#my apologies for the delay and for the posts being out of order

[skydiamonded]

The final delayed emotional support Brian post! Brian observing various Beatles concerts!

[everythingne]

little miss wingwoman (3) - ln4

You meet the Norris family, Penelope drops by for a surprise visit, and luckily Christmas Eve goes off without a hitch. Thanks to your amazing skills in everything that comes with being a nanny.

warnings/notes: I, once again, am posting christmas after christmas and i don't care <3 happy hanukkah by the way!! also shout out to my brother who inspired the whole 'athena falling asleep' bit here bc he did this w my baby cousin on christmas eve

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Lando is welcoming in his siblings while you're in the process of finishing up a quick little Christmas Eve dinner. They'd requested nothing crazy, so you'd scoured the internet to find a simple chicken dish, and had Lando go out to buy some games to play with the family. His siblings had all been on the same flight, but with a little rain systems coming through Monaco, his parents flight had been delayed a few hours.

Meaning, you got to be eased into meeting your roommate of barely a weeks family, and spending the holidays with them.

As you finally set down some tin foil over the last few sides, sliding them in the oven on a preheat setting to keep everything warm until Lando's parents arrived, Oliver and Flo poke around the corner to look at you.

You don't notice them studying the way you flow through Lando's kitchen, you're too busy counting over the names Lando had told you--Oliver, Flo, and Cisca, his siblings, you think in that order with Lando ahead of Flo. Then, Savannah, Lando's sister-in-law, and his two nieces Mila and Athena. His parents, Cisca and Adam, though you can't imagine calling them anything other than Mr and Mrs. Norris.

"Oh, guys," Lando's tone is full of smiles, proudly waving an arm to you as you turn around and discard your oven mitts onto the counter, "This is my roommate, Yn."

"Ah!" Oliver smiles, Athena in his hands sraring up at you with wonder in her eyes, "This is the roommate I've heard so much about."

"Oh, god, I hope all good things?" You step around Lando to properly greet each sibling, Savannah, and the girls.

"Lando talks about you a lot." Cisca teases softly, looking over at her brother, who flushed and quickly asked what everyone wanted to drink--safely deterring the conversation. Above everyones scurrying heads into the kitchen, you meet Lando's eyes, and find you can't look away as he crinkles up in a smile before turning to find cups for everyone.

A bit later, Lando runs out to go collect his parents from Nice's airport, leaving you with the siblings. Mila and Athena have taken to exploring the living room under their parents watchful eye as you scour for a good Christmas movie for them--settling on the Grinch after a while, just to have it on in the background. You can tell Athena's getting ready for a nap, but with so much excitement and noise, she seems to be struggling to settle down. Savannah seems a bit flustered, so you take a seat with her on the couch while Flo and Cisca sneak some cookies in the kitchen and gossip.

"So," Oliver starts, "We spent so long catching up with Lando, I never had a chance to ask anything about you."

"Oh, Sorry!" Savannah calls, turning to place a hand on your knee, "Don't want you to feel left out!"

"Don't apologize, it's alright! He's your brother and you said, Savannah, the last time you saw him was Goodwood, which was--what, July?" You say, watching as Cisca and Flo come to the living room, sitting down with their nieces and their toys by the big windows. Savannah offering the girls a thankful smile for taking them off her hands for the time being.

"Yeah, it's been a while." Flo hums, "And Cis and I didn't even see him at Goodwood, we saw him at Silverstone."

"He's so busy with racing, I see why but I still worry for him. He's still just the boy he was when we were young and running amuck through the woods in the middle of nowhere. He had no friends back then, and I worry he isolates himself here too, just blames it on being busy." Oliver leans back, running a hand across his head. You can see the worry for a baby brother he's watched grow clear in his eyes, and Savannah soothes a hand across his shoulders in comfort.

You hum softly, "He's got Max. And Oscar, Charles... Carlos, Alex and George, though I guess George is in London now... a lot of the drivers live close--we actually bought them presents for Christmas. He's got all of Quadrant too."

"And you," Flo prompts, looking up from where Athena tries to grab onto her hair.

"Yeah," you breathe out, turning to Oliver, "And me."

"How'd you meet?" Savannah asks and you smile.

"Max Verstappen, his 'bonus daughter' Penelope is the girl I nanny. I've worked for Kelly since Penelope was maybe three or four months, actually. Just an extra set of hands for her, but now I'm sort of like a housekeep? I watch the apartment when they're gone, cook, clean, help them keep track of everything--the two of them are also so busy." You laugh softly, watching as Athena uses the table to toddle her way over to her parents, Savannah picking up the sleepy toddler and laying her on her chest.

"But, with their baby on the way, the room I was living in is turning into a nursery. They didn't want to move, especially with a whole baby coming, so they helped me find a new place to live. Luckily, I knew Lando... kinda... we never really spoke much before but Penelope adores him so I've been out with Penelope at races or even in Monaco, and run into him."

Savannah watches as Athena scoots out of her hold and climbs across the couch, the curious toddler now taking up space in your lap as you wrap up your explanation, and a place a hand on her back, "So, Lando let me move in. I've pretty much transformed his entire apartment in exchange for the rent he's covering for me."

"I was going to say, it looks a lot better than the last time I was here." Oliver chuckles, Savannah countering with, "Yes, it does. A woman's touch was needed for sure."

"Lando kept asking us all about how to live with a girl," Cisca looks over her shoulder, watching as Flo and Mila move to join you on the couch. Little Athena snuggling into the warm of your hold as you move back.

"I told him it was just like living with sisters," Oliver rolls his eyes, "but he was insistent there was a way to do it wrong."

You laugh softly, imaging the way that he had probably begged for some sort of advice over the phone with his siblings, gently rocking a fussy Athena--who has been refusing her nap since she'd gotten into the apartment almost two hours ago now.

You speak softly, to keep the girl from waking up as she nearly is sleeping, "There really isn't, and I've been moving around so much my whole life I don't really have a set way to live. I kinda just adapt."

Before you can say anything else, the front door opens, and Lando announces he's back. Savannah lifts Athena, who whines, clinging to your shirt, and you shake her off, "I can take her, if it's okay."

"Sure, if it's fine. I wouldn't wanna wake her so close to her falling asleep. Athena loves to cuddle, she's a clinger," Savannah laughs softly, brushing her daughters wild curly hair back. You nod, holding her the way Savannah instructs--missing when Penelope used to be this tiny in your arms.

Lando's parents--Adam and Cisca, are happily talking with their children when you round the corner into the kitchen. Everyone turns with your presence, smiling at the sight of Athena curled in your arms, Mrs. Norris audibly aweing at the scene as you smile.

"Hi, it's really lovely to meet you both," You say softly, stepping over so they can give you hugs and greet their granddaughter who refuses to come out of the comfort she'd found nestled in your chest.

"I'll get the food out," Lando says, "I imagine you're all starving,"

"God, please." Flo whines, Oliver going to help his brother. You linger with the Norris parents in the hall, smiling softly as Athena lets out little snores against the warm fabric of your sweater. Savannah long gone after being dragged off by Mila.

Mrs. Norris moves into the kitchen, laughing as she scolds her sons for stealing bits of food while they bring everything out. The stack of bags and gifts flow down the hall now, the jackets and shoes overflowing the racks, and you can't help but smile at the liveliness of the once empty apartment.

"You're a real charmer," Adam says after a second and your attention is drawn to Mr. Norris. He grins, "Haven't seen Lando this organized in years."

You laugh softly, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Athena's back, "It's the least I could do for him, considering he won't let me pay rent. He's been really kind to let me live here."

"That's Lando for ya," Adam looks at his son in the kitchen, helping Mila get seated at the table, "He'd give you the skin off his back if he could."

As if sensing you both looking at him, Lando's head perks up, scowling as he comes over. He takes his father's jacket out of his hands and urges him to go get a plate of the food you'd 'slaved over' making all day in the kitchen. You can't help but giggle as he shoos away his father's knowing smile and wave as he goes to join his wife and kids.

"Thanks for saving this whole holiday," Lando looks over at you, catching the way you're already looking at him. A soft smile gracing your lips as you sway the toddler in your arms.

"Your family is lovely," you reply softly, "I'm glad I could do something for them."

Lando's quiet for a moment, the both of you just watching eachother. Turning back when Flo and Cisca start cracking up over some teasing thing Mrs. Norris is saying as Oliver scowls and rebukes whatever she's saying.

"Do you want a plate?" Lando says, "I can get mine last."

"No no, wouldn't want to wake Athena. I can always heat it up after she wakes." You wave a hand, and Lando nods, stepping closer to wipe a crumb off your cheek and brush a piece of hair back into place before Flo calls him over. You wave him on and he goes, making a spectacle about making his way back to the group.

Slowly, you make your way back into the living room, slowly sinking down on the couch and getting comfortable with Athena still snoring in your arms. And as the Norris' carry on in the kitchen, you can help but lay your head back on the cushions, cuddling in to the comfiest position you can find.

You fall asleep around the point Martha May announces her love for the Grinch, and right before Flo brings out Uno for the group at the table to play.

Lando comes over about twenty minutes later, pausing when he sees you knocked out. The rest of the family peeking around the corner as Lando grabs a blanket from the chair in the corner and walks over to where you are--Athena still snuggling into your hold. He gently drapes the blanket over the two of you, grabbing a pillow to lay under your head so your neck isn't killing you in the morning, and just takes a pause to sit next to you.

His eyes travel down your hair, to your closed eyes, parted lips, the soft breaths that leave you. The way Athena has tucked herself against your chest like she just knows you're safety, that you know how to take care of her. He lifts the blanket a little higher, resists the urge to press a chaste kiss to your forehead, and stands.

No one moves fast enough for him to not catch them staring.

"Looked like you were gonna kiss her for a second," His father chimes. Lando feels heat rise to his cheeks as his siblings laugh and he just waves away their comments as he comes back to play the game with them.

When Athena stumbles in to cuddle her mom about thirty minutes later, he peeks out to see you still asleep on the couch and tilts his head. Oliver leaning on the wall leaning into the living room as Lando steps forward, tucks his arms underneath you and carefully lifts you. It's not graceful by any means, but when your eyes flutter and you settle in as he holds his breath, Oliver bites his lip to keep himself from laughing at Lando.

"I'll get the door." Oliver says, nodding his head to where the spare bedroom is. His whole family pretends not to see him nearly whack your head into the wall when he brings you into your room and lays you on the bed. Mrs. Norris does come to ensure her son has you tucked in properly, with the blinds lowered to block out the setting sun as you curl up in your bed.

"Poor thing, she's absolutely knackered." She hums, waving Oliver out of the room as Lando sheepishly rubs his neck, walking over to her.

"She cooked all day, and we've spent the week decorating everything," his voice is soft as he looks over at your sleeping form in the bed, before his mother pulls him out of the room to shut the door.

"Well, she did a wonderful job." She winks knowingly at him, earning a shy laugh from Lando as she brings him back over to the table to keep playing games.

You do manage to get up and freshen up around nine, after his family has left to sleep off their jetlag. Lando's sitting on the couch with--surprisingly to you, Penelope.

"Max dropped her off, he and Kelly have dinner with their parents and P was supposedly exhausted." Lando pokes the girls cheek, but you can see she's clearly wide awake, sheepishly smiling up at you as you chuckle to yourself.

"I'm sure she was," You chime, sitting down at the counter as Penelope climbs up to sit next to you, leaning on you and looking up at you through her long lashes.

"I just didn't wanna go." Penelope admits softly, "All everyone's been talking about is the baby. I don't care about the stupid baby, I wish it was just me again, and I didn't have to fight this little thing in my Mommy's belly for some attention."

You hum, rubbing a hand up and down Penelope's back. She'd been complaining to you about the baby since you'd gotten back to Monaco, and you'd brought it up to Max and Kelly already. From the time spent in their apartment with them, you knew it wasn't their fault Penelope was feeling this way--after her first complaint. They'd both apologized to her, and explained it to her, and after that Penelope had been fine for a while.

But having every single person in your extended family fawning over the unborn baby in your mothers stomach--buying him tons of gifts and clothes, things Penelope was used to be doted onto her, the shift had to feel weird.

"Max and Kelly still love you," it's Lando who chimes from the couch, groaning as he stands up and stretched out his shoulders, "It's been hard for them with the baby coming, and you know how much the baby needs."

Penelope nods and you pout. Usually, Christmas Eve was reserved for the Verstappen-Piquets to spend the entire night together. But it seemed every one of their traditions had been tossed aside.

"How about this," you say softly, "I have some stuff left over to bake. Why don't you, Lando, and I make some cookies for Santa, hm? We can leave them out at your apartment when I drop you off."

Penelope does light up at that and agrees, so as Lando helps her get supplies, you finish shoveling your dinner into your mouth before standing to help them with baking.

By the end of it, after Penelope's roped you and Lando into a flour fight you know is going to be a disaster to clean up, you and Lando end up carrying up a sleeping Penelope and a plate of cookies. Max laughs softly at the sight of the three of you covered in flour, and Kelly thanks you both for staying up later to watch her.

When you return to Lando's apartment, the two of you elect to finish watching whatever movie is playing on the tv. And the quiet moment, broken by occasionally showing each other something on your phones or asking questions about this absolutely absurd 80s christmas movie, just fills the home with a sense of warmth you aren't expecting to feel.

It almost makes you not want to go to bed, but alas, the Norris' are coming back over in the morning, so you two duck off to bed eventually--hesitating to part due to the invisible magnet that holds you close.

SEE NOTES ABOUT TAG LISTS BELOW:

general tag list (open, tagged in all my fics, will not update for this series. If you'd like to be added to my general list FOR this series, let me know and I'll tag you in the comments!

@d3kstar @justalittlejess @tvdtw4ever @llando4norris @daemyratwst @piastri-fvx @sltwins

series specific tag (closed BUT SEE BELOW!!)

@nikfigueiredo @ilovechickenwings @supertrashbread @sltwins @mwuaferrari @si1ver06 @linnygirl09 @kikiki81 @kittylolly4 @lazybot @tylerstacobell @formula1fordisaster @sheblogs @suns3treading @kqliie @jxnellat @anxiousbananna @hard4ndsoft @majasophieanna @diorbrxtz @freyathehuntress @obxstiles @cstads-blog @wierdflowerpower @delululeclerc @honethatty12 @henna006 @chlmtfilms @littlegrapejuice @piastrams @ravisinghs-wife @sturmatt @sagestack @bravo-delta-eccho @eiffel-hood @widow-cevans @ash88-yep @emryb @changetyre @raynetargaryan2 @callsignsiren @mayusaatma @sid-is-gr8  @awritingtree @urstepdaughter @4-ln4

TO BE TAGGED IN COMMENTS OF EACH NEW CHAPTER:

@celestrablack @hadids-world @keij0h @annimausi

(thank you to all the new people (and my return readers ofc), and everyone who has left such kind words!! happy holidays to you all <3)

[captainsophiestark]

Head of the Family

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Anthony and his wife are moments away from leaving for their wedding anniversary second-honeymoon, when the demands of the family threaten to delay their departure significantly.

Word Count: 2,446

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I smiled, already pushing open the door to my husband's office even as I knocked. We were due to leave for a month long anniversary trip together, and I'd just finished securing the last of our preparations. Now, the final step was rounding up Anthony from his duties as Viscount.

If it had been up to him, I knew he would've thrown every last piece of paper in the trash if it meant leaving with me a moment sooner for our trip. But most of his family relied on him to run the estate for all their wellbeing, and he had to make sure things would stay in order even while we were away. When I stepped through into the room from the hallway, I found him leaning over a stack of papers on his desk, one hand tangled in his hair and the other scribbling away. He didn't even look up as I entered the room.

"Apologies, my love," he mumbled, still writing as I shut the door gently behind me and crossed the room to his desk. "I am almost done, and then we will be free to shut out the world once again and enjoy our time, just the two of us, however we like."

"I truly cannot wait," I replied, a devilish smirk pulling at the corner of my mouth as I settled in to perch on the edge of his desk. "Is there anything I can do to help speed along the process?"

"I wish, but sadly there is not. Fortunately for both of us, this is my last document to complete, and once it is done we will be free to leave."

As if Anthony's words had summoned her from the ether, as soon as he'd finished speaking, a knock came at the door to his study. A moment later, without waiting for a response from Anthony or myself, Eloise pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Oh good, you are both here," she said, her shoulders noticably relaxing when she caught sight of me. Anthony paused his writing to close his eyes and sigh as Eloise crossed the room and plopped into one of the chairs directly before Anthony's desk. I fought a smile. "I have a... slight situation, which I need to make you aware of."

I bit the inside of my lip to hold back a laugh or a sigh, although I wasn't sure which my body would've manifested. I adored Eloise, but in this family, 'situations' most often meant 'boarderline scandal', and I had a bad feeling whatever Eloise's situation would entail may delay Anthony and I's departure much longer than either of us wanted.

"What is it, Eloise?" I asked after getting a hold of myself, making a point of keeping my tone even and patient. She glanced nervously from me to Anthony, who had resumed work on the document before him.

"I need both of your attention, actually," she said, a slight edge of irritation in her voice directed at her brother. "That is, if it isn't too much trouble."

Anthony let out a sigh, the duration as long as it took for him to finish writing his last notes on the last document standing between us and our vacation. He set it aside, then finally turned his attention to his sister.

"What is it, Eloise?"

"I may have... a bit of a problem on my hands." I raised an eyebrow, and I could see Anthony working his jaw. Eloise glanced between us, and I tried to keep an open expression on my face to encourage her. It must have worked, because after a moment, she continued. "It seems there is a Lord who took my jokes about marriage more seiously than I intended. I think... he may be coming to you to ask for my hand very soon, and you must tell him no."

"Eloise-"

Anthony barely managed to get his sister's name out before the door to the study came swinging open again, this time revealing Francesca striding through the door.

"Oh, I am glad I caught the both of you before you departed for your trip," she said, looking to me and Anthony before her eyes at last fell on Eloise, and she frowned. "Is this not a good time?"

"What's one more?" said Anthony with a tight smile. I hid a laugh behind my hand. Anthony was always the dutiful older brother, although he wasn't always good at hiding his occasional irritation with the role. Fortunately, his sisters either didn't notice or didn't care.

"I need to speak with you about wedding arrangements, Anthony," said Francesca, taking a seat next to Eloise. "Especially since the two of you will be gone for so long, I do not want to leave all the planning to the last minute if I can avoid it."

"Alright, well-"

This time, an almost cacophanous noise from the hallway served as the interruption. As if they'd known we were gathering, and that Anthony and I were almost free of our responsibilities, the remaining four Bridgerton children living in the house appeared, practically wrestling through the door and paired off in arguments. Hyacinth made it to us first, Colin trailing right behind her, neither of them giving their seated sisters a second glance as they addressed Anthony.

"Colin intends to marry someone!" Hyacinth cried over the noise of the rest of us. "We made a bet that if I bested him at pall-mall, he would tell me who, but now he is refusing-"

"Hyacinth, enough!" Colin broke in, shouting over his sister to no avail.

"He is going to have to tell you at some point anyway, Anthony, so it may as well be now so as to honor the terms of our bet-"

"I am not required to tell you or anyone else in this family until I desire to, Hyacinth-"

"Except that you made a bet, Colin, and are now being a sore loser."

Anthony sighed, his attention turning to the last pair, Benedict and Gregory, while Hyacinth and Colin continued to bicker before him. I reached out and gently rested a hand on his shoulder, although I doubted it did much to help.

"I told Benedict I want to learn what it takes to run a household like this," Gregory said, taking Anthony's attention as his cue to start explaining.

"And I told him to come ask you," Benedict said, flopping comfortable into a chair to one side of the room, closer to me. He leaned back, getting comfortable as he watched the scene playing out before him, not reacting to Gregory's scowl.

"But I want to learn sooner rather than later, so it has to be him!" Gregory continued, giving Benedict another stink eye. "He's going to be taking care of things while you're gone, and with the two of you, who knows how long that's going to be!"

I stifled a laugh as Gregory gestured to Anthony and I. He was right, we did have a tendancy to extend our trips beyond their planned length, in the name of spending more time just the two of us.

Anthony took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then snapped back to attention with a huffy sigh.

"Alright, Gregory-"

"What? Gregory? I was here first, and I assure you my issue is more pressing," Eloise broke in. Anthony turned to her with a clenched jaw.

"Fine, Eloise, then tell me-"

"Hyacinth, really! That is unladylike language! Anthony, did you hear what she just called me?"

"I meant it, and I will say it again if I must, Colin!"

Anthony growled, ripping his attention from Eloise to the next sibling in line. Everyone continued to talk over each other, the noise in the room rising as rapidly as Anthony's frustration. Normally, I would've been proud of him for taking the calmer, more patient approach with his siblings, but clearly that wasn't going to work in this case.

I let the chaos continue for another few moments while I counted to ten in my head. When it showed no signs of slowing down, and in fact seemed to be spiralling even more out of control, I put my fingers in my mouth and let out a long, earsplitting whistle that I normally reserved for getting someone's attention a long way off in the vast countryside outdoors.

Everyone in the room stopped mid-sentence and whirled around to look at me with wide eyes. I looked right back, head high and one eyebrow raised.

"That is quite enough, from all of you," I said, my tone at a normal level and much calmer than any of the Bridgerton siblings. "First of all, Francesca, I'm afraid your wedding plans will have to wait until we return. Think about them and plan what you can, and I promise Anthony and I will both make time to go over everything with you the minute we are back in this house."

Francesca nodded and gave me a small smile.

"That works just fine. I did not realize how... pressed upon by my other siblings you would be in the final moments before you leave."

That got a round of insulted outbursts, but they all quieted down again and returned their attention to me when I pointedly cleared my throat. Francesca had always loved me for my unique ability to at least temporarily usher in peace in the household.

I turned my attention to Benedict, with slightly narrowed eyes.

"You," I said, letting the word hang in the air for a moment. Benedict had the decency to look concerned. "You are going to let Gregory shadow you. He wants to learn, so let him. It won't hurt you any, and if he feels he still has more to learn when we return, then Anthony can take him."

Benedict huffed and crossed his arms, so I kept my stare on him for a few long moments. While it wouldn't matter much whether he followed through on our promise while we were gone, for all our sakes I didn't want to come home to find they'd been fighting and having issues the entire time Anthony and I had been away. After a moment, Benedict rolled his eyes, but also nodded, which was enough to satisfy me.

"Good. Then Hyacinth, Colin does not have to tell you anything about whom he is intending to pursue if he does not want to. And, like the rest of us, we cannot do more than simply guess."

Colin crossed his arms and smiled, looking quite satisfied with himself, but I maintained significant eye contact with Hyacinth. So far, she had correctly guessed the affections of all of her siblings before any of the siblings in question were ready to admit those affections, even to themselves. With Colin especially, I knew she had an idea who he was intending to pursue, and she didn't need his confirmation to be confident in being correct. We'd all seen how he'd been acting around Penelope lately.

The corner of Hyacinth's mouth quirked up in a quick smile, and she gave me a nod. I returned the gesture, then turned at last to Eloise.

"Finally, Eloise. Since when do you need your brother to empower you to turn a man down? You know you have our full support, with whomever you decide to reject or accept."

Eloise raised an eyebrow and cut her stare towards Anthony. I heard him sigh beside me, but when I turned to him, he nodded his agreement with my statement, so I continued.

"El, if this man has truly gotten it in his head to marry you and you do not feel the same, simply tell him so. If he proposes, turn him down, knowing full well that your family stands behind you. Since when have you needed your brother to speak your mind for you?"

Eloise scoffed and scowled, then stood and squared her shoulders. She shot an especially strong glare at Anthony as she spoke.

"I don't."

Anthony flung his hands out at the unwarranted hostility directed his way, but Eloise and I ignored him.

"You are absolutely right you don't. If you need our help you will have it, Eloise, as you always have our support. But I know you, and I know you are capabale of telling this man to leave you alone without help. And I think you may even enjoy it."

The corner of Eloise's mouth turned up again, more noticably this time, and she nodded. With all the siblings' various issues sorted, they were much calmer, nodding their thanks in my direction and largely ignoring poor Anthony as they filed out the way they'd come in with much less chaos. Once the door to the study closed behind the last of them, I turned to my husband with a smile. The intensity of his stare almost made me melt on the spot.

"Have I told you lately that you are, beyond a doubt, the perfect woman?"

I laughed, leaning into Anthony as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his lap. His hand found its way to the back of my neck, gently pulling me into a heated kiss. I let myself be swept away with him for a few moments, indulging in the kiss and resting my hands on his chest, but pulled away with a laugh as Anthony's hands started wandering places inappropriate for his office, when his siblings had just barged in a moment ago.

Anthony frowned and let out a dissatisfied grunt, attempting to tug me back into his chest, but I didn't let him.

"Anthony, we are about to leave for our travels together, celebrating our time as husband and wife. We will have plenty of opportunity to continue this somewhere we cannot be interrupted by your family."

"Damn them," Anthony breathed, leaning forward to match my movement. "I only care about you."

"Hmm, and I you, my love. But consider this: every additional moment we delay our departure in this house, is another moment one of your siblings may return with a new problem for us to address."

Anthony paused, considering my words for a moment. Then, he sprang up, sweeping me into his arms and carrying me with him.

"You make an excellent point. I think it is time for us to away, Mrs. Bridgerton. We can finish our other business in the carriage on our way out of town."

I laughed as Anthony pulled me after him from the room, leaving all the work and pressure that came with being Viscount in the office behind us. His family, despite their earlier demonstration, could manage perfectly well without us, at least for a time. And we'd each more than earned a break for just the two of us. As always, everything here would be waiting for us when we returned.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

[1982grapejuiceblues]

The Mistake II

Official Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 1 here

The Wrong Pitch Part 2

Summary:

They weren’t supposed to see each other again. But when they do, everything they tried to walk away from is still there — unspoken, unresolved. This is what happens after the silence. When one person reaches out. When the other hesitates. And when two people try to move on from a moment that never really ended.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on part 1! I've wanted to post my little story for so long and I'm so glad that I'm finally doing it! I hope you guys love this one as much as the last. Be on the look out for more to come from these two! <3

Warnings:

• Emotional vulnerability and self-doubt

• Delayed communication / left-on-read anxiety

• Fear of rejection / avoidance of intimacy

• Mentions of overthinking, perfectionism, and emotional burnout

• A lot of yearning

• A lot of silence

• A lot of almosts

Word Count: 7.3k

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

12:06 p.m. — Milk & Honey Café

The door jingled.

Not in the casual, background way it usually did — not for either of them.

Y/N stepped in just as Harry stepped back, like the weight of her presence knocked the air out of him slightly. She wasn’t rushing this time. She wasn’t apologizing. And she wasn’t late.

He looked exactly the same.

Black jumper. Curls a bit messier than yesterday. Notebook in hand. Like he’d walked straight out of the memory.

She blinked. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoed. His voice was lower than she remembered, like he hadn’t spoken yet today and she was the first word.

They stood in the entryway, just… looking at each other. Two people blinking at something that shouldn’t be happening, but is.

Then, without planning it, without even talking about it, they both turned and drifted toward the same booth.

Same seats. Same angle of sunlight. Same quiet hum of music in the background.

Like no time had passed. And somehow, like too much had.

12:08 p.m.

He sat first this time.

She set her bag down. Smoothed her sleeve. Glanced at the coffee cup already on the table and raised a brow.

“Back for round two?”

Harry shrugged, smiling gently. “Didn’t feel finished.”

She blinked. That one sentence landed harder than it should’ve.

“Did you…” she started, then hesitated. “Come here hoping I’d be here?”

He met her gaze evenly. “I came here hoping I’d want to stay, even if you weren’t.”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “That’s a very emotionally intelligent answer.”

“I’m a professional,” he said, mouth twitching into a smirk.

She laughed — short and genuine — and suddenly the air between them softened.

12:14 p.m.

“I thought about you,” she said, then immediately winced. “Sorry, that was blunt.”

“I’m glad,” Harry said, steady. “I thought about you too.”

There was something about the way he said it. Not eager. Not shy. Just honest. Like he wasn’t scared of the truth if she wasn’t.

Y/N fiddled with the edge of a napkin. “It felt weird, yesterday. How easy it was to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “It really did.”

They fell into a comfortable silence — the kind that stretched, not sagged. They weren’t rushing this. Maybe because it had already rushed them once, and now they wanted to take their time.

“I didn’t ask what you were doing here,” she said eventually.

“You didn’t,” he agreed.

She tilted her head. “So?”

“I write here sometimes,” he said. “Well — I procrastinate here. Scribble a sentence. Drink a flat white. Lie to myself about how productive I’m being.”

“You had me convinced.”

“That’s because you assumed I was a tortured genius.”

She smiled. “I assumed you were Brody.”

“And now you’ve met the real Brody.”

She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

He grinned. “Still think I looked like him?”

“You’re much less pretentious.”

Harry raised a brow. “You said I looked broody.”

“Broody is fine. Pretentious is a red flag.”

“Duly noted.”

12:24 p.m.

The conversation drifted after that. They ordered coffee. She got a croissant she didn’t really want. He asked her about literary agents (“Is it actually like You’ve Got Mail, or have I romanticized your entire industry?”), and she asked him about speechwriting.

They talked about books. About weird client requests. About the time he had to ghostwrite a breakup text for a guy who wanted to end things “with grace but also dominance.”

They laughed. A lot.

But underneath all of it, something deeper simmered. A current neither of them acknowledged yet. The sense that they’d already skipped a few steps — and weren’t entirely sure what came next.

Y/N glanced at him as he stirred sugar into his second cup. “You’re good at this.”

“At what?”

“Making things feel like they’re supposed to happen.”

Harry looked at her for a long beat.

Then said, quietly, “You’re good at staying even when you want to bolt.”

She stared at him.

And for a second, something unspoken hovered in the air between them.

And neither of them moved to break it.

12:42 p.m.

Y/N tucked one leg beneath her in the booth and watched him trace the rim of his cup with his thumb.

She wasn’t sure when they’d stopped pretending this was casual.

Maybe it was somewhere between his second coffee and her third laugh. Maybe it was the way his eyes never drifted to his phone, or the way he kept asking her questions like he was cataloguing her for safekeeping.

Or maybe it was that moment — five minutes ago — when they both stopped talking for a beat too long, and didn’t fill the silence.

And still, it hadn’t felt awkward.

Just… full.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

He looked up. “You’ve been asking me things all morning.”

“This one’s more personal.”

He didn’t move. “Go ahead.”

Y/N hesitated, then leaned back a little, fingers still wrapped around her mug.

“Why didn’t you stay yesterday?”

Harry blinked.

She didn’t say it accusingly. It wasn’t a complaint. Just a quiet inquiry — like she was asking about a weather pattern. Something she couldn’t control but maybe understood.

He exhaled. “I don’t know.”

Y/N waited.

“I think…” he said slowly, “I told myself it was nothing. And that it was easier to leave nothing than risk it becoming something.”

Her eyes didn’t move from his.

“But then I walked away,” he added, “and it didn’t feel like nothing anymore.”

Y/N's lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something. But she didn’t.

Just nodded once.

“I thought about coming back,” she said. “But I didn’t want to be wrong.”

“You weren’t.”

She looked at him.

He meant it.

He didn’t say it to be nice. Or clever. Or to score points.

He just meant it.

12:54 p.m.

Harry stared at the half-empty cup between them, then said, “I almost left before you sat down.”

“What?”

“That first morning. I was going to pack up and head out. I didn’t even want to be there. But I stayed. Just… couldn’t get myself to move.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten. “Why?”

He shrugged a little. “Couldn’t tell you. But if I had left, we never would’ve had this conversation.”

She gave a half-smile. “Sliding doors.”

“Sliding coffee shops.”

She laughed. He smiled at the sound.

Then, softer: “I keep thinking about how random it was. How weirdly easy it was to talk to you. Like we skipped the part where people pretend they’re not afraid of being seen.”

He said it so plainly. Like it wasn’t terrifying.

Y/N swallowed. “That’s a hard thing to come back from.”

Harry tilted his head. “Coming back’s the good part, isn’t it?”

1:08 p.m.

They sat with it — the kind of openness that usually came hours, days, weeks into knowing someone. But here it was. Laid out in front of them. All their almosts and maybes and unsaids, crowding the small space between their coffee cups.

“I’m scared,” she said suddenly, softly.

Harry didn’t flinch. “Of what?”

“That this feels like a beginning and I don’t know the rules.”

He considered that.

Then, with the smallest smile: “What if we don’t need any?”

She let out a shaky breath. “That’s worse.”

“Why?”

“Because it means we’re making them up as we go.”

Harry leaned forward slightly. “Maybe that’s the point.”

Their eyes locked.

Something clicked — not loudly, but firmly. Like a door closing gently behind them.

And neither of them moved.

1:17 p.m.

They didn’t leave.

They could have. The booth was getting uncomfortable. Their mugs were long empty. The lunch crowd was starting to creep in, soft chatter and clinking cutlery replacing the calm from earlier.

But they stayed.

Because the table between them wasn’t a table anymore.

It was a line.

Thin. Invisible. Teetering.

And neither of them wanted to be the first to cross it — but neither wanted to leave it untouched.

Y/N traced the edge of her saucer with a fingertip, eyes flicking up to find Harry already looking at her.

Again.

She smirked. “Do you always stare like that?”

He didn’t even pretend to look away. “Only when I’m trying to remember something.”

“Remember what?”

“What this felt like.”

Her throat went tight. Too tight. She blinked and looked down, heart thudding a little too hard.

“Don’t do that,” she murmured.

“Do what?”

“Say things that sound like lines when you probably mean them.”

Harry tilted his head. “Would it be better if I didn’t mean them?”

She looked up.

Their eyes locked.

Held.

Neither smiled.

1:24 p.m.

He didn’t mean to reach for her hand.

Not fully. Not directly.

He just shifted, and the back of his hand brushed hers — so lightly it could’ve been an accident, if they’d both decided to lie.

They didn’t.

Y/N stilled.

Harry froze.

But neither pulled away.

Instead, she slowly turned her hand over, and their fingers didn’t interlace, but hovered — barely touching. Close enough to feel the tremble. Far enough to pretend it didn’t mean anything.

It did.

This is dangerous,

she thought.

This is inevitable,

he thought.

1:32 p.m.

“Tell me something real,” she said.

Harry didn’t hesitate.

“I haven’t written anything for myself in over a year.”

She blinked. “You’re a writer.”

“I’m a ghostwriter. For weddings. Toasts. Breakups. Anniversaries. Apologies. Everyone else’s feelings.”

“And yours?”

“Buried.”

Her lips parted, breath caught between a response and a reaction.

“I tried,” he said. “I started something. But it never sounded like me.”

“What did it sound like?”

“Noise.”

Y/N exhaled. “You should try again.”

Harry looked at her. Really looked.

“You think I’d sound like myself now?”

She nodded. “You do when you’re with me.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy — it was reverent.

And somewhere inside it, they both understood that something had shifted.

1:46 p.m.

“I should get back soon,” she said, finally.

“Me too,” he replied, even though he had nowhere urgent to be.

But neither of them moved.

“I don’t want to lose this,” she said.

“You won’t.”

“That’s a risky promise.”

“I’m not making promises,” Harry said. “I’m asking for something.”

“What?”

“More.”

She swallowed. “More what?”

“Time. Space. Pages. Whatever this is.”

He held her gaze, unflinching.

“Okay,” she whispered. “More.”

And that was it.

The beginning that came after the almost.

The moment that wasn’t a mistake.

2:03 p.m. — Outside Milk & Honey

The door swung shut behind them with a familiar chime, but this time, it felt different.

Not final.

Not like last time.

This wasn’t an exit — it was an intermission.

They walked side by side without speaking at first. Not because there was nothing to say, but because the silence between them had changed. It had weight now. Warmth. Like it was doing its own kind of talking.

The city moved around them, ordinary and indifferent — buses rolling past, people on their phones, a teenager speed-walking while eating a wrap. But none of it touched the air between them.

Harry’s hands stayed in his pockets.

Y/N’s stayed tucked into her coat sleeves.

But their shoulders… stayed close.

Close enough to notice.

Close enough to feel the presence of something blooming.

“Are you going to write today?” she asked eventually.

He glanced over. “I already did.”

Her brows lifted. “What’d you write?”

“A sentence,” he said.

“That’s it?”

He nodded. “But it’s mine.”

She smiled. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s said to me all year.”

“Tragic,” he deadpanned.

“Deeply.”

They both laughed. But it faded slower this time. Left something tender in its place.

2:12 p.m. — The Corner Where They’ll Split

They stopped without saying it.

Y/N turned slightly, toeing the edge of the pavement, the next step already pulling her toward a different direction. She didn’t take it yet.

“This is where I pretend I wasn’t hoping you’d ask for my number yesterday,” she said.

Harry smiled, slow and sure. “This is where I pretend I haven’t already written your name in my notes five times.”

She bit her lip to stop herself from grinning.

He pulled out his phone. “Do you want mine first, or—”

She gently took it from his hand. Typed her number. Then added:

Y/N (the mistake you’re glad happened)

He blinked.

“You don’t have to save it like that,” she said quickly. “That was a joke.”

“I’m going to,” he said.

There was a pause.

The kind that asked if this was it. The kind that teetered on the edge of more.

“I’m really glad I sat at the wrong table,” she said softly.

“I’m really glad you stayed,” he said.

“I almost didn’t.”

“I almost left before you got there.”

They both smiled. Quiet, a little stunned by the timing.

She took a step back.

And so did he.

But neither turned around right away.

“See you soon?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her like she was a sentence he wanted to memorize.

Then said, “You will.”

Thursday — 5:02 p.m. — Y/N’s Office

The day after was normal.

Annoyingly normal.

Emails. Coffee. More emails. Brody had replied to her notes with a twelve-line rant about “editorial overreach” and a screenshot of a Tweet he liked that said “plot is a prison.” She hadn’t even opened it fully. She just sighed, closed the tab, and reached for her phone.

No new messages.

Not from Harry, anyway.

And that — that — was what threw her.

She didn’t want to be the kind of person who expected immediate follow-up. Who got spun out over someone not texting within 24 hours of an emotionally seismic coffee. But there was something… missing.

Or rather, not missing.

Present.

Lingering.

Every time her phone buzzed, her heart skipped before her logic caught up.

It was never him.

And that stung in a way she couldn’t name.

They’d shared something. They had.

So why did she feel like she was the only one still holding it?

5:18 p.m. — Harry's Flat

Harry hadn’t written back because he didn’t know what to say.

He’d saved her number. Immediately. He’d read her contact name — “the mistake you’re glad happened” — at least twelve times.

And he’d started a text. Four, actually.

But none of them said what he wanted.

Hey, want to meet up again?

Too casual.

Still thinking about yesterday.

Too intense.

Do you want to come with me to this gallery thing Saturday?

Too forward.

I don’t know what this is, but I want to keep finding out.

Too much.

So he didn’t send anything.

Which, ironically, said way more than any of those messages would have.

6:01 p.m.

She told herself not to care.

She’d had intense connections before. She’d felt things quickly, built them up too fast. Maybe that’s all this was.

A spark. A moment. An almost.

But it didn’t feel like almost when it was happening. It felt like something had cracked open — and now, the silence was echoing through the space it left behind.

Her phone buzzed.

She grabbed it.

Not him.

Of course.

She dropped it onto her desk with more force than necessary and muttered, “Coward.”

Then she picked it back up, opened her messages, and stared at the empty thread.

Just send something.

Make it simple. Make it light.

Don’t give him the satisfaction of thinking you’re waiting.

She typed:

Hey. Hope your ghostwriting’s going better than Brody’s editing.

Paused.

Deleted it.

Typed:

Coffee again soon?

Paused.

Deleted it.

Typed:

I keep replaying that moment where we almost held hands.

Paused.

Deleted it.

Threw her phone across the desk and buried her face in her hands.

6:29 p.m.

Harry opened her contact one more time and just stared at her name.

He hadn’t meant for it to get this loud in his head.

He thought giving it a day would help. Give them space. Give him time to figure out what he actually wanted to say.

But all it had done was make the silence louder.

He typed:

You’re still in my head.

Paused.

Backspaced.

Typed:

I can’t stop thinking about what you said. About skipping the pretending.

Paused.

Backspaced.

Typed:

Are you free this weekend?

He stared at it.

Didn’t send it.

Closed his phone.

Ran both hands down his face like that might shake it off.

It didn’t.

Friday — 8:07 a.m. — Y/N’s Flat

The second her alarm went off, she grabbed her phone.

Still nothing.

She stared at the screen in disbelief. Not anger. Not quite sadness.

Just… hollow confusion.

She wasn’t even sure what she wanted from him. A check-in? A joke? Something small and dumb that reminded her it wasn’t in her head?

Because that’s what she was afraid of most — that it was.

That all the energy in that booth, all the sparks and almost-touches and “more,” had only felt real on her side.

She opened Notes again.

Typed:

You asked for more.

Then you disappeared.

Deleted it.

Typed:

I don’t like silence when it comes from someone who made me feel seen.

Deleted it.

Typed:

I shouldn’t be the first to reach out.

Stared at that one.

Didn’t delete it.

But didn’t send it, either.

9:12 a.m. — Harry’s Flat

He’d stared at her number for ten minutes.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she looked at him right before she walked away — like she wanted to stay but didn’t know if she was allowed to.

He was afraid if he reached out now, it’d feel forced. Like too much time had passed.

But not reaching out felt worse.

So he opened the thread. Typed:

Morning. Hope your week wasn’t a complete disaster.

Paused.

Then added:

I’ve rewritten this message six times, so I’m just going to send it.

I keep thinking about that moment at the café.

The almost.

Do you want to finish it?

He stared at the message for five full seconds.

Then hit send.

Immediately regretted it.

Put his phone face down and left the room.

9:14 a.m. - Y/N's Office

She saw the message come in before the notification lit up her phone.

She didn’t open it.

Her breath hitched just from seeing his name.

She waited a minute — because she was stubborn, and scared, and still not sure what she wanted.

Then she unlocked her phone.

And read it.

The almost.

Do you want to finish it?

She stared at it for a long time.

Then did something she didn’t expect.

She closed the app.

And didn’t reply.

Not yet.

Because right now, she didn’t want to fall into something that might vanish again.

She needed him to mean it.

And she needed a minute.

Friday — 9:48 a.m.

Ten minutes.

Then fifteen.

Then thirty.

No reply.

Harry checked his phone more times than he was proud of. Each time, his chest pulled tighter.

Maybe she was busy.

Maybe she needed time.

Maybe she was playing it cool. Or maybe she didn’t feel it the same way.

He told himself it was fine. Told himself not everyone replies immediately. It’s not personal.

But it felt personal.

It felt like a conversation left hanging in mid-air.

And he didn’t know how to breathe through that.

10:31 a.m.

She reread the message six times.

Do you want to finish it?

God, she did.

But also?

She didn’t know what “it” was.

And she wasn’t ready to find out that maybe he didn’t either.

Something in her felt wobbly. Raw.

She wasn’t in the mood for almosts anymore.

And what if he wasn’t serious?

What if this was just another soft-spoken moment from a man who knew how to say the right thing but didn’t know how to follow through?

She’d been there before.

And she didn’t want to do it again.

Not with him.

Not when it had felt real.

So she waited.

Let the message sit there.

Didn’t reply.

Didn’t delete it.

Just… froze.

1:14 p.m.

He was pacing now.

Not a lot. Not fast. Just that quiet, agitated kind of pacing that looks like moving but feels like unraveling.

He’d sent one message.

That was it.

It wasn’t a declaration. Wasn’t a plea. Just a truth. A door half-open.

And she hadn’t walked through it.

It was fine.

It was fine.

But he’d opened something soft, and the silence was starting to bruise.

1:37 p.m.

She opened the message again.

Still no response from her.

Her own.

She typed:

I want to.

Paused.

Typed:

I’m not sure yet.

Paused.

Typed:

I don’t want to be something you forget when it’s inconvenient.

Stared.

Deleted it.

Locked her phone.

Rubbed her forehead with both hands.

Whispered to herself, “Get it together.”

But she couldn’t.

Not yet.

3:12 p.m.

Harry gave up checking his phone.

Not because he didn’t care — because he cared too much.

Because every time the screen lit up and it wasn’t her, it made his chest tighten.

And every time it didn’t light up at all, it felt worse.

He set it face down on the table, walked to the window, leaned his forehead against the cool glass.

He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t even disappointed.

He was… quiet. Inside.

Because something had shifted.

He’d put his heart in a sentence and hit send. And now it was floating out there, alone.

And that hurt more than he wanted to admit.

3:49 p.m.

She felt like a coward.

Not because she hadn’t responded — but because she didn’t know how to.

She wanted to reply. Desperately. But she wanted to be sure. Of him. Of herself. Of whatever this was trying to be.

And the more she sat with it, the more unsure she became.

It would be easier if he hadn’t said anything at all.

But he had.

And she’d asked for a man who could say what he meant.

And now she was… freezing.

She hated that.

She hated the tightness in her chest and the way the message just sat there like it was waiting for her to become braver.

She didn’t feel brave.

She just felt tired.

4:07 p.m. - Outside Harry's Flat

He went for a walk.

Not because he wanted to — but because the flat felt like it was closing in on him.

He didn’t go anywhere in particular. Just wandered. Hands deep in his pockets. Head low. Letting the afternoon stretch out ahead of him like a question with no ending.

I shouldn’t have sent it.

I should’ve waited.

I should’ve known better.

It looped in his head, quiet and cruel.

He walked past Milk & Honey.

Didn’t go in.

Didn’t even slow down.

He didn’t want to see the table empty again.

He didn’t want to hope.

4:33 p.m.

She finally opened the message again.

Reread it slowly.

The almost.

Do you want to finish it?

She closed her eyes.

Imagined what it would feel like to say yes.

To let it happen.

To go back to that booth and sit with him again and not be afraid.

She smiled.

Soft. Small. Sad.

Then whispered, “God, I wish I could.”

But she didn’t type it.

Didn’t send anything.

Not yet.

6:08 p.m. — Y/N’s Flat

She got home and didn’t even take off her coat.

Just dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, and stood in the middle of the living room like she didn’t recognize her own space.

Everything looked the same.

But everything felt different.

She walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, closed it again.

Sat on the couch.

Checked her phone.

Still him. Still there.

Still unread. Still waiting.

The silence now felt like a choice — hers.

And it was louder than anything she could’ve said.

6:39 p.m. — Harry’s Flat

He didn’t turn on the lights.

The flat was dark now, grey-blue with early dusk, but he sat on the floor beside his sofa, back pressed against it, phone in his lap.

He’d stopped opening the thread.

He already knew what it said.

He also knew what it didn’t.

No “yes.”

No “no.”

Just a space where a heartbeat used to be.

He rested his head back and whispered to no one, “I thought she felt it too.”

And the part that hurt was — she had.

7:21 p.m.

She lay on her side, staring at the wall. The phone buzzed once — a group chat. She ignored it.

She should say something.

Anything.

But now it had been almost twelve hours.

And every second that passed made it harder.

You waited too long.

He’s probably writing you off already.

Maybe you made it all up.

She flipped over and grabbed the pillow beside her.

Buried her face in it and exhaled hard.

“God, what am I doing?”

She didn’t have an answer.

Only the ache.

8:03 p.m.

He wrote a sentence in his notebook.

Then crossed it out.

Wrote another.

Crossed that one out too.

He wasn’t trying to write anymore. He was just trying to feel normal.

But nothing felt right when the thread sat open and silent. When the thing he almost believed in didn’t echo back.

He thought maybe he’d go out. Distract himself.

He didn’t.

He sat there.

And missed her.

Quietly.

Fully.

Without permission.

9:17 p.m. — Y/N’s Notes App

I think I messed it up.

I think I waited too long.

I think I wanted him to prove something.

And now I don’t know what there is left to say.

9:32 p.m.

She locked her phone.

Turned off the light.

Lay in bed and whispered:

“Please still mean it.”

But she didn’t send anything.

Not yet.

Saturday — 8:14 a.m. — Y/N’s Flat

She woke up with guilt in her throat.

Thick and bitter. Not the kind that made you cry — the kind that made you still.

It had been nearly 24 hours.

She should’ve answered.

She wanted to. But wanting wasn’t enough when you were afraid.

And now?

Now she wasn’t even sure if the door was still open.

She sat up. Reached for her phone.

It was still there.

The almost.

Do you want to finish it?

Her chest squeezed.

She tapped into the message.

She stared at it.

And then — slowly — she started typing.

I haven’t been fair.

I got scared.

I thought if I said yes, it would be real.

And if it was real, you could leave.

And if you left, I’d feel stupid for believing in something that started with a mistake.

She paused.

Then added:

But it didn’t feel like a mistake.

It felt like the first thing that made sense in a long time.

Her thumb hovered.

She shook her head.

Closed the app.

Opened it again.

Reread the message.

And this time?

She hit send.

8:17 a.m. — Harry’s Flat

His phone buzzed on the bedside table.

He didn’t look at it right away — didn’t want to get his hopes up again. But when he finally reached for it, groggy and resigned, the screen said one thing:

Y/N.

His heart stopped.

He opened it.

Read it once.

Then again.

Then sat up, the blanket falling off his shoulders as the words actually landed.

But it didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like the first thing that made sense in a long time.

He didn’t smile.

He exhaled.

Hard.

Like something had been sitting on his chest for a day and finally lifted.

Then he typed:

Thank you for saying that.

I was scared too.

Still am.

But I’d rather be scared with you than wonder if we missed it.

He sent it before he could overthink it.

And for the first time in 24 hours, the ache eased.

Just a little.

Saturday — 10:02 a.m. — Milk & Honey

It wasn’t planned.

No set time. No “see you then.”

Just a message.

Then another.

Then:

Are you there now? Her.

Just sat down. Him.

Okay. On my way. Her.

And now they were sitting across from each other again — same booth. Same light.

But nothing felt the same.

Not because anything was wrong.

Because everything had changed.

They both looked at each other like they were seeing the other for the first time — not because they hadn’t before, but because now they knew what it meant.

The silence was comfortable.

Then Harry smiled, soft and a little tired. “Hi.”

Y/N let out a breath that sounded like relief. “Hi.”

It didn’t matter that they’d already said it.

It felt different now.

Like an apology and a beginning at the same time.

10:09 a.m.

She wrapped her hands around her cup, not drinking. Just holding.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I am, though.”

He nodded. Let the words settle.

“I got in my own head,” she added. “Told myself too many things before you had the chance to say anything at all.”

“I was afraid to follow up,” he admitted. “Didn’t want to come on too strong.”

“We’re a mess,” she said, almost smiling.

“A very self-aware mess,” he said.

She laughed then. A real one. It cracked the last of the tension.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

“I almost didn’t.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad I did.”

They both sat with that — the weight of what didn’t happen and the miracle of what still could.

10:24 a.m.

“You said something in your message,” Harry said after a while, “about it feeling real.”

Y/N nodded.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

He looked down for a second. Then back at her.

“Do you think we’re writing the same story?”

She froze. In the best way.

Because she knew exactly what he meant.

They hadn’t even kissed.

Hadn’t crossed any physical line.

But this — this — felt like a page they were both holding from opposite ends.

She answered without flinching. “I hope so.”

He smiled. This time it reached his eyes.

“Then let’s not skip ahead.”

“No fast-forwards,” she agreed.

“Just… next lines.”

They didn’t rush the coffee.

Didn’t talk about the future.

Didn’t fill every silence.

But when she reached for the sugar, her fingers brushed his.

And this time?

They didn’t pull away.

10:37 a.m.

Y/N didn’t mean to stay.

She told herself she was just stopping by. Just answering the message. Just giving closure to something that had hung between them too long.

But then he looked at her like she’d come back from war.

Like she was something brave and beautiful and unrepeatable.

And she knew.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

They hadn’t touched — not really. Not beyond the brush of fingers and the echo of a maybe.

But she could feel it.

Underneath the quiet.

Beneath the coffee and soft laughter.

A current.

They were building something.

They were staying.

11:12 a.m.

Harry was the first to shift.

He pushed his mug aside, leaned forward, arms resting on the table, gaze soft but searching.

“Can I ask something?”

Y/N smiled, small. “You ask a lot of things.”

He tilted his head. “You keep answering.”

She gave a half shrug. “Fair.”

He looked down for a second, then back up.

“What would’ve happened if you sat at the right table that day?”

She blinked. “What?”

He kept his voice low. Steady. Like he wasn’t trying to shake her, just… hold something up to the light.

“If you hadn’t sat across from me,” he said, “what would your day have looked like?”

Y/N thought about it.

Really thought.

She pictured Brody’s frown, the rushed notes, the cold espresso, the tension headache. She pictured the way she would’ve walked home — alone, unaffected, unchanged.

Then she said, “I probably wouldn’t remember it.”

Harry nodded.

Then he said, “I think about that a lot.”

11:24 a.m.

They talked more. About small things.

Weird facts.

Favorite cities.

Songs they listened to on trains.

The last time they cried (her: at a commercial involving a dog and a deployed soldier, him: rereading the final page of A Little Life, again).

It wasn’t a first date.

It wasn’t a catch-up.

It wasn’t even anything definable.

It was… staying.

Choosing not to leave.

12:03 p.m. — Soft Shift

Y/N said, “I don’t usually do this.”

Harry said, “Me either.”

She said, “I mean it.”

He said, “I do too.”

She stared at her cup.

Then said, barely above a whisper, “I feel safe with you.”

Harry’s heart clenched.

He didn’t make it dramatic. Didn’t say anything flowery.

He just nodded and said:

“I’ve been waiting for that to matter to someone.”

12:44 p.m.

They ordered lunch without deciding to.

She moved her bag to the floor like she wasn’t going anywhere for a while. He peeled off his jumper like he was settling in. They shared a pastry. Argued about whether almond croissants were superior (they were, he insisted; she refused to concede).

And somewhere between that and a second refill, the tension shifted.

They weren’t circling anymore.

They were sitting inside it.

Comfortable. Unafraid.

1:26 p.m.

Harry said something funny — not even that funny — and Y/N laughed.

Not just politely.

Not softly.

Really, really laughed.

Head back, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut kind of laugh.

And when she looked up, he was already staring.

Not in a weird way.

In a ruined way.

Like, God help me, I’m already gone.

And she knew.

Because the feeling hit her back just as hard.

1:49 p.m.

The café was louder now.

No longer quiet and cozy. The lunch crowd had arrived — the kind of people who linger in scarves and say things like “I’ll just have the oat cortado” like it’s a spell.

But Harry and Y/N were still in the corner. Still in their booth. Still orbiting each other like the world hadn’t turned since they sat down.

Y/N pulled the sleeve of her jumper over her wrist. “It’s getting noisy.”

“Want to leave?” Harry asked, like it wasn’t the most loaded question of the day.

She looked up.

He held her gaze.

It wasn’t a throwaway offer.

Not just “let’s leave the café.”

It was:

Let’s not let this end here.

Let’s keep going.

Let’s see where this leads.

She swallowed. “Where would we go?”

He smiled — small, almost sheepish. “My place is close.”

She blinked.

Not because she didn’t trust him.

Not because she thought he meant something he didn’t.

But because of how gentle it was.

He wasn’t asking her to cross a line.

He was asking if she wanted to keep the conversation going without the noise. Without the crowd.

Just them.

Still them.

“Okay,” she said softly.

And that was it.

2:12 p.m. — Harry’s Flat

It was clean.

Not neat — lived in. Books stacked two deep on shelves and record sleeves leaning against the wall. A candle flickered faintly near the windowsill. Soft jazz hummed from a speaker in the corner.

It was warm in a way that felt like him.

She stepped inside, quiet at first.

Harry closed the door behind her, slow, careful. Like he didn’t want the sound to startle whatever they’d built between them.

“Shoes off?” she asked.

“If you want.”

She did.

She walked into his space like she’d been invited into something private — not just his flat, but his mind. His rhythm.

Harry watched her. Let her move without narrating.

It wasn’t awkward.

It was… unspoken understanding.

2:18 p.m.

They sat on the couch, side by side, still talking, still orbiting.

She pointed to a photo on his shelf — two kids holding a plastic trophy, one clearly him. “Is that a bowl cut?”

“Tragically, yes.”

“Please tell me there’s a matching yearbook photo.”

“There is,” he groaned. “And I will never show you.”

“You say that now.”

Harry grinned.

Their knees touched lightly.

Neither pulled away.

2:41 p.m.

They weren’t talking as much now.

But the silence wasn’t heavy. Just… warm. Easy. The kind that happened between two people who didn’t need to prove they belonged in the same room.

Y/N curled her legs beneath her. Harry stretched his arm along the back of the couch — not touching her, but close.

So close.

Her head tilted slightly toward his shoulder.

Not resting.

Just… near.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

3:03 p.m.

They were still on the couch.

The conversation had drifted. Now it was music. The soft kind — jazz, low and layered — the sort that fills a space without taking it over.

Y/N’s head had slowly, almost imperceptibly, leaned closer to Harry’s shoulder.

She hadn’t meant to.

She just… settled there.

And he didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe too hard.

Didn’t dare speak.

Because this — this exact second — was the most delicate thing he’d ever held.

And he wasn’t even touching her.

She could feel the heat of his arm beside hers.

Could feel the tension in the air.

Not anxious. Not unsure.

Just… alive.

Her hand rested lightly against her leg, fingers grazing the hem of her jeans.

His hand was just inches away.

If she moved even slightly, they’d touch.

She didn’t.

But she didn’t pull away either.

Harry turned his head slowly. Looked at her.

Y/N felt the gaze before she met it.

When she did — God.

Her breath caught.

He wasn’t smiling.

Wasn’t trying to charm her.

Just looking at her like she was the kind of sentence he didn’t want to rush through.

She felt it in her spine.

She turned slightly toward him.

Just a few degrees.

Their faces… closer now.

Not close enough to kiss.

But close enough to consider it.

His voice, when it came, was low. Careful.

“Y/N.”

She blinked. “Yeah?”

He hesitated.

Her eyes were wide. Her lips slightly parted. The moment hanging between them like a held breath.

Then he said, quietly:

“I’m not going to do anything unless you want me to.”

She didn’t move for a second.

Then:

“I know.”

Her voice was steady.

Small. But sure.

And still… neither of them moved.

3:19 p.m.

The moment passed.

Not with regret.

With reverence.

They pulled back just enough to breathe again, but stayed close. Still curled on opposite ends of the couch, knees almost touching, tension replaced with something even quieter.

Something like trust.

Y/N picked up a small, leather-bound notebook from the edge of the coffee table. “This yours?”

Harry blinked. “Yeah. Old one.”

She ran her fingers along the edges. “Can I—?”

He didn’t answer right away.

That book hadn’t been opened in months. Maybe longer. It wasn’t the kind of thing he usually shared — not with clients, not with friends, not with people who might ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

But he nodded.

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

She opened to a random page. Read silently.

He watched her — every flick of her eyes, every small inhale, every tilt of her head.

Then she said, voice soft, “This one’s about me.”

Harry didn’t flinch. “Yeah.”

She looked up.

He held her gaze.

“You wrote this the first day,” she said.

He nodded.

“I hadn’t even left yet.”

“I know.”

Her lips parted. “You were already writing about me.”

“I couldn’t not.”

There was a silence after that. Heavy, but not uncomfortable.

She closed the book slowly and held it in her lap.

“I haven’t written anything in years,” she admitted.

Harry tilted his head. “You used to?”

“Poetry. Short stuff. Before I started working with other people’s stories all the time. Eventually I just… forgot how to listen to myself.”

“That’s not true,” he said, without hesitation.

She blinked. “You don’t even know what I used to sound like.”

“I know what you sound like now.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

She didn’t have a response for that.

So she did the only thing that felt natural.

She reached out — not for his hand, not for his face — but for the notebook.

Opened to a blank page.

And handed it to him.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“Always,” he said.

She looked down at her hands. Picked at the seam of her sleeve. Didn’t say anything for a beat.

Then:

“I’m used to being the person who listens. Not the one who talks.

Most people just… fill the silence and move on.

I think I forgot what it feels like to actually say something and have someone wait.

And today—

I don’t know.

It felt like there was space for me to be a person instead of a function.

And I didn’t realize how much I missed that until it happened.”

She exhaled through her nose.

Didn’t look up right away.

Harry didn’t rush to fill the space. He let it exist.

Then, gently:

“You’re allowed to take up space, Y/N.

Not just here. Everywhere.”

And she believed him.

Because he said it like he wasn’t trying to reassure her —

He said it like it was just a fact.

5:48 p.m.

They hadn’t moved much.

The day had slowed into honey — warm and viscous, stretching without asking for anything in return.

No big moments.

No kiss.

No grand declarations.

Just stillness. Shared space.

A kind of quiet neither of them had been able to find anywhere else.

Eventually, Y/N looked at the clock.

Her smile wilted slightly. “I should go.”

Harry nodded, like he’d already prepared for that truth. “Yeah.”

But he didn’t move.

Neither did she.

They stayed on the couch another few minutes — the kind of minutes that say: this mattered. This wasn’t nothing.

6:02 p.m. — The Walk Back

They walked together.

Not touching.

Just next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, their pace slow enough to mean something. The air was cooler now, the late-afternoon kind that feels like it could turn into evening if you blink too slowly.

“Thank you for today,” Y/N said.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” she said, glancing up at him. “You made space. For everything.”

Harry looked over.

“You filled it,” he said.

She exhaled — not like she was relieved. Like she was feeling something too big to name.

6:19 p.m. — Outside Her Building

They stopped at the edge of her steps.

The quiet wrapped around them like a held breath.

She turned to him, hands in her pockets. “I’ll text you.”

“You don’t have to wait this time,” he said.

She smiled. “I won’t.”

He nodded, looked down at the pavement, then back up.

“I know this is early. And fragile. And maybe too soon to say anything definitive.”

Y/N tilted her head.

Harry continued, slowly. “But I want to see what this turns into. I want to show up for it. For you. Even if we go slow.”

She stepped closer — not much. Just enough.

“You already are,” she said.

He didn’t ask to come up.

She didn’t ask him to stay.

But the pause before goodbye held more weight than a hundred promises.

When she opened her door, she looked back.

He was still there.

And when she stepped inside, she left the porch light on.

Not because it was dark.

But because she wanted him to find his way back.

Part 3

[rwshfordgirl]

I saw that your requests are open. Could you please write a story of Pedri and tennis reader? Maybe they had crush on each other from face away and during the Olympics they meet each other and start low-key going out and end up hard launching their relationship when both of them win the gold medails (It would be great bonus of the reader is Spanish as well)

Olympics

all the images were taken from pinterest.

pairing: pedri x tennis player! reader

a/n: i swore he had participated in the olympics last year, i didn't remember seeing him during euro hahaha by the way i miss the olympics so much!!! I LOVE the Olympics, i remember when my city hosted it. i had to make a small change in the plot, i hope you don't mind and i apologize for the delay, thanks for the request, i'm loving writing fics for him <3 hope you like it.

import warning: i have the feeling that i've already seen a fic involving pedri and a tennis player, i could be wrong because i looked and didn't find it. i don't know if it's a similar story to mine, but in any case if the author of the fic sees this post and feels uncomfortable, she/him can talk to me, i can modify or remove it.

JULY, 2021

Three days after your arrival at the Olympic village, you finally discovered the quietest times for each meal of the day. Even if this involves limited food availability, having peace during meals is essential.

It's 8:30 p.m., the restaurant is really empty, there's you and a few other athletes from nations you can't identify. The members of your coaching staff eat dinner earlier than you, they prefer the commotion and your fitness coach has already warned you that it's best for you to have dinner and go to bed early.

In the village restaurant, there are areas with some typical foods from each country and you promised yourself that you would go through each one, trying everything as if you were on a trip around the world. But today you miss home, you needed something that reminded you of Barcelona.

You made your way towards the Spanish space, the only place with a line at that time, apparently the men's football team was also hungry for Spanish food.

The boys play, laugh and talk loudly in the queue, nothing that bothers you, since all you can think about is what you are going to order to eat. "Escalivada perhaps."

"Lo siento." The male voice of the boy in front of you returned you to reality, he had accidentally stepped on the tip of your foot and turned to apologize.

Your eyes passed over the man, someone you had known from afar, Pedri, he studied with your cousin during high school and his face was always spread throughout Barcelona in the advertisements of the team he played for. An unforgettable face.

Pedri also feels unable to forget your face, when he saw it was you, he promptly remembered the occasions when he met you. He liked it when your cousin organized parties and invited you.

"Hi." You said almost in a whisper, but with a slight smile on your face.

"Hi." He said in the same way you did.

But that was it, the Spanish national team's top brass called him for something. They said goodbye with a subtle wave.

That same night, when you were already at your accommodation, a notification made your cell phone vibrate. It was a notification from Instagram.

"Pedri started following you."

You smiled and promptly followed him back. The beginning of something.

JULY,2024

Tokyo was your first Olympics, and it will always be the most special of all. Besides being your first, it was thanks to the sporting event that you reconnected with Pedri.

Three years ago, right after the Spanish player started following you, things changed. You now attend Barcelona games, Pedri watches your tennis matches. Everything you didn't know you needed.

The results of the Tokyo Olympics were not the best, you left there in fourth place and Pedri won a silver medal after a final against Brazil.

You wanted, you really wanted to leave Paris with any medal. Pedri said, "Don't be too hard on yourself, my love, everything will be fine." Every time I saw you training hard for the upcoming Olympics.

But the combination of Pedri + hard training worked, today you can say that you will return to Barcelona with a medal in your hands. You reached the women's tennis final.

"Cariño, everything has already worked out. I'm rooting for you so much."

Pedri's message made your eyes water, he can't come to see you, he's in training with the national team. Pedri will also return home with a medal around his neck, the men's football team was in the final.

And you promised, if you both left Paris with medals, the rest of the world would know you were together. Something people suspected, photos of you two leaving markets together and walking through the streets of Barcelona, likes and comments on photos. People just didn't have confirmation.

But now they will, after an electrifying match against a Chinese athlete, you are a gold medalist. No words to describe it. You went from fourth place in Tokyo to the gold medal in Paris.

"I knew you could do it." Pedri's voice was muffled on the phone.

He was crying along with you on the video call.

The rest of his team were shouting your name from the back and congratulating you.

"Tomorrow is your turn."

And it really was, Spain won two golds in a row in less than 24 hours. A game as electrifying as theirs, but decided in extra time, as France was also desperate to win the gold at home.

"We are both medalists."

You said in Pedri's ear right after he spun you around on the field.

"Golden couple."

He said after giving you a little kiss.

"We're going to have to take a picture biting the medal."

"As you wish."

"You know that when we have our first child, we have to call her Olimpia." He joked.

"No way, let's leave that idea aside."

"Oh come on, it's a name that represents us."

"Pedri, I'll get that idea out of your head very soon." You smiled "Come on, let's take the pictures."

[sleepyicon]

keenry- tory’s pov (im insane)

s3

tory accepting robby and giving him advice related to training and home life

tory inviting robby to hang out with the cobras and defending him against hawk

s4

tory telling robby to stay when he was going to leave the dojo

tory smiling at robby when he respected her boundaries

tory smiling at robby and asking him what he had in mind in order to get revenge on hawk without fighting

tory asking robby to prom and obviously lying when she said it was strictly a tactical move

tory trusting robby enough to open up a little and resting her head against his

tory allowing herself to fully forget about sam and miguel because she liked robby too much

tory pulling robby into the pool and being silly with him

tory asking robby if he was alright after his fight with kenny at the avt, going after him and being being the only one concerned for him after his loss against hawk

tory almost smiling at robby when he wished her luck before her fight with sam (silver interrupted their moment, he hates keenry and regrets setting them up i can feel it)

tory looking at robby while holding her trophy

s5

tory telling robby she missed him

tory admitting to kreese that she didn’t like hiding the truth from robby

when robby came to cobra kai, tory’s moves were delayed and when silver was giving the class commands not chanting no mercy with the other cobras. she gave him a final look before he left

tory punching through stone in the name of love

tory assuring robby she was ok when he asked about her hand

tory looking out for herself and robby, making sure they didn’t violate their probation

s6

tory shamelessly kissing robby in front of devon when she found out he was reinstated (THIS WAS GOLD KWKWKWKSNDMD)

tory sticking around at the double date robby brought her too, even if it was kinda uncomfortable

tory asking robby about kenny and supporting him when he wouldn’t give up

tory stopping kenny from using a bat on robby, working with sam to keep kenny away from their boyfriends

tory entrusting robby with the fact that she ran into kreese

tory supporting robby when he opened up a little about his second place trauma

tory apologizing to robby for not showing up to the captain’s match sooner

tory using a softer tone with robby when he tried to console her after the news of her mom broke out

tory putting their relationship on break, knowing how her rejoining cobra kai has affected him and not wanting to cause further harm

tory confirming to robby when he asked that it was a pause, not a breakup, and that she still wanted to see him on the podium next to her just like they said

tory wishing robby good luck even after he reminded her of her trust issues (which she’s improved on)

tory stealing zara’s phone and outing her to her followers (even tho my girl misunderstood what zara actually did to robby)

tory reminding robby that she never broke up with him, still willing to stay with him even under the impression that he cheated on her

tory yelling “kiss this bitch” to zara before kicking her. i know for a fact that tory would be enraged if she found out what zara actually did and i would do anything to see that play out in the show

bonus: tory looking at robby. she be doing this every season it’s so cuteeee

did i forget anything? idec at this point bc this has been sitting in my drafts too long 💀

making a robby version that i was planning on posting at the same time as this, but it’s sitting in my drafts unfinished and im lazy :P

[aicosu]

Guys, I hate to do this.

Any of you who know me in any circle know that I'm a very professional, very private lady who hates any sort of disc horse breeds that might give me a headache. But this one is important, and my goal here is the integrity and reputation of artists.

For my credentials: I have been a part of five zines in the past. Two I moderated, and one I ran, created, laid out, printed, and shipped in its entirety.

So anyway:

HELLCHEER ZINE BULLSHIT

I joined Hellcheer and the Kindred Freaks Zine very late. Well, after sign ups, check-ins, etc. I saw it was happening in april-ish and shot a DM to the twitter to join. I did both a full art page and a cosplay page.

At the time, the server was quiet but kind. We got updates on the number of orders and books being made.

@Lawless is the runner of the Zine. They created and organized it. They are in charge of the main emails, the selling website, the orders, the shipping, and the funds. (To be clear, this level of sole responsibility is not ABNORMAL in a zine. And is not always an issue.)

@Valerie is the 'social media' mod. They are in charge of managing announcements and answering questions on Twitter and Tumblr. Please keep in mind: No one wants anything but a fast and easy recovery for both Lawless and their mother. Medical emergencies, heck—LIFE happens. It's always okay to put a hiatus on anything, even product with money, in order to take care of yourself and family. Every single contributor only wants them to be clear in what they need and how we can help.

So lets break down what's happening.

Back in May, Lawless went radio silent on the status of books and merch coming in. Another contributor and I, @Toguchin, start dming Lawless to make sure everything is on track. They come back after a week and apologize for being MIA, explaining that their mom got sick. We thank them for all their hard work and wish them and their mom well.

On July 15th, after contributors and customers inquire on delays to meeting the announced shipping deadline, Lawless makes a twitter post saying shipping has started and contributor copies will be happening. They proceeded to go MIA from the server discord and have been since.

The following week, contributors and customers discover that shipping HAS NOT started. Labels have been created and printed, but nothing appears to be in transit at all.

Toguchin and I started getting reached out to by customers worrying their packages are lost. We report this to the zine server to NO RESPONSE. Except @Ashlee, the discord mod who also has heard nothing.

July 20th to 22nd with customers complaining and theorizing a scam in mind; Toguchin and I propose that PDFs be given out to assure and apologize for delays.

We as a server discover a few things: 1. We cannot access the list of buyers at all in order to email apology zines because Lawless did not share the account information with anyone. 2. We cannot access the main email for the same reason. 3. Valerie, the social media mod, deleted discord and distanced themselves from the Hellcheer fandom and has not been checking the Twitter or tumblr, or discord notifications since May.

Ashlee and Ichikun contact Valerie to sign on.

I made a new email and said fuck it, we need to do something to assuage fears, let them send receipts to honor their zines. Valerie didn't know what to post or say or how to answer everyone, so I gave them a copy paste.

Still no words from Lawless but hoping for the best knowing the have a medical emergency, Ashlee and I begin answering the new email for PDFs, but cant help people change addresses or give them any update!!!

Throughout the weeks mods and contributors ping Lawless constantly asking if they need any help! Any help at all, answering emails, changing order addresses, heck a few of us ask if we can pick up the books and packages and ship stuff for them so they can hands off the project and take care of their mom. No response.

We send message after message saying if Lawless can share picture proof, that would be great cause scam theories and chargebacks are starting. BUT ALSO, we let Lawless know we and customers will ABSOLUTELY UNDERSTAND delays if they just communicate it. That if they post in server and on Twitter that shipping needs to wait a month or two, no one will mind. No responses.

July 31, Lawless makes a Twitter update with comments disabled that they are shipping ALL packages that monday with a picture of packages. They also call Valerie privately and tell the issue that USPS refuses to pick up shipments from Lawless has, and they can't leave their mothers side from the post office. They also claim they can only deliver ten packages at a time at the post when they go. *USPS has no such rules. Me and other mutuals who run shops have never had such a problem.

A week later, we realize that customers and our packages are still not in transit. Labels printed only. Most of us assume all packages are just label printed and sitting at Lawless' house.

We beg for updates from Valerie or Lawless. Valerie doubles down on Lawless old reasonings and also officially goes MIA until present day.

Throughout August, USA packages get delivered. A few more updates are made straight to Twitter and Tumblr with comments off. Radio silence in server.

As packages arrive, we all become aware from people's posts and pictures that random Stranger Things Art Stickers are included. No credit to any artist is given? No contributor is responsible for this art. These are suspected to be BOUGHT from Amazon. STOLEN arts amazon sellers resell in packs. NO contributor is okay with this!!! Valerie responds with no response at all.

As of now:

No response to missing digital copies. Ashlee and I cannot give out any without receipts because we have no access to buyers list. Nor can we answer missing packages inquiries cause we have no info. International packages unaccounted for. SCRUNCHIES FREE OR OTHERWISE UNACCOUNTED FOR. Zero word on contributor copies. Zero word on donation status. Zero word on generated profit or book and shipping cost. No way to verify funds at all. No word from Lawless to contributors since July 15. From Valerie since the 31st.

Some notes:

Turning off twitter comments was NEVER what any one of us wanted. A ZINE LAYOUT was never shared. So until people had them in hand or in PDF none of us realized that the credits DO NOT POINT TO ANY SOCIAL MEDIA. All of our usernames are handle-less? This was extremely disappointing. This one matters to me: Our FanEdit artist was not aware their work was not getting a full page. Again no pre-layout was shared. So their work is tiny and in the margins of the front and back. That's not okay. All of us wanted to help in any way we could. NONE of us doubt Lawless intentions or emergencies. But lying, misleading, non-communicating and turning off comments are all things we did not consent to. All of us only wanted a cordial, honest response. None of us actually cared about delays as much as we did communications. There has been many noticeable times Lawless has been online, posting privately or otherwise, even active on Discord and has not reached out.

Why make a post:

Customers should know contributors fought for them. That we did everything we could and our reputation as artists in the fandom shouldn't be tarnished cause two creators decided to disappear. Contributors should get their copies. Many of us BOUGHT bundles. I've been in five zines and every single one gave out free contributor copies WITH merch!!

I'm also attaching all server screenshots for integrity. I'm in half a mind to release the zine PDF publicly, for free, for everyone at this point. I personally think it's only fair since many are still missing just that. But I do not want to insult anyone who paid for just the PDF regardless of the potential contribution to charity. But it's really up to customers, not me.

[ducktoonsfanart]

Darkwing Duck as Darkwing Doubloon vs Negaduck - Pirate Donald Duck with Fearsome Four, Launchpad, Fenton and kids - Huey, Dewey, Louie and Gosalyn as pirates ducks - Pirate ducks - Pirate AU - Happy Talking Day with a pirate - Music to My Eyes, Culture Couture and Pinups Please - Duckblr Fashion Week - Darkwing Duck and Quack Pack AU - My version

Sorry for the delay, but in order not to miss this event, I even connected this with a very interesting day of the year called International Talk Like a Pirate Day, which is celebrated every year on September 19, at least in the Western Hemisphere of the world. And being a fan of pirates myself as well as the pirate lifestyle and movies (especially Pirates of the Caribbean), I decided to draw my favorite characters from the Duckverse, but dressed as pirates as they wore during the golden age of piracy (between 1670 and 1730), as well as later until 1800.

Yes, two episodes from two different series came to my mind, the episode "Darkwing Doubloon" from Darkwing Duck and "Captain Donald Duck" from Quack Pack so I combined it into one, but I drew two drawings. The first drawing shows a sword fight and a fight between Darkwing Doubloon (the supposed ancestor of Darkwing Duck who was also a pirate) and the scary pirate Captain Negaduck, although this is a redraw from that episode, but they are fighting on a ship, and I used my own style a bit. Another drawing shows Donald Duck as a pirate captain along with the kids, the Fearsome Four (Bushroot, Liquidator, Quackerjack and Megavolt), Fenton Crackshell and Launchpad McQuack dressed as pirates (except for Quackerjack, he's a jester) and they're all friendly. I used their pirate outfits from the aforementioned Darkwing Duck and Quack Pack episodes, and Donald's pirate outfit from the Disney Lorcana cards. Yes, Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck and Gosalyn Mallard are all teenagers together and from the present day, and check out pictures of the pirate and sailor outfits they're wearing here: https://ducklooney.tumblr.com/post/662818207696076800/although-im-late-and-i-apologize-for-that#notes

Yes, I drew everything in my own style. Plus there's a treasure that pirates love, and Donald also likes to play the little accordion, a well-known instrument that pirates used to sing. Otherwise, a little pirate songs on this topic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92DlHJ3U5O8 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GfpmhdsuE_k

Yes, unfortunately due to quite a number of my commitments I didn't have time to do certain themes for Duckblr Fashion Week, so I combined three themes into two drawings. I hope that's ok?

I hope you like these drawings and feel free to like and reblog this, but please don't copy my same ideas without mentioning me. Thank you! Also this is dedicated to @tealottie, as the organizer of Duckblr Fashion Week. And happy belated Talk Like a Pirate Day once again! ARRRGHH!

[vintersang]

Hello, everyone.

I'm alive!

I wanted to make this little post to announce a small hiatus. My creativity energy has taken bit of a dive, so I have not been extremely active on here... As you can most likely tell. My activity has dropped, but I am planning to quietly focus on drafts whenever my inspiration hits me. I have noticed my struggle to write has spread over to other hobbies, such as my joy to create edits... Which is, quite frankly, one of the more unfair things to happen. With this in mind, I have decided to take a short break in order to try to nurse my creativity back to me.

Anything that I finish in my drafts (including my inbox) will be queued up once I actually complete something. Naturally, I want to thank everyone that is still waiting for me. I hate making people wait on me, so I feel a bit extra bad. I wanted to start this year off more strongly, especially since I really want to be on Elsa, but my energy has been quite low lately. For the time being, I will be focusing on trying to re-spark myself. I miss being active on my dash, but I am struggling.

Looking at my drafts, both threads and incomplete asks, makes me feel really disappointed. I know writing is a hobby, but seeing all of it does stress me out a bit. I wish I was a faster writer, but I'm not. I love the rush of excitement whenever I finish something on this blog since I have come to enjoy learning more about my Elsa. But lately? The drafts, I think, are a bit stressful for me to look at whenever I come back onto this blog. Don't get me wrong, I love the interactions so much. The issue is the fact that my writing pace is so slow, especially when muse is being fickle. I enjoy my time on here when I'm active, but I dislike my writing pace. The worst part of my overall writing pace and my unpredictable muse, I think, must be the realization that I make people wait.

Many of my mutuals, especially the mutuals from my Homura blog, are very patient with me. Logging on here to see that I still have my mutuals is, well, really comforting to see. I know all of my mutual friends will be patient with me when they do come across this post on their dash. I adore that for them, truly.

My biggest enemy when it comes to making people wait even longer is, well, myself. No one else. Intrusive thoughts can be a big pain, that's for sure. Right now, I am here to update everyone on what's going on. I don't know how long the hiatus will last, but I will still work on my drafts. My biggest first concern will be finishing my dust-covered threads, then slowly make my way through my inbox. Any unanswered DMs will be answered, though I do apologize for any delays in advance. To those who have reached out to me on my Discord to merely chat, thank you for having me in your thoughts. My social battery can easily get overwhelmed, so it's easy for me to get lost in my own little world...or forget to respond back, which is a bit awkward.

To all of my new followers, welcome to my blog. I know things are quiet right now, but I am hoping to change that in the near future.

For anyone who is reading this, here is an adorable-looking gift!

My ancient phone died at some point this month, so I had the chance to upgrade my phone from an iPhone 6s to an iPhone 13. It was stressful when it happened, but I am happy to have a better phone because I get to take better pictures of my dearest cat. Tabitha is my precious cat. She is currently purring in my lap as I type this post out. Isn't she adorable? My motivation to write (as well as open up Photoshop to work on late gifts) have been really low lately, but... Tabitha is still happily purring in my lap.

If you made it to the very end, I have a small request:

What is one of your favorite books?

(If you answer, please explain why! Talking about books always makes me excited, no matter what kind of slump I'm in!)

It can be a series or a novel, but I would really like to know. Why? Because I'm planning to slowly focus on reading my own books. You see, I have a system: If I cannot write, then I bounce over to my next hobby to try to do something. My motivation to create edits often helps me get back in the mood when it comes to writing for Homura, but... Elsa is more trickier, apparently. Alas, my issue right now is simply my lack of motivation to write anything.

So, what do I do when I can't create?

I focus on reading because I'm always reading something. With this little knowledge, please send me some books. I prefer fictional books. Fantasy is my main genre of choice. I also love historical fiction. You get bonus points if it's some kind of fantasy and historical fiction. I adore faeries (including mermaids) in my books, but there doesn't have to be faeries in the books.

Overall, I want to hear about your books as well. I'm going to try to focus on reading while I'm away because reading always helps me to write something, even if it doesn't go anywhere. Reading is always a big comfort me since I can always rely on it, hehe.

Thank you for reading this far!

[mysteria157]

hello hello mystie 🩷 bon has decided to visit you once again.

i am recently going through quite some turbulence with my writing. i have been working on a aot reiner piece for quite some time but it's been feeling rather... unfulfilling? i guess i just want to open up a bit.

as a black woman, i've seen a number of posts on here of other woc having takes about how we should 'embrace our blackness' and write our fics in a way that reflects that. i always understood that this is a valid opinion, as we are often pushed by society to 'calm' ourselves down and water down our personalities and our way of speaking (often not to fall subject to a number of disheartening stereotypes.)

but i've come to a more different, personal conclusion over the past few months. i am a black south african girl who grew up watching british cartoons in order to learn english. my mother took me to a catholic school where english was the language of instruction and we had a similar education system as most british schools (colonisation has a role in this system but that's a discussion for another day.)

i've always been called 'whitewashed' as i am fluent in the language. there's still heavy racial tension where i'm from, so ever since i was little i was compared to speaking as a white person. a 'coconut' if we want to go that far, lol.

besides this, we've become more westernised and my peers around me began to see the struggle of african americans as our own (since we're all experiencing the same biases and discrimination as poc.) now for some reason, seeing the takes of other woc made me feel as if the way i write and speak was incorrect. i felt like a phony, like someone who was dodging away from racism by writing like a 'white person' to stay unattacked.

to cut this short (as this has already been quite long), your writing put things into perspective for me. it might not be 'that deep' but seeing another black woman write and speak similar to myself has healed a small part of me. not only is your writing excellent, but it makes me feel as if that i don't have to pretend to be the stereotypical black writer all the time.

that my way of writing does not make me any less 'black'. i now know exactly how i want to create stories and write them down, as i always could've done.

thank you for being the talented individual that you are. love you lots.

-Bonnie 🩷

Hello my beautiful, Bonnie 💕

I apologize for the delay, I’ve been traveling for work so my activity on Tumblr has been low recently.

It’s a weird sensation of fate to read your post, because I resonate with your thoughts deeply. Growing up as a military child, I moved frequently, so I never really had a “home” like others. The friends that I had were all military children too and made up a melting pot of race, diversity, and background. I did not have a primarily black friend group and because of this, others often made fun of me for not being “black” enough. The way I spoke, wrote, dressed, and my mannerisms were all representative of a “whitewashed” version of a black woman. The concept of whitewashed is a topic for another day 😒

I’ve dealt with being called an “inside out Oreo”and constantly heard the annoying micro-aggression of “talking really well for someone like myself.” And for years it bothered me more that I wanted to feel and act like others, instead of embracing myself. Thankfully, I got over that.

Joining Tumblr and finding a community of black writers has been a great experience, and I definitely agree that we should ‘embrace our blackness’, but embrace it in a way that represents YOU. Not everyone else.

For myself, I embrace with what I write about, not necessarily how I write. Because I write how I think and talk, but I try to share plot and experiences that normally resonate with who I am as a black woman. Cookouts, extended family mannerisms and traditions, how I do my hair and take care of my skin, etc.

You are not a phony and you are not ‘whitewashed’. You’re Bonnie, and Bonnie writes how Bonnie speaks, acts, and feels. Period.

In my opinion, trying to write a certain way to appeal to someone else only takes away from your own authenticity. This isn’t to invalidate someone else’s experience, but you shouldn’t have to pretend to embrace your ‘blackness’. Being able to overcome this feeling is such a strength that you should continue to hold close 💕

Girl, look at me rambling LMFAO. THE POINT IS, I’m so happy that I was able to help you embrace more of who you are. I’m happy that you enjoy my words. I’m happy that you have the strength to create how you want. And I’m just…really happy for meeting you 🥹

Create your stories however you want. As long as Bonnie is happy and Bonnie is enjoying it and Bonnie is not intentionally hurting others, that’s all that should matter.

Love you lots as well. Thank you for being the beautiful mootie that you are 💕😘

[digitalshroud]

❝　 they wanna beef

on the internet ? 𓂃⠀⠀‧ 💬

✶   ⎯⎯　 digitalshroud , she / her

HELLLO!!! Call me jinny or jin (either is fine) (＾▽＾) and i just like to post my art here. im kinda a semi beginner artist so my drawings are not that great but its ok guys.

About me…. ★

im a minor, november 3rd, scorpio

im korean but im really bad at speaking korean, i can usually understand the basic concepts but i cant respond back

my mbti is an infp- introverted, intuitive, feeling, and perceiving

( ˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ ) i like music, art, video games, psychology, reading fanfiction, animals, sweet food!!!

i dont like math, bugs, summer heat, being left out, rude people, vegetables ( ᗒᗣᗕ )

my current main interests are twisted wonderland, brawl stars, and project sekai but i also have a lot of other smaller interests as well

my favorites are idia, azul, ace, and jamil (no particular order!!!) but i love all the other characters in general as well

Before you follow…. ★

(1) im really bad with dms, sometimes i dont respond and even if i do, it might be delayed so sorry. same thing goes for comments but it’s just going to be a late response

(2) i live under a rock so i may not understand something also im pretty stupid (please explain if i get confused)

(3) i have currently only read up to book 6 and have not finished book 7 so i may not draw a lot of diasomnia

(4) dont hesitate to ask to be oomfs however im too shy to start a conversation so i probably wont text first

(5) if i did or said anything wrong please dm me immediately, ill try my best to resolve and apologize for it!

Do not interact…. ★

if you follow under the basic dni criteria or are pedophiles, zoophiles, proshippers, weirdos, creeps, haters for no reason, etc

i barely block people but i will block freely. no offense however

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

I've finally felt well enough to go through the inbox to queue the submissions.

If you sent in more than one submission, you may notice them posting out of order. This is because I have shuffled the queue, so they are not posted chronologically.

Just one note: If you sent in something that said "Pt1" at the end, did you send in a part 2? Because if so, I didn't get it. The submission seemed complete enough as is, so I have queued it but feel free to send in a part 2 and I can merge them before it posts.

If you need a reminder of what part 1 was, feel free to contact me off anon and I'll respond to you privately and send you what you submitted.

Now, directed more at general submitters: If you do have a multi-part submission, please label them as Part 1/2/3/etc at the beginning of the submission and not at the end. I'm much more prone to missing it if it's at the end. And also, please only send in multi-part submissions if it is too long to fit in to a single post. There's no need to send in five submissions that are each just a few sentences long. The Ask Box can contain very large submissions.

Hope that information is clear and understandable. Always feel free to ask questions.

I'm still not well. But my migraine finally went away. I apologize for the delay in queuing submissions. And also, I would like to pre-apologize in case anything comes out of the queue that is inappropriate. I waited until I was in a better mindset for reading through submissions to be sure I didn't queue something that shouldn't be posted, but as I said, I'm still not well and lack of sleep is making my judgement and reading comprehension flawed.

Thanks for being patient with me while I deal with all of my health issues.

[sketch-guardian]

Mc having a second secret acc that the rad classmates and angels don’t know about and it’s literally them just being super down bad saying the most heinously down bad things that got even the devil and god shaking in their boots from how down bad they are so down bad they’ve become a meme but for shits a gigs I think it’d be interesting if they heard about it from other students from RAD and just assume the worst of what’s in the acc and ask azul to snoop/azul snoops and around and it’s just Mc being so down bad like going feral down bad ex

“So you guys saw how Domnra beat the shit out of that student today right? Well goddamn how I wish it were me like YALL SAW HOW HOT HE LOOKED RIGHT?!”

Like it’s just Sukuna/Gojo fan level of downbadness like so down bad it’ll get a reaction out of Nathanial type of downbadness!!

Or another scenario is they’re already dating and Mc is pretty normal like normal flirty stuff but the acc is jsut horrendous from how down bad they are

(Sorry for the word vomit😭)

Don't worry about the word vomit, honestly I find this ask hilarious😂I'll try my best to write some good headcanons☺I also apologize for the delay🙈I was looking for a university for a master's degree these days, lessons start next week so I'll start being busy again😭:

"RAD CLASSMATES+NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A DOWN BAD MC WHO OWNS A SECRET ACCOUNT DEDICATED TO THEM"

DEMYA

Demya is a pretty shameless demon, especially when it comes to her mate, in fact she would have no problem with PDA or showing her affection for MC through compliments and praise, after all she has to let everyone know that they're a couple, so as to discourage competition and let them see just how proud she is of MC. So, the fact that MC has a secret secondary account dedicated exclusively to simp for her even at different times of the day, such as when she eats, hunts or dances, would make Demya curious about the reason for MC's secrecy, but also very amused, she would probably tease MC about it every now and then, even posing on purpose in case they wanted to post new pics, maybe even together this time. It wouldn't be the first time she has received compliments, but Demya would prefer them from MC, because they would be more genuine and without ulterior motives

DOMNRA/MOBIM

Domnra, of all people, would actually be the one with the most doubts and who would immediately think the worst at the suspicion that his partner is hiding something from him, not because he doesn't trust MC, but because he is a fairly insecure demon, although it doesn't look like it, especially due to his anger issues. Therefore, when Mobim would cheerfully come to him with his D.D.D in its little arms in order to show him a surprise, Domnra would be quite puzzled, but relieved, to find out that MC only has a secret secondary account used to post sappy comments about him. Domnra would be quite flustered to read certain down bad posts, especially those about him listening to music, his training sessions or fights, it's likely that he wouldn't confront MC on the subject, however Domnra would usually reread certain posts when he feels down, to raise his self-esteem. Mobim, instead of down bad comments, would find posts where MC would treat the little curse as a baby or a puppy. Mobim would likely be more affectionate towards MC, grateful for their love

AZUL

Bold of MC to assume that Azul wouldn't post down bad comments and photos dedicated to his lovely star without shame on his main Devilgram account, after all he is a simp par excellence and proud of it, Azul isn't bashful to show his devotion and admiration for his source of inspiration, that is MC. It wouldn't take Azul long to figure out the identity behind MC's secret secondary account, he would chuckle to himself as he read the posts, while his colors would change from light blue to pale pink, index of affection. In a sing-song tone Azul would go to MC to tell them he had discovered their little secret, teasing them lovingly with hugs and kisses. Azul wouldn't understand the reason behind MC's shyness, but if they want to simp for him in secret while he paints, sculpts or floats around, who is he to stop them? Azul would also find amusing that both him and MC seem consider themselves each other muses

ZURI

Not gonna lie, Zuri has several admirers despite having worked as a model only on few occasions, so being flattered would be nothing new for her, even as an angel in the Celestial Realm she had people who at the mere sight of her turned to stare at her beauty, Zuri's aware of her appearance and makes sure to take care of it, however she wouldn't pay much attention to fans, more committed to improving her style and sewing skills. It's likely that Azul, being a troublemaker and a snitch, would show Zuri the down bad posts about her and it would take Zuri only a few seconds to guess that MC was behind the secret account, probably recognizing their way of typing, she's a detail-oriented and perceptive demon after all. Zuri would find MC's sappy posts about her working, trying on new clothes, during social events and although slightly exasperated, she would eventually let out an amused scoff and smile faintly. Zuri would approach the topic with MC with caution, not wanting to embarrass them too much, to their surprise she might even propose to do something romantic together in the privacy of her home, given that they seem so infatuated with her

ODON

Although Odon doesn't use social media much, because technology sometimes struggles to work due to their eldritch horror nature, that doesn't mean they wouldn't discover MC's secret secondary account, rather they would find out about it thanks to their eye-like creatures, who can see everything in Devildom, probably even MC writing the down bad posts, unknown to them, in fact the grumpy eye-like creature (Bob) would stare at MC with an unimpressed gaze, while the cheerful eye-like creature (Rob) would look at them with a sly gaze, in any case, the familiars would report everything to Odon. For Odon, such down bad posts would remind them of their youth, when there were some cults that worshipped them and made sacrifices in their honor, hoping of being noticed. Looking back on it, Odon would find that past fact quite awkward, because although flattered, they would think it was all quite unnecessary. However, MC's comments would please Odon, because they would be grateful to be genuinely liked and to be seen as a good friend, even if some posts would confuse the eldritch horror, especially the most feral ones, for simple actions such as reading or cooking. Odon would only confront MC on the subject if they thought they wouldn't get too embarrassed, after all Odon doesn't want to upset them, they would likely write MC a poem though, to return their kindness in their own way

REMIEL

Remiel is still learning how to use a D.D.D, having never had to use such means of communication before, so someone else would have to show the angel of death how social media works and possibly let her discover MC's secret secondary account, a guy like Azul for example. Remiel, as often has occurred, would be a little confused by such custom, not understanding the feral posts and trying to interpret them from a logical point of view, furthermore she wouldn't know why MC posted such comments instead of talking to her. Remiel, being a gloomy yet blunt angel, would have no trouble saying what she thinks of MC, even if her statements would be more on the sweet, emotional and poetic side. MC's down bad comments that would strike Remiel the most would be the soft ones, those of encouragement, complimenting her while she learns, flies and stares at things absent mindedly, the sweetness could make Remiel shed some tears, not used to such displays of love if not from her family. Speaking of feral posts, since she would be confused, Remiel would ask for explanations from a person she trusts, namely her father Death, so depending on how inappropriate some of MC's comments are, they could find the fucking grim reaper outside their front door

NATHANIEL

In the Celestial Realm, Nathaniel is seen as a sort of mentor, a figure that many look up to for wisdom, so it wouldn't be uncommon to find people who admire him for his appearance as well, ethereal according to some, without effort, Nathaniel has always been very casual about it though, since physical appearance is one of the last things on his mind. Nathaniel knows enough about social media, he would check them every now and then out of pure curiosity, but he would still be flabbergasted to see posts about himself and it takes a lot to catch Nathaniel off guard, so MC's down bad comments must be really feral to have made even the archangel react. Nathaniel would be amused to see sappy posts about him as he meditates, takes strolls through nature or practices archery with his hair tied in a ponytail, he would find them cute, if a little exaggerated. MC would notice Nathaniel occasionally glancing at their D.D.D and then showing them a small knowing smile, without elaborating any further, before disappearing into another room, leaving MC with the doubt of whether or not he has discovered their secret, his nonchalant and quiet attitude wouldn't help at all. Nathaniel may seem innocent, but he can be a bit of a tease when he wants to

URIEL

Uriel wouldn't often use a D.D.D, not used to communicating with similar means, so it would take someone like Nathaniel to point out to the warrior angel that someone is writing about her and with great enthusiasm to boot, he would also make it clear that MC is the one behind the secret account, otherwise Uriel would ignore the matter. Uriel would be confused by the praise, as she technically isn't a saint to be worshipped or entrusted with one's prayers, however she would still appreciate the admiration towards herself, especially during her training sessions, duties and times in her armor. However, Uriel wouldn't understand why MC, in their secret secondary account, would confess and insist on wanting to be crushed, stepped on or squeezed by her, the warrior angel would not find such masochism healthy and could get scandalized by some feral posts. At the beginning, Uriel would ask MC for explanations, but over time, despite the embarrassment, Uriel would also proclaim her pride and love, only upon request though, as she thinks such displays should be private

[horseshoegirl]

Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 15 - Have You Ever Seen The Rain

📖I need to make two apologies. First, I am so sorry for the long delay. While work was beating my ass, I actually received a rude comment on my Wattpad account for the last chapter that triggered a horrible writer's block. It was taken care of, and it didn't bother me at the time, but I didn't realize how much it affected me until I started to write. Then I decided to use it for inspiration!

Secondly, I'm so sorry for what is about to unfold. This one was planned from the get-go (which is also probably why I struggled because this is the one chapter I dreaded having to write).

(I'll be running from the pitchforks as they come, Woot Woot!)

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, verbal fights, sexist implications, one slap across the face, and Jake being Hangman.

#6k words

Part 14 | Masterlist | Part 16

The story behind how you started ego-checking some of the cocksure pilots at Hard Deck is less interesting than one might think.

It all started with a game. 

You weren't kidding when you told Jake you were a library, loving geek who'd rather spend her time deep in the stacks. That was the plot of your entire post-secondary experience. You didn't know how to flirt. You stayed clear of frat parties and cliquey groups. And if a guy tried to flirt with you, you ran for the freaking hills without a backward glance.

You only decided to take that bartending job in building H's damp, dark basement because you were dead-ass broke. But the thing about being a bartender on a University campus, there were moments when you had nothing but time on your hands.

You had to get creative.

Looking back, you would blame the writer-orientated part of your mind that decided to create that little game of making up stories for the people who regularly visited the miserable bar.

The quiet girl, always sitting in the back corner, cramming for a test or writing a paper. Did she like the ambience, or was she avoiding the library? Or was she trying to work up the nerve to ask out one of the bussers, waiting for the perfect meet cute?

Maybe the nerds who gathered every Friday at the arcade-style game consoles playing Pac-Man needed to leave their dorm because Friday nights tended to be the one night everyone liked to party.

Those popular girls sitting around a table with their $5 cocktails, lowcut tanktops, and jean shorts, always on their phones gossiping over the latest social media post from their favourite celebrities. Did they have Regina George in their ranks? Which one was sleeping with the other's boyfriend? How much blackmail did they have on each other?

Which one would murder the other first?

That little game you invented for yourself got you out of your shell. It also made it easier to deal with the persistent football jocks who'd try to flirt with you for a free shot.

Ridley would always get a kick out of it whenever you told her. You'd always imagined her curling up in a ball and kicking her feet back and forth while she squealed in laughter over the phone.

"Be a character in one of your freaking stories. Or better yet, act it out! You're a damn writer, Lizzie."

She was right. So you did. 

You'd never forget the laughter of that football jock when your rejection of his flirting attempts to weasel a free drink out of you resulted in his childish reply of, "Well, nobody's perfect, Sweetheart, least of all you."

"I never said I was," you had said with a smile.

You must have said something right because a few minutes later, Penny was introducing herself and chatting you up, asking if you wanted a better job bartending.

You were all too happy to leave. But nothing could have prepared you for the hotshot, ego-driven, and stupidly horny Top Gun pilots who frequented the Hard Deck. 

Between remembering their drink order or what side of the room they tended to gravitate towards, you needed more than your little guessing game to figure out their tells. You did pick up little things about them, though.

The WSOs were the kindest; ironically, they stood out in the crowds. Always a kind smile, never a bad thing to say about anyone.

The female pilots were always badass. At least, you thought so. Strong. Always commandeering the room the second they walked in. Always nice, no question about it. But mess with them; you got schooled hard.

They were the literal definition behind the saying, 'Do no harm, but take no shit.'

And with each new group that came in, the male pilots, the single flyers you had called them, paled compared to those jocks. They never changed. A pair constantly vied for first place with each new group that came through the Top Gun program.

Always a pair of males. Women always knew there was more at stake than a freaking trophy.

Those guys talked to you. Well... properly flirted at you.

That's where your little game came in handy. Picking out the little things about them, letting your mind do the creative parts next. It's how you turned Jake down so quickly that first time.

But the guy currently approaching the bar? He did not fit the bill of any regular customer you had seen in a while.

Tourists came and went without question. They stood out like a pack of flies, unsure where to go, with friendly faces and always asking what the best places were. They tipped great, and they never returned.

This guy? 

Not a tourist.

He was from out of town. The plaid shirt, jeans and cowboy boots were unusual for a California bar. It was also how he gaped at the walls and ceiling, taking in all the Navy memorabilia Penny had collected over the years. If you hadn't been paying attention, you could have sworn there was a look of distaste on his face with each new item he saw.

But what irked you was the sense of familiarity you couldn't place while looking at him. Blonde hair and a sharp face. Something in how he carried that toothpick between his teeth, not in the way god forbid fucking Tyler had, but as if it was a piece of grass. Also, in the way he walked.

Then he openly leered at a woman's ass as she walked by, and it all made sense.

Ah, a Wham, Bam, Thank You, Mam.

He sat in the empty chair directly in front of you, still watching the women's retreating form. You didn't want to serve him, but a tiny part of you hoped your assumption had been wrong.

It had been a while since you had to rebuff flirty advances; the newer pilots going through the Top Gun Program hardly said anything to you except smile and relay their order.

You suspected Jake was behind it.

"What can I get you?" you smiled at the guy. He slowly pulled his eyes away with a sly grin. The second he caught sight of your face, his mouth stretched even wider as he leaned forward on the bar.

"Your number and the name of a good hotel."

You should have known better. 

If it looked like a duck, it quacked like a duck too.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you straightened the line of shot glasses under the bar, not once looking up as you answered him. "Well, I can answer one out of two of those questions, but I'm afraid the only hotels around here are resorts. There is a bed and breakfast about ten minutes down the road that will give you a good deal."

"Will they give me a good deal if I mention your name?"

"Only my friends know my name, and you are simply a customer sitting at my bar wanting a drink?" you raised your eyebrow, tapping your finger against the bar.

He made a show of thinking about it, rocking his shoulders back and forth. He finally nodded, leaning forward to answer you.

"Whiskey. Straight."

You recognized his accent as you reached beneath the bar to grab the bottle. It was more pronounced and slightly more profound, but without a doubt, he sounded like Jake.

Good old southern Texas Charm.

Normally you'd engage in small talk, but you wanted nothing more than to leave this asshole alone. Thinking he'd leave it be after you poured him his drink, you slid the glass forward, then made your way over to the other side of the bar.

The words he called out after you made you stop in your tracks.

"You must get attention all the time. Having your pick of the litter each year."

You whipped around, offended. " Are you calling me easy?!"

He shrugged. "I'm just saying a good-looking woman like yourself, in this place... you clearly aren't sticking around because of the pay."

Oh, you wanted this guy gone. That could have been one of the most double-standard comments you had ever received. Old Liz would have sputtered, maybe run into the back fridge and asked one of the other bartenders to handle it.

You now? No chance in hell. If he were going to give it, you would give it right back. You weren't going to play the boyfriend card. You could fight your own battles, and something told you even if you told him you had a boyfriend, he'd think you were lying. He seemed like the type that wouldn't take no for an answer.

"You've got some nerve." You crossed your arms, matching back to him from the other side of the bar. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm not here because I'm looking for attention or have trouble finding a date. You've spent all of two minutes sitting at this bar, talking shit, while I've been fighting the urge to point out your confusion regarding basic anatomy." 

He raised his eyebrows at your reply. "My confusion?" 

You leaned forward, resting your arms upon the bar, eyeing him sourly. "Is your mouth your asshole, or are you just one?" 

It was one of the more cruder remarks you had ever responded with. But this guy was trying to go for gold. Unphased, he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up. "Hey, no need to be aggressive. You should take it as a compliment. I never called you anything derogatory." 

You huffed, pushing yourself away from him, rolling your eyes. "Calling me good-looking, then proceeding to say I'm only working here because it's 'easy to access' is still calling a woman a slut. You don't need to say the word to imply the meaning." 

You ripped the dishrag from your shoulder, running it under the tap, muttering more to yourself, "There's no way that shit works on women."

"It does on the women back home," he answered you.

"Oh, so are you staying? Don't tell me you're a new pilot at Top Gun."

They'll beat that attitude right out of you.

"Oh, I'm just passing through. I figured I'd scout out the area. I heard this was a Navy bar. Don't understand what all the fuss is about." 

You didn't answer him. Opening your mouth only led to him replying, and the quicker he finished his drink, the faster he'd leave. He took your silence as a means to continue. 

"Still playing hard to get?" 

"You ask me a question. I might choose not to answer." 

"Wow. Subtle." 

You turned, a hand on your hip. "You can't honestly expect me to speak to you, a complete stranger, after the way you just undermined my job because I'm not giving to your attempts. There is nothing to get." 

He smiled, holding out his hand. "George Seresin. There, not a stranger."

Well, shit.

You wanted to hang your mouth open like a fish. You were staring down Jake's brother.

Now you understood Jake's reaction to Janet's warning. His anxious behaviour in the back of his truck. His lost-in-thought stares or the way he couldn't stop looking at you and Sadie when he came home from work this week.

George Seresin was a very unwelcome, uninvited and long-awaited guest.

Something snapped in your stomach, a twinge of weariness that Jake didn't confide in you. Then again, your slight disappointment was overshadowed by something greater.

Clearly, you were fated to ego-check both Seresin brothers while standing behind this bar. Because the idea came without warning, without doubt, or any sense of hesitancy. 

George Seresin was at the Hard Deck.

He was right in front of you, trying to flirt with you without any idea who you were. 

And he was sitting in the best spot in the entire place.

It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

You stepped backwards, turning to lean up against the bar. As you did with Jake all those months ago, you took the rag and started to wipe.

"So let me get this straight," you said, dragging the damp cloth around his glass, not once looking up. "I tell you my name in some effort to prove we are not strangers. I'm supposed to forget about your 'comments,' so you can use that good old Texas charm to woo me into your bed with a promise of a good time?"

You finally looked up, George only staring back at you with a heated smoulder.

"Something tells me none of those loose cannons cannot even promise you a good time. A quick roll in the sheets before they let some brass monkey in a fancy suit tell them where to shoot. You look like you could let loose for once in your life."

You froze, losing your grip on the rag and fingers twitching. Scanning Jake’s brother, you leaned against the bar, resting your weight on your elbows, throwing the fabric over your shoulder as you got inside his bubble. You never once broke eye contact as you pinned him down.

George bought it, hook, line and sinker. He was so focused on you and your face that he was oblivious to everything and everyone around him, including how your hand slowly reached up toward the rope hanging from the top of the bar.

The second he looked at your lips, you tugged.

Cheers and music flooded the Hard Deck when everyone heard the distinct ring of the barbell. You guessed the song right away, old habits dying hard.  Slow Ride, its distinct beat letting you know Jake was here and he had seen the whole thing.

George reeled back, shocked as a few people came up and slapped him on the back, thanking him. You laughed softly at his reaction, pushing yourself away to help the few customers you knew who would take advantage of the free drink.

You had never rang the bell for someone like him. George Seresin would be the only exception.

"What the hell just happened?" he called after you. You didn't bother turning around, flinging your hand to gesture over your head, "Read the sign!"

George followed the direction of your hand, landing on the piece of wood dangling by the silver chain.

You disrespect a lady, the navy, or you put your cell phone on the bar, you buy a round.

You had already helped a few customers when he managed to tear his eyes away to glare at you heatedly. You turned to face him with a gleeful grin. Instead of asking him which one he thought you rang him out for, you started teasingly singing along to the chorus.

You hadn't done that in a while. It felt good.

"What did he do to warrant that?" 

You smiled up at Jake as he approached the bar. He never took his eyes off you as he leaned on his elbow against the top of the bar beside George. 

"What do you think?" you laughed at him.

Jake smirked. "I'd say he didn't take no for an answer."

"He did a little more than that. Tell him to put his cell phone on the bar, and he'd get three out of three."

"Ouch," Jake dramatically drawled. He finally turned his head, nodding once in his brother's direction. "Hi, Georgie." 

You stiffed a giggle. 

George huffed, jutting his chin out in your direction. "This one is trouble."

"Don't I know it," Jake said, looking back at you. "Pulled the same trick on me the first time I met her. Only she didn't ring the bell. Guess I did something right, considering she let me come back."

George glanced between you and Jake several times, and you could see the gears grinding in his head. 

"Hi," you beamed at him, walking over and holding out your hand. "Elizabeth Beck. Your brother's girlfriend. I guess we aren't strangers after all."

George stared down at your hand, then gritting his teeth, knocking back another gulp of whiskey. He spat out his following words with the glass still to his lips, "So you are real. Jake, there's no way you're dating her."

 You didn't try to hide the snark from your voice as you lowered your hand. "You thought I was imaginary? Sorry to disappoint."

George still chose to ignore you. "What's the matter, little brother? Need your girlfriend to speak for you?"

Jake stiffened, and it took everything in you not to ring the bell once more. Cause you knew if you did, Jake would be the one to help throw George out, and you didn't know what repercussions he could face.

"At least he has a girlfriend," you scoffed. "I can't imagine you've ever had a meaningful relationship with how you treat women."

You spied his empty whiskey glass, grabbing it firmly.

"Wham."

Sliding it across the bar's smooth surface, you caught it in the palm of your other hand.

"Bam."

Reaching into the pocket of your apron with your free hand, you slapped his bill down in front of him, rounds and all, attempting your best version of a Texan accent.

"Thank you, Mam."

Not wanting to waste more time on him, you turned to Jake, slightly worried. Some of you didn't know how to act around Jake when he was like this. When he was so... Hangman.

You gently touched his wrist, murmuring softly, "I'll see you in a half hour?"

He twisted his arm in your grasp, sliding his hand down so he could gently squeeze yours. But his eyes screamed a different, intense, unsettling story. As if he was assessing you for any threat.

"Sure."

You tried not to let it bother you, his non-chalent reply. Trying not to frown, you let go of his wrist to serve another customer, calling out as you walked away, "It was nice meeting you, Georgie!"

Jake watched you go with a slight turn of his head, proud you one-upped his brother but wishing you didn't leave him alone.

He knew why George was here. What he wanted him to do. No amount of smirk, cockiness, or even Hangman, could save Jake from this. George was the grave reminder that no matter where the Navy sent him, whether in California or on the other side of the world, there was no end to the metaphorical leash the 'hell bringer' had on both of his sons. 

George scraped his chair back to stand. "Come on, little brother," he gruffed out, tossing his credit card onto the bar. "We need to have a chat."

—-

With Ridley's Jean jacket in hand and your bag, you placed them on the bar as you greeted Jimmy after finishing your shift. "Can you watch these for a second, Jimmy? I'm just going to the bathroom before I find Jake. We're going to pick Sadie up from Penny's and take her out for dinner."

The older man smiled. "She's feeling better?"

You nodded. "Mild concussion. She was okay after a few days and back at school. Bummed about not being able to play in soccer playoffs, though. Hence the trip."

"That girl loves her soccer. What a shame."

"Jake's is making it easier on her. I don't know what I would do without him."

He tilted his head towards the bathroom hall with a knowing grin. "Go get ready for your date."

You blushed, walking away, calling over your shoulder, "It's not a date!"

After freshening yourself up, you took a few moments to stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You saw the famous callsign board hanging on the wall behind you. You scanned the names from the mirror, looking for Jake's, doing a double take when you couldn’t find it. You turned, properly facing the wall.  

Like the sign in the bar, it was a piece of wood with the words engraved into the top, “Ladies Beware: Navigate the Hard Deck with Care!” and underneath that, “Pilots who fly solo.” Several metal slots were glued to the surface, designed so she could easily slide plastic slate with a pilot’s callsign into place. 

You recognized a few, even Rooster's, though his was listed way further down, out of harm’s way. But Jake's was nowhere to be found. 

Then you realized - Penny had taken his name off.

She didn't do that for a lot of people. You could only recall one other instance when she removed a pilot's callsign from that board. She prided herself on it, so much so she never removed Maverick's at the top of the list, even after they got back together.

You needed to tell Jake. 

With a hint of a smile, you eagerly walked out of the bathroom to find him. He was standing with George at the pool table, the elder Seresin brother lining up a shot as he spoke. As you approached them, you honed in on Jake, realizing he looked uncomfortable. Stiff, shoulders square, and his fists were clenched tight.

The closer you got, the more you heard of their conversation, and when you heard Sadie's name fall from George's mouth, you froze. Hearing him utter her name, especially in that hardened tone, was a punch to the gut. The urge to hide behind one of the support pillars in the middle of the room at the last second was too great to ignore, and you made yourself as small as possible. 

You had stumbled upon a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. George’s voice accompanied the sound of the eight-ball scattering the balls across the table. 

"Come on, man," he said, his tone laced with arrogance. "Think about it. She threw her whole life away for her niece. She's tied down now, and you deserve someone who can give you more than that."

Jake remained silent. George continued, encouraged by his lack of protest. "You're a Navy pilot, for crying out loud. You could have anyone you want. Why settle for a girl with so much baggage?"

You weren’t stupid. You knew enough about George to realize he was the golden child, the favourite used to getting his way. George would only see you as Jake’s attempt to one-up him on something. 

“You know why I'm here,” you heard him say firmly. “Dad doesn’t approve. He wants you to know if you continue on with her, you will never be welcomed back home.”

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your stomach. There would never be a time when you asked Jake to choose you over his family, even with what you knew. You wanted to go out there, but this was Jake’s battle. Storming out to threaten anything but a kick to the balls was out of the question. 

But when Jake finally spoke, his words were like shards of ice piercing your skin.

"Yeah, you're right."

A strangled noise escaped from you, a sound of raw pain and disbelief. You clapped your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle the sob threatening to escape. George’s reply triggered the blood rushing through your ears, the pain in your forearm from your nails biting hard into the skin. 

“You know I am,” he laughed, another clack of the pool balls sounding out. “

There was only one way you saw this - Jake played you like he played those other bartenders. 

You couldn’t hide any longer. You pushed yourself away from the pillar, swerving around to confront them. 

“So Sadie and I were just a game to you?” 

Jake turned sharply, shock in his eyes. “Liz,” he held his hands out in front of him. “It’s not what…” 

“Not what?” you said heatedly, tears streaming from your eyes. “I heard plenty!” 

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words died in his throat, confronted with your beat red face and tears. You were not supposed to hear all that. 

The shock on his face was not enough to erase the sting of his words.

"Come on, Liz. You don't understand... it's..."

"What's there to understand, Jake?" you interjected, your voice seething with a volatile mix of pain and anger. "That I'm just another one of your bartenders?"

“Liz, don’t.” 

“Enlighten me, Jake.” You crossed your arms. “Tell me all the reasons why. That bringing me flowers wasn’t a game. That getting close to my niece wasn’t a game. Asking me to give you a chance, taking me out on a date.”

 You sobbed. “Taking me up in that damn plane.” 

The thought was erupt, tearing itself from the deepest part of your mind. You couldn’t help it, the words spilling out in blinded anger. “Was my grief an opportunity for you to get into my pants? Telling me it would be alright so you could leave me high and dry? Telling me it was going to be okay?” 

There was a sudden shift in his expression, his gaze hardening. As if a switch had been flipped, the warm, understanding man you knew disappeared, replaced by a stranger draped in defensiveness and sarcasm.

"Oh, excuse me," he declared. "I didn't realize I was your knight in shining armour, rushing to your rescue the second you need all your problems fixed. The girl who never had a relationship, thinking a man would solve all her issues."

The words hit you like a physical blow, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. Jake's harsh gaze didn't match his usual soft and protective demeanour. It was like looking at a stranger, someone you didn't recognize. The man before you was not the Jake you'd fallen for.

This man reminded you of your father. 

Was this his plan all along? You racked your mind, searching for any indication this had been coming. But what only stood out was Rooster's words echoing in your head where you found none. 

Did you really only add your name to the list of women Hangman had pursued?

Because here and now, those months of working through the trauma of losing Ridley didn't matter. 

Was anything about this past year even worth it? The moments you worked through when you would avoid anyone mentioning her because acknowledging her in the past tense was too much. Avoiding the things that reminded you of her. Till helped you through it.  

She would know what to say right now. She would be the one beating his ass with verbiage and scathing remarks. She would nail the moment and get it right. 

It hit you, the hidden weight of how desperately you missed her. 

Suddenly, you were that girl again, starting her first shift in that basement bar, wondering what to say to the students who saw you as a mere bookworm with no character or class - because you couldn't compare to the girl sitting in the corner writing her paper, actually having the courage to ask that busboy out. 

Or the geeks in the corner cheering as hard as they did when they beat their high score on the console, uncaring of strange looks. Or that girl, finally standing up to her 'so-called friends' when one had been spreading rumours and crude remarks about her to the others behind her back. 

He really did leave you out to dry. 

"Stay the fuck away from my niece," you managed to gasp through your tears. "And stay the fuck away from me."

You wanted to believe your assumption that Jake was merely putting on a front. Hangman, his alternate self, was his attempt at protecting himself. 

You had a hard time doing so.

There, plain as day, across his face was the most condensing grin you had ever seen as he dramatically drawled out slowly, "No fucking problem, sweetheart."

You didn't believe in thinking about everything you regretted throughout your life. Ridley was the only exception; if you had done more, moved back home after school, or gone to the police the day you kicked Tyler out, maybe she'd still be here. You couldn't change what had happened in your life, so spending time thinking about it in the present wouldn't do you much good. 

So it was no surprise to you when you followed through with your knee-deep reaction, your hand coming up out of nowhere, open and firm, slapping Jake hard enough across the side of his face, his head turning with the force of it.

You knew you shouldn't have. You weren't a violent person by any means. Next to Tyler, you never had raised a hand to anyone. You were too hurt to care you just slapped him.

That should have scared you shitless.

Rather than voice the obvious, you remained silent, allowing every repressed thought, every buried emotion to resurface.

Ridley - dead. 

Sadie - hurt. 

Tyler - lurking. 

Bradley - damaging.

It was all too much.

George's figure stood out from behind Jake amongst your blurry vision, tears creating a vignette in your line of sight. You tore past Jake, sticking your finger out only to push George square in his chest. He stepped back at the force, hand shooting out to balance himself against the pool table.

Jake wouldn't have done that had George not shown up. Had he not played with Jake's emotions.

"You need a fucking ego check and to grow the fuck up," you seethed at him. "I don't know whose got your balls on a very tight leash, but you have no right to go around and fucking up other people's relationships."

George didn't answer you, taking his hand off the table to stand properly. You pressed him again. "Does it give you some sick fucking pleasure to hurt your brother? Dad loves me best, so I'm going to remind everyone just cause I can?"

George was still avoiding your heated glare, fixating on his football ring, twisting the piece of metal back and forth. It only pissed you off further.

"My eyes are over here, Jackass! Have the decency to look me in the fucking eyes when I'm talking to you."

If nobody had been watching when you slapped Jake, you clearly had their attention now. Even with the music blasting from the speakers, every conversation in the Hard deck had gone quiet. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you couldn't care less.

You were too far gone.

George slowly cocked his head to face you. Your breath was harsh, your body jolting with each gasp as you gave in to the anger. "My sister died, and I took in my niece. What's so fucking wrong about that? That I threw my life away, that I have no future?" 

He shifted on his feet, about to transfer the pool stick into his other hand, when you reached out and snatched it out of his grasp, tossing it behind you with a clack. 

"You're damn right I did! That's what you do for people you love. I would sacrifice my entire life so she could have hers. And I would do it again in a fucking heartbeat. I will stay on the other side of that bar for the rest of my so-called miserable life, getting catcalled and dealing with assholes like you if it gives her the best shot with the shitty hand she's dealt. You, George Seresin, have no right to judge the choices I've made in my life." 

Your breathing was harsh, ribs aching with effort. Every vein, every pore, was consumed with pure white rage. And yet, you still found yourself growling out, "You have no right judging your brothers either." 

Even after breaking your heart, you still stood up for Jake. 

"He risks his life every single time he goes up in that jet just so the whole world can fucking survive. So you can go on day in and day out and let your father control what you want to do with your life. So you can gallant around letting someone who has lived their life decide what you do with the rest of yours? So Jake’s here for you to bully and control every time he comes home? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The burning sensation in your cheeks mirrored the fire in your eyes, unshed tears making them shine brighter. The salty sting of tears blurring your vision did little to diminish the searing gaze you levelled at George.

"My sister believed everyone deserved a chance. That people cared, regardless of what they did or who they were. I had forgotten that until my niece invited Jake to a barbeque, till she invited him on a hike because he was being treated differently. Despite what I heard and everyone telling me otherwise, listing off why I shouldn’t. That he will hurt me and my niece, and I still gave him a chance.”  

Squaring your shoulders and balling your hands to fists at your side, you take a step forward, a dangerous glint in your eyes. You lean towards him, your face close enough to feel his breath, your jaw clenched and muscles tight.  

"You are the first person ever to prove my sister wrong,” your voice is dangerously low, underlying anger accompanying each word. “You sure as hell don't deserve that sentiment." 

As you stepped away, George lifted his head to glance around the room, everyone's eyes pinning him down. The older Top Gun instructors had stood at their tables and chairs, arms crossed. Some of the current students in the program also stood, the others sending him the most scathing glares they could manage. Even some regulars who weren't aviators were casting him a scornful glance.

You spun, ready to leave him in embarrassment and escape this literal fucking mess, when you caught Jake's bewildered gaze, his mouth hanging open in slight shock.

You weren't sure whether it was that look or the dying embers of your outburst that made you spin back around to snarl, "So, leave your brother the fuck alone! Live your own goddamn life without judging others for the choices they make! Cause you sure as hell don't know what it means to sacrifice something for those you love. If you need an example, look around this goddamn room."

Jake reached for your wrist as you charged toward the front door. The second you felt his touch, you shook your hand loose, a wrenching sob tearing through your chest.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

You didn't bother seeing his reaction to your remark, rushing to grab your bag and Ridley's jean jacket off the bar.

The skin around your wrist burned from his touch, the rough callouses once a comfort but now felt like coarse sandpaper. You wanted to get under a shower or jump in the sea, hoping to remove the feeling of every memory, kiss, and word.

God, you let him touch you. Do things with you.

You were going to throw up.

God forbid you didn't want to walk home. But you needed to go, be anywhere but here, and you didn't have your car. Barely keeping it together as you took off toward the door, you had half a mind to look up to watch where you were going, deaf to Jake's shouts of your name.

There was Bradley, sitting in the first booth by the door. His brow furrowed as you made your way over to him, probably having witnessed the ordeal. You were too upset even to question why he wasn't marching across the bar, ready to knock Jake to next Sunday.

It had been weeks since the fight, with no communication in between. But it was a distant memory compared to this. 

It didn't matter what he implied. It didn't matter what happened in your hallway.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

It didn't matter.

You just needed your friend.

With each step you took toward him, your shame only grew greater. You couldn't even look him in the eye when you stopped, standing next to his side of the booth, hugging yourself tighter.

"Can you take me home, Bradley? I don't want to be here anymore."

Bradley's opportunity to act smug had finally arrived. But he didn't do anything other than frown. Standing up from his booth, he threw a few bills onto the table before blocking everyone's view of you. He placed a comforting hand on your back, gently pressing you forward as he uttered quietly, "Of course I can, Liz."

You kept your head down as you stepped towards the door, but Bradley, so willing to help you without so much of an 'I told you so,' made whatever resolve you had, crumble. Your knees wobbled, and your heart dropped into your stomach. You fell, and Bradley's arm whipped out, gripping your hip and pulling you tight to his side to support your weight.

Burying your head into Bradley's shoulder, you hid your face. You didn't want to see the looks of everyone in the Hard Deck, whether pity, concern, or applause, as another wave of tears wrecked your body.

Closing your eyes seemed better than reliving the truth.

And because you kept them shut, you didn't see George place a hand on Jake's shoulder, preventing him from going after you. Nor did you see the look of devastation wreck his face; the weight of every wrong decision he had ever made coming back to haunt him. 

Whether Jake turned on a dime to punch George square in the jaw, you heard none of it. You hadn't even bothered to turn back to look as Bradley carried you out the front door.

.... So... Who is going to pitchfork me first? 👀

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Part 16 - In the Blood coming soon

Wickett ;)

[amber-jinx]

Me again (:

Your posts always make me feel better, particularly the ones on Rachel. I need it due to the recent loss of a family member which is why I haven’t been around as much. That said, thank you for being so positive and supportive. ❤️

A question that has been lingering in my mind is why do you think Rachel is hated so much in the fandom? She was flawed, but I seriously doubt she was this monster that others make her out to be. To some degree, I can relate to her. Not on the daddy issues per se, but more so of being misunderstood.

Hey! Apologies for the delay in answering, really hope you're healing up well. And your GIFs are always so goofy they bring a smile to my face. Thank you so much for your kind words-- they remind me that my posts about Rachel aren't meaningless 🧡

Now getting to this very valid question-- why is Rachel, & by extension, any flawed character without a crystal clear definition like her, hated on so much??

1. Because she is ambiguous. Rachel is viewed in the 3rd person perspective-- either Max's or Chloe's; We never got to know what Rachel was actually thinking, how she felt and what lead to her decisions. All that we've seen in the game are after-the-fact and through varying third perspectives talking about the Rachel Amber, without actually knowing 100% who she really is.

This leaves room for the truth to be bent so severely that people barely scratch the surface of Rachel, and are basically blaming & hating on someone that is not her.

I bet if we got to play her version of the story from the start & experience all the mess from her pov, some players might just choose to hide from Chloe in order to protect her before anything comes to fruition, which can be very much justified in her position imo. Who knows? We could very much be jumping for Jeffersht's trap of an opportunity to get cash so that we can leave town with Chloe. It's all about the context & the framing.

2. As mentioned before by other bloggers, some fans focus too much on Chloe & her narrative that they judge Rachel solely based on Chloe's very biased narrative. I've noticed that quite a lot who appreciate/like Rachel played BTS first without much impression of who this girl is, which offers a very different experience as compared to playing the OG then BTS.

Chloe's outburst after finding out about Rachel's involvement with Frank (the words she used, "lied" "betrayed" etc) left such a deep impression in people's minds that after years of having played the game, continued to influence their perspectives.

Instead of taking account into other details where Rachel cared more for Chloe & was always prioritising her over Frank, and particularly due to the lack of major evidence of her being loyal to Chloe (which is mostly present in the unseen/untold, besides Joyce's remark that they were "joint in the head" and "chloe could never piss Rachel off"), folks now have a magnified impression that all Rachel ever did that's worth noting is her "betrayal", is her supposed plan on leaving Chloe without telling her, which could very well not be the case, but is kinda made harder to argue given Chloe's rage & us not knowing Rachel's side of the story (aka, in her defense), especially with her missing/out of the picture.

Therefore it's so easy for many to simply jump on the Rachel hate train in their almost blindsighted sympathy for Chloe. They might also:

- ignore that Rachel's a victim & instead assume 100% autonomy in her choices, when she was under influence & potential coersion / "it's too late to back out now" state

- ignore her age & circumstances, judge her like a grown mature adult who has good parents to guide her & wise friends to consult with

3. Inspired by your earlier comment! Most people who played the OG did it when they were pretty young & immature without much life experiences -- & so judged with their idealistic expectations, perhaps from the comfort of their homes/lives.

It can be hard to change your own views that's been set from so long ago. Takes some effort to replay the game, re-examine the evidence & admit to oneself that they were probably wrong. Understandable, I've been through the same.

And I've also seen those who have gone through their own messes, met their own supposed "Rachel Amber" irl and proceeded to project the toxicity & hurt they've experienced onto this teenage video game character, when in fact they're not 100% Chloe Price and the other, not a Rachel Amber and more of a subjective projection.

This isn't fair for the character, but then again like I've said, there's a thousand Rachels in a thousands eyes. We just have to keep in mind that whoever they're hating on is not the same as the character we adore 🤍

Thanks for this! I gotta try finding all your asks & make a master list at some point xD they're so good they can form a thread on their own 🌛 psst I am customising a Rachel plush, will see how well it goes & if more can be put out for orders. Unconfirmed stuff, more of a bonus if you've read this far ;)

[lendeah]

UNBOUND

Chapter 1: The Apprentice

series masterlist

Summary: In her final year at Blackstaff, Neri faces a pivotal moment as her mentor, Vanja, departs for Waterdeep's council matters. Enter Gale of Waterdeep, a renowed wizard and set to be Neri's new mentor. Tasked with aiding him in a mysterious research project and retrieving three Netherese stones, Neri finds herself at the center of a monumental quest that challenges not only her magical prowess but also her understanding of power, responsibility, and love.

or

Gale needs to retrieve the three Netherese stones in order to reforge the Karsus Crown, and his new apprentice Neri gets tangled in his mess.

Pairing: Gale x OFC!Reader

Tags: Slow Burn, Mentor/Protégé, but everything is healthy I promise, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soft Gale (Baldur's Gate), Gale Needs a Hug (Baldur's Gate), Professor Gale (Baldur's Gate)

Word count: 4.4k

AO3 LINK

It's here! I have been working on this idea for weeks and I am so excited to finally write more about my favorite wizard. Also, I love dark academia genre so maybe I will add a teeny tiny bit of it for this fic. Anyway, hope you enjoy and let me know any feedback!

She glided effortlessly through the dimly lit corridors of the Academy, her footsteps echoing on the cold stone floors. She bowed her head towards a halfling who was gathering scattered stones from the ground, which had most likely fallen from a hole in the ceiling above. In the aftermath of the mindflyer attack, there was a sense of bustling activity as builders, mages, and even blacksmiths, worked to repair and strengthen the parts of the Academy that had been damaged or destroyed. While the battle in Waterdeep had not been as devastating as in Baldur's Gate, the forces of the Absolute had still attempted to cause as much chaos and destruction as possible. And with Blackstaff's impressive repository of powerful spells and artifacts, they were a prime target for their enemies.

As she walked into the large wooden doors at the end of the hallway, a sense of warmth and familiarity enveloped her.

"Vanja," Neri said, bowing her head respectfully. "I apologize for my delay."

The Blackstaff sat at her desk, surrounded by stacks of papers and books. She looked up and smiled warmly.

"Oh, Neri. It's good to see you safe and well. Please, have a seat."

Neri nodded and took a seat in front of Vanja's desk, letting out a sigh of relief. Being back in Vanja's office always felt like coming home, after so many years of visiting this very office to discuss matters with her mentor. She patiently waited for Vanja to finish signing off on a document before speaking.

"I already sorted through the books and artifacts from the tower, like you asked." Neri started, pulling out a stack of papers from her bag. "Everything is thankfully intact. We still have to-."

But Vanja waved dismissively."Thank you, my dear. But that's not what I brought you here for."

"Is something the matter?" Neri asked cautiously. She assumed that the reason for the summon was to receive an update on the progress of recovering the Academy they had entrusted her with after the attack. For weeks, she had been meticulously examining and cataloging every artifact, scroll, book, and valuable in the vault, ensuring that everything was accounted for and undamaged.

Vanja let out a deep sigh, "You are in your last year as a higher student, are you not?"

She nodded slowly, not understanding where this was going. The fact that she is a last-year student was well-known for her mentor, at least that's what she hoped after ten years under her wing.

"And have you given any thought to what you will pursue once you graduate?" Vanja continued.

Neri's mind raced with doubt as she considered confessing her true desires to her master for the umpteenth time. Coming from a long line of powerful wizards, known for their skills in Evocation, it was expected that she would follow suit and dedicate her life to this school of magic. The Thunderstaff family had served the Watervian military for generations, using their wizardry abilities to protect the city. Neri didn't dislike Evocation; in fact, she had a natural talent for it and found joy in practicing it. She had even created some interesting elemental spells of her own in the past. But there was always a nagging feeling within her, a longing for something more, for the power to conjure whatever she desired, to teleport herself anywhere she pleased. It may not have been a practical desire like evocation was, but she reveled in the thought of having everything and anything at her fingertips, molding the space around her according to her whims. Yet, she couldn't imagine going against her family's expectations and causing conflict within their already strained relationships.

"I...I'm not sure yet," Neri finally replied.

Vanja gave her a knowing look, but decided not to comment on it. "I see... Well, I have news for you that might affect the plans we had for your last-year research."

Neri's heart fluttered at those words. The final year research was crucial for Blackstaff students, a chance to make an impact on the academy's legacy, whether it be positive or negative. Neri had always envisioned making a groundbreaking discovery during this research, something that would impress even her strict family and perhaps convince them to let her follow her scholarly path. The thought of her plans being altered filled her with a sense of unease.

"What news, Vanja?" Neri asked.

The woman laid back on her chair, her fiery red hair swaying gently with the movement. "As I'm sure you're aware, the Council of Waterdeep has been putting in a great deal of effort to gather allies and resources following our clash with the Absolute. And a few weeks ago, they asked for my aid."

Neri's eyes widened in surprise. The Council hardly ever involved themselves with the affairs of the Academy, but she supposed it made sense given the circumstances.

Vanja continued, "They need my help, but I am limited in what I can do unless I take the time to focus on it. Unfortunately, being Blackstaff already demands the majority of my schedule. As your mentor, it is my responsibility to guide and support you, but that cannot be done if I am frequently absent, especially during such a crucial year as your final one."

Neri felt a knot form in her stomach. Was Vanja implying that she would no longer be her mentor? But what about their final research? Would she have to wait another year to finish her studies?

"Does this mean I won't be your apprentice anymore?" Neri asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Vanja gave her a sympathetic look. "I'm afraid so, my dear. The situation is dire and I must dedicate all of my remaining time and energy towards helping the Council. Of course, I will still be available to help you whenever you need it, but you will no longer be under my supervision."

Neri tried to keep her disappointment in check, but she couldn't help the sadness that washed over her. Vanja had been her mentor and friend for the past ten years, guiding her through the ups and downs of her magical education. Neri had even often entertained the thought of one day taking on the role of Blackstaff if Vanja were to choose her as her successor. She thought if she did well enough with her research, Vanja would finally see her true potential. But with these latest developments, it seemed like that dream was fading away.

"I understand," Neri said quietly.

Feeling Neri's distress, Vanja spoke up again. "Don't lose heart, my dear. You are my top student and a testament to this school's excellence. Thus, I decided to reach out to my most reliable colleagues, and one of them has agreed to be your mentor in my absence and support you with your research."

Neri's eyes widened in surprise once again.

"May I ask who the wizard is?" Neri asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

The redhead just gave her a small smile.

"Of course. It is none other than Gale of Waterdeep."

🔮

As she entered her chambers, she couldn't stop her mind from racing with the news. Gale of Waterdeep. She had heard stories about him, he was practically a legend here in Blackstaff. Some said he was one of Elminster's most talented pupils, others claimed he had been chosen by Mystra herself. But then, they also said that after Mystra left him, he went mad with grief and shut himself in a tower for an entire year. Neri wasn't sure where he had disappeared to in the past year, but now it seemed like he was back. To her, this behavior was unstable - locking oneself away for a year because of a breakup? It just didn't seem right.

But then again, she reminded herself, these were just rumors and hearsay. She couldn't judge Gale before even meeting him. If Vanja had selected him as her mentor, it implied that she had enough faith in his abilities to entrust him with her final research project.

So Neri tried to push aside her doubts and focus on the positive aspects of being Gale's apprentice. He was known for his incredible knowledge of the weave. Hells, he was chosen by the goddess of magic herself, which meant that he must've been extraordinary with the art. She also reminded herself that this was not a permanent arrangement. Once Vanja returned, she would resume her role as Neri's mentor. Until then, she would have to make the best of this situation.

She is about to enter her bedroom, breathless from walking five sets of stairs, when she catches a glimpse of another figure in the hallway.

"Leaving in the middle of the night again? Vanja won't be pleased that your tasks aren't getting completed." she said, teasingly. She had recognized him immediately - Eiruk, one of her closest friends and fellow student at Blackstaff Academy. He had a habit of disappearing in the middle of the night without telling anyone, a habit that often earned him scoldings from the Blackstaff. Neri lived next door to him, which was lucky since they were able to keep an eye on each other and make sure they didn't get into too much trouble.

Eiruk turned towards her with a cheeky smile on his face, his messy black curls falling over his green eyes. "Neri. Always up in my business."

"Well, it's not like you are especially discreet," Neri replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I can't help it if I have an adventurous spirit," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Neri rolled her eyes playfully. "More like a reckless one," she retorted.

Eiruk grinned, knowing she was right. He had always been the more impulsive and adventurous of the two of them, while Neri was the practical and responsible one. But somehow, their friendship worked perfectly from day one. She smiled to herself as she recalled how he had attempted to bow to her on their first meeting. They were both twenty at the time, but he had blushed like a fifteen-year-old trying to impress someone older.

"So, where were you off to this time? Searching for another priceless artifact from a shady dealer? Or is it a personal mission?" Neri asked with a smirk.

Eiruk hesitated for a moment before answering.

"You will have to wait and see," he finally said with a shrug.

Neri gave him a knowing look but decided not to press further. She knew Eiruk was keeping secrets from her, but she also respected his privacy.

"So," Eiruk said, changing the subject, "I heard Vanja called you to her office this evening. What did she want?"

Neri sighed, her expression turning sour. "She informed me that she will no longer be my mentor. The Council has requested her assistance so she must dedicate all her time to helping them."

Eiruk's eyes widened. "She's quitting her role as your mentor? But you're in tenth year!"

Neri nodded glumly. "I know. I was shocked too. But with everything happening after the clash with the Absolute, I understand why her need to focus her efforts elsewhere for now."

"That's rough," Eiruk said, putting a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "So, who's going to mentor you now?"

"Gale of Waterdeep," Neri replied. "Vanja has arranged for him to take over my training and research in her absence."

Eiruk's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The Gale of Waterdeep? As in, one of the most powerful wizards in Faerûn? As in, Mystra's chosen?!"

Neri shrugged. "I suppose so. I don't have much information about him other than all the gossip going around. However, I never thought he held much significance anyway."

"Are you jesting?" Eiruk exclaimed. "He is one of the biggest mages in history!"

Neri shrugged again, trying to downplay the situation. "I suppose so. But I never put too much attention on his figure, to be honest."

Eiruk whistled in admiration.

"You know, it's quite an honor. Apparently, he doesn't take on many apprentices. I heard he invented the Plane Shift enchantment when he was only seventeen," Eiruk said, his voice tinged with awe.

Neri looked at him in surprise. "Wait, he invented Plane Shift? That is one of the best Conjuration enchantments. I thought he was in evocation school."

"Well, he was originally in evocation school, but he dabbled in conjuration as well," Eiruk explained. "And it turned out that he had a natural talent for it. He's rumored to have mastered every school of magic."

Neri couldn't believe what she was hearing. A wizard mastering not one, not two, but all schools of magic at once? That was unheard of. She couldn't believe her luck, or perhaps misfortune, to be under the tutelage of such a powerful and legendary wizard. She knew she was skilled, hence why Vanja took her on as a student. But Gale seemed to be on a whole other level.

"Do you think he'll be a good mentor for you?" Eiruk asked, breaking Neri out of her thoughts.

"I don't know," Neri replied honestly. "I mean, Vanja was an amazing mentor and I learned so much from her. It's hard to imagine anyone else filling her shoes."

Eiruk nodded in understanding. "But maybe it's a good thing. A fresh perspective might be beneficial for your research."

Neri couldn't argue with that logic, but she couldn't help feeling apprehensive about the change.

"Well, I better get going," Eiruk said, glancing at the starry sky through the big hallway window. "You will have to keep me updated on the Gale situation. Ugh, why are you always so lucky with mentors!" Eiruk pouted playfully before bidding her goodbye and disappearing into the dark halls of the academy.

Neri made her way to the door of her own room, feeling a bit anxious about meeting her new mentor for the first time. She wondered what kind of training he would put her through and if she would be able to live up to his expectations. She held onto hope that she would.

🔮

As she navigated the streets of Waterdeep towards the bay, Neri couldn't help but be struck by how much had changed since she last visited this part of the city. Buildings had been torn down and replaced with newer, flashier ones, and some of the magic shops she used to frequent were now gone, replaced with fancier establishments catering to the wealthy citizens of Waterdeep. Even the streets seemed more crowded and busier than she remembered. Carriages and people hurried by, paying no attention to the young wizard making her way through the West Ward. Neri felt a pang of nostalgia for the quiet, quaint streets that she used to roam as a child.

The summer rays heated her skin, and she wished she had chosen to wear something more breathable. The protection of her long-sleeved leather jacket and trousers seemed unnecessary now; she would have preferred the freedom and comfort of wearing flowy skirts and shirts in this weather. As she walked towards the pier, a gentle summer breeze brushed against her skin, causing her to let out a contented sigh. She couldn't help but imagine living here, with the peaceful sound of waves crashing against the shore.

Eventually, Neri arrived at the address Vanja had given her and paused in front of a large building near the docks. It was an impressive structure made of stone, with intricate engravings and magical symbols adorning its walls. She still didn't understand why the man had made her come here instead of visiting his old school; she was sure the resident mages would kiss the floor he stepped over.

Neri stood in front of the tower, staring up at its intimidating height and ornate design. But her eyes quickly caught sight of something peculiar – there was no door. No ring bell, no handle, nothing.

She furrowed her brow in confusion and took a few steps closer to the stone wall, looking for any sign of an entrance. She circled the base of the building but still found no entrance. It was as if the tower was impenetrable.

Neri glanced back at the address Vanja had given her to make sure she was in the right place. After checking the coordinates and confirming there were no other large structures in the area, she was certain that this was Gale's tower. But how was she supposed to enter? Did Gale forget to mention some sort of magical key or spell that would open the door?

Then, Neri realized that this was probably her first test, and she had to pass it. She quickly went through every spell in her arsenal, from arcane lock to dimension door, and even remove curse, but none of them seemed to work. With a frustrated sigh, she leaned against the tower, racking her brain for any other possible solutions. She was so lost in thought that she didn't even notice when the air around her began to shimmer and change.

A sudden presence appeared next to her. Neri jumped back in surprise as a holographic image of a man materialized before her eyes. The man appeared youthful, his hair reaching his shoulders and a beard covering his chin. However, the edges of the image were fuzzy, preventing her from getting a clear view.

"Good evening! It seems as though you are trying to enter the private property of Gale Dekarios. Please, estate your full name a reason for the visit." The hologram said with a warm smile. He must be Gale's servant then she told herself.

She quickly composed herself and bowed respectfully.

"I- Um... My name is Neriyra Thunderstaff, and I am a tenth-year student at Blackstaff Academy. I have come here because Gale from Waterdeep has been assigned as my new mentor." Neri said, trying to sound confident despite her nerves.

The hologram nodded. "Ah yes, Miss Thunderstaff. Mr. Dekarios has been expecting you. Please follow me."

With that, the hologram turned and began floating towards the tower. Neri hesitated for a moment before following after it. As they approached, Neri noticed that there was still no visible entrance. But the hologram didn't seem bothered by this and simply continued floating until they reached a specific spot on the tower's wall.

"This is where you will enter," the hologram informed her, gesturing towards a small symbol etched into the stone, almost invisible. "Simply place your hand on this mark and state your name again."

Neri did as she was instructed and placed her hand on the mark while stating her name. To her surprise, a door suddenly materialized in front of her. It was ornately carved and glowed with a faint purple light.

"Thank you," she said to the hologram, but it had already vanished into thin air.

Neri took in a deep breath and stepped inside the tower. As she entered, she marveled at the magical energy that seemed to pulse through every inch of the place. The interior of the tower was just as impressive as the exterior - high ceilings with intricate magical symbols carved into them, and a spiral staircase that led up to the different floors. She felt a bit lost in the middle of the hall, wondering where she was supposed to go. Just then, a door on her right creaked open and something poked out. A cat? No, she realized, it was a tressym. Neri's eyes widened in surprise and wonder as she took in the sight of the creature. She had only heard about them in books and stories, but to see one in person was truly amazing.

"Ah, you must be Miss Thunderstaff. Welcome to Dekarios Tower," she said warmly. "I am Tara, Mr. Dekarios' companion."

"Nice to meet you, Tara," Neri said with a small bow.

"Come along now, Mr. Dekarios is expecting you in his study." Tara smiled at her (can tressyms smile?) and gestured for Neri to follow. They made their way up the spiral staircase, passing various rooms and corridors along the way. As they reached the top floor, Tara led Neri into a large study. And the room turned out to be nothing like she had imagined Gale Dekarios' study would be. It was...well, it was a mess. There were clothes scattered on the floor, books stacked in haphazard piles all over the place, and vials of colorful potions scattered across various tables. The desk was so full of papers that Neri wondered if the man even knew what was going on there. Neri couldn't help but stare in surprise and confusion at the mess before her. She had always pictured powerful wizards to be organized and meticulous, not living in what seemed like utter chaos.

Tara cleared her throat, snapping Neri out of her thoughts. "Mr. Dekarios is a brilliant wizard, but he's not exactly the most organized."

Neri couldn't help but chuckle at Tara's words.

"Is he here?" she asked, looking around for any sign of the man in question.

Tara motioned towards a desk in the corner of the room, where a figure sat hunched over, buried under stacks of papers and scrolls. The wizard had been so obscured by the clutter that she hadn't even noticed them when she entered. Neri took a deep breath to calm her nerves before making her way over to the desk. Sensing her presence, the man looked up startled, before a kind smile coloring his features.

"Miss Thunderstaff, I didn't expect you so soon," he greeted her as she approached.

And if she was surprised before, now she was absolutely flabbergasted. The man sitting in front of her looked nothing like the wise old wizard with a beard and wrinkles that she had pictured in her mind. In fact, he was an exact replica of the hologram she had encountered downstairs (come to think of it, that made much more sense). He also lacked the otherworldly aura she had imagined for such a powerful wizard; he just seemed... normal.

His shoulder-length brown hair was neatly pulled back into an updo, highlighting his beard and gentle brown eyes; his good looks took her aback as she gazed at him. He didn't appear much older than her either. If she saw him on the street, she would never guess that he was one of the most powerful wizards in Faerûn.

"I know, I'm not what you expected," Gale said with a sheepish smile, gesturing for Neri to take a seat on one of the chairs in front of his desk.

She suddenly became aware of her open-mouthed staring and felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"I-I just...I imagined you to be older," she stammered out.

Gale chuckled. "Most people do. But age doesn't always equate to power or wisdom. I apologize for my first impression," Gale said, gesturing to the mess around him. "I've been quite busy lately."

Neri looked around again, grimacing at how scattered and disorganized everything was.

"What have you been working on, if I may ask?" she inquired curiously.

Gale leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath before answering. "Ah, well, you see, I am currently conducting some rather advanced and intricate magical research. Coincidentally, I have received a letter from Vanja singing your praises and detailing your... unique predicament. And lo and behold, I find myself in need of a wizarding expert to aid me in my endeavors."

"So, that's why you offered to be my mentor? You require my assistance with your research?"

Gale's head bobbed in agreement. "That's exactly why I think you could assist me in my studies," Gale stated, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I'm currently focused on studying the fragmented weave of Karsus."

Neri's interest was piqued. She had always been fascinated by magical history. She leaned in her chair, eyebrows furrowed. "The Karsus weave? I thought that was ancient history."

"The Karsus weave is a highly complex and dangerous form of magic," Gale explained. "It involves tapping into the power of other planes of existence and manipulating time itself. It is said that only a handful of wizards ever mastered it, and even they could not control it completely."

Neri nodded, she knew the basics about the Netherese Empire and Karsus well enough from her lessons in magical history.

"The orbs that once rested atop his head are now scattered along the Crionthar. They hold remnants of his incredible power, and if we were to retrieve them, we could potentially unlock the secrets of safely using the Karsus Weave magic."

Neri's mind raced with the possibilities of this research. It could lead to great advancements in magic, but it also carried a significant risk. The Karsus weave was not something to be taken lightly, and Neri knew that firsthand from her studies.

But if they were successful, it would not only drastically alter her own life, but also have a major impact on the use of magic for years to come. If this accomplishment didn't solidify her position as the heir of Blackstaff, she couldn't imagine what else would.

"And what exactly do you need me for? I am just a student, after all," she prompted.

Gale leaned forward slightly, with a glint in his eye. "Well, let's just say that your reputation precedes you, Miss Thunderstaff. I have heard about your unique ability with Conjuration, both summoning and locating objects in place and time."

Neri's heart raced. Her powers of conjuration were a tightly kept secret, shared only with Vanja. To the rest of the world, she appeared to be mastering evocation school.

"Ahem... you can call me Neri, Mr. Dekarios. And I don't understand, you are one of the best mages in all of Faerûn. I believe your conjuring abilities are way better than mine."

"Well, that may be true, but I also have my own personal reasons for seeking out your assistance. However, I can't disclose all this information on your first day as my apprentice, lest you run away," Gale said, tapping his fingers on the desk in front of him.

Neri's mind raced with questions and he seemed to sense her confusion, studying her carefully.

"Of course, I understand if you don't want to participate. I will continue mentoring you this year and we can choose a lighter research theme for your final work," Gale continued. "But I assure you, the knowledge, experience, and renown gained from this research will be unlike anything else you have encountered."

Neri didn't even have to think about it. She knew this was an opportunity she couldn't pass up.

"I would be honored to assist you in your research, Mr. Dekarios," she said with a smile.

The amount of research I had to do about wizards in dnd is crazy. If there are any mistakes in the lore take them as creative liberties hehehe Also, my personal headcanon is Gale being messy AF in his tower, you can't convince me otherwise. Thank you for reading!