#this has NOT been a good day! in a really novel and unexpected way

[caterjunes]

guess who's been the subject of a hipaa breach at her doctor's office, which is also her workplace 🤡🙃🔪💀

#personal #keeping it fun and funky fresh #tales of work #this has NOT been a good day! in a really novel and unexpected way #love 2 find out yr PSYCHIATRIC PAPERWORK ABOUT YOUR DISABILITY was scanned & sent in error to two other employees! #love that the hipaa compliance officer who investigates hipaa breaches IS MY DIRECT SUPERVISOR #i am in hell #pg 1 of the document (with NO cover sheet) was like ''hi psych provider as you know i have disabling depression & get an ADA accommodation''

[coloursflyaway]

Good Enough

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.000

Read on AO3

So, Edwin is in love with him.

Edwin loves him, and Charles genuinely never even considered the possibility of this, of them, before.

It might be because, back when he was still alive, his dad would have beaten the notion right out of him, but then again, his dad has been wrong about most things in his life, so fuck him.

So, Edwin is in love with him.

It’s… quite flattering, actually. To think that Edwin, who is beautiful and intelligent and educated, who can recite his favourite Keats poem by heart just as easily as tell you his favourite Mozart aria (it’s Konstanze, dich wiederzusehen from Die Entführung aus dem Serail, Edwin told him that, years ago), who knows spells and can read ancient Aramaic, who is the kindest, most brilliant person Charles has ever known, would love him.

Now, Charles knows that he is easy enough on the eyes, good with words and people, and has one hell of a swing if you give him a cricket bat, but the only reason he knows any Mozart aria is because Edwin showed them to him.

The only reason he knows Keats’ poetry is because Edwin would read them to him on slow, warm summer nights in the early 2000s.

The only reason he is here, is because Edwin let him stay.

So, it’s special, having someone like Edwin love him.

It’s fucking terrifying.

Because Charles is now holding the heart of the person he loves most in the world, and it’s a bigger responsibility than any he has ever taken on before.

He can’t fuck this up.

The thing is that nothing changes between them at all.

Charles isn’t sure if he expected it to, but what he is relatively certain about is that it most likely should. After all, it was an unexpected revelation, probably to both of them, definitely a shift in their relationship.

And yet, when Charles looks at Edwin, who is reading a novel whose name he cannot make out, curled up on the couch they have gotten for Crystal (and sometimes Jenny), he doesn’t feel different at all.

It’s still Edwin, his best mate, the boy that read to him when he was dying so he wouldn’t have to do it alone, who tries to smile whenever Charles shows him a new song he has fallen in love with, and occasionally fails hilariously at, who Charles would protect with his life and his soul and his cricket bat, no matter how high the stakes.

I love you the most, Charles thinks to himself, and smiles, because nothing about that has changed, either.

He has told Edwin that they would have forever to figure out the rest, and it’s the truth, technically speaking.

However, Charles doesn’t, because it’s Edwin and he has given Charles his heart and he doesn’t deserve to wait that long for an answer. It would be cruel in a way Charles cannot comprehend, and if there is anyone who doesn’t deserve more cruelty in their existence, it’s Edwin Payne.

The only problem with that fact is that Charles doesn’t know the answer.

He’s been thinking about it a lot, but the thing is, he’s never been in love before.

So he doesn’t really know what to compare his feelings for Edwin to, because, of course, they are greater than for anyone else, of course, Charles would sacrifice anything and anyone for Edwin, especially himself, of course, making Edwin smile is his favourite part of any day.

Because he loves Edwin, everything about him.

But is he, could he be, in love with Edwin?

Charles doesn’t know, nor does he know how to find out. It’s not like he hasn’t tried, but every novel he has paged through, every silly romcom he has watched, has been talking about butterflies in someone’s stomach, of seeing them in some new, golden light, of hearing violins playing when they speak, and Charles very much doubts that Edwin feels any of those things for him.

Otherwise he wouldn’t raise his eyebrows like that when he thinks Charles is being an insufferable little prick, he wouldn’t roll his eyes and tell him, “I know, Charles, you have told me a thousand times before”, whenever Charles brings up how much he wishes he could still taste things, or groan whenever Charles attempts to convince him to just try and let him put on some eyeliner.

(It’s just that Edwin would look so pretty like that, some kohl to bring out the warmth of his eyes, making them stand out even more than they do anyway.)

So all this talk of violins and sparkles and the need to give someone roses, if Edwin doesn’t feel that when he says he is love with Charles, then it’s pointless to consider, and anyway, those books and films describe people who have just met, not those who have known each other for twice as long as they were alive.

Maybe if he had just met Edwin, he would be hearing violins, Charles definitely thinks it’s possible.

Especially the violins in Konstanze, dich wiederzusehen.

“I just need some time alone”, Crystal says, putting on her jacket, while already opening the door. “And I am aware that that is a novel concept for the two of you, since you are basically attached at the hip, but for me, an alive human being, it’s really important to occasionally have a second of peace between almost dying and whatever we will have going on next.”

She stops to put on her shoes, almost falling over in the process, and Charles and Edwin share a look, a smile, and Charles thinks, I love you the most.

“Don’t follow me”, Crystal tells them, especially Charles, and it’s kind of cute, actually. “I’m going to get the biggest frappuchino Starbucks is legally allowed to serve me and I will not tolerate any ghostly company while doing that.”

Charles holds up his hands, still grinning, indicating his surrender in a battle he wasn’t aware they were fighting, and Crystal gives him a single nod before she walks out.

“So”, Charles starts, and turns around to face Edwin, who is already looking back, “what do we think this frappuchino she was talking about, is?”

Actually, there is one thing that changes between them after all.

It’s subtle, at least at first, but looking back, Charles isn’t quite sure how he managed to miss it for the few weeks that have passed. Maybe it was the shock of almost being forced to move on to the afterlife, the chaos of getting Crystal and Jenny settled in London, the fact that it seems to increase only slowly, incrementally.

Edwin has never been a physically affectionate person, completely contrary to how Charles is.

If it had been up to him alone, he would have hugged Edwin much more often, would have leant against him when they were looking through a book together, would have held hands to keep them from losing each other when things got hectic. But it wasn’t, and that was fine, so it was occasional touches instead, a hand on Edwin’s upper arm, his back, ruffling his perfect hair when he was doing something kind of dumb, kind of cute.

(That one always made him duck his head and smile, glance up at Charles through his lashes and allow a second to pass before he started fixing his hair again.)

Now, however, it’s… it’s not getting better, because there was nothing wrong with it in the first place, Edwin’s aversion to physical affection, but it is changing now.

It’s less that he initiates it, more than he allows it to happen more frequently. Sitting down next to Charles on the sofa instead of taking the armchair, allowing Charles’ hand to linger on his arm for a moment longer than expected, letting their shoulders brush when walking.

He’s not asking to be touched, not really, but something about it still makes Charles irrationally happy as soon as he catches onto it. Because Edwin deserves all the affection the world can offer, and Charles will always be here to give it to him.

So he reaches out in the morning, when the sun has just started to rise, and puts his hand on the curve of Edwin’s shoulder, right where it meets his neck, and points out that the clouds are turning the most beautiful pink. He throws his legs across Edwin’s lap when they settle down on the sofa at night, a book in Edwin’s hands, the tablet Crystal made him buy in Charles’. He pushes his fingers through Edwin’s hair, not to ruffle it, but just to pretend he can feel its softness against his skin.

It makes Edwin duck his head again, give Charles a little smile when looking up, and Charles thinks, I love you the most.

And thinks, I want to love you the most in every way you will have me.

“Jenny, I have a question”, Charles starts as soon as he has phased through the walls of her new butcher shop. It’s to her credit that she hardly reacts; the first time he had done that, she had thrown a meat cleaver right through his head. “What do you know about love?”

Instead of a knife, Jenny just throws him a weary look, an eyebrow elegantly arched. It makes Charles think of being scolded by the headmistress, a sensation that should be much more unpleasant than it is.

“Nothing”, Jenny answers and brings her cleaver down with a dull thud, separating flesh from bone, before looking up at Charles again. “No one ever knows anything about love and if they try to tell you otherwise, they are lying.”

There is a certain sense of finality in her voice and Charles knows he has been dismissed, no detention this time, but don’t dare to push it.

“Great”, he mutters, more to himself than to Jenny, “that doesn’t help me at all.”

“You should look at this, Charles”, Edwin says and turns the book towards him.

It’s late at night, Crystal having long since gone home and they are sat on the sofa, shoulders touching while they do their research. A new case has come up, and Edwin is trying to learn more about ancient Celtic runes, while Charles is pouring over a map of London’s underground; now, he looks up and at the page Edwin is showing him.

“We could add this to your bat”, Edwin explains, “it’s a rune for physical strength. Supposedly, it doubles whatever force you put into a hit.”

“Edwin, mate, are you trying to tell me I need help with hitting people?”

Charles is grinning, obviously teasing, and Edwin just scoffs, rolls his eyes.

And that is what Charles means; this isn’t birdsong and candle light, this is just how they always have been. This is what makes them them, even.

“Charles, do be serious”, Edwin replies, but there is affection in his voice, there is love. “I am perfectly aware that you can hit things very well, but that doesn’t mean that hitting them even better wouldn’t be an advantage.”

“I know. This is brills”, Charles concedes, and on a whim, nothing more than that, presses a quick kiss to Edwin’s cheek.

For a moment, he almost expects Edwin to admonish him, because this isn’t exactly something that they do, but instead he stares at him, before he ducks his head; Charles isn’t sure how he knows this, but if Edwin could, he would be blushing.

And it does something to Charles’ head, the thought that he would be able to make Edwin blush. It makes him stop dead in his tracks, look at Edwin not like he is seeing him for the first time, but like he could be looking at him for the rest of his existence and not get bored of it.

“Do you wanna do the honours of carving it? Since you were the one who found the thing?”, he asks just to say something, aware that his voice sounds slightly off, and thinks, I love you the most. I love you the most. I love you the most.

“Very well done, Charles”, Edwin tells him and clasps a long-fingered hand on Charles’ shoulder, peering down at the leprechaun he knocked out clean with his bat a few seconds before.

The rune really makes it pack a punch.

“I don’t think this will pose any further problems”, Edwin continues even as he crouches down to examine the passed-out form crumpled on the ground. He prods at it gently.

“It fucking better”, Charles replies, resisting the urge to pull Edwin away from the leprechaun, just in case that touching it might have some kind of magical side effect. “And if not, I’ll punch it right back out. I’ve got an Edwin Payne-improved bat after all, it won’t stand a chance.”

Just for good measure, he twirls the bat around once, twice.

This has always been one of his favourite parts of the job, the simple pleasure of knocking someone out before they get the chance to hurt his friends.

Edwin looks up at him from where he is crouching, and Charles grins at him, metaphorical adrenaline running through his non-existent veins still. He would punch out a bear if Edwin asked it of him.

Before he can say anything else, though, Crystal clears her throat from behind him, sounding decidedly less impressed.

“That’s really cool, yeah. New bat, I get it”, she says, walking around Charles so she, too, can see the unconscious leprechaun. “But you do remember that we actually wanted to talk to him, right?”

They get to talk to the leprechaun in the end, who turns out to be about as obnoxious as expected, but does admit to stealing the heirloom they were looking for for his pot of gold.

He even gives it back, but only after Charles has started twirling his bat again.

“And another satisfied customer”, Charles comments as they return to the agency, flinging his backpack into the corner.

“Client, you mean”, Edwin corrects, but still smiles at him, and pats the space next to him as soon as he sits down on the sofa. Charles flings himself down without a second thought, legs landing somewhere across Edwin’s laps, one of his hands settling on Charles’ ankles.

This is new, at least to some extent, and Charles loves it, the feeling of Edwin’s fingers on him. It feels right, somehow.

I just really love you the most, he thinks.

“Yeah, whatever”, he concedes and looks over at Crystal, who is watching them with something in her eyes that Charles cannot quite place. Not bad, per se, just…. Strange. “Doesn’t sound that good though, does it? And anyway, the most important thing is that they’re satisfied, right? Passed on right to the afterlife, no worries keeping them here any longer.”

“As if it’s only worries that could keep one here”, Edwin replies, his tone as dry as the desert, but making Charles laugh anyway. “We should be the best example for that.”

“You know what I mean!”, he shoots back, “It isn’t like with us, is it? Don’t think that the client was kept back by meeting the love of their life, were they now?”

It spills from his lips like nothing, without Charles thinking about it for a single second.

He’s still laughing, but Edwin’s fingers have stopped where they were gently stroking across the arch of his foot, and then Charles realises it, and for the first time, hears silence.

For the first time since they got back from Hell, they part when Crystal leaves.

The conversation had been stilted after Charles’...slip up? blunder? confession? and although it had been obvious that all three of them had been trying, it had been impossible to get things back on track.

So, Charles leaves with Crystal, telling Edwin he will walk her home, although that is something he has never done before, and Crystal lets him, although he is fairly certain she wouldn’t under normal circumstances.

She doesn’t need anyone protecting her from the city she grew up in after all.

“How do you know you’re in love with someone?”, Charles asks after they have walked in silence for a few minutes. He can’t think of a way to cushion the question, how to make it less awkward to ask, so he doesn’t bother with it at all.

“This is about Edwin?”, she asks, seemingly to clarify, and Charles nods mutely, not looking up at her. “I’m not sure. Especially not when it comes to the two of you. For Edwin, I could have seen from miles away that he was in love with you, even if he hadn’t reacted like he did when we first met. For you… you love him, anyone with eyes could see that, but if you’re in love with him, I think you have to figure that out yourself.”

“Do you know how it feels, though? Being in love?”, he asks, just in case Crystal can at least tell him that.

“I’m not sure”, she answers after a moment, then links their arms together, pulling Charles closer. “I think that’s different for everyone. But I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out what it feels like to you if you let yourself.”

He walks Crystal home, but when she asks if he wants to stay, Charles just shakes his head.

Edwin is back at the agency, and Charles isn’t sure exactly in which state, what he is thinking, and Charles cannot allow that. At least not for long.

What he does, though, is taking a little detour to the park not too far from their building.

It’s the first time he really pays it any mind, even if it’s most likely not the first time he’s been there, but now, Charles lays down on the grass, looking up at the night sky.

London is too bright for him to see many stars, but there’s a few of them; Edwin would surely be able to point out a constellation or two.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it.

Edwin isn’t here, and yet he is with Charles anyway, always, in every moment of his existence.

Sighing, he scrubs a hand down his face. There’s no way around it, it has to be now, and it has to be the right answer, the one he truly means, because Edwin deserves nothing but that.

No false hope, and no heartbreak that might be taken back along the line.

So, he thinks of Edwin, of his elegant hands and the swagger in his walk when he feels confident, of the colour of his hair and of his eyes, of the curves and slopes and sharp cuts of his face.

He loves that face, has seen it with every possible expression painted across of it, and still loves it.

The stars above are dim and partly hidden behind the clouds, so Charles lets his eyes slip shut, and imagines coming home to the agency and taking Edwin’s hands in his.

They would be just a little smaller than his own, his fingers slender and yet so capable, and if he could still feel, Charles is convinced they would feel cool against his skin.

He imagines pulling Edwin close and holding him like he has always wanted to, burying his face against the side of Edwin’s neck and pretending he can breathe in his scent. Having Edwin sneak his arms around Charles’ waist and cling to the back of his jacket, like he doesn’t want to let go again.

In his imagination, it feels a little like the hug they shared after being granted asylum on Earth, but it would be entirely different, because it wouldn’t be out of relief.

Instead, it would be just them, embracing to feel the other close.

And he thinks of pulling back from the hug, seeing Edwin smile and kissing the curve of his lips, nipping at them until he can make Edwin laugh and teasing his mouth open to lick into it.

It would be like kissing Crystal, kind of, only that-

Only that it wouldn’t be like that at all.

He runs back to the agency, as fast as his spectral feet can carry him.

Edwin is sitting right where he left him, almost like he hadn’t moved an inch since Charles walked out of the door, and he hopes to all deities he can think of that it isn’t so; knows, at the same time, that it is.

“Hi”, Charles greets, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and Edwin nods and gives him a smile, brittle and unsure and hopeful, all at once.

“Hello, Charles. Did Crystal get home safe?”, he asks, and it’s so painfully polite it makes Charles cringe.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, of course she did”, he responds, trying to figure out how to begin saying what he needs Edwin to know, but Edwin beats him to it.

“Did you mean it?”, Edwin asks, breathes out the question like he still has lungs to do so, and it’s in that moment that Charles is more certain of his answer than anything else he has ever thought, because Edwin sounds small, sounds vulnerable and breakable and yet so fucking hopeful, and Charles wants to pick him up and cradle him against his chest and never let go again.

“Yes”, he says, and it’s sunrise and violins and bouquets of roses all at once, it’s a single word that changes the world around them. “Kind of. Let me explain.”

And Edwin nods, sits back with his hands in his lap and all Charles can think about is that those same hands belong holding a book, resting on the top of Charles’ legs, which should be flung carelessly across Edwin’s lap, just because Charles wants to be near him.

“You’re the love of my life, no matter what”, he starts, crouching down in front of Edwin so he can take his hands; they look so lost. “You have been for decades. I love you the most of anything in the world. I will always love you the most. Every time I look at you, it’s just that on repeat in my head. I love you the most.”

He ducks his head, laughing softly, because it sounds silly now that he says it out-loud, but when he looks back up, there are tears brimming in Edwin’s eyes, making them shine even brighter.

His lips are parted and for just a moment, Charles thinks about kissing them.

“And you know, I still can’t say that I am in love with you back, because you don’t deserve a lie, but what I can say, what I can promise you, is that I could fall in love with you. And that I want to. More than anything.”

A single tear rolls down Edwin’s cheek, glistening in the dim light, and Charles looks at him, and thinks, I do. I am. I love you the most.

“Could that be enough?”, he asks, squeezing Edwin’s hands in his. “At least for the start?”

And Edwin nods so frantically that more tears spill over, wetting his face, and Charles can’t help but laugh; how strange to think that making Edwin cry for once is not his biggest fear, but something that fills his heart with joy to the point of bursting.

“Okay. Brills, that’s-”, he replies, and can’t keep himself from smiling so wide it would hurt if he was still alive. “So, um. Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you right now.”

Again, Edwin nods, and he is smiling, too, looks so happy that Charles thinks heaven must be overrated, because nothing in the whole of existence could compare to this.

He thinks of the scene he pictured in the park of holding Edwin close and how much in pales in comparison to this, to holding Edwin’s hands and watching him glow with love and hope and warmth.

And leans in to find out if the same is true for kissing him.

(It is.)

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #dbd #edwin payne #edwin paine #charles rowland #painland #payneland #paynland #chedwin #charles x edwin #edwin x charles #i have written 10k for them now it has been 4 days since i watched the show #what is happening

[qiutls]

TNGDH 021

After doing it a few times during the festival, it was now easy to avoid Kyle's eyes and turn into a person. In the first place, except for that day when I met with Sen, I've been spending hours together with him, so I had no time to worry about getting caught.

"You're a magician?"

"Yes, but I'm not that talented, I just do this and that..."

"I see."

I drank the tea and ate the scones he prepared while I lied nonchalantly.

I'm sorry for lying but it's better this way, just in case I need a cover-up in the future.

If Kyle goes on an expedition, there would be a good excuse to accompany him. If he goes on to subjugate demonic beasts as written in the novel, as a magician, I can go with him.

"Rather than that, can you really spend time with me like this? Don't you have any work to do?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No....."

I'm not making you leave ah. I'm just wondering if you're really this free. It seems like the grand duke has a suspicion disease after I disappeared unexpectedly twice.

I turned my head, slightly guilty at the situation. Then his hand reached out and turned my face back to look at him.

"It's polite to look at each other's face while talking."

"I'm sorry I'm a man who isn't well versed in aristocratic manners."

"You should learn from now on."

"Why should I?"

He came closer and whispered.

"Aren't you my companion?"

A sin committed once lasts a lifetime. I looked at him miserably.

'How many times has it been now?'

Even beef bones won't be used as much as Kyle uses this companion comment. He has been using it to blackmail me whenever I tried to avoid answering his questions or to leave early.

You're someone who died without a companion in the original novel. Is that why you're obsessed with companions? To be honest, it's not that you didn't want to date anyone, it's that you couldn't right?

My mouth was itching to shoot back the comment at him but I forced myself to hold it in. Kyle who has been staring at me suddenly let out an airless laugh. He had a strange yet comforting smile plastered on his face. His bright expression pulled me in and before I knew it I had been staring at him as well.

"I feel comfortable with you."

"....."

"I know it probably sounds strange, don't think too much about it."

I have nothing to say if you tell me those words with such a soft smile.

Are you doing this on purpose?

I couldn't do anything except stare at him, I only came to my senses when he offered another scone to me.

"Since you're a magician, can you take a look at my magical beast? You can take a look at it whenever you're free."

I was about to bite into the scone then stopped after hearing Kyle's unexpected words.....That's strange. Did you just ask me, to take a look after.....ME?

I put down the scone and asked him again, this time listening with full attention.

"...What?"

"I asked if you could take a look at the magical beast I'm raising in the study."

I guess I didn't hear it wrong.

Looking alternately at the scone in my hand and at Kyle, my appetite dropped. Even though the desert looked delicious, I felt like I would get an upset stomach if I ate it now.

But Kyle didn't seem to mind my actions and continued pensively.

"I'm worried because he doesn't seem to have any appetite recently. And he's been lazy as well. He used to be a very active guy..."

Don't edit your memories ah! When have I been active? Apart from running on the wheel in order to get the skill, I was always lying down! You don't even know your own hamster.

"I think it's because, it's already in the growing stage, yet there's no signs of a mana stone forming inside him. I decided to periodically inject magic power (mana) as advised by the doctor but..."

".....Magic power?"

What's this? Who told you to do that?

"Since it's inevitable that it will suffer from the mana injected, I thought it would be a good idea to let you meet it and see if you can help."

"What...."

What? What's this situation?!

I can't even say no to his requests..... I closed my mouth and urgently called the system.

Hey! HEY! Hurry up and come here!

[ ……(*￣０￣)ノ ]

Why do you look like you've just woken up? I clenched my fist and looked at the blue system window in front of me.

'Hurry up and navigate to the Fruit Store or whatever it's called!'

[ ……. ] [ ……. ] [ ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆ ] [ The Nut Store! ]

After a bit of loading, the shiny emoji came into my vision. I clicked my tongue upon seeing the decorated sign below it. Don't you get tired doing all of this?

I ignored the small letters that said renewal open and quickly scanned the store.

[ Mini mini Brazil Nut Madeleine, consumes 2% miracle value, in turn your body gets smaller for 30 minutes. It's even smaller than a hamster! ]

[ Hurried Almond Financier, consumes 3% miracle value, in turn you're able to run faster than usual. ]

Give me something useful please, what's the point of these items ah? If I wanted to be small, I'll just turn back into a hamster.

I finished reading page 1 and was about to turn into page 2 when I heard Kyle sigh.

"A magician, you say..."

"What are you thinking about, Your Highness?"

"I just thought, it's quite a relief."

"Why?"

"There has always been a shortage of magicians in the Blake estate. It hasn't been long since I became the leader, and I've had a lot of accidents at the Wyvern nest survey last year."

He looked at me expectantly.

No, I can't think of an excuse. Stop looking at me with such a face. How am I supposed to hold my ground, my expression turned to guilt. 

I moved my hand to cover his eyes, but of course my feeble efforts were rendered useless in just three seconds as Kyle held my wrist in place.

"The work at the estate is hard. I'm really so busy these days."

I made a vague excuse first, just in case he asks for another favor.

Even though the "Summon" skill was upgraded, it was only up to two hours. I can't do much with the time I'm given, and it's not like I can lie everyday that I need to go to the bathroom before I disappear again.

"....Is that so?"

Kyle's face was tinted with disappointment. I felt apologetic seeing this unfamiliar expression on him.

Why are you so disappointed ah? I'm a fake magician who can't even do basic spells. The only spell I know is how to turn into your hamster, Cashew Nut.

'Can you even consider that as a magic spell?'

The system just transforms me back and forth.

In any case, it's better to find a magician who's actually knowledgeable, rather than choosing me. But still... If you're this disappointed.

I added gently, as if teeming with good intentions.

"There's still enough time to look for magicians before the demonic beasts' subjugation expedition happens."

There was something that came to mind after I said that sentence.

The Northern festival was held during the coldest and darkest days of winter. After this tumultuous atmosphere, the Blake estate started preparing for a massive reconnaissance.

There are many reasons for this reconnaissance, the main purpose was to bring back the vigilance that was loosened during the festival. It was a reminder that no matter how good the life in the North is, it is still a dangerous place full of demonic beasts.

Another reason is probably the training of the newly inaugurated knights. At this time of the year, knights who were apprentices in the past will get to experience combat since their inauguration.

"The ceremony for the new knights....."

Kyle replied slowly,

"We did it during the festival, I remember it was pretty big this year since there was a lot of new recruits."

"Haha... I think I was pretty busy back then."

Kyle glanced at me suspiciously. I know I didn't have anything to be busy about, but just forget about it, let's move on! I ignored his piercing gaze as I recounted the events.

A knight's inauguration that was larger than usual.

The chandelier dropping in the middle of the banquet.

And then, a large scale reconnaissance.

I'm pretty sure at this time, Kyle...

[ The Duke of Blake is attacked during the reconnaissance and suffers a heavy injury on his right arm. ]

The system narrated the content from the original novel.

I asked a question quietly. 

'Will this injury, affect how he dies?'

After a moment of silence, the system answered succinctly.

[ That's right. ]

The sentence shone brightly in blue and it gave me chills. His fated death struck me with renewed vividness.

'Right...'

Kyle's death is now just 15 days away.

According to the original story, he started to confront Belial through the chandelier incident, and was attacked at the reconnaissance. Then he was stabbed to death by a strong man at his own castle.

Just because I changed a small part of the plot, doesn't mean I changed his fate entirely. Miracles don't happen that easily.

What now... What should I do?

"Hey."

"....."

"Shu."

"....."

"Shu!"

Kyle put his palms around my cheeks and I came to my senses when his cold hands touched my skin.

"Ah."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

I took a quick breath and tried to move my stiff fingertips.

"I'm alright."

He didn't seem to believe my words, but he didn't pressure me into confessing.

"I was just thinking about something for a moment."

Kyle frowned at my words.

"What were you thinking about that made you so pale?"

I couldn't answer honestly so I just shut my mouth.

Come to think of it, I always avoided his questions this way. Either I start talking fast, saying random excuses or I just shut up entirely. It must look suspicious.

But it can't be helped. Anyways, I changed the subject as naturally as I could and leaked the plan I had in mind in advance.

"Your Highness, may I follow you on this large-scaled reconnaissance?"

He answered straight away, as if it was not a difficult decision.

"Sure, but have you ever been outside the territory?"

"No."

"The north is much more dangerous than you think. At the snowfield, humans are the first learn how weak they are."

"....."

The outside, is entirely different from the Blake estate, as the grand duke described.

I gulped down and looked him in the eye.

"It will all be alright if Your Highness is there to protect me."

Protect me, Kyle, and I'll protect you. You might not know, but our fates are linked. Our survival depends on each other.

Kyle whispered back.

"Do you trust me?"

"Isn't it natural that the people of this land trusts you?"

"I know."

He said with a mischievous smile on his face.

"But I was asking you."

Acting like a hooligan. You already know the answer.

I squinted at him, pretending to look hateful.

"Of course."

"All right, I'll be responsible in protecting you, but, how are your horseback riding skills?"

"Ah."

Well how should I explain this... During our school trip, they went to Jeju Island and everyone rode a pony, but I was left behind doing homework at school.

Before I could answer anything, he added.

"Actually, it would be difficult to ride alone with your injury."

Fortunately, he didn't seem to think of leaving me behind.

But wait, what? Don't tell me? You're thinking of giving me a ride?! In front of all the new recruits??? Wait, no!

'.....Should I not have told him that I wanted to join?'

I bit my lips in order to calm down the goosebumps on my arms.

"....Thank you for being considerate, Your Highness."

When he leaves, I must learn horseback riding immediately!

t/n : longest chapter yet! thank u for all the ko-fis~ also posting twice today since I might not be able to do so tomorrow!

#tngdh

[berrystiles]

Right Where You Left Me

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

Word Count: 10.1k

Content Warnings: Angst, Lovers to strangers kinda deal ya know, some cursing.

Summary: It's the summer before you head off to college, and there's a fear about that decision that keeps creeping in. You try not to let it drown you, spending time making summer plans for your friends and with your boyfriend Steve. It feels like you can do this, and you're happy to be staring into the summer ready to make memories that will carry you into college. However, unbeknownst to you something else is brewing and Steve has plans of his own. One unexpected breakup later and your summer now looks a lot more like trying to overcome heartbreak.

Author Note: I'm the only one to read over this, so me and Grammarly are all I have regarding editing. Also, I guess this is just what I write now! Inspired by my favorite sad girl songs, if you know them I'm sure you'll see them. I have ideas for a part 2 of this if anyone would be interested? All of this was supposed to be a one-shot type of thing, but it started getting long. Part two would be a resolution as we fade into a happy ending, and get some much needed answers.

Ao3 Link - In case you want to read it there

Steve Harrington is soft smiles passed your way over the tops of all the children he babysits heads. He is weekend movie nights spent curled up next to one another on his couch, so close that you sometimes think you could become one person if you tried hard enough. He’s not your first relationship, but sometimes when you can’t sleep at night there’s a reoccurring thought that he is going to be your last. Steve has been orbiting around your life since elementary school, close but never within reach. That was the way, only knowing him through rumors passed around the halls of Hawkins High, two passing ships in the hallway between classes. This last year though has brought him into your world, no longer is he a passing comet that you stop to stare at. Now he’s yours and your mom will chide and say it’s just high school love, but you can’t imagine a world where his hand doesn’t stay attached to yours. Call it whatever you want, but something about this just feels too real. The kind of love you hear about in novels, the kind people wax poetic structures about. You’re not sure what you did in a past life, or what karma you collected over time, but you’re thankful for the universe putting the two of you together.

The only bleak part of your future with Steve comes after summer ends. You’ve just graduated, and school is expected of you in a way that you know you can’t turn down. Steve has been more than understanding, it’s a pressure he recognizes from his parents. You have no clue what you want to do but your dad swears that you’ll figure it out when you get there. You manage to get into a good school but it’s 5 hours away from Hawkins. Your parents are ecstatic, they can’t stop talking about all the ways you’re going to grow in this next phase of your life. Your parents are the people who met in college, and even though they won’t say it there’s something about you needing to attend that feels a little like them trying to relive their glory days. You love them but you’re not sure if they know you or if they really listen when you talk.

You find that if you put on a smile and nod along to what they say though it gets you through conversations faster. It’s a small price to pay so you can escape the house and rush to Steve. Steve who you hate to leave behind, sweet Steve who has been there to hold your hand and be your rock through it all. You’re not sure if you’d be able to put up with your parents’ expectations if he wasn’t there with you holding you up. You worry you put too much on him like you weigh him down the same way your parents tend to do. Sometimes you tell him your concerns, and he’s always quick to quiet the fear.

The thing with Steve is he is so soft sometimes, and yet you can’t help but feel protected in his arms. Still though, even as he brushes your hair to the side, as his lips touch yours and he peppers you with affection and reassurance, you make a vow to yourself to try and reduce how much you complain. You can’t stop the anxiety that sometimes spikes up despite his kindness that maybe this all hurts a little too much for him. After all, his family held similar expectations for him. You know that his dad is a different kind of mean and demanding than yours. Your family feels like a small-time problem when put into the perspective of Steve’s parents.

You have a mantra you follow, reminding yourself that school, as daunting as it is, is still months away. You have a whole summer to forget about it all. A whole summer of nothing but your friends and Steve. You know you’ll be right next door at the arcade, your shifts and Steve’s always lining up because of a favor Keith owed you. There are plans in place that will carry you through. There’s the drive-in and their Friday night movie deals, sunny days that will be spent at Lover’s Lake, the regular Sunday brunch at your favorite diner, and so much more. You make sure to focus on those things, knowing that all of it will be enough to get you through that first semester of school once you finally go.

However, like with most things that seem to happen in Hawkins, your good luck runs out. You hate to say it, but you didn’t see it coming. Delusional bliss is apparently where you’ve been living and the rose-colored glasses you didn’t know you were wearing are snatched off your face without a moment of hesitation. Looking back the signs will be there in glaring neon colors, and you will hate yourself for missing them. For missing them to the point that you couldn’t even backtrack to fix where your so-called perfect relationship went off the tracks.

It's a week into summer and things are not at all going to plan. Your parents are pressuring you to cut your summer short and go to school three weeks early so you can settle in for classes. And honestly, it’s not the worst idea and if you were anyone else maybe it would be appealing. However, you’re on a fixed time frame and you don’t plan to give up one ounce of time with Steve and your friends before you absolutely must. Despite schedules syncing up, there’s a distance growing between you and Steve. At the time you understand, there are kids to be driven around and then his parents unexpectedly show up back home. You don’t blame him for the distance, you take it in stride and offer your support just like he’s been doing for you. The future version of yourself, will look back and call you an idiot for not digging deeper. But why would you? In all the time, though maybe it hasn’t been that long, Steve has never once been the cause of your anxiety. Never once has he ever done anything to make you question your relationship, or whether you can trust him or not.

After a week of only seeing Steve in passing and on lunch breaks, you finally get the chance to have uninterrupted time with Steve. He catches you on a break at work and asks if you want to get dinner once your shifts end. He doesn’t carry that same glowing smile he always does when he drops these moments on you, but you brush the thought aside assuming this is the residual damage from his parents. You’re just happy at the prospect of being with Steve so you’re quick to agree, and even quicker to pull him in for a kiss to seal the deal. In your excitement, you don’t notice how this kiss doesn’t feel like a welcomed hello, and later you’ll tell yourself that it was the first sign of goodbye. But in the moment Steve is pulling away, and he’s looking at you like he's tracing and memorizing everything about you. “I’ll see you after work,” is the parting sentence before he’s jogging back to Family Video.

Steve and you meet in the middle of your two jobs, and he holds out his hand just like he always does. He leads you to his car, asking you about your day. You tell him about the party coming in, and about all the different characters of teens who came in. You prattle on and on, all the way to your favorite diner. You ask him about his day and try to get him to talk more. A quiet Steve, with eyes not shining, is a version you hate to see. You want nothing more than to pick him up, hopefully, wash off all the grime that his parents so obviously threw on him in the short week they were home. It’s always hard doing this walk and dance, the scars his parents leave him with always cut deeper than you have an awareness of. But it’s never this impossible, by the time you’re leaving the diner you’re more worried about what happened during this visit home than you ever have been. You’ve learned with Steve that when it comes to his parents you can’t poke too much otherwise, he gets spooked. Normally, he finds a way to talk about it usually when you’re both back at his place and the light is off for the night. When it’s so dark in his room that you can’t see the way his face is lined with grief, and pain that he shouldn’t have to experience. You’re so used to the pattern that you don’t mind the car ride after dinner being just the sound of the radio. It’s not unwelcomed, it’s just a part of the pieces that happen, which is why you’re surprised when Steve parks in front of your house.

“Oh, are we not going to yours?” Your brow is furrowed as you turn in your seat to face Steve. Even when you don’t stay at his place, he still is always looking at you when you turn to leave. This time though Steve’s hands are still holding on to the steering wheel, and he can’t turn to face you when he finally gathers the ability to reply. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

The radio is still on, and your ears pick up Whitney Houston singing a new song that’s been playing everywhere. “What do you mean,” your stomach feels like it’s falling right out of you and your brain is giving radio silence as you try to gain some understanding of what the hell is going on. You watch as Steve takes a deep breath like he’s centering himself before turning to face you. Every time Steve has ever looked at you it’s been with nothing but softness, an unquestioning gaze that always tells you what he’s thinking. The Steve before you though, these are eyes that aren’t that sweet look he normally gives you. Instead, this one is cold, one that you can barely recall. You have to pull at memories from his reign as King Steve to find some type of look that’s like the one you receive now.

“I just don’t think this is working,” he shrugs like this isn’t the biggest thing to ever happen before. Like he’s telling you something that should be common knowledge.

“I don’t understand, Steve.” There’s a burning feeling in the corners of your eyes. The sensation is a warning that if you don’t pull it together, you’re going to start crying. You don’t know how to pull it together because what little Steve is telling you sounds an awful like a breakup.

Steve sighs, something heavy like he’s just so tired of having to explain himself. It’s an odd sound and it rubs you raw because he hasn’t explained anything. How can he already be tired of a conversation that makes no sense?

“Look, I don’t want this to be harder than it is,” you cut him off before he can continue. “So don’t make it hard, just tell me what’s going on and why you’re saying all of this.” You don’t recognize your voice. The pleading tone sounds watery and not at all like what you know yourself to be. You don’t think you’ve ever begged someone in this way before.

“I just don’t feel the same way for you,” it’s so blunt and to the point that it leaves no room for argument.

“I don’t understand,” you’re repeating yourself and you hate that. You’re not stupid, you can usually piece things together faster than this. The phrase, ‘having the rug pulled out from under you’ rattles around in a way that suddenly makes total sense.

“I don’t know how to explain it any better. I don’t want to date you anymore. I don’t want to see you.” You didn’t realize before that the cold tone he was using still allowed for kindness. In this final statement, his words are ice, and you feel like you just took a plunge into Lover’s Lake in the middle of winter.

You have more you want to say, questions that you feel need to be asked. If you stay though you feel like you’re not going to get them, and honestly, it’s taking more energy to keep yourself together than it would be to stay. You’re not sure if you say anything else if there’s some kind of acknowledgement on your part. All you know is that your body is screaming at you to run. Staying in that car doesn’t feel like a place you belong, so you’re quick to get out. You don’t even make it to the door before Steve is peeling off and driving himself home. The action feels like the last break in any resolve you had. Your Steve would always wait until you were inside before leaving. Always telling you he'd rather know with certainty that you were safe before he ever left. It was one of those things that told you how caring he was, that showed how he loved you.

______________________________________________________________

In what will later be referred to as The Aftermath, you have the next day off. Your mom hovers at your door, knocking and knocking. The sound makes your head hurt and forces you to pull your covers over your head like it’ll drown out everything else. If you had anyone else as a mother, you might be able to convince yourself that she’s doing it from a place of concern. The truth is that this is the same woman who when you came in last night, uncontrollably sobbing and barely getting out the words ‘Steve’ and ‘broke up’, your mom was asking if this meant you’d go to school earlier like she and your father want.

The tears had stopped sometime around when you finally found yourself falling asleep. They haven’t picked back up and everything you ever learned in biology screams out you’re dehydrated. There are things you should be doing, things that you have done for yourself when other relationships ended that made it so the person you were dating was nothing more than a faded memory. Maybe if you go through the ritual of it all, the gathering of reminders, and the disposal of memories it’ll make you feel better. There should be phone calls to girlfriends, and movie nights set up to help push you through these feelings.

Instead, you continue to stay in bed. Your limbs feel like lead, weighed down and stuck, too heavy for you to move. Your curtains are drawn so tight that not even the hot Indiana sun comes through to ruffle you into motion. Your wall has your attention, and you find yourself using the texture of the paint to trace all the lines in your relationship with Steve. Maybe if you follow them to the end like a map, they’ll tell you where you are and where you go from here.

In the midst of The Aftermath, in the bed of your grief, you manage to make one phone call. Well… that’s a lie. You make two phone calls. In no surprise to the imaginary audience watching you grieve; the first call is to Steve. The phone rings and rings and rings. Steve never answers and it should be a sign. You get the standard Harrington voicemail. Steve’s mom’s voice becomes the soundtrack to your day. She tells you to leave a message, and that the family will get back to you when they can. You open your mouth, no plan on what to say but surely there’s something there in your head that will tumble out. The answering machine beep is met with your silence though, just your breath coming through, you wonder if Steve will know it’s you even if you don’t leave your name. Does he still have you memorized in all the ways that you still know him? Did he forget about you in just the span of a day? Worst thought of all, did he even really take the time to trace you down in his memory the same way you did him?

You hang up after that last thought, still no name and still carrying the hope that it could be enough. Your second call is made two hours later when there’s still no call back from Steve, even though he should be off today too. Even though, there’s a piece of your mind screaming over and over that he should have heard the silence in the message and been able to read through it. Maybe that’s unfair of you to place that on Steve, but it also feels unfair that he had the power and took action to bring you where you lay now. The second call is to Keith at the arcade, where you know he’s working since you’re off today. The favor you cashed in on is wasted because your request is for him to take back your schedule.

“I can’t work the day shift anymore,” your voice is hoarse and throat sore as the words stumble out.

“That sounds like a you problem,” you grimace as you hear Keith chewing what you know are those stupid cheese snacks he always carries around.

You hold back a groan and tell yourself your next move, while incredibly bratty, is the only way that you return to work. Your parents hate you working at the place anyway, but you like the independence, you like having your own money and you don’t want to give up another thing this summer.

“It’s going to be your problem because I’m not working any shift that overlaps with Harrington. I’ll quit.” You hate how Steve has transformed into Harrington. Hate how removed it sounds, not at all reflective of how close you had been. If you say his first name though, you know you’re going to cry.

Keith whistles, the tone way too low and drags out in a way that makes you feel a wave of creeping anger you’re not used to.

“So, you and Harrington are over then. Knew he was stupid but didn’t think he was that stupid.”

“He’s not stupid,” your defense is soft, it feels telling of where you are. It isn’t harsh in the way that it should be. It’s not your job to defend Steve anymore, he let you go from that position last night after all.

“I’ll change the schedules,” is the response you get back and it’s the nicest thing that you think Keith has ever said to you. However, you know Keith, and this feels a little too easy.

“Is there a catch?”

“Nah, just can’t afford to lose you so consider it your lucky day.” It doesn’t feel like your lucky day, but you don’t say that. Just mumble out a thank you after he tells you that your shift tomorrow will be the closing shift and Harrington will be gone by then.

True to his word, when you pull into the shared parking lot of Family Video there is no sign of Steve’s car. There’s an awareness that it won’t always be this easy, that Hawkins is too small to go all summer without seeing him. And despite Keith’s previous comments on how he couldn’t afford to lose you, there’s also a silent understanding that he’s still going to be an absolute shit about all of this for the rest of the summer. Keith doesn’t know any other way to be, and it’s a moderate price to pay for your ability to at least show up to work without breaking down.

Dustin is the first one you see in The Aftermath, and you can tell by the way he keeps glancing at you in the arcade that he already knows what’s transpired between you and Steve. You’re not sure if it’s the telltale sign of the obvious breakup look you’re sporting, or if it’s Steve’s own admittance to the teen. Could be a combination of the two though. You looked in the mirror before leaving today. You’re fully aware that you look and feel like shit, and there’s no way to sugarcoat that.

Normally, Dustin would come to chat with you. Whether he’s with the rest of the party or by himself, he always says hello. He would do it before Steve, and you hoped that he’d do it after too. Dustin doesn’t say hello though, he avoids your gaze when you catch him looking your way, and even though you know at one point, he should come to you to complain about a machine he just leaves instead. The act makes you sad, it’s the first divide between the friendships you created and thought you would get to hold on to. Dustin might be in high school now, but he’s still a kid. Rationally, a piece of you should be able to string together how his silence speaks more about how he doesn’t know what to say and less about a side he’s choosing. Reality rarely ever plays out as it rationally should, so instead Dustin just becomes the first domino that falls, and you feel like you should have known everyone else would go along with him.

______________________________________________________________

The next three weeks find you oscillating like a fan. Days spent hiding in your room, working up the courage to move and take care of yourself. Then nights of work or spent rummaging through polaroids that catalog your relationship. You always told yourself you put them in a scrapbook, something to hold the years together so in old age you’d have something to shuffle through. It sounds silly now, but the pictures sit in a shoebox of movie stubs from the Hawk, the receipt from your first date together, and the paper menu from the diner that you talked a waitress into giving you. There are notes scribbled on lined paper that were slipped into your jacket pockets when Steve would kiss you goodbye as he dropped you off at school, dried flowers from prom, and so much more. After a week of crying over the pieces, ink smudging thanks to fresh tears your body can create again now that you’re hydrated, you manage to shove the shoe box in the back corner under your bed. You had to slide it back there with the broom, but you know it’s not within reach now and that feels like progress.

You still dodge calls from your friends that you collected outside of your relationship. When they manage to catch you on the phone they whisper sweet condolences, but underneath it’s an unspoken blame of how you should have known. “He was the King of the school, he only knows how to break hearts,” your friend Val tells you over the phone one night. Val pops her gum on the other end of the line, and it sets off a chain reaction of emotions. You feel like you’re going through the five stages of grief in that moment. Val tries to invite you out and reminds you that Hawkins has more boys than just Steve Harrington. She promises you a good time, a night to help you forget all about Steve. You make an excuse and promise to go out next time, but both of you know it’s a promise you won’t keep.

Your parents seem to have set up some game plan amongst themselves. They’ve learned that they can’t tell you that your heartbreak is juvenile. Instead, they preach about how open you’ll be to new opportunities when you head to school. Your dad has the course list, where he got it from you don’t dare to ask. He tries to plan out your future over dinner, but you don’t even know what life you want for yourself. Before this you just saw Steve in the future, you had naïvely assumed you’d have time to sort out the rest. But Steve’s in the rearview now, and your parents want to know what life you plan to have in your passenger seat.

It's three weeks of juggling it all, but you still haven’t seen Steve. It should feel like the universe is still on your side, but really, it’s more of a cosmic joke. It should be finally time for some peace, instead, the world feels the need to implode again. Your parents are out of town, an annual get-together with their old college friends, and you’re home alone. It’s late, you’ve only been off work for 20 minutes when you get to the grocery store. The pantry at home is bare bones and you’ve been putting off the need to go shopping for the last three days. You’ve been supplementing meals through various fast-food restaurants on the outskirts of town. But you’re tired of driving so far away, plus the taste of grease has become less and less appealing as the days have dragged on.

The evening finds you shrugging off your name tag from the arcade and running into Bradley’s to do some shopping before they close for the night. The air conditioning hits you right as the doors open, it cools your skin in a way that summer nights never will. You close your eyes and pause for a moment, maybe you look crazy, but it’s late and you don’t anticipate anyone else is going to be poking around the store. You grab a cart and you’re on your way, trying to be mindful to be quick because you know how it feels to work a closing shift. You wander up and down the aisles of the store, with no real list in mind just grabbing what sounds good. Your diet is still in a post-break-up mode which means you’re either only consuming junk food or pushing food around on your plate still too sad to eat. Which means, it’s time to be gentle with yourself and just grab the food that calls to you. Now is not a time for healthy eating and hitting every food group on that pyramid they went over in health class.

Because of this though you aren’t paying attention to what’s in front of you. You move through the aisles of the store with your eyes on the shelves, still having confidence in the fact that it’s just you and the store clerk in here. But remember, Hawkins likes to implode both literally and emotionally. You swing your cart into the next aisle, already excited to be browsing the cereal options. You only make it a handful of steps forward, eyes already searching for the cinnamon toast crunch which you’re rarely allowed to bring into the house otherwise your mom will complain. Your cart jolts and pushes you back, and you look up to find that you’ve hit another person’s cart.

You feel silly, and your cheeks are warm in an embarrassed flush. “I’m so sorry,” the words tumble out as you drag your gaze up to see what suburban mom you’ve managed to piss off tonight. When you see who it is though you find yourself wishing it was a mom about to yell at you, instead it’s Steve, you find yourself in front of. He says your name, a hint of surprise, and what you might have previously labeled as nervous energy. You must look stupid, both of you really, just standing in silence as the hum of the grocery store lights buzz on and the radio station the store is set to plays out louder than it should. Steve’s cart is full of popcorn, and snacks that you can trace to each teen you know he babysits, there’s even Robin’s favorite chips and the beer that Eddie likes to drink. All of it slides together and reminds you that it’s Saturday, which means movie night at Steve’s.

You don’t know what to say, and you feel like a deer caught in headlights. Frozen so that you can’t even run to escape the impending collision that is about to take place. It’s Robin rounding around the corner, her voice loud and unapologetic in a way you have always admired. “Hey, dingus, should we grab some ice cream for Erica, or do you think…” her voice trails off as she catches sight of you. “Oh,” and you look to Robin, she raises a hand to give a small wave at you and smile. It’s enough to also jump Steve into movement again, saying your name and you don’t wait to see if there’s more.

You don’t say anything as you turn to leave, though maybe you should have, at least to Robin. But she’s the headlights turning off and giving you the freedom to run. You can eat another fast-food burger tonight, and you hate that you’re just leaving your cart in the middle of the cereal aisle. But you can’t, you won’t just sit there and let yourself wonder that store when it’s obviously not a safe place.

The air conditioning hits you again as you run out the doors. No time to pause this time, and you actually seek comfort in the sticky heat that greets you outside of Bradley’s. The crickets sing to you as you rush to fumble with your keys and drive away before your past tries to catch you outside. You got three weeks of no Steve, and you had been lulled into this fantasy of maybe being okay someday soon. This though, this small interaction, where you didn’t even really talk to him, has shown that you’re not close to that. When you finally manage to pull into your driveway, your hand bangs down on the steering wheel. You mumble to yourself, “that was so stupid, you just ran?”

You’ll eventually make your way into the house about 15 minutes later, after you had completely gone over the entire interaction about three times. You know it will continue to replay all night long. It’ll be inside that you realize you never even stopped to get food, too focused on seeking the safety that you can apparently only find in your room these days. Time drags on and you keep opening and closing the fridge and the cabinets hoping that food will magically appear the next time you start looking. It’s late, Bradley’s will have to be a tomorrow you type of goal. You know Steve and the group will be up late tonight which means the morning will be safe.

You’ve resigned that tonight’s dinner will be a pack of saltines you find buried in the back of the pantry when there’s a knock on your door. Your friends know not to show up unannounced, and if your parents managed to come home early, they wouldn’t be knocking. It’s Hawkins, you remind yourself as you creep to the door, but then the additional it’s Hawkins kicks in and there could be anything waiting for you. You grab your mom’s tennis racket from the closet by the front door and peek out the peephole, but your porch light isn’t on, and you can’t see anything. When you open the door, tennis racket at the ready, there’s no one there. Instead, sitting on the mat right in front of your door is three bags of groceries from Bradley’s.

The bags contain all the items you remember dumping into your cart, including the added addition of one box of cinnamon toast crunch. You can’t prove it, there’s no note, but you don’t really need it do you? There are only two people who would have had access to the cart you left behind, and only one of those two would have added in your favorite cereal. An internal debate rages inside of you, one side of you wanting to leave the food on your porch. Hoping that maybe later Steve will drive by and see it still sitting there. Maybe it will be an ounce of the hurt he's inflicted on you. The other part of you though, the part whose stomach is literally just growling at the prospect of food, wins out. You drag the bags inside and spend the night cycling between the incident in the store and what the bags of food on your porch mean.

The next day feels like a relapse, and you find yourself pacing by your phone, the internal debate to call Steve rages on in your mind. The number of times you pick up that phone and start to punch in his number is too many to count. There’s only one time when you get through the whole number, you only let it ring once before you’re slamming the phone back down and rushing off to your room. You throw yourself onto your bed, face first into your pillow, and you scream. It feels like every emotion that’s been building up since that night in Steve’s car just forces its way out of you. You spend the rest of your day in bed, Don’t Dream It’s Over plays on repeat as you stare at your ceiling and only recognize time passing by the light that streams in from your window.

When your parents come back a week later you say that you want to leave Hawkins earlier after all. They don’t even ask why you changed your mind. They don’t press the issue, which you figured they wouldn’t, but it still stings. instead, they celebrate. Your mom pulls you into her arms and excitedly tells you that it’s the second-best decision you’ve ever made. Your dad chimes in about how the first was applying to college in the first place, his hand feels heavy on your shoulder. The smile you wear feels like it was pasted on, like some macaroni art piece a kindergartener does. Your parents don’t notice though, they never do, they move on already making plans about your departure. The choice doesn’t feel right, but then again, you’re not really sure what the right choice is any more or how it should feel.

______________________________________________________________

You spend the rest of your summer forcing yourself into spaces you don’t want to be in, but it feels like you have to. You got to parties with Val, you spend summer days at the pool with your friends as you planned. It may not be all the friends that you had anticipated being with but it’s something. You feel like with each activity you do you’re adding another band-aid to your heart hoping that this time maybe it’ll stay together. There are times, like at the community pool, when you sit with your friends, and you don’t really feel there. It feels like you’re playing a part and you’ve never been a good actress, so you’re still surprised when everyone just believes it.

Time and life keep moving forward and you wish it felt like you were too, but you still feel stuck. Your parents think that time won’t start moving until you’re away at college, and your friends believe that you need to start dating someone new to feel like you’ve moved on. You don’t think any of them are right but again you’re still stuck wondering what the right move is and how it’s supposed to feel.

What you do manage is to only catch glimpses of Steve for the rest of the summer. You see him at the movies dropping the party off, and you catch him one day leaving Family Video when he’s stayed too late. There’s another day at the grocery store, where you find yourself hiding behind a display stand to avoid the awkward run-in. You see him but you don’t think he ever sees you. You’re not sure if that’s exactly what you want, but if it is then why does it still also ache? A week before you leave you seek Steve out. You spend the morning giving yourself a pep talk, you take the time to perfect your outfit and ensure that you look better than you feel. This encounter is in your control, and you want to make sure it all goes off without a hitch.

You march into Family Video. You’ve been waiting for Robin to leave for her break and for a lull in customers to happen. When all the stars align you take a deep breath, shake out the nerves and move forward with purpose. You have a week left in Hawkins and all your teen magazines have told you that if you want to start college off right you need closure.

The bell above the door rings out in a way that feels louder than you remember. You don’t let it stop you though, you move forward and watch with some satisfaction as Steve’s head pops up and surprise washes over his face. Good, you think to yourself, finally, he knows what it’s like to be ambushed. You’ve planned out what you want to say so once you’re at the counter you speak before Steve can completely derail you.

“Harrington,” the last name comes out a lot calmer than you thought it would, you feel confident. “I leave for school next week…”

“Next week?” Steve interrupts, he looks like he has more to say but you send a glare his way which is enough to have him holding back words. If you paused long enough to just stare at him, you might wonder if he's disappointed, but you don't let the silence linger long enough to notice.

“As I was saying, I leave next week for school, and you owe me some type of closure or explanation for what happened. I’ll be at the diner tomorrow night, 7 pm and I expect you to show up.” You’re proud of yourself, your voice has an edge to it that leaves no room for disagreement.

Steve just says your name and he says it in the same soft way he did when you first started dating. You feel ruffled and some of that confidence feels like it’s being washed down a drain somewhere. “No,” you interrupt him. You can feel the tension in your forehead, you know your brows are furrowed and the frown on your face is reflecting your real emotions instead of some mask you’ve been wearing.

“You just dumped me, out of the blue and you gave me no explanation. I’m leaving next week, and you owe me this. You don’t get to dump me, say that you don’t care for me, and then leave groceries on my doorstep, Steve.” Something in your words must hit a soft spot that you know Steve still has inside of him. Even if his feelings for you are long gone, Steve has always been gooey and soft like caramel on the inside.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.” You stare at him a moment longer, trying to figure out if you’re getting an honest response. Once you’re sure you are you nod and turn to leave. When you were dating you never liked saying goodbye to Steve, it was always a see you soon. Now when you leave there’s no goodbye, but it’s more because you don’t want to waste another word on him. Not when you need to prepare for tomorrow.

______________________________________________________________

The next night finds you showing up at the diner first. The waitress recognizes you and tells you it’s been a while since she’s seen you. You don’t have the heart to tell her the reason why, you just smile and walk to the booth that used to belong to Steve and you.

You don’t feel as prepared for your conversation tonight as you would like, but you do feel less fragile. Somewhere between yesterday and today, you’ve managed to slide into the anger stage of your grief. There are times when you’re not sure if you’re going to just hit Steve as soon as you hit him, or worse. Worse is that small intrusive thought that you have about kissing him one last time. It’s weird because you’re so angry, the angriest you think you’ve ever been before. You feel like a pot that was left on a burner too long, just boiling over the edge and sizzling when you hit the stove eye.

And yet, behind all that anger there’s still the part of you that loves Steve. That piece of you can’t even remember the last time you kissed. You have fuzzy memories of when it might have happened. Maybe a goodbye kiss as he dropped you off at home, something that happened underneath his comforter as you both tried to hide away from the world a little longer. Either of those or something more is possible. It’s just... how were you supposed to know you needed to remember it? You think that maybe this time if you knew it was the last, you’d feel more prepared this time. Maybe it’ll help you feel better.

You slide the salt shaker between your hands, watching as it glides over the table as smooth as butter. Another glance at the clock tells you that Steve is late, Steve who was never late to anything that had to do with you before. The heat starts to turn up, and you feel more and more like that roaring boil of the pot. Twenty minutes after the hour he was supposed to be there the bell chimes above the door.

You don’t give in to the urge to look, you watch the salt continue to glide over the table. You know already it’s Steve because that same waitress is telling him that his girlfriend is at the regular booth. Steve doesn’t even correct her, at least not that you can hear. Steve slides into his seat as easily as the salt continued to glide on the table. All the anger you felt feels like it whooshes out of you. You go from feeling like a boiling pot to a balloon that was blown up and then let go before the air could be sealed inside.

As you sit across from him, the silence stretching on like the miles on an interstate you find yourself spiraling. People, mostly your friends and parents, have implied that it was childish of you to assume that your relationship with Steve would be anything long-term. And maybe you were, maybe somewhere in it all you got swept up in teenage fantasies. Sitting across from him though reminds you how it happened. For all the pain he’s caused, Steve Harrington is still the prettiest sight you’ve ever seen.

The people of Hawkins can gather and label you as simple-minded for all you care. Slap a label on you and shelve you in the town library with all the other romance novels, you don’t care. Because for all that they say you saw yourself creating a future with this man in front of you. Sure, maybe you romanticized it all, but God… you would have married Steve if he had given you a chance.

It’s that thought that spurs you back into the anger portion of The Aftermath. Because you didn’t build your relationship up by yourself. Steve was there too, he’s the one that layered the cement for your foundation. Steve with his endless flirting, his soft compliments, his whispered promises of forever. And even at the end, Steve left you with no explanation for this exit he took. And you can’t start your journey until he finally tells you why.

“You never really gave me a why for what happened at the end. I hate that it’s been months and I can’t let go of you, and maybe I’m just oversharing here, maybe I cared more, but I have to know. Steve, what the hell happened to us?” You’re surprised how quickly the words come out, but you’re pleased that they sound so tough. If Steve is surprised that you had to break the silence, he doesn’t show it.

“We’re young, this wasn’t going to be forever.” Steve’s voice isn’t loud, but it feels like it echoes in the diner. You want to sink into the vinyl of the booth, but you know you can’t.

“See, you say that but,” you take a breath to collect yourself to figure out how you say this all. “We talked about plans, Steve.” You look up, it’s easier to stare into the fluorescents than into Steve’s eyes. Your nerves make themselves known as you feel your fingers picking at the dry skin around your nails.

“Maybe somewhere along the way, I was looking farther into the future than you were. And if I was then I guess that’s on me.  But I didn’t even know forever was an option until you gave me the words to use.” You shake your head like it’ll knock away your disbelief. Your gaze drifts from the lights to your hands gathered on the top of the table now.

“There was that time,” You lay your hands flat on the table hoping the action will stop the nerves from expanding. “We had only been together for like 4 months, and it was that really rainy day?” It’s a question, a quick uptake that doesn’t need an answer. You finally look to Steve again, waiting for some recognition to spark in his mind before you bulldoze on.

“We stayed in your bed for hours, wrapped up in one another. It was the laziest and softest day we had since we started dating. And there was that moment, and you told me that you wanted pause time.” A grimace of a smile forms, and it’s a bitter laugh that accompanies it. “You wanted to stay in that moment forever, do you remember that?”

Steve, who has been so emotionless through your every moment since you broke up, seems to finally crack. You watch emotions slide out of him as you wait for a response.

“I remember.” It’s a whisper, a barely audible acknowledgment of your past. If words could hold weight though, if they could carry more than a sound, you think those two would weigh a ton. They sound heavy at least, and for once you’re happy you don’t have to offer to carry them for Steve.

“So, when did that change?” You press on, encouraged by his response.

“I wish I could tell you. I wish there was a day or a time if that would help you. It was slow, and then it was just there and so I ended it.” Steve’s response is a rush of words, and his gaze isn’t even on you. It all collides together like a car crash. And just like a car crash once the collision hits, you can’t look away from it. It feels like a tragedy, and you know you shouldn’t stare, but human nature is human nature, and you can’t change that. Maybe there’s more to say after his confession but instead, Steve leaves without saying goodbye. His departure is quick and you calling his name is the only thing that follows him.

You stay stuck in that booth for a while, Steve’s words rolling around in your head like a tumbleweed. This was supposed to be closure, but it doesn’t feel like anything has been closed. You feel like you’re trying to piece a puzzle together but some of the pieces are still missing. Steve is the only one that has them but he’s refusing to let you see them, so you don’t even know what you’re trying to put together.

A small nagging part of you feels like there’s still more to this. Like something bigger is at play. But if Steve isn’t willing to share with the class despite all your opportunities for him to do so you’re at a loss. You have to, at a certain point, accept the fact that this is an unknown portion that you’ll never get answered. You hate that, hate how bitter it tastes, but you have no other choice than to find a way to work towards it. Because if nothing else, this night has shown that you can’t keep this candle burning when someone is actively blowing it out. It’s time to snuff the flame out yourself. You want to hope that maybe it’ll be easier once there’s some distance between Steve and yourself. Maybe if you’re no longer hiding from him at the grocery store that door that feels like it’s still wide open will start to close and you can move on.

______________________________________________________________

The day before you leave feels like a round of goodbyes. You hadn’t told anyone besides Steve that you’d be leaving early. Your friends are surprised, and you smile and tell them you’re just excited. Steve had always been your secret keeper, the only one that knew the fear you had around going to college. So, you know your lie will go over smoothly with your friends, and just like you’ve been doing for the remainder of the summer your mask of ‘I’m fine’ will help sell the story more.

It's the kids and Robin that you feel the most torn on, the ones that you struggle with when it comes to a goodbye. The breakup fractured a lot of things in your life, and it feels like maybe you lost them all somewhere this summer. They were never really yours though, so how you could have lost them you’re not sure. In the end, you solidify your resolve and even if it means nothing to them it does mean something to you. You’ve already worked your last shift, and yet you sit in the shared parking lot of your former work and the only place you’re guaranteed to find everyone you need all at once. Since the mall is long gone, this is the best place to be on a hot summer day. Unless you want to share the pool water with the rest of the Hawkins. You wait, you let Steve leave for his lunch, and you take that as your moment.

There’s no speech planned, nothing too major in your goodbye. Robin’s surprised face is what greets you when she looks towards the bell ringing. A soft exclamation of surprise escapes her and she looks confused. “I don’t want to waste your time,” you find yourself telling her. This is the quietest you’ve ever seen Robin.

“I just wanted to say goodbye. I know you’re his friend, and we haven’t really talked since… Well, you know when, but sometimes you felt like my friend too and so I just wanted to say goodbye before I left and that I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you before this.”

All your words sound so unsure, and you feel like you should be phrasing questions instead of just statements.

Silence hangs over the store, and you feel like if you don’t leave it’s just going to grow more awkward. “Okay, well then.” You mumble to yourself, and you force a smile and a wave before you turn to go. You make it to the door, it’s open and you are half in the heat and half in the air conditioning when Robin finally speaks.

“I’m sorry,” it’s not what you expect, and you throw a glance over your shoulder. Her face reflects the apology she’s given you. “We were friends, it’s just-” You shake your head and interrupt.

“It’s okay, Robin. He was your friend first, I’m glad that he had you and the kids.” You smile, and it feels real this time. “Maybe when I get back for winter break, we could be friends again?”

 “I’d like that.” Robin matches your smile, and her nod is enthusiastic. You wave one last time and head fully out into the heat, you’ve got one more stop right next door and then your goodbye tour of Hawkins will be over.

The kids are right where you expect them. Tangled together around one of the games, with Max behind the controls. You wait until the losing screen comes on before addressing them. Your goodbye with the kids is just as short as your one with Robin. “You know I’m kind of gonna miss watching you all hold these games hostage,” Your tone is cheerful, not at all scared like you feel inside. The kids are quick to turn around and it’s Will that matches your tone when he calls your name. Will has always been the kindest of the bunch, and he’s quick to hug your side while everyone else smiles and says hello.

Max is the one to break the greetings, always the most impulsive of the group. “What are you doing here, do you work today?”

“Uh no, actually I came here looking for you guys.” You feel like you stumble over your words, especially as Mike gives you the most suspicious look you’ve ever seen him throw your way. He’s always hard to please, but you feel like maybe you shouldn’t have added him to the goodbye tour after all.

“I just wanted to say goodbye, I know we haven’t talked this summer but still.” You find yourself shrugging as you finish talking.

“You’re leaving already?” It’s Dustin this time, and you find yourself surprised. He hasn’t talked to you since the breakup, and you assumed that would carry over to this conversation. His tone sounds disappointed, and you find yourself feeling guilty for a reason you can’t name.

“I leave tomorrow,” there’s a chorus of groans and refusals that leave the kids. Something like regret swells up because sure these were Steve’s kids first, but they were kinda yours too. You knew them before Steve and had a whole weird dynamic with them before you even knew Steve worked next door. A part of you feels like you messed up this summer by not making more of an effort with them.

“I’m sorry about this summer,” the expressions they turn your way feel like they know too much for kids who are too young to be wrapped up in your love life drama. “We’re sorry too,” Lucas tells you. “You have nothing to apologize for okay,” you look at each one of them, the look on your face leaves no room for argument. It’s always worked with the group.

“Maybe when I get home for winter break, we could all do something together?” You offer them the same olive branch that was extended to Robin. Everyone, Mike included you’re happy to note, nods their head. You find yourself ruffling Will’s hair, he’s still the closest to you. “It’s a plan,” you tell them. “I’ll let you get back to the game, make sure you keep that top spot!” Max tells you not to worry about it, a smirk already forming on her face. You give them all one last smile and make your way out of the building.

You think you’re done, and you feel as at peace as you think you can manage under the circumstances of it all. You unlock the door of your car, plans already in mind for what is left to pack up for the trip tomorrow when someone is calling out your name. You look up and find Dustin running towards you. You meet him part of the way, and he’s throwing his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight. There’s a huff of surprise that forces its way out upon the impact, but you don’t hesitate as you return the hug.

His voice is muffled, and you rub soothing circles on his back. “Dustin, I can’t understand you.” You keep your voice soft like you’re talking to a startled animal. It’s just a moment before he pulls back, and you’re met with a teary face. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you this summer,” Dustin’s words are rushed and come out as almost one sound. You find yourself shushing him and pulling him in for another hug. “You’re all good, it’s okay.”

You give him a minute to just feel his big feelings before you push him back. Your hands rest on his shoulders and you find you don’t have to bend down too far to meet his gaze. You wonder when he started getting so tall and remind yourself it was probably sometime this summer.

“Dustin, I’m not mad or upset or anything okay?” You wait for him to nod along to what you’re saying. “I’m sorry you got caught up in all this,” there’s enough stress on sorry that you think it could take off like a jet with the force you’re pushing it out. “Steve and I were the adults, you shouldn’t have been caught up in the middle, okay?”

Dustin looks like he’s going to argue, “No arguments! This was between us, and we should have made that clear.” Dustin stares at you for what feels like a minute before he nods.

“I’m gonna miss you,” is what Dustin tells you next. “Keith is never gonna be as cool as you. Whose going kick all the older kids off the games for me?” You laugh, happy to see him joking with you now.

“I’m going to miss you too, kid.” You give his shoulders a squeeze, “I’m going to give you a secret, use it responsibly, okay?” Dustin gives you an excited look and nods his head quickly, “I promise,” he says.

“If Keith gives you any trouble, just tell him that you know about Lucy.” Dustin has questions you can tell. “Keith won’t ask you to tell him, he’ll be too embarrassed. If he asks how you know, then you just tell him I told you. He’ll do whatever you want.”

There’s a part of you that feels like maybe you’ve given him too much power, but Dustin’s always been a smart kid and Keith has always been a dick to him, so you don’t feel too much remorse. Someone should be benefiting from the information anyway, and Dustin feels like the right one out of the party to hold on to the information.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” You quote to him, it’s a quip he used to tell Steve all the time before you started dating. Something from a comic book if you remember correctly.

Dustin’s smile is blinding, “You were always too cool for him you know, it’s his loss.” You smile and hope it doesn’t come off as sad as it feels. “Thanks, Dustin.”

You ruffle his hair, just like you had done to Will. Dustin bats at your hands and you push him toward the arcade, “Go spend time with your friends. I’ll see you in December.”

Dustin starts to go but turns back just as quickly. “You promise?” The happiness that had been there before has been replaced with worry again. “I pinky promise,” you hold out your pinky to show him you’re serious. Dustin comes back just to seal the promise and then waves goodbye again returning to the arcade.

The next morning, when every spare inch of space in your car is covered in your belongings, you finally feel like you could actually leave this place feeling okay. Things are not at all the way you thought they would be when the summer first started. You also still feel a weird sort of dread about attending college, but it feels like you could conquer it. If you could do this, this weird limbo break-up, then you think college can’t be that bad.

Your parents aren’t going with you. Despite their excitement and all the ways they’ve pushed you into this decision, they have both told you they feel you have to do this alone. Everything is set up for you, your dad has given you a paper with your new address on it and a credit card for emergencies. You know in both their eyes they’ve done their job as your parents. They’ve paved the way for success and now it’s your responsibility to make them proud.

It feels fitting that you leave Hawkins the same way you started the summer, all alone. You tell yourself that this is what you need. You tell yourself a lot of things as you make your way to the town line. You try not to look in the rearview mirror, too afraid that you’ll see everything you’re leaving behind and change your mind. You remind yourself it’s a few months, and that you can do this. You just hope that you aren’t lying to yourself. You may not feel happy, but you also don’t feel completely numb either. Maybe that’s the right type of progress though.

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #She's back at it again with another sad fic #but no one dies this time so progress #berrystiles writes #rwylm

[loviatarsluv]

Would That I (3)

pairing: Gale x f!tav (my own oc, Elara)

(takes place in an AU where the absolute and the cult basically don't exist so this is non-canon compliant, I guess)

rating: slightly mature (no spice just yet)

content includes: yearning and pining (still), teacher gale, tara being the best wingman (heh) in waterdeep, fluff

in summary: things are still a little tense the morning after the almost kiss, and both gale and elara are miserable (but still somehow cannot communicate properly for the life of themselves) until an unexpected magic lesson brings them together and makes them have a much needed discussion

a/n: ugh I wanted to make this a slow slow slow burn but I just can’t help it I need to write sweet wizard smut STAT so here we flippin go gamers it has begun

word count: 7k

Wordless meals and silent mornings were not a novel concept. 

She’d endured many in her years living with her uncle, who was not exactly a morning person by any means, whilst she typically was the opposite. 

She was an early riser, always had been. She loved waking up with just enough time to greet the sun as it peeked over the horizon. She loved being able to sit outside and admire the way it painted the sky in gorgeous pastel hues as if it were an offering or a gift to those who woke early enough to see it. She loved the purity of the calm and quiet of the breeze off of the ocean and the songs of the birds before the rest of the world had begun to stir for the day, before the sounds of the bustle of the city could drown them out.

The first month or so living here in Waterdeep, mornings were mostly like this, as they hadn’t really gotten to know each other well enough for any substantial conversation or even most small talk. It wasn’t quite so agonizing then, though, as it is now. It was a gentle awkwardness then, both of them wanting to initiate conversation but not really knowing how to. This— this was much worse. 

She woke to the smell of breakfast already cooking and the faint sounds of pots and pans clattering. That was her first warning sign. 

She almost always woke before Gale on any given day. She would normally be lounging by her favorite tree or reclining on the sofa in the main area reading by the time he stumbled into the kitchen, eyes still full of sleep and voice still gruff. 

She debated just locking herself in this room and hiding away until uncle Alastor returned— as impractical as it was of an idea, its appeal only increased  as her morning dragged on. 

She took her time dressing for the day, hoping maybe Gale would finish his breakfast before she made it downstairs and move on with his day. That, of course, was a fruitless thought. 

Even with tensions as high as they were, he still waited for her, busying himself by burying his nose within a tome about Abjuration as he absently pushed around his food with his fork. 

He was still in his night clothes— his loose white linen shirt very loosely laced and showcasing the dark hair on his chest, his deep indigo comfort robe very lazily thrown over his shoulders, and she assumed he was wearing his matching linen pants as well but couldn’t see past the table. His glasses were perched in the spot they almost always were whenever he read— right on the tip of his nose— as his brows furrowed in concentration while his dark eyes skimmed over the pages. His hair was mostly tied back, only a few loose strands falling around his shoulders and face. 

The universe was mocking her, she was sure of it. 

He was being dangled in front of her, like a carrot being dangled on a string before a rabbit to encourage it to run. And oh, hells, did she want to run right into his arms— if only they had been open for her to run into. 

“Good morning,” He says, never looking up from the pages of his book as he greets her, his voice warm but not entirely eager. Not the way it had been nearly every morning prior.

“Morning,” she says meekly, her voice still rough from slumber. She sits without another word, staring down at her plate. 

She knows that he won’t eat unless she does, he always waited for her to eat before he took a bite. But she could not muster the appetite to even be interested in what looked to be an otherwise delicious breakfast. She sighs, grabbing her fork and prodding at one of the eggs on her plate. 

His eyebrow quirks as he glances up at her, noticing her poking at her food when normally she’d have been wolfing it down by now. He clears his throat. “Not hungry?” 

She meets his gaze with trepidation, hoping she isn’t offending him even further than she already had the night prior. She sits back in her seat, leaning her head against the backing of it and directing her face toward the ceiling. “Not particularly.” She admits. 

He nods, then takes a small bite of his own food. “I can save it for you, for when you are. If you’d like.” 

She offers him a weak but thankful smile. “I’d appreciate that.” 

Not another word was exchanged between them for the rest of the time that they both remained downstairs, until eventually Gale stood and grabbed both of their plates and began to wash up, barely acknowledging her as he reached over her to reach her plate. 

Agonizing may have been putting it lightly. She was in utter misery. 

She wanted to ask him if there was a time traveling spell that he could teach her, but decided maybe that wasn’t the best idea considering he was very clearly a large reason for her wanting to learn the spell to begin with. 

She stays frozen in her seat for what felt like an eternity, unsure whether she wanted to break the silence or not. She took far too long to decide, because after a while, Gale emerged from the kitchen once again and breezed past her, heading straight for the stairs. She doesn’t dare turn to look, but she hears him pause on the first step for a moment before continuing to ascend the steps and retreat into his office for the day. 

“Fucking hells,” she curses under her breath, her head falling into her hands as she releases an exasperated huff. Her shoulders began to ache from how tense she’d held them for the entire morning so far, but her muscles had no intent on relaxing any time soon. 

“Language, Miss Heartspell,” Tara chides as she glides down onto the table from somewhere behind her. She jumps slightly, the sudden presence unexpected. 

She sighs, placing a hand over her heart. “Tara. You scared the hells out of me,” she tries to steady her breathing. “I’m sorry.” 

“What ails you this morning, friend? You look like you barely slept a wink.” The tressym observes, her large green eyes boring into her as she eyes her curiously and with slight concern. 

Your wizard and his big dumb brown eyes and his stupidly beautiful hair and that godsdamned shirt—

“Just tired. Couldn’t sleep well last night.” 

That was putting it very simply. She had barely slept more than a handful of hours, not nearly enough to be well rested enough to function through the day. She felt terrible, and it seemed that she looked the part as well, according to her small feathered friend. 

“Would this have anything to do with Mr. Dekarios and his admittedly awful attitude?” she grunts, rolling her eyes and baring her teeth slightly. “He’s been incorrigible since yesterday evening.”

How to politely tell a grumpy tressym that you may or may not be the cause of her wizard’s ire— step one: don’t. 

“Has he? I hadn’t noticed,” she remarks nonchalantly, the tiniest hint of sarcasm in her tone. “I’m sure he’s fine.” 

Tara scoffs, stretching her tiny body as far as she can and yawning, digging her claws into the placemat where Gale’s plate had been a few minutes prior. “Maybe he’s finally realized he needs to shave that wretched thing on his chin.” 

She lets out a chuckle— though she rather loved his facial hair, for numerous reasons— she found Tara’s hatred for it endlessly amusing. She was constantly pestering him to shave or at the very least trim it, and likely he ignored her just to spite her. Their bond reminded her of a doting mother and her slightly rebellious but very respectful son. She’d raised him right. Her, and Morena, of course. 

She hadn’t met his mother yet, only heard stories and small little details about her that he’d share. She seemed lovely, just based on what her son told her. Plus, any woman who could raise a man like Gale Dekarios had to be something special. 

She wonders how many lovers he’d taken to meet her, if any had ever made it far enough for him to deem it appropriate to introduce them— she wonders what his criteria for such a thing would be. 

“Tara? Can I ask you a question?” She asks, biting down on her lip nervously. 

Tara stares back at her expectantly, awaiting her questioning. 

“It’s a strange question… just— please, keep this between us, okay?” She begins, placing her elbow on the table and resting her cheek against her hand. “Has… has Gale ever been… married?” 

Tara has to hold back a cackle, stopping herself before her amusement takes hold. “Oh, darling, no. Mr. Dekarios has had few friends, we’ll call them. Can hardly get the man’s nose out of his books, doesn’t typically fare well for his social life, much less his romantic life.” 

She blinks rapidly in surprise, her eyes widening. It made sense, and no sense at all in the same vein. It seemed so strange, just considering who Gale was and the gentlemanly nature of him that he hadn’t had any long term loves. She would’ve imagined him to either have had several failed loves or only one very long term one— more likely the latter, she thought. 

She nods. “Makes sense.” A lie. 

Tara eyes her suspiciously, carefully strolling across the table to her. “Miss Heartspell, might I be so bold for just a moment, to ask you what that ninny upstairs seems to be too frightened to?” 

She cocks an eyebrow up at her, sitting up straight in her chair. “What might that be?” 

“Are you spoken for? Have you got someone waiting for you back in Rivington?” She asks, sitting perfectly prim and proper in front of her, her peridot irises catching her crystal blue ones in an intense gaze. 

She pauses for a minute, the question having caught her more than off guard. “N-No, I don’t. I don’t exactly have the most successful social life, either.” 

Tara’s eyes gleamed, seeming all too pleased and Elara could tell that if she could, she’d undoubtedly have a knowing smirk on her face. 

“Hm. Fascinating.” Is all she says before prepping her wings to take flight, flapping them and stretching them gently. Before she can give any sort of response, Tara departs from the conversation and soars out of the open window, surely off to terrorize all the local gulls and pigeons. The mail couriers must wish to stuff her or turn her into stew at this point. 

These two and the way they end conversations. Ugh. 

Which reminds her— once again, ugh. 

Last night could not have ended worse, aside from possibly being told to pack her belongings and leave— though she doubts that Gale would ever do that without warning. 

She wanted to talk to Gale about everything— well, maybe not everything— but she had never really talked to anybody about her parents or what happened to them. Not even Alastor. It was a forbidden subject in that household as far as she was concerned. Too many emotions to sort through to pile onto someone else. Plus, she didn’t want to be treated differently, or viewed through different eyes that pitied her. It happened so many years ago, but the occasional nightmares made her feel as though it happened only the night prior. 

Perhaps it would be nice— to talk to someone. Gale was easy to talk to. He listened so intently and he was always engaged, even if it were the most uninteresting conversation in the world. Perhaps that was why he was so well learned— he was an excellent listener. 

It couldn’t hurt to try. 

 ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊ ⋆₊⋄✧⋄₊⋆

The door to his study seemed so much more imposing when you were on the other side of it, with your knuckles primed to meet the sturdy wood and plead for entry. 

He almost never shut his office door.

Perhaps now isn’t a good time. 

She sighs quietly, her chin falling to rest on her chest and her gaze at the spot on the floor between her feet, defeated. 

Perhaps another time. 

She turns to head down the hall toward her bedroom, just as she hears the creaking of the office door behind her, opening. 

She shifts slightly, peering over her shoulder and expecting to find a certain pair of brown eyes watching her as she creeps through the hall— only to find nothing. The door was slightly ajar, but no sight of the wizard within. 

Curious, she takes a few cautious steps forward, careful to move quietly and mindfully. She stops just before she could peek in to see whether Gale was at his desk or not, using the door to shield herself from view— then she hears the sound of a strange whooshing from right on the other side of the door, to the opposite side of the room, likely where Gale sat. She raises her eyebrow, confusion written all over her face as she finally peeks in the room. 

Gale is at his desk, where she half expected him to be, leaning against the back of his chair, his feet propped on a small stool next to him and a scroll in hand. 

Normal. 

Her eyes scan a little further to search for the source of the strange noise, finding nothing— until she hears it again, just before an icy blue flash of light soars across her vision in the shape of a disembodied hand.  

A mage hand. She’d seen her uncle conjure one once before— only because he thought she wasn’t around and couldn’t see. 

The spectral hand flew to the top of one of the large bookcases on the far end of the room, swiftly retrieving a book and bringing it back down and placing it on Gale’s desk. He sighs, running a hand down his face, then scratching against his beard as he places the scroll next to the newly acquired book. 

She cranes her neck a little further, trying to watch as he commands the mage hand around, then loses her balance just enough to send her falling forward and into the room, crash landing into her hands and knees. 

Gale jumps at the sound of her colliding with the ground, standing and leaning over his desk, worry in his eyes as he peers down at her. 

“By Mystra’s mantle, are you alright?” 

She sits up and rubs her hands sheepishly, the heels of them aching from the force of her contact with the hard wooden floor. “Sorry, I just— I was passing by, and I saw— I just… got curious. I apologize.” 

Gale’s brows furrow as he looks around, searching for what was out of the ordinary that she was referring to. He disregards it for a moment as he rounds the side of his desk, briskly walking across the room to her side and offering her a hand up. 

She looks up at him for a moment before accepting his offer, slipping her hand into his. He braces her with his other hand on her elbow and pulls her to her feet, holding her steady while she gets her bearings. 

“Why don’t you always just— use that? Why do you ever have me help when you can just…” she trails off, motioning with her hands what appeared to be a conjuration. 

His eyes widen slightly as he realizes what she was referring to, then motions the mage hand to come closer. “This— have you never seen a mage hand before? Has Alastor not conjured one in front of you before?” 

She shakes her head. “I caught a glimpse of one once, but it was so fast I couldn’t tell what it was. My uncle rarely did magic around me, mostly just small spells here and there. I, myself, only know a few simple spells that I taught myself. Granted, I'm not very good at it, but they’ve come in handy at times.” 

Gale hears Alastor in his head from the night he invited him over for that fateful dinner: perhaps Mr. Dekarios could pick up on your old man’s slack and actually teach you some damn magic. 

“What a strange one, that old man is. Cryptic as ever. I’m not sure why I was under the impression that any of this was old news to you.” He says, motioning to the crystalline digits beside him, motioning for it to wiggle its fingers. 

She shrugs, her eyes locked on the spell with a certain childlike wonder in her eyes that Gale couldn’t help but find most endearing. It reminded him of being young and awed by his own conjurations and manipulations of the weave and those of his professors at Blackstaff. 

“Would you like to learn?” He asks her, snapping her from her daze and her eyes flying to his in disbelief. 

“Are you serious?” Her voice is quiet, as if he’d just asked her the most scandalous of questions.

She had long abandoned the hope of learning even just the basics of wizardry, seeing as neither Gale, nor even Alastor in his letters, had ever mentioned it since the night they discussed this arrangement. She never asked, because the last thing she wanted to be was a bother to the man who so kindly took her in without a second thought. She never abandoned her desire to learn all together, though. That still lingered. 

“I don’t see why not,” he drawls, stepping backward a few steps to allow her space to enter the room further. “Perhaps it’ll be helpful for us both. Besides, it’s been quite some time since I’ve had a willing and able pupil to impart my vast knowledge on.” 

I could kiss you right now! 

A grin paints itself across her face so wide that she fears it may crack, her eyes lit up and her hands clasped together in excitement. She realizes and quickly adjusts her behavior from juvenile enthusiasm to calm and collected curiosity, though she couldn’t entirely contain the smile on her face. 

“I’d love to.” Was the tame iteration of what she wanted to say. Given the state of their relationship being somewhat cloudy and confusing at the moment, she rather not push her luck. This was an excellent excuse to get him to talk to her to make up for the painfully silent morning they shared just hours prior. 

Not to mention, it gave her more untainted time with him before she decided to share with him her tales of woe of life as an orphan and being decidedly unpopular within her community back in Rivington. She was more than thankful for the distraction and redirection. 

“Excellent!” He claps his hands together, a pleased smirk on his lips as he takes his glasses off and allows them to fall against his chest, hanging by the dainty golden chain attached to them that hung around his neck. “This one is a fairly easy spell to learn. I learned to conjure my first mage hand at the ripe age of seven. Drove my dear mother up the wall when she’d ask me to do my chores only to catch me lounging with my nose in a book while this fellow did all the heavy lifting.” 

She chuckles, picturing a younger Gale getting into all sorts of mischief and being too smart for his own good and his poor mother trying desperately to keep up with him. She imagines that he has her eyes and her smile, despite never seeing her with her own eyes. It was just a feeling. 

He motions for her to come closer, pointing to the spot just beside him for her to stand. She obliges, standing right where he’d indicated, turning to face the direction he was facing. 

“You said that you know a few simple spells, yes?” 

She nods. 

“Excellent. Would you be able to demonstrate something for me?”

She looks at him with uncertainty for a pause, prompting him to nod and encourage her to try something simple, the look on his face purely that of a warm encouragement and devoid of all judgment. 

Despite this, she still feels the swell of embarrassment before she even attempts the bare minimum spell that she knew— knowing that her talents were meager in comparison to his. She swallows hard and tries to steady herself, attempting to focus so the spell doesn’t go awry. 

She moves her hands in a flourish that took much more effort than anything she’d ever seen Gale do, only to conjure a small flash of purple weave, sparks scintillating at her fingertips as the spell leaves her palm and quickly dissipates into the air. She frowns deeply, averting her gaze back to the ground between her feet. 

“Please don’t laugh at me.” She groans, heaving a sigh as her cheeks and neck heat and tinge a bright pink. 

“Hey,” he coos, crossing the space between them and tapping her chin with his fingertips to urge her face upward to meet his gaze. “I’ve seen novices do much worse than that even after an entire fortnight of study— nobody got hurt, in this case, which is fantastic. Once, during my time at Blackstaff, one of my classmates set the entire room ablaze while practicing simple incantations. I had to be the one to put it out as I was the only one that already knew how to conjure water.” 

She tries in vain to bite back the smile threatening the corners of her lips, and allows a chuckle to pass through her as her eyes meet his. He brushes against her chin with his thumb a couple passes before pulling away. She’s still getting used to Gale’s sudden physicality— not that she would complain. Not even slightly. 

Especially after the events of the evening prior, as she half expected him to be withdrawn entirely. She hoped he took note of the way she leaned ever so slightly into his touch. The way she savored it. 

“I picture you as the perfect pupil to any professor. So bookish and attentive. You’re a scholar’s wet dream.” She jokes, poking his chest with featherlight jabs. He coughs at her crude remark, his eyes widening and his chest heaving as he attempts to regain composure. She’s full blown cackling now, causing his chuckles to join hers in harmony of the melodic sounds surging between them. 

“Perhaps you should borrow a page from my book, then,” he jests as he gives her a lighthearted warning grimace, his earthly eyes glinting golden in the candlelight. “We’ve only just begun our lessons and you’ve already sassed your tutor.” 

“My mistake, Professor Dekarios. I solemnly swear it won’t happen again,” she pauses, a devious smirk on her lips at the name that causes his face to flush at the sound of it. “Probably.” 

He feels something stir within him at the sound of that name falling from her lips that he refuses to recognize, if only to spare himself from the embarrassment of having to explain his body’s impulse reaction to it. He clears his throat, and straightens himself. 

“Alright, alright,” he huffs, leisurely beginning to roll his sleeves further up onto his forearms. “Focus is a key ingredient to this equation, which is clearly something we are lacking.” 

She tries to tame the spark of mischief in her belly, deciding maybe it was best to be a better suited pupil to such esteemed talents as that of Gale of Waterdeep and hold off on any hijinks for the time being, despite how much she reveled in the sound of his laughter, so warm and genuine and real that it felt like being curled up within a thick wool blanket near a fire in the dead of winter. 

It was a much welcome deviation from the despair he held in his graceful but strong features in the dim moonlight streaming through the window of her bedroom the night before. 

Though, she couldn’t resist one last little quip just to get a rise out of him.

“Apologies. Continue, Professor.” She feigns innocence in her light eyes, rounding them and clasping her hands behind her back. 

His face is unreadable, and she almost wonders if she actually managed to upset him with her playful remarks. Only when she notices him allow his tongue to dart out and wet his bottom lip does she consider something else— something that makes her blood feel like molten lava as it surges through her veins. 

He clears his throat once again, suddenly feeling as though the room had risen several degrees in temperature, tiny beads of sweat forming on his back and neck. 

“It’s a fairly simple spell, once you get the hang of it, it’ll be as simple as a flick of the wrist,” he explains, moving to stand beside her and demonstrate the spell. “I’ll show you.” 

He steadies his posture, though the way in which he follows through with the spell seems effortless— as if he could’ve done it while in deep slumber. He whispers the cantrip softly, the Latin words dancing off of his expert tongue in a way that sends a shiver through her. 

Focus, Elara. 

A near impossible task when in his presence. 

The spectral limb hovers before them, the air around it chilly and crackling with pure weave. She steps closer to it, in awe of the strange being. Could she even call it a being? 

Gale smirks triumphantly, then commands the hand to float in a circle around her, her curious eyes following it as it flies past her vision. He halts its movements just in front of her, the palm facing her as an invitation. She lifts her hand tentatively, raising it until her palm is level with the nearly translucent one, her fingertips brushing those of the spell. 

A chill flows through her as her skin makes contact with the specter, her hand jolting backwards at the sensation, only to return for further investigation. It was strange— something so impermanent and ethereal, yet, if it had been warmer, it would have felt like a real corporeal hand. She wondered if Gale could feel anything through the conjuration— if it worked as an extension of his own hand. 

Curious. 

“Would you like to try?” He asks, breaking her from her thoughts as her eyes snap back to his. 

She nods, her gaze flitting back and forth between the wizard and the airborne hand before him. He dismisses it, the spell emitting an airy whoosh as it dissipates. 

“Now, do as I do as closely as you can, and say ‘veni et iuva me’,” He instructs as he moves to stand just beside her, their shoulders mere inches apart. “Ready?” 

With an affirmative nod, she watches him as he expertly demonstrates the spell, the weave appearing around his hands and fingertips in a violet crackling mist, as she’d seen it do before— it made sense why purple was his favorite color, now. It suited him. 

In a flash, another hand appears, just as the one before. Crystalline and nearly translucent. He gives her an encouraging look, his smile easy and eager as he awaits her attempt at the spell. 

She bites down on her bottom lip, then steadies her body and attempts to mimic Gale’s exact movements, then recites the incantation— and much to her surprise, another hand appears before them, glowing blue and bright. 

Excitement fills her to the brim and she feels as though she might explode from pure childhood fulfillment induced delight. She looks at Gale with a giddy grin, giggling with sheer glee. 

“I did it! I actually did it!” She cheers, still attempting to concentrate on the spell so it doesn’t dissolve. 

Gale claps his hands together excitedly, beaming at her with pride. “Excellent! Now, think of exactly what you want it to do, where you want it to go, how you want it to move. Stay focused. You’ve got this.” 

She feels a blush creep to her cheeks under his watchful eyes and his encouragement, but maintains her focus on the spell as she motions for it to move forward, toward one of the bookcases. She imagines the book she wants and knows exactly where it is— it was the thirteenth book from the right on the third shelf from the top. The hand effortlessly retrieves the book, then returns to her, presenting the book to her just as she’d seen it do for Gale. 

She turns to Gale, tears brimming her eyes from pure joy and amazement at her own ability to pull off the spell. It was a simple spell, they both knew that, but for her this was the greatest accomplishment she’d ever achieved thus far, outside of the small spells she’d taught herself over the years. 

Gale smiles at her warmly, his hands clasped behind his back. “Well done, Elara. You did wonderfully, especially as a novice. I’m quite impressed.” 

She tries to contain the grin threatening to turn the corners of her lips, pressing them tightly together, but unable to mask the pure elation in her eyes, tears still pooling in her vision. 

Before she can stop herself, she throws herself at the wizard, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly, burying her face into his chest. He grunts at the sudden contact, his body freezing in complete shock and his heart racing a million a second. After a moment of panic, he allows his hands to settle on her back, pulling her close to him and resting his chin on the top of her head. 

Lavender. Gods, he adores the smell of lavender. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She whispers into the soft fabric of his shirt, her voice muffled as she presses herself further into him. 

She pulls back slightly after a moment to look up at him, her still teary eyes meeting his, and he gives her a warm but reserved smile. Her eyes soften, her brows scrunching with concern. “What’s wrong?” 

He shakes his head, feigning ignorance. “Nothing at all. I’m— ah— I’m very happy to teach you more, if you’d like.” 

She observes him for a moment, noting that something was on his mind that he wasn’t expressing. She frowns. “Gale?” 

He sighs, pulling away from her completely and turning away, his hand running over his face in distress. The large study falls into a heavy silence for a few moments before he walks toward the large window where she often perched herself as he worked. He allows his hand to trail the spot where he has found her dozens of times before, gazing out at the seaside, the wind rustling her raven tresses like a tidal wave. 

“Forgive me, I’m just feeling a bit under the weather today.” He resigns, rubbing his eyes with his finger and his thumb and then running a shaky hand through his hair. 

She swears with how silent the room was, you'd have been able to hear her heart thumping away in her chest as if it were a war drum.

Here it goes. 

“Is this… about last night?” Her voice is meek and timid when she asks, catching her bottom lip between her teeth nervously. 

Gale keeps his back to her, and she can see the muscles in his shoulders and back tense at her query, as if he was bracing for a blow at any second. 

“I… it’s nothing, Elara. I’m quite alright.” His voice is curt but still holds the ardor toward her that it always did when he spoke to her— he was warm to everyone he met, but there was a specific tone he used when he spoke to her. She had only begun to notice it in the last few days, and she feared the day that it went away.

“Gale,” She pleads, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm. He tenses further under her delicate hand. “I’m so sorry. I owe you an explanation. I should’ve never—”

He spins to face her briskly, his expression hard, betraying the way his dark eyes twinkled as he looked at her. “You don’t owe me anything, Elara. I should have never crossed any of the lines that I’ve crossed, and my behavior is inexcusable. Deplorable. You needn’t apologize for a thing.” 

Her hand still lingers on him, now having moved to his chest after he’d shifted to face her. She stares at how small and frail her hand looked against his solid frame. She closes her eyes, honing in on the feeling of his chest against her palm as it rises and falls rapidly with his breathing. She can feel his heartbeat. She wished he could feel hers as well. She wonders if he could hear it like she feared he could. 

“Elara…” Broken. Torn. The only words capable of describing the man’s voice as he squirms under her touch, unsure whether to move away or lean into it. What he wanted and what he felt was right to do were at complete odds, as they always seemed to be as of late. 

“I never drew any lines, Gale.” 

His eyes widened. Had he heard her right? Surely, he was mishearing. Perhaps he should have his ears checked soon. Or perhaps he’d finally started to lose it. 

One too many romance tomes. 

“What did you—”

“You can’t cross a line that was never drawn to begin with.” She grips at the fabric of his shirt, finally opening her own eyes to find the utter shock in his. 

He shakes his head, his mouth opening and closing several times as his mind attempts to formulate a coherent sentence that wouldn’t just come out as complete nonsense. 

“Please,” she sighs, her mind at war within itself as she fights to find the right words to convey it all properly. If any even existed. “You must stop making assumptions about the way I feel before I have the chance to sort through them myself.” 

He looks visibly shaken, as realization hits him once her words sink in. “Are you saying—”

“I don’t know if I have the right words to explain, right now,” she admits. “What I do know is that I don’t need you to decide how I feel for me. Especially how I feel towards you.” 

How I feel for you, she wanted to say. 

The hand that had been gripping his shirt slowly begins to fall, but is swiftly caught against the hard planes of his stomach with a strong hand, holding it gently as if it may break and shatter from the slightest touch but firm so as to keep it there, at all costs. 

His eyes bore into hers, the intensity in them something that shook her to her core. She had to look away. 

“Elara,” he breathes, the sound equal parts desperate and hopeful. He adjusts her hand so that it’s flat against his stomach, and drags it to the left side of his chest, pressing her palm into it. “Do you feel it?” 

The rhythm against her palm is rapid and thunderous, the feel of his chest is solid and strong and she can hardly breathe. She nods, while attempting to remember to take air into her lungs and release it back out, then repeat. 

He leans his face down closer to hers, his voice low and husky as he whispers to her, “I hope this tells you everything you need to know.” 

Her mouth parts and she sucks in a sharp breath. She feels as though her entire body had become nothing more than a melty mass of human goo under his gaze and his touch and what he’s saying without saying it directly— is this a dream? Was she dreaming? 

How did this encounter begin with him scooping her off of the floor after her face planting into it, only to land here, with his heart against her palm and his lips so close, too close once again? 

It was like Deja vu— the way their faces drifted closer to each other as if some invisible force were pushing them together, just as they had less than twenty four hours prior. It was familiar and yet so new, an entirely new rush of energy and emotion charging them this time.

She feels one of his hands move to rest against the side of her neck, his fingers tilting her jaw upward as he dives in, his nose brushing hers and their breaths intermingling. Her eyes flutter closed as she prepares for the feeling of his lips against hers, only to feel nothing but his thumb dragging across her bottom lip. 

Her eyes shoot open, her brows furrowed in confusion and a hint of frustration. His eyes flit back and forth between hers, searching for something, anything, that would tell him to stop. “Is this what you want?” 

A sound akin to a whine or a groan leaves her lips before she can stop it. She chokes on the word yes before she can even utter it, so instead she nods desperately.

Not a second is wasted before lips are entwined and tongues are tangled— one of his hands moves to grip her waist and pull her body against his, the fullness of her chest pressing against his solid one causing him to break the kiss to suck in a sharp breath and moan slightly, the sound low and rumbling in his ribs. She catches the muffled sounds within the kiss, drinking them in and savoring them as if they were the finest wine she’d ever tasted. 

It all feels so surreal. He feels surreal. As if maybe she’d never woken up this morning and this was all some incredibly vivid dream that she never hoped to wake from. It would make sense— this wouldn’t be the first time Gale had invaded her dreams and she was certain it wouldn’t be the last either. 

The tips of his fingers dig into the plush flesh at her hips, his other hand moving to caress the back of her head and lacing his fingers through the dark tresses at the nape of her neck. Heaven. This is heaven. 

She feels him beginning to walk her backward, unaware of the direction until she feels the edge of his large mahogany desk bump into her lower back and she almost hisses in pain, but swallows it before she can. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered past his lips and his body and his heart still steadily beating against her palm. 

All too soon, he breaks away from the kiss, his eyes wild with lust but a bit of trepidation that sets her on edge. “What is it?” 

Gale’s chest heaves with concerted effort as he looks at her, his hands still at her hips and his body still pressed firmly to hers. He takes in a shaky breath as if it pained him to do so. “I just— gods, I want to do this. More than you can possibly imagine,” he starts, his words coming out in whimpered and hushed tones that set her entire body ablaze, even more so than it already had been. 

“But…” she continues for him. 

He clasps his eyes shut tight, the little lines between his brows deepening and becoming more prominent. She ignores the urge to smooth them out with her thumb. “I’d like to know more about you as a person before I get to know you as a woman, if that makes sense.” 

She’s unable to contain the chuckle that escapes her lips at his gentlemanly attempt at being coy, rather than laying it out in blunt terms as she likely would have. He softens at the sight of her smile, his shoulders relaxing and sagging in relief. 

“Are you saying you’d like to court me before taking me to bed?” She asks, amusement in her tone as she playfully pokes his nose which scrunches at her teasing. 

He catches her wrist in his hand and places a kiss to the soft skin at the heel of her palm. “Ideally, if it’s amenable to you.” 

That would be putting it incredibly mildly.

She studies his face— as she’d done a million times before— she’d seen him disheveled from sleep or stress as he studied a particularly convoluted subject, his hair mussed and messy and his lips pressed into a hard line, his eyes weary and half open. She’d thought it strange how even in what would be considered one’s worst state, he looked exquisite and refined, still with that same air of elegance and grace about him that he had at his very best when he was in his robes and confidently discussing a topic that interested him. 

But this state of disrepair was something else entirely. 

His eyes were heavily lidded but not from exhaustion, the dark umber pools of his irises swimming with desire and need. His lips were visibly swollen as they peeked out from behind the thick bushel of hair that covered his chin and upper lip, still glossy from her as evidence of their kiss. His shirt crumpled and creased where her fingers had gripped the fabric tightly in her fist. He looked completely undone, and it was her that had been his undoing. 

Gods, have mercy. It’s a wonder that she hadn’t jumped his bones at the sight alone, she thinks. 

“What? Is something wrong?” He asks, his voice breaking her from her reverie and snapping her out of the myriad of filthy thoughts that had been rushing through her lust laden mind. 

She shakes her head, partially in response to him and partially in attempts to ground herself. “Nothing else in my life has felt quite as right as it does right now.” She admits. 

It was the truth. Not much had felt right in her life up to this point— something always felt off, like there was a missing piece to the puzzle that was her life that had been missing for as long as she could remember. 

This was as close to feeling whole as she had ever felt in her life. 

Though, there were still two missing pieces. But she had accepted long ago that they would never return. A bitter truth, but a truth nonetheless. 

He looks as though she’d just told him the best news he’d ever received, elation writ large upon his face as a wide grin splays across his lips. “Well, in that case,” He pulls her into him, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her just enough to where only her toes were still touching the ground, eliciting a giggle from her that only makes his smile grow wider. “Would you possibly have the time to share a glass of wine and a lovely candlelit dinner with me this evening?” 

Her cheeks had begun to ache from smiling at this point, but she couldn’t contain it. Nor did she desire to. 

“I think I’d be amenable to that.” 

tags: @goddess-bound @mirandpeglell @celestialowlbear 🩷 (thank u guys for ur love I hope u like this chapter!!!!)

this is part three of a series - ✧ (ch 1) ✧ (ch 2)

#next chapter I am determined to have some smut I can’t take this anymore #I need to kiss the wizard with tongue I need to #gale #gale dekarios fic #gale bg3 #gale dekarios fanfic #gale x f!tav #gale x f!oc #gale x oc #bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 au #bg3 oc #oc: elara heartspell #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #my fics #wti

[mybworlds]

Bittersweet

CHAPTER 1

status: ongoing

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: your life is full of 'must'. You live with your overprotective mother who controls every aspect of your life. You have a dream, to write romance novels, but love - real love - you haven't found yet. Your mother has even decided what you must do in your free time: play music. One day, however, when you go to your music teacher's house, you will have an unexpected encounter and from that day on things change…

rating: 18+ explicit (minors, DNI)

Before to start... Hello people, I know there are other two ff that I already started, but I dreamt this new idea for my new ff. So I decided to write it down it. So here we are. If you want to let me know what you think about it I'd be glad to read you.

No offence pls, if you dislike it go away :)

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

You always dreamed of doing something special, of being the person who would make a difference in the world….

So you hoped.

You hoped to become a great writer of romance novels, and you hoped to instill hope in the hearts of young people not to give up in the face of love and the possible obstacles that may arise.

But not all dreams come true.

In fact, you ended up working in a small bar on the outskirts of your town, surrounded by the many stories of the many diners who populate the place during the daytime or evening hours--depending on the shifts. These stories are the most different, and cannot help but feed your wild imagination.

In the evening, when you are not on shift, you write dozens and dozens of stories on your computer: some are shorts, some are very long and have happy endings, some less. It depends on your mood and how you imagine certain events you've witnessed or heard will end.

"I'm home!"

Your mother has just returned from a nearly seventy-two-hour shift at the hospital, she works in emergency medicine, and - since your father died (or at least she always said) - when she's not at home, you have to do everything, housework and bar work, grocery shopping, paying bills.

"Hi, Mom."

You absentmindedly greet her by putting down your computer glasses and crinkling your eyes in exhaustion.

"Did you buy groceries?"

The usual string of questions starts, to which you always answer with a distracted yes. You are almost 30 years old, but sometimes you feel like you are 40s or even 50s. Sometimes you think you would just like to enjoy youth, to be carefree, light-hearted, you would like to be free even to make mistakes, and instead you feel caged in this life. In a life where the only rule is you must.

"So you're okay with that?" your mother suddenly asks, making you get your feet back on the ground.

"What?" you ask confused.

"You might even listen to me for once!" blurts out Mom.

"I just got distracted for a second!" you exclaim trying to catch up.

Mom snorts, "I asked you if you were free tomorrow for your guitar lesson."

Ah yes, the exhilarating guitar lessons!

Mom, ever since Dad left (but she always said it was as if he was dead), has demanded that you take piano lessons first and guitar lessons later, like your father. You can't understand your mother, sometimes she seems to hate your father, sometimes she doesn't.

About love, you've always wanted it to be forever. Maybe it's just some romantic bullshit you always watched in movies or read in books, but you want to believe that there really exists out there for you, someone who is willing to love you for a lifetime. Too bad you haven't found anyone so far who is willing to love you the same way you love, to want you the way you want!

Going back to your guitar lessons, your teacher is a bit of a peculiar guy, a bit of a loner, a lover of many things and one opposed to the other. He's -- you don't know exactly how to define him. You've never been able to decipher him. He seems gruff, but at the same time he has a good side and probably deep down sweet.

Very deep down.

"Yes, don't worry." Mom, ever since he left, has become overprotective in some ways with you, has demanded to control you even though you are not so young anymore, wants to know what you read, what you see, what you do. It may seem normal, perhaps, for a mom to try to get to know what her child does, but not the way she does. If you are evasive for one reason for another, she becomes a hound, suffocating almost. Once she even demanded to read a chat you created with friends fearing that you might be in touch with a man much older than you, and instead she found herself a chat where you were exchanging sometimes funny and sometimes even private messages with some of your close friends from school, which even embarrassed you, but mom justified herself by saying she was doing it for you. She even banned you from driving for fear that you might have a car accident! You have a driver's license, but your mother won't even let you drive around town. She always has to be the one to drive you. These manias of hers are suffocating!

"Good. Do you have money to pay for it?" she asks you.

"Yes, don't worry," you reply, going to prepare dinner.

"We have to be very punctual or I'll be late for the hospital," she informs you.

"Do you have another night?" you ask her "It will be the fifth time in a month! But didn't there used to be shifts once even in the hospital?" you ask again as you prepare some pasta.

"Yes, but -- you know, there are only a few of us and then there are even more emergencies than usual."

You follow your mother with your eyes as you see her typing on her cell phone. Your mother sometimes looks like the young woman and you look like the mom.

What an unfair life!

The next day your life flows as usual, you get up very early, make coffee bringing it also to your mother, go to shower, get dressed and go to work.

At the café there is the usual hustle and bustle, who wants coffee, who wants a croissant, who wants a slice of pizza, who wants something else. You don't have a moment to yourself. Only when it's almost lunchtime now, you stop and go to the back of the store to eat your sandwich and smoke. Yes, you smoke. The only real transgression in your life. If your mother found out she would probably kill you, but you don't care smoking makes you feel good and maybe it makes you feel good because it's a decision you made, not because it was forced on you.

You rub one temple and look toward the road covered with a hint of snow. You wonder what you would have been doing by now if you had not been there with your mother, if maybe you were busy in college or maybe in pursuing some master's degree, you wonder who you might have been if you had dared to live your life to the fullest.

In the afternoon, your mother - after making sure you are dressed appropriately, that you have sheet music and whatnot - drops you off in front of your teacher's building.

The latter lives on the top of seven floors, it's practically a penthouse, it's beautiful place. Being with him -- a little less so.

When you knock, you are about to greet him, but a completely different man from your teacher appears in front of you. He is tall, much taller than your teacher and you, curly brown hair, dark eyes, a look that is at first grim, then curious, defined jaw line and curved nose. He is perhaps 40 years old.

You stand open-mouthed, thinking you had the wrong house for a moment, then realizing it's the right address.

"I was looking for Mr. Miller," you say.

"In person." he replies.

"Tommy Miller," you say.

"I'm his brother." he says again.

You are about to say something, but he is the one who interrupts you by asking if you are his student and calling your name, you nod in confusion.

"My brother had to leave yesterday morning. He told me you were coming and to wait for you to let you know." he clarifies by placing his hands on his hips.

He is incredibly muscular; you have never seen a man like him. He hits you right away.

"I see. Then -- I'll go." ready to leave.

You make to turn your back to him "Did Mommy tell you not to talk to strangers?" he asks making you turn back to him "I saw you get out of your mother's car." he adds noticing your confused look.

"What did you say?" you ask in annoyance.

You see him smirking and cross his arms "Are you afraid the big bad wolf will eat you?"

You wrinkle your forehead "First, I don't even know who you are." you say moving a couple of steps closer to him "And second…"

"Joel." he introduces himself by extending his hand.

"You're creepy -- Joel," you say looking first at his hand and then at his face.

"You, on the other hand, are shy." he notes looking at you and running his gaze over your figure. No one has ever looked at you like this. Making your skin warmed. "Yes, you are a shy little one." he adds, smiling and making wrinkles appear on the sides of his eyes.

"Your brother is definitely nicer," you say.

Lie. Tommy has always been very much on his own.

He just bends his head to the side, "Funny, people always told me I'm the nice one of the Miller brothers."

Gotcha.

"Well, maybe they never really knew you!"

"And you in less than a minute figured out who am I?" he asks, leaving you speechless.

No, you know very well that you cannot judge anyone in less than a minute. If someone had judged you in less than a minute they probably would have dismissed you as an ordinary young woman, lacking dreams of her own, trivial.

Perhaps the same thing applies to the man in front of you, Joel Miller.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel miller hbo #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us hbo #joel miller self insert #the last of us #joel fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as joel miller #smut #joel x f!reader #joel x female reader #joel x you #dom!joel #dom!joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #bittersweet ff

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 1/30/2024

a good 60% of my brain is screaming in unemployment terror at all times so these will be somewhat abbreviated until that situation resolves itself

listening

sleeping on the ceiling by friday pilots club. this is a song by a five-piece alt-rock band from chicago that could EASILY open for mid-aughts fall out boy. i would like to think it is from the point of view of a freshly-turned vampire. listen this slot isn't about the best song i heard this week it's about the one that got stuck in my head the most

Hey, I swear I'm okay Honey, I been sleepin' on the ceiling all day Yes way, like hey I swear I feel great Looky, looky, love the feeling of being okay Yes way

spotify.

reading

Lara Croft: Tomb Raider and the Amulet of Power by Mike Resnick. it was in a dollar book bin and i got it as a joke gift for a friend. mike resnick is a remarkably prolific writer who's done a lot of tie-ins. i don't have anything particularly notable to say about his star wars books but they are a sort of minimum viable product? they feel star warsy and don't annoy me on every page.

this book was published in 2003 and treats the people of the Nile delta and their beliefs with all the delicacy you might expect from a 2003 video game tie in novel. i do think the twist is being telegraphed way too hard. perhaps i should say instead of sending a telegram mr resnick has simply set the telegraph office ablaze as a signal fire. the titular triangle-pointed woman herself ms croft is VERY insistent she's just as good as the boys. this is pretty on par for my experience of 2003 empowering womens' feminism AND my experience in a male-dominated field so i can't really ding it too hard? aside from the racism, in the notably racism-free fields of archaeology and video games and archaeology video games, this book is aging a little strangely overall. i do not know if i will finish it before i mail it out to my friend, but despite its sins it is a very fast read.

watching

watched the four dungeon meshi episodes. it's cute! ProzD was an unexpected delight! it made me want to make something fancy for dinner but alas i still have to go food shopping!

some posts on my dash were talking about how the episode with the mollusks inside the living armor really got them hooked and i have to agree. i also saw the full potential of the show's speculative biology unspooling before me. i don't know if i currently have the brainwidth for the manga but it is going on my reading list for after i finish berserk. which is kind of like saying i'm going to watch chopped after i finish up hannibal

playing

forgot i had an original gen switch, given to me through a complex series in a complex series of friend barters back in uhhhh late '21? early '22? i got through 3/4 of the divine beasts the first time around and then could not crack the camel. it was well past time to create a new switch profile so i could start a new game without losing the old one.

omg twinnsssssssss

i did forget how goddamn big the map is. i have just now unlocked the camera and the memory quests, i have not really. done much more than basic tutorial and beginning of game stuff.

making

anxiously junebugging between a whole bunch of shit. finally figured out the correct charger/extension cord setup for my bedroom. replaced all the fluorescent lightbulbs and took them to be recycled. fixed the hall door enough so it latches closed and an irritated cat can't claw it open. tidied up the balcony and patio and repotted the surviving houseplants.

in textile news, started this cross stitch. this is a Bless This Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy Star Wars themed sampler, i have made two as gifts and had to throw out a mostly-completed one i made for me bc of the moths. but i now know exactly where this will go in this apartment and i already have the frame and i bought all the floss pre-being fired, so might as well? the real bitch of the situation here is backstitching the buildings. it's so start and stop. it's so much tan. i talked about this on the weekly siblingchat facetime and now my brother has requested one lmao. that's his christmas gift settled. i suppose.

i had somehow forgotten how loadbearing textile crimes are for me. i haven't done much of anything since the moth debacle, and that was almost two years ago. last night i found some suspicious holes in a camisole and i'm really really hoping it's just cat claws and not moths or carpet beetles or any other fun things that eat clothes.

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #feeling unsettled. feeling petulant.

[padfootagain]

Where We Kept Our Magic (III)

How We Met Again

Hello lovelies! Here is a second part for my Muggle!Reader AU!! I hope you like this new scene, tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Sirius Black x Muggle!Reader

Warnings: none for this chapter

Summary: You and Sirius meet when you’re still young, and yet you fall head over heels for each other. But everything gets complicated when you learn that Sirius is a Wizard! Now, your whole world has to be reimagined. -This series is made of many independent snippets taken from Sirius and Muggle!Reader’s lovestory –

Word Count : 2175

Masterlist for the series - Sirius Black's Masterlist - Main Masterlist

A couple of weeks have passed, and Sirius misses you. And he hates it. He is surprised by it, too. The feeling has come out of the blue, unexpected and unwanted as it settled in his ribcage, carved his way into his heart.

He doesn’t understand it at all. He’s had only a couple of dates with you, spent two afternoons in your company, and this evening at the concert. He doesn’t know that much about you. He doesn’t know how you drink your tea, what you eat for breakfast, the colour of your eyes under the rain. And it’s making things worse, because he wants to know. He longs to ask you what’s your favourite flower and your favourite colour and how you drink your coffee…

And whenever he closes his eyes, he sees yours, wide open, so close to him, staring into his soul. And he can taste your lips on his tongue again, smell your perfume in the air…

He huffs, annoyed. He’s being ridiculous. You weren’t even together, you’ve shared a few hours and a kiss. You weren’t even his first kiss. Was he yours?

He pushes the thought away, sits up as if it’ll help his brain thinking other thoughts. It doesn’t.

“If I hear you sigh one more time, Pads, I’ll hex you so hard you’ll be sent to Antarctica.”

“You really do have to hang out less with Evans, you’re stealing her silly threats now.”

“I want to punch you in the face so hard.”

“Better, sounds more like you.”

In James’s bedroom, the sun pours in golden hues, fresh and clean and too warm. It almost burns, despite its travel through the windowpane.

Sirius is sitting on the ground, and James is splayed on his bed, a novel in his hand that he disregards in favour of his best friend.

“You really have to see her again.”

“Why? She doesn’t want to see me.”

“She doesn’t want a fling. She literally wants to see you too much for the two of you to be a meaningless fling.”

“And that’s impossible. We’ve been through this already.”

“Clearly we need to go through this one more time, because you’re still mopping…”

“I am not…”

“You are. You miss her.”

Sirius remains quiet, his back resting against James’s bed.

“You should try to see her again.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to look, I don’t know her address.”

“As if it could stop the Marauders.”

Sirius can’t refrain a tender smile.

“Yeah, you’re right. You three are as mad as I am.”

“That’s why you love us so much!” James laughs, nudging Sirius with his knee.

“Fuck off, or I’ll break your kneecaps!”

“And risk mom’s wrath? I believe you.”

Sirius merely chuckles, hiding behind a snicker the way his heart inflated with fondness. James isn’t calling Euphemia his mother anymore, but their mom. True brothers…

“She’s a muggle. We’ll leave for Hogwarts in a couple of months and…”

“Yes, I know,” James rolled his eyes. “You kind of repeat yourself these days.”

“It would be too complicated.”

“Perhaps she’s worth the complication.”

“That comes from a guy who definitely likes complications when it comes to girls…”

Sirius doesn’t finish his sentence, he’s hit by a pillow instead.

“Anyway, what I was saying is… you should try anyway. You’re missing her already.”

“That’s the whole point… what if I fall for her? Like… really fall for her?”

“Your life will get immensely more complicated. And you’ll love every second of it.”

“You and your bloody romantic antics…”

“Ha, yes, I had forgotten how our good old Padfoot is full of cynicism these days.”

Sirius checks the time, and he’s happy to offer a distraction from the current conversation. After all, James and he have to hurry up if they don’t want to be late to meet Remus and Peter at Green Park.

Still, when he’s tying his shoes, he’s still thinking about that smile of yours.

Summer is too warm this year, you wish for a fresh breeze to cool your skin, your head and your heart.

You’re still thinking about Sirius. You haven’t said a word of it to Jackie, besides telling her that it was over, that you were right and that Sirius didn’t want anything serious. It was hopeless, it would remain a silly crush on a stranger at a concert.

Your heart has other plans though. Because it aches just thinking about him. You can feel his lips on yours and your skin burns at the memory. You see his stormy eyes over and over again at night.

You miss him. You hate that fact, but you can’t deny the truth of it. You miss him, you want to see him again. Even if it means getting your life immensely complicated, even if it means letting him break your heart.

You don’t talk about it, though. What would be the point, anyway? Instead, you merely look sadder than usual, look at the sun through your sunglasses even if you shouldn’t, and try to breathe despite the longing in your chest.

Jackie has managed to drag you to Green Park, despite your terrible mood. She even managed to make you laugh, God knows how. You’re thankful for it, even if you hate it.

You’re lying in the grass, Jackie by your side is reading while you look through the branches at the blue sky and the burning sun. Your world is tainted pink by your sunglasses. You love it.

The park is busy, but you don’t mind. The unregular noises around you are numbed by the grass under you, the branches swaying gently, the superposition and mingling of voices. In the end, you barely notice the noise at all.

And it’s all relaxing, and for the first time in two weeks, your mind wanders not towards Sirius’s grey eyes but the shape of the leaves above you and you wonder how soft they can be up there, caressed only by the wind, before their fall.

Your quiet thoughts are interrupted though, by a frisbee landing right onto your stomach. You’re startled as it passes before your face and the next second rests on your abdomen; you let out a little shriek, that makes Jackie jump as well.

You sit up in a hurry, fumbling with the plastic toy. Damn, what kind of idiotic twat is clumsy enough to throw their frisbee on people…

You turn around, ready to throw hands with the culprit… when you’re left blinking instead.

A boy in a dark t-shirt is running towards you, freezing as he recognizes you.

Bullocks…

“Y/N?”

Sirius blinks. Once, twice, thrice, but you’re still here, sitting in the grass. He can’t help the smile that forms on his lips.

You look so beautiful, so adorable with your pink glasses…

“I…”

You look down at the frisbee, hand it over to him in a hurry without meeting his eyes.

“Oh, yeah… sorry about that. James is terrible at this game. He’s wearing his glasses, and still can’t aim for shit.”

His attempt at humour is met by a heavy silence and a terrible drop of his heart.

He looks down, cheeks burning, and not only because of his run. He takes the frisbee with a quiet thanks and is ready to walk away again when…

“Hey! Isn’t that your girl, Padfoot?”

You see Sirius wincing as a tall boy with glasses runs to him, half jumping on Sirius’s back as he comes to a stop by his side.

He shoots you and Jackie a grin.

“Hi! I’m James! And you must be Y/N!”

You nod, but can’t seem to find your voice. Jackie introduces herself, struggling not to laugh at you as you steal glances towards Sirius but look away every time his eyes meet yours. Meanwhile, Remus and Peter have joined the small group, introduced themselves, and are now quietly laughing at Sirius’s flushed cheeks, along with the fact that he can’t look away from you.

He's missed you. So terribly. He was a fool. He wants you so badly. He can recall the taste of your lips, and he longs for it now more than ever.

But he shakes himself out of his trance as he hears Remus asking if they can join you and your friend.

“These idiots have never played frisbee before, and I’m tired of trying to teach them. They’re desperate cases, at this point.”

“Thanks, Moony,” James mumbles under his breath, along with something about talent and a weird word… quid… something. You guess it must be a Scottish sport, as Sirius said he went to school there.

Why is he going to a school so far from home though?

You shake yourself. You don’t care. You don’t care about Sirius, about his friends, about their school, or about how the sun shines on Sirius’s magnificent eyelashes. You are about to decline the offer when Jackie grins and accepts… the traitor…

And you hate the rest of this afternoon. You hate it because everything goes smoothly. Sirius’s friends are a little weird but hilarious and nice. And Sirius is a little quieter than usual, but you’ve noticed the way his eyes linger on you, the way he can’t help staring…

And you hate it because you long for his gaze on you. Because you let your eyes drift towards his frame too. Because you feel happy and excited now that he’s near again. Because you want to kiss the cigarette taste away from his lips as he puffs out some smoke.

He catches you smiling dreamily as you look at his earing shining in the summer sun, and you hate the smirk that forms across his features as you shy away under his stare.

Damn, this charming boy…

And the afternoon passes too quickly, too soon already the sun has begun setting, and the park is about to close. You need to go home, and you don’t want to. You need to say farewell to Sirius all over again, and you don’t want to. And you hate him for that…

But as you’re about to part, about to say goodbye to turn around and never see him again, Sirius reaches for your hand, stare too intense to let you escape.

“Can we talk? Just for a minute?”

You struggle to swallow the lump in your throat, but nod anyway.

And you hate the look Jackie throws at you, the knowing kind. You hate everything about today. You hate the softness of Sirius’s palm, the gentleness of his hold as he pulls you away from the group, the warmth of his skin spreading under yours.

You hate everything about him. You hate him… you hate him…

When he turns around, a wild strand of hair swings across his cheek, escaping from his bun, and you hate it too. You hate how good he looks right now, how you long to reach out and brush the hair behind his ear…

“Can I be brutally honest?”

He stares at you intensely again, and there’s confidence in his stature, in the way he leans towards you, in the urgency of his tone. Still, his voice trembles.

“Sure, go ahead.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I want you.”

Your eyes grow round at that, and you hate him. You hate him because you like hearing these words coming from his mouth, because you want nothing but to kiss him…

“I know that last time we… we decided not to see each other again, but… the truth is, I want you. And I… I want us to give it a shot.”

“Sirius, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know, but…”

“I haven’t changed my mind.”

“I have.”

You stop breathing altogether, your heart skips a few beats, and you hate it. You hate it so much you want to cry.

“I’ve changed my mind. I want to try this.”

“Are you playing with me?”

“No, I’m not.”

And you hate the fact that you can read in his eyes that he’s telling the truth.

“I want to try. I like you. A lot. And… these past couple of weeks… and seeing you again today, I’ve realized… I want to give this a try. Let’s go on another date.”

“But Sirius…”

“Give me another chance,” he interrupts you, taking a step closer. “Please… please give me another chance.”

And you want to say no. You want to slap him and you hate him because you’ve been hoping, dreaming of this moment even, and desperately so. And you hate yourself because you want to say yes, and you can’t help the words that pass your lips even if they’re so unbearably unwise.

“Okay,” you nod. “But you won’t get a third.”

He grins.

“Friday?”

Slowly, you nod.

“Friday.”

Before you can ask where you will meet, Sirius has reached up to cup your face, and has crushed his lips to yours.

And as you lose your fingers through his hair and melt into his arms, you love every second of it…

*************************************

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic @hells-escapees @cloudbroomblog @omgrachwrites

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black series #hp fanfic #the marauders #the marauders era #the marauders fandom #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #hp fanfiction #fanfic #writing #fanfiction

[colorguardsweetheartblurrsgirl]

Happy Everything....

No I'm not gone... Just Busy... Busy... Busy... But eh, what else has changed/is new.

Happy Belated mothers day to all you wonderful mothers whether that's Furbabies/Feathered babies or of the little kid kind.

I have to admit I gave the most Mothers Day/Early/Belated Mother's Day Hugs I have in a long while thanks to my new work. My prior work really didn't allow this unless someone initiated it first.... So it kinda was amazing. i can also thank a unexpected coworker to help me break past these long held barriers on a job and branch out into more personal means in my line of work.

I know I keep leaving Busy messages but I mean it. I'm sorry for any birthdays and Holiday wishes I've missed giving out since my last update.

Like I said I hope to make more a update comic then spelling things all out here to keep it short.

I admit I probably felt some Winter Drawls and well was getting used to the energy I was using weekly. (I'm walking like 13,000-20,000 steps at least four times a week which means I'm getting over the recommended 40,000 steps a week walking for exercise...) So that said been loosing wait and growing back muscles I really hadn't realized lost their oomph a while ago.... back. So my off days were trying to get a normal flow and used to days not expending so much energy.

There were good and some emotionally draining things that happened but mostly I've moved passed the negative.

Other updates, had an amazing date with a guy I've been in communications with for a while. I think it went well and we're looking to going on more. Although our schedules really are iffy for such I think we both want to make it work. He's a fellow writer which is kinda how we connected and our love for certain themes. And honestly after our first date while I was worried about this or that, it was the first time in a while that I've dated a guy who held a conversation even more then me, and didn't make me in some way feel weird on a first date... Actually scratch that first guy in my history of dating since at least late high school, who on the first date didn't give me any creepy vibes or make me question what I thought a date should be like or how one interacts on them. Since the early days even talking with him my way of talking with him for no reason just seems so natural. I'm not sure I'm smitten exactly, I'm still trying to figure it out. But, honestly this guys a breath of fresh air in the several/manyish first dates I've had...

So sometimes my focus was on some more personal matters then working on art. I've done little things. And as I plan to address in my update comic eventually (Hopefully I get to it and release it in the next few weeks or months). Honestly, whats taking the time is this is just a big project and when I started I knew that, but as it's grown I realize it's going to take time. I've centered my attention to focusing on chapters, namely the early ones I still have a family member with connections who wishes to read. I've been focusing on cleaning these up most which takes time. I'm really happy with the story STRY has become and has grown into.

I do plan to release art work, and stuff in the future again. It's just been a little slow while I've adapted to my new schedule.

I have ideas of either in the near future or closer to the the comic and some chapter releases to hype up the book (and I mean of course creating the comic in release itself too) in the early parts of the books finality or even the comic chapter releases (and novel chapter releases) to have "OUT OF CONTEX" meme post releases. It's a recent concept I've come up with to keep things going between stuff. But I also don't want to do this so much that I risk giving away to much even if one liners... OR risk running out of memable out of context stuff to use/or boring you with too much to soon or all at once... (Hopefully that makes sense).

Anyways another long update out of the way. I hope to see you soon. I do plan to release my art from last year soon I kept promising. It's just gotta finish the last few touches and such...

Otherwise...

See you guys soon.

Take care

TALK AGAIN SOON!

#henry stickmin collection #someone to remember #someone to remember you #thsc #thsc au #the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin ask blog #updates #update #webcomic update #whats up #life update #hey i'm back #i'm still here #i'm still alive

[roseserpentpress]

Third of the four mock Icha Icha novels that are Kakashi x Iruka fanfiction anthologies. As there is no design for this cover, I was allowed to go buck wild for the colour scheme, and well... Immediately, I decided to go for something obnoxious.

The theme for this volume was, as that the title was termed Icha Icha Innocence, relating to domesticity/family. Part of me thought it would be funny for it to be more explicit, in irony, but in the end I hadn't done a found family collection, and as that is a large trope within kakairu, I figured that would work better.

Links for the posts to: Icha Icha Paradise, Icha Icha Violence, Icha Icha Tactics and the series master post.

List and links to fanfiction included below:

Starts with a Bang (4k, T)

The quickest way to a ninja's heart is with a good explosive tag.

Sneak Peek (4.5k, G)

A very young Kakashi gets a hold of a scroll that allows him a sneak peek in to his distant future. It's not what he expected to see.

A Shortcut to Marriage (7k, G)

“It was a quiet ceremony.” Iruka tells the man with the air of someone who says such things all the time. “There was a war on; it didn’t seem appropriate to celebrate. And the Rokudaime is a private person. It isn’t unreasonable for him to keep his personal life quiet for his partner’s safety. Especially considering Konoha’s…. checkered history with the lifespan of Kage spouses.”

“And how do you know about this arrangement if it is such a national secret?”

Iruka takes a deep breath, preparing to make his boldest claim yet. His mouth opens, ready to say that he and Kakashi are close, personal friends when…

“You can hardly marry a man without telling him about it.”

All of the air leaves Iruka’s lungs in a rush as Kakashi uses his big, dumb, mouth to ruin everything.

Mail Order What? (8.6k, T)

When Kakashi agreed to be on Minato and Kushina’s wills and care for Naruto if anything should happen to them he didn’t believe it would ever happen. At the advice of friends he decides hiring an au pair is his only option. Iruka might be his only hope, but the cute teacher comes with his own problems. Can the three of them really make it work?

He Needs You (10k, E)

Hatake Kakashi, Konoha's retired Hokage, finds his former assistant, Umino Iruka, wounded and in need of comfort.

Or does Kakashi need something from Iruka?

A road leading home to you (13k, T)

There are benches near the gates of Konoha where people wait for their loved ones to return from missions. Kakashi is used to ignoring them; it’s been a long time since someone has taken anything more than a professional interest in his comings and goings.

Let Me Take This Coat and This Weight Off of Your Shoulders (16k, T)

Iruka invites Kakashi over for dinner. This has some unexpected consequences.

Kitsune no Iruka (18.5k, T)

Naruto is not the only jinchuuriki in the village. Kakashi/Iruka.

Family Recipe (22k, T)

“Naruto is a person with a name,” Iruka snapped, already way past the limit of his patience for the day. Funny, how he could spend all day with small children, but a single council meeting wore him down to the bone. “Use it.”

“Hmm.”

For a long second, Iruka thought that he was about to die. And then Hatake’s eye curled in a friendly crinkle, an approximation of a smile.

“You’ll do,” Hatake said.

*** 5 times Kakashi & Iruka tried to be a normal family for Naruto + 1 time they were a full on ninja family ***

#bookbinding #fanfiction #ficbinding #renegade bindery #rose serpent bindery #rose serpent press #hatake kakashi/umino iruka #kakashi #kakashi hatake #umino iruka #icha icha #icha icha innocence #icha icha paradise #icha icha violence #kakairu #kakashi x iruka fanfic #kakashi x iruka fanfiction #kakashi x iruka #kakairu fanfic recommendations #fanfic recs #kakairu fanfic recs

[heartshapedbubble]

I was wondering if I could request some novelist with an s/o who has the occupation of being an assassin and headcanons about the first impressions and how they develop a crush on them

I'M SO HAPPY IM FINALLY GETTING ORPHY ASKS !!!!! here you go anon B)

also small cw for mentions of murder/blood

orpheus with an assassin s/o hcs📕

orpheus is perhaps one of the most mysterious people in the manor since he doesn't have a lot of friends, nor does he interact with a lot of people

it's no different when you appear in the manor - however, orpheus is VERY good at reading people, and can sense if someone's too dangerous to be near them

even though he never directly approached you, you could see him lurking around the shadowy corners of the manor, his eyes following you each time you walked through the corridors

he's very fascinated, indeed, but doesn't want to approach you first since you seem like the type of person that doesn't tolerate any bullshit (/hj)

...sooo your initial proper meeting would be in a place where orpheus lurks often (aka the library)

you approached him, asking if he had a book you were trying to borrow

he leads you towards a bookcase, and as you're inspecting the covers, you hear him slowly yet clearly whisper behind you

"i thought things like books were not an assassin's field of interest."

you turned around, dumbfounded - how could he possibly know? it's something you've been keeping a secret from even your closest friends, for god's sake. he didn't even interact with you once during your time in the manor. something was up

you slowly approached him, muttering: "i... don't know who told you that, or how do you know, but all i'm asking from you is to keep it a secret." your hand roamed your thigh, taking out a sharpened switchblade and pointing it at him. "that secret goes into the grave with both me and you."

he was unphased, his neutral, lost-in-thought expression still in tact even after your threat. "i'm fine with that. alright then, you can continue searching. i'm only glad i clarified my suspicions."

after that orpheus wasn't to be seen around, yet you felt like he was constantly watching you, making you randomly shiver and look around in fear

yet one day, you hear an unexpected knock on the door, and oh boy guess who it is?? your brand new secret keeper in the flesh - orpheus himself

he just came to give you a book he thought you'd like - still weird. but as you open the first page, a letter falls out

it's undoubtedly his sharp, curved writing, the words confessing of how he sensed (and deduced) that you were an assassin, and an apology for the scare he gave you

it was peculiar, but you found yourself frequently turning towards the library afzer that, inhaling the smell of book paper and watching orpheus scrape the yellowed paper with his quill as if he was a precise machine

you decide to start chatting with him to pass the time

once his stern façade slowly dropped, you both realized it was really pleasant talking to each other - orpheus was like a crypted safe filled with treasure, and with each of his witty sentences and remarks you heard a click

he likes writing detective novels and often casually asks you detailed things about murder, or inspects your blades (if you let him)

"___, is hitting someone with a blunt object and blaming it on internal bleeding due to high blood pressure a good way to murder someone without getting caught?" "i suppose so. it depends on the other factors." "splendid."

he's not the best with speaking to someone in person so he confesses to you via letters - his letters could truly be considered his magnum opus. he puts so much love in them, every single sentence making you red and showing his love in the purest way possible

even though he's a romantic at heart pushing out his cute side will take some time

his love language is a mix of giving gifts and quality time - he's incredibly thoughtful with every gift he gives you, from a first-release edition of your favourite book from an antique shop, to a bouquet of your favorite flowers and to a small blade with a beautiful painted handle. of course, he likes both giving and receiving words of affirmation too, but he does it best on paper

if you're touchy it might take some time for him to get comfortable so he starts off with simple gestures like wrapping his arms around your waist or resting his head on your shoulder when he's behind you (it's his favorite thing in the world :'D)

just give him lots of time and space to get comfortable around you, he's truly a great partner and probably the best person you can be next to <3

#identity v #idv #idv headcanons #idv imagines #identity v headcanons #idv fanfic #identity v x reader #idv scenarios #idv x reader #identity v x you #idv orpheus #identity v orpheus #idv novelist #identity v novelist #orpheus idv #novelist idv #novelist identity v

[cupidstwin333]

I'd like a matchup for Diabolik Lovers and Black Butler, please~

I'm a 27 years old kindergarten teacher and use she/her pronouns, and I'm heterosexual. Originally I'm from Germany, so my native language is German but my English is very good as well. I can also speak French. My wish is to learn Latin someday. I'm a Virgo sun, Taurus moon with a Sagittarius rising. My MBIT is INTJ and I'm a 5w6.

I've got long brown hair paired with green-grey eyes and a round face. I'm 5'7 tall and I'm actually overweight though that isn't really that seeable as I naturally have big thighs, wide hips and a big booty - but a small bust. Genuinely not liking my shape. I'm very near-sighted, so I always wear rectangular glasses.

My personality is... Boring. I'm your typical party pooper. I got a stick up in my ass and I don't know how to have fun. I'm a hard working individual, very intelligent. I'm more of a quiet person and don’t talk *that* much actually, I'm also a very serious person. Jokes, sarcasm and irony are hard for me. I don't understand them. I'm very socially awkward and heavily struggle with emotions and socializing in general - I'm autistic. I'm always trying my best to be polite and respectful and I expect that from other people as well. I do try to be understanding and sympathetic but I struggle. I don't like being around too many people. I prefer animals especially cats. I'm quite of a loner and introverted.

Likes: books, science (mainly chemistry and biology), psychology, medicine, wolves, dragons, board games (chess, I love chess; and other), tea (really like black tea, Earl Grey, fruit tea), video games, history, dinosaurs, pasta dishes, children, vanilla smell

Dislikes: laziness, rude people, heat, my cat allergy (I adore cats but I'm allergic it's an endless struggle of being around them but at the same time being heavily allergic), potatoes, sports, Maths, fish, cooking by myself (I can't cook, at all), yelling, screaming,

Hobbys: reading (novels, book about cats, wolves, dinosaurs, psychology, biology...), writing (storys, poems mainly), gaming, playing the piano

Passion: personally they're actually special interests, so that'd be cats (I can and will infodump about them), Pokémon and Lord of the Rings

Thank youuu~~

After a long time of thinking 💭 your match is...

Carla Tsukinami

How it started:

Carla Tsukinami, the enigmatic First Blood vampire, had always been a man of duty and pride, rarely showing his true emotions to anyone. He was known for his cold demeanor and his unwavering commitment to his race and family. But fate has a way of surprising even the most stoic of beings.

One crisp autumn afternoon, as Carla wandered the streets of a quiet European town, he happened upon a quaint kindergarten. Curiosity piqued, he peered through the window and saw you. Your glasses framed your green-grey eyes, and your long brown hair gave you a gentle air of serenity. Carla, always drawn to intelligence, was captivated.

You, the serious and reserved teacher, were an anomaly to Carla. He was accustomed to loud and emotional women, but you were different. Your quiet demeanor and love for books and science intrigued him. He watched from the shadows as you taught the children, your patience and kindness evident in every interaction. As weeks passed, Carla found himself visiting the kindergarten more frequently, always observing you from afar. One day, he approached you, his voice as cold as ever, and asked about your passion for science. To his surprise, you began to explain chemistry and biology, your eyes lighting up with a rare enthusiasm.

Over time, Carla's visits became more frequent, and he even found himself joining you in a game of chess, a game you loved. Slowly, a bond formed between the proud vampire and the introverted teacher. Carla, with his sense of duty to his race, knew he had to be careful. But he couldn't deny the warmth he felt in your presence, a feeling he had long suppressed. And so, an unexpected love story began to unfold—one where duty and pride met with quiet intelligence and acceptance, proving that even the most unlikely of pairs could find happiness in each other's company.

General headcanons:

💘Your shared love for board games, especially chess, became a bonding activity for both of you.

💘One of your favorite pastimes together was visiting the local library. Carla was amazed by your vast knowledge of books and often listened attentively as you discussed various topics, from history to psychology.

💘You introduced Carla to the world of video games, and he surprised you by picking up gaming quickly.

💘Your passion for animals, especially cats and wolves, resonates with Carla's love for creatures of the night.

William T. Spears

How it started:

In the dimly lit streets of Victorian-era London, where fog veiled the city in mystery, William T. Spears, continued his somber existence. His duties as a grim reaper were performed with unwavering precision, never swayed by emotions or distractions. One gloomy afternoon, fate intertwined his path with yours. You, the serious and introverted kindergarten teacher with a passion for books and science, were on your way home from the local library. Your rectangular glasses perched on your nose, you clutched a stack of books close to your chest. As you passed a quiet alley, you stumbled, books scattering across the cobblestones. You sighed in annoyance, you just had to drop your books near a creepy alleyway.

That's when William, with his usual composed demeanor, appeared like a shadowy sentinel. Without a word, he bent to help you collect your precious tomes, his long fingers deftly arranging them. Your green-grey eyes met his, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. You, the socially awkward soul, found yourself strangely drawn to this enigmatic figure. His aloofness mirrored your own serious disposition, creating an unspoken understanding.

Over the weeks, your chance encounters became deliberate meetings. William, intrigued by your intellect and your quiet fascination with all things scientific, found himself venturing out of his rigid world to accompany you to the library or sit in silence as you immersed yourself in a book. You introduced him to the joys of chess, a game that demanded strategy and focus, and he embraced it with the same precision he applied to his duties. Slowly, a bond formed between you, bridging the gap between his stoicism and your social awkwardness.

Though you struggled with sarcasm and irony, he appreciated your honesty and sincerity. Your passion for cats, Pokémon, and Lord of the Rings fascinated him, and he was an eager listener to your infodumps. (Let’s pretend those things already existed back in the Victorian era).

In the end, it was the quiet moments, the stolen glances, and the shared interests that revealed the depths of your affection. Your love story, though unconventional, bloomed like a fragile flower in the shadow of death, a testament that even the most serious souls can find love in the unlikeliest of places.

General headcanons:

💘William's appreciation for precision and strategy aligns perfectly with your love for chess.

💘William invites you over for tea parties. You soon discover that he has a soft spot for Earl Grey, which you both enjoy together.

💘In your quest to learn Latin, you decide to study together. This shared goal brings you even closer as you work through the intricacies of the language.

💘While cats, Pokémon, and Lord of the Rings might not be William's primary interests, he supports you in pursuing your passions wholeheartedly.

I’d appreciate it if you’d reblog this, and I hope you enjoyed reading this <3

#matchups #diabolik lovers karlheinz #diabolik boys #diabolik lovers #diaboys #f/o x self insert #f/o community #f/o imagines #romantic f/o #carla tsukinami #diabolik lovers matchup #black butler matchup #mha matchups #perfect match #fanfiction #obeyme matchup #diabolik lovers headcanons #cupidcore #black butler fanfiction #black butler headcanons #william t. spears

[actualbird]

hypothetical fights i want to see between the tot cast cuz it’d be fun to see how they’d fair in a fight to the death (just kidding. i mean a friendly fight as an appreciation of combat skills)

inspired by a convo i had with @samsspambox . i’d like to make it clear that when i say 'fight' here i mean a physical fight, a scuffle, some good ol fashioned "nothing personal just wanna see who would win" FISTICUFFS!!!!

with no weapons allowed, heres who i'd pay good money to see go at each other with only their unarmed martial expertise

-

The Battling Butler VS Agent Raven (aka ogier vs luke)

ogier is so badass. i love a fighty dude and hes dressed to the nines and he hilariously drags vyn every once in a while, whats not to love?

but yeah, clear in my memory is his combat prowess in vyn’s personal story 4. i dont know anything about ogier past that, but given that he was sent as a guard from svart by vyn’s father, i can only assume his training is of the royal guard quality type of level. thats intense!

though we also know luke is ALSO INSANELY INTENSE....

i think a spar between them would be really fucking close, irt who bests who. luke is NSB’s top agent, but i assume ogier is incredibly well trained also, youve gotta be Damn Good to be a guard of anyone remotely of royal importance

so like, what luke has got going in his favor is his NSB training obviously but also

luke has youth on his side

HSKJHFDKVJHGVSD HEAR ME OUT! aside from his illness, hes at the top of his game in terms of prime age range for physical peak, did u kno that the average age for olympic competitors is early 20s? well now u know. body can be in good shape at this point, thats a plus for him and a not-plus for ogier. idk how old ogier is (and i cant find out cuz he doesnt even have a Big Data Lab entry omfg the man the mystery the LEGEND) but he looks Older, a little past his prime. even skill cant negate the woes of aging.

buuuuuut ogier has a trump card: his training was probably completely different to anything luke is used to.

now we dont know very much about luke’s days in the NSB, but i get the impression that his work was Generally Within The Country Of Stellis OR Generally Handling People Who Are Stellans.

ogier is not a stellan. hes svartan. or svartish. or however the hell we decide to conjugate the nationality of svart. additionally, i can see it being a huge advantage for svartan guards to be keeping their training/fighting style under wraps. if opponents dont know how you’ll fight, u can catch em unaware

ogier’s fight style and tactics could be completely novel to luke, which would knock luke down a peg (both figuratively and metaphorically).

still, luke is adaptable and hes got a quick and intuitive mind. while he cant fight exactly like ogier, he’d be able to recover and figure out his own way of countering ogier’s attacks

with all that said, my personal verdict of who would win is.....//drumroll!!

nobody!

it’s a tie!

and luke enthusiastically brings ogier out for drinks later, he hasnt been tied in a match for years and hes kinda giddy about it!

(luke: you have to teach me some of your moves sometime, yeah?

ogier: of course. and perhaps you could encourage vyn to join this class as well? haha.

luke: haha.

ogier: haha.

luke: hahaha.....no. im pretty sure vyn is capable of destroying me psychologically, im not making him do anything he doesnt wanna do, thanks.

ogier: fair enough)

-

The Battling Butler VS The Perplexingly Over-Capable Assistant (aka ogier vs vincent)

remember when luke in main story 7.2 said this in the case files?

yeah. YEAH IVE GOT MY EYE ON YOU, VINCENT KIM!!!

vincent’s investigative prowess aside, i just think it makes sense for vincent to have some kind of combat knowledge for the following reasons:

1) currently, marius has nearly gotten stabbed a total of three (3) times. while marius has his own self defense knowledge, i wouldnt put it past vincent to get some training in as well juuuuusssstt in case knife-magnet von hagen gets into hot water again.

2) it’s unexpected. vincent does not look the type to punch anybody in the face, and thus i want him to be capable of a mean right hook

3) if nobody expects u to throw a punch, that punch can land way easier.

that being said, i dont think he’ll beat ogier at all. my view is that vincent took some classes and that his self defense training is a little bit above marius’ skill level, but it’s nothing that can go against a trained royal bodyguard

still, ogier can be caught unaware. vincent maybe gets like a few hits in before ogier takes him down

so my verdict is: ogier would win but would be very impressed by vincent for managing to fool him

(vincent: oh, i wasnt...aiming to fool you?

ogier: hm. i think that adds points for you, actually)

-

Baldr Civil War (aka howard syter vs william lewis)

ive got no rationale for this

i just think theyre hilariously pathetic and i wanna see them fight in a hilariously pathetic way, like the one scene in Bridget Jones’ Diary

absolute cringefail combat, this is what i WANT

maybe whoever loses has to be the one to face mc in court next, and neither of them wanna be the poor shmuck to have to get annihilated by her again

my verdict: ingrid has to break the fight up (which is happening in the baldr legal office lobby) and everybody involved loses. everybody loses their dignity

#tears of themis #tears of themis headcanons #luke pearce #idk if the others have common tags so i'll just tag luke some more LMAO #tot luke

[sunshine-overload]

[BSTS] Zakuro Alt Stage 4* Card Story

(note: Team C’s show is based on ‘Dogra Magra’ a novel by Yumeno Kyūsaku. It follows a protagonist who has lost all his memories and sense of self. The heroine in the show is Moyoko. ‘Daydream’ is the translated title of the event song.)

chapter 1 -voice training room-

zakuro: ….Hm. Really, what should I do about this.

saki: Is something the matter?

zakuro: It is quite embarrassing but once again my melody was in disarray and all over the place. My word, this is starting to become a dire situation. Like the futility of a crushed egg.

saki: I thought your voice sounded as nice as always though…

zakuro: Even your comforting words right now are in vain.

saki: (Zakuro-san really must be feeling unwell…)

zakuro: I’ll just be going around in circles if I continue trying in this state, I’d be no better than a dog chasing its tail. Please allow me to take a short break.

saki: Yes, please rest for a bit.

zakuro: I’m going to go and buy something to drink, excuse me.

-zakuro leaves and returns-

zakuro: …….

saki: Um, Zakuro-san… Are you ok? If you’re not feeling well then…

zakuro: My my, your concern is so deeply kind. Actually, I have an unrelated query I would like to ask you. —What kind of existence am I to you?

saki: Huh? …Why do you want to know something like that?

zakuro: I mean nothing strange by it, I simply want to break through this predicament of mine. No matter what I do, this life of mine is an empty cicada shell. If the advantage to this emptiness is nothing more than being able to sing in a matching melody to a song then… If I’ve lost my only unique ability then this body will be crushed by its own hollowness and fade away.

saki: Fade away… but that’s…

zakuro: The only way to perceive yourself when your existence is ambiguous both inside and out, is by viewing it through the eyes of another. I’d like you to tell me what I am, so, what would your answer be?

saki: Let’s see… I think that you’re Team C’s indispensable singer.

zakuro: Well well… I’ll humbly accept that unexpected sentiment of yours.

saki: Um, does that help you at all?

zakuro: Of course, it’s as if good news is reverberating down from the heavens. I shall etch your words into my very being. Now then… I guess it is high time I attempt to tackle this difficult melody once more.

saki: I think it may be best if you stop rehearsing and rest for today…

zakuro: No no, I’ve just changed my mind. I think this ambiguous state I’m in is quite fitting for this melody that provokes insanity. For now, I’d like to engrave my singing into your memory as much as I can. Please give me a bit more of your time, my sweet little bird of destiny.

-

chapter 2 -backstage-

saki: (I wonder if Zakuro-san is feeling better now…)

zakuro: My my, it seems the little bird has wandered off and lost her way.

saki: Zakuro-san!

zakuro: Could it be you’ve come to wish me success in the show before the curtain rises?

saki: I’ve just been worried about you…

zakuro: My my, that’s unexpected, you’ve really been worrying for my sake? Well well, what surprisingly good fortune, I’m thankful to the point of being indebted to you.

saki: I’m glad, you seem to have returned to your usual self again, Zakuro-san.

zakuro: How shameful of me it is to have clouded your kind heart with unease. If a certain devotee of yours were to hear of this I’d be sentenced to being torn limb from limb.

saki: (I wonder who he’s talking about…)

-cg

zakuro: …Still, this show really is like a ‘daydream’ to me. Body swaying and everything being hazy as if I were sleepwalking… In a state where one is prone to mistakenly identifying themselves with another. Please tell me little bird, just what do you think my true existence is?

saki: Um, that’s the same thing you asked me the other day, isn’t it?

zakuro: …….

zakuro: How strange, I apologise for repeating myself. Though, I’m happy to know that you pay enough attention to remember my foolish ramblings. You truly are the one and only ‘Moyoko’ for me.

-cg gone

zakuro: …The curtain should be rising soon.

saki: I’ll go and return to my seat then. Please do your best in tonight’s performance.

zakuro: I’m on the stage… you’re in the audience. And yet, it’s as if there is nothing that separates us. Let us both enjoy ourselves, on this journey into a world abundant with bizarre happenings.

—end

#bsts zakuro #bsts translation

[seldnei]

Taking stock of the writing: 2023

For any new followers: this is my annual post about my writing in the past year.  This is purely for my own mental health–the tag says “seldnei is tired of feeling like a slacker” for a reason.  Please feel free to skip.

So what did I accomplish in 2023?

Well, it was a helluva year, again.  We’ve acquired another teenager, with all that entails, which is a good thing overall but definitely added some chaos.  My boss retired earlier than expected, so day job went sideways for a while.  My cousin died, which was entirely unexpected.  My father died, which was both more and less unexpected.  Also the eldest BFF’s mom died, which was not traumatic for me, per se, but being able to spend a week with him was, like acquiring Q, a good thing surrounded by chaos.  Oh, and Z got his ADHD diagnosis, which has triggered some interesting realizations about the assumed neurotypicality of everyone in the household.  We are, in fact, that family who said, “But that can’t be a ‘disorder’; everyone is like that, right?”

I am exhausted, and my brain feels not only full but occasionally like it’s eating itself with self-analysis.

BUT.  I am here.  And I wrote things.

Stories/Poems/Etc.

Finished the second Exorcist story, and decided it did need to be mashed up with the first one.  I dunno, it’s still cuter than I like. 

Did the requested rewrite on the Teachout camel story, and got rejected again (I vaguely recall this as another rewrite request, but I could be wrong and can’t be arsed to dig through my email right now). I kind of think this editor and I have fundamentally different ideas as to what these stories are.  Keep this in mind as I get into future plans, btw, as it was a contributing factor.

Wrote some more TMA fanfic.

“And the Forest Sings of Secrets and the Dead” for FUCKIT, which prompted the best review of all time from Q: “What the fuck, Laura?”

“The Modern Eurydice: with Leto in the Mountains of Delos,” also for FUCKIT, which is probably my favorite thing I wrote this year.  I really hope there are more modern Eurydice stories somewhere in my head, because I loved writing this one and the first one.

Poetry:

“Elpis at the Farmer’s market” for FUCKIT

“4am, April 2023,” also for FUCKIT, the poem my husband wants to frame and put on the wall

Random bits and bobs in my notebook

I wrote three podcast scripts because I really want to make a podcast. 

Script one is a monologue type thing, continuing my explorations of ghosts and terrible mothers.

Scripts two and three are the first two episodes of a short series that adapts the not!Tempest/not!Mosquito Coast/not!Island of Dr Moreau thing I’ve been fucking around with for like four years now.  I think three more scripts and I’ll have the series completed, and then I can turn my attention to things like casting and recording and editing and hosting and posting and dear lord what the fuck.

 I started a bunch of other things:

The baseball/ghost romance novella, where I am trying out iterative outlining.

Some abortive attempts to find my way into my post-apocalypse cunning folk thing

A start and some notes for a gothic horror story that I probably will get back to in a while (watch this space in, like, three years)

Other Stuff

“An Oral History: The Dead Queen at 1223 Murchison Row” sold and came out in Artifice & Craft. 

I created my author website, which I’m still very pleased with.  Also did some blogging, but not as much as I would have liked.  Still, not sure when I had time?

Submitted things sporadically.

Kept up my morning writing routine, though it did have some disruptions here and there and the time got a little compressed.  But the biggest thing, I think, is that I kept going.  There was a lot of stuff going on in my life this year, and I wrote through it all.

Novel and Goals for 2024

Okay, this is where we get into the stuff that makes me nervous.

So the novel is on a second round of reading at a publisher.  This is taking forever, but the publisher has also posted periodically that they’re still working their way through subs, and frankly, I am entirely willing to let them do their thing because, as I said last year, I think this might be the absolute worst time to try and find an agent or publisher.  This is one of like two sparks of interest I have gotten for a book that a professional editor says is very good, so … yeah, we will let that lie.  Additionally, I’ve been reading some stuff from established trad authors who are also  having issues selling things, and I’m like … uuuggghhh.

Bearing that in mind … I’m going to start looking at and dipping my toe into self-publishing this year.  Guys, I am so tired of thinking about what an editor might or might not find appealing enough to publish; I want to write my weird little stories and have people read them.  I don’t even care if it’s just my friends and I only sell, like, three copies of anything.  I have long since resigned myself to never being a full-time writer, so while extra cash would be nice, it’s not something I desperately need.  (That said, I am going to be selling my work because it’s work, so.  But I have thoughts about discount codes and freebies, so we’ll see how it goes.)  I’d like to be able to hire an editor, commission covers, that kind of thing, though, so I’m also thinking about starting a Patreon to help fund those aspects of it, with rewards and all that good stuff.

So I can publish the novellas and short story collections, and if the publisher passes on my manuscript, I can publish the Teachout book and start writing the second one.

This is the scary part, though.  Am I too scattered to make something like this work?  What if no one has any interest? What about pirates (both cyber and sailor)?  Will I annoy people with self-promo?  Will people in my circle think less of me?  (Do I care about the people who would think less of me for doing this?) How will this affect my other writing?  OH GOD HOW DOES THIS AFFECT MY TAXES?!

I think I can do it.  I might ask y’all for cheerleading here and there.  I have a planner and Mr. Seldnei.

Every time I think about it and get scared, I think second Teachout book no matter what happens and I’m like … yeah. Yeah, I think I need to at least try.

So, goals for 2024:

FUCKIT subs

finish this baseball thing

Podcast

Patreon (?)

Self-publishing

AAAAAAAAAAA.

#seldnei writes things #seldnei is tired of feeling like a slacker #state of the writing #if i post it on social media i have to do it #encouragement welcome #cw: death

[dreams-and-drabbles]

Hello Gorgeous! ❀

May I request some Thoma x reader? Let's say that reader has been crushing on Thoma for some time but is too shy to confess, said crush being obvious to everyone with eyes, but Thoma.

Ayaka being friends with both, wants to help them get together, so she sends them on a date disguised as completing the list of tasks she was supposed to do but can't at the moment because she "fell sick".

(Bonus points if it's at least a little suggestive and we later see Ayaka's reaction to the outcome of her plan ❀).

That's it, Love you and Thank you from the mountain! ❀

★彡 Lemme just say that I adore the prompt almost as much as I adore you! Just kidding ~! I adore you wayyyyy more!!! :3

Ayaka thought of [F/N] and Thoma, a small frown on her face.

She’d had enough of the two of them…

She’d been more than patient, but they were both so oblivious to each other!

Especially, Thoma!!! He was worse than one of those dense protagonists from light novels—!

She’d had no other choice than to take action, for the sake of her own peace of mind.

[F/N] and Ayaka had been friends since childhood, and Ayaka was tired of hearing about how much they liked Thoma.

She adored [F/N], but somehow or another Thoma always seemed to come up in their conversations…

They needed to get together, or at least settle things with each other.

As such, she’d taken the liberty of setting Thoma and [F/N] up on a date of sorts…

One of the servants knocked on the door, her voice soft as she spoke.

“Lady Kamisato, I delivered your list to [F/N] and Thoma. I hope you recover soon…”

Ayaka withheld the urge to laugh.

She was supposed to be sick, after all…

Still, if her list served its intended purpose she’d be feeling much better.

Thoma eyed the list from Ayaka, his expression thoughtful. “It says to try out the new Restaurant…”

[F/N] had been staring at the bag of Mora in their hand, before they glanced up at Thoma’s words. “You’re kidding, right? Let me see.”

Thoma handed [F/N] the list with a small smile, before furrowing his brows in thought.

“My Lady sometimes takes it upon herself to check on the state of things. Still, she hasn’t done something like this before. I wonder if something is wrong?”

Thoma spoke, his tone holding a note of concern.

[F/N] read the list with narrowed eyes, their gaze trailing to Thoma.

“Well, let’s not disappoint her. You know as well as I do, that Ayaka works in mysterious ways. What do you want to do first?” [F/N] asked, their tone slightly tired.

Thoma looked over the list, before smiling at [F/N]. “Let’s check into the Inn first”

[F/N] nodded, averting their gaze.

“Yeah, good idea.”

The two left the estate, an awkward silence enveloping them both.

Thoma was the first to break the silence, fixing [F/N] with a kind smile, before speaking.

“Have you ever stayed at an inn before, [F/N]?” He asked, his tone light.

[F/N] shook their head, sighing.

“No, I’ve never been away from the estate long enough to need to stay anywhere overnight.”

Thoma’s eyes widened at the revelation.

“Really? You haven’t left the city?” He asked, surprise lacing his voice.

[F/N] flushed embarrassedly, nodding their head. “It’s weird, right?”

Thoma shook his head, laughing a bit.

“No, just unexpected. I don’t know why, but you struck me as the traveled sort… One of these days I’ll have to take you to Mondstatd! I grew up there, and it’s a great place to visit.”

[F/N]’s eyes widened, before they nodded with pink tinged cheeks. “I’d like that a lot.”

Thoma beamed, glancing at [F/N].

“Great, it’s a plan! Next time I visit Mondstatd, you’ll come with.”

[F/N] smiled at Thoma, their cheeks warm.

“Thank you, Thoma…”

They muttered, before coming to a stop.

“Oh wow! Is that the Inn?” [F/N] asked, staring at an old fashioned building.

The building’s exterior was made out of pale a gray wood, and several hydrangeas were planted at the its front.

Thoma checked the list again, before nodding.

“This is the Murasaki Inn, which is the one My Lady wanted us to visit. Let’s go check in.”

Thoma said, making his way towards the building.

[F/N] followed after him, taking in the scenery outside. It was incredibly pretty, yet the area was fairly secluded compared to the rest of the city’s environment. [F/N] would have never known of the Inn, if not for Ayaka’s list.

Thoma opened the Inn’s door, causing the wind chimes attached to the door’s front to jingle lightly. Thoma smiled at the inn keeper, his tone friendly as he spoke.

“How much for a room?”

The inn keeper smiled, her tired gray eyes trailing to observe both Thoma and [F/N].

“Ah, you two are quite the cute pair. One room for the both of you will be 150 mora.”

Thoma rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing at [F/N].

[F/N] stepped towards the counter, fishing out the required amount of mora from the funds Ayaka had supplied them with. They slid the money to the Inn keeper with a small, polite smile.

“Thank you, Miss. Is there anytime we need to be back by?” [F/N] asked, their tone soft.

The Inn Keeper smiled knowingly, before handing [F/N] a pair of keys.

“We close doors at 10:00 in the evening. Have fun, you two.”

[F/N] fought off a blush at the implications, nodding at the inn keeper’s words, before glancing at Thoma.

“Should we visit the restaurant next, then?”

They asked, earning a nod from Thoma.

“Good idea. I think we passed it on the way here. Let me check…” Thoma murmured, reading through the list again. He glanced at [F/N], giving them a thumbs up. “Okay, got it!”

[F/N] nodded, their lips quirking upwards at Thoma’s attitude.

His warmth was one of the many reasons they’d fallen for him….

Not that he knew that.

“Lead the way, then.” [F/N] responded, their tone kind, as both them and Thoma approached the door.

[F/N] turned around briefly, to smile at the inn keeper, “Have a nice day, Miss. We’ll be back by 10:00…”

The innkeeper returned the gesture, smiling politely, as Thoma and [F/N] made their way out.

Thoma glanced at [F/N] a smile on his face.

“You’re pretty good at talking to others.”

[F/N] shook their head, their lips twitching.

“Not really, I’m just polite. I’m no fixer or anything like you…”

[F/N] responded and Thoma’s brows knit downwards.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit half the time, [F/N]. I think you’re incredibly talented.”

Thoma said, his tone taking on a more serious note.

[F/N]’s eyes widened a fraction at his declaration, and they shook their head with a small smile. “If you say so…Thanks, Thoma.”

Thoma cleared his throat awkwardly, averting his gaze. The tip of his ears were colored a light pink, and he shuffled a bit, before speaking.

“Of course, [F/N]. We’ve been working together for a while now, and you always seem to put a lot of care into completing your work.”

[F/N] flushed, glancing at Thoma from the corner of their eyes. “You too… You’re so hardworking, it motivates me to do my, best as well…”

Thoma chuckled at that, running a hand through his honey locks. “That’s funny. I feel the same way watching you half the time.”

[F/N]’s face burned and they nodded, before pointing at a sign in the distance, its view was slightly obscured by a group of maple trees.

“Right… Is that it?”

Thoma glanced at the sign and squinted, his brows furrowing slightly. He pulled out the list again, skimming it over, before nodding.

“That’s it. You have a good eye, I wouldn’t have noticed it.”

[F/N] offered him a small smile, “Thank you.”

Thoma nodded, giving them a warm smile.

“Of course! Well, then…Shall we?”

[F/N] nodded, glancing at the sign in the distance thoughtfully. “I wonder what sort of food they have…?”

Thoma chuckled, shaking his head with a small smile. “I don’t know. My Lady didn’t write down what they sell there, so it looks like it’s up to us to find out.”

[F/N] nodded, their expression thoughtful.

“I wonder if they have anmitsu…”

Thoma grinned, his peridot eyes sparkling mischievously. “I wonder if they have Steak…?”

[F/N] perked up, a small smile on their face. “Ohh, I hope they have Castella…”

Thoma nodded, “Tonkatsu would be nice.”

The two met each other’s gaze and broke into laughter, as they continued to make their way towards the restaurant.

The restaurant turned out to be a small, cozy place that sold more traditional foods.

[F/N] wasn’t surprised, considering Ayaka had made the list, and had ended up ordering soba and a bowl of miso soup.

Thoma was currently enjoying tempura and a small pot of Sukiyaki.

The two of them ate their meal in a comfortable silence.

After the meal, the two bid their thanks to the restaurant staff, before leaving the establishment.

[F/N] sighed contentedly, stretching their arms out some, before glancing at Thoma inquisitively.

“Is there anything else on the list?” They asked, and Thoma’s brows furrowed.

He glanced at [F/N], his expression one of mild amusement.

“That was all that was on it, but we still have some time before 10:00. Is there something you wanted to do?” Thoma asked, glancing at [F/N] inquisitively.

[F/N] shuffled a bit awkwardly, before sighing.

“Not really… I was just enjoying spending time with you.” They said, their tone quiet.

Thoma laughed, his expression kind.

“You see me every day.” He pointed out, his tone amused.

[F/N] nodded, their gaze trailing to the ground.

“I suppose that’s true.”

Thoma frowned, his expression clouding over in thought.

“Well, if you don’t have anything in mind— I know a great stall that sells dango.”

[F/N] perked up at the mention of the sweet, earning a small chuckle from Thoma.

“Is it the stall you get your supply from?” [F/N] asked, their eyes sparkling.

Thoma clutched his side, a burst of laughter spilling from his lips.

“Pffft-! My supply? You mean the dango I carry with me?” He asked and [F/N] nodded.

“Yes, you let me try it once… It was soooo good. I swear, I’d marry whoever made it.” [F/N] said, their tone light.

Thoma’s cheeks went bright pink, and he shuffled awkwardly. “Ahhh. I usually make the dango that I carry…”

[F/N]’s eyes widened and their cheeks went pink, as well—

“Oh… I mean… You’re amazing and all, and like… I like you a lot, but you like…”

Thoma smiled, his expression softening.

“Okay. In that case, let’s do this properly.”

[F/N]’s head snapped up at Thoma’s statement, their eyes widening a fraction.

“[F/N], would you go out with me?” Thoma said, his tone earnest.

[F/N] smiled, their eyes sparkling.

“Of course, I’ve liked you for a while now. I just never knew how to say it…” They murmured, their tone soft.

Thoma grinned, his expression cheerful.

“I’ve liked you for a long time, as well! Now, I can finally do something I’ve wanted to for a while, if that’s okay with you?”

[F/N]’s cheeks warmed, and they nodded.

“Of course, but wha—“

Thoma pressed his lips against theirs, bringing his hand up to cradle their cheek, before pulling back and brushing a stray strand of hair out of [F/N]’s face.

“This,” Thoma said, his tone warm.

[F/N] flushed, their heart pounding.

“That… Oh… Yes, I wanted to do that too.”

Thoma laughed at their response, offering [F/N] his hand.

“Let’s go back to the inn. I can make you some of my dango, if you think it’s that good.”

[F/N] beamed, their eyes sparkling.

“Won’t you need ingredients, though?”

Thoma gave them a mysterious smile, his expression softening a fraction.

“Rule number one of Housekeeping: be prepared for anything.”

[F/N] giggled, shaking their head.

“That doesn’t have anything to do with the fact you always seem to have dango on you?”

Thoma grinned, shrugging helplessly.

“Guilty as charged.”

The Innkeeper looked over the two of them, as they entered, chuckling to herself.

“Did you two have fun?”

Thoma and [F/N] shared a glance, before smiling.

“We had a lot of fun, ma’am.” Thoma said, his voice cheerful. “Do you think we could borrow your kitchen?” He asked, his tone hopeful.

The innkeeper chortled, waving them off.

“Go on, just clean up after yourselves.”

Thoma’s cheeks flared, and [F/N] gave an embarrassed squeak.

The innkeeper shook her head, clearly amused.

“Youth these days, they think everything had a second meaning.”

[F/N] bristled, their eyes narrowing.

“Miss, you’re the one who sai—“

Thoma tugged at [F/N]’s arm, guiding them towards the kitchen. “Let’s just go make our dango, hm?”

[F/N] nodded, following Thoma into the other room.

The older woman chuckled, her gaze trailing to the room’s corner.

“Well, Lord Kamisato… It looks like your sister’s gamble paid off. Are you pleased with the results?”

Ayato stepped out from the corner, a small smile on his face.

“Quite. Although, I am a bit disappointed I lost the bet. It seems I owe Ayaka a good bit of mora. Despite that, I doubt I could have stood seeing those two so awkward around each other for another month. All is well that ends well, I suppose. I’ll be taking my leave now.”

The elder sibling of the Kamisato clan waved at the inn keeper, a small smile on his face as he left.

The inn keeper shook her head, “Just like his father… As sneaky as him, too…”

Thoma poked his head through the door, his expression curious.

“Is everything alright? I could have sworn I heard Lord Kamisato?”

The older woman chuckled, “Feeling homesick, are you?”

Thoma’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.

“Not at all! I’m more than happy to be here, especially with [F/N]—!”

The older woman snorted, shaking her head.

“Go back to your sweetheart and finish making your dango, then. It’s rude to keep someone waiting.”

Thoma flushed, heading back into the kitchen quickly.

The inn keeper’s lips curled up into a smile.

“Ah, yes. Young love…”

#No Anonymous We Die Like Men #genshin impact #genshin x reader #thanks for the ask! #I love this prompt? #genshin thoma #thoma x reader #wingwoman! Ayaka