#and it was a great place to be for college

[mywritersmind]

SAVIOR - LN4

pt.2

summary : Y/n’s favorite place has quickly become her and Lando’s shared hallway. They grow closer and finally make it to the fresh air.

OG SUMMARY (When y/n’s absent neighbor shows up, causing her great annoyance with smoke and repetitive beeping, she marches over to tell the man off but is met with a handsome face and strong hands that are in distress.)

listen up : no warnings!! y/n is clueless abt f1. lando is silly. i’m craving strawberries now.

word count : 1878

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I haul my five grocery bags into the elevator, struggling to keep them all off the ground. I sigh when I finally still in the metal box, i’ve carried these at least two blocks and one had broken on the way.

The doors are about to close but a hand slides in between them, making them automatically open for him.

Hello my hot mysterious neighbor.

He looks relieved he made it, “Y/n!” He says cheerfully, like we’ve known each other for ages. It’s been a couple weeks since I slammed on his door and stomped through his kitchen.

The other side of the hallway had been quiet until last night when I heard keys rattling and the door opening. I can’t help but wonder what he does that keeps him from home so often.

“Lando, Hi!” I smile back as he slides beside me and presses our floor.

“You need help?” He eyes the bags as I bite my lip, not wanting to bother him. I don’t have the time to respond because he takes three bags out of my hands like it’s nothing.

“Thank you.” I sigh, “I’ve been struggling for like two blocks.” He laughs a bit with me as the numbers get higher and higher.

“I’m happy to help.” We finally reach our floor, Lando watches me go first and walk to my door, unlocking it and walking in.

Lando follows hesitantly, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“Thank you again! I put myself in a bit of a bind when I decided that my friends need fifteen types of salami and cheese.” I place the bags on the counter, Lando following.

I push back my hair and suddenly wish I had cleaned up a bit more. My friends are coming over tonight and I had decided to push back my cleaning. Looking around at the clothes and old popcorn bowls scattered around makes me want to slap myself.

“Really, I like to lend a hand! I never get to be neighborly.” He shrugs.

“What do you do for work? If you don’t mind me asking?” I start placing the cold items in the freezer.

He leans against the counter, his arms holding him up and looking alarmingly fit, “Uh… You ever follow Formula 1?”

I nod, “Kinda? I used to love it!” My mom and I would watch every sunday but I stopped in college so I don’t know any of the current grid, “So you work in the sport! That’s cool, pretty hands on?” I ask as he laughs a bit, looking awkward.

“Yeah, I work with the cars.” He looks around my place a bit, “So, why does one need this much food? I’m judging or anything it’s just… You don’t seem like the type to need a jumbo sized pretzel bag.”

I smile and snatch the bag from him, “I could definitely eat all of this by the way! But I'm having a bit of a party tonight. If anything’s too loud just let me know! It’s just old friends from college- actually.” I look up at him, a boost of confidence appearing in me, “You could join us. If you’re not busy.”

It suddenly sounds like a ridiculously stupid idea. I turn back to the fridge, placing a bottle of lemonade in it and cringing.

“I would love to.” I let out a sigh of relief, “But I've got plans…” I frown and turn back to him, finally putting away the last of my groceries.

“Aw.”

“It’s really nice of you to invite me.” I smile, a bit sad and confused why I'm disappointed. I mean I barely know the man. “What do you do for work?”

I lean against the counter so I'm across from him, “I’m a writer. Journalism right now but I really want to take a more bookish route…”

He genuinely looks so intrigued, more interested than anyone else who I've told I write articles about neighborhood drama.

He checks his watch, which I'm now realizing is incredibly expensive, and swears, “I gotta go. Have fun with your party tonight.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I definitely do have fun. My friends and I eat, drink, and play board games just like we’re back in dorms. I’m seeing my last and closest friend off when Lando comes up the hallway, As my friend's eyes go wide when she sees him, I shake my head.

“Goodbye!” I push her out of my apartment, “Love you!”

“Yeah love you too! Text me!” She walks past Lando, nodding at him before she turns behind his back and mouths ‘he’s hot’.

I roll my eyes at her, a smile still on my face as Lando looks at me. He’s in a full suit, holding his blazer in his hand.

“Fun time then?” God he’s hot!

“Absolutely!” I giggle, a bit tipsy, “How about you then?” I eye his suit.

“As good as I could make it.”

I slap my hand over my mouth, “God you aren’t coming from a funeral then, are you?”

He laughs at this, “No! No. A work banquet thing.”

I giggle a bit as he turns to his door, “Hey!” I say without thinking, “Would you want to come in? I have wine.”

He’s sitting on my couch thirty minutes later, a glass deep and talking about where he’s traveled too.

“That’s my dream!” I say, my feet tucked under myself as I tilt my head on the couch cushions, “Traveling. I mean- You’ve been everywhere!”

He shrugs, sipping his wine, his tie undone and shoes off, “It’s amazing but I'm not there for long so I don’t usually get to sightsee much. Honestly the most interesting thing that’s happened to me recently is this pretty girl came to save my baking disaster.”

I hum to his words, blushing a bit, “Sounds like a hero if i’ve ever heard one.” We both go silent, taking pieces of my leftover charcuterie board. “Should I start watching F1?”

“No!” He says it so quick that i’m taken aback.

“No?”

He laughs a bit, shaking it off, “It’s boring. I can’t have someone else in my life talk about it.”

I spin my wine around in the glass, “So I'm someone in your life now?”

He smirks, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

I pretend to contemplate this, “I’ve never had a friend who hasn’t gone to the strawberry market with me.”

He makes an odd face, “So we must go then.”

I sigh, “If you want to be my friend…”

The corner of his mouth pulls, “Tomorrow at 9?”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He’s at my door at 9:12. Thank god he’s late because I hop over to the door, pulling on my shoe and pulling down my jean skirt.

I open the door and stand up straight, smiling breathlessly. He, of course, looks perfect in jeans and an olive green shirt, “Morning.”

“Ready to taste the best strawberries you’ve ever had?” I grab my bag and keys.

“So ready.”

We make it to the market just on time. It’s my favorite neighborhood gem. Every Sunday people gather with strawberries. There are big and small, some covered in chocolate and some in honey.

I buy a box of chocolate ones, well Lando does. He insists that he still owes me. Handing one to Lando with an extra fork, he bites into it, his eyes roll, “Fucking hell.” I nod, excited that he likes them as much as I do.

“My favorite treat! Something you can’t burn your house down with.” I eye him and he eyes me right back. Being with Lando is like a breath of fresh air. I’ve never been so confident in my social skills.

He laughs with a shop owner as he buys his pack of plain strawberries. He's so nice and just listens politely as the woman goes on and on about her childhood on a strawberry farm.

He gives her a bigger bill than necessary and as she insists it’s too much, he just shakes his head and continues walking.

We settle at a park bench nearby, tasting all the pieces we’ve bought, “This is genuinely phenomenal.” He says while eating another, “How’d you find this place?”

“Had to write about something local and had total writers block… I was walking around one day and just sort of stumbled upon it.”

He smiles, I really like this smile. “You seem like the type to just stumble upon a strawberry market.”

I laugh, covering my mouth, “What does that even mean?”

“You’re just so…” His hands make these weird gestures, his fingers moving around as he laughs and gives up, “It just fits.”

I smile, meeting his eyes. They're so nice, a mix of blue and green. His gaze washes over me and I feel the need to smile even more.

“You’ve got nice eyes.” My stomach twists as he says it so calmly, “Real pretty.” I feel a blush on my cheeks and I turn away from him, looking at the park near us and being startled by the child looking up at us.

Lando follows my gaze, mumbling softly, “Shit.”

“Hi.” The kid says awestruck, I look to Lando who’s smiling and sitting up straighter. “Um- Are you Lando Norris?”

Lando scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah I am! What's your name?”

“W-William!” He says, swallowing and pulling a pen from behind his back, “Could you sign this?” I glance to what looks like his mother, she’s watching him with a smile.

Lando simply nods and takes the cap from his head, its bright orange. He signs his name and messes up the kid's hair, “Thanks a lot! My friends’ll never believe it!” The boy squeals and runs back to his mom who waves slightly and takes the boy's hand.

I raise a brow at Lando, still confused, “I’m sorry…” He looks embarrassed but I don’t even know what for.

“I’m going to assume you didn’t tell me the whole truth in what your job is?”

His cheeks get a bit red, “I do work with the cars… Just really close. Like I’m in them. One specifically.”

I nod, “Yours?”

“Mine.” He crosses his arms, his lips in a thin line, “I drive for McLaren.” I breathe out.

“Oh.” I can’t help but think I have a type because I grew up with Jenson Button posters on my wall.

He runs a hand through his curls, “I don’t usually get recognized around here- Thought we would be okay.”

“We are okay!” I reassure him, realizing he’s actually embarrassed, “That was sweet.”

He looks up hopefully, “You think? I’m sorry for lying- I just really liked that you didn’t know who I am or what I do.”

“Well, I sort of still don't. I know your full name now, that’s about it.” He smiles at this, I bite into another strawberry.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

He is yet to say something I'm not shocked at.

“Yeah.” I nod, smiling at him as he grins, “I’d really like that. Don’t you have to race soon though…? Singapore, isn’t it?”

The smirk that pulls at his lips is just plain mischievous, “I never said the date would be here.”

[bandgie]

The Pink Palace | Horror-October (SKZ)

🗝 Struggling to make ends meet as a freshly graduated college student, you and your friends, Chan & Changbin, move into a cheap apartment on the hills together. Despite the dying garden and unbelievable creepy ambiance, you think this is a place you can call home. That is, until you realize it's already someone else's. 🗝

Ep. 1 | The Move-In

🗝 Cheap rent seems great until you're discovering bugs, dirty water, and learning about the strange disappearances that seem to take place at the apartments. Whatever, at least you have the bed to break into it.

Ep. 2 | Dreaming of the Painter on Floor Two

🗝 It's exactly like the Pink Palace, only a thousand times better. It helps that the beautiful man upstairs is infatuated by you. Maybe the buttons for eyes isn't too bad.

Ep. 3 | Cats Galore

🗝 The Other Neighbors downstairs hardly raise concern other than their weird fascinations with cats. You don't mind them playing with yours, but you're learning that things aren't as they seem.

Ep. 4 | Dolly from the Garden

🗝 Reality is often cruel, much like the thorns you pick from the abandoned garden. The man who lives on the other side of the hill decides to pay you another visit, but this time, he brings gifts.

Ep. 5 | Cat-fight

🗝 Now there's no doubt in your mind that this Other World is very much real. You're desperate to make your roommates see the truth, but the neighborhood black cat is set on keeping his mouth shut. Yours too.

Ep. 6 | So Sharp You Won't Feel a Thing

🗝 The Others are too much, too obsessed with keeping you on their side. They beg and do everything in their power, but you can't leave everything you know to stay in The Other World forever...can you?

[kj0ne]

Nct fic rec’s

A collection of some of my favourite fics i have read that are mostly nct but i may add some other groups!

Includes fics/series, smaus, oneshots,drabbles, headcannons and time stamps

S - smut | SG -suggestive | F - fluff

A - angst | M - mature

All credits to the writers! If you would not like your work on here please lmk!

*lm still new to posting on tumblr please lmk if anything is or looks wrong*

(Im a sucker for family au so please expect alot of that here 😅)

Nct wish are not included!

Nct 127

Johnny Suh

Lee Taeyong

Little taste of heaven | M,F,A - @taelme

Part 1 | part 2 | part 3

R U Ridin? | F - @writemekpop

Taeyong is a mafia boss, and he hides it from you... but what happens when his secret gets revealed?

Nakamoto Yuta

Dad!Yuta | F - @jwirecs

Kim Doyoung

Heaven, fallen | M,F,A - @wincore

6-7am | F - @nctinthehouse

You were beautiful | F,A - @jaelvr

Jeong Jaehyun

Kim Jungwoo

Hard to say goodbye | F - @by-soleil

1:18pm | F - @gyeomsweetgyeom

Part 2 ⬇️

8:25pm | F - @gyeomsweetgyeom

Mark and Haechan in dream down below ⬇️

Nct Dream

Mark Lee

4:26 | F - @gyeomsweetgyeom

Most couples use pet names for each other, some people would expect you and Mark to do the same, especially since you’re getting married

3:50 | F - @skyrohyucks

The cure | F - @mins-fins

mark shows up to your place bleeding red, and red is your least favorite color.

Madly in love | F - @p0ckykiss

mark had always been the hopeless romantic type

Huang Renjun

Beat you at your own game | F - @cafelattaes

y/n has a crush on renjun, who's not that great with people. despite his standoffish nature, she makes an effort to be friendly. but things take a twist when she starts to ignore him.

Lee Jeno

Glitter | F - @kyufessions

you walk in on your daughter giving your fiancé a makeover

All night long | F - @writemekpop

You’re pregnant, and the baby’s kicking makes it impossible to sleep. Luckily, Jeno knows just how to take care of you. 

Lee Haechan

Na Jaemin

Putting mascara on BF!Jaemin | F - @scarletwinterxx

Day in the life | F - @saturnznct

9:18pm | F - @gyeomsweetgyeom

In which jaemin does his own take of a trend | F - @lololololchips

in which jaemin does his own take of a trend that shows how he tried to confess to his crush over various instagram stories

One bed trope enemy!jaemin | F - @jenosbliss

Bittersweet | F - @polarisjisung

it's routine— you patch up his wounds and watch them heal, he salts your wounds but doesn't stick around long enough to watch them grow.

Love without labels | F - @mystverse

Zhong Chenle

Park Jisung

Naps with bf!Jisung | F - @ofdreamsnwishes

Motorbikes and melatonin | F - @polarisjisung

sleep doesn't find you in the comfort of your own home or under the covers tucked safely into your bed— sleep finds you in the warmth of park jisung's arms

BF Jisung text | F - @polarisjisung

Score that goal | F - @lqfiles

after your college had announced that all the students were required to join a club and attend it twice a week, you were planning on either a) dropping out, or b) join the art club and pretend to be sick most of the times. that was before you discovered that park jisung is a long time member of the football team. change in plans: you LOVE football.

or in which you mindlessly join the football club in hopes of catching your crush’s attention (and to maybe secretly check him out too) who cares if you can’t even kick a ball up in the air?

Sleepy Jisung talks | F - @wonbin-truther

Wayv

Qian Kun

7:16am | F - @theficblog

Ten Lee

In progress…

WinWin

In progress…

XiaoJun

In progress…

Hendery

In progress…

YangYang

In progress…

Units

Nct 127

Baby 127 calling dad on tour | F - @phoxphenex

Nct dream

Moon and enthusiasm | F - @handlemehyuck

Baby dream calling dad on tour | F - @phoxphenex

Boyfriend texts | F - @handlemehyuck

Orange peel theory | F - @hyuckswoman

7dream nicknames for their partners | F - @swee7dream

Dream on dreaming | F - @diorcities

WayV

WayV reaction to a pic of them sleeping | F - @tigermark

[audzss]

Thin Line ~2~

Summary: After the fateful night of Rafe crawling through Y/n's window, everything went back to normal. Until a week later, when there's a familiar knock. Y/n can't help but wonder what kind of game Rafe is playing.

Thin Line Masterlist

Word Count: 1,412

Warnings: Talks of Domestic Violence

Thin Line

When Y/n had woken up, Rafe was already gone, the only reminiscence of him was a crumpled up blanket on the side of the floor where he slept. The fact that he had just left without even letting her know made her feel a little weird, like it was something that she had to hide.

When she had showed up to her first college class that morning, Rafe seemed completely un-phased by what had happened, like he didn't have a care in the world, his bruised cheek and eye being shown to everyone, but no one dared to ask. In fact, most people probably already knew what happened, Ward wasn't very good at hiding the way he treated his own son.

As she walked past him, he just mumbled the usual, "Bitch.", and she just scoffed, walking past and mumbling her usual "Douche." This whole situation left something inside of her feeling deeply unsettled, almost feeling bad for him. Well, she would have felt bad for him, if he wasn't such a dick.

At Lunch, Y/n's friend sat at the same table as Top, her boyfriend. Which happened to be Rafe's bestfriend. Great, just her day. When he sat down, he immediately targeted her. "Huh, didn't know the circus was in town." Y/n Immediately stood up, ready to walk up to him and beat his ass, and she would have, if it wasn't for her friend who dragged her back into her seat.

Over Lunch, they had only said a few more words too each other. Mostly insults, some arguing over random shit that their friends were bringing up, and it finally felt normal again. Normal if Y/n ignored the nagging feeling of her heart strings tugging every time she looked up and saw the bruises on his face.

-

"He did what!?" Y/n's bestfriend yelled over the phone. She really, really tried not to tell her what Rafe did, but she just couldn't get the whole thing off her mind. Anytime she had a moment to think about anything, her mind would always lead her to a panicked Rafe forcing himself through her window, crying and begging her to let him stay over.

"It's not that big of a deal, we all know how Ward is.. I just feel bad, like maybe I'm being too mean to him." Y/n mumbles, tapping her pen on her desk while she stares at her homework that she has no plans of completing anytime soon. Chelsea scoffs over the phone.

"Y/n, he was being a dick first. You have every right in the world to be a bitch to him."

She groans, letting her head fall into her hands. "I just-", she stops at the sound of someone knocking.. on her window. She looks over to see a tired looking Rafe through the glass, his head is down and one of his hands is scratching at the back of his neck.

There’s got to be a reason he came back to her house, there’s no way his dad took his car keys again. Besides, why would he want to be here in the first place? They don’t like each other, they don’t get along, they can’t be around each other for more than 30 seconds without throwing insults around left and right, so why is he coming to her?

She sighs and looks back at her phone, "I.. I'll call you back Chelsea.." She says with a sigh before hanging up and getting up off of her desk chair, walking towards the window yet again. She slides the glass up quietly, and Rafe finally decides to look up at her.

He looks thoroughly exhausted, heavy bags under his eyes that he looks like he's having trouble keeping open. She just sits there staring at him for a second, giving him a frustrated look. He opens his mouth, then stops himself, Y/n wonders what he was going to say.

"What are you doing here, again." She mumbles, watching him frown and look down, fumbling his hands together in an anxious way. "Can I come in..?" He whispers, and Y/n doesn't know if it's on purpose or if he's too tired to talk any louder.

"Wow, actually asking me this time? How thoughtful of you." She says, rolling her eyes. He furrows his eyebrows, quickly losing his patience. "Can I come in or not?" He says a little louder, his voice sounded like it was barely working.

Y/n sighs and moves out of the way, allowing room for him to pull himself up and into her room. At least he's not soaking wet this time around.

She carefully closes her window, not wanting to make much noise, before looking back at Rafe. "You look tired." He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Ya' think?"

Y/n crosses her arms, giving him a pointed look that says 'if you keep acting like this I'm kicking you out.' He presses his lips together and looks around a little, before walking towards her desk and settling in the office chair that she had just been sitting in to do her homework.

"What are you doing?" Y/n asks, annoyed that he's waltzing around like he owns the place, typical Cameron. "I think-" He interrupts himself with a yawn, "I think I'll sleep in the chair, the floor hurt my back."

"No, this is my house, your sleeping on the floor. Besides, I was doing homework." She states, walking over to where he's sitting down, his eyes closed but his face still tense.

"Right, we get it, your better than everyone else miss 'I do my homework every night'." He uses finger quotations for the last part, and Y/n's patience is running thin. "Get. Out. Of. The. Chair." She says, one last time. He squints one eye open to look at her before sighing and standing up, wobbling around a little.

She smiles and seats herself down on her chair, but her little moment was almost immediately ruined by the person who ruins it best. As she turns around to revel in her win, she see's Rafe splayed out on her bed.

She hurriedly stands up. "Have you lost your mind! You are not sleeping in my bed." He just mumbles something incoherent and buries himself deeper into the pillow.

"Rafe!!" She almost yells, wincing at the fact that her dad might have just heard that. He groans and turns over onto his back. "I get it, we hate each other, but I just wanna sleep here.. until your done.. with.." He trails off, already falling asleep.

Y/n almost laughs at that.. Not the falling asleep part, nope, definitely not endearing. "Pfft.. You don't hate me, if you did you wouldn't be here." But before she could coax an answer out of him, he was already asleep. She groans and gives up, allowing him to sleep there, just until she was done with her homework of course.

-

After a two long hours of what felt like an endless amount of numbers and equations, she was finally done with all her homework. Her eyelids felt too heavy as she limped over to her bed, before remembering that a Rafe Cameron occupied it. She looked over his sleeping figure before reaching out and shaking him.

"Rafe.. Wake up.." She mumbled, shaking him a little harder, but to no avail. At this point, she was too tired to deal with this, and it would just have to wait until morning. She pushed his arm and leg over, making enough room for her to lay down without being close to him.

She yawned, reaching out to turn off her lamp.

"I'm scared, Y/n." She immediately stopped in her tracks, that bastard, he was awake the whole time. It took her a good ten seconds before his words even processed in her brain.

"Huh..? Of what..?" She mumbled, sitting up to turn and look at Rafe, who was staring at the ceiling with a lost look in his eyes. "He keeps.. He's getting worst, last time I was here.. because I left the fucking front door open.. I didn’t mean too..”

Y/n's heart drops at his words, and no matter how much she despises Rafe, she wouldn't wish something like this on her worst enemy. "I.. I'm sorry Rafe.." She whispers, truly meaning it.

When he finally looks at her, his eyes are half way closed and glossy, his bottom lip trembling. "I don't.. know what to do." He breaks down, tears streaming down his red cheeks.

Y/n doesn't even think before laying down beside him and putting an arm around his body, stroking up and down his arm in a soothing manner. "It's okay.. You'll figure it out, I promise."

[supernovafics]

series masterlist | last part — next part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3.8k words

warnings: explicit language, mentions of drinking and being hungover, a bit of angst

summary: a delayed flight back home leads to an abrupt realization that ultimately feels stupid because everything between you and steve is supposed to be over

CHAPTER FOURTEEN | ❝𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖❞

Fall Semester 2016

The music was loud and the bar was crowded but you didn’t mind it all that much. 

Robin cupped a hand around her mouth and leaned toward your ear so you could hear her. “Do you think there’s any chance that he’ll make it back here before the show starts, or at all?”

You pushed up on your toes to see if you could spot Eddie anywhere, specifically his mop of curly hair, but you couldn’t. He’d been tasked with grabbing drinks almost thirty minutes ago at this point. You looked back at Robin and leaned in toward her. “I’m starting to doubt it.”

“Well,” She started. “RIP, I guess. He will be missed.” 

“Truly,” You joked back, placing a solemn hand over your heart.

As if on cue, Eddie’s voice broke through the noise. “Finally!”

He was balancing two drinks in one hand and holding the other as he joined you both back at the small table that you were surrounding.

“Just in time, Edward,” Robin said. “I think the band’s about to finally go on.”

“You guys are welcome for the drinks that I almost died trying to get. The bar’s a shit show because some new guy just started.” 

“We’d already mourned you, though, so you being back now is a little awkward,” You told him teasingly and Robin laughed. 

“I guess I’ll just take this back then,” Eddie responded, reaching over to grab your glass. 

You playfully swatted his hand away. “Hey, hey! What I meant to say was you’re the best for getting these for us. You’re so awesome.” 

Robin nodded. “I agree.”

He smiled then. “Thank you. That’s what I like to hear.” 

The three of you waited for the band to come out— this small group that Robin really liked. She had found out about the show at the last second and, of course, asked you and Eddie to come along too. 

She and Eddie had been friends for the past month; they were in the same advanced music theory class, even though she was only a freshman. And you and her had only been friends for a little over a week, but it felt like longer. The long overdue introduction came in the form of Eddie inviting her along to the midnight showing of an Indie movie you and he were seeing. Aside from Eddie, there was no one that you’d been able to hit it off with so easily. 

It was a little after eleven when the show ended, and you all were still somewhat tipsy as you walked back to your dorm— you had done the second drink run in the middle of the show and made it back in record time. Since you lived alone, it was unspokenly decided that they’d stay with you for the night, it always just made the most sense. Robin had a roommate that she didn’t like (it reminded you of your own situation freshman year), and Eddie had two now that were actually present most of the time. 

The twenty-minute walk didn’t feel too long or unbearable. There was a cool breeze that was completely comfortable and made sense for the end of September. You lingered just a few steps behind Robin and Eddie, humming a specific part of a song from the show that had gotten stuck in your head and not at all focusing on the conversation happening between them. But then, a certain part of it stood out to you.

“I still don’t understand how you’re dating someone whose music taste is so different from yours,” Robin said to Eddie. You weren’t sure how the conversation got to that, but you had to admit, you did agree with Robin’s statement because it had never fully made sense to you either. 

Eddie and Chrissy were great together, you could see that clearly, but the how of it all was what confused you at first because they really did seem quite different. You eventually just accepted the fact that not all things were meant to make a whole lot of sense.

“Our love runs deeper than her bad taste in music,” Eddie answered. “Opposites attract and all that cliche shit.”

Maybe it was the slight inebriation, but you weren’t even fazed by how happy and completely content he sounded right then. Your feelings for him were gone— well, maybe not exactly gone, but at least far, far, far away.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Spring Semester 2018

Delayed flights were already one of the worst things ever. But delayed flights with a hangover felt like an entirely new version of hell.

A version that you were currently living in. 

In hindsight, it probably would’ve been for the best if you stopped at your third glass of champagne last night, but you didn’t, and neither did Steve. Instead, you both had more than you should’ve at the wedding reception, and then when you returned to your shared room, you two raided the minifridge for every tiny bottle of alcohol it had. 

From what you remembered about the majority of the night— the smiles and laughs shared between you and Steve and the drunken storytimes about the most random topics— you honestly didn’t regret most of it; even though you were now sitting in a chair that was too hard to get comfortable in and stuck with a four-hour flight delay. The bright fluorescent lighting in the airport only made your headache worse and you promptly stole Steve’s sunglasses, and he thankfully didn’t protest. 

“Robin thinks that you’re kidnapping me,” You told him as he sat back down next to you and handed over the water he got for you at one of the shops. You two were only one hour into the long delay. 

“I hope you’re endlessly defending me,” He said, giving you a smile. It was almost annoying how fine he seemed, barely any after effects from last night. 

“Of course I am,” You said, eyes back on your phone as you sent her a picture that you’d taken of a lizard from when you and Steve were at the beach on Sunday. The random picture felt like the perfect response to her ridiculous text of “He’s trying to kidnap you!” when you told her about the flight delay. “I feel like I especially have to defend you now because I owe you for last night.”

You didn’t look at him, not even when your phone was pocketed back in the front pocket of the hoodie you were wearing. It had been around one in the morning when the night came to somewhat of an abrupt end, and it was one of the two parts of the night that you did regret. When you and he were on the couch in your room— sharing a plate of room service french fries and watching an old kid’s movie because it was the only channel that had English subtitles— and you suddenly felt sick. Steve saw you puke (luckily you managed to make it to the bathroom) and he’d been way too nice about it, in your opinion; rubbing your back as the fries and everything else from that night came back up and grabbing a water for you— the only drink that was left in the minifridge aside from two bottles of soda. 

“You actually don’t owe me anything because you finally gave me a song last night,” He told you, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. 

You closed your eyes as you sighed. “I hate that you just brought that up.” 

You had tried your hardest to forget about the moment he was talking about when you woke up. But, you remembered it way too vividly, and it quickly became the other part of the night that you regretted. It felt worse than the puke moment, even though it happened before that, and it was the one thing that you wished you had blacked out on— you drunkenly pulling up the instrumental version of Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen, and using your phone as a microphone to sing it for him in your room. The memory of you jumping around on the couch as you did your very lively performance was almost too crystal clear in your head. The only thing that you were glad for when you woke up and sadly remembered that that happened was that there was no video proof of any of it since Steve’s phone had been dead. 

“That moment was supposed to be never spoken about and only taken to our respective graves,” You told him. “I’m gonna tell Robin that you are kidnapping me now. I hope you enjoyed twenty years of living because your days are now numbered, Harrington.” 

“I’m sorry for bringing it up,” You could still hear the smile in his voice, which only made you roll your eyes.

“Don’t forget that you also sang to me,” You reminded him, your own smile tugging at your lips as you remembered pulling up a song for him on your phone when you were done with yours and forcing him to sing. “And I truly loved the way you sang Since U Been Gone.” 

“I only did the first minute of it because I forgot how high it gets,” He said. “You gave me the entirety of Don’t Stop Me Now.” 

You groaned and pulled the hood of your hoodie over your head. “Don’t remind me.”

You heard his soft laugh in response and ignored it, knowing that things would feel a lot less embarrassing if you let the conversation shift to anything that wasn’t this. The sounds of everything else happening in the airport right then, couples and friends and parents with their kids moving around, filled in the silence as Steve took a sip from his own water bottle. 

“You hungry?” He asked. 

You shook your head. “Just tired.” 

You leaned your head against his shoulder then because all you really wanted to do at that moment was sleep. The way he was sitting made it a little awkward, your head resting more so on the point of his shoulder rather than in the curve of it. It definitely wasn’t the most comfortable position, but it wasn’t the worst. 

As if sensing your slight discomfort, Steve shifted a little, scooting a bit lower in the chair so that your head could rest a lot more comfortably on his shoulder. “That better?”

Your eyes were shut as you spoke. “So much. Thank you.”

He hummed in response. “Yeah, no problem.” 

Somehow even with all of the romantic couple stuff that you two had to do these past few days, it was this moment that actually managed to completely change things for you. This was the moment where your stomach did a weird fluttery thing that made you see things differently. This was the moment that made you want to kiss him for real. This was the moment that made you wish that this relationship wasn’t entirely fake and that there wasn’t an expiration date to this ruse that was quite literally tonight. This was the moment that made you realize that you were in way too deep. 

Although, maybe that feeling had been lingering and begging to be noticed the entire trip— during that moment in the pool, during that kiss at the wedding reception, during that slow dance. 

But still, it was right here in this stupidly bright airport that it all hit you like a freight train. And it only made your headache a thousand times worse.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You had three more hours of a flight delay and another handful of hours on a plane to reevaluate your feelings; to accept them for what they were or convince yourself otherwise. But, you didn’t do any of that. Instead, you pushed it away entirely. You let yourself fall asleep on Steve’s shoulder for an hour and a half, and then took him up on his offer for food because you figured it would probably help ease away your headache.

You had tried your hardest not to look at him any differently as you two sat across from each other at a restaurant that had really good burgers. You talked about the most unimportant things, spending what was probably too much time ranking TV shows you used to love as a kid and letting Steve go on random tangents about history topics. You’d never been a fan of History, but the way he talked about it actually made it sound interesting for the first time probably ever in your life, and it also helped you not think about anything else. And then you two were finally getting on your flight back home and you slept the entire time of that too. 

Now you sat in his car that was parked outside of your apartment building, and your maybe feelings for him were thankfully still the last thing on your mind. 

Both of you knew what was coming— the inevitable “break up”— but it seemed as if neither of you were ready to pull the trigger. So instead, you both were saying anything to prolong the conversation and keep the night going; you had even brought up the weather of all things just to give yourself another few minutes in his car. And almost an hour later you were still there, sitting in his passenger seat and waiting for the worried text from Robin that felt inevitable given how long it’d been. 

You were in the middle of trying to think of something to say, a question to ask, but Steve was speaking before you could. “Remember when you talked about maybe wanting to teach?”

You kind of forgot that you mentioned that to him before, and you silently wondered what brought up that question, but you nodded anyway. “Mhm, yeah.”

“Sometimes I think about doing that too,” He told you. “Teaching History. But, I know my parents would absolutely hate that.”

The first part of his words made a lot of sense to you because you could actually see that for him, and the rest of his statement made you frown.

“Yeah, but it’s your life at the end of the day, though,” You said. “You’re the one that has to live it, so you should do what you want.” Your mind was then reminding you of who his parents were, and how intense they were, before Steve got the chance to. “And I know that’s definitely easier said than done, and I’m probably making it all sound much simpler than it actually is, but it doesn’t make it any less true, y’know?”

It was quiet for a second and then he was nodding. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You looked away from him then and focused your gaze out the window for a bit. You could’ve kept the conversation going and let a random question fall from your lips, but there was only one thing left to do, and you knew that you had to finally do it. 

“Okay, and on that serious note, I think it’s time for me to make things even more serious,” You said, even though you were actually about to do the opposite. You reached over, looking down to find his hand in the semi-darkness and then meeting his eyes. “Steve, this last month has been amazing and I have truly felt honored to be your girlfriend. But, I think that we need to break up.” You took a brief pause; to make things more dramatic and also to think of what else to say to make this as cheesy as possible. “It’s not you, it’s me. I’m just not ready for a relationship. We’re getting too serious. I think we both want different things. Our lives are moving in such different directions…” You trailed off, trying to see if there were any cliches you were missing. “Yeah, I think those are all of the reasons that I have. Anyway, I’m sorry, but it’s over.”

He smiled at you, and you could tell that he was trying to hold back his laughter at how sincere your unserious words sounded. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“Thank you for understanding,” You said with a nod and a small smile on your face. “That was really hard to do.”

It wasn’t until your joking words came out that you realized that they weren’t that much of a joke at all. You were smiling and holding back your own laugh, but you actually felt sad about this entire moment.

You told yourself that it was the friendship that you were already mourning right then rather than anything else; this friendship that you’d accidentally but so easily developed with him. And you knew that it was over— "separate ways" and all that, just like it was written in the rules.

You didn’t really like Steve in any other way. You couldn’t. You refused to, actually, because you could sense that it would lead you down an all too familiar path of pining and unrequited feelings for obvious reasons— he didn’t want anything real or serious with anyone, and you were the opposite. 

You decided then that it was the act of fake dating that made you think that you liked him. The lines of it all abruptly became a little blurry because, of course, acting like you’re dating someone and pretending to be in love would lead to thinking that you actually had feelings for them. You quickly convinced yourself that there was no way there was anything real between you and him, and the only reason why it had suddenly felt that way was because you two had been acting like it for the past month and these extra two weeks. 

Steve was the one who initiated the hug when you two were standing outside of his car. It was a quick thing, nothing too dramatic or drawn out, which you were glad for because it made things less confusing.

“And you’re sure there’s nothing you want me to do for you about Eddie?” He asked when you both pulled back from the brief embrace and your hand found the handle of your suitcase. 

With everything else running through your mind at that moment— all of the conclusions you were coming to and the things you were convincing yourself of— you’d completely forgotten about the Eddie part of this. The complete truth still felt too hard to tell Steve, so you only gave half of it.

“I’m positive. It’s okay,” You said and gave him a small smile. “I’ll be fine. Me and Eddie are just supposed to be friends. I get that now.”

“Okay,” He responded, and you could tell that he was attempting to read you, see how much you actually meant your words. Inwardly, you knew just how true they were, and saying them right then finally didn’t even make you feel sad anymore. “Then, I guess we’re about to fulfill the final rule of the agreement right now.” 

Hearing him saying that pretty much confirmed everything that you had just been thinking. The timer was up and you two had to go your separate ways; even if the rule was scrapped it would be pretty impossible to be friends now anyway. There was no way you could be friends without telling the whole truth to everyone, so this was just much easier. 

And with what he just said, you knew that he didn’t see you two as actual friends or anything else, anyway. At the end of the day, you two were essentially just business partners. You thought back to that group project analogy that you came up with what felt like forever ago. The “project” was finally completed and now you two could go back to how your lives were before you’d been paired up. 

“Yeah. It was nice doing business with you,” You said and held out your hand for him to shake before realizing how dumb that probably was.

Steve laughed, though. A genuine sound that managed to make you smile and not feel like a complete idiot as his hand took hold of your outstretched one. “You too.” 

You walked away once his hand dropped from yours and when the final goodbyes were said, rolling your suitcase with you toward the entrance of your building and deliberately not looking back as you stepped inside because you didn’t know what you would feel if you turned around. 

Talia was the only one awake and in the living room when you walked into the apartment.

“Hey, glad to see you weren’t kidnapped like Robin thought,” She smiled at you. “How was the trip?” 

“Good,” You said, smiling back. “But, it feels even better to be home right now and not stuck in an airport. I missed my bed.” 

It didn’t feel like the right moment to drop the “break up” news, and plus, you weren’t in the mood to make up answers to the slew of questions that the news would bring about.

“There’s some cookies on the counter if you want them,” She told you and you immediately took a look over at the counter and noticed the clear container. “I tried out this new chocolate chip recipe that turned out really good, and everyone went crazy for them, but I managed to save you three.”

“God, that sounds amazing. I’ll be right back,” You said, heading to your room to drop off your suitcase and then take a quick shower.

You joined her on the couch after grabbing your cookies from the kitchen and didn’t even mind the unsettling true crime documentary she had playing on the TV. It was a moment that was so normal and familiar and just for a second it made you feel entirely at ease. Until you realized that this was how things were going to go now.

Solely back to moments that resembled this one— reality TV nights, game nights, enjoying Talia’s cooking with everyone, moments where none of you could sleep so you stayed up and talked about anything. What your life was before Steve. Back to normal.

That should’ve felt completely okay, but it didn’t, and that really confused you. 

Steve was someone who wasn’t in your life a month and a half ago so what would be the big deal about him not being in it now?

None of what happened this past month was real, you understood that, but for some insane reason, you already missed it. It had been a bad idea, but you missed it. It had been a waste of time for you, but you missed it. You’d felt like an idiot because of it all, but still, you found yourself missing it. 

It was so contradictory but also so true. And right then, it was hard to decide or even figure out what exactly that meant. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

next part!

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or taken off<333); @eddiernunson , @loulouloueh , @the-aster , @blckburd , @totally-bogus-timelady , @yujyujj , @irhdifartzamfyaa , @mochminnie , @munsonssweets , @blckbrrybasket , @xprloki , @definitionwanderlust , @dwcode , @sun-fiower-seed , @keerysfolklore , @damon-loves-pie , @lodeddiperrodrick , @bisexual-and-intellectual , @munsonburn3r , @negomi123 , @khena , @facexthexsunshine , @seatbacksandtraytables , @suckerfordylansstuff

(if your user is crossed out it means i can’t tag you</3)

[confield]

Been thinking about how a lot of people who tend to find out about music through algorithmic recommendations, Insta meme pages, or RYM all seem to gradually be gravitating towards the pretty niche genres of "skramz," "emoviolence," nth wave emo, etc, while remaining completely unaware of the dense heritage of extreme guitar music that allowed these microscenes to exist. Hardcore outnumbers screamo by volume 20000:1 but I have met like 50 well-to-do college kids into Orchid vs a total of 0 into Siege, Discharge, whatever. My girlfriend says that these predominantly online skramz bands are the way she can tell that people are "posers," but a "poser" implies that you are pretending to be something you're not, and many of these individuals don't even know that hardcore is responsible for the stuff that they like, so they can't even pretend to be into it in the first place.

Anyway. This is all to say. Orchid, Saetia, Pg99, Jerome's Dream, we had some great times when I was younger... I wish it didn't have to end like this

[velvetgutz]

Mine and Yours… (Pt. 1)

Leon Kennedy x M!reader

Summary: In what was probably the worse situation of your life, drunk and depressed at a bar with people you hate, a stranger at the bar lends you a hand…

Ao3 Link (More parts to come!)

When I pictured going to college for the first time, I thought It would be paradise compared to the pitiful high school experience I had. Never in a million years did I imagine I would be cramped in a shitty, 3 bedroom apartment with assholes from my high school,who judged me constantly for no real reason.

An ex-crush of mine, his girlfriend, and her best friend. All the same people who berated and humiliated me until graduation… But that’s not important.

I’ve always kept to myself, stayed as far away as I could, and minded my own business within the confines of our tiny apartment, not really ever interacting with them, or wanting to. So when they suddenly invited me to go out with them one night for drinks, dread pooled in my stomach. Even using the most absurd excuses couldn’t shake them from dragging me to whatever local bar they were planning to go to. Before I could protest any further, I was shoved into the back someones car, and on the way to the bar.

~

Screeching tires brought me out of an absent minded daze. I guess we’re here. The bar logo flickered every so often, neon lights disappearing in intervals. The place was fairly busy, a couple cars parked here and there. Stepping out into the crisp fall air, I exhaled deeply as a last ditch effort to rid myself of anxiety.

Generic Tiktok trend garbage floods my ears, and a familiar stench of alcohol sets me a bit at ease. My roommates gather at an already occupied booth. oh fucking great. An audible sigh falls from my lips. The occupants are friends of my roommates, all the more reason to be nervous.

Sitting at that table is not an option.

I begrudgingly walk over to the counter, picking the farthest seat possible. Not paying close attention, I ended up in the second-last seat, empty bar stool to my left and an occupied to my right. Waving over the bartender, my order was placed and shortly 2 shots sat in front of me. The more wasted I get the better I’ll feel. A intricate mixed drink was added to the palate for tonight.

From my peripheral view, the figure to my right stole a quick glance at my drinks and then to me, a look you’d miss if you blinked. Fuck, tonight’s gonna be hard…

~

My whole body burned from the alcohol in me. Even after drinking until I was almost too drunk to stand, the bicker and insults from my roommates couldn’t be blocked out. Could they just fuck off. If it wasn’t already obvious, the slurs thrown my way surely gave away there was a gay guy sat in the bar. The embarrassment enveloping me weighed down my body, almost resting my head on the counter as I swirled around another random cocktail in it’s glass.

Downing the last drops of my drink, I attempted to order another before a hand pushed mine flat to the counter.

“Don’t you think that’s enough for tonight, kid?” A rough, deep voice sounded in my ears. Ever so slightly turning my gaze to my right, my eyes focused on the man next to me. A dirty-blonde, mature looking guy. His hand moved from mine.

“Drinking doesn’t make it feel any better, go home.” He talked sternly. Who’s this guy think he is… My displeasure must’ve been written on my face, he let out a small sigh. “What’s the big deal with them anyways?” He tilted his head in the direction of the table behind us.

“My roommates,” I was slurring my words, the liquor was really hitting me. “thought it would be funny to take me out and announce to the whole world what a ‘disgusting faggot’ I am…” Fuck I sound pathetic. My voice came out low and raspy, alongside the slurring. A scoff sounded from the man as he downed the last of his drink. Slowly he stood up and stretched, reaching for my shoulder with a small tug.

“I’m calling you a cab, c’mon” There was that same tone of voice from before. I wanted to refuse and continue drowning myself in booze, but in the state I was in, refusal was impossible.

“I don’t want to go home…” It came out quiet, almost whining. Now half sat up, I was looking him in his eyes, pouting. He pulled me up from my seat the rest of the way and began to drag me out of the bar, laying a few big bills on the counter before our exit.

“I never said you had to go home.” I would’ve missed what he said if not for the sudden change of scenery. Outside the bar was cold, quiet. So quiet. Letting go of my hand, he grabbed a cellphone from his pocket and began calling someone. My whole body buzzed from how quickly I was brought upright and outdoors. Slowly swaying side to side, feeling the wind brush past me. Turning to the man, I watched him pull out a cigarette and bring it to his lips. A cloud of smoke bloomed shortly after as we stood on the sidewalk outside the bar.

“… cab will be here soon.” I was too focused on the way he looked in the streetlights to fully hear what he said. He was glowing, his features accentuated by the dramatic light shining down on us. “You there kid?” His fingers snapped in my face.

“Yeah, sorry…” Fighting myself not to gawk at him again became a challenge. “Where are you bringing me?” He glanced up the road, blinding headlights coming into sight.

“You can take my couch until you’re coherent,” he tossed the last of his cigarette to the ground, putting out the embers with his boot, “then you can go home in the morning.” The cab was here now, screeching to a halt. Grabbing my shoulder again, he guided me to the back of the vehicle, opening the door and motioning me in. Climbing in was hard, I was disoriented from everything I drank. He quickly joined me in the backseats, murmuring an address to the driver and slouching back into the seat next to me. What the fuck is my life… I relaxed as the cab began its route, my vision getting darker by the minute. As I swayed with the rhythm of the car, sleep took over…

[petruchio]

leaving college and immediately becoming like 10x happier. like oh so i guess it WAS [redacted] making me miserable. damn that’s crazy

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

job applications: this is entry level! anyone can apply!

job applications: ...as long as you've done at least six months of highly specific work, or have this exact degree, or if you kissed a chicken during the last moon of 2012-

[thedawningofthehour]

If anyone's ever distressed over the current situation in doth just remember that in the canon storyline, they're getting invaded by aliens right about now.

[stiffyck]

If I drop off the face of the earth for a few days it's because I am stressed as fuck

[shalom-iamcominghome]

honestly as another jew-in-progress i'm also very sad about no jewish related clubs or events being at my community college, but at the same time i definitely don't feel like i'm jewish enough to start one :( i've searched around at other community colleges near me and they also don't have any jewish clubs... do they even exist at non-universities lol

I totally empathize with you on this one. Honestly, I have no real advice since I'm very asocial (I guess some might interpret it as antisocial, but it isn't), but I really do hope you at least find some buddies 🩵🫂

Just know that at the very least, we're in the same boat anon

[pvremichigan]

Whoopsie time

[nerdierholler]

So I fired up book 1 Ethan today to maybe work on a thing. I’m not reading really just making a copy of text for reference. I have a document with all of his canon choices so I’m just plugging those in.

Ethan detail I decided on in the process: his apartment style. None of the apartment descriptions really fit for him. He’s vintage based on the available options but really, he’s a midcentury modern man. At least for living spaces. He wants more interesting shapes and colors than minimalist but it’s still really tidy and with clean lines. He’s picky about appearances but also on a budget. Most of what he has is modern reproduction but he’s trying to get authentic, or as close to authentic, as he can now that he’s making a bit more.

In the grand scheme, it’s actually very generic and not original but he feels like it’s a step up from all ikea or something. He is also kind of generic looking with a well put together style that is also very vanilla. He looks great in it but you also probably wouldn’t notice any stand out pieces or the outfit he wore two weeks ago. He’s a bland magazine looking man in a hipster magazine looking apartment. He thinks he’s doing great though and he does genuinely like all of it. It isn’t just for show.

[ehlnofay]

It’s not until she hears Sissel’s knees hit the floor that Efri is jolted back into her body.

She blinks, whipping her head around. Sissel is kneeling, bracing a palm on the ancient stone pavement, at the barrier – no, the barrier’s gone, it’s just Sissel on the floor. She lifts her head and meets Efri’s eyes; her hair is wispy and wild, the little plaits meant to keep it neat come loose and tumbling, her eyes wide. The barrier's gone, but still, her pale face is lit up blue.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She doesn’t speak loudly, but it echoes in the great stone chamber.

Nine, Efri doesn’t know.

She blinks again, looks down at her hands, clinging to the metal stick so fiercely that her joints ache. (Her own stick, her nice wooden one, is still on the floor somewhere, where it slipped out of her grasp when she hit the wall.) The lumpy heavy end of it, the clobbering end, is still resting on –

Not on. It’s in the thing’s head, fitted neatly in the opening of its dented helmet, the horns spiralling over the floor. There’s a tooth, perfectly preserved, by Efri’s foot.

One by one, she unwraps her gloved fingers from the handle of the metal stick, letting it drop to the floor with a clang so loud it makes her wince. Kazari is nosing at her side. (When did they let go of it? When did they get so close? She must have missed that. She feels out of the loop. Her heart is juddering like fish on a line, battering like some frightened trapped thing at her ribcage, and her breath is coming fast and heavy.) Absentmindedly bringing up a hand to press over her sore shoulder, she says, “’M fine. Not too – barely touched me.”

Kazari turns and spits on the floor. Efri blinks. She does it again, tongue lolling out of her mouth, face very disgruntled – and oh, Efri gets it. She does not glance down at the thing at her feet; she doesn’t need to, she knows what its arm looks like, chewed almost to pieces even through its banded armour. (If she hadn’t been so busy being scared of it, that sight might have made her a bit scared of Kazari. But not now, when they’re trying to hack and spit the taste of dead man arm out of their mouth.)

Efri unclips her canteen from her belt and holds it out. “Here,” she says. Her voice is rough. Her heart is racing too much to let constructing sentences be easy. “Not much, but –”

Kazari stands still while Efri tips half of the remaining water onto her tongue, and then Efri watches her swilling it around in her mouth, trying to bathe all of her teeth in it, before she spits it again on the floor at the dead thing’s feet.

The water is still clear. That’s something, at least; the dead man was too old to still have blood in him. Or maybe he was embalmed, drained of it hundreds of years ago, thousands.

“Are you okay?” Efri asks Kazari when they’re done, because they were the one doing most of the fighting, who was closest. They tip their head, shift their weight – wince when they put weight on one foot. Their lips peel back from their teeth. Their clothes on that side are singed.

Efri points it out. “Your robe,” she says, which makes it sound much fancier than it is. She’s too tired to think of a better word. She rubs a hand over her face, pushing the hair back over her forehead, says, “I’ll reinforce it for you when we get out.”

Kazari noses at Efri’s shoulder – the shredded fabric of her dress, the fraying edges stained with blood. Efri says, “I know. I’ll have to sew that up too.” Over her shoulder, she calls, “Kazari’s leg’s hurt, I think.”

“There’s blood on you,” Sissel replies. She peels her hand off the floor and leans back on her heels.

Efri touches her shoulder again. “’S fine,” she says. “Just a scrape. The blood’s drying already.”

It’s really sore, actually – the flesh abraded and tender, an ache sinking deep into the muscle – but it’s normal sore, the kind of sore you really should be after being thrown into a wall. It doesn’t feel sprained or dislocated or anything like that.  Just like it will be bruised a whole rainbow of colours come tomorrow.

Kazari noses at it again. She leans too far forward and falters on her maybe-hurt leg – rights herself, wincing, and rolls her shoulder. It gleams, just for a moment, and she nearly stumbles again. Efri puts out a hand to steady her. (It doesn’t really accomplish anything – Efri’s strong, but she’s not that strong – but it’s the principle of it.) “What was that spell?”

“Pain relief,” Sissel says from behind her. “I think. Doesn’t actually fix anything, but.”

“You’ll be okay ‘til we find someone?” Efri asks, and Kazari nods. She presses a hand against their shoulder and nods back.

They both turn to look at Sissel, then, who’s just kneeling on the floor, sitting on her heels.

“You all right?” Efri asks her.

“All right,” Sissel confirms. She doesn’t look at them. “Didn’t even come near me.”

She’s staring.

Efri crosses the floor to stand with her. (She needs to lean on Kazari – her legs are too wobbly, and she doesn’t want to touch the dead thing’s stick, doesn’t want to look for her own. Kazari limps a little on their sore front leg.) There’s a moment of total, humming silence – all of them still and staring, necks craned back, looking up at the thing.

Whatever it is.

It’s a ball. Big and blue and shimmering, it floats above a wide crystalline dish set into the floor, spinning on an axis. Just spinning and spinning and spinning, endless motion. Its smooth surface is cut through with dark wavering lines, etched with lettering, and it doesn’t quite glow but it doesn’t not glow, either, the light moving across it silkily, like clouds in a blue sky. It looks like something that should be humming – a low pitch in their ears, an eerie shiver dancing over their skin – but it’s silent. Inert, maybe, but for the spinning.

“What is it?” Efri asks. Her voice cracks as she speaks. She looks down at Sissel’s face, staring as though mesmerised, illuminated by the room’s dim lighting – the fires that should not still be burning down here, the luminous not-glow of the ball.

Sissel says, “I don’t know. Something important.”

Hovering above the dish, it spins, and spins, and spins.

“Is it what the ghost was talking about?” Efri asks. She tilts her head and squints at it. It doesn’t – well, it looks strange and unearthly and powerful, but it isn’t doing anything. And it hadn’t been clear what the ghost was talking about, exactly, according to Sissel, just that it was something important – but what else could it be?

Sissel, still watching it, shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says. “I think so.”

Efri watches it with her, brushing a bit more hair out of her face. It’s sticking to her sweaty forehead. She feels a drip of not-dry blood running down her arm under her sleeve.

Kazari is staring at it too – just as confounded as the rest of them. Efri sees the light in their irises shifting as the ball spins.

They’re not learning anything from staring, the ball staying strange and mysterious as ever, so Efri raps her knuckles against her sternum to steady her breathing (it’s slowed a bit – not normal, but closer to it) and climbs up onto the stone rimming of the dish. Kazari, behind her, lows in consternation; Sissel catches her breath, a noise like a creaking door. “Careful,” she says.

“Promise,” Efri replies, and places her feet very, very carefully on the glassy blue flooring. Nothing happens. She doesn’t step on the dark curved lines as she treads toward the ball in the centre, slow and wary as if she were approaching a skittish animal. Nothing happens.

She reaches out, and, with just the tips of her fingers, she grazes the ball’s surface.

Nothing happens.

It’s cool to the touch, and smooth, like polished metal or not-frozen ice or delicate glasswork. It continues to spin gently under her fingers, warming her glove with friction, no smudges left on its clouded face.

 It really feels like there should at least be a tingle running up her arm, a strange and unfamiliar current, a spark. But it’s just Efri, standing with an arm outstretched, pressing her hand to a ball.

“It’s not doing anything,” she reports, and Sissel clambers up onto the dish with her, fitting her palm to its gently hovering underside. Kazari balks, begins pacing agitatedly. Efri frowns. “Why isn’t it doing anything? Shouldn’t it be doing something?”

“It’s important,” Sissel says definitively. There’s ancient dust on her fingers, but none of it seems to transfer. “It’s something really special, I think.”

Efri shifts restlessly. She shifts her grip and tries to grab onto the dark ridged curves ringing its surface, but they slip easily away from her grasp as though her touch was no barrier at all. “But what does it do?”

Sissel shrugs.

Behind them, Kazari lows.

Efri drops her hand and grabs Sissel’s wrist. “C’mon,” she says, and when Sissel frowns at her, “We’re not going to learn anything about it this way. We have to look for clues!”

Kazari makes a more impatient noise. (Efri thinks she found a clue.)

Sissel gives the ball one last searching look and lets Efri tug her away, off the weird blue dish and down to where Kazari stands on the stone floor, at the head of the table where the dead man sat. Efri sniffs loudly and tries not to think about it too much. The table is smooth polished stone, worn a little away with time; Efri trails a gloved finger over the edge and directs her attention to where Kazari points with their chin.

There’s something carved into the surface, the edges blunted and shapes softened by however many years it must have been since it was put there. Efri squints, trying to make it out. She has to stand right up on her tiptoes to get the right angle to see much of it in full.

“That’s not letters,” she says eventually, frowning. She’s pretty sure she knows her alphabet well enough by now to know that. “Is it magic?”

Sissel shakes her head. “I don’t know what it is. It’s not like magical writing I’ve ever seen.”

Efri looks at Kazari, who also shakes her head. “Maybe it’s a different sort of lettering,” she theorises. It must have been written a long time ago, if it’s from back when the city had people. Onmund’s been reading all about it for ages, and he’s told her a bit – Saarthal was the city of Atmorans, populated by proto-Nordic people. All complicated history stuff. But they weren’t quite the same as Nords today, he said, so it stands to reason they had different writing, too. They’re supposed to be uncovering and cataloguing artifacts (at the thought, Efri glances back at the hovering ball and swallows an inane bubble of laughter) so she suggests, “Maybe you can copy it and we can show it to someone. I’m sure there’ll be someone at the College what knows what it is.”

Sissel, also standing on her toes, nods dutifully. “What will you do?”

The chamber they’re in is cavernous, and about empty but for the ball in the dish, the altar and chair, the body on the ground. “I’ll check him,” she says, and points. “See if he has anything on him that’s special.”

Sissel follows her finger and grimaces.

She digs out her note-paper and her stick of char, and Efri assumes it’s clues time, but when she turns she feels a hand grip her elbow. She looks back over her tattered shoulder at Sissel’s face, her furrowed brow.

“Promise you’re really okay?” she says, voice anxious and solemn.

“Promise,” Efri says, twisting her arm to touch her friend’s hand. Sissel presses her lips together and lets go of her arm.

Kazari trails after Efri to look at the dead man.

First thing is the metal stick. It’s magic someway, Efri knows – he waved it and threw her into a wall, flung spells with it – but she’s not sure how. Doesn’t know enough about enchantments. Didn’t need to, to use it; when Kazari clamped down on his arm she just ripped it from his grasp and –

She doesn’t quite exactly remember, actually, except for the bitter tang of adrenaline in her mouth and nose, the horrible grunting and scuffling sounds, the heft of the stick in her hands. Impact, over and over and over, against something that had a little more give each time.

Efri scrubs a hand over her mouth and grips the handle of the stick. It takes effort to wrest it out of the thing’s face, caught as it is by the edges of the helmet, and when it’s finally yanked free it’s – actually not as bad as she might have expected. There’s no blood, and the corpse was so desiccated it already didn’t even really look like a person anymore, so it registers less as someone with horrible violence done to it and more as a really gross art piece. It’s not nice. She doesn’t like the twisted, gaping mouth, teeth embedded wrong-ways in its tissue and scattered like coins over the floor. And one of the eyes, which had glowed unearthly blue, is now a dull, rotten black, squished like a plum in its socket.

It's worse the more she looks. She sniffs and turns away.

“This is magic, right?” she asks Kazari, testing the weight of it in her hands, the cool surface of the metal, and they nod. “A good artifact?” she adds, and they nod again, emphatically. Efri sets the stick aside and kneels.

It wasn’t wearing any clothes, really – or if it was, they rotted away. She touches the rusted armour gingerly, tries to avoid brushing her gloves against the shrivelled skin at all. Whoever it was had expensive taste, it seems – there’s jewellery in a shockingly well-preserved beard, pendants around the neck, armbands. Efri asks Kazari if each thing is enchanted. No to the armbands, no to the beard-ring, and then, pressed against the wizened chest where the flesh contours to the ribs, she finds some kind of necklace, sharp-edged and thrumming. Kazari nods to that, and, face scrunched up like an old fruit, Efri reaches around the ancient neck to slip it off.

She tucks it into a belt pocket with the tripwire necklace they found at the weird wall.

“Done,” Sissel says. She folds her paper and slips it into her own pouch. Her footfalls on the echo-y stone floor as she approaches the body for the first time are almost silent. “Did you find anything?”

“Necklace,” Efri replies, watching Sissel’s face pinch at the sight of him. “And – stick.” She scoops up the metal stick and holds it out. “He did spells with it.”

Sissel looks at it warily. “Is he a draugr?” she asks, glancing back down at his mashed-up face.

“I mean,” Efri says, “he’s got to be, right?” She’s certainly never seen a draugr before, but what else could it be?

(Calling it a draugr makes her shiver, the set of her shoulders quaking. She’ll stick to dead man.)

Sissel shudders. She reaches out to grip the handle of the stick, and Efri’s not sure if she’s taking it or just trying to keep herself upright. “I can’t believe that happened,” she says. Her voice sounds, suddenly, fragile. “I can’t believe we’re alive.”

“Me neither,” Efri says. She presses the tip of the stick into the ground so Sissel can lean on it, stands a little unsteadily.

Kazari, with a hushed murmur, telegraphs something. Efri recognises the head incline of understanding – she’s familiar with that word, that idea – and, after a moment, the flickering ear of doubt.

“They’ll have to believe us,” she says with conviction, because she means it. “We’ll show them. They’ll see for themselves.”

Kazari presses their nose to her head.

Efri clasps her hands together. “We’ll go tell someone now,” she declares – though it’s easier said than done; they were lost in the ruins ages before they even found the crumbling wall, the halls, this horrible wonderful chamber. But they’ll get un-lost eventually. They’ll get out eventually. Surely. They have practice enough with walking. “But first – help me find my stick.”

[killerandhealerqueen]

新年快乐!🐉

Happy Chinese New Year!🐉

Wishing you a prosperous year of the Dragon! 🐉