSPORTATION:: by car if the destination is more than 5 mins away (or alternatively he’d like to commute by horseback but for some reason they tell him it isn’t “professional” and that he’s “making a scene” in the modern day)

PETS:: four Icelandic horses, two cats, and a dog

☆ ━ W O R K & E D U C A T I O N.

JOB:: government “intern” / eternal student, he reads over miscellaneous paperwork (sometimes he jokingly calls himself the PM’s spell-check) and travels for diplomatic missions. His govt is understanding of his physical youth and thanks to the peacefulness of his nation, are willing to allow him time to study and learn the ropes of nationhood (sometimes Eiríkur complains that they could give him more work). In his free time he also volunteers in the local Search and Rescue group

SCHOOLING:: he learnt the basics of survival, the ancient laws and etiquette from his medieval chieftains and later Norway. While living in Denmark he had various tutors and received the standard education of a noble boy for the era. In the modern day he’s enrolled in the local university and does online courses on various subjects that spark his interest. Has completed degrees in Icelandic Language and History at this point, and the rest of his credentials are coming along slowly

SPOKEN LANGUAGES:: Icelandic, Danish, English, German, French, Latin, Old Norse, and to a (much) lesser extent: Norwegian, Swedish (tho he might just be speaking Danish without the stød), Polish, Lithuanian, Latvian, Estonian, and Finnish

SKILLS:: playing the violin and piano, singing, chess, animal husbandry and horsemanship, reciting the sagas and medieval law forwards and backwards by heart, baking, story telling, braiding hair, knitting, quick memorisation of both useful and useless information, wilderness survival, can always point true north, and also has a truly spectacular talent for misplacing things and getting lost

☆ ━ R A N D O M .

QUIRKS:: miracle kid that honestly should have died more than a few times already (bc his own land is constantly trying to kill him), might just be indestructible at this point, now insists on having an opinion in everyone’s business (to not lead an empty existence), also insists on acting tougher than he is, covers up most of his emotions with an explosive temper, has a tendency to get into petty arguments (esp with England), never uses the word “please”, is a neat freak, had a Viking fanboy phase in the 1920s (rumours say it might still be brewing under the surface), cannot tie a necktie without almost hanging himself, actively rebels against all social rules both on personal and national level, and is always down to fight

RELIGION:: Protestant Christian (nominally part of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Iceland, but mostly agnostic in practice)

THEME SONG(S):: Síðasta kveðjan - Árstíðir

#many are difficult to see through (headcanons)#major headcanons #me introducing my muses: and here we have a belligerent beanpole #the reason this took me so long is actually bc I had somewhat hard time thinking of stuff Eiki actually likes xD

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kachulein · 3 years

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The day Tumblr decides to fix its bugs and shit I swear I'll hold a party for all my followers 😭😭 and it's okay!! You don't have to be sorry, I was just worried because I thought something happened to you but knowing that you're doing fine makes me happy ❤️❤️ And talking about my exams... Well, I did my best LMAO I'm still waiting for my scores to be posted because yes my teachers are lazy af and need a whole and entire month to write the scores on the app🙂

Ooohh I've heard so many good things about acupuncture treatment!! My dad took one session to control his anxiety and he liked it quite a lot. What a pity that I'm a coward and am afraid of needles🤡 I'm shaking for when I have to get the vaccine LMAO Everyone be out there being scared because of the vaccine and here I am being scared because of a fucking needle 🤡🤡 And I'm so sorry to hear that you got all the side effects of the vaccine 😣😣 I really hope you're feeling better now❤️❤️ I still have to wait until the end of July/beginning of August to get mine😔 How did your exams go?? I remember you told me the other day you did well on one of them!! 👏🏻👏🏻 I'm sure you nailed them❤️❤️

It's been already 1 year and a half since the last time I could see them😭 Fortunately before covid arrived I could meet them all in Thailand (my uncle lives there) during Christmas because if not it would have been 2 years 😭 And about the ideas of writing... Well... I think I should get banned from watching videos about idols LMAO every time I watch a comeback or something an idea for a fic pops up in my mind and I end up with 382773 ideas on my notebook LMAO

IKR😭 The feelings both of them hold in the song UGH😭😭 It makes me sob🤧

About those two new groups... I just saw the MVs... O H M Y F U C K I N G G O D 🙂 BOWKHLUDQHFIYDQ THEY'RE AMAZING🤩🤩 What's happening with nowadays rookies😭

I've been really into sf9 lately, like REALLY INTO🤧 And actually really into their company groups aka Nflying and P1Harmony 🤧 like have you watched the it's live for Moonshot of Nflying?? HOW ARE THEY SO GOOD😭 And then there's P1Harmony with two amazing albums I can't stop singing and dancing to🙂 what do they eat to be all swaggy and perfect being literally babies? I want to know because I'm older than all of them and all I have done in my life is manage to not burn the kitchen while heating my glass of milk before going to bed🤡🤡

Omg yes right, pls fix the bugs tumblr😭😭😭 and thank you so much for understanding!!😭💖 I didn't mean to worry you :( I wrote a long ass answer and rambled on like always and tumblr just decided to eat the ask, I'm really sorry :(

I hope you're doing good yourself and have you gotten your exam grades already? I'm sure you did amazing!!🥺💖💖 I can honestly feel you so much because it's the same for us as well. It usually takes 3 weeks for us to get our exam results, so I'll probably have to wait another two weeks to see how I've done... I really hope it was good alkfleldksld (and I meant to tell you that I think it went well but I don't have the result yet so I'm not sure yet,,, but thank you so much!!😭💖)

I'm so glad the acupuncture helped your dad managing his anxiety! Anxiety is one of the main reasons I get acupuncture treatments and I slowly start to see an improvement with less panic attacks and being able to handle the anxiety better.🥺 I'm sorry to hear you're scared of needles :( I know it's not really helping but the acupuncture needles are so thin you pretty much don't feel anything.🥺👉🏻👈🏻 And lemme tell you something funny, I had an another session yesterday and got some needles in my butt-😂 I really hope getting the vaccine won't be too bad for you😭💖 I've recovered from the sife effects again and I'm feeling a lot better now and knowing that I'm already protected for around 88% makes me feel a lot more safe, so I hope it will be good for you in the end, too!!🥺 After getting the vaccine at the end of July/beginning of August will you be able to go back home to see your family in August already?🥺💞 And omg, that's been such a long time :( I'm sorry you haven't been able to see them for so long :( You must be so happy to finally be able to reunite with them again. I hope you'll have an amazing time!!🥺💖

Omg akxksso I can see how that's a struggle but I also think it's admirable how creative you are and how you find writing inspiration in everything! That's so cool and something you can be proud of!!🥺 I used to always dream up scenarios in my head when falling asleep and ended up making them into fics😂👉🏻👈🏻

And yes, right!! I agree. I love their voices so much!!😭🥺 And omg yes, these rookies nowadays are so powerful😭😍 I'm really looking forward to their future comebacks.💞 And omgggg although, I don't stan these groups I know them and listen to their songs and I can only agree!🥺 I've just watched the it's Live version for N.Flying's Moonshot and god, it's so good and their voices are *chef's kiss*👌🏻 I also gotta say, N.Flying has absolutely amazing songs anyway! They're often those songs I listen to on repeat.😭😭😭 Rooftop is my absolute fave!!💖 Also fun fact, while answering this ask, I was listening to P1Harmony (Scared - such an amazing song), so I can totally feel you!! And on the age thing🤡 I feel you, again🤡 For me, it's the same with Enhypen. They're all younger than me and I feel like a good for nothing grandma👵 looking at them-😂😂😂

#key201303💞#lovely mooties💞#ask

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1195

survey by n0b0dysp3rf3ct

—:: Who ::—

... was the last person you saw face to face? I passed by my brother last night when I had to go to the kitchen to fill up my tumbler.

... was the last person you texted or messaged online? Angela; I was just asking her for the difference among A4/A5/A6 since I’m now planning to buy a binder and sleeves for my rapidly increasing collection of photocards and postcards. It really frustrates me that A4 is the biggest one and A6 the smallest :((((

... was the last person who asked you for a favour? Kata, my manager. She filed a half-day leave last Friday to get herself and her family vaccinated in her town, so she had sent me over a very long to-do list of deliverables that she asked me to fulfill while she was out. Eventually she ended up filing a whole-day leave since she felt feverish after being under the sun all day, and also possibly from side effects of the vaccine, so I ended up carrying the entire workload for the day. I like Kata and she’s a very easy person and superior to work with, so I honestly couldn’t complain about it.

... was the last person you lent something to? Ooh, I don’t remember. I don’t really lend people things.

... was the last person who told you a secret/confided in you? Andi was just sharing to me their worries about taking the LAE (scheduled for today) and how they’ll be okay if they don’t pass.

... is the tallest person you know? Jo is like 5′7″ and we all look like beans when standing next to her. One of my uncles is also very tall; around 5′10″ or 5′11″ if I’m not mistaken.

... the shortest person you know? I think Aya? That’s just a smart guess, though; I haven’t seen most of my friends in more than a year.

... your oldest (in years) friend? Mik is turning 28 this year. Sometimes I forget just how much older he is than me since we vibe really well together during the rare times we did get to hang out. I’m still bummed we never got that smoke break we wanted to have.

... is the oldest (in length of time) friend? Angela.

... is your youngest friend? Hannah was born in 2000. Peter was born in 2001 but we aren’t that close yet.

... is your newest friend? I haven’t made any new friends recently. Stan Twitter is lonelier than I thought it would be; everyone is already friends with everyone so it’s hard to break that space. Not to mention everyone is also grossly younger than I am – I keep seeing profiles with ‘2004′ on their bio :/ I should start making an effort to look for older ARMYs lol, I definitely feel like I’d have more fun that way.

... is your closest relative? My eldest cousin on my mom’s side, my Kuya.

... was your favourite teacher? My music teacher from high school. I neeeeeever liked music as a subject and it was never a priority of mine, but she always kept our classes something for me to look forward with her advice and the way she was always able to make lessons interesting.

... was your least favourite teacher? Those who made it clear they didn’t like me, even though I didn’t do anything to deserve such hostility.

... did you spend the most time with when growing up? My siblings and cousins since we all lived together at one point.

... knows you the best? My two best friends.

... always beats you in games or sports? Andi would probably be able to beat me in any game. They just let me win because they know I can be a sore loser.

... who is the most creative of the people you know? My family is pretty artistic and I have a lot of talented relatives - my sister and my cousin Maggie paint and draw; my mom can make any kind of craft she wants, with her hnds; and one of my grand-aunts regularly does paintings. I think all of them are amazingly creative in their own way.

... is the funniest person you know? Probably Andi. Hans makes me crack up too.

... is the most organised that you know? My mom.

... that you know has travelled the most? My dad. Both our fridge doors are filled from top to bottom with magnets from places he’s travelled in due to his line of work. He’s toned down quite a bit in the last few years and has taken to staying within Asia, but back then his traveling history was super expansive – Germany, Jamaica, Italy, Belize, Aruba, Italy, France, Monaco, Denmark, Norway, the UK, US, Estonia, Portugal, etc.

... has always been there for you? Angela never left my side.

... has given you the most personal gift? I can’t possibly pick, my friends are pretty good at giving me gifts...like Andi getting me a Petals For Armor CD and a Punk shirt that hasn’t been produced in a while, and Angela giving me a personalized Friends mug because she knows I like my coffee and she knows I like Friends.

... has an annoying laugh? I don’t think anyone I know has an annoying laugh.

... never forgets a birthday? That would be me.

... do you live with? My parents, my two siblings, and our two dogs.

...,do you have the most in common with? I’m not so sure about this one, actually. I share bits of my personality with a lot of people - like me and Jo liking BTS, me and Andi liking wrestling, Blanch and I having similar personalities, me and Laurice being super meticulous when it comes to our work, etc. - but I haven’t met anyone who’s virtually a duplicate of mine when it comes to my traits and interests.

...is the sportiest person you know? I’m also not sure. Most people I know are into watching a bunch of sports, but none of them actually play.

...was your last missed call? It was an unknown number that I kept ignoring because THEY WOULDN’T TEXT WHO THEY WERE. If you have enough load credits to call me multiple times, then surely you can text me and introduce yourself first, and maybe then I can pick up the phone.

...did you last open your door for? My sister knocked last Friday because someone wanted to talk to me via landline. It was weird since no one calls via the phone anymore, but I have a gut feeling it was that ^ same person who had been trying to call me through my phone but never texted me. Eventually I learned it was one of the bloggers I’m talking to for work who just wanted to ask a few questions about our ongoing engagement.

... has your heart? Kim Taehyung. Expect the same answer for this type of question moving forward.

... has your respect? I gotta hand it to Tina for consistently doing well in her studies and excelling in every subject while doing photo and video editing for two orgs, working on her thesis, and being a board member in our mutual org, all while living alone. She does so well I wish I can tell her to give herself the occasional break to avoid burnout.

...do you share a special song with? I don’t think I have that with anyone.

...do you miss right now? Literally allllllll my friends.

...last made you angry? It’s been a while since I’ve directed my anger towards another person. When I get pissed off these days it’s usually over a situation that goes awry or out of my control.

...did you last buy a gift for? So this was not technically meant to be a gift, but what happened was I accidentally secured two orders of the same poster set, which was a part of this new BTS photobook coming out later this month, from two different shops. One of the shops merely posted an ‘interest check’ for the poster set so I signed up for it thinking it was harmless, but when they got back to me they already attached an invoice :/ I ended up having to pay for it just so things won’t get complicated between myself and the shop anymore; and I told Angela she can just keep the extra set I bought and that she can consider it a gift.

...did you celebrate your last birthday with? My family and technically my workmates since I didn’t file a leave that day. I also had food delivered to their house so I guess that can count as my ‘celebration’ with them.

...have you gone to a concert with? I went with Angela for my first Paramore show.

...can make you laugh? Anyone can tbh. It’s not very hard to make me laugh.

...has taught you how to do something? Nina taught me how to embroider and do basic needle/thread skills back when I was still getting into the hobby.

...has lost something of yours? I am almost certain my ex never kept the handwritten letters I used to write her. She never seemed to remember or bring up the things I wrote.

...has broke your heart? Gabie but I’m over it.

...has stood you up? Hasn’t happened to me before.

:: What ::

Is your favourite colour? Pastel pink.

Can you do that most your friends can’t? Type fast, apparently.

Is your birthday? April 21.

Colour eyes do you have? Dark brown/black.

Form of transport do you take to work/school? I work from home. But under normal circumstances I would drive my car.

Music do you like to listen to in the car? I connect my Spotify to the car’s Bluetooth and listen to whatever artist or playlist I’m into at the moment. The music I put on could also depend on my current mood for the day.

Languages can you speak? Filipino and English. I’ve also been able to pick up looooots of Korean phrases and expressions because of the amount of content I watch. I’m nowhere near fluent, of course, but I’m increasingly able to pick up what people say based off a few Korean words I’ll hear in a sentence.

Was the last thing you drank? Continued from idk. I finished off my glass of water from dinner.

Was the last thing you ate? My mom made pasta.

Time did you wake up this morning? Depends on how late I slept the night before and how tired I was, but it usually ranges between 5:45–7:30 AM.

Colour are your bedroom walls? They’re white.

Drink do you usually order when eating out? I never order drinks unless I’m at La Creperie, in which case I always get their San Gines hot chocolate; for everywhere else that isn’t a bar, I just get water.

Food can you cook well? ...I can’t cook.

Animals have you had for a pet? Dogs, rabbit, lovebirds, goldfish, and technically a cat but she was mostly Nina’s.

Are your initials? RC.

Kind of activities do you like to do on the weekends? I’m still kind of stuck at home during the weekends :/ so I can’t do much, but I’m not complaining since I actually prefer staying in these days. Anyway, most recently I’ve taken to catching up on BTS content I’ve missed over the last 8 years, so I like watching shows they’ve done like Bon Voyage, Run BTS, etc.

Movie do you know line by line? Two for the Road, TITANIC, and probably most of White Chicks.

Band(s) have you seen in concert? Paramore, One Direction, a bunch of local bands.

Do you buy/get to treat yourself? It’s usually food - I like giving myself a feast every Friday night - but I’m putting that in the backseat for now as I’ve realigned my money to be spent on BTS merch. My big purchases are saved for the albums for now, but every now and then I’ll see a postcard or photocard I like and buy them. Once I complete the albums I’ll be moving on to the concert DVDs, then the special packages, then probably BT21 plushies. Needless to say I have a longggggg way to go haha.

Colours your phone cover? I have a clear case.

Part of the world would you love to visit? Another continent would be nice.

Question do you dislike being asked? Even though I know people mean well, I don’t like being asked “How are you?” but tbh it’s more of a me thing because I just never really know what to say.

Subject were you good at in school? History.

Careers do your parents have? They both work in the hospitality industry.

Brand of clothing do you buy most often? For clothes clothes I’m not really loyal to a particular brand; I buy from different brands and shops all the time. But for shoes, I like sticking to Nikes.

Chocolate bar is your favourite? Not a big fan of chocolate bars. I love Reese’s Cups, though.

TV show have you watched every series of? Friends, Perfect Strangers, Breaking Bad.

Radio station do you listen to the most? It’s a little hard to tell at this point considering I haven’t driven regularly in over a year. But back when I used to do it, I usually flipped among 93.1, 99.5, and 87.5.

Podcasts are you subscribed to? I’m not the biggest fan of podcasts. Find them a tad bit boring.

Is your favourite dessert? Macarons or cheesecake.

Can’t you do that most around you seem to? Ride a bike.

Are 5 qualities you value in a friend? Loyalty, thoughtfulness, honest, sensitive to my needs and those of others, and intelligent.

Are 5 qualities you value in a partner? ^ Pretty much the same thing.

Size pizza do you usually order? Family size usually.

Cuisine do you like to order or cook? I’ve been getting Japanese so many times recently. I rarely go outside sushi.

Colour(s) dominate your wardrobe? Black and white, and colors that were in at one point like mustard yellow and pastel pink.

Toothpaste brand do you use? Colgate.

Sounds can you hear right now? My insanely loud aircon.

Is the weather like today? Like hell. I believe we’re reaching a heat index of over 50ºC every day now, so...that’s fun. It gets absolutely difficult to work in the afternoon when the temperature is at its most brutal, and its times like this I wish I got to work in the office so that there’s aircon and I could at least work comfortably :/

Are your plans for tomorrow? Just work and have tons of meetings, the usual.

:: Where ::

Do you keep your phone when not using it? I keep my phone near me even when I’m not using it since I could always get an important notification.

Were you born? Manila.

Do you go to unwind? Most days it would be the rooftop, but under normal circumstances I like staying at a coffee shop somewhere to escape life and my responsibilities for a short while.

Is your best friend right now? I believe they’re both at home since they have no reason to be out anyway.

Can you go nearby to have a good time? Personally, I would just go to the Starbucks near our village lol. If I’m feeling a bit more adventurous I’d head to Katip, which is prrrretty close by but not quite.

Is the nearest restaurant? We have a McDonald’s literally right beside the village. Then besides that is a Shakey’s, and right across that is a Burger King, then the aforementioned neaby Starbucks. Just makes me realize how urbanized my town has gotten in the last few years.

Is the nearest beach? If I had to guess, the nearest beaches would be in Batangas which is 2-3 hours away, but it really depends on how fast you can drive lol. I’m not too good with long car rides so in both times I’ve driven there I had always taken 4 hours.

Did you meet your closest friend? I met Angela in grade school, and I met Andi at a local rally in my university.

Did you go for your last vacation? Tagaytay, though it was a staycation more than anything else.

Is the nearest mall or superstore? It’s like a 3-minute drive away from the village.

Did you last get an injury? I have loadsssssss of new scratches and gashes all around my wrists from playing with Cooper.

Is the most extravagant place you’ve stayed at? It’s a toss-up between Aids’ or Gian’s house. Gian would probably win since I never actually got to go inside Aids’ place, and his was the first house I’ve been to that was able to literally take my breath away. OH and Shaun’s house was pretty fucking swanky as well.

Do most the local kids play? I would have no idea since I’m neither a kid nor a parent.

Have you been with your family? This is a very vague question lol...what do you mean where have we been? We’ve been to different towns around the country and several countries together, if that’s what you’ve been asking.

Did you spend Christmas last year? We visited a couple of relatives, and we also spent it at home.

Did your parents grow up? My mom grew up within Metro Manila; my dad in a city a little outside of it.

Did you buy the shoes you’re wearing? I’m barefoot at the moment and always am at home.

Would you like to go right now if you could? If life had still been normal I would probably be having after-work drinks at a bar near the office.

Do you miss the most from your childhood? I’m not sure how to answer this with where.

Is the best restaurant you know? I’m still searching for it.

Will you never go again as it was so bad? It’s not that it was bad, but I’d probably never dine at 8Cuts again because their burgers are not worth the hype and are very overpriced for their size.

:: When ::

...was your last vacation? My family’s last legit vacation was in August 2019; but we did have a quick escape to Tagaytay in January of this year.

...did you graduate? I officially ‘graduated’ from college in August, if you could even call it that.

...did you decide what career you wanted? Somewhere between my 2nd and 3rd year of college. That was when I decided I hated journalism and preferred PR, but since PR is under journalism’s umbrella there was no need for me to shift courses.

...did you have your first kiss? Continued. Like WHEN when or how old was I when? In any case, it was in January 2015 and I ws 16.

...did you learn how to swim? Idk, pretty early on. My parents liked taking us to water parks when we were younger, so we had a lot of exposure. I’m not sure if there was ever a time where something just clicked and I learned how to swim; I believe it had just come naturally.

...did you have your first relationship? By the end of 2014.

...did you meet your best friend? I met both of them in school, but at different points.

...do you feel the most at peace? Probably when I’m able to stay at the rooftop all alone.

...do you usually fall asleep? I’ve readjusted my body clock now (I used to want to be in bed by 9 or 10 PM, lmao) and I stay up until anywhere between 12-2 AM on weekdays.

...do you usually wake up? Ranges between 6-7:30 AM.

...did you last watch a movie? September.

...did you last go to a party? Around Februaryish, 2020.

...did you last cry? I can’t really recall. The last moment I can remember was crying over Life Goes On sometime last month, when I heard it for the first time. I’m just not sure if that’s accurate or when exactly in April that happened.

...did you laugh really hard? I always have a good laugh at least once a day.

...did you buy something pricey last? Idk what you would count as pricey but I bought the new BTS photobook set when it dropped back in April. Cost me around ₱3750. I wasn’t able to buy from the first press (it sold out in like 7 minutes lol) which included an exclusive poster set, so I had to look for a local shop that was already offering the poster set separately, and ended up shelling out another ₱2200 for it...which means all in all I spent around ₱5950 for it or roughly $125.

...did you have an argument last? Earlier this evening but I don’t want to get into it as it made me cry from sadness and frustration for the first time in months.

...did you last have a sick day? May last year.

...did you last recieve a hug? I have no idea. February, I think? when I hung out with my friends.

...when is your best friend’s birthday? July 22 or September 15, depends on which best friend.

...did you learn how to drive? I started getting lessons when I was 17, but I didn’t start feeling comfortable with it until I turned 18.

...did you last receive a surprise? Around a couple of weeks ago when my dad came home with Jollibee for us.

:: How ::

Many pets do you have? Two.

Many houses have you lived in? Three that I can remember, but I know my parents moved around a bit when I was a newborn.

Often do you shower? Every morning before my shift. I hate feeling sweaty and icky when I report for work.

Well can you cook? I can’t at all.

Many close friends do you have? I have two people I count as my absolute best friends, but I have a handful of close friends as well.

Many Brothers or sisters do you have? One of each.

Often do you go swimming? I don’t swim much at all, really...I haven’t done it since 2019, so that should say enough. As relaxing as it is, I feel like the clean-up afterwards can be such a challenge lol. Like if you swim in a pool you have to rigorously wash the chlorine off of you; and if you swim in the sea you have to also be thorough about making sure you’ve removed all the sand from your body.

Many times have you texted today? I don’t think I texted today but I did spend my whole day on chat platforms.

Do you like your toast (colour, topping)? I don’t have super particular preferences; I just like mine on the burnt side.

Do you like your tea and/or coffee? My coffee has to be sweet for me to enjoy it. I can take black coffee/Americano; I’ll just wince a lot with every sip. No tea for me thanks.

Do you like to celebrate your birthdays? With a lot of food.

Are you feeling today? A little frustrated because of an argument incident this evening. But I’m shaking it off and just focusing on the release of Butter tomorrow. My first BTS comeback!!!

Serious are you about your career goals? Very.

Many rooms are in your house? In total, 9.

Many bedrooms in your house? 4.

Did you do in your school exams? I was never consistent. I slacked off a looooooot in grade school; couldn’t give less of a shit about my classes then. I got a bit more hardworking in high school, but I still was a bit lax and I allowed myself to not put a lot of effort in subjects I didn’t care a lot for and that I know I would never have to use in real life, like chemistry or accounting, so there were exams I really excelled in and others that I would fail. It was only in college I started taking my studies incredibly seriously and I believe that showed in the grades I eventually got.

Close do you live to your parents? They’re like, five steps away.

Close do you live to your siblings? My sister’s literally in the room next to mine.

Sensitive to criticism are you? I know it’s something that can never be avoided, so I’m always open to hearing them, especially if it’s meant to help me. It doesn’t mean I enjoy it as it is being given.

Motivated to make changes are you? Depends on my mood and mindset.

Creative are you (1-10): -0.5.

Hard working are you (1-10): Probably a 22 if I really put my head into a task.

Sporty are you (1-10): I dunno, maybe a 6? I do like playing table tennis, but I’m pretty meh at any other sport.

Musical are you (1-10): 0.

Do you prefer your eggs? Runny yolk; scrambled; or a really packed omelette.

Often do you go out to eat? Before the pandemic, I liked eating out 2-3 times a week.

Would your best friend describe you? Not sure, I never tried asking them this. I hope it’s all nice things, though.

Can someone cheer you up if you’re sad? Send me photos of V. Hahahaha

Often do you meet up with your friends? ...What do you think? D:

Important is religion to you? It is not a part of my life whatsoever.

Old were you when you first stayed overnight from home? 15 or 16, I can’t really remember.

Old were you when you got your first pet? I was maybe 6.

Tech savvy are you? I know enough to survive my own, but I obviously can’t hack into other computers or things like that.

Do you show you appreciate those you care for? Buying them food.

Often do you cut your hair? I only take a trip to the salon once a year.

Often do you paint your nails? Never.

Many countries have you visited? Six.

Boyfriends/girlfriends have you had? Just one.

:: Why ::

... did you choose your username? Because it was straightforward.

... did you take this survey? I like surveys made in categories, and this seemed interesting and varied enough.

... did you choose the career you did? I found that I enjoyed it MILES more than journalism.

...did you last leave the house? I had to go to a local LBC for a work errand.

...did you last give up on something? She wasn’t worth the effort anymore. She hadn’t been for a while, but it took me forever to realize.

...did you search the last thing you searched? I wanted to sing along to the song but it was in Japanese, so I had to look up its lyrics.

...would you give up on someone completely? Oof, I guess you can refer to one of the previous questions. ^

:: If...::

You could live in any country which would you choose? Canada.

You could choose any animal as a pet which one? I’m perfectly content with dogs.

You could be famous for something what would you like? Being known for a funny tweet would probably be enough lol. I have no desire to be famous.

You are sad, how do you combat it? I don’t really get sad anymore these days, so I can’t super remember the go-to tactics I depend on...I guess I like listening to sad songs and allowing myself to wallow in the sadness, because I know I have to accept and process my feelings first before I can be able to calm down.

You can drive when did you learn? I learned shortly before I started college, when I was 18, because no one was going to be able to take me to university when the school year started.

You could have any job what would it be? Idk, I like the one I have now.

You could go anywhere for a vacation where would you go? Somewhere with a completely different feel and atmosphere, like Norway, Sweden, Finland...that part of Europe, basically.

You could eat anything right now what would it be? Samgak gimbap :/

You wrote a book what genre/topic would it be? It would be a book of essays or maybe a memoir.

You had a theme song what would it be? Idk I don’t really think about this.

You could meet any band/singer in person which one? Billie Eilish seems awesome and easy and fun to talk to.

You could act in any movie which would it be? No thanks.

You get married what venue would you like? Hotel.

If you have kids do you have names picked out? I have one name picked out for a girl but that’s it.

Could describe your dream home what would it be like? Brutalist and minimalist, with large windows, cove lights, and a lot of white space.

You could go back in time what would you change? Break up with Gab earlier.

Could use 3 words to describe your childhood which ones? Could’ve been better.

Could get the answer to any question which question would you choose? When I would die and how, just so I can have peace of mind.

You could have an endless supply of something what would it be? Money, because of course.

Meet anyone who no longer lives who’d you choose? My great-grandfather, mom’s side.

:: Can ::

... you ride a bike? No, never learned.

... you ski? I’ve never even seen snow, so no.

... you bake a cake? I can try but it will probably be very clumsily made as I don’t bake.

... you sing well? I wouldn’t say that. I like singing when I’m alone, but it doesn’t mean I’m any good.

... you do your own taxes? I’ve never tried haha so I guess not.

... you remain calm in a crisis? Depends on how serious it is.

... you do first aid? Let’s just say I wouldn’t volunteer if it comes down to it because I feel like I’d commit one fatal mistake that would make the situation graver.

... remember your best friend’s family members’ names? Both of their families, yes.

... you fire a gun? I’ve never tried so I doubt it.

... your parents drive? Yep.

...your best friend dance well? They’re not ‘dancers’ per se but sure, they can bust out a move or two.

...you make people laugh easily? Not everyone, but sure.

...stand up for yourself? That’s what I’m trying to learn these days.

...you do a martial art? No.

:: Would ::

You like to learn a new language? That’s always a welcome opportunity.

Save the life of a stray animal? Absolutely.

Know what to do if there was a hurricane? We have several ones come in the country every year so yeah, I can definitely say we’ve long been well-prepared for them.

Try a new cuisine? I do this as often as I can.

Risk your life for anyone? Yes.

You like to get back in touch with someone? No, I’m good now.

You drive in the middle of the night to get a stuck friend? Ina heartbeat.

You Know how to perform CPR? In relation to the first aid question, I wouldn’t volunteer myself in case I make a wrong move.

You likely win in a game of chess? I don’t even know how it works, so no.

You stop talking for a day for $100? Easily.

#survey #surveys

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king-finnigan · 4 years

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Looking Up For Heaven - Oneshot

Summary: The first time you touch your soulmate, you remember things - the other life, people call it. Jaskier's heard the stories of this other life: witches, wizards, magic, medieval but not quite medieval. His flatmate, Yennefer, has already met her soulmate, and remembers the other life, but Jaskier is still not sold on the idea, and would rather not be a part of this bullshit.

Pairing/Warnings: Geralt x Jaskier, Modern AU, Soulmate AU

A/n: Look this is either the most creative fic I’ve ever written, or just one big pile of flaming garbage, that’s honestly up to you to decide. Title and idea from Glory by Bastille (and my fav song ever!). As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don’t hesitate to leave a like and a comment if you feel like it!

You can also read this on AO3! M A S T E R L I S T

Jaskier sighs as he stares at his reflection the mirror, hand threading through his hair. It’s slightly greasy and he remembers he forgot to take a shower today. Again. For the third day in a row. Goddammit.

He sighs again, looking at his flatmate in the reflection of the mirror, as she pulls her raven curls up into a ponytail. “Do I really have to go, Yen?” He ignores how whiny he sounds, instead leaning on the wash basin with his forearms, chin resting on them as he pouts at Yennefer’s reflection.

She scoffs from where she’s sitting on the edge of the once-white bath, tying her ponytail with one of her girlfriend’s scrunchies, the bright yellow a stark contrast with the rest of her exclusively black outfit. “Yes, you have to go, Julian. You promised a week ago that you would, and Triss will be really upset if you don’t show up.”

She gets up from the side of the tub, taking the half step towards the wash basin, pushing him aside. “Scoot, idiot.” She takes her eyeliner from the open cabinet next to the mirror, uncapping it, leaning her elbow next to the sink as she slowly, deliberately, traces a line over her eyelid. “I swear to god, if you make her sad, I will throw all your food in the trash and bend the needle of your record player.”

He frowns, leaning back against the edge of the sink, arms crossed in front of him. “Fine, whatever, I’ll go, then. Just don’t break my record player. It took me five weekends at bloody Starbucks to afford it.” He suppresses a shudder at the memory of working customer service.

Yennefer finishes her eyeliner, grabbing her mascara from the cabinet. He takes the eyeliner from where it’s lying on the sink, twirling it in his hands, as she rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t even know why you want a record player so badly, but okay. You know you can just stream music, right?”

He scoffs. “Oh, please, everyone knows vinyl sounds better than digital.”

She side-eyes him, eyes widening for a bit as she looks at her reflection again. “Okay, grandpa, if you say so.”

He sighs again, still twirling the eyeliner in his hands, as she finishes her mascara, pulling her ponytail taut again – even though it’s not sagging in the slightest. She finishes her makeup with a dark lipstick, before casting a last wink at her reflection and turning her back to the mirror, leaning against the sink, next to him. “Alright, what is it, Julian? We’ve been living together long enough for me to recognize an ‘I’m so sad please ask me if I’m okay’-sigh when I hear one.”

He side-eyes her for a moment, but she simply stares at him, dark-painted lips pursed, violet eyes stubborn, waiting for him to speak. After a few moments he sighs again, relenting under her unforgiving gaze. “Fine, I really don’t feel like going to this party.” He looks at her, cutting her off before she can scold him again: “Yes, I know Triss would be upset if I didn’t show up, but, like, I don’t know anyone there, and you know I hate crowds.”

She rolls her eyes. “Here’s an idea: maybe if you made some fucking friends for once, you’d actually know someone at this party. You really need to go out more, you can’t just sit in the flat all day, pretending to study.”

He gapes at her. “I do study, like, all the time! Hell, I have two essays due next week that I need a lot of time for. And if I didn’t go to the party, I’d actually be able to finish them in time.”

She scoffs, shaking her head slightly as she looks at the once-blue tiles of the wall opposite them. “Yeah, sure. I know you procrastinate, Julian. A lot. You’re just using these essays as an excuse to stay at home. We’re both well aware you wouldn’t do shit.”

He sighs, throwing his head back a bit. “Okay, fine, maybe I would spend all evening bingeing Netflix. Still, that’s a hell of a lot more fun than standing in the corner of some bar all evening. I love Triss, I really do, but I’m not willing to spend all those hours bored out of my mind and getting panic attacks when there’s too many people.”

She sighs, bumping into his shoulder slightly. “I know, alright? I know you can’t really talk to people and that crowds make you anxious, and I know that this evening is probably going to be a waste of time for you, but you promised, okay? You promised Triss that you would be there and she’s really looking forward to seeing you again. She’s going to be really disappointed if you don’t show up.” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. “And so am I. You really need to go out more, Julian, you can’t spend the rest of your life cooped up in this apartment. You’re never going to make other friends or meet your soulmate if you sit inside all day.”

He scoffs at his feet when she mentions soulmates, but she simply ducks her head to meet his eyes. “Please, Julian, just go to this one party. If not for yourself or Triss, then for me.”

He sighs again, throwing his head back, looking at the mouldy ceiling. “Fine, fine, I’ll go. If only to stop you nagging.”

She laughs. “Oh, please, I’m never going to stop nagging. Speaking of,” she looks at him, one perfect eyebrow arched up, “you seriously need a change of clothes before we leave.”

He frowns at her. “As opposed to changing my clothes after we leave?” He laughs as she smacks him in the back of his head.

“You know what I meant, idiot. Seriously, at least wear some jeans, you look like you live in your mum’s basement and play Fortnite all day.” She gestures at his sweatpants, and he rolls his eyes. “And at least wear, like, a hoodie. It’s cold outside and that thin-ass shirt won’t be enough to keep you warm.”

He rolls his eyes, but pushes away from the sink anyway, calling over his shoulder as he walks to his bedroom. “Fine, alright! Jeez, mum. What’s next? You’ll tell me I have to comb my hair and part it in the middle so I can bedazzle my soulmate with my charming good looks?”

He rummages through his closet, pulling out the least crumpled jeans out from the pile of unfolded clothes, as he hears Yennefer letting herself fall on his unmade bed. “Actually, yes. I think you’d look dashing with a middle part and you’d be sure to instantly woo your soulmate once you meet them.”

He snorts as he pulls off his sweatpants, wiggling into the slightly too skinny jeans. “I don’t think I’m going to meet my soulmate, like, ever.” He struggles with the button a bit, sucking in his stomach. “Don’t think I want to.”

Yennefer looks at him, frowning a bit. “Why not? It’s such great fun, honestly. Like, you get all these memories of this cool-ass other life, and you get an added bonus of, you know, having a soulmate. Like, me and Triss didn’t even have to date, I immediately got this amazing girlfriend. It’s a win-win, my dude.”

He scoffs, rummaging through the pile of clothes at the bottom of his wardrobe again, pulling out a light blue hoodie with great difficulty. “Okay, first of all, you got lucky with Triss. There are a ton of people who end up hating their soulmate.” She shrugs, snorting as he struggles to pull the hoodie over his head. “Secondly,” he continues, when he has finally managed to put it on, “why would I want to know about the other life? Huh?”

Yennefer scoffs, as he sits on his desk chair, pulling on his Vans. “Because it’s cool as fuck. Did you know I was a witch in the other life? So was Triss, by the way.” She sighs, looking at her phone. “Though, I do miss being able to portal everywhere, that was really tight.”

He pulls his leg up, tying his shoelaces. “See? I don’t want to miss something I’ll never be able to get back. Also, your other life was cool, sure, but what if mine sucks, huh? What then? What if I died, like, the most stupid death humanly possible? And that’s another thing,” he continues to rant, as he ties the laces of his other shoe, “why would I want to remember how I died? That sounds like shit. Like, you remember how you died in the other life, that’s not a fun memory, right?”

Yennefer shrugs. “I mean, I got stabbed and fell off a tower in the middle of a battle, that’s all I remember. Didn’t hurt that much, really. And I’m sure you were an alright person in the other life. Probably royalty, since you’re so unbelievably stuck-up.”

She laughs as he flips her off. “Piss off, I’m serious. I don’t want to know about the other life. People keep saying you’ll really find your true self when you first touch your soulmate and remember, and they’re all like ‘ooh, you don’t know real happiness until you experience the glory of meeting your soulmate’ but that just all sounds like such bullshit. What’s wrong with this life? Why does everyone say it’s not enough? It’s enough for me so far.”

He sighs, gritting his teeth as he stops his rant, cheeks hot with annoyance. Yennefer simply stares at him from where she’s still lying on his bed, one eyebrow pulled up. It’s quiet for a few moments, until she speaks: “Are you done? Cause it’s nine thirty and we should leave right about now if we want to be fashionably late and not just plain late.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes, grabbing his phone from his desk. “Yeah, let’s go.”

҉ ҉ ҉

“Oh my god, Julian, you made it!” Triss’ voice is loud and clear above the noise of the people at the bar, as she nearly skips her way over to him and Yennefer, pulling him into a tight hug. He’s barely able to return it before she holds him at an arm’s length, beaming at him. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Hello, I’m here too,” Yennefer says next to him, and Triss laughs as she pulls her girlfriend into a short kiss.

“Oh, please, Yen, you’re so needy.” The two of them smile at each other and Jaskier clears his throat, kind of uncomfortable. He turns to the bar right next to them, ordering a tequila, only half paying attention to Triss and Yennefer’s conversation.

“So,” Yennefer asks, “who’s here?”

Triss looks around, pointing to different people as she names them. “Mostly friends from uni,” she waves at a group of people in one of the corners, “not a lot of people. Only Sabrina, Fringilla, and Anica. Istredd is still on his way, though.”

She turns her head left and right, stretching her neck a bit to see over the crowd of regular pub-goers. “I invited Geralt as well, but I haven’t seen him yet.” She shrugs. “He might not even show up, though, he said he’s not a big fan of parties.”

Jaskier takes the tequila from the barman, paying before he turns, sipping his drink as he leans his back against the bar. He sees Yennefer shoot him an uncomfortable look, something he can’t quite place, before she turns back to Triss. “Uh… who’s this Geralt-guy?” She glances back at him again for a second. “Haven’t heard of him.”

Triss blinks, visibly confused for a second, before some sort of realization dawns in her eyes. “Uh… oh, yeah! I uh… met him yesterday in the uni cafeteria. He was sitting all by himself and he looked kinda lonely so I joined him.”

Jaskier looks up, snorting a bit. “You sat with a total stranger and then invited him to your birthday party because he looked lonely?”

Triss blinks again, bright smile faltering a bit. “Uh… yeah, I guess I did. Anyways, he’s a really nice guy, I think you should really meet him, Julian. You know, give him a chance?”

He frowns. “What do you mean ‘give him a chance’?”

Yennefer clears her throat, she and her girlfriend sharing another strange look Jaskier doesn’t really understand. “At being a friend. You seriously need to make some friends, remember? Also, he doesn’t know anyone else at the party, either, so you two can be socially awkward together.”

Jaskier frowns again. “How do you know he’s socially awkward? I thought you never met him.”

She shrugs. “Well, he must be if he was sitting on his own.” Jaskier nods, not entirely convinced there isn’t something else going on as well, but he decides against asking about it. Maybe later, he thinks, as he sips his drink, looking at his phone a bit.

It’s rowdy and hot in the pub, and he can already feel a panic attack starting to build, as his eyes dart around, lungs constricting in his chest a bit. Yennefer and Triss have made their way over to their friends, leaving him on his own at the bar. He downs his tequila, placing the glass on the countertop behind him.

He’s contemplating making a bee-line to the side door and slipping away into the night – maybe getting a taxi – when someone stands next to him, ordering a beer from the barman. Jaskier looks to his right, eyes first meeting a black leather jacket, seeing long, white hair as he looks up a bit. He directs his gaze to his phone as quickly as possible, hoping the guy next to him won’t notice how much he seems to be blushing because fuck, this guy is hot.

He chances another look up, startling when he meets amber eyes. He swallows thickly, as the guy looks away again, taking the beer from the barman and tipping generously – Jaskier notices. He expects the guy to walk away, and part of him is already dreading never seeing those amber eyes again.

The guy doesn’t, though. He turns around, leaning against the bar, next to Jaskier, sipping his beer as he looks over the crowded room. Jaskier looks at his feet, fumbling with his phone a bit, unsure of what to say or to do.

He sighs in relief as he hears Triss’ voice, clear above the murmur of the crowd. “Oh my god, hi, Geralt!” She drags Yennefer behind her as they make their way over to Jaskier and the mysterious guy – apparently Geralt. She smiles brightly as she looks between the two of them. “So, I see you’ve already met Julian! This is my girlfriend Yennefer, by the way.” Yennefer gives a small smile and a weak wave from behind her soulmate. “Julian is her flat mate! You two really should get to know each other, I think you’d be great friends!”

Jaskier frowns at her, and he can see Geralt cocking his head in the corner of his eye. Triss smiles brightly, though, and looks behind her at Yennefer, who gives her girlfriend a reassuring nod. Reassuring her of what – Jaskier is not sure yet, but he narrows his eyes at his friend nonetheless.

“Oh! Look!” Triss says. “Istredd is here! And he brought some friends! Come on, Yen, we should go greet them.” She turns back to Jaskier and Geralt, giving them a final wave before disappearing in the crowd, leaving him alone with the guy. Great.

She was right though – Istredd did bring a ton of friends, and the bar feels a lot stuffier and rowdier than it did a few minutes ago. He considers leaving again, but doesn’t want to be impolite towards Geralt, so he stands there, leaning against the bar, heart racing, lungs constricting and oh fuck, he’s starting to have a panic attack.

His hands tremble as he fidgets with the hem of his pale blue hoodie, and he wishes he hadn’t worn it, even though it’s his favourite sweater. It’s too warm in the room, and he can feel sweat starting to form on his brow. He tries to keep his breathing even, but that only results in spots dancing across his vision from lack of oxygen, and his chest hiccupping with every other breath.

After a minute or so of silent suffering, he’s had enough. He throws a tight smile at Geralt, who looks at him weirdly, and mutters a “nice meeting you” before pushing through the crowd towards the side door, his shoulders bumping into several people on the way.

Once outside, he takes in deep, gulping breaths of night air, leaning forward, resting his hands on his knees. It’s blissfully quiet in the side alley, and he closes his eyes, waiting for the rush of blood in his ears to subside.

The door opens behind him, flooding him with light and noise before it’s closed again. He doesn’t look up, waiting for Yennefer to start her rant that he needs to practice conscious breathing when he feels a panic attack coming up, or Triss to ask him if he’s alright and if there’s anything she can do for him.

Instead, he hears a deep voice behind him. “Are you okay?” He stretches out again, looking behind him to see Geralt, amber eyes surprisingly concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just…” he shrugs, looking at his feet “had a bit of a panic attack.”

Geralt takes a tentative step towards him. “You wanna talk about it?”

Jaskier smiles, shaking his head slightly. He hadn’t taken Geralt for a talkative person, so the fact that the guy offered to talk about it means a lot to him, surprisingly. “No, it’s fine.” He shrugs again, hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “Just don’t like crowds.”

Geralt smiles a bit, and oh god, oh shit, oh fuck, he looks so hot when he smiles. “Yeah, same here. Not a big fan of them.” Jaskier looks around, the street in front of the bar deserted. He’s not sure what’s down the alley, but he might find a taxi there.

He looks back at Geralt, who’s shifting from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. “It was nice meeting you, Geralt.” He starts walking down the alley, hands still in the pocket of his hoodie. He hears footsteps behind him and half turns around, frowning as he sees the guy catching up with him.

“Where are you going?” Geralt is walking next to him now, and Jaskier takes half a step to the side in the small alley, making sure their shoulders don’t brush.

He cocks his head. “Why do you want to know?”

And he might definitely be mistaken but he could swear he sees Geralt blush in the dim light of the streetlamps behind them. “Just doesn’t seem very safe, walking into an alley on your own in the middle of the night.”

Jaskier smiles. “And it’s safer to walk into an alley in the middle of the night with a stranger?”

He can see Geralt chewing on his lip, frowning deeply. “I suppose not.” He stops walking, and Jaskier does, too, after a couple of steps, turning back to Geralt. “If you want me to leave, Julian, that’s okay, I’ll leave.”

Jaskier laughs a bit, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t worry.” He keeps walking, signaling with his head for Geralt to follow him again. “Come on, let’s keep moving, it’s too cold to stand still.”

Geralt falls in step next to him and Jaskier can’t help but smile. He looks to his side. “My name’s not Julian, by the way.” Geralt frowns at him, confused, and Jaskier shrugs. “It is, officially, but my parents changed their minds a few weeks after I was born, and named me Jaskier, but didn’t change the legal documents. Yennefer just calls me Julian to spite me, and Triss does it cause she thinks it’s more polite, and I don’t have the heart to tell her no.”

Geralt laughs, shaking his head slightly. “I only met her yesterday, but that sounds exactly like her.”

Jaskier cocks his head. “I am wondering, though, Geralt, why did you come to the party? Like you said, you only met Triss yesterday.”

Geralt shrugs, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. “She was very insistent. And, just like you, I didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”

Jaskier smiles, nodding a bit. “Fair enough.”

He side-steps around a garbage bag, before they reach the street behind the pub. It’s deserted. Well, fuck. So long, taxi. He looks around, the street stretching into the darkness on both sides. There’s a fenced off field in front of him, and he can see street lamps and cars passing by on a street on the other side of the field. He begins walking forward.

“Where are you going?” He hears Geralt call behind him.

He half turns around, pointing to the field with his thumb as he walks sideways. “Gonna hop the fence, go to that street over there and try and find a tax-“

His sentence is cut off abruptly as he trips over a small rock in the middle of the road, painfully hitting his head on the curb as he falls on his side. “Shit!”

He clutches his head as he sits up, but luckily there’s no blood on his hand, as he pulls it back. It is going to be a nasty bump, tomorrow, though. “Jaskier! You okay?” He looks up as Geralt half-jogs towards him across the street, looking both ways even though the neighborhood seems deserted.

He’s almost reached Jaskier, when he trips over his own feet, landing on his knees next to Jaskier. “Shit!”

Jaskier can’t help but laugh, clutching his stomach as he wheezes. God, just a pair of fucking idiots, lying in the middle of the street. He laughs harder when Geralt frowns at him, though the guy can’t help but laugh as well, as tears start to form in Jaskier’s eyes.

He gasps for air between fits of giggles, and leans back, lying on the asphalt, still clutching his stomach as he hiccups. He feels Geralt joining him, lying next to him in the middle of the street. “You okay, Jask?”

He finally quiets down and nods. He turns to Geralt. “You called me Jask.”

The guy shrugs, seemingly blushing again, though Jaskier tells himself it’s just a trick the streetlamps are playing on his eyes. “You don’t like it?”

Jaskier smiles, looking up at the sky. “No, no, I do like it. Just… no one’s ever called me that.”

Geralt shrugs again. They lie there in silence for a few moments, staring up at the night sky, the sound of cars in the distance.

“So, Geralt, what do you study?” He looks to his side again, admiring Geralt’s profile.

“Veterinary.”

Jaskier pushes himself up on one elbow, looking down on Geralt, who smiles softly. “Really? Didn’t take you for an animal lover, honestly.”

Geralt shrugs. “Most people don’t. I just have a soft spot for horses, I guess.”

Jaskier can’t help but smile at that. “Oh? Why horses, specifically?”

Amber eyes grow distant, as if Geralt’s suddenly transported into his own memories. “My dad’s got a horse farm, in the countryside. Taught me how to ride and take care of them at a young age.” He blinks, and suddenly he seems to be back in reality, as he looks at Jaskier. “What about you, though? What do you study?”

Jaskier leans back again, unable to look into Geralt’s eyes too long, for some reason. “English Lit.”

He hears Geralt chuckle next to him. “I wish I could say I didn’t take you for a book lover, but I’d be lying.”

Jaskier laughs a bit. “Alright, fair enough.”

He hears the quiet sound of a cap being unscrewed and looks to the side, seeing Geralt take a swig from a metal flask. “Wow, dude, you’ve come prepared.”

Geralt smiles, handing the flask to Jaskier. “What can I say? Pubs are expensive.” Jaskier laughs, feeling a slight burn in his throat as he takes a sip of whiskey – apparently Geralt’s a whiskey kind of guy. Horses and whiskey.

He laughs as he imagines Geralt, with a frown on his face, downing a bottle of Jack Daniels as he rides on a horse, wearing a cowboy outfit. He sits up as he chokes on the whiskey, coughing violently into his elbow. Geralt sits up next to him as well. “You okay?”

Jaskier gasps for air, coughing the last bit of whiskey from his airway, tears in the corners of his eyes. “Yeah, fine, just thought of something funny.” Geralt shoots him a questioning look and Jaskier shakes his head. “It’s not important.”

Geralt lays back down, taking the flask as Jaskier hands it to him, putting it back in the pocket of his leather jacket, folding his arms behind his head. “Well, watch out the next time you think about something unimportant, then. Don’t want you to laugh until you die.”

Jaskier smiles, laying back down on the pavement. “Honestly, can you think of any better way to choke?”

Geralt smiles as well. “Hmm.”

It’s quiet between them for a couple more moments, as they look at the night sky. The light pollution of the city makes it hard for him to see the stars, but he can make out some blinking lights in the dark abyss above. He points up. “Look, a plane.”

Geralt nods next to him, then points to the right of where Jaskier’s pointing. “Another one.”

Jaskier nods as well. “Very busy night for the plane business.”

And Geralt’s chuckle might be the most beautiful thing he’s heard in his whole life.

“So,” Geralt starts, and Jaskier looks at his profile again, noticing how soft the white hair looks and how much he wants to touch it, “do you do this often?” Geralt turns his head towards Jaskier, and oh god, those lips look so kissable.

He blinks. “Do what?”

Geralt smiles. “Lying in the middle of the road at one in the morning with strangers?”

Jaskier shakes his head. “No, I never do that. See, I know your name and you’ve watched me fall on my face, so we’re not really strangers anymore, are we?”

Geralt looks at the night sky again. “No, I suppose not.” He lets out a long deep breath, and Jaskier can see small clouds above his face in the cold air. “So,” he looks back at Jaskier, “what do you do in your spare time?”

Jaskier scoffs. “You mean besides watching Netflix and pretending to study?” Geralt laughs, and Jaskier can’t help but vow to make this guy laugh as many times as he possibly can, because he can’t imagine ever getting tired of the sound. He shrugs. “I don’t know, really. Lie in the middle of the road at one in the morning, and look up for heaven, I guess.”

Geralt frowns a bit. “What do you mean with looking up for heaven?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Well, people always say that when you find your soulmate you will find glory or some shit, but… I don’t know. It’s always sounded like an empty promise to me. Something that only happens if you find your soulmate, and… what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Wait?” He shakes his head, looking at the sky, watching as another plane passes overhead. “No, I don’t really like that. Life has meaning even if you don’t have a soulmate or if you haven’t found them yet. I can’t do anything with empty words for glory, so I’ll just be here, looking up for heaven, trying to find something else to strive towards.”

It’s quiet for another moment, and eventually he turns his head, looking at Geralt, amber eyes searching his face. Finally, he speaks: “You said ‘even if you don’t have a soulmate’. Everyone has one, though.”

Jaskier scoffs. “I don’t believe that. I mean, my parents were supposedly soulmates. They did the whole thing: touching each other for the first time, seeing the other life, falling in love, marrying, getting a kid. But then they ended up hating each other. So were they really soulmates, then? I don’t believe so.”

Geralt nods, turning his head towards the night sky. “I understand. I don’t know if my parents were soulmates, I never met them.”

Jaskier frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Geralt smiles and shrugs. “It’s okay. I’ve got my adoptive father. He never found his soulmate, though, but he seems at peace with it. I think you’d like him.”

Jaskier smiles as well. “I mean, he owns a horse farm, so I’m already sold.”

Geralt laughs again, and maybe Jaskier feels something flutter in the pit of his stomach, but he’s probably just hungry or something. He sees another plane pass by. “Kind of weird, isn’t it? That there’s a scientific explanation for everything in this world, except for the other life and the whole soulmate ordeal.”

Geralt nods. “Guess we really know nothing at all, when push comes to shove. We can only make the best of what we have, as long as we’re here, and maybe there’s something afterwards, who knows? Maybe another life, where soulmates will remember this one when they touch for the first time.”

Jaskier smirks, half turning his head to Geralt. “Now who’s looking up for heaven?”

Geralt scoffs, half turning towards Jaskier as well. “Not me. I’ll take my chances on the curb here with you, thank you very much.”

Jaskier notices little, dark brown flecks in Geralt’s amber eyes, and has to look away, a blush gracing his cheeks. In the distance a church bell chimes three times. Jaskier looks at his phone, suspicions confirmed: it’s three in the morning already. “Huh, it’s getting late.” He sighs, putting his phone back in the pocket of his hoodie. “I have class in the morning. I should probably get going.”

He makes no move to get up, though, and simply watches as another plane passes overhead. He hears that deep voice again, and feels a shiver run down his spine that has nothing to do with the cold. “What is it, Jask?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna go home yet, I guess.” He looks at Geralt. “I don’t know why, but it’s really easy to talk with you.”

Geralt smiles. “Same here.”

Jaskier looks up at the sky once more. “I just wanna stay here, in the middle of the road, with you, looking up for heaven together.”

Geralt chuckles, pushing himself to his feet, as Jaskier sits upright. Geralt extends his hand, smiling a bit. “Stop looking up for heaven, waiting to be buried.” Jaskier laughs, reaching out his hand to take Geralt’s.

Their skin touches, for the first time that evening, and his eyes grow wide as memories that aren’t quite his own flood him.

“Love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.” “I’m here to drink alone.”

“Respect doesn’t make history.”

“I need no one, and the last thing I want is someone needing me.” “And yet, here we are.”

“We could head to the coast, get away for a while.”

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

He lets go of Geralt’s hand, falling back on the pavement as he is pulled back to here and now. He looks up, wide-eyed, shocked, and he can tell Geralt just experienced the same thing. Fuck.

The other life. A Witcher, a Bard. Soulmates.

He breathes out, shuddering breath leaving his lungs in fragments, forming small clouds in the cold night air. “Oh.”

Geralt simply stares at him, then at his hand, as if he can’t believe what just happened. Eventually, he nods, lowering himself back onto the pavement, next to Jaskier. “Oh,” he says as well.

Jaskier looks at his own hand, half expecting a mark, something to indicate something’s – everything’s changed, but his skin is the same as always. Really, he’s the same as always, it’s just the memories that are new.

He looks at Geralt, who’s still staring ahead, amber eyes wide. “What happened in the other life, Geralt? How did you-“ his voice catches in his throat as he imagines Geralt dying.

The guy – the Witcher looks at him, eyes still absent. He blinks, then clears his throat. “I uh… After… our fight, on the mountain, I went looking for Ciri, for my…” a sharp intake of breath “Child Surprise. Never found her. Got attacked by ghouls, died a day or so later. You?”

A memory presents itself to Jaskier, and he shudders, burying his hands in the sleeves of his hoodie. “Got robbed a few weeks after our fight. Got stabbed, bled out.”

Geralt frowns at him. “I know we only just met, really, and that we’re not who we were in the other life but… I do want to apologize for what I said on the mountain. I never meant any of it, and travelling with you for…” he frowns, swallowing thickly “twenty-two years, was an honour and a privilege. You deserved better.”

Jaskier smiles. “I did, and thank you, Geralt. It does mean a lot to me, even if it wasn’t really… me, but… other life me? I don’t know, this is so weird.”

Geralt laughs. “It is. I’m glad we’re here, now, though.”

Jaskier leans his shoulder against Geralt’s, something that feels so natural he doesn’t need to think twice about it. “So am I. And I’m glad we’re soulmates.” He frowns. “I’m glad we got a second chance, Geralt.”

Geralt smiles back, softly, fondness in his eyes. “So am I. I really messed up the first time. I want to do better in this life, if you’ll have me.”

Jaskier leans forward, resting his forehead against Geralt’s, the clouds of their breaths intertwining in the cold night air. “I’ll have you, Geralt of Rivia, if you’ll have me.”

Geralt sighs, softly. “Yes, of course I’ll have you, Jask. No question about it.”

Their eyes meet, and Jaskier can barely suppress a shiver that runs down his spine. He’s drowning in the molten gold of Geralt’s eyes, and can’t help but smile. “May I kiss you?”

Geralt leans forward, their noses brushing, hot breath fanning over Jaskier’s skin. “I fear I might die all over again if you don’t.”

Jaskier laughs. “God, Geralt, you’re so dramatic.” He leans forward further, softly pressing his lips against Geralt’s, and he feels a hand on the back of his neck pulling him closer, the kiss deepening.

After a few moments he pulls back, drawing in shaky breaths of cold night air as their foreheads rest against each other. He can’t help but smile as he takes in every little detail of Geralt’s face. The little freckle under his right eye, the small scar on his left eyebrow, the brown freckles in his amber eyes. He hopes he gets the chance to spend the rest of his life memorizing every single detail, every single imperfection that makes Geralt perfect.

Geralt smiles at him, frowning a bit as he sees Jaskier’s searching eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jaskier smiles, before pressing a chaste kiss to Geralt’s lips and he could never, ever tire of this. Not in this life, not in the next. “No reason, I’m just… looking up for heaven.”

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #gerlion #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #triss merigold x yennefer of vengerberg #triss x yennefer #triss merigold #yennefer of vengerberg #mine #oneshot #looking up for heaven

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kylermalloy · 4 years

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my Thoughts on rebels

Now I don’t have any hot takes or any controversial opinions to put out here. Rebels is a simple show with a simple plot. There’s not a whole lot to analyze, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to enjoy. Sometimes all you need is a straightforward concept with lovable characters. So let me proceed to squeal about Dave Filoni’s second masterpiece, Rebels.

Spoilers abound!

Before I say anything else...

THEY HAD A BABY I haven’t stopped squealing.

Zeb Okay I’ll start with Zeb, for no particular reason. He was the only main character I hadn’t really heard about or seen much of before I started watching. In the first few scenes with him, I was afraid he’d become his stereotype—the thuggish gorilla who argues all the time, disobeys orders, messes up plans, and borderline betrays his friends. I was so pleasantly surprised when none of that happened. Maybe by virtue of being a kids’ show, these characters don’t have *edgy* or twisted nuances. Zeb is fiercely loyal. He likes smashing heads in and gets grumbly sometimes, but he’s never a hindrance. He’s not just “the muscle”; his ingenuity saves the day on more than one occasion. If anything, his nuances take him the other way—he’s incredibly sensitive and childlike in some ways. Being one of the last of his kind is a major plot point of several episodes, which brings so much depth to him and his psyche. It also informs SO MUCH on his relationship with Kallus. Speaking of...

Kallus I never, ever expected Kallus to be anything more than a season-long plot device. The fact that he stuck around and went through actual character development?? Amazing. The episode where he and Zeb are stranded together is gold. He’s got a sense of honor even as he works for the Empire, sparing the rebels as Zeb spared him. He develops a new set of ideals thanks to our heroes, and he begins to question and regret the things he’s done for the Empire—ethnic cleansing of Zeb’s Lasat people included. And that last scene of them in the epilogue? I’m not gonna lie, it was a bit shippy.

KANERA I know while the show was airing, fans were constantly asking when Kanan and Hera were going to get together. But for me, they seemed to be married from the first episode. Hera calling Kanan “love” and teasing him? Kanan constantly worrying after Hera while simultaneously believing in her ability to do...absolutely everything? Their parenting of Ezra, Sabine, Chopper, and even Zeb? Explicitly referring to them as “the kids” and themselves as “Mom and Dad”? Yeah, they’re married. And let’s not underplay their strengths as individual characters. Kanan—or Caleb—is exactly what you would expect of a Jedi whose training is only halfway complete. He’s cool and awesome, but also riddled with self-doubt and uncertainty. And Hera is the mature voice of reason this merry band of children so desperately needs—except of course when she’s the one rushing headlong into danger, whether to get a fighter prototype or to steal a family heirloom or to save a couple pilots in a suicidally risky move. She’s a perfect blend of mature reason and headstrong determination that makes a true rebel. (Wait a minute...she’s totally Katara! Maybe that’s why I love her so much.)

Now back to them as a couple! Most of the show did nothing to advance their relationship—further reinforcing my headcanon that things were always happening between them behind the scenes. Even though they became official canon in the last season, the appearance of their kid in the epilogue proves I was right—based only on what we saw, there was no time for them to make a baby. Of COURSE there were things going on behind the scenes. 😏 (I found the interview that explains exactly where Jacen came from, and I was equal parts ecstatic and freaked out.)

Did I mention THEY HAD A BABY???

Ezra So apparently there are people in the Star Wars fandom who hate Ezra? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; Star Wars fans hate everything. Except the OT. If you hate the OT you’re a heathen. I can’t really think of a solid reason why people hate Ezra, except for the fact that he seems to be a Luke Skywalker analog. He’s a poor kid with Force sensitivities who gets adopted by a Jedi and becomes a venerated leader of the Rebellion. He also finds an oddball group of friends he comes to call family but eventually bids them farewell after the death of his mentor. They’re not carbon copies, of course—Luke’s an optimistic idealist; Ezra’s a cynic. Luke whines; Ezra snarks. Luke blows up the Death Star and defeats Vader; Ezra completes a series of far more complicated missions and defeats Inquisitors and Thrawn. Again by virtue of him being the star of a tv show instead of just three feature length movies, he gets a lot more time to have his adventures. Maybe there’s some resentment over him getting more screentime than Luke? Maybe it’s because I’m just Not a Luke Skywalker stan. I like him fine, but I don’t hold him up as some perfect saintlike hero. (I didn’t have any problems with his TLJ characterization.) The people who do need to rewatch the OT they hold so dear. Luke’s a beautiful drama queen and you all should love him for that. But I’m here to talk about Ezra! Listen, this child is a disaster and a half—just like Luke, just like Anakin, just like young Obi-Wan. There is nothing to not like about him—except that he reminds you of your favorite characters but he’s not them.

Clone Wars characters I initially started watching this show solely for the characters I already knew from Clone Wars. Ahsoka Tano has been my girl ever since I started watching Clone Wars, and I didn’t even consider watching Rebels until I knew they had undone her death. (If there was just ONE character they could needlessly save via time travel, they picked the right one.) At any rate, she’s perfect in this show. She’s more grown-up, more mature, but still retains that *young and plucky* spirit. (For the record, I usually hate the *plucky* characters. Somehow, she works for me. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t really do that annoying cocky smirk thing.)

But it’s not just Ahsoka. Rex survived! I’m so glad at least one clone (two? Wolffe?) made it out of the war okay. And he’s great here. His constant snarking with Kanan reminded me so much of his banter with Anakin (and I’m sure it reminded him of that too ;-; ) His presence on Rebels isn’t strictly necessary, narratively speaking, but it’s just a nice tie-in to the world we got used to in Clone Wars. It reminds us that this world with the Empire was once the world of the Republic, and there are still clones out there—even if there’s no place for them in this new order. This of course reinforces the tragic narrative of clones as sentient beings created for nothing but combat. And again, I commend both shows for making me feel that narrative so deeply!

Hondo and Maul were two of my favorite antagonists from Clone Wars, so seeing their multiple appearances here filled me with joy. Hondo cracked me up, as usual, and Maul’s farewell was touching and heartbreaking. I almost wish he were still around! There’s still his duel with Ahsoka in season 7 of Clone Wars... 👀 Honestly what surprised me most about those two were the way they were both presented as protagonists. Hondo especially, and Maul does become an antagonist again. But it really speaks to the way all paradigms in the galaxy have shifted after the Republic became the Empire. In Clone Wars, Hondo was portrayed as an annoying hindrance to our heroes. Now with the Empire as an adversary to our main characters, Hondo is an ally. An untrustworthy one of course, mostly in it for the money, but his interests usually lie with helping our heroes, not hurting them. Besides, nothing tops his relationship with Ezra. Their first meeting had me in fits: “You lied to me?? I KNEW I liked you!” (Also I forgot to mention the running gag of Ezra introducing himself as Jabba the Hutt? Genius. And hilarious, since some people actually believe him at first)

THEY HAD A BABY!!!

Thrawn I need to see this guy again. Whether in a continuation where we learn what happened to him and Ezra, or some other moment in time where we see him younger, rising through the ranks of the Empire full of ambition and ideas. He’s quietly menacing, always confident and meticulous. He does a great job of making the rebels feel helpless in their fight, needling their pressure points and taunting them—but he never makes the conflict personal to him. He always remains detached, just a guy doing his duty. He’s just there to pick up interesting art pieces. I love the way he’s acted—always quiet, cultured, practically whispering. I didn’t know he was voiced by Lars Mikkelson until after I watched, but that was a perfect choice. I found the Inquisitors a little flat as villains (antagonists, whatever) and the other Empire ministers and governors not very threatening. Thrawn was the perfect balance (lol) between interesting and a genuine threat.

MANDALORE For all of Sabine’s merits as a character, I love her most in the Mandalorian arcs. The episode where she comes into her power and wields the darksaber is one of my favorites. She’s not a traditional stern, stoic Mandalorian character. She’s a free spirit, incredibly creative and intellectual. Yet she’s also afraid of her mind and what she could create—for years she created weapons for the Empire to feed her hubris. Maybe that’s why she mainly sticks to painting throughout the series. :) Anyway. I look forward to the follow-up detailing her adventures with Ahsoka.

Chopper I rolled my eyes so hard when I first saw Chopper. Everything from his name to his design screamed “kiddie version of R2D2” and I was fully prepared to hate him. I don’t. He’s just like R2, in that every sentence he says sounds like it’s punctuated with about ten different swearwords. It’s hilarious seeing such a cute character being so surly and even threatening on occasions! Chopper kicks some serious butt. He even comes with a tragic backstory!

Lastly, I don’t think I’ve mentioned...

THEY HAD A BABY AND HE’S ADORABLE

#star wars #rebels #mymeta #ish #kylerrambles #zeb orrelios #kallus #kanera #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #ezra bridger #jacen syndulla #ahsoka tano #rex #hondo ohnaka #darth maul #grand admiral thrawn #sabine wren #chopper

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wherearemyglassesbro · 4 years

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The unused executions from the DR au! Again, please don’t read if it’ll make you uncomfortable. :)

The ultimate CEO: Berwald is forced to wear a bomb vest and is placed in a ‘meeting room’. He’s forced to watch the stocks for his company fall since after the tragedy, his company went under completely. He is forced to watch as the one thing he’s ever truly taken pride in dies. And then when the video is over, he blows up. His classmates have no idea what he was forced to watch. Berwald was told the truth about the school, the tragedy, everything. And then he was killed. He died knowing that the world was hopeless outside and that his family was gone.

The ultimate soccer star: Carmen gets an execution similar to Leon’s. She’s strapped to a goal and a machine kicks ‘soccer balls’ at her. The soccer balls are actually made of heavy glass. As the balls hit her, they bruise her and shatter, leaving deep gashes in her skin. This continues until...well...the end. It’s extremely brutal and all she can really do is listen to Kumakuma the announcer and the fake audience’s cheers as she’s pelted to death

The ultimate chocolatier: Laura is pretty much booked to death in a pot of chocolate. Augustus Gloop style. Uhhhh I couldn’t think of anything more creative honestly oops

The ultimate chemist: Lien is put in a makeshift lab and is given ‘lab instructions’. She’s told to make a mixture that emits poison gas but she doesn’t know that. All chemicals are labeled ‘Kuma-oxide’ or ‘Kuma-sulphate’ (uhhhh idk I’m not a chemist). Despite being a chemist she literally can’t identify anything, the room is too dim and the chemicals all look the same. But she is very aware that this is an execution so whatever it is it’ll be deadly. She didn’t anticipate having such a slow, painful death though. And her classmates didn’t either. They had to sit through the whole thing...all 15 minutes. Kumakuma put on music but that honestly didn’t help the mood at ALL.

The ultimate mathlete: Arthur is strapped to an electric chair and is forced to figure out math problems as they flash up on a screen. He has three chances. Every time he gets it wrong, the chair zaps him a bunch until his brain is...fried. Then he’d forced to try again despite being stunned and fucked up. This continues until he finally gets it wrong for the third time in which he’s just electrocuted to death. Math worksheets fall from the ceiling as hes shocked and strobe lights go off

The ultimate gamer: Kiku has a VR set put on him and his task it to outrun Kumakumas in the game. So he runs, fights, screams a lot and when he’s inevitably captured by the Kumakumas, the headset explodes

The ultimate diver: Michelle stands in the trial room, astonished that her guilt had been discovered. A chain leash shoots out of a set of double doors and clamps around her neck (like the beginning of Leon’s execution). She’s dragged down a long hallway into a large fish tank. She’s held under the water, surrounded by tropical fish and coral as she drowns. The glass is clear so everyone is forced to watch and she can see all of them. In her final moments she sees her friends doing nothing to help her

The ultimate wrestler: Sadik must fight for his life in a final battle against a Kumakuma robot. Of course the match is rigged. Sadik is beaten to a pulp in the ring in front of his friends. As he’s about to die from the beating, a projection of his past rivals are shown in front of him. They all reach forward and press a red button which opens the floor of the wrestling ring. He then falls multiple stories to his death, landing in the garbage pit among all sorts of metal scraps, glass and other gross things. (Dont worry he’s still retreived and taken back to the morgue behind the scenes but the other students don’t know that until the end)

The ultimate designer: Luciana is swaddled in faux leather and placed under a giant sewing machine. The needles is actually fuckin gigantic and stabs into her like 50 times. When the machine is done, Luciana’s logo is embroidered into her corpse, her blood seeping through the gold stitching.

The ultimate chef: Yao is strapped down into a metal ‘baking sheet’. He’s on a conveyer belt that goes through different stations. Kumakuma robots pour eggs, flour, chives, bacon bits, cheese and all kinds of other ingredients on top of him before he is conveyered into an oven and essentially baked alive. At the end he’s packaged, frozen and packaged in a ‘Yao’s famous frozen dinner’ box. Then he’s shown off to his friends (just like the Mondo butter)

The ultimate golfer: Eliza is taken and buried into the ground like a gold tee. Then a giant, and I mean giant, gold club comes swinging down from the ceiling....Aaaaaand it decapitates her. Her head flies over to the student viewing section and this the glass. Terrible.

#specs DNR au

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strawberry-skies-xx · 4 years

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forget the bottle

C H A P T E R O N E

summary: Jaskier has always felt things on a deeper level than most, and more often, and he has gone through life this way. He has coping mechanisms, of course - drinking, talking, singing, etc. He can't be overwhelmed by his emotions all the time, after all.

After the mountain, Jaskier's coping mechanism is drinking. Turns out, there's something in it, and Nilfgaard knows exactly how to break the songbird.

words: 17097

tags: geralt / jaskier, yennefer, PTSD, post-s1e6, s1e6 fix-it, a fix-it of sorts, pyschological trauma, psychological torture, magical fuckery, mind manipulation, aftermath of psychological torture, emotional/psychological abuse, torture, nilfgaard, captured by nilfgaard, fringilla, fluff and angst, protective yennefer, yennefer ships it, idiots in love, love confessions, happy ending, solitary confinement

author’s note: alright, so here is the zillionth captured-by-nilfgaard fic in this fandom. and, yes, whenever i mention valdo marx + jaskier hate-fucking, i am passive-aggressively yelling at the fandom for not having more of it. it has massive potential, but i don't write smut. (aka, please link me to any amazing top/dom valdo and bottom/sub jaskier hate-fucking, i love it)

scheduled tuesday and thursday posting.

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

-0-0-0-

Jaskier felt too much.

He’d always felt too much. He spent his younger years raging at his parents, raging at the world, though he didn’t know what he was raging at, only that he wanted to get away, be free.

And when he was old enough, he went to Oxenfurt and learned - learned academics, learned the arts, and he flashed through emotions quicker than he did love. The world was new, the world was bright and big and bold and Jaskier wanted nothing more than to carve himself a place in it.

And he did. He went to an inn in Posada and met a white-haired Witcher, and he learned some more. Learned of the darker emotions - not just anger, but revenge, and not just sadness, but despair, oppression. The world was new, still, the world wasn’t quite bright anymore but it was big and bold and Jaskier still wanted to carve himself a place in it, by way of one grumpy, golden-eyed, white-haired Witcher.

So Jaskier went through the world, and he felt. He felt pain lance through him, sharp as any blade - pain of heartbreak, pain of rejection, pain of actual physical wounds. He felt happiness, like warm honey falling gently over him - contentment when he sat by the fire with Geralt and sang into the shadows, joy when he roused an entire tavern into singing and stamping with him and he danced between them all, singing his heart out to the world.

He also felt love, in a more permanent sense than he’d ever felt it. Love was…. a peculiar sensation for him. He fell into love hard, and fast, and deep - both literally and metaphorically; Jaskier did enjoy the finer things in life, and he wasn’t above flirting and taking everyone he met to bed, sometimes at the same time. He adored people, like soft warmth rising in him. Lust was sharp and primal, carnal in its intensity, and Jaskier sharpened it into something intricate, turned it into pretty words and meaningful looks and determined intent.

And he loved, loved with his whole being, loved with his entire heart. Jaskier gave a piece of his heart to everyone he met, and sometimes he took it back after a fleeting infatuation, sometimes it stayed with them and he yearned. Valdo Marx was one of those people - he had loved him as he did anyone, had ended up hating him, but Valdo was not a fleeting love. Jaskier still loved him, even if it was only for their sharp back-and-forths and the truly mind-blowing hate sex they had occasionally - Valdo knew him better than anyone, except for Geralt.

Geralt was different. For Jaskier, love shot through him like a lightning bolt - or, Cupid’s arrow. Sometimes it went out the other end and left, sometimes it stuck and bled and scarred. With Geralt, it had shot through him like any other person, except it had stuck, it hadn’t bled, and it hadn’t scarred. Jaskier loved Geralt, and he was never so selfless that he never wanted more of him despite having what he already did, but if he was truly forced to choose, Jaskier would have been perfectly content with the life he led with the Witcher, would have suffered through the pain of pining after him if he got to stay.

Jaskier hadn’t chosen, though. Geralt had chosen for him, and he had decided that he didn’t need him, didn’t want him, and Jaskier had granted him his oh so desired blessing, and left.

Heartbreak felt like needles, stabbing him, over and over and over, in multiple places, and when he thought it was done, he’d see something and he’d be pricked again, it would draw blood.

Jaskier had grown very good at coping with his feelings - he couldn’t go through life being overwhelmed by all of his emotions. He did this in all manners of ways - writing songs and singing them, putting on the optimistic act to simultaneously let out emotions while hiding others, and talking, constantly. One of his better - or, well, quite unhealthy but very effective - coping mechanisms was drinking, which was what he was currently using on the heartbreak needling at him.

He stared into the tankard of ale, which tasted more like piss than actual ale, and sighed. Even the damn ale reminded him of Geralt.

Maybe the Cupid’s arrow for Geralt had started bleeding. Jaskier wasn’t sure if it would scar.

He groaned and dumped coins on the table, ignoring the flirtatious looks some women were giving him. He would have accepted it at any other time, would have lost himself in pleasure, but he felt slightly dizzy and he wanted nothing more than to find someplace to sleep, without practically selling his body for it. He didn’t have enough coin for a room, so he’d have to sleep out in the woods. Which, dammit, was just like he used to do with Geralt. Minus the Witchery protection now, of course.

Jaskier’s head was thoroughly spinning by the time he got out of the inn, and he knew something was wrong. He was drugged, he knew what it felt like to be drugged, having been enough times that Geralt actually berated him for having to rescue him. He ran through in his head what drug it could be, landed distantly on the salty taste of the ale, and cursed under his breath. Or, maybe it was a curse. Jaskier’s head was too fuzzy to figure out whether it came out as an actual word or as incoherent noises.

He saw shadows out of the corner of his eye - black, large, vaguely terrifying considering the way he stumbled and couldn’t think straight. He was caught by two strong arms, Geralt flashing quickly through his mind before a voice that was decidedly not Geralt whispered in his ear, smooth and cruel.

“Hey, little songbird,” not-Geralt said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier replied. Or didn’t. He didn’t know, his head was spinning and he felt a headache pounding and his limbs were growing slow and heavy, and the darkness dragged him down all too easily.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier woke up cold, and shivering, and very, very confused. He was laying on his side on a stone floor, feeling like he had been dunked in ice water - which, maybe he had, because his hair was dripping wet still and plastered to his face. His hands were behind his back, and at an experimental tug, they were tied together too. He wore nothing but his pants, and his bare shoulder pressed against the cold stone.

Jaskier cursed, both from his situation which had rapidly come back to him, and the very annoying strands of wet hair that had decided to plant themselves directly in his eye, and managed to roll himself onto his back with some effort. He lifted his head as much as he could and shook his hair out of his face, trying very hard to ignore the feeling of it plastered to his cheeks, his neck, just all over the place. He took the brief time to berate whoever had kidnapped him on hair care - honestly, did no one know how to dry hair? He liked to keep his hair soft and this was decidedly not the way to do it.

Of course, none of this was what he believed. He was ignoring the fear crawling up in him, feeling like spiders and making his skin itch, feeling like ice trickling down his spine and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. If he focused on anything other than the fear, then he wouldn’t be overwhelmed. It couldn’t do anything.

Jaskier rolled himself back on his side in order not to crush his hands beneath him, and after a long, heated moment spent mentally berating whoever had kidnapped him, again, on the best positions for singing, he actually started singing. The lecture went on, still - every time his voice cracked very much not artfully, or every time he couldn’t pull in enough breath, he took a second to come up with some particularly creative insult in his head about calling him songbird and then prohibiting his ability to sing.

He ignored the feeling of spiders crawling over him and the feeling of ice trickling down his spine.

It was an undetermined amount of time, measured only by the fact that Jaskier got through eight songs verbally before he started shivering uncontrollably, and six songs mentally before the door opened and a woman in blue robes and two men in black Nilfgaardian armor strode in.

He gave a dry laugh, ignoring the spiders crawling and the ice trickling. “Nice of you to stop by,” he said. “You know, it’s a bit contradictory when you call me songbird and then put me in a position like this, which is very much not conducive to singing, let me tell you.”

The woman in blue robes smiled and walked forward. She reached behind him and tugged harshly on the ropes tying his arms, pulling him into a kneeling position, before yanking him up to stand. Jaskier met her dark eyes, sensed the crackling undercurrent of magic around her, and supposed that this was Nilfgaard’s mage. Or one of them, at least.

She held his gaze for a long moment, searching, before letting go. “Untie him,” she said, turning around and standing several paces back as the Nilfgaardian soldiers descended on him.

Jaskier stood still, finding his heart suddenly pounding and adrenaline racing through him. This was his chance - he could try to escape now.

The ropes dropped from his arms and he lashed out, landing a right hook in one of the soldier’s jaws and aiming for another in the other soldier, when the entire room popped and Jaskier found himself slammed into by a wave of magic. His back hit the stone wall hard, knocking the breath out of him, and he gasped, arching. The sorceress walked forward, cruel emptiness in her eyes, watching him like he was a bug pinned to a board. Which, he supposed he was.

He was always a bug pinned to a board, poked and prodded and seen as amusing by Geralt and Yennefer and now this damned mage. Gods, Jaskier hated being human.

“Don’t struggle,” she said, voice oddly serene. “It’ll only be worse for you.”

Jaskier scoffed, rolled his eyes and studiously ignored the fear threatening to overtake him. Sometimes feeling too much was a blessing, sometimes it was a curse. Right now, it was a curse.

“Why? So I can become your puppet and you can do whatever you’d like to me? I’d be flattered you think of me that way, if this wasn’t a kidnapping,” he retorted sharply. The mage laughed, amused, and Jaskier tugged against his invisible bonds. Something in him wanted to cry at the fact that they didn’t even deem it necessary to tie him up, he was so weak and human.

The mage didn’t respond - not to his question, anyway. Instead, she raised two fingers to trace along his jaw. “It’s better to get this over with now,” she said.

Jaskier paled, felt the fear rising in him. “Get what over with? I’d rather you don’t-“

Her fingers landed on his forehead and his sentence ended with a scream. He arched against the invisible bonds, feeling the searing heat crawl into his mind, flood it with lava, with blood and pain and misery. She dissected his memories, sharply cleaving through every defense he had, and he felt the magic ripping through his body harshly, tearing through his mind.

Jaskier slid into the wooden seat, bread shifting uncomfortably in his waistband - but that wasn’t important. What was important was the lack of a review, the golden eyes staring flatly at him and the two long, sharp, menacing swords sitting beside the man.

“Come on, you must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

“No,” he gasped. “Don’t- please don’t-“

He screamed again as she ripped through another of his memories, feeling tears start in his eyes and the feeling of fear inch up his spine, waiting for the opportunity to get past his defenses and overtake him.

“How’s my singing, Geralt?” Jaskier asked loudly, because oh he wanted to have this conversation. He was quite heartbroken from the Countess de Stael’s rude break off of their relationship, and he thought spending a good long while defending his singing with a loud, unrestrained sarcasm he hadn’t been able to use since he entered the Countess’s court would make him feel better. There was something freeing about being with Geralt, not having to tiptoe around the darker and dirtier things in life.

Jaskier gasped through the pain, shaking against the wall, mouth now opening wordlessly as he arched and the mage tore into memory after memory, pulling everything he ever felt, thought, said, did, into full view, forcing white hair and golden eyes into the forefront of his mind. She learned he felt too much, she learned he loved too much, she learned of the frankly embarrassing number of times he hate-fucked Valdo Marx.

And she learned he loved Geralt with a love more permanent than anything he’d ever felt before.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

The agony ended with that line echoing in his head and he fell limp against the magic holding him to the wall, gasping for breath and still feeling the echoes of the searing pain ripping through his head.

The mage was entirely unconcerned, standing and waiting with a blank look on her face until Jaskier caught his breath and sent her a glare. He growled - which, of course made him think of Geralt. Damn the fucking Witcher who stole his heart. “Are you done? Learned anything useful?” he snarled, truly not giving a fuck about whether he angered her and made it worse.

She traced her fingers along his jaw again, sliding them beneath his chin and raising his head, lowering herself down to look him in the eyes. “Oh, songbird. We learned so much. I'm going to enjoy breaking you.”

Jaskier felt the fear rise up in him, felt his breaths start to come shorter and tears fill his eyes, and forcefully shoved it down. He couldn’t let his emotions overwhelm him.

“Why do you want me?” he asked, uselessly. He knew why they wanted him - and he knew he couldn’t give them the answers they wanted. Geralt had discarded him.

The mage released his chin and stood up, not responding. Jaskier watched as she stepped back, flicked her fingers, and suddenly Jaskier fell hard to the floor. He gasped when the cold shocked through him, and the mage walked to the door with the soldiers. She turned back at him when he raised his head to look at her.

“The Witcher has something we want,” she replied, and turned and left. The door slammed loudly behind her and the soldiers.

Jaskier was left alone in the darkness, and the sudden drain of adrenaline from the mage ripping through his mind left him exhausted. He resisted the urge to cry; he kept up the dying hope that Geralt would save him, or he would escape, because they were the only things keeping back the flood of fear, and he knew if the fear and emotions overtook him then he would break.

For now, he curled up on the cold floor and let his eyes close, succumbing to the deep exhaustion and letting sleep take him.

-0-0-0-

The mage introduced herself as Fringilla, and the next time she came in there were the same two soldiers with her. Jaskier had searched his cell when he woke up feeling marginally better, though still freezing cold, and found nothing - it was pitch dark, so he couldn’t see, but he had felt every inch with his hands and there was absolutely nothing that would help him escape. He could barely find the door in the darkness.

The bright light blinded him and he covered his eyes as Fringilla and the soldiers walked in. He glared at them, backed away when the soldiers came up to him. They reached out and Jaskier laughed harshly, ducking out from under their arms. “Nope, no, I am not letting you touch me.”

Fringilla sighed impatiently as Jaskier kept dodging the soldiers, who did nothing more than walk steadily after him in the small space. He hated this, hated that he was trapped and couldn’t do anything other than run three feet from the soldiers and make himself look weak by prolonging it. They still hadn’t deemed him a threat enough to tie him up, for fuck’s sake.

Jaskier would have enjoyed taking apart that delusion, if he wasn’t freezing cold, half-naked, outnumbered, and with no weapon to speak of. He uselessly avoided the soldiers for several more minutes, until even he was growing bored of the game, and the only thing that Fringilla needed to do was raise her hand before Jaskier was stopping, freezing like a deer in headlights, fear flashing through him. The soldiers took that opportunity and slammed him against the wall, hands pinning his arms and legs in place.

Jaskier wondered if the display of sheer power against him was intentional, deeming him too weak for chains or ropes, but Fringilla smiled in such a way that it was instantly confirmed and Jaskier bit back his noise of annoyance. It was truly insulting, and hit something deeper in Jaskier that was still fighting, that kept up hope. He figured that was the point - if they could restrain him so easily now, what was the point of fighting? It would only be worse.

“Love,” Fringilla said, and Jaskier felt his stomach drop and his body go cold. If Nilfgaard wanted to break him, they certainly knew how to do it.

“It’s a peculiar thing, isn’t it? So volatile. It’s the only thing us mages can’t predict,” Fringilla continued, voice low.

Jaskier glared at her. “Shame. Thought you mages were all-powerful,” he snarked. Fringilla only looked amused.

“However,” she continued, ignoring his comment, “we can use it to our advantage.” And, yeah, that’s definitely not good for Jaskier, who squirmed just at the thought of what they could do to him regarding Geralt - because that was the only person he truly loved, really.

She raised her fingers, intent in her dark eyes, and Jaskier barely had time to protest, fear shooting through him, before cool magic washed over him like ice water, and he sank into darkness.

He saw the light first - saw the mountains in the distance, felt the clothes covering his back. Heard Geralt and Yennefer arguing below, saw Borch sitting on the ledge - and oh, fuck, this was the dragon hunt, he realized with a jolt of panic.

“Like fuck you didn’t,” came Geralt’s irritated voice, and Jaskier’s heart hurt just hearing it. He stood up, or, well, he tried to. There was a magical force pulling him down, forcing him to stay in the body of the Jaskier in his memories, the one who sat on the rock, and walked over, and then walked away. He wanted to cry, again, because he knew how this turned out and he could already feel the heartbreak needling at his skin, the pain of rejection lancing through him. He remembered how his dreams shattered like glass, and he cut himself on the sharp edges of them as he walked away.

He stood up, walked over once Yennefer left. Spoke without wanting to, felt the insistent magic tugging at him. “Whew,” he said. “What a day. I imagine you’re probably-“

“Dammit, Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted sharply, whirling around to face him, and Jaskier felt the needles of heartbreak start pricking him, stabbing and drawing blood. He was stuck in his memory’s body, though, so he was forced to listen, feeling the tug of Fringilla’s magic on his voice, on his body.

Geralt’s eyes were hard, burning with anger as he continued. “Why is it, whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it?”

“Well, that’s not fair,” Jaskier replied, voice soft. It was just as painful the second time as it was the first, and back in the dark, cold cell, Jaskier was resisting the urge to cry. He didn’t want to relive this, it was too much for him to handle.

“The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! ” Geralt’s voice was harsh, everything about him was harsher and sharper and Jaskier was cutting himself on it, he was practically bleeding out with the force of the heartbreak ripping through him. He sang so many songs about Geralt, about him not being a monster, and Jaskier fought against the negative things said about Geralt with everything he had, but some dark, selfish part of himself whispered that maybe Geralt really was the monster everyone thought he was. He was certainly acting the part right now, hurting Jaskier in the most efficient, effective way possible. Jaskier was wrong when he said Geralt didn’t know how to use the blade of his words as effectively as steel and silver.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Sharp pain lanced through him and Jaskier woke up gasping, laying on the cold floor. The cell was dark; Fringilla and the soldiers were long gone. Jaskier was alone.

Jaskier shoved down the tears, shoved down the fear and heartbreak and emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Crying was not one of his coping mechanisms. Drinking was, talking was, singing was. Not crying, never crying. Jaskier would not show weakness.

Well, he couldn’t drink. He had two options. Singing or talking. There weren’t many songs to sing that weren’t about Geralt - and he had just been painfully reminded of how he felt about him, thank you very much. So he curled up in a weak defense against the cold, and in a quiet, cracking, whisper of a voice, started to talk.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier had fallen asleep in the middle of some sentence about geography, some passage he had memorized from a textbook when he was at Oxenfurt. He didn’t remember it now; didn’t need to. All he remembered now was the surge of fear as the cell door opened and Fringilla and two soldiers walked in. Jaskier looked up, too exhausted to think about physically fighting as they dragged him up from his position on the floor.

He did fight verbally, though, if only because talking to someone to fight off his emotions was better than talking to himself. “In the old stories, the knights swept the princesses off of their feet,” he said. The soldiers started pulling him towards the door - he had a vague hope of escaping, though he felt like shit because he was being starved and really had to piss. “Does that make me the princess?”

Fringilla gave her signature, idly amused smile, the one that reminded Jaskier just how much he was a bug pinned to a board and surrounded by immortals who didn’t care for him. “You’re a bard, and nothing more. The place we’re taking you is not from the old stories.”

Jaskier frowned. “Shame. Oh, speaking of being a bard, why do you even keep me here? You already rifled through my mind, you saw Geralt abandon me. You know I don’t know where he is, or what he has that you want.”

Fringilla didn’t look bothered. “You’re still useful. You know the Witcher better than anyone else, you can tell us where he would go next. His patterns of behavior, the way he thinks. The best way we can ambush him. Or, if not, you’re good for bait.”

Jaskier laughed, and the sound was harsh and mocking. “He won’t come for me,” he said bitterly. “You’re delusional if, after looking at that memory, you think he would come back for me. He doesn’t care whether I live or die.”

Fringilla smiled. “You’re right. He doesn’t care about you, and he won’t come back. Whether you help us find the Witcher or not, bard, you’re still ours.”

It came so easily, so certainly, that Jaskier deflated in the soldier’s arms, staring at Fringilla with a sort of blank horror. She had looked through his memories, had seen everything he’d seen, and she was able to say with such smooth certainty that Geralt wouldn’t come back for him, and he was Nilfgaard’s now. It hit the same part of him that it had when they had so easily restrained him, the deeper part of him that glowed gold with hope even as the rest of him withered and broke.

They stopped in front of a simple wooden door that Fringilla opened to reveal a room with a tub, toilet, and sink. Jaskier turned to the sorceress. “You’re giving me time to clean myself up?” he asked incredulously. “Doesn’t that go against, you know… everything about torture?”

Fringilla smiled again, but there was something darker in it. Jaskier resisted the urge to shiver at the dark promise hidden in her tone and smile. “You’re going to need it, bard. You won’t come back here for a long time.”

Jaskier felt the dread rise in him, like being touched by ice, and the fear. He nodded, staying quiet, and went into the room, flinching when the door slammed and locked behind him.

An hour later, the door was opened and the two soldiers came to get him, just as he finished using the bathroom. Jaskier sighed. “I’m guessing you won’t pamper me as much anymore?”

Fringilla smiled in the same dark way when the soldiers pulled Jaskier through the hallways. “No.”

They got closer, and Jaskier thought he was immune, he thought he was still strong, but he thought of the pure darkness of the cell and the cold air and the sheer loneliness, and started struggling when he saw the metal door at the end of the hallway. The fear was threatening to overtake him, his breaths came shorter and his voice rose an octave.

“Are you really sure you want to put me in there?” he asked, while pulling against the soldiers, who forcefully manhandled him down the hallway. His heart was picking up, and dammit he shouldn’t be this affected after two fucking days, but here he was. Nilfgaard had better torture tactics than they were given credit for - Jaskier had a bitter feeling that the reliving the hardest, most painful ten minutes of his life factored into the reason why he was so scared. “I’m sure there’s another option, something much less… well, dark and cold.”

“Will you answer our questions?” Fringilla asked.

“No,” Jaskier replied automatically. He wouldn’t give up that easily, no matter how terrifying the cell was.

Fringilla opened the door and the soldiers threw him in. He landed hard on the stone, still in only a pair of pants because that was all the clothes he was given in the bathroom, and he barely had time to watch the sliver of light be sliced away by the door slamming before he was left in pitch darkness, the cold air already seeping into him.

Jaskier sat up and leaned against the wall. He sighed, very firmly refusing the urge to cry, and stared into the darkness. He couldn’t even see the edges of the room, for fuck’s sake.

He let out a breath that definitely wasn’t at all shaky, tilted his head back against the wall, and started to sing - about everything and anything, because he couldn’t give a fuck about whether the songs were about Geralt if it meant he was distracted from the pain of knowing this was all he would see for gods knows how long. After all, it was just another emotion to add to the pile, wasn’t it? Nilfgaard wouldn’t care if he broke down - fuck, they wanted him to break down. Some dark part of him wondered if it would be easier to break down, stop fighting; it was only exhausting him anyway.

“When a humble bard, graced a ride along…”

#the witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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hrina · 5 years

Text

Hanging by a Thread (Thank God for Sewing Needles II)

PAIRING: Harry/Y/N RATING: R WORD COUNT: 9.4k REQUESTED: yes!

hi everyone!!! i finished my last exam not even a week ago, and i’m so excited to start writing again! think of this sequel as me extending metaphorical olive branch, lmao 😘 i worked really hard on this piece, and im v happy with how it turned out! this little series honestly feels like my baby lol. as always, if u like it, please don’t hesitate to leave me some feedback! and here is where you can find the rest of my masterlist. enjoy! 💕

p.s. thank u to the ppl who acted as my betas!!! @yes-daddy-i-willl, @harryonstage and @smokeinherperfume i appreciate u sm!

~*~

The past few months have probably been the best of Harry’s life.

Of course, he’s still got his challenges—snooty events filled with pretentious people, a mother who is just a bit too difficult to please, a schedule that leaves very little room for relaxation and leisure.

But all of that means nothing when he gets you to laugh at his corny jokes and stroke his cheek with delicate fingers. There have been negatives in his life, sure, but they’re greatly outweighed by the newly-offered benefits that accompanied his confession the night of the gala.

Benefits which he’s currently enjoying.

“Fuck, pet,” Harry groans, gripping your hips tightly as he drives into you from behind. Your skin slaps against his, and the obscene sound only adds to the growing fire in the pit of his stomach. His eyes rake up your naked body, from the round perk of your ass to where your fingers are fisting tightly at the silk sheets.

Harry’s pace nearly falters when he realizes just how many times he’d dreamt of having you like this: wrapped snugly around him, in his bed, moaning out his name like a prayer. He digs his fingers into the plushness of your hips, groaning low in his throat when the tip of his cock reaches even further inside of you. Your velvety walls flutter around him and you bury your face into the mattress, whining loudly.

“You’re so deep,” you choke out, subconsciously beginning to move in harmony with him. Each time he drills forward, you push back, and it makes a deep, guttural sound echo in the back of his throat.

“Fuckin’ love this cunt,” Harry swears, wrapping his arm around you so that he can cup your pussy; his fingers split apart around where you’re both joined, and he grinds the heel of his hand into your clit.

You squeal, trying to simultaneously escape the contact while pressing back against him. The both of you are ravenous, hot and sweaty. Harry drinks you in, running his free hand down your soft side, from your shoulder to your thigh. He doles out a quick, sharp spank to your ass, and you moan in affirmation, wiggling your backside to encourage him.

“Knew you’d like that,” he grins, giving in to your pleas. “Always did love it when I pushed you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut. Harry has stilled now, allowing you to control the pace at which his cock fucks into you. You work your hips along his length, purposely clenching around him and giggling innocently when he groans. His hands fly out to your waist, steadying you so that he doesn’t lose it and cum right then and there.

“That’s not fair,” he growls, pinching your skin in admonishment. “Don’t wanna nut off just yet, love. Want you to cum with me.”

“Keep doing what you’re doing, and I will,” you moan.

Harry smiles, his fingers finding your clit once more; he rubs quick circles into the nub as he takes back control, beginning to pick up speed again. The wet sound of skin against skin grows louder with each thrust forward until it’s drowned out by your sharp gasp.

“That’s it,” Harry coaxes, watching with dark eyes as the muscles in your back tense up. “Cum for me, darling. Give me a good one.”

His words are enough to push you over the edge, and you cry out as your orgasm washes over you. Harry grunts animalistically, throwing his head back when your cunt spasms around his cock. The heavenly sensation sets him off as well, and he releases a string of creative curse words as his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter shut. The knot in his pelvis explodes, and he hunches over you as he shoots hot ropes of seed into the condom.

For the next few moments, there’s only heavy panting and the shuffling of limbs. And then you laugh quietly, lifting your head from the bed and gazing up at him with twinkling eyes.

“That was really good,” you murmur; your lips curl up into a small, satisfied smile. “Even better than last time, and I didn’t think that’d be possible.”

Harry chuckles, pulling out of you slowly with a devious grin. “I’m full of surprises.”

You snort and push yourself up onto your knees. Your thighs shake a bit—something that doesn’t go unnoticed by him—as you turn around to face him. He’s in the middle of peeling off the condom, but you slip your fingers beneath his chin, angling his face up. He’s sporting a lazy, post-coital smirk, and a light sheen of sweat is apparent on his forehead. Without saying anything, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. He sighs happily.

“I’m going to go pee,” you tell him, mumbling the words against his mouth. “And then I wanna cuddle. Is that cool with you?”

“Very cool.” Harry nods, and you grin. You slide off the mattress, your knees quivering slightly as you take a step toward the washroom. Harry bites his bottom lip, watching the way your ass jiggles with the movement and trying to quell the barbaric voice in his head that spurs him on.

He shrugs to himself. Fuck it.

A moment later, you feel a sharp smack on your bum, and you shriek in surprise, your hands flying down to shield the abused skin.

“Hurry,” Harry teases, beaming stupidly when you turn to shoot him an affronted look. You cackle and quickly speed away before he gets the chance to deliver another blow.

~*~

“Christ, woman,” Harry utters, tipping his head back against the wall of the small closet.

He’s not quite sure what’s come over you; fifteen minutes ago, you’d both been joking around, bumping hips while you raced to see who could fry an egg the fastest. The kitchens of the palace were quiet, with all the staff having gone home for the night. Harry knew that nobody would be down in the basement at two in the morning, and that’s why he’d suggested a little competition.

But now, he’s here: trapped inside a small storage room with his hands wound in your hair and your lips wrapped around his cock.

He really doesn’t know how you both ended up here. He vaguely remembers you laughing victoriously, sliding your fried egg onto a free plate and sticking your tongue out at him as he pouted. You’d won, and you’d celebrated by switching off the burners on the stove and grabbing his hand, pulling him into the nearest secluded space before kissing him frantically.

And now your tongue is laving up his shaft and you’re giggling softly to yourself while he grunts in pained delight.

“You gonna cum soon?” you whisper, pulling off of his cock so that you can press a quick kiss to his hip bone. Your hand doesn’t cease its movements along his dick, continuing to stroke him languidly. Harry nods, his lips parting slightly as he feels his thighs tense in anticipation.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes, rubbing his thumb against your temple.

You smirk slightly, opening your mouth and tapping the head of his cock a few times against your bottom lip. You stick your tongue out, dipping it into his slit, and then Harry’s groaning far too loudly as he comes undone. You catch every drop of his release, swallowing enthusiastically before pressing one last kiss to his tip and tucking him back into his pants.

Harry’s out of breath when you stand back up, and he watches with tired eyes as you purse your lips to hide a proud smile. You yelp quietly when he grabs your face in his hands and plants a passionate, bruising kiss onto your mouth. Your fingers wrap around his wrists to keep him close, and for the next minute or so (which then bleeds into the rest of the night), all he can think about is how hard he’s fallen for you.

~*~

“We’re going to freeze to death, Your Lavishness. I hope you know that.”

“As long as we’re together, right?”

You scoff and roll your eyes playfully while Harry just grins at you. Two towels and a few blankets are bundled up in his arms, and you’ve got an extra few coverings draped over your left shoulder. You walk side-by-side, trying to appear as casual as possible whilst strolling through the basement halls. Harry nods graciously whenever a staff member from the kitchen passes you by.

You finally reach that same little nook in the wall. Harry peers around, making sure that no one is watching before he ushers you through the narrow door. You cough quietly when you step into the dark, dusty stone corridor.

“Ever think about renovating?” you joke, fumbling for your cell phone so that you can illuminate the way. You jump slightly when Harry’s right hand falls to your hip, guiding you along. Your cheeks warm at the contact and you smile to yourself, grateful that he can’t see your face from where he’s following behind you.

When you both finally reach your destination, you don’t miss the chill that bites at your skin (but of course it’d be a bit cool; it’s nearly February, and there’s a massive hole in the ceiling of the cave).

“We’re going to freeze to death,” you repeat. Harry shakes his head and laughs quietly. He makes his way over to the small pond in the middle of the cavern, dropping all of the fabric in his arms onto the ground. You snicker and do the same. Together, you both splay out the blankets and towels so that you’ve got a massive covered space onto which you can settle down. Once you’re just about finished, you stand back up, placing your hands on your hips and observing your handiwork.

“’S good, I reckon,” Harry says, smiling up at you. You return his dopey expression before crossing your arms over your body and tugging your shirt up over your head. Once you’ve successfully freed yourself of the material, you glance shyly down at him and bite your lip to conceal a giddy grin.

His eyes have gone wide, and his jaw is locked tightly in place. You cock an eyebrow, shooting him an expectant look.

“I thought we were getting naked.”

“Bleedin’—,” Harry doesn’t finish his sentence, instead scrambling to his feet. His fingers fly to the first button on his shirt, and he makes quick work of undoing each clasp. You watch with excited, hungry eyes as the expensive white fabric falls to the ground.

The two of you remove the rest of your clothes, shedding your pants and undergarments frantically. You’ve just unclipped your bra when Harry stumbles over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours. You both giggle into each other’s mouths, nearly tripping over a fold in the blanket below your feet.

“C’mon,” Harry murmurs, gently flicking your chin with his index finger. “I’ve already got goosebumps.”

“How unfortunate,” you reply dryly. “Whose brilliant idea was it to go skinny dipping in the middle of January?”

“It was brilliant, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

Harry grins boyishly at you before pinching his nose dramatically and leaping straight into the pond. Your jaw drops, and you dodge the droplets of water that have gone flying thanks to his theatrical display. Harry’s head appears from beneath the surface and he stands up, splaying out his arms as though he’s expecting some sort of praise. The water reaches just beneath his pectorals.

“How is it?” you ask nervously.

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s actually fine, love. C’mon in.”

And he honestly doesn’t look cold or uncomfortable, so you take his word for it and jump in.

You soon realize that you’ve made a grave mistake.

“Holy fuck!” You shriek as soon as the water surrounds you. It’s freezing.

And Harry’s grinning.

“You dick!” you accuse, splashing him before wrapping your arms around yourself in a pathetic attempt to keep warm. “How did you manage to keep such a straight face?”

“It’s one of my many talents,” Harry replies smugly, and you scowl. You’re about to splash him again, but he quickly wraps his fingers around your forearms, stopping you before you succeed. “Smile for me,” he tells you, pressing his forehead against yours; he’s beaming like an idiot.

“Fuck you.”

“If you insist.”

You squeal with laughter when he grabs your thighs, wrapping them around his waist with ease. You’re still as frozen as ice, but Harry’s body heat is radiating off of his skin and lessening the chill.

“The water’s so cold,” you tell him, a mocking lilt infiltrating your words, “I’d be surprised if you were able to get it up.”

“Is that a challenge?” Harry asks, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly. His eyes flick downward for only a moment, and he wiggles his brows at you. “’Cause you seem to be doing just fine.”

You follow his gaze, only to find that he’s staring at where your nipples have hardened and pebbled from the low temperature. As if to prove his point, Harry pinches one of them softly, and you yelp, batting his hand away.

“My boobs aren’t the same as your dick!”

“Right about that, love.” Harry snickers. “They’re much, much better.”

“You’re—,” you break off when he ducks his head, beginning to pepper soft kisses to the skin of your neck. “You’re too cheeky for your own good.”

“But you like it,” Harry laughs hotly into your throat, squeezing you closer to his body. His lips are soft as they sponge pecks along your jawline, and you can’t stop the content sigh that escapes your mouth. You jolt slightly when you feel him begin to stiffen against your thigh, and your eyelids flutter shut.

“I’ll be damned,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “You’re hard.”

~*~

When his sister had told him that there were ongoing preparations in the ballroom for the dinner, Harry hadn’t expected much. Perhaps a few members of the staff polishing the floors and dusting off the walls. He’d tried to wean more information from her, but Gemma had simply pursed her berry lips and shot him a look, as if telling him to go see for himself.

Once he pushes through the grand doors of the hall, however, he finds that his predictions had been very, very wrong.

There are several dozen employees milling around, setting up tables with crème-coloured sheets and sparkling silverware. Matching chairs are brought out and arranged in groups of eight around each placement. Harry looks to his right, watching as a team of individuals work together to roll out a velvet red carpet and smooth away any bumps and folds; the material spans from the very top of the staircase to about a quarter-way down the length of the room. There’s a tinkling sound from above, and Harry cranes his neck, his eyes going impossibly wide at the sight.

Oh, God.

They’ve brought out the good chandelier.

He hears a familiar laugh to his left, and his gaze falls on his mother, who is chatting casually with—of course—Marina.

“Mum!” Harry’s voice is uncharacteristically high as he makes a beeline in her direction. Anne catches sight of him and waves him over warmly, holding out her arms as he approaches.

“Hi, dear,” she says. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Harry rushes out, forcing a smile (though he’s pretty sure it resembles more of a grimace). “Hi, Marina,” he greets the other woman.

Marina curtsies deeply, brushing her short black hair away from her face once she straightens back up. Today, she’s wearing a red dress with a slightly puffy petticoat and thick straps that rest on her shoulders. Naturally, her lips are painted the same shade of red, and when she beams happily at him, there’s that same smudge of lipstick on her teeth.

“Er,” Harry gnaws on the inside of his cheek, shuffling a bit awkwardly. He directs his next words to Marina. “Do you mind if I borrow my mum for a second?”

“Take your time.” She nods and curtsies yet again as she makes her exit, her short black heels clicking on the shiny floor.

Once she’s out of earshot, Harry turns to his mother, trying to decide how to properly articulate his thoughts. “Mum…,” he starts, but then his mind goes blank. Eventually, he sighs and regresses to the simplest question possible. “What’s all this?”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Anne places a dainty hand on her chest as she laughs. Harry mimics her, though his chuckle is far less carefree, and he knows that he must look absolutely lost.

“I just—,” he gestures to the commotion around the ballroom, “Is this all for my birthday?”

“You only turn twenty-five once, love,” Anne smiles, one of her eyebrows kinking up amiably. “I just wanted this dinner to be special; plus, it’s only a few weeks away! I thought we could get a head start on the preparations.”

“And I appreciate that, I really do,” Harry says quickly. He reaches for his mother’s hand and gives it a light squeeze. “But don’t you think it’s all a bit…too much?”

“Nonsense,” Anne chuckles, placing her fingers on his biceps and giving his arms a few reassuring taps. “It’s your birthday, dear. And it’s quite the milestone, too. Won’t you give a poor mother the opportunity to arrange a nice dinner for her son?”

Harry smiles slightly, leaning in and kissing her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he says once he pulls back. “I—thank you for all of this. I’ll let you get back to it.”

She beams and nods. Harry returns her expression, but his chest is tight and there’s an anxious knot beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. He backs away from his mother, and his grin slides from his face as soon as he turns around. His feet carry him out of the ballroom quickly, and he pauses just outside the double doors to gather his thoughts.

She’s good.

Harry shakes his head, running his hands through his dark hair. He subconsciously begins to fiddle with a strand that curls right below his ear, twirling it around his index finger.

The dinner is going to take place in just over two weeks, and he still hasn’t told you how he truly feels about you.

A maid pushing a cart of cleaning supplies passes him, bowing her head dutifully in greeting. Harry does the same and tries for a smile, but it’s not sincere.

He’s pretty sure that he’s fucked, and unless he can come up with a quick yet effective solution, that’s how it’s going to stay.

~*~

When Harry phones you later that night, you’re hunched over your bathroom sink, scrubbing the remnants of a charcoal exfoliator from your face. You accept the call and immediately put it on speaker, squeezing your eyes shut and bending back down so that you don’t drip water onto the floor.

“Hey,” you say over the sound of the faucet. “Sorry, I’m just washing my face.”

“How very sophisticated of you.” Harry’s voice is deep and thick, as though he’s only minutes away from falling asleep. You laugh quietly and rub your palms over your cheeks one last time before turning off the sink and reaching for the small towelette next to you.

“Okay, I’m done,” you tell him, pressing the soft fabric against your skin to dry off. “How was your day?”

“Was alright,” Harry says simply, and though you can’t see him, you know he’s probably shrugging his shoulders. “Found out that Mum’s throwing a massive dinner for my birthday—I tried telling her that it was all too much but then she pulled the whole ‘it’s a milestone’ card.”

“It is a milestone.” You smirk, and Harry groans.

“Christ, you sound just like her.”

You giggle, wiping any excess water from your hands before chucking the small towel down onto the counter. “I think it’s nice that she wants to do this for you,” you say, reaching for your phone. “Before her diagnosis, my mother threw me a huge party for my twenty-first birthday. It was actually a lot of fun.” You smile fondly at the memory.

You make your way into your bedroom, tossing the device down onto the duvet and pulling your shorts down your legs. One of the straps of your tank top has slipped off of your shoulder, and you quickly yank it back up before tugging at the covers and sliding into bed. You set your cell phone onto the pillow next to your head before reaching over to flick off your lamp. A moment later, everything is dark.

“That sounds nice,” Harry replies; you can hear the smile in his voice.

“It was,” you agree. “My uncle’s turning fifty this year, and I’m pretty sure she’s already planning something big for him. She wants it to be a surprise, but I don’t know how well that’s going to turn out, considering she’s staying with him. It’s kind of hard to pull a fast one on your sibling when you’re both, like, living under the same roof.”

Harry snickers, and you bite your lip. “Sorry,” you tell him, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m rambling.”

“No, no,” Harry says. “It’s okay, love, I don’t mind. How was your day?”

“Same old,” you hum. “But it wasn’t too hectic, which was nice. Although…,” you grin deviously, “I did get a call around noon asking if there was space for a very last-minute booking for tomorrow.”

Harry chuckles sheepishly. “I’m a bit of a procrastinator, alright?”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Piss off.” He laughs, and you join in. After your giggles have trailed off into silence, he speaks again. “Can I take you out for ice cream tomorrow night? I can wait while you close up.”

“You won’t have to wait long,” you jest. “You’re my last appointment.”

“Really? Brilliant, then.”

You snort quietly, unable to stop a smile from curling along your lips. You turn onto your stomach, folding your arms over the pillow and settling your head down over your wrists. The screen of your phone has gone dark, but you still stare at it dreamily, wishing—more than anything—that you could have Harry laying here, instead. You can picture his boyish grin, his sparkling eyes, his messy hair. He’d probably want to cuddle and force you to spoon him, and you’d pretend to protest for a few moments before inevitably giving in.

“I miss you,” you say softly, the words hanging in the still air of your room. There’s a beat, followed by a second of shuffling on the other end of the line, and then Harry sighs.

“I miss you, too.”

You purse your lips.

“I just saw you a couple of days ago,” you say plainly. You’re trying to make light of your words, trying to disguise the painful pressure that’s suddenly formed in your chest. “It’s kind of stupid that I’m already missing you, isn’t it?”

“No,” Harry tells you. The sincerity in his voice is nearly tangible. “No, it’s not stupid at all. I promise.”

You nod, reaching back to pull the duvet up over your shoulders. Harry exhales quietly, and you close your eyes as you ask, “You tired?”

“A bit,” he purrs. “You?”

“Same.”

Harry hums faintly. “You should get to bed, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, inhaling deeply. “Goodnight, Your Lavishness.”

He chuckles. “Goodnight, my love.”

~*~

“I really like this pattern on you.”

“Find it sexy, do you?”

“Honestly, yeah.”

Harry groans. “Don’t do this to me. Not here.”

You flash him a wicked grin, running your fingers up his thighs and batting your eyelashes innocently. You’re on your knees in front of him, and your behaviour isn’t making it any easier for him to keep himself in check. He’s fully aware of the handful of stoic men standing just outside the door, and as much as he would love to show you off, he’s decided that he wants your moans to be reserved for his ears only.

“We could be quick,” you murmur, hooking your thumb into the dip of one of his pockets. “I could be quick.”

“You’re killing me,” Harry says, grimacing dramatically. You giggle quietly, securing a sewing pin in place and pushing off from your knees. Harry holds out his hands and helps you stand, and you curtsy teasingly once you’re properly on your feet.

“Thank you, Your Lavishness.”

He just smiles, folding his thumb beneath your chin and guiding you into a long, sickly sweet kiss. You cup his cheeks in your hands and grin against his lips, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with your pinky. Harry’s free hand falls to your hip, and he pinches your skin lightly over the material of your jeans. He laughs when you squeak and stiffen.

“Let’s go,” he tells you, peppering a few kisses to your forehead and along the bridge of your nose. “Gimme just a minute to get changed and then we’ll be on our way. I’m craving some of that cookie dough ice cream.”

You throw your head back and make a delighted sound. Your fingers run along the fabric of his lapels, tracing the design of vertical red and black stripes. “That’s the best one. Didn’t know I’d gotten myself a man of taste.”

“A man of impeccable taste,” Harry corrects. You snicker.

“Let’s not push it.”

~*~

“Oi, you had yours!” Harry lifts his ice cream cup out of reach when you try to jab your spoon into the cold treat. You laugh loudly, the sound echoing through the staircase of your apartment complex. Your place is located on the third floor, and you and Harry had both agreed to take the steps rather than the elevator (Harry’s telling himself that it’s because the pair of you need to work off the calories you’d just ingested, but in reality, he knows that it’s only because it allows him to spend a bit more time with you).

“I can’t help it!” You protest, grinning widely. “It was so good, I’m addicted now.”

“That sounds an awful lot like what you said after you first fell into bed with me.”

“Oh my God!”

“I’m joking, bleedin’ hell!” Harry races up the remaining few stairs while you chase him, swatting half-heartedly at his bum. You’re both in stitches and out of breath when you reach your door, and you fish your keys out from your purse while trying to curb your laughter.

Eventually, you manage to unlock the entrance. Harry’s still wheezing quietly when you tumble through the threshold and into the front hallway. You quickly remove your shoes and hang your purse and jacket against the wall before ushering him to do the same.

Your keys jangle when you set them down onto the kitchen counter. Harry takes a seat at the small island in the middle of your kitchen, placing his elbows onto the smooth surface and digging his spoon into what’s left of his ice cream.

“Want something to drink?” you ask, already beginning to rifle through your cabinets for glasses.

“Water’s fine, love,” he replies. “Thanks.”

“All that cookie dough got you thirsty?” You quip, shooting him a lopsided smirk. Harry chuckles when you slide a glass of water over to him. He picks it up and takes a hearty gulp before holding out the remainder of his dessert.

“Here,” he says. “Finish it off.”

“Are you serious?” Your face splits into a grin, and he can’t help but to return your happy expression. Your smile is just so goddamn contagious.

“I’m serious,” Harry affirms, laughing softly. “Take it, go on.”

You squeal joyfully, circling the island so that you can accept his offering and simultaneously press your lips to his. The action catches him a bit by surprise but he definitely isn’t complaining. You pull back slightly, littering small pecks against his Cupid’s bow and letting out dramatic smacking sounds with each kiss.

“You’re the best.”

“Am I?”

“Mm-hm. The finest man I’ve ever met.”

“Oi. Better stop that before I take you to bed,” Harry warns, feeling his cock give an admonitory twitch in his trousers. You simply smile, licking a scoop of ice cream off your spoon before flashing him a mischievous look.

“Is that a promise?”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re sat in his lap, your hips moving in slow undulations as his hands stroke up and down your back. Harry feels you shiver beneath his palms; his hands are a bit cold, contrasting dramatically with the warmth of your skin beneath your knitted sweater. You cup his face sweetly in your hands, your lips moving unhurriedly against his. He’s not sure if he wants to get you naked or if he wants to just stay like this, with his fingertips dancing along your skin and your satisfied sighs floating in the air.

“Do you wanna fuck?” you whisper, and Harry freezes, because…no.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to fuck. He doesn’t want to make you cum and then pretend as though his feelings don’t run so much deeper than what’s been established. He wants to be able to whisper words of adoration against your skin and profess his feelings for you after the whole ordeal is over. He wants to tell you how much you mean to him. He wants to finally end a bloody phone call with, “Love you, bye.”

“Actually,” he grunts, his voice slightly hoarse. He places his palms on the cushions, pushing himself up a bit. “I was kind of hoping to first talk to you about something, if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” you reply easily, shrugging. You brush a strand of hair away from his forehead and poke the space where his dimple usually appears. “What’s up?”

“I told you about my mum throwing me that birthday dinner,” Harry starts, and you nod. “And I was just wondering…would—would you wanna go?”

“Okay,” you say, but Harry knows that the true intentions behind his request haven’t fully settled in.

“No,” he says slowly. “I mean…would you wanna go…as my date?”

You tense.

“As your date,” you repeat, as though checking to make sure you’ve heard him correctly.

Harry nods, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously. You sigh quietly, sitting back a bit and running your fingers through your hair. The expression on your face is indecipherable, and Harry thinks that seeing you wear a mask of indifference is far worse than any amount of anger that could warp your features.

“Harry…,” you begin softly. Your eyes are sad, and he already knows where you’re going with this.

“You like me, don’t you?” He rushes out, nearly biting his tongue in his haste. When you hesitate, his heart drops into his stomach. “Don’t you?”

“I do,” you whisper; there are tears slowly gathering along your waterline. “I just—I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“For what?” He questions, nearly begging. “How’s it any different than when I took you to the gala?”

He doesn’t understand. It suddenly feels like someone has set his whole world on fire, and he can’t do anything but watch as the flames mount higher and higher and burn everything to the ground.

“It’s very different and you know it,” you say thickly. Air escapes from your mouth in a trembling exhale.

Harry wants to argue, but he recognizes that you’re right. The circumstances aren’t the same. His intentions aren’t the same. And he knows that the potential repercussions won’t be the same, either.

“I’m not ready to be in the spotlight,” you elaborate; your voice wavers slightly. “I—I’ve seen how the world works, Harry. They’d tear me to shreds.”

“It’s none of their business, is it?” Harry tries again, reaching for your hips, but you quickly slide off of him and stand up.

He watches as you step back, trying to put as much distance as you can between the two of you. It makes his chest ache, and he feels like he’s choking, his throat closing up when he tries to regulate his breathing.

“It’s not,” you agree, sniffling gently. “But that doesn’t stop them, does it? And what about your mother? Your sister?”

“Gemma loves you,” Harry implores. “C’mon, love, you know that.”

“And Anne?” Your laugh is hollow as you shake your head sadly. “I’m no idiot, Harry. I know that she’s got her own opinions, and I don’t think she’d be very happy to hear that you’re fooling around with someone like me.”

“What do you mean, someone like you? What—?”

“Someone normal! Someone average.”

“Average,” Harry echoes; the word tastes vile on his tongue. “Love, you’re—you’re anything but average.”

“That’s not how she’ll see it,” you tell him, hugging yourself tightly.

Harry’s heart is pounding erratically beneath his ribs. He places his palms on his knees and stands up, hoping that the abrupt move won’t scare you away. He’s half-expecting you to take another step back, but his veins flood with a touch of relief when he sees that you’ve stayed rooted to the spot.

“You’re not average,” Harry insists, raking his fingers through his hair. “And I’m not just ‘fooling around’ with you, Y/N, I’m bloody in love with you!”

And then it’s there, out in the open, available for you to dissect and analyze as you please. Harry’s eyes widen slightly when he fully processes his words, but it’s too late. The syllables hang in the air like dusty cobwebs; Harry feels like they’ve been printed out onto a piece of parchment and taped onto his forehead. You’re staring at him with parted lips and terrified eyes, and when you choke on a sob he wants to punch himself in the face.

“Stop,” you croak, shaking your head and holding up your hand. “Please just—stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, but it feels like he’s underwater, the words wobbling from his lips and muffled in his ears. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say, wiping at your wet cheeks with the back of your hand. “I just—I can’t do this right now. It’s not a good time.”

“Is everything alright?” Harry’s brows cinch together.

You wave off his concerns, trying to speak through your tears. “Everything’s fine. But I…I need some time alone right now, Harry. I’m sorry.”

He nods dejectedly, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

“’Course,” he mumbles. He’s trying to hold in his own emotions, but his eyes are itching with sadness and humiliation. “I’ll go.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, a fresh wave of tears spilling over your waterline. You cover your mouth with your hand to keep your cries at bay as you watch him walk away. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry doesn’t respond, because he doesn’t have to; the sound of your front door opening and closing rings louder than anything that he could’ve ever said.

~*~

“Hey.”

Gemma knocks after she’s already opened the door, which Harry finds silly. He turns over so that he doesn’t have to face her, instead giving her a wonderful view of his back, which is covered in a periwinkle silk pajama top. He grunts softly as he pulls the duvet up his body, clutching the luxurious fabric to his chest and smothering the left side of his face into his pillow.

“Hey,” he croaks back.

Gemma bites her lip before deciding to take the plunge. She slips through the gap in the door before shutting it quietly.

“You weren’t at the brunch,” she states. “One of the duchesses asked about you, but Mum said you weren’t feeling well, so…I just wanted to check in.”

“I’m fine,” Harry mutters. “Thanks.”

Gemma hesitates before barrelling through, because she’s never been one to avoid a problem.

“Did something happen?” she asks gently. She knows better than to confront him with a hard tone, because her brother has always been a sensitive grump. When he gets like this, it’s very easy to say the wrong thing and have him close up quicker than a beartrap. So, she chooses her words carefully, speaking them with delicate prose and never pressuring him to answer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing.” His reply is muffled and monosyllabic. She’s about to give up and leave, but then he adds, “Just did something stupid, that’s all.”

That’s a good sign, Gemma decides, and she presses subtly.

“I’m sorry things are hard right now,” she starts. “If you need to vent, I’m here.”

“It’s alright,” Harry shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna waste my breath. It’s been a week, and she’s not called, so I’d say it’s a lost cause.”

“‘She’?” Gemma questions, taking advantage of her brother’s small slip. “Are you talking about Y/N?”

The stiffening of Harry’s shoulders tells her everything she needs to know.

“Did something happen with her?” Gemma probes, digging deeper. She understands that she’s treading far too recklessly; if Harry’s worries are uncharted waters, she’s navigating with a flimsy paper sailboat. Still, she persists. “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine.” Harry sighs before adding, “Least, I think she is; I dunno. She’s refused to talk to me, hasn’t she?”

“H,” Gemma says quietly, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Harry grumbles, curling into himself, and his sister knows that he’s through with their conversation. “I’m done talking about this,” he states, as though he needs to drive home his point. Gemma steps back and nods, even though she knows that he can’t see her.

“Alright,” she concedes. “I’m sorry, I won’t pry.”

“It’s fine,” Harry replies, his voice low and scratchy. “Can you please tell Mum that I’m still feeling shitty?”

She nods, because it technically wouldn’t be a lie.

“H,” Gemma calls out once she’s got one hand on the doorknob. “I wouldn’t worry too much, you know. She really fancies you; I can tell.”

At that, Harry peers over his shoulder, gracing his sister with his side profile. His eyes are inquisitive, and his lips are pursed into a fine line as questions whirl around in his head. He eventually settles on the simplest query imaginable. “You knew?”

Gemma snorts. “Of course. You lot really aren’t too subtle with how you ogle each other.” She pauses for a moment. “Pretty sure Mum’s caught on, too, but you know her. She likes to wait for confirmation before jumping to any conclusions.”

“Mum knows?” Harry’s voice rises an octave; his sister shushes him.

“Relax,” she says, “She hasn’t thrown a fit about it—at least, not to my knowledge. You really are quite dense, aren’t you?”

“Piss off,” Harry grumbles, but—to her surprise—he doesn’t turn back around. In fact, Gemma thinks that she may have even seen the hint of a small, relieved smile pull at his lips. She nods soundly before pulling open his bedroom door.

“You can mope around for the rest of the day, but tomorrow I want to discuss with you the guestlist for your dinner.” She fixes him with an expectant glare. “I’m assuming you want me to leave Y/N’s name on it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry echoes. There’s a hollowness to his voice, but also a hint of something else—gratitude, maybe.

“Gem,” he speaks up quickly before she can disappear. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Gemma replies. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then she’s gone.

~*~

Your day starts off exactly how it had the day before…and the day before that…and the day before that.

You wake up and for the first minute or so, you’re blissfully oblivious. You stretch and squeak and sigh contentedly when your joints crack. The past few mornings have been unusually nice, and you relish in the sunlight that streams in from your window. The space beneath your blankets is warm, and you wiggle your toes to urge some feeling back into your feet. A few inches away, your phone is charging on your bedside table (you know that you’re not supposed to leave it plugged in for the entire night, but it’s easier that way).

And then the memories from a week ago come rushing back, and you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut.

I’m not just ‘fooling around’ with you, Y/N, I’m bloody in love with you!

You squeeze your eyes shut, groaning loudly and burying your face into your pillow. If you could somehow strangle yourself with your own two hands, you would. You deserve it, anyway, you think.

You remember the night before everything had crumbled, when you’d asked him over the phone if it was stupid that you were missing him after only a few days apart from each other. Even then, the pair of you had been messaging back and forth and clinging to some sort of communication. You hadn’t been truly prepared for what it would be like to not speak with him at all for a full week.

You despise it, though. That’s a given.

You roll out of bed and decide to take a quick shower before pulling on your clothes for the day. Under the warm spray of the water, you soap up your body and watch childishly as the white lather drips from your fingertips. You hate that it reminds you of the way Harry would constantly shake out his wet hair whenever you both crept away to go skinny dipping. After the first instance, you’d both agreed to make it a habit, and you’d stuck to the resolution with a worrying amount of willpower.

You shake your head free of the recollection, quickly rinsing off and shutting the water.

As you rifle through your closet, your eyes land on the red gown you’d worn to the gala all those months ago. You freeze, trying to compose yourself. The lump in your throat proves difficult to swallow but, nonetheless, you manage. With a gentle sigh, you tear your gaze away from the ruby-coloured fabric and settle on a plain white V-neck and a simple navy blue cardigan.

You’re in the middle of tugging your jeans up your legs when your phone chimes with a notification. Leaning over, you unlock the device, and you swear quietly upon discovering that it’s a reminder from your calendar.

One week until His Royal Lavishness’s birthday!

You’d added a few emojis after the exclamation point, and with each party hat, balloon, and crown that your eyes skim over, a new crack forms in your armour. You quickly swipe your thumb to the side and disregard the reminder, turning off your phone and clearing your throat when the screen goes black.

That’s enough of that.

~*~

You’re just pencilling in a follow-up appointment for your last client of the day when the small bell above the entrance of the shop jingles pleasantly.

“I’m so sorry,” you call out politely, keeping your gaze trained on your computer screen. “I’m about to close up for the evening.”

“Of course, dear.” The woman’s voice carries a delicate lilt, and your eyes widen in shock. “This will only take a minute.”

Anne is quite literally glowing when you meet her gaze. You stand abruptly and bow your head, feeling a warm flush creep up onto your cheeks. “Your Majesty,” you say quickly, feeling your heartbeat accelerate beneath the cage of your ribs. “Hi, hello. Good evening. How are you?”

You’re rambling, and you couldn’t be more embarrassed. Anne laughs softly.

“Enough of that, darling,” she tells you. “Come here. Give me a hug.”

“I—okay, sure.” You gnaw anxiously on your bottom lip as you slip out from behind your desk. She holds her arms out and flashes you a warm smile. Despite the tension in your shoulders, her embrace is calming, and you feel yourself relax in her hold. She smooths her palms up and down your back and tilts the two of you from side to side. You giggle.

“How can I help you?” you ask, glancing nervously as a handful of men pile into the store. They’re all wearing black suits and dark sunglasses, and a coiled wire hooks a small device into their right ears. Their faces are unreadable, but being around Harry so often, you’ve learned that they’re fully capable of cracking a joke or two when the situation allows for it.

You shake your head slightly, trying to eradicate all thoughts of Harry from your mind. Now isn’t the time.

“Just felt like paying you a short visit,” Anne answers, pulling back and staring at you with piercing green eyes. You try to avoid shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. Not only does it feel like she’s peeling back every layer of your being, but her irises are identical to those of her son.

“How’s your mum?” Anne continues, oblivious to your internal turmoil.

“She’s good,” you reply, nodding. “Doing better than ever. How are you? How’s your family?”

How’s Harry?

It’s the only thing you care about, the most pressing question on the tip of your tongue. But you clamp your mouth shut before the words can escape, reeling in your yearning and trying to keep a level head. If you were alone with her, you might have dared to ask. But standing in front of several resigned, apathetic—and frankly, intimidating—men, you feel far too naked already.

“I’m doing alright.” The queen’s lips quirk up into a small, clever smile. “I’ve got nothing to complain about, really. Gemma’s wonderful, but she says she misses you. Harry does, too.”

Your eyes drop to the floor and stay there; you’re too ashamed to meet her gaze. Anne notices your sudden apprehension—humiliation is written all over your face. She steps forward, her fingertips brushing your wrist before she sets a comforting hand onto your arm, just above the crook of your elbow.

“I’m not one hundred percent certain of what’s going on with you and my son,” she starts. Your heart plummets, and your shoulders tense up as she continues. “But I do know that you haven’t been coming around as much, recently. And—coincidentally—Harry hasn’t been in too much of a chipper mood these past several days.”

You gulp.

Anne holds up her hands in mock-surrender. “I know it’s none of my business,” she says gently. “But I…I would like to see the two of you on good terms again. You lot were quite precious, if I’m being honest.”

You laugh softly, but it feels like there’s an elephant sitting on your chest. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” She smiles. “And just know that you’re always welcome to attend Harry’s upcoming dinner, whether you want to or not. I hope to see you there.”

You flash her a small smile, gratitude and pain evident in your expression. Anne pulls you in for one more hug before bidding you goodbye, and you watch with stinging eyes and a tight throat as she exits the shop. The room suddenly feels impossibly tiny, and you glance quickly at the walls to make sure that they are, in fact, not closing in on you.

When the last of the queen’s guards slips outside, you’re left alone, standing in the middle of the small lobby and trying to keep yourself from falling apart.

~*~

Harry’s admiring himself in the massive, three-faced mirror in the corner of his bedroom when the door cracks open slowly. He watches through the reflection as Jeff pokes his head into the room while tightening the black tie around his neck.

“H,” he says gruffly, his expression unreadable. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Harry nods at him and leans in, skirting his thumb along the corner of his lips to make sure that there’s no excess lip balm gathering along the edges of his mouth. There’s a dull pain thrumming beneath his sternum, but it doesn’t worry him as much as it normally would. In fact, he’s pretty sure it’s one of the side effects of a broken heart.

He had been trusting that this past week would be easier without you, but his hopes were dashed quite rapidly. Everything reminded him of you.

He’d scrolled through his phone for hours, one night, reading over your previous conversations and trying not to let his tears drip onto the screen. He hasn’t even touched the playlists you’d previously shared with him, knowing that he’ll end up associating every song with some part of you. He’d lied to his mother about feeling sick for five days straight, but he’d finally called off the ruse when she’d declared that she was going to head into town herself and return with some medication. And he hasn’t been back down to your “spot” since the night everything went to shit, leaving the small cave abandoned and alone.

Harry sighs. He’s obviously no good at dealing with breakups.

Does this even count as a breakup?

He honestly doesn’t know.

He’s fiddling absentmindedly with the lapels of his pinstriped suit when a slight movement in the mirror catches his attention. His breathing stops, and his eyes grow unfeasibly wide as he watches someone step into the room.

Speak of the fucking devil.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

You’ve definitely achieved a perfect score with your outfit, decked out in a pretty black dress that reaches a few inches above the knee. The long sleeves are lacy and end right at the crook of your arm, leaving your shoulders bare. In one hand, you’re gripping a small silver clutch; in the other, there’s a bright yellow gift bag with blue tissue paper sticking out of the top. Harry watches you shuffle nervously in your black, strappy heels, his heart hammering wildly beneath his ribs. You’re gorgeous. You’re absolutely beautiful.

And you’re here.

“Hi,” he chokes out, meeting your gaze in the mirror. He quickly realizes, however, that he’d very much prefer to see the real thing, so he spins around and faces you properly.

You approach him slowly, stopping when your bodies are only a few feet apart.

“How are you?” you ask, gnawing anxiously on your bottom lip. Harry opens his mouth to respond, but then you shake your head and squeeze your eyes shut, seeming to silently reprimand yourself. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

And then you’re thrusting out the hand that’s carrying the gift bag, the action robotic and abrupt. The sheer blue tissue paper crinkles with the movement, and for a few long seconds, it’s the only sound in the room.

“Happy birthday,” you whisper, the words feeble as they roll off of your tongue.

Harry clears his throat, tucking a curl behind his ear and gingerly taking the present from you. He tries to ignore the way his skin tingles knowingly when his fingers brush against yours. “Thank you,” he murmurs, gently toying with the edges of the bag.

“You can open it,” you tell him, and Harry’s worried that your lip is going to split open from how hard you’re biting down on the soft flesh. You continue, beginning to ramble. “I wasn’t really sure what to get you, because how do you shop for someone who’s already got everything, you know? So, I—,” you shrug, “I just figured I’d make it myself.”

He pulls the tissue paper to the side, fumbling for a fleeting second before his hand bumps into something soft. Harry grasps it and pulls it out, studying the object carefully.

Clutched in his fingers is a small throw pillow, no bigger than his hand. It’s rectangular in shape and ivory in colour, so pale that it’s almost white. Along the edges, you’ve carefully sewn a simple lace trim. And in the middle, embroidered in red, the word LOVED stands out in capital letters.

Harry stays silent, admiring your handiwork. It’s clear that you’ve dedicated a lot of time and effort into the cushion—each stitch is perfectly placed, and the needlework is meticulous and nothing short of impeccable. He runs his fingers along the lace border, marvelling at the softness of the material. There’s a lump in his throat, and try as he might, he can’t seem to swallow it down.

You take his silence as disappointment.

“I thought you might like it,” you say hastily, playing with the silver bracelet on your wrist. “I know you’ve got those pants with that same design—and you wear them all the time—so I just assumed…yeah.” You catch your breath, fixing him with a fretful look. “You hate it, right?”

“No,” Harry says immediately, his head snapping up. He stares into your eyes, shaking his head earnestly. “No, not at all. It’s—it’s incredible. Truly.”

“I just thought you should have something else,” you start, swallowing heavily. “Something else that reminds you of—of how loved you really are. Anne loves you; so does Gemma.” You inhale shakily. “And so do I.”

The little bit of air residing in Harry’s lungs is quickly lost when he processes your words. His breathing hitches quite audibly in his throat, and he studies you with intense, piercing eyes. You stare right back, and he finds nothing but sincerity beneath your gaze. He’s never seen you so vulnerable.

“You do?” he asks, but the question actually sounds like more of a statement. You nod vehemently—your eyes shine with unshed tears—and bless him with the confirmation that he needs to hear.

“I do.”

And then he’s kissing you, and you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and whimpering against his lips and trying to get as close to him as possible, and everything is perfect. Harry’s got your face in his hands, your mouths convening with a bruising force. He swallows down your soft cries of relief and fights to keep his own tucked away. Your fingertips dig into his back and you pull him in until there’s not enough room to slip even a piece of paper between your chests.

When you both finally break apart for a much-needed gulp of air, Harry presses his forehead to yours, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s trapped in his own head and then promptly wrenched from his thoughts when he realizes that you’re speaking.

“I’m so sorry,” you’re prattling; he doesn’t miss the crack in your voice. “I just—I needed to think. I’m sorry it took so long; it’ll never happen again—”

“Shh.” He soothes you, stroking your cheekbones with his thumbs. “It’s alright, love, I promise.” He shakes his head, chuckling in disbelief. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you confess, playing inattentively with his hair. You reach up to wipe a smear of lipstick from his mouth. The plum colour stands out against his pink lips, and he nips teasingly at the pad of your finger, making you giggle softly. A long beat of silence ensues, and neither of you bother to break it, basking in the solace of the other’s proximity.

Eventually, you’re the first to speak up, but your voice is gentle, as though you don’t want to disrupt the serenity in the room.

“Thanks for leaving my name on the guestlist, by the way,” you murmur. “I would’ve looked really stupid, otherwise, just standing outside with a gift bag and this whole speech ready to go along with it.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “Was praying you’d show up. Last hope and all.”

“I’m here,” you tell him, squeezing his shoulders. His warm breath fans out onto your chin—a gentle reminder that he’s here too—and you sigh in delight. “You look so handsome.”

Harry can’t keep the smile off of his face. “Thank you. I’ll give your regards to the tailoress, yeah?”

You chuckle bashfully.

“You look absolutely magnificent,” he continues, his words keen and ardent. “Took my breath away the second you walked in. Can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I am.” You nod, pulling back and gazing up at him with heartfelt eyes. His palms find your cheeks again, and he feels your jaw move beneath his touch as you speak. “I love you, Your Lavishness. I’m yours.”

And Harry really doesn’t know how to convey his newfound joy, so he just kisses you again.

~*~

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#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #i think this is the quickest i've ever churned out a fic of this caliber and length!#im so excited for yall to read it you have NO IDEA!!!! i really hope u like it as much as i do #harry writing

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