#so scribbles only for the foreseeable future :(

[starapture]

[tinartss]

some of tin's fav haikavetham fics (fic rec list!)🍓🍓

hello all i've always wanted to make a fic rec list and i feel like i've collected enough hkvh fics to make one now LOL most definitely i am forgetting to include a lot but here are a few of my faves!

notes:

check tags before reading👍

most if not all are sfw bc that is my vibe

sorted from least recent -> most recent

was gonna add little comments to each but i'm now realizing that would take up a huge amt of space so. just know that all of these changed the trajectory of my life. thank u fic authors for all u do🫶

then who? by heartslogos (T, 27k)

“Let me,” Kaveh would say with his eyes, his head, his hands. Let him what? Let him in, let him speak, let him stay, let him touch and see and listen — All of the above. Has it not always been so, the two of them like this, Kaveh and Al-Haitham? Kaveh: not quite asking, not quite taking. Al-Haitham: not quite answering, not quite offering. - Al-Haitham has been confined to bed-rest for a month. Kaveh assists. Al-Haitham recovers, they both do.

Asked and Answered by heartslogos (T, 55k)

It begins in the House of Daena, or at least, Kaveh thinks that that’s where it should begin. If one were to trace the flow of events backwards, it would lead to this moment. If Kaveh were Al-Haitham, he would insist on going further back. Further. Further. Further. All the way back, to the literal beginning of all of time and creation, possibly. But Kaveh’s brain only has enough room for so many creations at any given moment, and the works of others — while inspiring — historically don’t get students passing grades. Or even grades at all. When thinking about one’s relationship with their soulmate, it seems natural to think to a first meeting. A first introduction. Well. This can be said for any relationship. It all begins with that first brush — a name, given; a silhouette, glanced; a voice, heard.

the truest forms of love by heartslogos (T, 29k)

“Nahida said that the moment you touch the seeds is the moment you must stop speaking,” the Traveler says to him, standing between Al-Haitham and the door of the simple, small hut that is to become his and Kaveh’s for the foreseeable future. “Is there anything else you want to say?” The beak of the swan is foreign, cool and strange. Al-Haitham struggles not to flinch away from it as it slides along the side of his jaw, his cheek — imploring and fretful. One last and ineffective plea. Al-Haitham feels the warm weight of solid muscle around his neck, his shoulders — the fidget of wings, the beat of a heart. Al-Haitham’s fingers sink into soft feathers and the bones and muscles of a bird shift against his hands as he holds Kaveh close. What is there to say? Why bother to say something to someone who cannot say anything back? “Stand aside,” Al-Haitham says, slowly lowering Kaveh to the ground. “The sooner I begin, the sooner it ends.” - A story loosely based on the fairy tale of "The Six Swans".

house of cards by luminvies (T, 21k)

There is a scrap of parchment he'd created and abandoned all the way back when the two had been attending the Akademiya together. Sometime between then and the first month he has to move in with Al-Haitham, the list gets crossed out, scribbled over, crumpled up, carefully unfolded again, and revised. The working title for his tireless troubles: Ten Reasons You Cannot, Under Any Circumstances, Fall In Love With Al-Haitham.

…And how Kaveh falls anyway.

through the grapevine by katarasvevo (G, 3.8k)

Theories are passed around in the form of whispers: Professor Alhaitham probably said something that angered Professor Kaveh. Professor Kaveh, unable to let the insult slide, decided to take revenge by interrupting his precious class time. A prediction goes around that in less than ten seconds, Professor Alhaitham will proceed to offend Professor Kaveh even more with a tactless comment, which will lead to Professor Kaveh and Professor Alhaitham murdering each other. The whole class will walk out today without needing to write the test, having been traumatized by the tragic demise of the two professors. It is not a very pleasant line of thought, but it is sadly the only logical outcome.

In which everyone is convinced Professor Alhaitham and Professor Kaveh are sworn enemies, unaware that their relationship isn’t at all what it seems.

the kübler-ross model on romance by luminvies (T, 10.8k)

Kaveh smiles up at the stranger. "Sorry, he's right! I am taken. By him. But he doesn't know it yet." What. "Wait, what did you mean by that?" Al-Haitham asks faintly. "Oh, that?" Kaveh scoffs. "You're a little dense. Obviously, I meant exactly what I said. I wouldn't want to be kept by anybody but you." "But we are—" Al-Haitham trips over his words, trailing behind Kaveh as he walks purposefully through the city. "We aren't. Together. Neither of us has confirmed anything of the sort." Kaveh gives him a derisory look. "And what, we don't act like it? Some things don't have to be put into words to be understood. Ah, I forgot. Haravatat. You probably wouldn't accept anything else any other way." "It is not logical to make assumptions without empirical evidence." "You scholarly types," Kaveh mutters. "Always so particular."

So. Al-Haitham is in love with Kaveh. This has got to be somebody's fault.

Cue the five stages of grief.

The Fall by heartslogos (M, 131k)

In the third generation of Lord Sangemah Bays when all is but a dream, Lord Kusanali, from their divine seat in the Sanctuary of Surasthana stirs and reaches their hands to the sky. They arrange their fingers to capture a square of sky, humming and singing to themselves as they put the patch of star and moon and cloud through the divine calculus before they translate it into the tongues of men to be made knowable, and perhaps even understandable — and with great fortune, actionable. “Summon the court,” Lord Kusanali says, “The Third Face of God has spoken. Hear the Word through me and make your peace. For the God Kings only ever speak thrice on any given subject.” The court of Sumeru crowds the Sanctuary of Surasthana. “That which waits in the Palace of Alcazarzaray can only be absolved through a union of souls and an exchange of hearts, a lifelong journey that ends only in death.” Lord Kusanali translates. And then, beatific, “What you need is a wedding.”

set alight by celestialfics (T, 2.3k)

Since he was young, Alhaitham has followed a self-imposed, unspoken rule not to touch other people unless strictly necessary. Over the years, there have been two exceptions. One was his grandmother, whose side he would cling to as she read him books on the living room couch. She would pet his hair, and he’d lean into the touch, not unlike a kitten blissfully being groomed by its mother. The other exception was an Akademiya upperclassman named Kaveh.

transparent night by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (G, 9.4k)

“Sir, kindly do not obstruct us,” says the matra sharply. “We are in the midst of carrying out an arrest.” “An arrest?” repeats Kaveh, incredulously. “You’re arresting him? You’re arresting him? Why, what in Teyvat has he done?” The Archon Rescue Operation is going as smoothly as it possibly can — that is, until Kaveh returns prematurely from his desert trip, and runs into Alhaitham at the absolute worst possible moment. Of course he would.

this is what happens in the absence of small-talk by pencanze (T, 17k)

Haitham and Kaveh, whose travels are leading them in opposite directions, meet as strangers in a caravanserai—a travelers’ guest house. Because even opposite directions have a point of intersection or overlap, don’t they? Some might even call that point a headfirst collision. And another thing about opposite directions: they still run in parallel, even long after they’ve crossed.

trishna by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (T, 8.2k)

Down the seventh-floor passage in Vahumana, past the statue of the sage Zolfikar, and behind the third door from the left; inside a small, abandoned seminar room in the Sumeru Akademiya is a mirror cursed to show the viewer their heart’s deepest desire. Kaveh’s father smiles at him, slowly, so Kaveh can see it happen; the corners of his mouth quirk upwards and his eyes twinkle. He’s moving, alive. Kaveh hasn’t seen his father smile – not the expression itself, preserved in an old Kamera shot he kept in his sketchbook, but the very action of smiling – in almost ten years. An Alhaitham/Kaveh X Mirror of Erised AU

if they ask my gain from this world’s harvest by patchy (T, 16k)

In the silence that follows, Alhaitham seems to interpret the end of the conversation. He takes a step back into his bedroom and starts to shut the door. “I’ll pay you tomorrow,” Kaveh forces out, his voice cracking embarrassingly. The door pauses in its trajectory. Kaveh takes a deep breath. “But this is the last time,” he continues in a lower voice. “I’ll be out of your space by the end of the month.” Alhaitham pushes open the door.

The House, The Home, You and Me by sonotfine (G, 11.9k)

Alhaitham's books-hoarding situation continued to grow out of control. Kaveh magnanimously decided to offer to build a new house for him, with enough space for his ego and the books too. This was fine by Alhaitham. And, of course, he wanted it to be a house for two. -- On moving out of the old, moving on to the new, and moving forward together.

what it means to point true by luminvies (T, 9.8k)

It is biologically impossible for a man to replicate technological functions. As much as Kaveh (and colleagues) like calling Al-Haitham an index of niche and generally insignificant information on legs, he will never quite live up to the title. Here's a novel one: people must have taken to thinking of him as a human compass because they always seem to come to him when they're looking for Kaveh.

is that what I look like? by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (T, 3,8k)

Alhaitham grows a beard. Why? Who knows.

Three or Four (Or Possibly Five) Easy Steps to Living Harmoniously With Your Roommate by Bgtea (T, 28.7k)

The truth of the matter is, Kaveh has no idea how to read Alhaitham. He prides himself on being an expert at understanding people, his empathetic heart lending him the capacity to relate deeply with those around him (oftentimes to his detriment). But with Alhaitham, there is nothing for him to read; no clues from his cool expression for him to grasp. The man appears stoic all the time even during their petty bickering. Honestly, when was the last time Kaveh has seen the man do anything except smirk or frown? Does Alhaitham feel happiness? Has he ever seen the man laugh? Kaveh's mind is drawing a blank on the latter and it...bothers him deeply. -- Kaveh devises a plan to get Alhaitham to smile by being aggressively nice to the man (and also maybe if he makes Alhaitham happy, he can score a discount on his rent or something). Alhaitham thinks Kaveh ate some mind-altering mushrooms and is, understandably, confused and mildly afraid.

in weal and in woe by kurigohan_to_kamehameha (G, 26.7k)

“Oh, right – Alhaitham.” Kaveh claps a hand to his forehead. “Cyno, if you see him at the Akademiya tomorrow, don’t mention this to him, would you? I haven’t told him yet.”

“Told him?” Cyno asks slowly, a wary glint in his eye. “What exactly haven’t you told him?” “That I’m getting married,” Kaveh grimaces. “I wanted to tell him myself – I suppose I do want him at the wedding after all, you know – but I didn’t get a chance yet. You know what it’s like, trying to have a conversation with him.” It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. Kaveh is a single man. That's about it, really. or: the one in which Kaveh gets married, but not to whom you think.

the hypothetical shore by heartslogos (T, 10k)

When Al-Haitham was still a student in the Akademiya he wore his hair long. As long as Kaveh’s is now, perhaps a little longer than that, even. But unlike Kaveh's, Al-Haitham’s hair was just as quiet as he was, just as cool — like a stream of silver water, fresh from the mountain pass. To this day Kaveh remembers the exact moment he thought he might be falling in love with Al-Haitham and that, perhaps, it might not be such a terrible thing.

de insomniis by liyuen (M, 32k)

Kaveh and Alhaitham live together. Nothing ever happens. Nothing ever hurts. But sometimes, when Kaveh watches Nahida idly finish her homework, he gets the feeling that he’s forgetting something important.

Kaveh must have fallen asleep at his desk again, the morning light hitting his eyes like a slap. He blinked at the soft green blanket over his shoulders. When he stumbled into the hall, Alhaitham was sitting in the living quarters with his back to him, soundproof earpieces alit. He had a stupid moment where he wanted to call out to Alhaitham. What would he even say? ‘I’m having some trouble.’ ‘Is the blanket yours?’ ‘You were right, I’m in over my head.’ ‘Can you hear me out?’ ‘Help me. Please, help me.’ Stupid. He yawned and went to stumble his way to the kitchen. From his periphery, he thought he saw Alhaitham turn towards him with a look like he wanted to say something. But that, too, surely was just a very nice dream.

The Importance of Interruption by theSealby (T, 8.6k)

Years. It has been years, yet it could’ve been yesterday they were sitting side by side, thigh to thigh, eye to eye, filled with a contentment that their future selves have lost. Maybe it would be enough to have that again. Maybe correctness has no place here—has never been the ultimate goal between them—and Alhaitham finds himself asking a very different question than intended. “How would you like to come home?” ✥ Alhaitham loathes interruptions. (All except one).

To Dream in Shades of Green by Intensely_Reading (T, 55k)

“There are three suitors who you can romance in this game. You must complete all your requirements with one of them." “Who are the three potential suitors?” Kaveh asks warily. “Your three suitors are Tighnari, the blunt Palace Chamberlain; Cyno, the standoffish Captain of the Royal Guard; and Al-Haitham, the acerbic Duke of Vultur Volans.” There's a new invention from the Yae Publishing House that turns a user's dreams into light novel stories. Kaveh has the (un)fortunate pleasure of being one of its first users. Too bad it dumped him in a romance game.

The Theorem of Narrow Interests by lumielle (M, 36k)

Kaveh clicks his tongue. “Well, I hope you are also aware that with all these requirements, you don’t get a set (A+B), or even (A+B+C). Yours is a set comprised of the entire Sumerian alphabet!” Kaveh has had enough of Alhaitham always loitering around the house. In an attempt to get Alhaitham to go out more often, he jokingly tells him to start dating someone. Much to Kaveh’s shock, Alhaitham agrees—and promptly assigns him as his personal matchmaker. And even though Alhaitham’s requirements for his ideal partner are annoyingly specific, Kaveh refuses to back down from a good challenge. He’s confident in his abilities—that is, until his own feelings start getting in the way…

Precipice by viiparyas (M, 37k)

Lately, his heart staggers at a precipice, just one breath from toppling over. Into what, he doesn’t know. After everything, after everything… He can’t help but melt easily into the intimacy between them, whether it’s by his design or not.

Kaveh has won fame and renown through Sumeru, witnessed the dissolution of a corrupt government, traveled from the trenches of homelessness to the pinnacles of a fairytale paradise. And yet something deep between his ribs screams, more, more, more.

or, Kaveh discovering what he truly wants and finally reaching for it. (Spoiler alert: it's Alhaitham)

nazar by pencanze (T, 13k)

It’s like they’re in a globed world of their own, trapped within a glazed bead. Shatterproof, soundproof, impregnable and unbreakable to anyone else—anyone besides themselves. (On superstitions, friendships, and other things that shatter.)

case study of the scribe by Jazer (T, 25.5k)

"The consequences of obtaining knowledge is the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. "

In which Alhaitham realizes that a peaceful existence does not have to mean a lonely one.

People keep coming to Al-Haitham when they want to know where Kaveh is. Al-Haitham would be lying if he said he didn't know why.

silviculture by sunsmasher (T, 13k)

Kaveh’s face is bright, young, flushed, freckled, happy. He’s wearing an Akademiya uniform and is as tall as the last time Alhaitham saw him (fifteen minutes ago) which means he’s an inch or two shorter than the last time Alhaitham saw him, because the uniform boots are heeled. He’s staring at Alhaitham with the aforementioned flush spreading like dye over the silk of his cheeks. “Kaveh,” Alhaitham says. “Don’t freak out. I believe I’ve been displaced in time.”

spitefully yours by luminvies (T, 6k)

Dear Al-Haitham, I propose that we meet this Friday at sundown on the southeast edge of the city bordering Avidya Forest. This is a marital engagement. Please come prepared with your sword at the ready. With spite, Kaveh Al-Haitham sets down the letter, letting out a long sigh. After all, isn’t the answer to dealing with domestic disputes not marriage? Isn’t that entirely contradictory to the issue?

Kaveh sends Al-Haitham martial summons to sort out their issues. Unfortunately, he makes a small error in the letter.

The Art of Misunderstanding by Anonymous (M, 7k)

"Kaveh didn't consider himself to be vain. Yet he was becoming increasingly, upsettingly aware that most associates would disagree. Vanity, by definition, refers to an inflated sense of self-importance and pride in oneself. A vain person may believe themselves to be the best in the room. They may find it absurd that all eyes do not fall on them the instant they make themselves known. A vain person may put themselves on a pedestal, believing themselves objectively skilled in their field. And though Kaveh had trust and confidence in himself as an artist, he was caught entirely off-guard to hear that others thought of him as vain." ------ AKA, Kaveh misunderstands when he overhears an upsetting conversation between old classmates. His assumption is that they are attacking his character and commenting on his personality. In reality, they're talking about his looks. Everyone picks up on it, save for Kaveh himself.

Illness, Drowning, and Other Minor Inconveniences by EulerIHKH (G, 11k)

Faced with a uniquely difficult client, Kaveh is reluctantly forced to look for help in the one architect he considers more capable than himself: his mother. But soon enough, the turmoil of Kaveh's personal life begins to seep into their professional correspondence, forcing him to reevaluate his career, relationships, and identity.

love haitham and kaveh....love these fics....so many talented writers...thank you authors <33 def missing a bunch bc my organization on ao3 is horrendous but i can update this or make another list at some point....also i would highly appreciate any recs tyy🙏

( + bonus not rec but self promo of a hkvh fic i tried my hand at writing last summer but never shared oops. here she is if you're intrigued

a comedy of errors (T, 6.7k) )

[maplegracefour]

Shut Up and Drive | Part One

Summary: You're a trainee Race Engineer for Ferrari, working closely behind the engineer who works for Jay Schlatt, the youngest driver to ever win a Grand Prix. He's one of the famous people in the sport to date and now you get to watch his work every day. Chaos ensues.

Warnings: none

Word Count: ~1500

Author's Note: Here we go!! I want to preface by saying that I don't know all the ins and outs of F1 so don't expect it to be too accurate. I just like fast cars and Schlatt. Also, this is definitely gonna be a series because I already have so many ideas and I really enjoyed writing this. Have fun!!

You scramble to the paddock, first day on the job jitters evident as you scurried through the corridors of the Fiorano Circuit. To say you are terrified is an understatement.

You make it as the team starts briefing, eyes scanning the room as you notice a few familiar faces, some engineers you met during your interviews for this position and some from watching races yourselves.

That’s when you spot them, two gentlemen sat in the front of the crowd. You knew them, of course you knew them. The drivers and the faces of your team for the foreseeable future. Ted Nivision, a new transfer from McLaren, and Jay Schlatt.

Both great drivers, but you can’t help but let your eyes linger on the latter for a little longer. The man is a legend, youngest driver to win a Grand Prix and he has been a force to be reckoned with ever since. He glances up, taking in the team. He notices you, he hasn’t seen you before, his eyes trace over your body before reaching your eyes, you immediately looking away, cheeks flushing a bright red.

Your team principal, Eduardo, claps at the front of the crowd, everyone begins to quieten down. “Alright everyone, it’s gonna be an exciting season for us! First, I’d like to welcome Ted as our newest driver.” Everyone gives a quiet whoop or cheer as Ted turns and waves, giving everyone a small smile. “And (Y/N), trainee performance engineer, you’ll be seeing them around a lot as they learn the ropes.” The cheer isn’t as loud, not that you expected it to be, but everyone seems to welcome you with theoretical open arms.

But the only person that seems to catch your attention is once again, Schlatt. He turns fully around to get a good look at you as some are welcoming you to the team and you respond with a couple of quiet ‘thank you’s.

He turns back before you notice, but he makes a mental note to keep an eye on you. His main concern is you’re new, inexperienced, what makes you so good that you deserve a spot in one of the biggest motorsport teams in the world?

The meeting continues, briefings on the practise session and overall general game plans for the season ahead, you are taking down notes, scribbling away in a notepad with a shiny ballpoint pen. Schlatt can’t help but take a couple more peaks at you but you don’t even seem to notice.

When the brief ends, you follow behind the race engineer, David, as he heads over to meet with the Team Principal. You close your notebook and trail behind him.

“Ah, David.” Eduardo starts, patting David on the arm and he nods firmly in response. “David is your new race engineer, Schlatt.”

Schlatt frowns, clearly still upset that his previous race engineer has left the team. “Sure.” He says, not quite looking David in the eyes.

“And (Y/N) is his trainee, so you’ll be seeing them around a lot too. Play nice, alright?” Eduardo warns with a raised eyebrow.

You wonder what he means by that but soon Eduardo has left, patting Schlatt on the back as he does so.

“So, trainee. You nervous?” Schlatt asks, leaning against the nearby wall, his racing suit hanging on his hips, you struggle to not let your eyes trail down.

You hum for a moment, clutching onto your notebook so tightly that your knuckles are going white. You’re standing in front of one of the most famous drivers in the sport’s history and he’s talking to you. “A little.” You respond. “Are you?”

“Nah,” he chuckles. “No point being nervous, we’ve got a good season ahead of us. I know it.”

You tap your pen nervously on your lips, his eyes follow it for a moment, distracted. “I hope so.” You respond. “I look forward to seeing you on the track.”

“I look forward to seeing you watching.” He responds, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

“Hey, Schlatt! We gotta go.” Ted calls from across the room and Schlatt’s attention is immediately pulled away from you.

He heads off, retreating into a different room, presumably to get ready for their practice session with the new cars. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed that you didn’t get to talk to him more, but he’s a sought after man, you can’t expect him to want to talk to you too. Though, little did you know, he’s thinking the exact same thing.

“Alright, though it’ll be a little while until you need to know how all this works, there’s no harm in showing you now.” David, your mentor, says. He points to the buttons on the desk ahead of you. “Grab that headset.”

He points to a headset just ahead of you, you pick it up and slide it over your ears, taking one side of it and pushing it back so you can still hear David explaining to you.

“Up there is the stats for the car, you can get more in-depth stuff on the monitors on the desk though.” He points to the screen above you. “Our main job is to communicate with the driver about his needs and make sure he’s all doing okay. Most of the time, other engineers will communicate the needs of the car to you. It makes more sense in action.” He chuckles and you laugh with him.

You have done your research, you knew all of this already but you aren’t going to tell him that. You just nod along, making some notes if and when you felt necessary.

Soon, you’re gearing up for the practice session is about to start, you can hear the buzz of the team around you. Your job for this is to simply watch and listen, so you do just that. You have the honour of being able to hear the team radio though, so you sit forward, noticing the cars pull out onto the track.

“Alright, Schlatt, new car, new season. Take it easy today, yeah?” David says, eyes tracing the screens.

You hear a deep chuckle vibrating through your headset. “C’mon David, you’re gonna put me in a brand new car and then tell me to take it easy?”

David pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “It’s a practice, not a race, alright?”

“Loud and clear, cap.” Schlatt says, foot on the acceleration. You look up, seeing the numbers on the screen starting to increase and decrease as the car begins to move.

The session goes well, the cars run the best that they ever have and the whole team seems satisfied with how it goes. You make your way down to the pits, following David to the car as Schlatt climbs out, grabbing a bottle of water from one of the pit team. He drinks from it like he’s been in a desert for 10 years.

David and yourself wait back for a moment, letting him unzip his suit and pulling his arms out, letting it hang on his hips once more. His hair is dripping with sweat and the tight undershirt clings to his body. You must admit, it’s difficult not to look.

“Good shit,” David says, clapping on Schlatt’s shoulder. Schlatt gives him a tired laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at you before looking back at your mentor.

“How were my lap times?” Schlatt asks, looking to David who just immediately turns to you.

You blush a little at being put on the spot, flicking through your notebook to find the lap times that you have scribbled down. Schlatt notices the pages filled with notes, particularly the lap time page, one number in which is circled.

“You got uh, a new personal best. 56.93 seconds.” You tell him, pointing at the page. “That puts you 3 from the world record for this track.” You say, tucking a piece of hair behind your hair.

“Thanks,” He says, giving you a small smile. “Anyway, I’ve gotta shower.” He tells you both, looking down at his sweaty clothed body. 

“See you at the party?” David asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Maybe.” Schlatt shrugs. “Gotta show my face I suppose.” He heads out, jogging out the door towards the showers.

Exiting the pits, David and you head to the meeting rooms for the practise debrief session. There’s a lot of numbers thrown around and game tactics, you keep scratching your notes into your notebook. As the debrief comes to a close, you turn and are greeted with the face of Ted Nivison himself.

“I must say, I’m kinda gutted you’re being mentored by Schlatt’s engineer. Would be nice to hear your voice every day.” He says, leaning against the table.

You blush, looking down at the floor. “I, uh, I don’t get to use the radios myself.” You tell him. Is he flirting with you right now?

“That’s a shame. You coming to the party?” He asks, smirking down at you.

Something about his tall stature towering over you made you nervous, in a good way of course. It isn’t often you garner this sort of attention, and it definitely isn’t often that this attention comes from a literal celebrity.

You look back up at him, a sweet smile on your face. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Can’t wait.” He hums before spinning around and walking away without another word.

This is going to be a long season.

PART TWO HERE

[writingonleaves]

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? (did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?) - jeremy swayman

pairing: jeremy swayman x original female character

warnings: swearing, pretty angsty. hopeful ish ending because i can't do sad endings, very personal but i think many can relate in their own way, cliche ish, barely proofread

inspired by + title: "the smallest man who ever lived" by taylor swift

word count: 5.6k

author's note: i'd argue almost every piece any author writes is personal, because it has their life interspersed through the words. but this one really is, because a majority of this is the exact same words i wrote years ago after a break-up. heard the bridge to this song and immediately knew i had to write something inspired by it. also trying a new format of sorts (maybe a bit meta??), so i hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!

~*~*~

When Noelle Betsko walked away from Jeremy Swayman, holding back tears until the call dropped, she knew it was going to be a tough time for the foreseeable future. 

It didn’t matter that the pandemic had forced them apart. She knew she would still feel him for months to come.

She did the only thing she knows how to do when trying to deal with things. The one thing she always resorts to as an aspiring novelist. Sometimes on her laptop when the words were spilling out too quickly for her brain to catch up, tears littering the keyboard. Usually in her old beat-up journal, scribbling in the cursive that Jeremy claimed he always loved (“It makes your handwriting unique”) with the pens he had gifted her just a few months prior. 

At the age of 21, Noelle got her heart broken for the first time. At the age of 26, she’s about to publish her first poetry collection of sorts, all of the poems modeled after journal entries written throughout her life. So not really poetry, though her mother would say otherwise. 

She swallows as she thumbs through the middle part of the first known and binded copy of “miscellaneous.” There are only eight entries in the whole collection that are taken verbatim from her past writing. These are the eight.

May 13, 2020 (three days post-breakup, crying in my childhood bedroom)

I don’t even recognize who I was and who you were in those writings before these pages filled with love and hope and happiness. I can’t even summon up those feelings anymore that I knew existed at one point. Those feelings of complete bliss and love for someone so deep you can’t explain it. 

I’m mad at myself for not being able to conjure those feelings, because at one point, I did love you. How could something that was part of my daily life for over two years just disappear so quickly? 

But now, I’m not mad at myself. I’m mad, but I don’t know where to direct that anger to. I feel a bit empty sometimes, but then frustrated the next. Sometimes I get sad, but not so much compared to the other feelings. I spent enough time being sad during our relationship.

When we broke up, on an annoyingly beautiful Tuesday in May — over the damn phone, mind you, which whatever, it’s COVID. Fine — You told me you felt like you had been putting more effort into us. 

At the time, I didn’t react, but I’ve been thinking about how angry that statement made me. Makes me, actually. I was always very open with how much I gave to that relationship. How much it meant to me. How much it affected me. But I understand that with some people, sharing everything too much equates to things not meaning anything anymore. But you out of all people should’ve known that I mean everything I say.

I felt like I gave so much. I know I gave so much. When I told you I loved you, I always meant it. Every single time. When I told you I missed you, I always meant it. I wished you were right next to me at that moment. I mentally gave so much, because to me, I wanted to. You were always on my mind, always high up on my list of priorities. I never took us for granted.

I’ve been questioning if that was the same for you. Did you start becoming complacent?

The second thing you said that day that hasn’t left my head is that you knew me pretty well. And initially, I remember not thinking much of it. So I don’t doubt that; you always knew right when I was about to cry, even over the phone. You often knew when I was mad or upset, but when I look back now, you never pushed. Which is a good thing, to an extent. But it was a bad thing sometimes too. I knew you often wanted to give me space, but sometimes I didn’t want space. I wanted you to push. To try to understand. Maybe that’s unfair of me; it probably is. I should just say I want to talk about it more, right? 

But if you genuinely knew me, you would’ve known.

After two years, seven months and 12 days,  I still feel like I didn’t know you. Did I ever know you at all?

When people talked shit about you, I always defended you. And I still would defend you now. But lately, I've questioned what I’m even defending. All those good qualities that I thought you had, were they even real? Of course, I know some of them were, to a certain extent. But as I look back on us, there’s a lot of doubt about whether I even knew the person I called my boyfriend for so long. I know there was a point where you cared about me, but I can’t remember when. 

I often felt like I was letting you know so much about my life, but you didn’t do the same. I get that sometimes a person just wants to forget about the bad and focus on the good with a person you like for awhile. I get that. But once that was happening every damn time? That should’ve been a red flag. 

June 7, 2020 (twenty eight days post break-up, outside my childhood room on the deck) 

I don’t understand how you can give so much to something or someone and have it not be recognized or appreciated or enough. If I wasn’t enough for you, how will I be enough for anyone?

I hope one day you’ll truly understand how much this hurt. Not just the breakup, but feeling like I was always being pulled in a direction I didn’t always want to be pulled in. Feeling I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and never ever being able to win. I hate that I settled so much in the last year. Because I should’ve demanded more, even though deep down I knew you were never going to be able to give it to me.

I think back to our past daily texts, and I just don’t get it. At one point, we both meant the things we said to each other. 

Yet we still hurt each other. 

This fucking hurts.

You’ve hurt me so much, but most of it wasn’t intentional, which I think is somewhat even worse. Because I’m not totally mad at you for causing the pain. You never did anything outright to cause me pain, but I still feel like you did. 

Unintentional pain almost stings more than intentional. 

When I asked you out that night after we were both on an emotional high, I took a chance. For once in my life, I took the leap, knowing that I could get humiliated or hurt or just straight up shot down. 

Where did it all go wrong? Or, more realistically, how did we think that we could go through the wrong when it was there at the start?

I’m trying not to blame myself too much. Trying not to tell myself that I should’ve known better. 

All those times, especially at the start, when I would ask you if you genuinely liked me, you always thought I was just trying to be annoying. But you never understood that I genuinely thought that way. My self confidence from the start was lacking, and you didn’t try to understand that, because I come across to everyone as confident and self-assured. 

It hurt, when you would brush things off like that. I felt like you didn’t care.

And then, it got to the point where I stopped asking that question. Part of that is because I did become more confident and you did show that you cared, and part of that was because I knew it would piss you off.

The amount of things I was scared to talk about with you because I knew it would piss you off? I don’t wish that feeling on anybody.

I shouldn’t have been scared. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But I was. And if you did notice like sometimes you claimed to, why didn’t you make it more comfortable for me? Was that too much to ask for? 

So larger than life that at the end, you faded into just the smallest man who ever lived. Fuck you.

Was it too much to ask for when I just wanted to know why you were upset? You didn’t have to ever tell me the full story (lord knows there were times I didn’t), but was it too much to ask for something? You told me once that I’m the person you’ve told the most to. How? You barely told me anything. And when I wanted to talk to you, whether it was about growing up in Alaska or why you were in a bad mood last night, you always brushed it off. Always. 

So I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I gave more effort. I gave so much of myself to you. If you really cared about me like you claimed you did, why couldn’t you show even just 1% of that care back? Or just meet me in the middle?

I could’ve tried harder to meet you in the middle, I’ll admit that. But you didn’t even give me a map or a clue how to. 

I felt so fucking left in the dark. I felt left in the dark about my own fucking relationship, something that I should be completely sure about. If you really love someone and care about them, how can you leave them in the dark? How could you not even see that I was struggling to find a flashlight?

You did care about me. I know that. To some extent and at some point in time, you did care about me. But caring about someone and their well-being isn’t always enough.

Why couldn’t you have worked with me? When I was extending my hand out, why didn’t you reach for it? How can someone just be so blind? I mean, I’m practically always spelling it out for you. 

Maybe I am being selfish. But fuck, I just wanted to be happy. At some point, you made me happy. When did I start making you feel like I wasn’t enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?

It’s useless, in a way, to keep going about this. Because I know I deserve better. And we’ll both find people who are better for us. We just couldn’t be that person to each other.

I fucking loved you.

I wish it ended differently.

July 8, 2020 (fifty nine days post-breakup, in front of the lake)

I really really fucking miss you. 

I do. 

I miss being able to text you that i love you and not necessarily expecting a response until the next morning. I miss knowing that as soon as you wake up, you’ll text me back and assure me that yeah, you love me too. 

I’m left feeling bittersweet as I look back on memories that are just splashes and not definite strokes on the canvas that used to be us.

I miss having you as a friend. 

I’ve been having more urges lately to want to text you. And it isn’t even anything important. Just moments I experience throughout the day.

Do you get the urge to do the same?

July 19, 2020 (seventy days post-breakup, still in the same damn house)

It’s hard. It really is. And it kinda just hits you at random parts of the day. Sometimes I wake up from a dream that you were in and have to remind myself that it didn’t happen. 

Sometimes it physically aches when I realize that you won’t ever help me put on my jacket again, or complain that my hair is in your face when we’re lying on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, or groan when I drag you up to dance with me (which you never improved on, no matter how many times I tried to teach you basic rhythm). I can’t view our song the same way anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. 

The other day, I read some simple thing on Twitter. I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember that for a split second, I could see your smile in my mind. But it wasn’t just any smile. It was the smile you gave me when you took me ice skating that first time. I remember asking you what you were smiling at, and you said that you just were taking in this moment. I don’t know if you took a mental picture that day, but I know I did. That day seems so long ago now. 

In almost anything I do, you somehow pop into my mind or into the conversation. And it’s not even in a harmful way either. It’s because you were part of my life for so long. I see a dog on the street, and it reminds me of how you always stopped to pet every single one we’s see I write something in my messy handwriting, and I remember how you always used to complain that you couldn’t read the notes I’d occasionally leave around your place when you went away. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and they said I was 5 feet and 3 inches, which is just definitely not true, and I almost reached for my phone to text you, because you would’ve cackled and insisted that no, I’m 5 feet 2 inches and it wouldn’t even matter because I’ll always be shorter than you. It’s simple and minute things that make me miss you that much more.

I still can’t listen to some songs the same way anymore, but I can at least listen to them now, which is a feat in itself. I was unpacking from college and found the teddy bear you sent me the first extended time we had to be apart and had to immediately put that out of my sight. From those boxes also came photos that I had decorated my dorm room with, and to be honest, I’m glad now that I let you keep our best one. I deal with all my emotions, besides writing, by making Spotify playlists, and I made a new one earlier this week. I think it’s helping. It’s a slow process, this whole moving on thing, but it’s one that I’m trying to be grateful for, because like most things in life, you just don’t truly know until you go through it.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering how you are and how you’re healing. But, even though we’ve both changed since the day we met, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re incredibly strong and stubborn. I hope that you’re finding some growth in this process too. 

October 17, 2020 (one hundred fifty seven days post-break up, apartment in orono)

It’s been almost 5 months, and you still cross my mind everyday. 

Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why didn’t you fucking tell me what you were thinking? Why was I the one who had to approach you just because I was just so done with the silent treatment?

But I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. The mad phase passed ages ago. 

Closure is a fake word. Even a breakup as mutual and smooth as ours was still left me with so many questions that will probably never be answered. 

Any breakup fucks you up to some extent. I knew it was going to mess me up even back when we were together. But not like this. Never like this. 

But like anything in life, I guess you can never really prepare for what you think you might feel, because most of the time, you discover a whole new side of you that you never thought existed. 

I don’t miss you. I don’t. I don’t feel that love in any way anymore. 

But I did once.

You did too, right?

November 15, 2020 (one hundred eighty six days post break-up, fogler library)

I hate Halloween. 

Though, it did bring me to you three years ago. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there. 

Three years later, you texted me on Halloween, five months after our breakup. The universe really, really wanted to fuck with me. 

It was a tough night for you. I knew that. Because I know how you are after losing a game you should’ve won. But that didn’t mean that I owed you anything and had to respond. 

We agreed on no contact if we ever wanted to stay friends. Clearly, friends is out of the picture now, but come on. A vulnerable text after a bad night because you know I would feel bad for you?

Fuck, you know how much I would hate that. You had to have known. 

Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean that everything about you just disappears. I still know your tendencies. I still know exactly how my head burrows into your chest during a hug. I still know the actions I used to do that would be followed by you attacking me with a hug. I still could point you out in a crowd. 

I looked for you in every crowd for years. 

That stuff doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I want it to. But fuck. Fuck. Why did you text me? 

I don’t regret how I handled it. I probably would’ve responded months ago. But just like you, I’ve grown these last couple of months. 

It was comforting, for a split second, to know that maybe, just maybe, these past couple of months have been hard for you too. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel like I’m not crazy.

I’m glad you texted me. You gave me another level of closure I hadn’t known that I needed until then. 

But fuck, dude. You know me better than that. You should know me better than that. 

I hate Halloween.

November 26, 2020 (one hundred ninety seven days, at the coffee shop i brought you to when you came home with me two years ago)

I don’t regret loving you, but I hate you for what you did to me. 

Or maybe not. 

I hate knowing that even though we haven’t been in a relationship in a bit, it feels like sometimes, you’re on my mind the exact same amount when we were dating. I hate knowing that I gave so much of myself and my love to you, and it always felt unrecognized. 

Fuck, will it ever stop hurting? Will I ever be able to have to stop myself from thinking about you? Will it ever stop?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy it.

June 12, 2021 (three hundred ninety five days post-break up, in boston, visiting a friend)

Tonight, when a friend asked me about you and how I felt about how we ended, I was able to articulate my thoughts clearly. I’m really proud of myself for getting to a point where I can take the lessons I learned the few months after we broke up and acknowledge them in a succinct way without breaking down into tears. Just watery eyes and the occasional voice crack 

I’m also proud that I can say that when we were dating, I lost a bit of myself. For months, it was really hard to admit out loud.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I wish I could call or text you about it, because I think you’d be proud too. And I know I’d be proud of you. I am, to be honest. I do break resolve once in awhile and check on you through various avenues.

I still haven’t seen you in person since the last time COVID made us say goodbye. Maybe I never will again. But day by day, I’m starting to accept that and be okay with it. I’m accepting that memories that used to be so painted in my mind are blurry or almost completely erased now. But that’s okay. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. 

I wonder, when you think about it, if you think about different moments that I do. That’s the thing when something ends. You have to be okay with letting go of those moments and realizing that just because you forget them, doesn’t mean they weren’t important. 

I don’t think I miss you. I hesitate in saying that. Because I’ve moved on and handled the aftermath of it better than I think both of us ever thought I could. When you hung up the phone for the last time, I proved to myself again that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I think we all are. But we don’t realize it until we’re thrown into a situation that we think we’ll never be able to overcome. 

But we do. Whether it’s because we’re forced to because there’s no other option, it doesn’t matter. Because we get through. We move on. 

I hope you're moving on. 

And then it goes into other topics, graduating during a pandemic specifically and losing what’s supposed to be your last year of no responsibilities before adulthood. There are other poems in here that reference a past relationship, but not as much as these eight. 

If there’s one thing that Noelle did change, it was taking out the details. Jeremy may have hurt her, but he doesn’t deserve someone possibly making a connection between these poems and their shared background. She’s not a famous author by any means, but she wanted to be careful.

Not that she makes that part of her life publicly known. People don’t need to know that her brother was Jeremy’s captain for two years at Maine and that’s how they met. 

Noelle grew up going to rinks. She hasn’t gone to one since they broke up. 

But also, what the fuck? It’s been five years since she’s dated the guy. She really is over it by now, even if his rise to stardom in the Bruins flittering on her social media feeds still sometimes has her swallowing a bit before she can continue with her day. 

Brooklyn is far enough from Boston. But sometimes it feels like it’s right outside her door. 

She’s proud of her first published work. She really is. People believed in her and after numerous notes swapped back and forth with her editor, she did it. She always knew she wanted to work in publishing. She never knew she herself would publish anything.

And here she is now, two weeks after the book release, in Boston, about to do a q&a and a signing. Apparently, “miscellaneous” has been on top of numerous lists and it’s flying off the shelves. Noelle can’t really believe it and tries not to think about it too much, trusting her agent with all of that. 

She’s happy to talk about her work and process though. That she can handle. And she’s grateful for all the love.

After a signing at a local bookstore, she decides to walk the 20 minutes home in the Boston fall. It’s a bit brisk, but she doesn’t mind and she just wanders, belly filled with delicious sushi she inhaled for dinner with an old friend.

Of course it happens the one time during her walk when she doesn’t avoid eye contact with someone. The song playing in her earbuds fade out of her focus and she almost stumbles. 

Jeremy’s eyes were always Noelle’s favorite thing about him. She thought she would’ve forgotten what they looked like by now. But clearly she hasn’t. 

Her eyes quickly cast to the person next to him. It’s definitely a girl. They’re a bit too far away for Noelle to pick out details. But it’s enough. He’s walking on the side closest to the street. It’s a Friday Night in a bustling part of the city. 

It hurts. She wishes it didn’t.

Even from far away, she sees his eyes blink in recognition. Noelle puts her head back down and walks faster. 

(She cries in the shower when she gets back to the hotel. She had debated feeling super sorry for herself and going to the hotel bar but refrained)

She has a few free days in Boston before flying back to New York. When she wakes up the next morning, she debates on going home early. But no, she won’t let a three second glance at someone ruin her time here. She used to occasionally come here during her college days. She loves this city. 

The city may be Jeremy’s, but she can make space for herself here too. 

She takes her time at a cafe, people watching and eating some breakfast. As she takes her coffee to-go, she looks out the window at the bookstore she was in the night before for the signing. She almost drops her coffee. 

Jeremy walks into the book store. 

Now, Noelle is debating her options. What she should do is continue with her day and walk in the opposite direction. But she’s always been too nosy for her own good. And maybe a bit self destructive. She decides to leave the cafe and cross the street immediately, so impatient to where she’s almost tapping her foot as the pedestrian signal stays red. 

As a writer, she’s no stranger to movie moments. The scenes written in books or movies where the timing is too accurate to be real. The situation too good to be true. But after a car speeds through an orange and she can finally walk, she stops in her tracks instead, feet glued down to the sidewalk.

Because Jeremy is right in front of her on the other side of the street. Her book in his hand. And he’s looking right at her. 

The first feeling she can recognize in herself is anger. Anger at the way their relationship panned out. Anger at the way they ended. Anger at the radio silence the years following. Anger at him for everything. Angry at herself for everything. 

The second feeling is, weirdly, shame, which she’s embarrassed by. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she feels it anyways. 

The third, and perhaps the most prominent, is emptiness. Five fucking years later, and she’s brought back to the emptiness she felt immediately after they broke up. The emptiness that the person you loved isn’t yours anymore — who maybe wasn’t ever yours to begin with. 

Before she can run, he’s already crossed the street to her. He looks naturally different as someone who you haven’t seen in five years would. But he also heartbreakingly looks the same. 

“We should get out of people’s way,” Noelle manages to chokes out. 

Jeremy laughs a bit. Her heart lurches. “Yeah.” He starts walking and she follows him wordlessly. This is his city after all. 

He leads them to a bench under a tree with beautiful fall foliage. She puts at least a foot between them as they both sit down, staring out at the people passing. She can’t take the silence. 

“I see you bought my book.”

“I did,” he replies evenly. “Congratulations. I always knew you would do it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough she’ll forget when she originally pitched Jeremy the bare bones idea of the exact same book that’s currently in his hand. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too. On everything.”

“You’ve been watching?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, you know Seth and…yeah. It comes up during family calls sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you say hi last night?”

She looks pointedly at a couple walking their dog. “You seemed busy.”

“She wasn’t-that-it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh. Because that makes me feel so much better,” she spits out, before taking a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We broke up ages ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a look and is slightly proud of how he seems to shrink into himself a bit. “I-I know it’s five years too late. I know I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Noelle always thought that maybe hearing an apology someday would make her feel better. But now that’s heard it, she’s not sure she does. 

She swallows. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ve already read it, you know.”

“Read what?”

Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Your book. One of my teammate’s girlfriend recommended it and I asked to borrow it. It’s fantastic,” He looks down at the book in his hand. It’s like the cover is taunting her. “I wanted my own copy.”

“Oh.” 

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me off the hook with the poems I know were about me,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “You could’ve written way worse.”

She can’t help but let out a chuckle. “I thought I was pretty mean.”

“Your definition of ‘pretty mean’ is tame compared to a lot of people,” he says, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. “You were always the kindest person, even when you shouldn’t have been..” 

He puts his hand out in her direction, the hand with the book in it. She furrows her eyebrows. “What-”

“Could I get a signed copy?”

“Jeremy. What do you want from me?”

He sighs, taking his hand back. “A chance to apologize?”

“You’ve already done that.”

“Not in the way I want to and what you deserve.”

She lets out a sigh, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know if that would be worth my time or yours. I know the book just came out, but that was five years ago. I’m over it. Forgive and forget, right?”

“But do you?” Jeremy counters back. “Clearly, you don’t forget, which I deserve. But forgive?” 

“We’re just going in circles now.”

“No we’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re just shutting me down because you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had five years to prepare what I would say to you if I saw you again. You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Of course I have,” Noelle tips her head back. “But also, what’s the point?”

“The point, is that I still love you.”

“Fuck you,” she says in a strained voice. “You can’t just-you can’t just throw that shit out there. Fuck you.”

He bites his lip, and to her annoyance, he laughs. But she listens more carefully, and it sounds very self deprecating. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” Noelle looks down at her feet. “So…what? You still love me?”

“I do.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“What are you going to let me do?”

“I live in Brooklyn.”

“I know,” she whips her head up. Jeremy looks sheepish, which she didn’t even think was something he knew how to do. “Seth mentioned it when we caught up a bit ago. I also still follow you on Instagram.”

She tries again. “It’s been five years.”

“And I’m here sitting with you and still feel the exact same way I did back then. Even more, to be honest.” He eyes her pointedly. “Any more excuses?”

Her voice softens. “You really hurt me.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Noelle.”

“I hurt you too.”

He shrugs. “We were young and stupid.”

“And we’re still not?” Noelle says with a snort before swallowing. “I’m not the same person you fell in love with.”

“I’m sure I’m not either. But I don’t know if there’s a world where I don’t love every version of you.”

“Even after reading the book?”

“Especially after reading the book,” he sighs. “Noelle, I know this is unfair of me. All of this. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to reach out. But I always intended to. And then you’re here? And I see you twice in two days? I’d be an idiot to not try. More of an idiot than I am, anyways.”

“Try for what?”

“A second chance? To be friends? Whatever you want.” He suddenly deflates. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me. At least I’ll know.”

“Why did you never text me?”

“I thought about it a lot,” he admits. “I tried once, actually, after the high of a really good win. But it didn’t go through. I got the message.”

“The message?”

“You blocked me, right?”

Oh. “Yeah,” she lies. “I did.” She reaches into her bag for a pen and gestures for the book, which he gives to her, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’m in Boston for two more days, including today.”

He takes the hint immediately. Eagerly. “I have a game tonight, but I’m free tomorrow.”

“Who are you guys playing?”

“Toronto. And I’m starting. Should be a good one.”

She hums non-committedly, scribbling on the inside of the front cover. She hands it back to him with a small, close-lipped smile. She nods at him to read the message.

to my first fan, 

i still love you too. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx

yours, 

noelle

He looks up, eyes shining but a bit confused. 

“I never blocked you. I just changed my number.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I still love you, I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.”

She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and putting her sunglasses on. “Text me?”

His mouth splits wide into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She backs away with one last attempt at a smile before turning down the street.

[another-goblin]

What I've got from the story so far is that Aventurine's plans on Penacony didn't originally include him dying for real.

From what I understand, his mission was to deliver two stones, jade and topaz, to Penacony and to fake his own death (it would expose all the weird stuff that's going on on Penacony to the galaxy and frame the Family for his "death"). I imagine that his agreement was something like "you'll fake your death, which will greatly benefit the IPC's cause on Penacony. So if you manage to survive, we won't pursue you, consider yourself free."

But then he starts slipping. He keeps having flashbacks, he nonchalantly mentions how he tried to kill himself several times. And that harmony curse was the last straw.

His past and future selves are the personifications of all his fears, doubts, and delusions. All these self-destructive thoughts he has been repressing for years finally came to the surface. I find his past self especially interesting, because yes, he's a cute kid, and it's heartwarming to see how gentle Aventurine is with him (or, should I say, with himself).

But. 

If you think about it, the kid Aven's message is basically, "You only deserved love when you were a kid, you were only happy with your family. Now that they are dead, you know that you'll never be happy again. You shouldn't even try, don't fight it, just die." Because it's not the blunt and sarcastic "future self" that tips him over the edge, it's his happy, innocent, and naive "past self" that does it.

And then there is Dr. Ratio, who witnesses Aven slowly losing it. 

Did he foresee how it's going to end and prepare the note beforehand? Or did he write it after the "betrayal"? I mean, Aventurine leaves Sunday's place alone, and Ratio joins him a bit later.

So imagine Aventurine leaves, there is an awkward silence, then Ratio asks Sunday to borrow his pen for a sec, scribbles violently, puts the note in that fancy capsule, and runs after Aven, leaving confused Sunday alone.

Then he checks on Aventurine in the last attempt to make him change his mind, but he's too far gone. It's time to take serious measures. Time for The Note.

(I'm sorry I just can't get over how confident and serious he's about that note, "Open it when you're on your last legs. You'll thank me.")

[charincharge]

I Don't Want To Wait, seventy-three

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

AN: Alright, folks, we're in the very final stretch. Second to last chapter here. The final chapter will post next week, and I will have a much sappier note for you all then about what the last four years of this fic have meant to me. But for now... here you go.

“Are you really not going to tell me?” Aelin whined, looking up from her practice exam. As he had for the last several hours, Dorian shook his head of dark curls and glared back. His usually warm blue eyes held a bit of chill to them, but that didn’t dissuade Aelin. If anything, it made her persist harder. “Pleaaaaseeee, Doriannnn,” she continued. “Pleaseeee?”

With a deep, frustrated sigh, he aggressively turned the page to the thick packet of paper on the table in front of him. “I’m really not,” he said, yet again.

“What if I guessed?” Aelin probed. “Would you give me a signal if I said the right name?”

He silently began scribbling his answer, back to studiously ignoring the blonde seated across from him. “You’re infuriating,” he mumbled to himself.

“What about a gender?” she asked. “Or pronouns?” she continued. “He? She? They? Zim? Zer? Zie?”

Dorian slammed his pencil down and frustratedly gripped the bridge of his nose, crinkling it, as if in dire pain.

“I’m not ready to talk about it,” he said. Aelin tried to counter, but he cut her off with a startling admission.

“I am possibly gearing up to invite… this… undisclosed gendered person… to prom—” Aelin gasped, causing Dorian to roll his eyes. “—so, I don’t want to talk about it, because I don’t want to talk myself out of doing it. If that’s alright with her majestyyyy.”

She couldn’t help but bite her lip and nod, seeing the nerves Dorian had been studiously pushing down bubble up and over in his explanation.

“Fine,” she conceded, causing him to sigh a breath of relief. But Aelin couldn’t resist getting in one more piece of information while he was still feeling like disclosing.

Aelin’s grin split across her face as she whispered, “It’s Chaol, isn’t it?”

“Oh my GOD,” Dorian exploded. “You said you were going to let it go! I swear, if I get a one on this AP exam because you wouldn’t shut up about this…”

“Fine, fine,” Aelin said, zipping her still-grinning lips shut.

But she hadn’t failed to notice the way the back of Dorian’s neck stiffened slightly at the C-word. She was even more curious now. She’d had a sneaking suspicion that whatever tension had arisen between the pair during spring break would come to a head, but she really wanted to know how that resulted in them in a bedroom at Lorcan’s together the previous night. And how did they end up like that before Dorian had asked him to prom??? All she knew was that as soon as Chaol said yes to his prom date — because he would, no doubt say yes — she’d be teasing Dory about it for the foreseeable future. Without letting her curious mind wander futher, she resumed her genome diagram, finally putting the topic to rest.

. . .

Aelin wasn’t sure she was going to make it through this week. While her friends were partaking in senior pranks, skips, and general tomfoolery, she was stuck inside the gymnasium for hours at a time, completing her many AP exams. The air was sticky with humidity, and it somehow at its worst during test time. Sun poured through the gym windows, heating the room and steaming every student attempting to complete their already-difficult tests. Even the industrial-sized fans placed in each corner of the room were barely enough to give them relief, simply pushing around the heated air in warm wafts. It was honestly miserable.

Not only that, but between the actual exams and the studying for those exams, she had hours upon hours of nightly dance rehearsals. The showcase would be that weekend, and it seemed like Petrah was running them into the ground, attempting to perfect each piece of choreography. And though Aelin loved to dance — she really did, and she was grateful that she’d reentered the world — but she couldn’t help but think this might be the worst hell week she’d ever had. It was hell in the truest sense of the word. She’d lost track of the days, each one blending together into one giant cloud of stress. T

She wouldn’t have been able to do it without Rowan (and Maeve, to be honest), who had prepared and delivered her a week worth of dinner and snacks. He’d shown up on Sunday night with three bags worth of takeout containers (all labeled) and organized them into the fridge while she took a practice AP Lit exam. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to remember to feed herself if he hadn’t, and she was infitinely grateful for their forethought. Yeah, sure, her dad wouldn’t have let her starve, but the end of the school year was always the fire department’s busiest time of year — having to deal with some senior shenanigans. Earlier in the week he’d had to remove a canoe filled with flaming shit (yes, literal bags on fire!) from Orynth High’s field — so, he’d been a bit sparse around the house. Which, wasn’t exactly bad. Aelin was grateful for the silence when she needed to study, but she was an extrovert by nature and her lack of human contact was definitely taking its toll on her. She was fully exhausted, but she could really use a night of socializing or fraternizing with her boyfriend at the very least.

Alas, Rowan was also MIA. She knew he felt like garbage about how little he was seeing her, but he was beholden to an insane practice schedule with his lacrosse championship game approaching. The pair of them were nothing more than passing ships in the night, barely seeing each other for more than a small kiss good morning before parting ways for the day. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she had a real conversation with him that wasn’t over text.

Fully exhausted, she shook a small container of Caesar dressing into the labeled salad Tupperware, forcing herself to nourish herself before collapsing into bed. She had merely one day left of this torturous week, and then she’d be able to take a deep breath. Maybe.

“You look kinda wrecked, babe,” Lorcan said, grabbing a beer from the back of the Galathynius’s fridge.

“Gee, thanks,” she laughed, elbowing him in the side.  

“I’m serious. You need a vacay,” he said, his face uncharacteristically without any humor. “No, not need. Deserve,” he clarified. “What are your summer plans?”

Aelin didn’t have an answer.

She wracked her brain, thinking of all the time she’d spent thinking about the future and the upcoming months and realized that she’d completely skipped over this summer in her planning. Her future had always started in August when college terms began. She had forgotten to consider how she’d fill the three months of post-graduation time. She assumed based on whatever financial aid package she received that she’d need to take a job, but with her life still so thoroughly in limbo, a plan had never really solidified. Like the rest of her future, it was a hazy cloud. A blank slate. A chasm of nothingness.

“I… don’t know,” she finally replied.

“Well, do you mind if I make a suggestion?” Lorcan laughed.

She finished shaking her salad container and wordlessly followed him over to the couch where he’d already queued up the latest episode of Real Housewives. He patted the cushion next to him, and she collapsed with little hesitation, leaning into his thick shoulder for support. Lorcan was freshly showered and smelled strongly of Ivory soap. It’s how her dad usually smelled, too. It had taken her a while to get used to, but she realized it was the soap they had at the station.  No matter what other shampoo they used, the soapy smell always pervaded her nostrils. It was strangely comforting.

“I think you need to chill the fuck out,” he continued, oblivious to her sentimentality. “I don’t know what that means, but… I think you’ve gotta do something that requires absolutely zero brain power. Maybe that’s lifeguarding or teaching dance to toddlers. Maybe it’s going on a cross-country road trip to try and find the best slice of chocolate cake. Maybe you want to take up a new hobby like gardening or join a karaoke league, I don’t fucking know. But you need to turn your brain off, babe. Let it take a three month breather. You’ll need it before going to college.”

“But I don’t even know if I’m going to college,” Aelin replied. She straightened up away from Lorcan and leaned over to grab a bite of her salad, trying to tune out her self-pity as she stuffed a wad of romaine lettuce into her mouth.

Lorcan simply laughed. “I’ll be the first to tell anyone who listens that college isn’t for everyone. It was never going to be my path, that’s for sure.” Aelin nodded, chewing thoughtfully as she listened. “But, you love to learn. I’ve never seen someone go through books for fun like you. Hell, I don’t think there’s a book in your room you haven’t read more than once. You love to debate and question your own beliefs and opinions, and that’s super cool. But also, it means you are pretty much bred for college life.” He paused and rubbed at his day clean-shaven chin, his eyes warming affectionately at her. “Everything is going to work out exactly the way it was meant to be.”

“That feels far too sentimental and optimistic coming from you,” Aelin eyed him skeptically.

“What can I say?” Lorcan said, stretching his arm across the back seat of their couch. “I’ve changed. Life is good.” His smile widened. “So, what’s the age makeup of your dance company like? Any of-age hotties you can intro me to after the show? Think Petrah would go for a younger daddy type or is she committed to a Rhoe-ish age gap?”

Aelin faux-gagged and pressed play on the TV, happy to ignore Lorcan’s button-pushing. But as the Housewives got into their usual drama, she found herself barely paying attention. Instead, she was imagining all the scenarios she could fill her summer with. And all of them involved being half-naked with Rowan. No matter what this fall brought, Lorcan was right; she needed a serious brain break.

. . .

Aelin breathed the deepest sigh of relief upon finishing her AP Lit exam. She had used the full allotted exam time, not finishing even a second early to go back and revise any of her words, filling the pages with her messy scrawl, analyzing theme after theme and character after character until she thought her hand was going to fall right off. She lifted the back of her shirt, which was drenched with sweat and tried to fan herself, but it was no use. She’d need a cold shower or maybe an ice bath ro reverse the heat stroke this stupid gymnasium had wreaked upon her body. And she couldn’t be more grateful to be finished with it.

Oh my god. She was finished. With exams. And classes. High school was nearly over.

“Congrats, graduate,” a familiar voice called out as Aelin the gym, causing her lips and toes to both curl. She was prepared to fall into his arms, but Rowan’s hands were outstretched, offering up a sprinkle-laden cupcake for her.

“We still have one more week,” she said as she bit into the cupcake. The sugar was exactly what she needed to perk back up after her insane week; she could feel it working its sugary magic with every chew.

But Rowan wasn’t deterred. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, inhaling her scent and leaning against her shoulder.

“Your exams are over, what else even is there to do?”

Aelin laughed. “Um, well, you have your game and I have my performance. Then I guess there’s just… prom and graduation,” she contined. “Oh, and the small factor of trying to get off Wendlyn’s waitlist.” She glared up at his roguish smile. “Nothing major.”

“I miss you,” he said quietly, and Aelin simply hummed her agreement in return.  “Do you have rehearsal tonight?”

Aelin nodded as she took another bite of her cupcake. “Yeah,” she glanced at her phone. “But not for three hours.”

Rowan grinned. “Coach gave us the night off to rest before tomorrow.” His eyes darted around as he pulled her closer. “Wanna do something crazy?”

A pang of lust overtook Aelin as she realized how long it’d been since she’d been truly alone with Rowan. Over a week. She crossed her legs and pressed into him further as arousal coursed through her body.

“Absolutely,” she replied, causing his smile to widen even further and letting him pull her to the jeep with pretty much no hesitation. She was practically vibrating with an overload of hormones when Rowan missed the turn to their secret empty parking lot.

“Uhhh, Ro?” she asked, “You missed our turn.”

“No I didn’t,” he responded, brow furrowed in confusion. “I haven’t even told you what we’re going to do.”

Then it was Aelin’s turn for her brow to furrow. “Huh? I thought we were going to… you know.”

“OH!” Rowan’s cheeks reddened as he looked at his squirming girlfriend. “Uh, we can do that after, if there’s enough time.” He cleared his throat as he drove further down the main drag of Orynth.

“Well, if we’re not going to do that, then what the hell are we going to do?” Aelin asked, brimming with frustration.

His hands grasped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white with effort. He clearly wanted to surprise her. It wasn’t until they pulled into the City Hall parking lot that she finally put the pieces together.

“Wanna get a marriage license?” he asked.

He barely had time to gnaw at the skin of his lip with doubtful nerves before Aelin threw her arms around him and scampered out of the car. It was the first step to their forever. She’d forgotten they needed to make time for it with all that she’d been going through this week, but he hadn’t. And she was grateful.

Orynth’s City Hall was one of the oldest buildings in town, and entering it felt like being a part of history. Its ceilings were high and arched into a unique pattern of arches that crisscrossed overhead, and the green marble floors were tiled and grouted with gold, making each one stand out like a gilded diamond in the late afternoon sun. The marble shined so brilliantly that Aelin took care to walk especially quietly, assuming each step would echo loudly throughout the cavernous building, but her sneaker barely made a sound. In fact, the whole place seemed oddly hushed, as if it was holding its breath with anticipation. It contrasted heavily with Aelin’s racing heart, which thudding loudly in her chest as Rowan reached for her hand and pulled her toward the section of the room that was labeled “MARRIAGE OFFICE.”

The line to the marriage office was unshockingly non-existent on a Friday afternoon in their small town, and after showing their IDs and signing a piece of paper, Rowan and Aelin were quickly the proud owners of an official marriage license. It was over so quickly and unceremoniously that she wasn’t sure it really happened. But as she stared at the paper in her hands, she knew it was real. In five days, they could come back and get fully, a hundred percent married.

Before tucking herself into bed that night, she glanced at the white dress she’d placed in the back of her closet. She’d be able to wear it in five days.

But there was another dress she had to wear first.

. . .

“Everybody scootch together!” Maeve shouted, waving her camera in the air, trying to corral the couples in front of her. The humid weather was making the girls’ hair stick to their foreheads and curl where it wasn’t supposed to be curling, and all they wanted to do was hop into the limo they’d rented and make their way to prom, but Maeve insisted on a full out photo shoot. Apparently she’d gotten barely any photos of her prom night and she was making it all of their problems.

“Now one silly one!” she directed, causing everyone to groan. But her stern glare was enough to get them to all jump back into action and make their most ridiculous faces. Aelin stuck out her tongue and scrunched her eyes shut, causing Rowan to laugh beside her. He looked so incredibly handsome in his fully black suit. His green eyes popped and glinted in the golden rays of the setting sun, making him utterly irresistible. She wanted to fast forward to the end of the evening and peel him out of it, piece by piece, but that was hours away. If Rowan’s hands were any indication, he felt similarly. Her black dress had a low back with a twisting gold design up the back, subtly resembling a dragon, and he couldn’t stop touching her exposed skin. She shivered as his knuckle brushed against the low divot of her spine, and she looked up at him with absolutely no filter to her more lascivious thoughts.

“Keep it in your pants, babe,” Lorcan shouted from beside Maeve. She simply flicked him off.

“Classy,” Rhoe grumbled. “Keep that one for the grandkids.”

“Okay, now one sweet one. Look at your partner, tell them how good they look…… smile, Rowan!” she sang out, causing the lines of his frown to deepen further.

“Aunt Maeveee,” Rowan finally said with a long sigh. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.”

“Rowan Eugene Whitethorn,” Maeve chastised, “This is the only prom you and Aelin have attended together, and I will get at least as many photos as you took with Lyria two years ago, is that okay with you?”

Rowan’s jaw snapped shut at his aunt’s words, nodding in apology and hugging Aelin’s waist tighter at the mention of his last prom date.

“That was junior prom,” he grumbled. “It’s not even remotely the same thing,” he continued. “And she wasn’t even there. How does she know how many pictures we took?”

Aelin snorted loudly. “She tagged you in every single one on Facebook.” She laughed at Rowan’s raised eyebrow. “We allllll saw them,” she drawled, pursing her red lips at him. She laughed as he shook his head in disgust.

“So weird,” Rowan mumbled, mostly to himself.

“SMILE,” Maeve shouted, clearly annoyed that Rowan and Aelin were talking and not posing for her needs. They paused their convo to smile at each other with hearts in their eyes, and Aelin couldn’t resist lifting her heels even higher to press her lips to Rowan’s cheek.

“OH!” Maeve gasped. “Adorable. Let’s all do cheek kisses.”

“Can we not?” Dorian groaned from where his arms were wrapped around Chaol’s waist. Yes, that’s right, Aelin had been correct in her assumption that the pair of best friends had worked through whatever issues had plagued them and come out the other side. Aelin didn’t want to parade her rightness in Dorian’s face, but she had told him “I told you so” at least once of the best friends’ graduation from ~it’s complicated~ to prom dates. Prom dates who kissed each others’ cheeks. Chaol ignored Dorian’s complaining and laid his lips directly on his friend’s scruff, causing a soft rosy blush to appear on the tips of Dorian’s ears. Aelin thought back to two years ago when she had kissed Chaol in his car and couldn’t help but smile. All along the pair of them were meant to be with their own best friends. Who would have known?

Chaol’s midnight suit glimmered in the setting sun, making Dorian’s eyes shine even more blue, somehow. And though he protested initially, he leaned into his friend’s lips, looking at ease for the first time in weeks.

On Aelin’s other side, Elide and Manon were circling each other in bright swaths of color. Manon looked ferocious in a teal jumpsuit that was a few shades darker than her bright turquoise hair. Its neckline plunged between her cleavage, showing off her pale skin and a sleeve of fresh floral ink, winding around her biceps and forearm. It was the perfect compliment to Elide’s fairy light green tulle dress, which floated around them in glittering layers.

Behind them, Lysandra had surprised them all by showing up with her own date. The way they’d been during spring break, she’d half expected it to be Aedion, but she’d shown up with another sober friend from her AA group. A really nice guy named Harding. He’d apparently known Wesley, and instead of being a deterrent, it had strangely bonded Lys with him.

“Now kiss!” Maeve shouted, and Lysandra whipped her dark hair in Maeve’s direction and scowled.

“Some of us aren’t like that!” she said.

Rowan finally left the group and went over to Maeve and pushed her camera down. “I think you’ve got enough,” he said, and she nodded, letting them all disperse and make their way into the waiting limo.

Aelin had created a playlist and plugged it into the backseat. “Who’s ready to see some prom queens?” she asked, letting her friends cheer as Manon and Elide kissed each other thoroughly as the music blared overhead. For the first time in a long time, Aelin felt relaxed. She felt like … this was a seminal teen moment that she would remember for the rest of her life, and she was secretly glad that Maeve wanted to capture as much of it as she did. She knew that many years from now, she would go through the photos with the same warmth in her heart that was taking up space there right now.

. . .

As the hours passed, Aelin became even more grateful for Maeve’s forced documentation. Despite camera phones capturing video and photos galore, the night was passing by too quickly. And despite the pain that Aelin had felt in her years walking the halls of Orynth High and the question marks that awaited her on the other side, tonight was perfect.

The dance had a ridiculously cheesy theme that no one actually adhered to: Enchanted Forest. But the décor had completely transformed the stuffy gym that Aelin had hated so thoroughly the previously week. Twinkle lights twined through the lush greenery that lined the walls, and a glowing path of low mushrooms and lanterns lit the way to a photobooth that was covered in a romantic arch of branches. Overhead, they’d released a sea of green and gold balloons that covered the ceiling, but they floated around, transporting them all to a different world. It was silly, but it felt like magic. Aelin never wanted to leave this place.

Her fingers grasped Rowan’s neck tighter as a slow song came on, and she breathed his pine scent in deeply as he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. His lips ghosted hers, not fully kissing her, but not not kissing her either. Her entire body was alight with an amorous flame that hadn’t been quenched in days. His hand ran up her bare back, and it took all her restraint not to moan out loud. Instead, she sighed into his mouth.

“I love you,” she whispered, their breaths mingling at how close they were to each other.

“Gods, I love you,” he replied.

He kissed her then, deeply, soundly, not caring that camera flashes went off around them. He broke their kiss, panting slightly, and she couldn’t resist patting down the lapels of his suit and smoothing them beneath her palm. Reminding her that this was real. That he was hers.  

“This is everything I’ve ever wanted,” he finally said, breaking her from her spell.

“Is it?” she asked, and though it was a leading question, she did actually want to know the answer.

As it had been mentioned earlier in the evening, Rowan had been to prom before, and he hadn’t really enjoyed it. In fact, he’d left pretty damn early. It hadn’t been a secret that Rowan didn’t enjoy school dances. Or school events. Or events of any kind, really. And she didn’t blame him for that. But she hadn’t expected him to love this night the way that she was loving it. Strangely, he sounded sincere, though.

A wry grin turned up half of his smile in a new roguish grin he’d been trying out that made him oh so appealing in ways that Aelin couldn’t even begin to articulate.

“Yeah, Ace,” he laughed softly. “It is.”

She knew she was fishing but she couldn’t help herself. “Why?” she asked, and though she thought he’d admonish her, his grin disappeared and his face turned as serious as ever as he gathered his thoughts.

“Because.” He cleared his throat and gave her an apologetic smile. “This was the way it should have always been,” he said. “When I came to prom with Lyria…” he drifted off and his eyes lost focus, as if remembering back to those days. They seemed so far away now. “I kept thinking how annoyed I was that I was there, and it wasn’t because I didn’t like school dances. Although… I don’t love those,” he chuckled lightly. “It’s because I wasn’t with you. Lyria barely cared that I was there. She just wanted me as a prop for her photos. And I was so mad at myself for not saying no, because the idea of going to prom with you had always been in the back of my head.” He kissed her cheek. “I wanted it to be you then because I’ve wanted it to be you forever. And yeah… it’s stupid, but… I’m glad I get to have this with you. Finally.”

Aelin’s throat tightened at his words, because she remembered how fucking miserable she’d been that night. She wouldn’t rub it in now. She wouldn’t tell him how she spent the night pained and alone on the rooftop, angsting about every moment that he’d spent with his arms wrapped around Lyria, but she was glad he’d felt it, too. Because it was always better when it was them.

She was seconds away from begging him to take her home and make her remember how good they were together when Principal Havillard tapped at his microphone.

“It’s that time of the evening, folks,” he said, clearing his throat and looking out into the crowd. “Voting for Prom King and Queen has been going on for the last four weeks, and as of yesterday, our panel of math teachers has finished calculating the results.” He paused again, looking slightly uncomfortable. “The results have been double and triple checked, and all that’s left to do is announce them…” The principal was noticeable uncomfortable as he reached for the envelope in his pocket, ripping it open and preparing to read the words that Aelin knew would be there. She and Dorian had calculated the polls multiple times. There was no way there was going to be any other result.

“Your Prom King and Queen are Manon Blackbeak and Elide Lochan,” he announced to an overwhelming, raucous applause.

Aelin and Rowan were among them, shouting at the top of their lungs as the spotlight found their friends on the dance floor and led them up to the stage, hand in hand. To principal Havillard’s credit, he did not react at all as he pulled the crowns from the teachers behind him, who held up plush red pillows donned with their headwear.

Manon pulled the thick gold crown onto her own head before placing the more delicate tiara onto Elide’s dark curls. The pair stared at each other, smiling widely, before Elide pulled Manon into a kiss. As the cheers echoed through the gym, Manon dipped Elide low, never breaking the kiss, though Aelin spotted the corners of a smile peeking through.

“PROM QUEENS!” one student shouted. “PROM QUEENS!” A chant rippled through the gym, reaching an apex as the pair finished their kiss and headed down to the dance floor for their first dance. It was supposed to be something slow and romantic, but Aelin already knew that Dorian had switched it out. He’d called in a favor with his friends in the drama department, and Aelin couldn’t help the wave of joy that washed over her as ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” began to play overhead.

She didn’t wait for Rowan’s approval before dragging him into the center of the dance floor with her friends, who were circling Manon and Elide and shouting the lyrics of the song at them. The pair buried their chins into each other’s shoulders, smiling harder than Aelin had ever seen them. Joy. Pure joy. That’s what this moment was. She could see Archer shrinking to the side of the gym out of the corner of her eye, but she barely gave the asshole a second of her thought before shimmying closer to her friends.

This moment was everything.

“Young and sweeeeeet,” Aelin shouted as loud as she could, twirling out into her group of her friends. “Only seventeeeen,” she said with an overexaggerated point to Elide and Manon, who were swaying and wrapped in each other’s arms.  

“Dancing queen, feel the beat from the tambourine!” Dorian shouted as loud as he could, and Aelin laughed as Chaol disco’ed in a circle around him, pretending to play an air tambourine.

“OH YEAHHHHH!” Rowan interjected, causing Aelin’s brows to rise in surprise.

“What?” he shrugged. “Everyone knows the words to this one,” he said, and Aelin couldn’t help but release a loud peal of laughter.

In that moment, it didn’t matter that Aelin didn’t know she was going. Yes, they would all be headed their own ways soon, but it didn’t matter where they were all going. This moment was perfect. And they’d always have this. They’d look back on this moment as one of their best, with a nostalgic fondness that can’t ever really be recreated.

Aelin ushered them all closer until they were all huddled together with their arms around Manon and Elide. She barely noticed the nods of appreciation from the girlfriends, totally distracted by Rowan’s voice and the supportive arm at the crux of her back. They danced the night away, until it was way past when she thought they’d leave. Song after song, they stayed on the dance floor, letting their bodies sway and jump and twist and twirl. Exhilaration filled their circle, never dying down or even coming to a brief lull that would let them take off.

She’d anticipated there being a good moment of downtime for her and Rowan to make their escape, to peel off and go partake in the second half of the evening on Maeve’s rooftop. But even as the night wore on and the dance floor started to become more sparse, she felt herself unable to leave.

“You ready to go?” she finally asked Rowan, but he shook his head. “NO?!” she asked, bewildered.

“No,” he laughed. He grabbed her hand and her feet tumbled toward him as he pulled her against his chest. She looked up at his grinning face and felt a mirror image on her own. If someone had told her two years ago that she’d be in Rowan’s arms, dancing for hours at prom together, she probably would have burst into tears — because that person would surely have been mocking her. At that moment, Rowan’s hand squeezed her hip, pulling it against his in a brief gesture of comfort, as if to reassure her that yes, this was real. And she couldn’t imagine it being any other way.

It wasn’t until the music stopped and the lights abruptly turned on that Aelin even realized they were the last ones standing. She and her friends had effectively shut down prom, completely unaware of their classmates’ departure. Under the bright fluorescent light, the enchanted forest décor had lost a bit of its luster, simply looking like fake props and cheesy party décor.

“Gods, I’m starving,” Elide breathed as she wiped a stream of sweat from her brow.

“Me too,” Manon replied as she dug her teeth into Elide’s bare shoulder. The brunette squealed loudly as the bite turned to soft kisses.

“Burgers at Maeve’s?” Rowan suggested, and Aelin’s chest warmed as he was met with enthusiastic cheers. Clearly no one wanted this night to end. How could they? It was perfect.

As they tumbled out from the sticky gym into the cool night air, Aelin looked up into the star studded sky and took a deep breath. Next week… well, next week was graduation. In a few days, they’d all be going their separate ways. But for now, she couldn’t care about that. Instead, she followed Lysandra’s lead and kicked off her heels. Her toes thanked her as they stretched out, and she groaned in pleasure with their first step onto the high school’s turf, which was cold and damp beneath her feet. Shoes in one hand and Rowan in the other, she joined in the conversation of how shocked Archer looked to lose as prom king.

“I’m pretty sure he demanded a recount,” Chaol said with a low snort. “I heard your dad reassure him at least twice that the ballots had been counted accurately.”

Dorian cackled wickedly. “I also counted the ballots. And, uh, yeah. He lost. By a landslide.”

“TO A GIRL!” Manon shouted, tipping her crown to all of them and causing them to cheer raucously again.

Their voices echoed over the wide expanse of turf, and for a minute, Aelin let herself feel grounded and at peace. She was hyper focused on the way Chaol’s face lit up as Dorian hopped onto his back, on Lysandra’s easy grin as she skipped through the grass, on Manon’s proud puffed-out chest as she pushed a messy curl behind the side of Elide’s tiara, and on the steady swipe of Rowan’s thumb against her back. She’d breathe it in and exhale it out, and let this overwhelming sense of rightness soothe her. No, right now she wouldn’t think about what their next chapter would bring. She’d live in this moment for as long as she could.

[abysswalkersknight]

Got a late night ffxiv oneshot tonight. Basically I found a bit in a book that reminded me of my au ra wol so here is the result, I do hope its not so cheesy and that because its technically my first time writing for something like this, not that I intend to stop.

Also warning that this is all just spewed out I am not exaggerating when I say its late night.

Otherwise, enjoy!

............................

Old buildings breathe just as people do, and the only sounds in the Noumenon were the soft clicks and settling creak as its grand doors were unlocked. All the staff had long since left for the night and the little thief could hear no sounds from within its belly, not even from the many mammets he’s seen managing the shelves.

V padded carefully across the lobby, clutching three stolen tomes close to his chest, alert for any late night stragglers or mammets. The next door opened smoothly as he crept into its vast treasure trove. 

He was glad for his night vision as he did not dare light any lamps and he made his way towards the front desk without bumping into anything. Normally V would not have bothered, preferring to sneak in, return what books he’s read, steal a few more books, then sneak right back out, but this time there was a piece of parchment tantalisingly pinned to the desks edge, creeping ever closer his eyes squint slightly as the alluring enigma of scribbles enticed his curiosity.

To whomever is the Noumenon’s elusive book thief.

If you find yourself reading this, know that we are well aware of your pilfering acts and while we will not press the issue as you seem to return the stolen tomes in a timely manner, I cannot comprehend why you won’t just come in the daytime and issue the books like any normal person and spare me the insistent mummerings of my superstitious colleagues.

So as is my duty to tend to these shelves in the foreseeable future, if you happen to decide to whisk away more tomes tonight, PLEASE for the love of Thalaik, place the damnable things in the box below!

I do not care for why you do this, but I will not stand for another day of searching ALL of these shelves for one single book only to find that it had gone missing because SOMEONE had not issued it and had not signed it off then placed it back in a different shelf a week later without notice.

I will not ask for your name, but clearly you can read so I assume you can also write, so I will ask that you at least write the titles of the books you return on the parchment below this one as well as name the ones you take as well as placing a cross next to the ones that have been returned because I will assume that your thievery is not going to stop anytime soon.

Please follow these instructions and all will be well!

P.S should you not heed this letter know that I care not for the laws of these lands, I will find you, and I will tear you limb from limb.

Best regards, 

Shirogane

V pursed his lips as he re-read the letter, this Shirogane sounds very temperamental, fair enough if it was true and V was causing more trouble than he thought. Peeking under the letter he found the aforementioned blank parchment and found a quill and ink right beside it.

Well it was not like anyone was to come in anytime soon, he thought as he carefully placed his tomes in the small crate beneath his feet.

……………………

Shirogane yawned widely, stretching his long arms out as far as they could go ‘by the twelve, remind me to never work late hours ever again’ he mumbles to no one in particular. Really the fault lay with him, he got too excited in his research on aetherytes that he forgot to sleep… at least until he collapsed atop his desk. Ah, the aching need for knowledge and discovery, no better way to suffer in bliss.

Speaking of suffering, he hoped that the notorious book thief had seen his letter last night as he was not one to bluff. After all he had spent a good number of his years fighting in Doma before seeking sanctuary here in Sharlayan, he was more than capable of ripping apart scrawny scholar limbs.

As he made his way to the Noumenon’s entry he couldn’t help but notice little scratches in the lock, though according to the others beneath them Shiro was the only one who's seen them so far. Sauntering across the lobby, he made a beeline for the front desk and rose an eyebrow at the parchments he left. Surprisingly while the thief had paid another visit, not only had they signed which tomes they took and returned, they also wrote tiny reviews beneath each title “Pictures are nice here, could use better description” in one “Was bit of a dry read, no wonder its not worn much” in another, and one that made Shiro smirk “These sharks look tasty, might try to catch one later”

‘Well I wish you luck then.’ he murmurs quietly to himself picking up a box of tomes, well time to get to work.

[palabraasinnecesarias]

phone calls

ao3 | ff.net

ship: ranma/akane words: 1,684

She came to find that she'll always love being a scholar, along with so many other things; the being-away-from-Ranma part was a lot harder than she had anticipated.

It was about to be eight, on a Wednesday, just as they had agreed. Akane stood next to the landline, glancing over at the clock with the anticipation that it would ring any minute now – or at least, it should. And yet, when it rung, the young woman couldn’t help but slightly jump, startled, before reaching over anxiously to hold against her ear.  

Her grin widened when she answered it timidly, hearing his voice crisp through the phone, calling out to her so casually, “Tomboy, you’re on time.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, as though he could see her, and her body visibly relaxed as she felt her shoulder slouch faintly.  

“That’s my line,” she chuckled quietly, “considering that you’re calling me.”  

“Are ya’ saying you stay waiting by the phone until I call?” His voice slightly muffled, and she figured it had to do mainly with the quality of the long-distance phone call, but that didn't change what he was saying to be untrue, and she knew so. His egotistic smirk penetrated through the landline, and she wanted to smack it off his face (and then maybe kiss it better).  

“Ranma, did you call just to be a pest?”  

“Tsk,” he hmphed, “and to hear ya’ voice.” Oh God, he probably didn’t have the slightest clue when he was being a charming man, did he? Akane’s grin shrunk into a small smile, shy and embarrassed to hear him say such words to her as she stood in the seemingly lonely common area of the residence hall. Her grip on the phone tightened as she hitched in a breath, feeling her lungs constrict themselves from breathing as she heard him laugh so clearly into her ear. “I’m hoping ya’ still missing me, ‘Kane?” Every goddamn day, if she were being frank.  

“Do you miss me?” She challenged instead, her index finger now playing with the cord of the phone as an involuntary nervous tic, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, always finding herself liking the sound of his breathing against the phone.  

Sometimes he didn’t call on Wednesdays, she just didn’t know when those days would be. But considering he was traveling about, it was understandable. She was finishing university; it was the perfect alignment as he searched for his cure, and she experienced the normality of what it was to not have Ranma around. She came to find that she’ll always love being a scholar, along with so many other things; the being-away-from-Ranma part was a lot harder than she had anticipated.  

At the very beginning, the only time Akane actually talked to Ranma had been when she called home. Kasumi always picked up the call and after their “catch up”, she passed the phone around to whomever was around; coincidently, Ranma always seemed to be nearby. And if not, by the end of the string of greeting the family, Auntie Saotome would call and hand the phone over to her son.  

She had honestly thought she wouldn’t hear from him after he broke the news about his foreseeable future as a nomad, but to her pleasant surprise, he did call. She had come to a halt at the scribble of a message by a dry erase marker on the whiteboard hanging at her door, the words Ranma will call Wednesday sending her in a whirl.  

That first Wednesday she had sat by the landline like a teenaged girl waiting to get picked up for a date. She didn’t know if he’d actually call, but he did. And the Wednesday after that, with a spontaneous Friday or Tuesday occasionally that she welcomed just as much. Although sometimes she’d miss those phone calls, and she’d know when simple messages quickly jotted at her whiteboard appeared by her willing dorm mates. It wouldn’t say much, just things like hey tomboy with his name next to it, and it was enough to get her thinking about him all day.  

That Wednesday he called promptly, always making sure not to miss it, considering she didn’t have a phone number to call like he did. “I’m flattered, actually,” she had teased, her voice bouncing at the back of his head, hearing him clear his throat.  

“What about?” He inquired, and her smirk quickly turned into a smile.  

“That you memorized my number.”  

Tried and he tried to deny that it hadn’t been on purpose, he just had a good memory, really. But other than that, he really didn't’ have a choice. He’d called her so many times already, it was bound to happen; plus, the chances of not accidentally losing the scrap of paper with the jotted numbers were slim. Akane had simply allowed him to word-vomit his denial, unable to deny the jumble at the pit of her stomach as she asked, “Well, don’t stop calling, okay?”  

He was quiet for a moment, momentarily afraid the connection might have been lost, but soon after she heard him say, “Okay.”  

Their phone calls didn’t last long; twenty minutes being the maximum record. Ranma usually had to get going or hadn't had enough change to keep the minutes running. But even when they were short, they were sweet. He’d have just enough time to say that he didn’t know when it’d be the next time he’d be able to call, and that he missed her, without ever actually saying that he missed her because at the end of the day he was still Ranma Saotome. And so, she made sure to tell him for the both of them.  

It had been three weeks since she had last heard from him. Home also hadn’t gotten any insight as to where he was, or when he’d be returning. She tried not to make it obvious each time she sat near the landline on Wednesday evenings, but everybody knew. And her whiteboard was always clean, with a marker attached next to it.  

By the fourth week Akane hadn't expected him to call, but hopefully the following. She tried to convince herself that for the most part that his phone calls weren’t the highlight of her week, and instead distracted herself with studying for finals that would be coming up in the next couple of weeks. Her study group was a fun one; everyone was good at bringing something to the table, and she was rather great at gathering them in times in which everyone was available to meet. But that afternoon, almost everybody seemed to cancel at the last minute. She glanced at the only classmate that had already shown up to the coffee shop nearby, who smiled sheepishly at her.  

“I guess we’ll try next time,” Akane offered kindly, her smile wide and vibrant as she began to gather her belongings.  

“Or,” he cleared his throat, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as he avoided her eyes momentarily, “we could hang out.”  

Her wide smile softened, understanding what he meant. And so, she said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”  

“But we’re already here.” His voice was hopeful, enthusiastic even.  

“I actually just remembered that I have something to do.”  

“Oh.”  

She winced at his dejected tone, still, she waved goodbye beginning to walk away, or rather trying. Because within the minute, he was sprinting behind her, “What about another time?”  

Akane chuckled nervously, shaking her head again, the grip around the straps of her messenger bag tightening, “I really can’t.”  

“Can I ask why? Are you seeing someone?”  

“Well,” Akane inhaled, pondering her words briefly before she nodded timidly, “yes.” 

“Oh.”  

“Sorry.” Although, she wasn’t really sorry.  

“Would you like to hang out as friends, maybe?”  

Did he not get the hint? Even after she told him quite directly. 

“Sorry pal,” Akane heard just as she felt a heavy weight lay atop her shoulders, “she's kinda my fiancée.” That voice. Like lightning, and with her heart tightening, the young woman turned around to find the unfaltering smirk of Ranma Saotome who was gazing down at her. And she probably should have allowed him to finish talking, but she couldn't help herself, and wouldn’t be apologizing at the way her arms didn’t waste time in swaddling themselves around his neck.  

“What-what are you doing here?” she inquired, not really caring. Her voice almost cracked, finding herself having to take a deep gasp to breathe because his presence was such an utter shock she almost malfunctioned.  

“Miss me, huh?” His voice was soft, and clear, and right against her ear as she nodded frantically. Was he an idiot? How did he not tell her he was visiting?  

Her hold was strong, her hands hooked tightly as she inhaled deeply to take in the scent of him that she missed so much as his familiarity smacked her like a tidal wave she’d merrily drown herself in. His own hold mimicked hers around her back, pulling her in as she buried her face at the crook of his neck, not caring that she was probably crying and didn’t know how to stop, feeling rather stupid for being so sensitive. But he was there, with her, hugging her just as firmly.  

It took her a moment longer than she’d believed, but when she finally pulled away, her cheeks stained, she took that moment to take in all his features through her hazy vision. Her slender hands pulled away to cradle his cheeks as her wet laughter filled the air, admiring his long eyelashes batting softly. His puffy fringe was longer now, midway of his nose bridge and she couldn’t help but push his hair away.  

“Hey,” he continued to smirk, and she laughed again.  

“Hi,” she replied. And maybe it was that she felt like crying again and didn’t want him to see her, but her arms easily wrapped him once again as she inhaled loudly.  

“I’ll make sure to call before dropping by next time,” he tried to joke, and she only nodded eagerly.  

“A phone call would be nice,” she said quietly, her eyebrows scrunching together at the way she took pleasure when his squeeze secured her hold, anchoring her down.  

ao3 | ff.net

[surrogate-fawn]

Hey, any new stories in the works? I miss your writing :’(

Hi there! I'm so happy you're waiting on my stories! Sorry to keep you waiting, but your enthusiasm makes my heart leap! <3 Unfortunately, life has been stressful because money has been non-existent. I have to work 10+ hours a day on Instacart to pay bills and until further notice I have no car so . . . throw all that on top of the 16-20 hours a week I do for school and I am usually exhausted and have a headache. I literally cannot afford food and have only been eating because my beloved Buck has been feeding me on his dime.

That, plus as soon as I have free time, that will need to go directly to my *very overdue* commission pieces. I won't have time to write for myself for the foreseeable future. :(

But that doesn't mean I don't brainstorm! I have a few WIPs that exist as quick scribble notes and plot outlines. The gist of them are:

Part 4 of "The Surrogate's Journey" (VERY excited for it!)

Another Outlaw!Fawn birth story

A Fawn AU story where she gives birth to mer-babies

Part 2 of "End of Term", the cryptic pregnancy Fawn AU if anyone remembers that one

A few more I can't remember right now

[21stcenterry]

✺ — what's up, danger?

the unfazed everyman of foundationhq, as penned by DORIAN.

perfect stranger dossier / fhq. task 001

basics

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 Terence "Terry" Okello

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 Aforementioned "Terry" but if you want to save some syllables "Terr" is an option

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 Daniel Kaluuya

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 Hair styled in short sponge twists and low fade, trimmed stache and beard, and a thousand-mile stare

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒 / 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 A half-arsed one on their wrist from some bloke in bristol that Terry got while three sheets to the wind. Terry can't even make heads or tails out of it. Calls it "the scribble you make when checking if a biro ran out of ink"

𝐀𝐆𝐄 / 𝐃.𝐎.𝐁. 34 / December 21, 1989

𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂 Sagittarius

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 Southwark, London, England

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 Dembe Isabirye (Mum), Solomon Okello (Dad), Julian "Juli" (Younger Brother), Cornelia "Nelie" (Younger Sister)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒 Non-binary, they/he

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 Gray-ace

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 Single

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 Reserved, easygoing, tolerant

𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 Indifferent, passive, incurious

𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒 Clicks their tongue at kids, something he picked up from babysitting his younger siblings. Reads magazines and leaves them around after. Midnight cravings for sandwiches. Wired like a night owl. Sleeps through movies at the theatre

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 Sleeping, staying warm and alive, betting drinks on a round of billiards, rubbing his shitty tattoo when he gets nervous, which is rare

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒 (𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄) None

the foundation

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄 Junior Security Officer

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍(𝐒) Worked at a lumber mill, car mechanic, small dairy farm, Sainsbury's, various pubs, food cart, janitor, bouncer, overnight stocker, telemarketer, waiter, dog groomer, horse groomer, ferret groomer

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 Guard work at Site-91, turned out a tad dodgy for his fellow mates

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 Basic firearm training, keeping calm during security protocols, basic office duties, has a food hygiene certification (expired), able to dissociate on command, can tell the difference between coke and pepsi

extras

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘

TW: divorce, death, dark humor referring to suicide

Terence "Terry" Okello, born in London Town, is an un-special bloke. They'll even tell you that. Low middle-class household, working parents separated rather mythically by the crack of dawn and graveyard shifts, their adolescence jiggered up babysitting a younger brother and a sister as a teen. They whip up chip butties to stretch their food and sit in front of the telly to distract themselves from a life bound to go nowhere. It was what it was, you know? Some people were winners, and some people were Terry.

Their Mum and Dad split up when Terry turned 18, citing irreconcilable differences; their brother went with Dad, their sister went with Mum, and Terry's new girlfriend they met at a trade school broke up with them, so they were really in a pickle by the time they became an adult in the eye of the Law, weren't they. Well, stiff upper lip and all that. Can't cry or complain, relationships are fickle. Love is dead! Carry on! Terry went paycheck to paycheck, job to job, couch to couch, doing God-knows-what to survive and get a cheeky extra for a pint.

No one liked a jack of all trades that much, though. Recruiters and their ilk despised it, actually. Asked Terry questions like why did you only stay for 4 months at Sainsbury's, and what are your foreseeable goals for the future? Sneering at their well-traveled CV, Terry could only get entry-level things because they didn't show enough of that charming Hooray Henry spirit for the white-collar positions, namely a branded suit and tie from Harrods. Terry couldn't give a damn. These interviews were a load of tosh.

So, after bouncing around for a few years, Terry finally stuck to a job. Err, instead, a job stuck to them. It was a security position at a privately owned manor in Rural Yorkshire. The amount of money they listed felt comically scammy, but Terry was racking up a bit of debt. While they weren't the biggest and meanest, they knew how to project their voice and appear threatening. Ish. They filled out a resume, spent a week faffing about, and surprisingly got through the phone interview all right. All the bloke on the phone wanted was someone who could keep mum about the work. Easy enough, Terry said.

Wonderfully, the job was! No shady dealing bosses, watering hole gossip, middle management power trips, and the greatest spooks Terry faced on the job were a couple of drunk teenage vandals. Being able to send Mum cash instead of asking for money for once felt good. So they stayed as a nightshift guard at the Eckhart House for a couple of years.

Little did Terry know their golden goose was hiding a rotten egg. Underneath the manor was a Foundation facility known as Site-91, and Terry found out the hard way when they agreed to trade shifts with another guard, who was a bit too happy to see his daughter's first-grade play recital. While running for their life, Terry realized this was why they avoided chumming it up with coworkers wherever they had worked. Work "friends" made their business your business, and Terry didn't want any business that involved xenobiological specimens and thaumaturgical artifacts. What kind of bonkers story was this? And why did it almost tear Terry's arm off when they waved their flashlight?

Following the traumatic encounter that left even Terry, the one who can't be arsed with even reporting someone hitting their motor, a bit rattled with a broken arm in a plastic cast, they received another call- the recruiter from years ago.

The first thing they asked was, Did you tell anyone?

And Terry said, No? ...Aw. Aw. Fuck, you're gonna kill me, aren't you, mate. Well, can you make it seem like none of my family was involved, at least? I can write a note to add a touch of realism...

Good for Terry; they weren't slated for an abrupt end to their mundane life. Bad for Terry, though, because their simple life was going to change. They were introduced to SCPs and what the Foundation truly was. Terry had thought "The Foundation" was just some kind of marketing ploy, a catchy name for the security business, of words that didn't matter but sounded like a right dream, like Vigilance, Safeguard, and Integrity.  

As they had told the recruiter at the start of the job, Terry kept their head down and, at times, looked slightly off to the right. Just so to not accidentally witness some time travel portal swiping up lab coats left and right. Their job was to guard a single hallway, and fighting some space god was rightfully- thankfully- out of their pay grade. And they'd be fine keeping in line for the next so many years... But some people were nobodies, and some people were Terry. 

The Ethics Committee called, lad. Pack your things and kiss Mum goodbye.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 I like all sorts, but I'd love to write a friendship that contrasts with Terry's no-nonsense demeanor, some work buds grabbing a drink at the end of the shift if we have shifts... someone that Terry drives crazy, vice versa. Honestly, anything.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 / 𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 poster child for unfazed everyman, unlucky everydude, fish out of water, dull surprise, action survivor, weirdness magnet, apathetic clerk, conditioned to accept horror, safety in indifference, terse talker, bystander syndrome, the slacker, closest thing we got, subverted red shirt, sarcasm mode

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 OJ Haywood (Nope), Shaun (Shaun of the Dead), Arthur Dent (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy), Squidward (Spongebob Squarepants), Garfield (Garfield), Charlie Brown (Peanuts), Isaac Clark (Dead Space), Sokka (Avatar the Last Airbender), Winston Zeddemore (Ghostbusters), Conway (Kentucky Route Zero)

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒

[missamyrisa2]

Only now do you realize the sadistic purpose of that odd-looking machine which is now rolled right between your legs while your stiff and needy rod is inserted in it's tight tube. It began to mercilessly suck on your princess part and so it's devastating craft had it's desired effect on you. But as soon as you began to moan the tickle onslaught began anew and this time not a single inch of skin was sparred. From your ears being feathered by big fluffy feathers to merciless scrubbing on your soles. From your sides being squeezed to your thighs feathered. Your knees were squeezed and your back tormented by many small makeup brushes. Your armpits were brushed and feathered and your belly scribbled all over. But most disastrous of all was the torment of your bottie and your royal area up front in combination with the relentless tapping of the buckle which was now even accompanied by small bullet vibrators which made the entire buckle vibrate and with it did things to you you never thought anyone could imagine. Your bootie was feathered by big fluffy feathers while your bootie hole was tickled and teased by electric toothbrushes and small stiff feathers. At the same time your rod was relentlessly sucked while small vibrators inside the tube placed right on your sensitive tip did their part in bringing you closer to ticklish hysteria. In addition to that your cute precious princess balls were tormented by makeup brushes and small bullet vibrators and magic wand. Last but definitely not least there was this gosh darn teasy voice from the speakers in your head: "Aww tickle tickle does this wittle tickle feel soooo incredibly good. Don't worry another six hours of this heavenly torture still awaits you. I bet we can get you to 100 cute little ticklegasms. You surely deserve exactly this for all the tickles and teased you brought upon us to make us squirm and gigglecum. And don't worry your future holds many more ticklish scenarios in store for you. You shall not escape the hysteria in the foreseeable future my dear ticklish Tickle Mama ". As you further descend into tickle and orgasm heaven hell the curtain closes on this scene. What holds the future for poor Miss Amy? We shall see...

Hope you enjoyed this small revenge tease and that it made squirm at least a little bit <3

I would be a desperate mess and made to gigglegasm sooo fast on this I'm not gonna lie~~~ I mmmh okayy I may have said before but I have to warn anyone repeatedly if they want to put their hands or lips near my royal part because I lose my mind so fast and am liable to violently buck and thrash and be tumbled over the edge sooo fast unless they know what they're doing ~ which mmmmhh a dastardly machine like that wouldddd and ahhhh I can't take milkings ffffffucckk gosssh I mean mmmh forget all thissss this never happened and I'm going to tease everyone in my askbox with a massive teasy tickly vengeance nowwww~!!! unnnhhh this was amazing and I luvvv you and alssosoo ghhhhh you're terrribleee~!! I'm an absolute messs and I need to teaseeee~!

[piperjistic]

“Eh-ahem—“ The room goes silent. Heads turn attentively to the Royal Oracle. They stands in the middle, holding a paper they managed to scribble what they proclaimed down messily. They face the king sitting in the stand with his husband and child sit beside him.

“As the Royal Oracle, I provide a prophecy for every noble child born after they have acquired the basic skills of life. Therefore, it is time to foresee the future of the kingdom and announce for all to see.”

They’ve announced this almost hundred times. After all, they’re the Royal Oracle. They are stapled to all kingdoms applicable and other exceptions. The future is unexpected and can show something beautiful… Or ugly…. Or just bittersweet. Though for this young one, Dalo, King’s heir….. will have nothing of note accomplished in their lifetime.

This is the first, probably won’t be the last, but still the first, which will be unheard of. The kingdom doesn’t degrade, it mostly stays the same, which it isn’t bad. It’s good even. It’s just not impressive. If it was with anyone else, with a different king, then it would be fine. Though this one, had been boasting his child and it doesn’t help with gossip considering this was the first child ever made from two men using magic, blood, and technology. To disappoint, is… not optimal in the slightest.

The kid was nice, sweet, and genuine too. Curious and polite. No pranks or issues with them. But… doesn’t have much goal or direction…. But they’re a kid. Why expect so much from one who always greet them when they see them and shared treats when they could. So the Oracle didn’t want to disappoint the kid either. Or worse, break their heart. They speak once more.

“As a base…. They’ll prolong the life of the kingdom by almost a century, even after they do past the crown down.”

“Be a guide for a upcoming adventurer who will reward them with protection and gifts.” Finds a big cat and tame them as their pet.

“Provide so well that an era of peace will exist during their reign. Living improves for all, even for those surrounding the kingdom. They’ll replace the bases of the kingdoms with new stronger ones.” Has piping replaced and others will follow suit.

“Protect a habitat from ruin.” Water the old cook’s garden once they die….

“Mmmm….” They raise the paper up, there’s nothing else and it’s only been 30 minutes…! All the others were at least an hour, three max. There was a six hour one because of the three kids of one kingdom… Mmmm… Padding… Padding… Uh- Oh..!

“On the side, they provide orphans with homes, and decreasing the rate of orphans.” Adopt a few orphans. They adopt and others follow… again.

“Though the accomplishments may seem short,-“ They tuck away the list in their pouch. “…but these are big things that heir will provide for the people!” The Oracle smiles widely, a little too hard. They bow.

Dalo smiles up at his father. The king lips curve into a smile, satisfied, and pat their head. The Oracle stifles a sigh of relief.

“This pleases me, thank you Royal Oracle!” Everyone claps, cheering. The Oracle smiles, nodding and leaving. Their cloak flows behind them as they take quick strides out the door. With a hand wave, the sweat they carried was no more. They were already down the hall when they stopped. Footsteps pattered behind him quickly.

Dalo had followed them, grinning. “Hi.”

They sighed, turning to face the heir. They glance around, seeing and feeling no one insight. The kid steps forward readily as the Oracle kneels and pats their shoulder, pulling close and speak in a hushed tone.

“Hey, listen kid, I’m going to be honest. Don’t let any of this go to you’re head. You’ll do great as leader of the kingdom some day. Just do what you want to do and fix whatever needs to be fix. Don’t stress. That-“ They gesture behind them. “-was aIl formality and whatnot. I’ll probably be around when it happens, and can help you if you need anything…. If I’m not assassinated that is.”

Dalo hugs them, and pulls away just as quickly. “Thank you..! Hey! I wanna learn magic too! Pretty pleaseeee!”

As the Royal Oracle it is your job to write a prophecy every time a noble child is born. However when you are presented with the King’s Heir you foresee that they will achieve nothing of note in their lifetime. In order to keep the King happy you must predict something that sounds impressive.

[voiceoutofstars]

Readability Revision: Comet Hunter's Treasure

The following is a lightly revised version of this readable, and is the text used in Voice out of Star's audio narration.

Comet Hunter’s Treasure

Comet Hunter Hosea Lazaro's treasure; a prank that has been advertised in advance.

To Treasure Hunters: (I)

Ha! You’ve been fooled!

There is no "treasure" at all.

The only reward is four of my scribblings that have been hidden in this room. You must have recognized my handwriting. Yes, there's Madam Herta's writing as well. Surprise, eh?

If you’re some stressed junior who’s constantly worried about impressing your boss, take a breath. No good if you have a heart attack now.

If you’re one of those playful young fellows, I suggest you take my treasures and look through now and then, when you find life miserable. That way you can have a good laugh sometime you’re not busy with research in some dark corner of the station.

Laughing Hosea Lazaro

To Treasure Hunters: (II)

Right. If you are reading this, you've probably listened to me. That means you always follow through with what you’ve started.

I have to admit, it would hurt my reputation to ask you to go through so much trouble for no reward.

After all, I can't foresee whose hands this letter might fall into many Amber Eras from now.

There is a chance, however unlikely, that you are a future defender of my reputation, someone worthy of my legacy.

Wouldn't want to accidentally thrust you into friendly fire, would I?

Hm, so be it. It's time for me to bring forward the real treasure.

Your Respected Hosea Lazaro

To Treasure Hunters: (III)

Have you tried a type of soda called "Kapo-Kali?"

It was once the signature of the Herta Space Station and extremely popular in the Southern Orion system.

Sorry to brag, but I am indeed the creator of the famous Astro Rod and Cosmos Guide—and "Kapo-Kali" is also my creation.

The IPC offered me five million credits for the recipe. I turned them down.

Wen Huairen from the Herta Department of Implement Arts tried (and failed) to steal it 33 times. Each attempt earned him nothing but a good smack.

I will now make the recipe public...

A five million–credit value! See you in the next letter.

Legendary Drink-Maker Hosea Lazaro

To Treasure Hunters: (IV)

████████████████████████████████

████████████████████████████████

████████████████████████████████

Yes, you are seeing it right. Above is the secret recipe of Kapo-Kali.

I swear on my old mum's life that it's authentic.

If you are one of us, you'll know how to decrypt it.

Tip for you: A specific method of autoradiography is required.

Hosea Lazaro the Terrific

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

LOVE ME HARDER!

you swear your favorite color has nothing to do with kaiser. but unluckily for you, the boy’s fallen madly in love with you and has somehow convinced himself that he can connect the dots to make you fall madly in love with him. when you meet his flirting with a tough front though, kaiser has a secret weapon up his sleeve (or under his uniform collar).

gender neutral reader

content warning(s): reader’s favorite color is blue, kaiser’s tattoo isn’t super visible with his uniform in this fic

You loved blue.

You still do. And for the foreseeable future, you weren’t going to ever stop loving the color. It was a color so dear and special to you, and as much as you loved all the other colors, there was something indescribable about the blue hue.

It was everywhere. The color of the sky. The ocean. The small Google Docs icon while you scribbled down notes on your computer. A stray car in the distance while you crossed the road. It was the color of loyalty and knowledge, the cool tones even embodying the mystifying feeling of melancholy. And, if you allowed yourself to get a little pretentious and philosophical, probably the color of the universe. 

What a dignified color. You would never stop loving blue. Not ever. Certainly not now. And you would never extinguish your love of the color because of a man.

But boy, was someone making it difficult.

You always heard him before you saw him: the rumble of footsteps, Ness gushing incoherent praise, the shrill trill of German words hanging in the air. Like an overture before a grand opera, except those thirty seconds were the only prep time you’d get to turn on your heel and book it out of there if you didn’t want to say hello to your biggest headache.

“Oh, daaaarling! There you are! Hey- Don’t run away!”

An outstretched pair of arms materialized on either side of your body, and you let out a loud yelp before you were pulled backwards into a tight hug. You screeched like a feral cat, clawing helplessly at the air while a loud haughty laugh rang out against your eardrums.

It was only when you turned around that the sense of hearing gave out to the sense of sight. Beautiful strands of blond-blue hair swept across your eyes, the twinkle of his golden locks not too unlike the catlike gleam in his pupils. Speaking of his eyes, you hated the stupid bastard for how much blue he had on him and more importantly, how good it looked. Even the smug azure of his crinkled eyes made you stop breathing for just a split second, and your lips parted unconsciously as your hatred momentarily dissipated into wonder at the delicate hue.

“Staring at me? Awwwww, do you think I’m handsome? Of course you do. You wouldn't be so starstruck otherwise,” he chuckled. You instantly snapped out of your stupor, and you twisted your face into a disgusted frown.

“Take your hands off of me, you idiot,” you snarled. “I’m not in the mood to talk to you.”

“Oh? Perfect. I think that’s perfect timing to talk to you.” Kaiser kept one arm slung firmly over your shoulders, expertly placing himself at your side. You dug your heels into the ground and kept your place whenever he tried to edge you closer to his torso, egging you to relax into his touch. “Busy being a little color nerd again? I think it’s adorable that you’d pick your favorite color after me-”

“-I did not pick my favorite color after you,” you huffed. You crossed your arms, and you glared directly up at him (this time, you took extra care not to get lost in his eyes). “Do you really think I don’t have a personality or something? To pick a favorite color after a man?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I’m a pretty charming guy, if I do say so myself. Just now, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me. I’d say I wear the color well. Say, if I swapped my red eyeliner out for a blue one, would that make you stare at me even more?”

You wanted to push him off, but you knew better than to engage a professional athlete in a half-wrestle-half-run-for-your-life-thing. “In your dreams. You’re an atrocious mix of colors.”

“Sure.” He easily brushed your words off. He broke out into his usual smug grin, chuckling at you as if he were a cat toying with a mouse. If he could, you swore that he’d gobble you up in one bite and leave no crumbs. “But I’d say blue is totally my color.”

Red hot annoyance flooded your body. This was so unlike you, to be moved to such anger that you’d be thinking of any color other than your favorite cyan hue, but something about this man made you want to beat him to a bloody pulp until he truly was nothing more than a mix of crimson and black and white broken bones. 

“Blue is MY color!” You grumbled. “I liked it even before I met you! Hell, I probably understand it better than you do! Dipping your hair in Kool-Aid and being born with blue eyes doesn’t automatically make blue your color! It’s my favorite color, and me liking it has nothing to do with you! Not everything revolves around you, Kaiser!”

You fumed at him, having blurted out all of the tension mounting inside of your chest. You stood there, wanting to claw off the weight of his arm across your shoulders. You wondered if Kaiser would yell back at you, if those beautiful sapphire eyes of his would narrow into small slits before he’d wind up for the pounce, if he truly would swallow you up into a void of blue nothingness just to prove you wrong.

But instead he threw his head back, and he laughed heartily.

“You’re too funny for your own good.” He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye with his other hand, and he barely held himself together long enough to look at you. “The world? Revolve around me? Maybe to all those other stupid commoners. Those brainless fools need a stunning star to guide them. To give them any purpose in life.”

You grimaced, skin crawling with disdain as he yanked you closer. His free hand caressed the outline of your cheeks and jaw, and you let out a small “eep!” as he hooked his fingers under your chin to gingerly lift your face to meet his. You held your breath as the German prodigy leaned in, until the silhouette of his peach-pink lips were much too close to your mouth for your liking.

“But, darling… Oh, my sweet, stupid darling…” His voice was far too smooth for your own liking. Like the lining of a regal blue mink-fur lined cape, the kind you’d see in a 1700s painting of a king, the edge you get from swallowing down a mouthful of ice water. He looked too pleased with himself, having you ensnared perfectly in his arms like this. The thick tension that hung between the two of you felt like poisoned honey, and he shook his head at you mockingly. “If anyone were to pay attention closely, they’d know that the script is much more different for you than it is for those everyday fools.”

“Don’t lump me in your weird fantasy.” You blinked at him defiantly. He pursed his lips slightly, but Kaiser didn’t waver even once. 

“All I want to say is that there’s nothing wrong in admiring beautiful things. If you like blue that much, nothing wrong with admiring the blue on me, is there? It’s unhealthy to deny yourself the things that you love so much.” He let you go finally, and you practically leapt out away from him. “If you don’t want to throw yourself at my feet and beg to play the role of my dedicated love interest, that’s fine too! Although, I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to. Anyone would be honored to have my attention the way you do.”

“You’re a self-centered prick. I don’t want to give you any more attention than what I’m already wasting on you.”

“That’s what I’m saying! If you let down your high walls and properly let yourself admire me for the beautiful, charming, handsome guy I am, then it wouldn’t be a waste of your time.” He expertly flicked his hair over his shoulder, winking at you as some of the strands tumbled down his collarbones and back. As atrocious of a haircut as it was, you did have to admit that the color of his weird gradient was very pleasing to your eyes.

But you’d rather eat knives than admit it out loud. 

“You’ll have to try harder than that. Anyone can dye hair,” you muttered, thoroughly unconvinced. “And before you ask, I’m not interested in staring at your eyes either. Blue eyes mean nothing to me. And I can always go buy color contacts off the internet and stare at those instead if I really want to.”

“Boo! That’s so boring! Wouldn’t you want a real living person? Someone with personality?” He pouted.

You rolled your own eyes. “Yeah. Someone that doesn’t have a stick stuck up their ass.”

Kaiser pressed his lips into a line, suddenly lost in heavy thought. He knew your patience was already running thin with him, and while it was frustrating that the typical antics he’d lavish onto his fans wasn’t netting him the reaction he wanted from you, it still thrilled him the same. You were so tough to crack! He knew deep down that you had some heart for him and that you loved admiring beautiful things! And was he not the most beautiful thing of them all? He was skilled, talented, the kind of guy anyone should be flattered to have. All he needed was to convince you with something unique, something that no other groupie or fan of his couldn’t have, and maybe that would be the key to luring you over.

To turn that burning red hatred of yours into a calm, placated blue interest.

“Well, what if I give you something truly special then? If I could show you something that you have to admit is beautiful, would you admire me then?” He offered tentatively. You sniffed, keeping your head held high, but he took your silence to mean that it wasn’t a complete refusal.

He broke out into the biggest grin you had ever seen. Your confidence wavered slightly at his smug smirk, and nervousness prickled over your skin. You held your breath as Kaiser slowly raised his hand to his neck. Two fingers hooked onto the golden collar of his Bastard Munchen uniform, which covered a generous portion of his neck.

He yanked down. 

A flash of deep, royal blue stunned your vision, and your eyes instinctively widened. Kaiser tilted his neck to the opposite side, making sure you could catch a proper glimpse at the part of his throat that was normally concealed by his uniform. You felt like something inside of your brain had violently hit the brakes the moment the color hit your eyes. 

Roses.

Beautiful, beautiful blue roses. 

You’re automatically entranced by them. They’re tattoos, each expertly painted on his skin with a careful hand. The black outline makes the rich hues pop even more against his body, and while you tiptoe forward to catch a better view, you can only make out the better part of one of the bigger roses. The rest are covered by his uniform, and you can see the hint of inked thorns traveling away from the flowers and towards his arm. 

Kaiser instantly caught the shift in energy from you. He wisely kept his mouth shut, but some prideful part of him was celebrating inwardly. He let you step closer to admire the handiwork on his body, your curiosity delighting him to no ends.

You wanted to touch them. To touch him. Oh, you could imagine the feeling of soft rose petals under your fingertips while you were utterly mesmerized by his tattoo, almost forgetting that it was just an inked drawing rather than real flowers.

“Well? Isn’t it lovely?” 

You flinched, snapping back to life. Dumbfounded, you were at a loss for words. It was completely unlike you to not have some kind of mean comeback to snark at him with, but the secret weapon Kaiser had on hand was too much. His tattoo had overwhelmed you in a heartbeat, the artistic touch only making you want to see it again.

But unfortunately for you, he adjusted his uniform back into its regular position with a cruel smile. “See? I knew you’d like it. Do you want to look at it again? Oh, I know you do. C’mon, tell me. Tell me you want to see it again. It’s not like I’m going to refuse.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, and very hesitantly, you swallowed back your pride. “Can… Can I see your tattoo again?”

“With pleasure, darling.” He cooed. He paused for a moment, and he pulled you closer towards him. You gulped nervously when he peered down at you, clearly savoring the victory he had earned by pulling wool (or in this case, a lovely tattoo) over your eyes. 

“But why don’t I take you to my room instead? I’ll take off my shirt for you. That way you can see the entire thing. And then you can fawn over me properly. You just said you wanted to see my tattoo again. Those pretty roses,” he leaned in, tempting you over and over with the fleeting memory, “Those pretty, pretty roses that are in your absolute favorite color.”

You were torn, and Kaiser reveled in that tormented expression of yours.

He held his hand out. “No need to be shy. Let me show you all sorts of beautiful blue things, my darling.”

x

[augustjoy]

Letters to Dean.

Part 13.

Word Count: 1033

Warnings: none that I can think of, let me know!

Strike through - things said at the same time

Smaller text/different font - Dean's letter to reader.

**Dean’s POV**

Writing this letter was harder than I had thought. The hard part wasn’t me expressing my feelings about y/n, but explaining to her my own issues. I needed her to know that I hadn’t left because of her but my own selfishness.

As I finished writing the letter, I looked down at my watch to see it was nearly midnight. There was no way she would still be awake at this hour, given the long day we had.

I quietly walked down the hall to the room she was staying in and pressed my ear to the door. I was listening for any sign of movement or sound and came up with nothing.  I slid the envelope under her door.

If she was anything like I remembered her to be, she would most likely be restless, she always had been in unfamiliar places. That or she would be up at the crack of dawn, y/n was almost always the first one to rise and she would always spoil everyone with a huge breakfast those mornings.

I figured either way, she would get to the letter before Nora had that chance to mess with it.

**Reader’s POV**

I could never sleep in a place I wasn’t familiar with, especially without Dean by my side. He made everything easier for me. Dean had this calm about him, which knowing everything I know now…it seems kind of strange that he’d have such a calm aura. Perhaps he tried especially hard at exuding that calm for me, so I wouldn’t pick up on how tense things truly had been.

After turning over in bed for what felt like the millionth time, I looked over at Nora to see her sound asleep. Maybe I should go get some water, or knowing Sam, there had to be some tea in this god forsaken place.

I stood up and padded over to the door, I hissed at the loud sliding sound and looked down to see the culprit. There on the floor laid an envelope, crisp and white, save for the small scuff mark from where it had slid across the floor.

I bent down to pick up the letter, turning it over in my hands to see my name scribbled on the front of the envelope. It made me chuckle softly, the fact that Dean had felt like he needed to address it to me. I quietly opened the door, stepped out of the room, and closed the door behind me, trying so hard to keep quiet as to not wake Nora.

I made my way to the kitchen and slowly made my way through all the cabinets until I finally found some tea. Naturally the guys didn’t have an electric kettle, and I wasn’t about to use the stovetop kettle seeing as the whistle would surely wake the entire bunker. I figured the best way to go about this would be to boil some water in a pot.

I had to search through all of the cabinets again just to find a sauce pan. Once I finally found one, I filled it with just enough water and set it on the stove to boil. I sat at the kitchen table and decided that now was as good a time as any. I tore open the envelope to find a letter, Dean’s messy handwriting lining the pages. As I unfolded them a photograph slid out, it was of Sam and Dean, they had been leaning against baby and looking off at something. If I had to guess, Cas must’ve taken this photo. It was a little blurry and given their lack of attention they must not have known he was even taking it. It looked like it was from a few years back. I ran my fingers over the pages once more, took a deep breath and began reading.

Dear Y/N,

Leaving you was the hardest decision I have ever had to make. At the time it felt like the only necessary option. I know now that I was wrong. I should’ve just been honest with you…you have always been the most understanding and accepting person I know. I wish I could go back and change things, but I know I can’t. I can however be better moving forward, and that is what I plan to do. I plan to spend the foreseeable future making this up to you. That is, if you’ll let me, and I am really hoping you will.

Sweetheart, I know I have given you a lot to consider. This life is a lot. It takes so much from you. I just felt like maybe I should try to explain without making excuses.

Sam has kindly informed me that I push people away. It’s easier to do that than let them get close…then lose them. I can’t lose you. But by leaving, I did. I lost you and Nora. I know this is a lot to take in…but know that I thought of you every single day.

I never stopped loving you. Come back to me sweetheart?

-D

I hadn’t even realized I was crying until my tears had started to smudge the writing on the pages. I quickly wiped my eyes and tried to dry the pages. I must’ve sat there and reread that last line a hundred times before I had remembered the pot on the stove. I got up quickly and went to the stove to see that nearly all the water had boiled away. I turned the stove off and moved the pot into the sink. I walked back to the table and looked at the letter once again. He had never stopped loving me, and I hadn’t stopped loving him…things should just be able to go back to normal. Only they can’t, things would never be the same, not with what I know now and with us living in this bunker and navigating parenthood in this new world. My head was spinning and again it was like I had no control of myself, I had found myself at Dean’s door, fist raised, ready to knock.

Before my fist could even make contact, the door swung open.

“Dean”

“Y/N”

Please do not steal my work. The images within the Polaroids are not mine. But the whole image is my property as it comes from within my personal journal. The story is mine however I do not own the characters depicted. Please feel free to message me about this story - ideas for a new one - questions or comments!

I do not consent to having my work translated, copied, or posted elsewhere. If you should see my work on another site, or being claimed by another individual, please inform me.

[ariadnebyanyothername]

The sight of Jasper standing in front of a lecture hall full of her peers should’ve filled Ariadne with dread. The penny would’ve dropped for a sensible person the minute Jasper opened his mouth, those gorgeous, English vowels filling the lecture hall. Ariadne should’ve deduced this meant her friendship with Jasper was coming to an end. No more flirty back and forth over texts, no more easy “banter” - and certainly they would have to put a stop to their little meet-ups. The man standing in front of her classmates and herself now held her academic future in her hands - and all Ariadne felt was a dizzy state of glee.

She sat up in her seat, fighting to suppress an obvious smile as Mason’s jaw dropped, Smith’s fingers digging into the meat of her thigh under the table.

“Oh, Halliday. Again, really?” her friend gasped, but Ariadne didn’t miss the way the redhead’s eyes lit up. It didn’t matter that her friends had jumped to the wrong assumptions, that their minds were immediately filled with sordid flashes of whatever Ariadne had been doing with their sub. Or that she’d supposedly been at it again. None of it was true, but regardless, Ariadne was a legend.

As far as Ariadne was concerned, this was excellent news. Now she would get to see Jasper almost every day. They could walk back and forth from class together, continuing the discussions they’d been having about their favorite books, Ariadne’s failed auditions, or listening to Jasper as he spoke fondly of home, the blonde conjuring up images of places she’d only ever seen on television or read about in books. Her friend was more firmly fixed in her life for the foreseeable future. When Smith went home to his boyfriend or Mason was busy with her gaggle of girlfriends or Valentina still wasn’t returning her texts - she would always have Jasper.

She crossed her legs under the table, tapping her pen across her rouged bottom lip - unknowingly creating a stain of spreading blue ink, and watched as Jasper fell silent, dumbstruck, his eyes landing on her a couple of rows back. Her heart picked up, pen slipping between her lips to suppress a giggle. Had his lips formed the shape of her name, or had that just been wishful thinking?

“A-woooo!” Smith chirped, voice loud in the nearly-silent hall. Mason choked back a laugh, flicking the back of Smith’s neck, reaching around Ariadne to do so. Ariadne silently burned with shame, hoping Jasper wouldn’t associate her with her juvenile friends.

She stayed silent the whole lecture, ignoring when a hand tugged at the sleeve of her shirt, or when Mason scribbled at the edges of her notebook, trying to garner her attention. She was entirely focused on Jasper’s lesson, his eyes never wandering toward her even once - at least not that she noticed. She didn’t bother to raise her hand or offer her opinion up, instead transcribing his words dutifully in her notebook.

As the lesson drew to a close, Ariadne snapped her notebook shut, immediately gathering up her pencil case and such and sweeping them into her bag, determined to be the first to the front of the class. Smith raised his eyebrows, the barely-concealed smile on his face saying everything.

“You’re both so fucking childish, by the way.” Ariadne snapped, swinging her bag over her shoulder as she pushed her chair back, ignoring their expressions of twin shock as she brushed past them, towards the place where Jasper was standing.

She took even, slow steps, waiting as a few of her classmates said polite, small goodbyes to their professor, waving, parting the way so that Ariadne could push through, dropping her textbooks onto his desk.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be here.” she said, a smile playing on her face. “What did you do to Calahan?”

Ariadne was used to waking up with a warm body beside her - whether that be in the form of a sexual partner, her long-limbed Italian Greyhound or, in this case, the messy haired, slumbering form of her best friend. Billy McHale roused her with a gentle prod to the stomach, eyes fluttering open as they disentangled themsleves from the bedsheets, one another and two exciteable fur-babies.

She'd been spending more and more nights in the small apartment space above A Novel Idea, drinking cup of coffee after cup of coffee with Billy and smoking cigarettes out of the first floor window. Ariadne would never say out loud that she was keeping an eye on him, but both of them tiptoed around the assumption that's exactly what she was doing. The absence of an adorable blonde baseball player was felt keenly in Billy's life. In his bookshop, in his heart and presumably in his bed (although Billy had merely blushed and given her a wry smile when she'd prodded previously). Ariadne was determined to be as noisy as possible to fill the gap Simon had left behind, striking a fine balance between leaving the man to just be and providing an ample distraction.

Their morning had started slowly, passing a mug of coffee back and forward amicably and taking Scoob and Richard Papen for a short walk before their days took separate turns. Before long, Ariadne was planting a red-lipped kiss to Billy's mouth and scratching Richard Papen behind the ears, allowing him to live his dream as bookshop dog for the day before she took the subway to class.

She arrived less put-together than usual, still pinning back loose strands of her hair as she hurried down the hallway, bag slipping from her shoulder, weighed down with books as it was. The blonde offered a few curteous smiles to people she knew in passing, bumping the door to seminar room B open with her hip.

Immediately, she was met with the warm, exciteable smile of Mason, whose red hair was braided all the way down her back. She waved her over quickly, Ariadne slipping into the seat beside her.

"Hello, darling." she greeted, tucking the hem of Billy's shirt into her waistband. She cast a quick look around the small amphitheater, people still spilling into their chairs as she placed her coffee atop the table, began taking out her well-thumbed books and neat pencil case.

"Hullo, Halliday." Mason chirped, drumming her fingers against the worn wood of the table-top. Ariadne immediately noted the chipped polish of her fingernails, baby blue, her tapping insistent. "Have you seen?"

"Seen what?" she asked, absently depositing her bag at her feet. Mason's eyeline lifted just above Ariadne's head, her face stretching into a whitened smile, all pointed-teeth and devious intentions. Ariadne barely had time to lift her head before she felt her fellow classmate, Smith, resting his chin atop her head.

"She hasn't see-een!" he chimed in, voice taking on a childish, sing-song quality that immediately raised her hackles. Her red pout twisted into a frown as she found Smith's hand, tugging him roughly into the seat beside her. She hated not being in on the joke.

"Stop being idiots." she huffed, still holding Smith's hand hard enough to leave small, crescent-moon shapes in the meat of his palm. "And clue me in on what's got you two behaving like fucking Verges and Dogberry."

They both laughed, enigmatic, witches cackles that actually reminded the actress far more of the Weird Sisters, missing their third, Ariadne a hapless Macbeth unable to follow her lines. They leaned in, and their closeness irritated her, their twin secrets that Ariadne was on the outside of.

"Fresh meat." Mason giggled, baby blue fingers gesturing to the foreground.

"So your type." Smith agreed, glasses falling down his nose as he nodded. "Said, good morning to me when I brushed past him, with an accent."

"Unheard of." Ariadne laughed sarcastically, thinking about the people who came from every city to attend their presitigious little school, their hallowed halls. Not prestegious enough for Ariadne's liking, the tuition a struggle to cover with her few and far between theatre jobs and her nannying wages.

Pushing a strand of honeyed-blonde hair from her eyes, Ariadne peered around the room, following Mason's covert point to the figure that had caused so much commotion.

And standing there, in a tweed blazer that looked as though it were struggling to contain him, glasses perched on his nose, looking a little like a fish out of water, was Jasper. Her Jasper.

"Oh, that's Woolfy."