#draft graveyard

[chashupak]

That one BG3 fanfic deleted scene pack where Pre-orb Gale cries over roses, shows symptoms of being a stuck-up nerd, panics over last-minute project changes, and fails at dice

Ongoing Fanfiction Link: [The Starfall Gambit]

Why scrapped: Moving my action-oriented scenes up as the hook. Weaving relevant information into existing chapters.

Chapter I.1.1 To Ashes

A boy clutched his mother’s apron, tears mingling with the dirt and soot smudged across his cheeks. The garden looked wrong now. Where pretty roses had been, only black stems stuck up from burnt dirt, like accusing fingers. He hadn’t meant to hurt them. He just thought they wanted more light.

“Do not mourn, Little One,” a voice cut through his sobs, cool and clear like water.

The air felt funny. Like right before lightning strikes. She appeared in a shimmer. Her robes changed colors that Gale couldn’t even name. Her eyes looked like the night sky, full of stars.

Gale wiped his nose with his sleeve. “B—But I hurt them. They were so pretty.”

She knelt down, and when Her hand touched his cheek, it felt cold as winter against his hot face. Everyone seemed far away now. Just him and her in the whole world.

“Power answers intent," She said, Her voice gentle but firm. "Your sorrow shows you understand the cost. That is good."

Gale stared at the ashes, still feeling awful. The magic in the air looked prettier than the flowers had ever been—swirling and alive. It only made him feel worse.

“Does that mean I’ll always break things?” he asked, small and unsure. “When I do magic?”

She looked at him with those star-filled eyes.

"No," She said, sounding like she knew everything in the whole wide world. "It means you will learn. And you will be great."

From the ashes, something bloomed. Not a rose but something new. It had petals that shone with colors like Her dress.

A little spark lit up inside him, pushing back against the bad feelings. Her words felt like a warm blanket on a cold night. Like a promise.

He wanted to believe Her.

He wanted to be great.

Chapter I.1.2 The Skies Above

The towers of Sharn pierced the sky like needles through velvet, their peaks dissolving into a lattice of bridges and arcane lights. Below, the city stacked itself in defiance of nature. Stone, steel, and ambition compressed into a monument to mortal audacity, as if challenging the gods themselves.

Gale stood at the balcony's edge in the Upper Deck of the Sky Tournaments, inhaling air too thin and too perfumed for common lungs. The voices of spectators from below reached him as mere whispers, appropriate to their station. Sky-chariots cut through clouds, their elemental wakes painting temporary auroras across the evening sky.

He studied their engines with clinical detachment. Raw industrial magic—crude but effective, like a butcher's cleaver compared to a surgeon's scalpel. The innovation deserved acknowledgment, if not admiration.

"Your assessment of the southern district's stabilization efforts was brilliant, Magister," simpered a noble to his left.

"The Academy still speaks of your treatise on planar convergence," added a scholar to his right.

Gale nodded, offering the precise dose of attention their station warranted—neither so little as to offend nor so much as to encourage further intimacy. Their flattery formed a familiar waltz, one he'd witnessed in a hundred courts with a hundred different partners. He'd mastered the steps years ago.

His thoughts remained fixed on his true purpose: the Netherese tome Mystra had tasked him to recover. It lurked somewhere in this gilded gathering, hidden beneath layers of pomp and spectacle.

"'Scuse me! Mr. Chosen, Sir!"

The voice jarred against the cultured murmurs surrounding him. A gnome bulldozed through the crowd, trailing oil stains and enthusiasm in equal measure. Without preamble, he conjured a blueprint that hovered between them, runes pulsing with potential.

"You must see this enhancement to the city's levitation fields! We've realigned the sigilwork to respond to gravitational shifts. Entire districts stabilized!"

Despite his cultivated aloofness, Gale leaned forward. His fingers hovered over the glowing runes, not touching but tracing their contours in the air. "Clever," he murmured, academic hunger momentarily overwhelming practiced restraint. "You've adjusted the harmonic resonance against the planar flux. But wouldn't that destabilize under erratic Weave fluctuations?”

For a heartbeat, the persona slipped. No longer Mystra's Chosen performing dignity, but simply Gale, a scholar encountering innovation worthy of his intellect. The thrill of discovery sparked in his chest, bright and dangerous.

He caught himself reaching toward the blueprint and withdrew. What was he doing? Mystra's mission remained unfulfilled. This mortal sigilwork, however ingenious, was mere distraction.

Yet She wasn't here. No divine whisper reminded him of his station, his duty, his necessary distance from lesser magics.

Perhaps one brief indulgence.

Gale composed his features, subduing the earnest curiosity to something more appropriately measured. "Apologies, sir. I forget myself. What was your name?"

The gnome's face split with a grin too wide for its confines. "Tibbles Clockmort, Your Chosenness!"

"Gale of Waterdeep will suffice." He permitted himself a genuine smile, the rarity of it making it feel nearly illicit.

With a perfunctory glance at the nobles—their disappointment apparent but irrelevant—he guided Tibbles toward the balcony's edge. "If you'll allow me a moment, Gentlemen."

Leaning over the railing, Gale examined the floating blueprint properly. Questions flowed naturally, each answer spawning three more inquiries. The conversation deepened, excavating theoretical foundations and practical applications with equal fervor. For the first time since arriving in Sharn, Gale felt the joy of unguarded intellectual exchange.

Then—a flicker of movement below caught his eye. Not remarkable for its elegance but for its dissonance, like a wrong note in a familiar composition.

His explanation faltered mid-sentence. An old irritation resurfaced, immediate and visceral.

Among the churning crowds of the lower stands moved a human figure he recognized instantly. Sun-bleached brown hair, carelessly braided. Storm-gray eyes that missed nothing while appearing to notice nothing. She navigated the throng with the easy confidence of someone who belonged everywhere and nowhere.

She made deals with a grin, laughed at whispered exchanges, touched shoulders as easily as she stole glances. She moved between people like shadow through candlelight.

That gait. That audacity.

The interloper from Elturel...

Chapter I.2.1 A Cage of Light

Elysium breathed with magic. Not the subtle whisper of mortal realms but a violent symphony that demanded submission. Power coursed through floating runes and crawled across Gale's skin like hungry insects. Even the marble beneath him pulsed with divine intention.

And then there was Her.

“You shape the Weave with such precision, My Chosen.”

Gale exhaled, letting Mystra’s words wash over him like the final note of a well-woven spell. Her praise lingered on his tongue, rich and heady as aged wine.

His hands framed his creation, arcane script suspended between them like a constellation bound by his will alone.

Intricate. Flawless. Divine-worthy.

She had not touched him. Not yet.

"Every thread I weave has purpose.” He stepped to Her side. The coolness that emanated from Her form prickled his skin. "I've devoted more to the art than most men give to love." His voice softened, teasing. "Though I'd like to believe I've offered you plenty of both."

Mystra's violet eyes flickered to his, ancient welts that reflected nothing back. Something unstable shimmered between them, possibility and disappointment hanging in perfect balance.

Her fingers barely brushed his spell, but it was no caress. The lattice shuddered, twisting inward like dying stars. Irreversibly altered.

Wrong.

Gale’s brow furrowed. No miscalculations. No imperfections. Yet it rejected him now.

Mystra smiled. “You recall Elturel, do you not?”

A test. Always tests.

“The planar disturbance.” He straightened, masking the tremor in his voice. “A nobleman’s arrogance nearly unstitched reality itself. I arrived in time to prevent catastrophe.”

“Did you?” Two simple words, a scalpel drawing blood.

Gale's fingers curled at his sides. "If you are referring to that bystander—"

Mystra watched him, letting silence stretch between them. The memory flickered unbidden.

The Weave, balanced on a razor's edge. His magic, controlled and calculated. Then suddenly—gone. Yanked out from under him like a drunkard flipping a board game.

A reckless woman with storm-gray eyes, redirecting energy without technique or reverence. The portal snapping shut with her at its epicenter.

No mastery. Just results.

Neat. Efficient. Effective.

A cheat.

"Why do you believe she got involved?" Mystra's voice pulled him back.

His jaw tightened. “Misplaced heroism.”

Mystra's lips curved with quiet knowing. She touched his chin, Her fingers cold as starlight, guiding him to face the altered construct. It hummed wrong notes, dissonant and beautiful.

"You dismiss it, My Chosen, but it reaches places your precision does not." The construct flickered, and he recognized the sensation now. Unstructured. Instinctive. "Even the finest spellbook cannot hold every incantation that exists."

Her touch lingered, clinical rather than loving. No reward. No reassurance. Rather than a lover caressing her beloved, She touched him like an artisan examining an old piece. Where once that touch had sparked divine fire, now it left only frost.

His heart constricted. He had given everything to Her—youth, devotion, brilliance—and still it wasn’t enough.

Gale forced his spine straighter. Precision and control. His defining virtues. What She had molded him to embody. What made him worthy.

As She drifted away, his gaze caught the empty space beside Her, a void he once thought he might fill.

He traced the Weave.

And this time, he forced himself to see the cracks.

Chapter I.2.2 The Stands Below

The Lower Deck devoured all who entered. Where the Upper Deck floated in perfumed refinement, this level throbbed like an exposed nerve. A seething, living thing as loud as the industrial magic that crackled through its steel bones. Flesh made of bodies pressed sweat-to-sweat. Rust and ale and smoke formed a physical presence, something you tasted more than smelled. Each surface held treachery: floors slick with spilled drink, tables scarred from brawls, shadows concealing predators and prey indistinguishable from one another.

A raw, unbridled cacophony that breathed in sparks and exhaled thunder.

Gale pushed through this wilderness with a discreet spell that bent attention away from him. Despite this precaution, his fine robes and straight-backed posture marked him as clearly as a torch in darkness. One hand hovered near his spellbook, both protection and comfort in this alien landscape.

Scholarly curiosity—at least, that’s what he told himself—had led him from the safety of the Upper Deck into this den of structured chaos. The truth was more elemental: he needed to see her again, the woman from Elturel who had unraveled his spell with intuition where he had built it with calculation.

It hadn’t taken long to spot her.

She commanded a gambling table like a general at a battlefield. Sleeves were rolled to expose forearms corded with lean muscle, a single hoop earring catching the lantern light as she laughed. A faint scar tracked along her wrist, visible as she flipped a coin into the growing pot.

"You've got to give it up, Viktor," she teased, her voice cutting through the ambient roar. "That grin's charming, but it's going to be a real problem when someone notices your teeth." She winked at the rough-hewn barbarian across from her, sparking a cascade of laughter that seemed disproportionate to the joke.

Then—there it was. Her fingers twitched, the Weave responding to her silent command. The dice wobbled in mid-throw, their trajectory altered. No incantation. No structured spellwork. Not even a proper cantrip.

Just like last time. Telekinesis? Perhaps the barest of components. A distorted variety.

His lips pressed into a thin line. She played the Weave like a weathered lute, rough and impulsive. A thief picking magic's pockets without a thought to the cost, to the discipline required. To the reverence magic deserved.

And yet… no one protested. No one even noticed. While he detected the disrespect to the Weave itself, her fellow gamblers saw only her charm, her wit, her carefully crafted distraction.

Before reason could intervene, he approached the table. "I'd be loath to let such an engaging game go unstudied. Might there be room for one more?"

Eyes assessed him with predatory calculation. How much could they relieve him of? How quickly?

But when she looked up, recognition flashed before being smoothed over with a grin, disproportionately familiar given their last encounter.

"Feel free." She gestured at an empty seat. "And you are..." Her eyes lingered on every landmark that set him apart—fine robes, enchanted jewelry, perfectly groomed brown locks. Her gaze weighed him with frank appraisal, neither impressed, nor dismissive.

Then she tilted her head. "Prince Charming?"

The table erupted in laughter, rough and genuine at his expense. Gale smiled thinly as he took a seat, refusing to give an inch. "Flattering, but just Gale. Though I can't fault you for assuming nobility."

She hummed, noncommittal. "All right, Gale."

She performed introductions with theatrical flair, ending with a hand settled on her chest, chin lifted in mock ceremony. "Lyanna."

Gale dropped his coin pouch onto the table, its weight punctuating his arrival. Its heft drew appreciative glances. "Pleasure."

The next few hands passed in a dance of mundane gambling, but Gale's attention never strayed from Lyanna's fingers. He watched for the telltale shimmer in the Weave, the disrespectful tug at magic's threads. When the Tabaxi woman rolled the dice, he caught it—Lyanna's casual touch of magic, ready to tip fate's scales.

With surgical precision, Gale countered. A whisper of his own magic nullified hers, leaving a faint shimmer of purple-blue energy that only a trained eye might catch. The dice fell naturally. The Tabaxi squealed with delight at her unexpected win, oblivious to the magic simmering beneath perception.

Lyanna's eyes snapped to him. One finger against the wood, thoughtful. She raised her ale, amusement ghosted across her lips.

"Someone's paying attention," she murmured, her storm-gray eyes meeting his over the rim of her mug.

Gale inclined his head, an unspoken challenge.

The starting buzzer of the tournament blared, sky-chariots roaring, eyes drawn skyward. Lyanna leaned forward, slamming her mug down with a decisive thud.

With each round, their contest deepened, transcending the mundane games around them. The air buzzed with overlapping deals and thunderous cheers, but Gale and Lyanna remained locked in their private contest. Their magic wove through the ordinary gambling like silver threads through base cloth.

Every nullification he performed was technical perfection. Every counter she devised was infuriatingly novel, slipping past defenses like water through cracked stone.

"Lucky," she remarked when his perfectly controlled spell yielded a winning roll.

"Fortune favors the skilled,” he replied with the same scholarly condescension that had earned him both admiration and exasperation from students back in Blackstaff.

Her fingers brushed the table's edge. When she tossed her dice, they wobbled mid-air a heartbeat too long. The Weave bent to her will, careless and unbounded. The dice landed perfectly.

Gale exhaled through his nose.

"Jealous?" she asked.

"For a fluke? Hardly."

As their magical duel intensified, something tugged at Gale’s awareness, a pattern emerging from what he’d assumed was chaos.

When Lyanna manipulated the dwarf's roll, ensuring the dwarf stayed in the game despite poor odds, Gale didn't interfere. He watched as she clasped the dwarf's shoulder, her laughter genuine as she teased him about his vices.

Understanding dawned like a slow sunrise. His gaze swept across the table, seeing the larger design for the first time.

The dwarf, still in the game by a thread. The barbarian, leading just enough to feed his bravado. The Tabaxi, engaged in flirtatious rivalry that had nothing to do with the game. The half-orc, locked in heated competition with the barbarian, their bets climbing higher with each round.

She wasn't chasing victory. She was orchestrating an experience. Shaping the game to maximize engagement, to keep everyone invested emotionally as well as financially. Like feeding kindling to a fire.

The realization unsettled something in him. Magic had its plethora of uses, that he knew. Yet, while his set him apart in a league all his own, hers drew people in. A truth he’d been trained to dismiss as frivolous.

Her eyes met his across the table, a knowing quirk of her brow. As if, for a fleeting moment, he'd glimpsed the real game beneath it all—neither dice nor magic. But rather, she played to their desires, their rivalries, their needs all balanced in a delicate social alchemy.

"Relax, Charming," she said. "It's just a game."

The words stung more than they should have. Perhaps they were only intended as surface-level banter, but they felt like a dismissal of everything he stood for, everything he’d dedicated his life to perfecting. This wasn’t “just a game”, but the very architecture of reality itself.

On the final round, Gale doubled down. Whatever social experiment she conducted, his purpose remained clear. To demonstrate proper control, to teach through example.

He gripped the dice, infusing them with magic of absolute precision. A guaranteed, undetectable victory. The dice tumbled, the Weave humming between them like a plucked string.

Lyanna watched, her head tilted with something like disappointment. Then, just as the dice were about to land, the Weave shimmered. Not opposition, not a counterspell, but a whispered augmentation that made his magic blindingly obvious to everyone present.

The table erupted before the dice settled. Scoffs. Jeers. The barbarian let out a long, unimpressed whistle.

"A shame," Lyanna said, rising with fluid grace. Her expression held none of the triumph he expected, only a flickering regret. As she passed behind him, she leaned close enough that her breath warmed his ear.

"You wouldn't have liked winning like that anyway."

The hem of her coat lifted as she moved to leave, revealing the worn leather of a belt fitted with more pouches than one might expect. Her hand grazed his shoulder—a brief, thoughtless touch that left an inexplicable warmth.

"Try not to let it ruin your night, Upper Crust," she called over her shoulder. Then she exhaled, smoothing a hand over the back of her neck as she melted into the crowd. As if the game had only ever been a momentary diversion.

Gale barely registered the murmurs of disdain from the table, his mind still replaying that final move. She'd caught him in a trap of his own making. Not by opposing his magic, but by revealing it. Why? To teach him some lesson? To humiliate him?

Or perhaps, most disquieting of all, because she'd recognized something in him that he wasn't ready to see in himself.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

[eclipse-has-adhd]

logan looks like a sickly victorian child in this

LOOK AT HIM

[somegrumpynerd]

A bunch of doodles inspired by @wickjump saying Cross has an eternal kicked puppy look (and steadily devolving into dadmare because y'know. My Brand)

[clownin44]

Not to demonize Ben's parents,

BUT, if someone like MAVERICK can admit the adults in his life failed him, I can too.

This drives me insane.

I have SO many questions.

Why did Shane want Ben to be in his group? Yes, he's tall and intimidating, but surely he's not the only one in their grade who fits that description. How long did this go on for? Aiden said It happened "every day," but how many days is that? How come Aiden literally can't remember if this happened in 6th or 7th grade? Where did the bullying take place? At school? How did he leave the building with those injuries without an adult noticing that something was wrong? How come his parents didn't say anything to the school board when their son came home, covered from head to toe in bruises? And if they did, why was nothing done?

"Clownin44, that's a little harsh. Give them the benefit of the doubt!"

He (11-13 year old boy) was sneaking out of the house, coming home late, and getting into STREET fights. The main and only reason he stopped was because he put his family in danger, and while I understand you can't help someone who won't accept help, they had EVERY opportunity to help him before it got to that point. He is a child. They are his parents. What if Ben never fought with the young boy whose older brother was in a gang? How long would this have gone on for? I don't know if you know anything about street fighting, but experience matters. This wasn't an act of rebellion. This was incredibly dangerous.

The worst part about it all is that Shane got what he wanted. Sure, Ben didn't join his group, but he did "fix" what he thought was wrong with Ben and inadvertently taught him how to fight. He wasn't expelled for putting him in the hospital. He wasn't expelled for bullying him or for getting his "group" to gang up on him, too. Shane was still in school by the time Ben recovered, and he would've continued to go to school with him if he hadn't moved in with his aunt and uncle. The entire thing was a disaster from start to finish.

Now, consider this; Ben has a younger sister he is incredibly protective of that he doesn't get to see very often. He physically can't be there for her if she ends up going through the same things he did. How can he trust that their parents won't fail her, like they failed him?

side note; the fact that we don't see Ben interacting with his parents, while Lily is basically racing into his arms, hurts me so bad. ARE THEY NOT CONCERNED? DO THEY NOT MISS HIM? DID I MISS A PANEL OF THEM OR SOMETHING? GOSH!!!

I get that it might not be that serious, and we never got to see how his parents handled the situation, so maybe they really were just doing their best, but I had to rant about this because I'm sooo sick and TIRED!!

[joellalovestoread]

Is the Aiden obsession hitting you like a ton of bricks, dear moot?

...Because I approve, I too have one.

YES. Aiden for life my friend!

[zombie-ghost-1234]

In honor of pride month being a few days away, here are

Characters that I headcanon as arospec (and why)

My credentials?

👇

DISCLAIMER: As stated, these are HEADCANONS, I am in NO WAY saying that these are canon!! Anyways

Ashlyn Banner (School bus graveyard)

Demi-romantic

Reasoning:

I feel like she doesn't catch feelings that easily and has a sorta difficult time building relationships (both romantic and platonic) in general but when she does she's very loyal (that may be ooc sorry I haven't reread the comic in a good while)

That's why I headcanon her as demi-romantic she just doesn't seem like the type to fall in love at first sight, it takes more than that, an emotional connection.

Logan Fields (School bus graveyard)

Aroflux

Reasoning:

I just can't explain it, it's like a feeling yk? I have no canon evidence, just vibes.

Aoi Akane (Toilet bound Hanako-kun)

Aegoromantic (or cupioromantic depending on how you look at this)

Reasoning:

I see her as someone who likes the idea of romance, the idea of romantic activities, and crushes but when it comes to actual romance and romantic feelings she has like a disconnect/falls short (Im not the best at explaining my thoughts). I'm pretty sure that we hear from Nene of her having crushes on ppl but not her actually having a relationship.

I came up with this headcanon last year mid way through reading the manga (b4 the Aoi and Akane arc) and now that I've finished it I'm not quite sure if it's still in character. So my apologies if it's not :[

Sakura Nanamine (Toilet bound Hanako-kun)

Demi-romantic

Reasoning:

VIBES IT JUST MAKES SENSE TO MEE

also cause she's green

Gwen (Camp camp)

Aroallo

Reasoning:

She's a freak (affectionate), but when it comes to romance, she never seems to be too interested in it.

Sonic the hedgehog (Sonic)

Aro

Reasoning:

Whenever I see canon content where someone has a crush on Sonic, I rarely see him reciprocate, and especially in earlier content, he always seems to run away from it (LITERALLY HE RUNS AWAY FROM IT)!

Amy Rose (Sonic)

Aro

Reasoning:

I feel like she is someone who has a hard time telling the difference between platonic attraction and romantic attraction. (Not projecting or anything lmao what kind of loser would do that lmao...*) (*/j it's me. I'm that loser./srs)

I also see her as someone who gets friend/platonic crushes a lot (I hear friend crushes are called squishes that's so cute omg)

Maybe that's why she likes Sonic she looks up to him a lot

Papyrus (Undertale)

Aro

Reasoning:

THIS SCENE. THIS SCENE SPECIFICALLY!! (3:00 - 5:12)

That scene just screams aromanticism, and I relate to it a lot

Izuku Midoriya (My hero academia) *NOTE: I have not finished mha*

Aro

Reasoning:

What are you?? A COP?! I don't have to explain jack shit to you!!!

But in all seriousness, it's for the same reason why I headcanon Amy Rose as aro, I see him as someone who has a difficult time telling the difference between platonic attraction and romantic attraction

...It's also mainly cuz he's green

That's alllllllll!!!! :3

Remember that all aros are vaild!!

[womp-womp-waa]

"I think it's just around this corner- OH MY GOD"

The six of them sat in Aiden's lounge. It became their hangout spot since most of the time his parents weren't home and he had the biggest house. At first it was only going to be a simple hangout where they discussed plans for the phantom dimension, but Taylor and Aiden insisted on playing roblox afterwards.

"SHUT UP AIDEN! You're not even this loud in the phantom dimension and you're screaming at a RAT."

Yeah it's going great. They both suggested this game called 'Cheese escape'. So far it's only resulted in screaming that made Ashlyn's head ache.

"Ty the rat is terrifying. Leave Aiden alone." Taylor defended Aiden, considering she's been screaming alongside him. "It's not scary, Tay. It's on a screen. It's not real."

"Says the person who screams at horror movies." Logan's voice cuts through the mindless bickering. When they first had a movie night it surprised everyone how much Logan loves horror movies and how much Tyler hated horror movies.

Taylor was leaning up against Ashlyn, her body pressed against hers, giggling quietly. Sure, Ashlyn does have a headache now because of all the screaming. She looks around at everyone who are either bickering or watching with a fond smile. But if the cost of this is a headache then she'll deal with it. Anything for her family

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

🦋 "Lie To Girls" by Sabrina Carpenter 🦋 "Graveyard" by Halsey 🦋

[newly-edgy-anon]

Silence

Taylor Hernández/Ashlyn Banner

This post contains mature themes!! If this makes you uncomfy click away!! Please!!

The hum of the college campus outside their window grew faint as the evening deepened. Inside their dorm room, a cocoon of warmth and quietude, Ashlyn Banner lay on her bed, her eyes tracing the patterns of the ceiling tiles. The soft glow of the desk lamp cast a comforting light over the small space, which was adorned with an eclectic mix of posters and photos. A gentle knock echoed through the room, interrupting the silence.

Taylor Hernández, her girlfriend of six months, poked her head through the open doorway. "Hey, you okay?" she asked, her voice a soothing melody that resonated with care. Ashlyn turned her head slightly, acknowledging the question with a nod. Taylor stepped in, her sneakers squeaking softly on the linoleum floor, and perched on the edge of the bed.

Her eyes searched Ashlyn's, looking for the storm that often brewed behind the calm facade. "You seem... distant," she ventured, placing a hand tentatively on Ashlyn's arm. The warmth of her touch was a stark contrast to the coolness of the room.

Ashlyn took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling under the weight of her thoughts. "I'm okay," she assured, her voice a gentle ripple in the quiet. "Just lost in thought." She offered a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Taylor recognized the look, the one that signaled an inner battle. She leaned in closer, her hand moving up to gently cup Ashlyn's cheek. "Talk to me," she urged, her thumb brushing away a stray strand of hair.

Ashlyn's gaze drifted to the floor, her mind racing with a tapestry of emotions she wasn't quite ready to unravel. "It's just... everything," she murmured.

The room grew heavier with unspoken words, the air thick with the scent of their shared space—a blend of laundry detergent and the faint aroma of takeout from last night. Taylor nodded, understanding the need for silence in moments like these.

Slowly, she leaned in and pressed her lips to Ashlyn's in a gentle kiss, a silent promise of comfort and support. The touch was a spark, igniting a fire that had been smoldering within both of them for hours. They broke apart, their breath mingling in the stillness.

Without a word, Taylor began to unbutton Ashlyn's shirt, her eyes never leaving hers. The fabric parted, revealing the soft curve of her chest. The air grew warmer, charged with a new kind of energy as their bodies moved closer together, limbs intertwining.

The sound of their hearts beating in sync filled the room as they explored each other, their touches speaking louder than any words could. They moved as one, lost in the dance of intimacy, the outside world a distant memory.

But in the throes of passion, Taylor noticed something amiss—a flicker of distress in Ashlyn's eyes. She pulled back, her own need for closeness momentarily overridden by concern. "Hey," she whispered, her voice a caress. "Is everything okay?"

Ashlyn's breath hitched, and she nodded, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. "I'm just... a bit overwhelmed," she admitted, her cheeks flushing. Taylor's gaze softened, and she nodded in understanding, her hand stroking Ashlyn's hair in a soothing rhythm.

They lay there, their hearts beating in time, as Taylor whispered words of reassurance. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked, her voice a gentle whisper.

Ashlyn took a shaky breath and nodded. "I think I just need some time," she said, her voice a mere murmur. Taylor nodded and pulled away, giving her the space she craved.

The room grew quieter still, the only sound the soft tick of the clock on the wall. Taylor lay beside her, her arm wrapped protectively around Ashlyn's waist, her eyes never leaving the rise and fall of her chest.

The moments stretched into minutes, the air around them charged with an unspoken tension. Ashlyn felt the weight of her thoughts lifting as Taylor's gentle touch anchored her to the present. She rolled over to face her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice a fragile thread between them.

Taylor brushed her thumb over Ashlyn's cheek, catching the dampness that had gathered. "You don't have to be okay all the time," she said, her voice steady and warm. "It's okay to not be okay."

Ashlyn nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "I know," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "But it's just..." She trailed off, unsure of how to articulate the tumult within her.

Taylor leaned in and kissed the tear away, her lips a soft promise of understanding. "Take all the time you need," she said, her voice a gentle reassurance. "I'm here."

The room felt smaller, but somehow safer, with Taylor beside her. Ashlyn took a deep breath and allowed the tears to fall, her sobs muffled by the pillow. Taylor held her, her embrace a sanctuary from the chaos. Her heart ached as she felt Ashlyn's body tremble, her own emotions mirroring the pain she saw in her girlfriend's eyes.

As the storm inside Ashlyn began to subside, she pulled away slightly, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice small.

Taylor's eyes searched hers, finding no need for an apology. "Don't be," she said firmly. "You're allowed to feel whatever you're feeling."

They lay there, entwined, for what felt like hours. The tension in Ashlyn's body slowly ebbed away, replaced by a comforting warmth that spread from Taylor's arms. Eventually, her breathing grew steady, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Taylor watched her girlfriend drift off to sleep, her heart swelling with love and concern. She knew that this was just the beginning of a conversation that needed to be had, but for now, she was content to be the calm in Ashlyn's storm.

As the night deepened, the sounds of the campus grew distant, leaving them in a bubble of quietude. Taylor reached over to switch off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The digital clock cast a soft blue glow, marking the passage of time.

With a soft sigh, Taylor snuggled closer to Ashlyn, her arm tightening around her. She knew that tomorrow would bring new challenges, new battles for Ashlyn to face. But for now, all she could do was offer her love and support, and hope that it was enough to help her navigate the turmoil.

The steady rhythm of their breathing filled the room, a testament to their shared existence. Taylor closed her eyes, her thoughts a tapestry of worry and determination. She would be there for Ashlyn, come what may.

The night stretched on, a silent guardian over their fragile peace. But even in the stillness, the promise of tomorrow whispered through the shadows, hinting at unspoken words and unanswered questions that awaited the light of day.

Word count: 1,137

[lenaboskow]

[astro-nomaly]

GUYS GUYS

Graveyard Shift excerpt pre-fic events about their collective anger issues

[seasluug3]

lowkey i should be writing chapter 3 for a fic yk , but i wanted to finish this as i’ve had this in my drafts for awhilee…

image ;

Taylor is like a strawberry ; Sweet, and people often like strawberries. The people don’t feel any negative feeling’s about strawberries, so why does the strawberry feel like she’s beginning to run out of love? Did she love too much? Maybe it’s from the lack of sleep from school, or seeing those monsters every single night. Strawberries begin to go bad after some time, growing old and moldy, she wasn’t going bad, right? She couldn’t be.

Ever since that day at the hospital, in the waiting room waiting to hear anything from the doctor about Tyler. They told the adults their situation, so why didn’t they all believe? Why were they unsure? They didn’t watch him take a dive off a cliff, but they saw the phantoms too. They shouldn’t be unsure, one of the kids are in the hospital!

The strawberry would continue to go bad unless it isn’t there, Taylor’s anger would continue to grow until it fully took over. A constant state of anger, a repetition of herself slowly getting lost as more anger is involved. Every single time she sees a phantom, her anger creeps back up. Even if she was calm and happy before.

Nothing will ever be the same. Not just for her, but for them all. Nothing will reverse the pain, nothing will reverse the trauma, nothing will reverse Taylor seeing a hole in her twin brother’s stomach, seeing his insides.

Nothing will reverse all of this.

[astrobei]

the next time i start a fic and say the words “this will just be a little 5k something” please shoot me for my crimes (lying)

[onelonelyghost0]

I Need To Live Inside His Skin

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

guys help my silly ass finish even a single wip (lemme know ur thoughts in the notes if ud like🫶)

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: November Wrap-Up.

Hi, y'all! I'm actually shocked that I managed to get through four (4) books this month, because it was NANO and I also WROTE A WHOLE BOOK!! The (written) book in its two notebooks is pictured beneath the pen and NaNo Earrings :)

All of these reads were NaNo-adjacent, somehow (I like to stack my reading with my writing project so all the Vibes are Correct)--either Space, or Haunted, or Fucked Up Fungi (I wrote a weird book this month)(I had a great time).

Photos and/or reviews linked:

A HALF-BUILT GARDEN - ★★★½ I enjoyed this! It was very slow and contemplative, and I was surprised by how long it took me to read (#NaNoProblems), but I'm glad I did, and Rhamnetin was a DELIGHT.

JUST LIKE HOME - ★★★★ Reread for me, holds up very well! Star rating unchanged from first time through. I actually do recommend rereading this one, knowing exactly when Daphne dies.

GRAVEYARD SHIFT - ★★★½ I enjoyed this one too! Short fun weird little insomnia romp. Love a good fucked up fungus and a motley POV crew.

THE NIGHT GUEST - ★★★★ This was DEEPLY fucked up and AMAZINGLY crafted horror/suspense, and I definitely had delayed nightmares about it. I also love a good spec fic in translation (this one's from Icelandic!). Cats are NOT safe, very graphically so, so proceed with caution if that's a warning you need.

Under the Cut: A Note About ~*★Stars★*~

Historically, I have been Very Bad™ about assigning things Star Ratings, because it's so Vibes Heavy for me and therefore Contingent Upon my Whims. (Example: I don't like that stars are Odd, because that makes three the midpoint and things are rarely so truly mid for me)(I have hacked my way around this with a ½). Here is, generally, how I conceptualize stars:

★ - This was Bad. I would actively recommend that you do NOT read this one, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, not worth the slog. Save Yourself, It's Too Late For Me. Book goes in the garbage (donate bin).

★★ - This was Not Good. I would not recommend it, but it wasn't a total waste or wash--something in here held my interest/kept my attention/sparked some joy. I will not be rereading this ever. Save Yourself (Or Join Me In Suffering, That Seems Like A Cool Bonding Activity).

★★★ - This was Good/Fine/Okay/Meh. I don't care about this enough to recommend it one way or another. Perfectly serviceable book, held my interest, I probably enjoyed myself (or at least didn't actively loathe the reading). I don't have especially strong feelings. You probably don't need to save yourself from this one--if it sounds like your jam, give it a shot! Just didn't resonate with me particularly powerfully. I probably won't reread this unless I'm after something in particular.

★★★½ - I liked this! I'll probably recommend it if I know it matches someone's vibes or specific requests, but I didn't commit to a star rating on Goodreads. More likely to reread, but not guaranteed.

★★★★ - I really enjoyed this!! I would recommend it (sometimes with caveats about content warnings or such--I tend to like weird fucked up funny shit, and I don't have many hard readerly NO's). Not a perfect book for me by any means, but Very Good. This is something I would reread! Join me!!

★★★★★ - I LOVED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS, IT REWIRED MY BRAIN, WILL RECOMMEND TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION (content warning caveats still apply--see 4-star disclaimer). Excellent book, I'll reread it regularly, I'll buy copies for all my friends, I'll try to convince all of Booklr to read it, PLEASE join me!!