#it's just a small notebook with a very simple binding

[imaginary-wanderer]

Prototype!

[beneaththebirches]

Liability: Part 1

Pairing: College Student!Rafe Cameron x Cousenlor!Reader

Summary: Rafe gets himself into a bit of a bind with one of the professors at Duke and is forced to see an on-campus counselor, someone he was very set on hating. But she’s extremely hard to hate.

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, mentions of drugs.

A/n: First of all, I want to mention that this fic is an AU type fic; it will only include Rafe’s mildly destructive behavior and daddy issues but this does not follow allow with the Outerbanks storyline. This is a repost from my original account @sublimecatgalaxy!

“So, what brought you to Duke?” 

My head tilts curiously at him, eyes trailing over his frame as he desperately tries to not tremble like a leaf. He’s either drunk, high or anxious (or all of the above), his eyes flickering around the dimly lit room, his eyes momentarily locking with the lava lamp in the corner of the room. When he looks around, he chooses to not look directly at me but instead at the wall behind me, knee bouncing anxiously as he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. 

He resembles something close to agitation or anxiety and has since he walked in the room twenty minutes ago, not caring to say hi or introducing himself but instead just sat down on the couch across from me and decided to take his sentence in silence. It’s to be expected, especially from someone with his track record. I heard a little bit about him from the other faculty in the office and his professors, mixed reviews on his behavior but how, miraculously, his grades show the opposite.

Crossing my legs, I ready the notebook in my lap, pen tapping against the paper as I wait for him to answer my nth question of the night. After a few minutes of uncomfortable and unfortunate silence, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath before adjusting himself on the couch, eyes flickering up to look at the ticking clock on the wall.

“‘s a good college.” He shrugs simply, eyes flickering up to mine briefly as I let out a small sigh of relief at the sound of his deep voice. His back cracks as he leans back into the couch, biting at his lip as he watches my pen scribble aimlessly across my notepad. I can tell he wants to ask what I’m writing, which is the reason why I lifted the pen to draw a simple smiley face in the first place, knowing the thought of me analyzing him would drive him crazy.

“I’ve seen your grades, you should be proud.” The shocked uptick of his brows makes me laugh quietly to myself, taken back by his response to the simple praise. He nods sternly, a faint blush spreading across the tops of his cheekbones. “So why the self sabotage?” I quiz and his brows furrow cutely.

“What?”

“Keying a professor’s car?” His eyes immediately roll at the recollection of his transgressions, the events that brought him to my office three times a week. There’s a part of me that thinks he’s embarrassed, eyes low as he toys with the thick ring on his thumb but I can see the desperate need to defend himself behind his eyes, but instead he chooses the path of least resistance. 

“Got angry.” He answers simply but it’s not enough for me.

“Yeah, you have a history of that.” I sigh, placing his records on the table in front of him, giving up the gimmick of ‘good cop’, trying to get through to him as a counselor, but it took very little time to realize my coworkers were right- he’d never trust my authority- the little authority I have. He picks the papers up tentatively, almost looking at me with a ‘should I be seeing this?’ look but indulges anyways, flipping through the pages with a tight jar.

Folding my legs beneath me, a sad smile spreads across my lips as he tosses the sheets back onto the table in front of me, his fists clenching in his lap. I can’t tell if his anger stems from insecurities regarding his own actions or if he’s angry that others have had a view into his darker past. I can tell that he’s a closed off guy, that he doesn’t open up unless it’s mandatory and even then, he attempts desperately to not share, to not open up. 

“Look, Rafe, you have to do this- talk to me, I mean. You’re lucky you got mandatory counseling instead of mandatory jail time.” I laugh, trying to desperately ease the tension in the room but he doesn’t crack, just stares down at the packet of paper between us with uneasy eyes. But after a few minutes, my staring breaks through his tough exterior, a heavy sigh leaving him as he finally looks up at me, taken back by my comfortable stance. He mirrors me, folding a leg over his other before tossing his hands up in surrender.

“What do you want from me?” 

“Answer the questions I’ve gotta ask you, ask questions of your own- hell, talk about football or something that’s bugging you.” He cringes at the offer, his eyes fluttering shut to briefly imagine what it would be like if he had taken the punishment the professor originally wanted to force upon him but instead he’s stuck with the peppiest counselor he’ll ever encounter. 

“Are you an actual therapist?” He asks curiously, attempting to take a jab at my credentials but my smile only grows, happy that he’s taking a step in the right direction. 

“I have a masters degree in psychology.” My finger jabs up at the wall to his left, blue eyes following my direction to three diplomas on the wall.

I certainly never expected to end up in a university, tending to the most fucked up age group in the country- my generation. I wanted to go into forensics, to get into the grittiness of the mental psyche but you’d be amazed by the messed up shit you see on college campuses- the dorms, the streets late at night, the blackmail and betrayals. Some of the students that I see, like Rafe, are in mandatory counseling, probably to heal from academic issues or destructive tendencies. But others are girls looking for a way out of toxic relationships, young students who wish so desperately to come out to their parents, or the occasional meltdown where a student just needs me to listen.

 Maybe Rafe needs someone to just listen.

Either way, I’d never go back and change anything that led me to this couch right now.

“A masters- how old are you anyways?” He asks, suddenly confused at the math as he leans towards the diploma to look at the year it was dated. With a shocked huff, he turns back to me with wide eyes, elbows resting on his knees and I let out a small bashful laugh.

“I’m 23.” 

“Oh.” He mutters, shifting in his seat before adding, “I’m 20.” A fond smile stretches across my lips at his subtle attempt to connect, his quiet voice almost boyish and innocent. I’m not sure the connection was intentional or if he’s sizing me up but either way, the realization in our closeness in age sparks something in him, his discomfort seeming to fade more and more as our times goes on.

“I know. I have your chart.” I lift the binder from beside me into the air, waving it back and forth.

“What else is in there?” He asks, fingers rubbing along his jaw as his eyes seem to focus on his name that’s spelled across the front of the binder in big black letters.

“You’re 20, you have a 3.6 GPA, you’re majoring in Developmental Psych- which is interesting to me.” I snort, wanting nothing but to dive deeper into his psyche and understand why a smart, handsome athlete is majoring in something as specific as developmental psychology. They say people go into a psych degree to learn something about themselves, their past or their family. So, in Rafe’s case, which is it? “You’re a tight-end on our varsity football team, you came from the Outer Banks-” There’s a sense of tension that thickens the atmosphere around us at the mention of his hometown, his shoulders rolling and head tilting so he can direct his attention out the window to look at the setting sun,  his strong jaw squared. “I can also see that you spent two nights in jail, you’ve been arrested for drug possession and illegal possession of a weapon-” 

“You’ve got my full rap-sheet over there?” He snaps, voice no longer playful but instead he’s seething, brows furrowed as I pause, eyes widening at him briefly, almost asking him ‘may I continue’ without actually saying it. I fight the urge to ask him all of my questions at once; ‘why are you such a troublemaker?’, ‘why the need for drugs?’, ‘why’d you leave your hometown?’- but instead I bite my tongue.

“You’re not giving me anything else to go off of.” I whisper tiredly, anxiously looking up at the clock, wondering if we’ll even end up getting anywhere in this session and/or if I’ll be able to count it as a part of his punishment. A look of realization passes through his expression, his handsome face relaxing with a gentle nod. “You’re not exactly an open book.” He smiles sadly to himself, eyes focused down at his lap.

Take the path of least resistance, Rafe.

“What do you wanna know?” He gives in, clasping his hands in front of him as I grin, prepared to take full advantage of my power and make him laugh, something I’ve heard he doesn’t do often.

“What’s your favorite color-”

“Oh now you’ve overstepped.” He says, dead serious, but after a few moments of silence he breaks into quiet laughter, a shocked scoff leaving me at his teasing. “My favorite color- really? I keyed a car and this is my punishment?” He asks incredulously, scooting to the edge of his seat, the distance between us only lessening as I bite back a nervous smile, focusing on the job at hand- my job at hand.

“The point of counseling is to have breakthroughs and to form a relationship based on trust and open communication.” He cringes at my explanation, a look of discomfort passing through his eyes as he sucks in a breath. “You don’t seem like the trusting type but I’m willing to take my time.” My voice comes out ten times more flirtatious than I intended it to but it causes his whole body to pause, eyes looking up at me with a teasing look, the gears behind his eyes to turn. “To be honest, I have a bit of a habit of growing on people.” He snorts, biting at his lip.

“I gathered that.” He breathes, running his fingers through his hair before giving it a small tug.

“Are you saying I’m growing on you, Cameron- it’s been like a half an hour.” I tease, loving the innocent blush that covers his pale cheeks as he instantly tries to deny, head shaking immediately in defiance. It’s hard to imagine him doing all of the bad things I know he’s done, things that are more extreme and way beyond vandalism. He seems almost awkward at times, boyish and bashful as he’s slowly sinking into the comfort of my office and my prying- far from the man depicted in his records. 

“New record?”

“New record for sure.”

“Does that mean I’m free to go?” He quizzes and he blows out a breath, rubbing his clammy hands against the tops of his jeans. I ponder letting him go ten minutes early but there’s a part of me that isn’t quite ready to set him free from my clutches just yet.

“Sure.” His eyes light up at my agreement but before he can stand, I hold up a pointed finger at him, urging him to sit his butt back down. “On one condition.” He agrees almost immediately before knowing my true demand, head bobbing in an agreeable nod.

“Shoot.”

“Hand over your phone.” His face pales at my instructions, eyes staring at my open palm that sticks out to him, waiting for him to do what I said. He looks like a deer in headlights right before a catastrophic crash, tongue slipping out to wet his cracked lips as he stutters.

“Wha-”

“Give it.” I ask again, stern voice forcing a shaky, nervous laugh from him as he goes fishing in his pocket. He hands it over to me without any questions, his eyes watching me like a hawk as I go into his contacts, adding myself as ‘best counselor’.  “Only call or text if you’re having an emotional emergency and/or feel like doing something mildly self destructive.” I laugh but as I hand back his phone, he just shakes his head, brows furrowed in confusion as he stares down at the contact. 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” I ask and he shrugs. “Why care?” The nod he gives me is almost sad, my heart aching in my chest at the thought of him being so out of touch when it comes to having people that care about him, people that want to see him succeed and to not key professors’ cars. “Because, it’s what I do. Get used to it.” Slipping his phone back into his pocket, I make my way to my feet and he does the same, awkwardly shuffling towards the door. His hand hesitates to reach out towards the handle, neck craning to look back at me with a desperate expression.

“You know that’s like asking a fish to breathe air, right?”

“Better learn.” I shrug, crossing my arms across my chest as he huffs, pouting like a child. Reaching out, I push him playfully towards the door as he groans, head tilting back at his steps out into the busy hallway. “Behave!”

“You got it!”What a liar.

[bluevelvetbindery]

Finished this simple notebook over the weekend, and I’m rather proud of it. This book is the culmination of everything I’ve learned over the last eight or so months. So many lessons learned in the process, and a long way still to go. On to the next!

Build details:

This is a very simple notebook in a folio size. The pages were created and designed by me in Affinity Publisher with vector images from Pixabay. I had it printed at a chain printshop on a natural linen 24lb paper. Actually, I had it printed twice, because they messed up the orientation and half my pages were upside-down the first time, but they were nice about it and redid it at no extra cost.

The signatures are sewn together with a simple kettle stitch with white waxed polyester thread. Not ideal, and it’s definitely too thick, but it’s all I have for now. I used two cotton tapes, which is maybe overkill for a smallish book like this, but it's good practice. I also experimented with sewn on endpapers, yet another small thing to add a little strength to a book. I'm very happy with how those turned out.

I rounded the spine, and then used a chisel I found at a thrift store to trim the head and tail of the textblock, both firsts for me. I used cotton embroidery thread to hand-sew endbands, another first. I lined the spine with a strip of scrap leather. Normally, in addition the mull, people will just use craft paper as lining, but I had scraps of leather and heard it can work so I tried it.

I decided to try a split-board bind for the first time (good thing I had the tapes!). It’s supposed to give the book a bit of added strength as the covers are more securely attached than in a regular case bind.

It was tricky to get the cover material (combo of bookcloth and paper) on once I had the boards attached, but I fumbled my way through with the help of a Renegade Binderary tutorial and ended up with a functioning book! And I can’t ask for more than that, really.

Big thank you to Renegade Bookbinding Guild (@renegadepublishing) and their discord server for being so generous with their knowledge and resources! I would not have been able to accomplish this without them <3

[mrsaltieri-real]

His Perfect Victim (Mickey Altieri x OC!Dahlia Levine)

Chapter Ten: Hello?

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: not a lot of warnings here, language, brief mentions of Dahlia’s trauma, therapy, making up, mentions of sex, mentions of angst, etc

A/N: More of a filler chapter than anything, but it’s still important. We’re making some serious progress and it’s a big push forward so don’t miss it! Next chapter is going to be heavier, smuttier and have some angst thrown in for good measure. You’re not going to want to miss it! Thank you once again to @bisexual-horror-fan for your help, beta reading and editing this for me. I appreciate your help more than I can put into words!

@lizey-thornberry as you want to be tagged.

Therapy sucks. Therapy sucks even more when it wasn’t even your choice to attend sessions to begin with.

Sitting in front of a stranger staring at me with faux concern was agitating to say the least, especially when she’s getting paid a hundred dollars an hour to do just that, stare at me until I break and confess all my deep dark secrets and let my trauma seep through the cracks left behind from Woodsboro. The only reason I attended in the first place was due to my parents and my doctors.

I’d spent the first few sessions sitting in silence, watching as the arms of the clock ticked and tocked until an hour went by, and I could go back to moping in peace.

I was getting better now, slowly. That wasn’t down to the therapist, the doctors or my family. It wasn’t down to Sidney or Randy. It wasn’t even really down to Mickey as much as at the time I believed that to be the case. No, I now know it was down to me, giving myself the opportunity to be raw and open with another human being, completely vulnerable in ways I never had before.

Life’s too short for regrets, so I don’t regret it at all.

The one thing I did regret, however, was how I’d left things with Randy.

I’d been seriously neglecting my friendship with him, and I knew reconciliations had to be made sooner rather than later. The issue was the two of us were both too stubborn to make the first move into forgiveness. Even as kids, when we fought, we simply wouldn’t talk to one another until one of us would throw a toy at the other and hit them across the head. But we were adults now, and I don’t think I’d get very far if I threw a Barbie doll at him anymore, as amusing the image in my head was.

“Dahlia Levine?” The sweet looking receptionist called my name with a warm smile, to which I half-heartedly returned as I forced myself to stand up, making my way down the familiar hall to my therapist's office, Dr. Lorraine Galloway.

The door was already open, but I still tapped my knuckles lightly on the wood twice, and she twisted around in her chair, nodding and smiling politely when she saw me, loosely gesturing toward the huge armchair across from her. I obeyed quietly, settling down on the comfortable cushion and folded my hands in my lap.

“How are you doing today, Miss Levine?” She asked, the notebook already settled onto her lap, simple, small, lined paper and one of those curled metal spines that binds the pages together, looking like a coiled phone cord. Her hand rests on the page, holding her dark blue and gold fountain pen, her position in her chair is relaxed, one leg folded over the other as she observed me, waiting for my response.

I shrugged, eyes trained on my hands as I responded, “Better, I guess? And please call me Dahlia.” I’d already had a fair number of sessions with her and asked to be referred to by my first name every single time, it was beginning to annoy me and that must have been evident in my tone, judging how I heard the light scribble of pen to paper, making me suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Was she seriously making a note of that?

“How’s college treating you, Dahlia? I haven’t seen you in a little over two months.”

Shrugging again, fingers itching to twist my ring, I replied, “Things have been good. I haven’t felt the need to bother coming in.”

I could feel her eyes fixed on me, and it was already pissing me off. Dr. Galloway wasn’t like my old therapist back in Woodsboro. She actively tried to engage with me, try and get me to speak and fucking feel, although she learned fairly quickly I was completely unwilling to discuss Stu. No amount of therapy will ever make me want to consciously relive any of that.

“Is there anything you’d like to discuss or share? You have the whole hour, remember?”

I hesitated for a second, teeth sinking into my bottom lip. Dr. Galloway seemed to grasp at the straws and quickly added, “I’m here to listen,” before lightly placing her notebook onto her desk, leaning back in her chair and pushing her glasses up her nose.

“I… Uh…” I shifted awkwardly in my seat, settling on playing with my ring to try to comfort myself, push myself into talking. “Could I talk about my friend, Randy?”

“You can talk about whatever and whoever you want to, Dahlia. These sessions are yours.” Her hands opened, as if inviting me to go on, to which I awkwardly did so.

With a small sigh, I began to tell her about the last few months. About Mickey and Randy, and how impossibly guilty I felt that I’d been neglecting my friendship with the latter, practically threw him aside for some guy I was dating. She listened intently, and it honestly felt good that someone was listening to what I had to say with no judgment, even if she was getting paid hundreds of dollars to do so.

“Has Mickey ever given you or any of your friends reason to think he’d hurt you?” Dr. Galloway asked once I’d told the tale. Hesitating again, I nodded my head once, and she rested her chin against her hand, eyes urging me to go on.

“Well, a few months ago, before we started dating, Mickey fucked-” I cringed slightly at the word choice before correcting myself, “-sorry, slept with this girl at a party. Tricked me into going into the bedroom, so I’d see it.” I physically flinched at the memory, seeing that girl's face twisted in pleasure and Mickey fucking her from behind, eyes fixed on my face with that sick smirk on his face.

I hadn’t thought about that in a while, suppressed it to the dark dusty corners in my mind along with my other painful memories I’d sooner forget all about.

“And did Randy know about that?”

“No, I never told him. But I think he had an idea because it was after that night he started having reservations about Mickey and I- I just don’t know what to do.” Fuck, is this why people went to therapy? I could feel so many suppressed emotions rushing to the surface so fast it was making my head spin.

“Maybe your friend has a reason to be concerned, then.” She suggested with a small shrug.

“He doesn’t.” I insisted firmly, halting the twisting of the ring and shaking my head, “Yeah, Mickey can be kind of a dick, but no one else sees the side of him that I do. How patient and gentle he can be.”

“Then maybe that’s something you need to talk about with Randy. Communication in friendships is important, and it’s clear that he’s important to you.”

Randy was important to me. I thought about it as I walked back to campus, shivering at the crisp air and silently cursing myself for forgetting to bring my jacket with me.

He was important to me, so was Mickey in a very different way. I thought about how much I missed Randy, discussing everything and anything with him until the day turned to night. How he was a huge part of the reason I was even able to recover, him staying at my bedside whilst I was in the hospital, doing everything he could to make me smile, the perfect friend.

Once on campus, I found myself making a beeline toward the one room I knew Randy would be in; the theatre. He enjoyed working on film projects there, so I wasn’t surprised to walk up the steps and see him perched on top of a prop wall, legs swinging and brows furrowed in concentration as he squinted into the lens of his camera.

“Hey, Rand.”

He jumped at the sound of my voice, camera nearly tumbling out of his hands as he looked at me, blue eyes wide. His face twisted to something akin to indifference as he eyed me up and down, lips pursed, before he mumbled, “Hey.”

I anxiously inched closer to him until I was leaning beside him, looking up at him seriously, “I’m sorry.”

His expression changed to shock as his head cocked to the side, and he exclaimed, “The fuck did you just say to me?”

The grin broke out across my face before I could even register it, playfully pushing Randy’s leg with a, “Shut up, dickhead.”

“Sorry, I just never thought I’d live to see the day Dahlia Levine apologizes to me.” His tone was only half teasing.

“It’s long overdue. I’m sorry, I’ve been a really shitty friend lately, Randy.” I said with a sigh, eyes dropping.

“Dahlia, it’s not you I blame, you know that.” His tone had an edge to it, and I instantly knew who he was in fact blaming.

I looked back up at him, practically pleading now as I spoke, “Randy, please, you don’t have anything to worry about. Mickey isn’t going to do anything.”

Randy rolled his eyes with a scoff, carefully placing the camera down beside him, “So you actually are dating him? For fuck's sake, D.”

I was getting mad, but I kept it inside, taking his free hand that wasn’t gripping the camera slightly harder than was probably necessary into mine and squeezing it gently.

“Even if it is a mistake, it’s my mistake to make. He makes me happy, Randy.”

Randy frowned, looking down at me with his brows knitted together, “He really makes you happy?”

“Yes, he really does.” I spoke honestly, maintaining eye contact with him all the while. Randy knew I didn’t lie, so he had no reason to suspect otherwise. He simply sighed, placing the camera in his other hand down beside him before moving it to place over the top of mine and nodded his head, saying softly, “Fine. For God’s sake, I still think he’s a fucking dick, but if anyone deserves happiness, it’s you.”

“So we’re friends again?” I asked hopefully, biting my lip as I awaited his response.

He rolled his eyes at me again, this time affectionately and released my hands, jumping down from the wall and pulling me into a tight hug. I closed my eyes, my arms wrapping around his waist as I hugged him back and his chin rested on the top of my head, the feeling comforting and familiar.

“Of course we are.” He said. I could tell he was smiling, but I know it didn’t quite reach his eyes in the way it should have, but at that moment, I was too happy to have my friend back to take much notice.

If only I’d noticed. If only I’d listened and was more critical.

After that, things were better, at least for a while. Mickey and I were growing closer with every passing day, listening to music in his dorm and just chatting mindlessly about anything and everything. He showed me some bands I’d never heard of when the movies got a little too much. I could tell his built-up wall was gradually beginning to crumble, allowing me to really get to know him, or the part of him he wanted me to know, but he was still always just a little distant. Not as much as before our night together, but a hint of detachment still lingered in the air.

Something was happening. I knew that was the case, something about it just spells it out, you know, like when a storm is coming in the summer? The lack of sound and the feeling in the air tattles on what is to come, announcing it long before a single flash of lightening or clap of thunder does.

One night, Mickey had already fallen asleep, but I simply couldn’t, so I just laid flat on my back, staring unseeing at the dully illuminated ceiling from the streetlights outside, when my phone began to buzz quietly on Mickey’s bedside table.

I glanced at his alarm clock, the bright letters stating it was three thirty in the morning.

Who the fuck would be calling me at this time.

I still felt uneasy about receiving phone calls and everybody in my life already knew that, but the anxiety that it could be an emergency got the better of my, so I flicked the phone open, taking in the unknown caller printed across the screen for a second before answering it, pressing the phone tentatively to my ear with a whispered, “Hello?”

No response.

I swallowed thickly, trying to get rid of the lump forming in my throat before asking again, a little louder, “Hello?”

Nothing.

Mickey stirred next to me, rolling onto his side and groggily opening his eyes, lifting his hand to rub them gently.

I sat up, hand shaking as I repeatedly whispered “Hello?” into the speaker.

“Whose that?” Mickey's voice was thick with sleep and the minute the words were out of his mouth, the line went dead.

Read Chapter Eleven HERE

[memento-morianon]

memento mori: blood

rough draft chapter 27

masterpost of excerpts

jumping around again, this time it's Evarin's PoV and she is crocheting while Mori talks out loud about anniversary vacation plans.

---

Evarin only half-listened to Morianon while she unwound the small, dense yarn ball she had finally almost come to the end of. A new second ball waited beside her, but she had grown impatient and decided to tie it on immediately, rather than weaving until the first one ran out. The ball got smaller and smaller, and yet it was so tightly rolled it seemed to be endless. Her lap, the armchair, and the floor were now covered in long loops of yarn, layered over and around each other in a much larger mess than she'd expected.

Morianon's back was towards her while he sat at his desk, going over the details of their anniversary trip.

"So we'll stay in Zarek's guest house, and xur eldest, Tezo, will be our main tour guide, of sorts." He flicked his wings, gold fan twitching on his back. "I'd like to get the partner bond tattoo over with as early as possible, if that's alright with you."

"Mhm."

"Traditionally, it's done on the forearm." Morianon glanced over his shoulder and held up his left arm. Evarin looked up briefly, though she avoided making proper eye contact.

"I suppose that's one of the only places it could go," she mused, "too many feathers everywhere else."

"The pain makes me nervous," Morianon admitted, "I hope it doesn't hurt as bad as the last one," he laughed and ran his fingers over the gnomish wedding tattoo on his forehead, "but for once, I'll be able to look at my arm and see something that makes me happy." He stared at the scars and Evarin paused with her fuss over the yarn and looked at him more directly, heart dropping at the grief and hope she saw in his eyes.

"Have you worked out the design?" she asked. Morianon shook his head.

"I've never been much good at this sort of art. I can sketch site maps and artifacts, but anything more creative just evades me." He picked up a notebook and flipped through the pages, holding it up for Evarin to see. The page was covered in abstract designs of intertwined tree branches, all very simple and a little shaky. "Maybe we can work on it together later."

"They're not bad designs," Evarin assured him, "really, I think it's a good start."

"Thanks." Morianon gave her a halfhearted smile and turned back to his desk. "I don't know, maybe I can ask Kouto for help." He started leafing through his telegrams from Zarek again, silently.

Evarin found the end of her yarn at last and began to tie it to the new ball, leaving both ends long enough to weave into the stitches and hide the knot. Picking up the ball, she starting to wind the loose yarn around it, grimacing as she noticed how quickly the fallen loops over her lap began to catch on each other.

"No, come on," she groaned, pulling the yarn up and shaking it gently to loosen the tangle. She held it so high, the threatening knot, stubbornly holding itself together, almost aligned with Morianon's head in her sight. She paused and blinked, holding the yarn still. The tangled clump blocked Morianon's head, like an artist's frustrated scribble, and the free strand of yarn stretched high above it. Like the arc. A tether, K'arik had called it. More than that. Tied, knotted up. Binding.

Morianon turned at the sound of Evarin's soft gasp and she dropped the yarn into her lap in a hurry.

"Oh, that's a mess," he said, looking down at the yarn all over her and the floor. "Do you need help untangling it?"

"No, no, I can do it," Evarin replied, picking at the first mess in her lap. He walked over anyway, kneeling in front of her and gently pulling out a few loops of yarn near her feet. She didn't protest, though her heart and mind were racing, stunned by the thought that had struck her when the tangled yarn aligned with Morianon's head; like the depictions of souls in art.

"You really got into a predicament here, huh?" Morianon isolated the end of the yarn that connected to the unfinished blanket and scooted the pile of tangles away from it.

"I was just being impatient," Evarin admitted. Morianon nodded and looked up at her, worry and hesitation clear in his expression. She tensed, looking down at him nervously.

"Ev… are you sure you're alright? I know we both hate to pry, but, well—" he ducked his head apologetically.

"What?"

"I just. Are you jealous of Larel? Is that why you won't let me dance for you?" His golden eyes pleaded with her, searching her face for an answer. She blinked in surprise and opened her mouth silently, stuttering out a few false starts before she found her voice again.

"Jealous? What do you mean?"

"Because she had that operation done. And you were there with her, and then I came home and we had a good night, but you haven't been in the mood for sex since then. So I thought, you know, maybe you were feeling uncomfortable in your body again." He watched her face, and she smiled sadly, leaning back in the armchair.

"Oh, Mori," she sighed, "I appreciate the concern, but it's fine, really. I'm not jealous of Larel. I'm content with my body, you know I am." Her hand drifted to her chest, and she corrected it by clutching at the sun and mountain pendant resting over her sternum. Morianon hummed doubtfully, but dropped his gaze, returning to the tangled yarn on the floor. Evarin grew restless in the silence, tried to distract herself with the tangles on her lap, and finally relented with a huff. "Maybe I do wish my body was a little different," she grumbled, "but not the way Larel did. And I can't do what I want, because I've got too much orc in my blood. My height, my tusks, even my facial hair"— she scratched at the stubble on her jaw— "I don't want it. The more orcish I look, the more masculine I look, even if it would give me the full body changes I want, in the end." She glared at the yarn in her lap. Morianon stood and half-sat on the arm of the chair.

"You know I'd support you," he said.

"I know."

"If you ever decide to go through with it, I'm with you. Any of it, I don't care what it is."

"Even if I got so tall you'd have to crane your neck to look at me?" Evarin scoffed, but she couldn't hold back her soft smile. Morianon laughed.

"Were you trying to make that sound like a bad thing?" he teased, "after seeing me perch on K'arik's shoulder so often, you don't think I'd enjoy having a tall wife?" He leaned down and rubbed his cheek feathers on her scruffy sideburns. Evarin snorted and pushed him away.

"Flirt all you want, I'm still not in the mood for a courting dance right now," she said, though she wanted nothing more than to forget the worries haunting her thoughts and spend the whole day in her husband's arms. Morianon sighed.

"I'll wait as long as you need me to," he replied. Evarin nodded.

"Thank you." She returned her focus to the mess of yarn and Morianon joined her, silently untangling it loop by loop, wrapping it onto the large ball, and repeating the process until at last there was only the one loose strand between the ball and the blanket.

[cassiusdebeaumont]

Marian thought her company was an absolute joy! Marcy hadn't any idea she could feel both like jumping for joy and melting into a puddle of contentment. This was possibly one of the greatest feelings in the whole world. It ranked right up there with the time Lord De Beaumont had hugged her after a particularly bad day at the office. He had whispered he was very proud of her. Compliments from Lord De Beaumont were very rare and so she had known at the time he meant what he said. And while she did not get the feeling compliments were rare from Marian, she did feel as if they were very heartfelt and that was equally as wonderful.

But when Marian agreed to see her work, even suggesting that, perhaps her art could go in her office, energy unlike anything she had felt all day raced through her veins. Marcy quickly shoved two spoonfuls of chili into her mouth before making a scramble for her purse. The Prada bag sat on the table beside her but was quickly pulled down into her lap and shuffled through. The bag being particularly full and unorganized, items were placed on the table as she searched.

A bottle of peach juice was placed on the table as well as her phone charger, a small work tablet, and a black stuffed animal with a white skull face. It was roughly in the shape of a very fat wendigo--obviously meant to be a child's version of The Unholy God. Once it had been moved out of the way, the black worn leather of her travelers notebook was visible and the book quickly retrieved. Everything else was unceremoniously shoved back into her bag.

"Here it is! See, I have one just like Lord De Beaumont! Well, his is brown leather and very old but the premise is the same." Opening her book, four travelers notebook were slipped into the binding. "I have a book for work stuff, ancient languages, temple work, and my personal thoughts. I sorta doodle on the pages."

Turning the book so that it faced Marian, she popped an olive in her mouth and leaned forward to flip through some pages.

Marcy's art style was like if someone had taken the art from the original 101 Dalmations and had opted to make it darker, more traditionally gothic, but just as sketchy and elongated. Her topics, however, were ranged.

On one page of notes from a particularly boring meeting was a tall man in a suit, his skeletol hands coming up to adjust his tie, his head a stag skull with broken antlers.

Another page showed a man in a chair, head leaning back over one arm while his legs draped over the other. His arms were dramatically raised and a word bubble declared him sing/yelling "Yonkers!" The character appeared both effiminent and dramatic.

"That's Mr. Collins." Marcy laughed awkwardly, having forgot she drew that one. "He's obsessed with Hello Dolly."

Still, other pages showed small doodles. One of herself, her empty eyes drawn large and mismatched in circular size with curly hair exaggerated to large proportions. She had drawn herself in long dress, barefoot, and holding a headless teddy bear in one hand.

Another page showed a chibi version of Khaugesus, body fat and black with a skeletol tail and screaming stag head declaring "where's my tea!?"

Yet another page was a complete change of direction, not done at work, as a group of praying mantis sat around a table singing "Tell me more, tell me more, did you bite off his head?"

On another page was a grinning wolf face and, although just a simple character sketch, the emotion was that of an absolute skallywag; a complete likeness of Asim.

"I drew you too though!" Flipping to her book on temple work, her doodles were more refined. Beside words declaring spiritual thought was a version of Cassius more realistic to his godly form and less cartoony. He stretched long and curled along the page, reaching his hand out towards something not drawn. The page next to it was Marian doing the same. She was human in form, hair raised and curling as if she were in water. A Victorian dress covered her form and her hand also reached out. The effect was as if the two were Ying and Yang.

"I'm sorry I don't have much. I haven't known you as long physically so I wasn't sure what you looked like....And I mostly draw at work when I have down time. They're just doodles...nothing too terribly special....I have better ones in my sketchbook at the condo. If you still want me to make something for your office, I promise it will look a lot better than these."

Marian could say for certainty that she hadn't ever heard a prayer of thanks like that said in front of her. It was both a bit sweet and surprising at first. Logically she knew now that there was a whole following that worshiped her. But it threw her off for a split second while putting the kettle on the stove to hear it right in front of her.

Listening to the story she told of the Mc Donald glass had brought a smile to her face, and made her take mental note that if she ever came across one of those glasses to snag it quick.

She had never seen any of their temples now that she thought of it. Chris had mentioned that he had visited one of their buildings while she had been away in France, but she herself hadn't visited yet. There was also the one in Cadenworth that she knew of, but that one would hold rather bittersweet memories Marian imagined.

Using the tea pot Cassius had gifted her she turned her head back as Marcy thanked her again and smiled. Instinctively she went to say that Marcy didn't have to give her anything. But then Marian reminded herself that she promised Cassius to be more receptive to gifts.

'Having you here is an absolute joy, so i should be thanking you back. But if you wanted to draw something i would be more than happy to see your work if you're comfortable sharing anything!"

A thought came to mind.

"Oh! Actually now that i think of it, i'm going to be applying for a position at Brendles here soon. Cassius is eager to have me on staff, we just need the votes from the other board members and all. I've already met them and i don't imagine it'll be hard to get them. Which means i would have an office there in the building. Perhaps you could create some art for it? I imagine i won't be taking much of anything in my current one over at the library, so i'll have plenty of wall space to fill up. Would that be something you would be interested in doing?"

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Liability- Part 1

Pairing: College Student!Rafe Cameron x Cousenlor!Reader

Summary: Rafe gets himself into a bit of a bind with one of the professors at Duke and is forced to see an on-campus counselor, someone he was very set on hating. But she's extremely hard to hate.

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, mentions of drugs.

A/n: First of all, I want to mention that this fic is an AU type fic; it will only include Rafe's mildly destructive behavior and daddy issues but this does not follow allow with the Outerbanks storyline. Second of all, this fic would not be a thing without the lovely @storytellingwitht feeding into my addiction lmao. You guys are amazing. I love you all!

“So, what brought you to Duke?” 

My head tilts curiously at him, eyes trailing over his frame as he desperately tries to not tremble like a leaf. He’s either drunk, high or anxious (or all of the above), his eyes flickering around the dimly lit room, his eyes momentarily locking with the lava lamp in the corner of the room. When he looks around, he chooses to not look directly at me but instead at the wall behind me, knee bouncing anxiously as he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. 

He resembles something close to agitation or anxiety and has since he walked in the room twenty minutes ago, not caring to say hi or introducing himself but instead just sat down on the couch across from me and decided to take his sentence in silence. It’s to be expected, especially from someone with his track record. I heard a little bit about him from the other faculty in the office and his professors, mixed reviews on his behavior but how, miraculously, his grades show the opposite.

Crossing my legs, I ready the notebook in my lap, pen tapping against the paper as I wait for him to answer my nth question of the night. After a few minutes of uncomfortable and unfortunate silence, he clears his throat and takes a deep breath before adjusting himself on the couch, eyes flickering up to look at the ticking clock on the wall.

“‘s a good college.” He shrugs simply, eyes flickering up to mine briefly as I let out a small sigh of relief at the sound of his deep voice. His back cracks as he leans back into the couch, biting at his lip as he watches my pen scribble aimlessly across my notepad. I can tell he wants to ask what I’m writing, which is the reason why I lifted the pen to draw a simple smiley face in the first place, knowing the thought of me analyzing him would drive him crazy.

“I’ve seen your grades, you should be proud.” The shocked uptick of his brows makes me laugh quietly to myself, taken back by his response to the simple praise. He nods sternly, a faint blush spreading across the tops of his cheekbones. “So why the self sabotage?” I quiz and his brows furrow cutely.

“What?”

“Keying a professor's car?” His eyes immediately roll at the recollection of his transgressions, the events that brought him to my office three times a week. There’s a part of me that thinks he’s embarrassed, eyes low as he toys with the thick ring on his thumb but I can see the desperate need to defend himself behind his eyes, but instead he chooses the path of least resistance. 

“Got angry.” He answers simply but it’s not enough for me.

“Yeah, you have a history of that.” I sigh, placing his records on the table in front of him, giving up the gimmick of ‘good cop’, trying to get through to him as a counselor, but it took very little time to realize my coworkers were right- he’d never trust my authority- the little authority I have. He picks the papers up tentatively, almost looking at me with a ‘should I be seeing this?’ look but indulges anyways, flipping through the pages with a tight jar.

Folding my legs beneath me, a sad smile spreads across my lips as he tosses the sheets back onto the table in front of me, his fists clenching in his lap. I can’t tell if his anger stems from insecurities regarding his own actions or if he’s angry that others have had a view into his darker past. I can tell that he’s a closed off guy, that he doesn’t open up unless it’s mandatory and even then, he attempts desperately to not share, to not open up. 

“Look, Rafe, you have to do this- talk to me, I mean. You’re lucky you got mandatory counseling instead of mandatory jail time.” I laugh, trying to desperately ease the tension in the room but he doesn’t crack, just stares down at the packet of paper between us with uneasy eyes. But after a few minutes, my staring breaks through his tough exterior, a heavy sigh leaving him as he finally looks up at me, taken back by my comfortable stance. He mirrors me, folding a leg over his other before tossing his hands up in surrender.

“What do you want from me?” 

“Answer the questions I’ve gotta ask you, ask questions of your own- hell, talk about football or something that’s bugging you.” He cringes at the offer, his eyes fluttering shut to briefly imagine what it would be like if he had taken the punishment the professor originally wanted to force upon him but instead he’s stuck with the peppiest counselor he’ll ever encounter. 

“Are you an actual therapist?” He asks curiously, attempting to take a jab at my credentials but my smile only grows, happy that he’s taking a step in the right direction. 

“I have a masters degree in psychology.” My finger jabs up at the wall to his left, blue eyes following my direction to three diplomas on the wall.

I certainly never expected to end up in a university, tending to the most fucked up age group in the country- my generation. I wanted to go into forensics, to get into the grittiness of the mental psyche but you’d be amazed by the messed up shit you see on college campuses- the dorms, the streets late at night, the blackmail and betrayals. Some of the students that I see, like Rafe, are in mandatory counseling, probably to heal from academic issues or destructive tendencies. But others are girls looking for a way out of toxic relationships, young students who wish so desperately to come out to their parents, or the occasional meltdown where a student just needs me to listen.

 Maybe Rafe needs someone to just listen.

Either way, I’d never go back and change anything that led me to this couch right now.

“A masters- how old are you anyways?” He asks, suddenly confused at the math as he leans towards the diploma to look at the year it was dated. With a shocked huff, he turns back to me with wide eyes, elbows resting on his knees and I let out a small bashful laugh.

“I’m 23.” 

“Oh.” He mutters, shifting in his seat before adding, “I’m 20.” A fond smile stretches across my lips at his subtle attempt to connect, his quiet voice almost boyish and innocent. I’m not sure the connection was intentional or if he’s sizing me up but either way, the realization in our closeness in age sparks something in him, his discomfort seeming to fade more and more as our times goes on.

“I know. I have your chart.” I lift the binder from beside me into the air, waving it back and forth.

“What else is in there?” He asks, fingers rubbing along his jaw as his eyes seem to focus on his name that’s spelled across the front of the binder in big black letters.

“You’re 20, you have a 3.6 GPA, you’re majoring in Developmental Psych- which is interesting to me.” I snort, wanting nothing but to dive deeper into his psyche and understand why a smart, handsome athlete is majoring in something as specific as developmental psychology. They say people go into a psych degree to learn something about themselves, their past or their family. So, in Rafe’s case, which is it? “You’re a tight-end on our varsity football team, you came from the Outer Banks-” There’s a sense of tension that thickens the atmosphere around us at the mention of his hometown, his shoulders rolling and head tilting so he can direct his attention out the window to look at the setting sun,  his strong jaw squared. “I can also see that you spent two nights in jail, you’ve been arrested for drug possession and illegal possession of a weapon-” 

“You’ve got my full rap-sheet over there?” He snaps, voice no longer playful but instead he’s seething, brows furrowed as I pause, eyes widening at him briefly, almost asking him ‘may I continue’ without actually saying it. I fight the urge to ask him all of my questions at once; ‘why are you such a troublemaker?’, ‘why the need for drugs?’, ‘why’d you leave your hometown?’- but instead I bite my tongue.

“You’re not giving me anything else to go off of.” I whisper tiredly, anxiously looking up at the clock, wondering if we’ll even end up getting anywhere in this session and/or if I’ll be able to count it as a part of his punishment. A look of realization passes through his expression, his handsome face relaxing with a gentle nod. “You’re not exactly an open book.” He smiles sadly to himself, eyes focused down at his lap.

Take the path of least resistance, Rafe.

“What do you wanna know?” He gives in, clasping his hands in front of him as I grin, prepared to take full advantage of my power and make him laugh, something I’ve heard he doesn’t do often.

“What’s your favorite color-”

“Oh now you’ve overstepped.” He says, dead serious, but after a few moments of silence he breaks into quiet laughter, a shocked scoff leaving me at his teasing. “My favorite color- really? I keyed a car and this is my punishment?” He asks incredulously, scooting to the edge of his seat, the distance between us only lessening as I bite back a nervous smile, focusing on the job at hand- my job at hand.

“The point of counseling is to have breakthroughs and to form a relationship based on trust and open communication.” He cringes at my explanation, a look of discomfort passing through his eyes as he sucks in a breath. “You don’t seem like the trusting type but I’m willing to take my time.” My voice comes out ten times more flirtatious than I intended it to but it causes his whole body to pause, eyes looking up at me with a teasing look, the gears behind his eyes to turn. “To be honest, I have a bit of a habit of growing on people.” He snorts, biting at his lip.

“I gathered that.” He breathes, running his fingers through his hair before giving it a small tug.

“Are you saying I’m growing on you, Cameron- it’s been like a half an hour.” I tease, loving the innocent blush that covers his pale cheeks as he instantly tries to deny, head shaking immediately in defiance. It’s hard to imagine him doing all of the bad things I know he’s done, things that are more extreme and way beyond vandalism. He seems almost awkward at times, boyish and bashful as he’s slowly sinking into the comfort of my office and my prying- far from the man depicted in his records. 

“New record?”

“New record for sure.”

“Does that mean I’m free to go?” He quizzes and he blows out a breath, rubbing his clammy hands against the tops of his jeans. I ponder letting him go ten minutes early but there’s a part of me that isn’t quite ready to set him free from my clutches just yet.

“Sure.” His eyes light up at my agreement but before he can stand, I hold up a pointed finger at him, urging him to sit his butt back down. “On one condition.” He agrees almost immediately before knowing my true demand, head bobbing in an agreeable nod.

“Shoot.”

“Hand over your phone.” His face pales at my instructions, eyes staring at my open palm that sticks out to him, waiting for him to do what I said. He looks like a deer in headlights right before a catastrophic crash, tongue slipping out to wet his cracked lips as he stutters.

“Wha-”

“Give it.” I ask again, stern voice forcing a shaky, nervous laugh from him as he goes fishing in his pocket. He hands it over to me without any questions, his eyes watching me like a hawk as I go into his contacts, adding myself as ‘best counselor’.  “Only call or text if you’re having an emotional emergency and/or feel like doing something mildly self destructive.” I laugh but as I hand back his phone, he just shakes his head, brows furrowed in confusion as he stares down at the contact. 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” I ask and he shrugs. “Why care?” The nod he gives me is almost sad, my heart aching in my chest at the thought of him being so out of touch when it comes to having people that care about him, people that want to see him succeed and to not key professors' cars. “Because, it’s what I do. Get used to it.” Slipping his phone back into his pocket, I make my way to my feet and he does the same, awkwardly shuffling towards the door. His hand hesitates to reach out towards the handle, neck craning to look back at me with a desperate expression.

“You know that’s like asking a fish to breathe air, right?”

“Better learn.” I shrug, crossing my arms across my chest as he huffs, pouting like a child. Reaching out, I push him playfully towards the door as he groans, head tilting back at his steps out into the busy hallway. “Behave!”

“You got it!”What a liar.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy

@steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @minjix @luvrosee @storytellingwitht @savageneversaw @admiringlove @witxhy-lexx @starlightandfairies

[travellingdragon]

Temeraire - Appendices, Short Stories and Deleted Scenes or the result of my unplanned crafting weekend.

It turned out much better than I ever thought??? So far I have bound two very simple booklets and a notebook with the help of my sister, so my expectations were not really high tbh.

progress below the cut

I started this project because I was annoyed by the lack of appendices in some editions of the Temeraire books and collected (hopefully) all of them with the help of the Temeraire discord, especially Maz and stargrazing 🧡 I also found some deleted scenes and added the short stories I know of. The typesetting was fun until word decided to fuck with the formatting but that honestly wasn't much of a surprise.

The next step was to print everything out, and then print out the first few pages again, since my sister found way better fonts than I did (thanks!), so I could get close to the Temeraire woodcut covers (though, yes, @nighttimepatrons the T could be mistaken for a J ^^).

After I folded all the sections, I had to think about just how I was actually going to bind this book. Initially I was thinking about something in the style of Japenese bookbinding, though the inner margin would have probably been too small for that. There's a very good youtube channel about bookbinding (called DAS bookbinding) that I went to and though I couldn't find anything about Japanese bookbinding, I found a video about Ethiopian two-needle binding. I decided to go with that since it seemed doable and looks fancy.

The next step was to make the front and back of the book. Luckily (since I'm an incorrigible arts/crafts stuff hoarder) I still had some cardboard notebook backs which came in handy. The question that then came up was what to cover them with. The nicest paper I could find was gift wrapping paper that still made me go meh. Then, however, I remembered that I'd taken three of the encyclopedia books my parents had thrown out (they are from 1975, slightly outdated, even thought they look very fancy) and kept them (again: arts/crafts stuff hoarder). One of those was the book with maps, because I love maps.

Originally I was going to just use the Great Britain/Ireland map - with Ireland, Wales and England on the front, and Scotland and assorted isles on the back - but my sister (again, thanks!) gave me the idea to put the map upright and cover the rift with the title. Obviously that meant that I needed a new idea for the back and for that I went with a map of the world since Temeraire does travel quite a lot.

Now with all the individual parts assembled, I punched some holes and went to find some yarn. I thought I was going to go with the thin yarn you can see above but that was really way too thin, even when I used three parallel strands. Instead I used embroidery yarn I still had lying around. Since bookbinding yarn is apparently waxed, I grabbed a beeswax candle and pulled the yarn I used over it. I don't know if it actually did something helpful, but it certainly smelled good.

Ethiopian two-needle bookbinding uses - as the name says - two needles, if you have two holes and two pieces of yarn. I made four holes and so I had four needles and four pieces of yarn. I guess you could also use just one (or in my case two) pieces of yarn, but if you use two (four) differently coloured pieces of yarn, you'll get a fancy pattern at the spine!

The spine is a lot broader than the front of the book but I can live with that. If I'd made the sections larger, I might have avoided that or it would have been less noticeable at least.

This was a really lovely project that that turned out much better than I could have hoped!!! I powered through this in a weekend+ (started on Friday, finished up Monday morning) and I had a great time :3

Now to wrap this post up, here's a photo of this book with the two booklets I've bound (the short stories are also in the book) and one of it in the shelf with the other Temeraire books:

[finalfrontierpublishing]

Process - or really Nic doing random shit and hoping it works

Recently, a few bookbinders have been describing their creative process and i love how aspirational and amazing they are. these people are amazing, my friends- they come up with so much cool shit in the setting of their home, with things they have on hand, and it shocks me at how great these bookbinders are. 

i think comparatively, my process is fairly simple (i.e. chaos gremlin), and I've decided I'd like to use a previous book i took process pics of as a general outline as to how i come up with what i want to do. 

My first step is usually to fixate on a particular design element and move on from there - this is usually a chapter font or an image header or a cover image i’m interested in using, and then moving on to putting things together to form something cohesive. most of the time i have to see how it’ll look visually before i can decide, which does make choosing design elements challenging and hence made me a little into a pantser (despite being an asshole who likes to measure things). half the time, i change things like endpapers or endbands or colour of bookcloth or even the whole freaking design right down to the wire because i just won’t know what will work until i can see it.

To make this a little fun for me, I'll outline the general stream of consciousness (let's face it, it’s not that much of a process, I just think things and sometimes a book happens) along with 45% of the foul language that accompanies it when I try new things with books.

(Please be aware that I am 90% made of foul language and i sometimes frequently blaspheme like a sailor)

See below for thought process, process pics and much swearing. 

Day 0 minus 14 - Ok, let's be smart about binderary, shall we? I have a week of leave in February, let's make it count... Proceeds to prepare 10 typesets with 2 ready-made ones and then an additional notebook for a total of 13 books for Binderary. Ooh boy. Yeah, that’s achievable. 

Day 1:

Attends queercore workshop at 0630am in the morning. Fuck, am I sleepy. Did I succeed in making a book? Not really. Okay, let’s fudge it. Converts glueless notebook with nice stitching into case bind. Convenient gift for mothers day - booyah, 1 gift done. 

Oh hey. I have a thing. What about the Oh Mercy // Oh Love book. Hmmm, I have a nice image for this that I didn't use for the typesetting. Wonder if I can stitch it.

20:00 hours: Oooh, Neenah Illusio Laser paper - it looks so shiny. And Metallic. Very circuit board-y. Just what i was going for. Is it a paper? Is it cloth? I have no fucking idea. Hope it takes foil alright.

20:30 hours: Ooh ok, success - Jesus that's a lot of holes to poke.

Day 2: 

Okay, procrastination. Gotta make a case. 

JEsus i hate the turn ins and THE SPINE DFJKLSDFKLJ;SDF;LKSDF paper why you gotta do me a dirty?! Stiff and crinkly!!!!

17:00 hours: okay, case is nearly doneish.

Time to use foil quill to outline the holes to give it that soldered look and then do all the hole pokery. Dinner first.

19:00 hours: Dinner sorted. But like you know, let’s do some hammering with an awl in an apartment complex and pray none of the neighbours complain.

Shit these holes are small.

22:30 hours: I might finish this by Christmas, maybe. 

JFC i am collapsing under my hubris. THE FACT I THOUGHT I COULD DO THIS. Oh god @&£#'€¥ what possessed me to try this - oh I know, I thought it would look cool (90% of why I do things when I make books).

Go easy on the thread - do not rip it through the space between two holes. JESUS FFFJB;N;KLGH CHRIST WHY.

Okay I can do this. I can do this. Stitches for 4 hours and nearly collapses.

Stitching is done!!!! Hmmm design looks a little plain. And awww shit you can't see any of the gold around the holes anymore. Okay let's try going over it in foil quill again.

00:30 hours: OH FUCK OH FUCK WHAT A FUCKING BAD IDEA.

Jesus djdjsbsbdjdsbdbddnc * MAKES MISTAKE and adds dot of gold on the side of a hole, plainly not in the hole*

Frantically googles ‘how to remove we r memory keepers heat reactive foil from paper’

Tries to remove it with an eraser and tape as per google recommendations- but removes a fuck ton of the green colouring on the bookcloth as well. JESUS.

I am ready for death.

Day 3:

10:30 hours: Okay I am ready for a new day. Am I really ready? Unclear. Time to weed the shit out a fucking complex design and go blind in the process.

12:30 hours: Ok fuck, that only took 2 hours.

But oh shit endbands and glueing of the spine. Time to do some glueing. At least it’s somewhat therapeutic. Jesus my endpapers and mull are still not on.

14:00 hours: On to the case it goes

14:30 hours: Time to do some HTV application

Fuck why isn't the HTV sticking JESUS cricut is an evil corporation out to take my money and yet I did not want to use Siser HTV today because I Was Not Ready for Death and Ruination. 

Proceeds to iron for the next 1 hour. 

16:00 hours: Fine it's finally fucking on?

Is the spine done? Hmmm. that little blemish isn’t covered. Should I cover it? Ugh. 

Cuts out little squares of gold foil - but it looks foul. Okay, nope, not good. 

Fuck I need a nap. Somewhere along the way, spouse comes home. Dog has been fed. My job is done. 

Naps for 3 hours just because.

20:00 hours: Okay moment of truth. Time to case in. Book is gonna be held together with glue and prayer. Shit why do the squares look so small- fuck it's because there's some stitching on the spine so I can't push the textblock all the way in. I DID NOT PLAN FOR THIS EVIDENTLY. please do not stick out please do not stick out please do not stick out

20:30 hours: hallelujah it is FINE - into the press of a million books it goes

So that was a wild ride-- i wish i could say i exaggerate, but this is how it is with me tryin’ to do a book especially when trying new things i haven’t previously done before. Will a book happen? Sometimes I don’t really know. 

[hermannsthumb]

Okay but what about Hermann is just horny 24/7, but he's repressing his feelings. And Newt who sees it and maybe is enjoying a bit. And one day Newt just pins Hermann to a lab wall, ties his arms with a belt or sleeves of his shirt and teases Hermann until he melts in his hands. And Newt murmurs to Hermann something like "sweetheart, you could have just said.." This thought makes me DEAD

a fic! somewhat obviously rated 18+/not for kids' eyes!!!!! so all hidden below the cut, lmfao. dedicated to people on side twitter bc boy do I love some light d/s + nerm

It’s not like Newt’s never looked at Hermann before. Look-looked, in like, a sexy, considering way. It gets lonely in the lab with just the two of them, after all, and usually Hermann is the only face Newt will see for hours, days, one memorable occasion when they were super-swamped with work, a week. His face is the only one that comes to mind when Newt wants to have sexy thoughts for that reason—it’s just, like, easier and takes less imagination to masturbate to the thought of the guy you see every day than anyone else. And Hermann is kind of hot, Newt guesses, in a weird, repressed nerd kind of way. He thinks it has something to do with not knowing what Hermann's bothering to repress so bad. Maybe he's got a hot bod under all those layers or sucks dick like a porn star or something. Or he's hiding how horny he is all the time and would love nothing more than to cut loose for once. (Newt would be happy to take one for the team!) It's gotta be that, because Newt can't imagine why else the thought of Hermann—scowling and hunching over a chalkboard in one of his god-awful tweed blazers—gets him so goddamn riled up every time he sticks his hand down his pants.

Whatever the appeal is, Newt's masturbatory fantasies tend to tilt towards very particular (and well-loved) scenarios: Hermann finally gets fed up with Newt’s obnoxious behavior and shoves him against a wall to teach him a lesson, or Hermann holds Newt down on a bed or the lab couch or the floor and has his way with him to teach him a lesson, or Hermann grips Newt’s shoulders and uses his mouth in any way he sees fit to teach him a lesson. Newt's real into the idea of Hermann being in control. Or, in other words, Hermann doing the doing, Newt doing the taking. Not that Newt is adverse to topping. He'd be down for it if Hermann was. (And not that Newt spends a lot of time considering what Hermann is down for, and whether or not letting Newt top him is on that list, but yeah, Newt does kind of hope it would be.)

He's just...always assumed Hermann would want things that way. Newt's kind of assumed that he would want them that way, too.

All of his preconceived sexy notions about Hermann come crashing down around him one completely ordinary day in the lab.

It happens in a flash, too. A couple of seconds max. Hermann is over in Newt's space (he flagrantly disobeys the tape line more than Newt does, no matter what he may claim), shouting at him about something dumb and waving his cane around for dramatic effect. Only he's not looking where he's waving it, and the end of it comes into contact with a vial of some somewhat lethal weird kaiju gland extract that Newt's been planning on experimenting with this week, and the whole thing fuckin' shatters. "Shit!" Newt says, at the same time Hermann says "Bugger," and, before Newt knows it, Hermann's reaching out to save a pile of Newt's lab notes from certain kaiju gland death.

Which is royally stupid of him. That stuff is already eating through Newt's wooden work bench like it's nothing—God knows what it'd do to Hermann's skin. Newt's messy notes are not worth it.

"Dude, no," Newt exclaims, and grabs Hermann's wrist to stop him.

And Hermann...moans.

They stare at each other. The kaiju gland extract drips to the metal floor, where it sizzles harmlessly.

Hermann pulls his arm away.

"Clean this up," he snaps. He turns heel and storms out, giving Newt a spectacular view of the fiery red flush spreading down the back of his neck.

Huh, Newt thinks. That's something new.

-----

"I'm not some sort of sexual deviant," Hermann assures him. "I have. Er. Entirely respectable—tastes. Typically."

"Uh-huh," Newt says.

"Only this is quite out of character for me," Hermann says.

Newt pulls his tie taut around Hermann's wrists to watch Hermann squirm and grins, just a little, before knotting it loosely. "No offense, Hermann," he says, "but bondage isn't exactly hardcore. Besides, it's fine if you like out-there kinda stuff. No judgement."

“But I don’t,” Hermann says.

“I’m not saying you do,” Newt says, “I’m saying—”

“And this isn’t bondage.” Hermann sniffs. “Bondage sounds—”

"Look, dude, do I need to gag you?" Newt jokes.

Except Hermann maybe doesn't get the joke: his eyes widen, and mouth hangs open. Not exactly the shouty, loud response and demand for respect Newt was expecting. Also something new. Newt's learning a lot of very, very unexpected things about Hermann, and part of him wishes he had a notebook or his tape recorder on hand to take inventory of all of it. Subject A (Hermann Gottlieb) likes having his wrists pinned and his big dumb mouth shut up. Conclusion: ? "I—I beg your pardon?" Hermann says.

Today marks a week after the kaiju gland incident. A week of furtive glances across the tape line, Hermann's badly-hidden blushes, and Newt reevaluating every single goddamn thing he's ever thought or assumed about the guy (and himself, to be honest), and Newt was finally the one to snap. In Newt's defense, it wasn't totally out of the blue. At lunch time an uncharacteristically quiet and bashful Hermann slid a cup of coffee onto Newt's desk, mumbling something about how Newt really needed to get more sleep, and Newt just...

Hermann didn't moan when Newt grabbed his wrists that time; his tongue darted out over his lips, and he looked at Newt through the dark eyelashes of his half-mast eyelids. "Please," he had said.

Newt gets why Hermann was being so weird and cagey about it, he really does. It’s hard to admit to yourself you want something kinda embarrassing, and Newt knows it’s just as embarrassing for Hermann to like him as it is for Newt to like Hermann. Newt’s weird, and small, and probably smells bad, and Hermann’s weird, and smells bad (cigarette smoke and moth-eaten sweaters, but Newt jerks off to it anyway, huh, doesn't he), and is slightly not as small. But holy shit, if he didn’t melt into a puddle when Hermann breathed that out all desperately, like it took all he had.

“Do you want me to gag you?” Newt says.

He’s using the skinny tie Hermann claims to hate so much on his wrists, or he might’ve seriously balled up the fabric and shoved it into Hermann’s mouth. There’s not much else in the way of gags readily on hand in the lab, no fabric scraps or anything like that. Maybe they’ll try it later. He kisses Hermann instead, slipping his tongue past those open lips, and Hermann parts them wider with a throaty groan. "Ah, Newton—"

Newt didn’t really expect their first kiss to go like this. He didn’t expect their first kiss to, like, happen in the first place, but it’s especially weird that it’s happening while Hermann is bound up and pressed up against his chalkboard. Newt's been keeping an eye on Hermann's leg, careful of any sign that it's going to give out and that they should move this to the couch, but Newt's knee between both of Hermann's seems to be all the support he needs. “I’m here, dude,” he says, and slips down to press a gentle kiss to Hermann’s jaw instead, then his neck. Hermann tilts his head back with another groan; he flexes against his restraints.

Is Newt the first person Hermann's ever done this with? Or trusted enough to tell he wants to do this?

The possibility kinda just makes this all hotter to Newt. He drags the tips of his fingers up Hermann's chest, feeling his heart pound through the thick layers of his button-down and sweatervest, and drags them back down. He stops just at Hermann's bound wrists. Hermann groans softly. "Do you want me to touch you more?" Newt says.

"Please," Hermann says, "ah, please, Newton—"

Newt does, smiling as he curls up on the toes of his boots and presses another kiss to Hermann's mouth. His right hand, he uses to ruck up Hermann's sweatervest and dig under his shirt; his left hand, he curls the fingers of in Hermann's skinny tie bindings to tug sharply. Hermann's chest is bony and warm beneath his palm. His heart is beating faster, and faster. "Please," Hermann begs again, and this time when Newt kisses him, he sags against Newt helplessly.

"Hermann," Newt murmurs. Hermann's breath is fogging up his glasses and making it difficult for him to see. Which is a goddamn shame, because Newt wants to, like, memorize the image of a flushed and panting and begging Hermann, tattoo it to his skin forever as a reminder of today, a whole big splash of color on his back where he was planning on putting another kaiju. Yeah, Newt takes back what he said earlier, Hermann isn't just kinda hot—he's very hot. He drags his tongue over Hermann's pulse point, and says, just as gently, "Hermann, you could've just said."

Newt would've done anything for Hermann when he grabbed Hermann's wrists and Hermann breathed out a simple please, and Newt would do anything for Hermann now. Newt would get every single tattoo removed if it meant making Hermann happy. He bites down on the sweaty, pale skin of Hermann's neck, unable to hold back a moan of his own when Hermann's whole body writhes with it, and shoves his hand down Hermann's oversized slacks.

"I want you to come," Newt mumbles, rubbing at him furiously, "I want you to come, I wanna make you come, I wanna—"

Hermann muffles his cry in Newt's shoulder when he does. Newt waits until he's stopped shaking to untie his wrists carefully, and isn't surprised when Hermann immediately grabs Newt's shoulders to steady himself. (Hermann thighs are still trembling from the awesome orgasm Newt gave him. It's pretty hot. But also, Newt should probably grab his cane for him.) "You—you've made a terrific mess of me," Hermann sniffs, vaguely annoyed, like he's reprimanding Newt for knocking a piece of kaiju intestine on the floor again.

Newt decides not to mention to Hermann that he kinda soaked the knee of Newt's jeans, too. He can do laundry later. "Sorry, man," Newt says, but Hermann gives another, happier sniff when Newt kisses his cheek. "I'll take care of it."

[sun-geekomancer]

Apothecaria [Summer, Week 12] (Week 3, Day 4)

Everyone in the village is getting ready for the Sunrise Celebration. Since the Maker's Market just ended, that's the next big event. For the record, I had no idea about the Maker's Market and thus I missed it entirely. Several people expressed surprise that I decided not to attend with a booth. I did do some idle daydreaming, thinking about what I would want to sell. I'm no smith or carpenter. But, it seems like witches come from several of the surrounding regions to take part, mostly because we have the nicest village square for the market in much the surrounding region. Maybe some perfumes? or Incense? I could easily do potpourri. Or maybe jams or syrups. The local baker has the market cornered on baked goods during the market--and I wouldn't want to cause any bad feelings between us. Simple charms would also be fairly popular, I think. They don't make as much money as remedies, but not everyone has access to them. Back when I was an apprentice, I was always praised for having good fine motor skills and being very good with my hands. Ink is a possibility. I would have to get a muller for making it. Common ink is easy to buy, but only a witch can make magic ink. Plus, I could always make inks that aren't commonly in stock. We get dark blue, brown, and black here. But, not much outside of that. I won't lie, I'm extremely sore about missing the bookseller. Firmly established sour grapes. We have a general store that stocks things like notebooks and textbooks for the local children. But, nothing that really catches my interest. Mostly I was interested to see if any witches in the area had released notes about new reagents. Those String Books are called so because they are extremely limited print and the witch who wrote those notes usually hand-binds them with cotton thread. But, no general store is going to stock them--not when there is only one witch in town!

Anyway, I went into town to get some groceries and other regular items. There was a bard outside the Copper Fox that I didn't recognize. He wasn't singing, but he had set up a small shadow puppet stage--and was performing some old stories from the region where I lived during my school years. I was so taken--I hadn't heard any of those stories in years. If I close my eyes I can still see them. He had set up the stage and was performing just after sunset--so the glow of the stage was the brightest thing on the main street. The detailed shapes of his puppets gave the entire thing such an eerie, otherworldly-quality. I didn't bring any extra money with me, so I couldn't give him a tip. But, once he found out I was educated in the Caelum Towers, he did ask me to add details I remembered to some of the stories he only knew parts of. There were also a few titles he knew of that he asked me to tell him. There was one I couldn't remember at all--but I think I was able to furnish his request on two other stories to his satisfaction. It's very possible that made him happier than a small tip would have.

Draws: 3 of Diamonds for Village Event

Storage: - Surgeon Sap (1) - Ghost Goo (1) - Coffee Caps (1) - Shadow Shark (1) - Deep Reed (1) - Fairy Dust (1)

Reputation: 6 + 1

Money: 17 + 10 silver from the Temari Kappa

[king-there0f]

🌹🥀💫 for Matthias!

@mystery-salad

🌹 Where in the world does your OC feel most at home? Is there any reason why? If it’s not the place they were born, where were they born? Is there a certain somebody that makes them feel at home where ever they may be? What does home mean to them?

I think Matthias probably feels most at home in places he has carved out for himself. He feels at home in the homes of close friends, in his favorite places to be - favorite hiking spots and small quiet spaces, at a hearth or stove where he can cook a good hearty meal. He has a small, modest apartment in Divinity’s Reach that he bought after moving out of his family home and, though he isnt one to invest in lavish interior decorating, has spent the time to make his living space homey, and comforting. It was the first space he had full control over and he put in the effort to really make it his own. When he needs to unwind, or have a relaxing night in, his apartment is where he goes to shut out the noise of the world. Whenever he finds himself experiencing that longing homesick feeling that sometimes his own personal home just isnt fulfilling, he is comforted in the knowledge that his family always keeps their doors open to him, and that he might go join them for a meal or their company whenever he likes.

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

In the event that Matthias kept a journal, it would likey be a utilitarian affair. Important notes about things he needed to remember, grocery lists, names of allies, friends, and aquaintances and how best to reach them, notes about animal training, a calender - practical things that serve him on the day to day. He would not be one to journal to keep his thoughts or feelings, as he’d likey be a bit uncomfortable with that level of vulnerability. That, and he likey just wouldn’t know what to write. I don’t think he would decorate it, but he would almost certainly invest in something a bit expensive, with nice paper and tasteful leather binding. Simple, no bells or whistles, but very high quality. He writes in a half script, half print scrawl that looks very pretty and is not what most people assume his handwriting to be like.

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

He was the first character I ever made in GW2 and he is designed to be the descendant of my GW1: Factions main. I have a lot of sentimental attachment to Factions as it was the first video game I was ever allowed to buy for myself and I was able to convince most of my friends to buy it to play with me. We all made a guild together and played together all the time. I was in middle school then and whenever I would play with my friends I would call them on my parent’s landline and shove the phone under a pair of headphones as a makeshift headset. We eventually got busy and high school happened, and then college. I looked at my guild roster recently and asside from me the last time someone logged in was 9 years ago. It’s something that makes me kind of sad, but also fills me with fondness for how games like this can bring people together! That was a lot of words to say Matthias is my nostalgia bait character i guess lol. He just reminds me of a lot of good times I had with my friends playing the predecessor to this game. Also he is named after a Redwall character.

[fymagnificentwomcn]

Do you think that if Hatice hadn't ended up marrying Ibrahim she maybe could have been a little happier? Or at least lived longer? I always felt that her "love" for him was much more a kind of obsession than actual love and in the end being granted permission from Suleyman to be with him ended up being bad for her mental health since before their wedding she wasn't as anxious, paranoid, arrogant and jealous as she later became. Maybe if she married someone else she may not have fallen in love with them, but maybe she would have been a better mother to her children?

I honestly don’t think so. Of course a marriage of two traumatised people IS always a risky thing because obviously double dose of trauma and emotional problems is worse than when we have only one person with issues in a marriage, but loveless marriage would have destroyed Hatice much sooner, and actually it wasn’t the marriage that was the destruction of Hatice. Yes, it brought her a lot of pain with his betrayal, but ultimately it was one aspect of pain in her life that ultimately did get resolved, unlike others, which intensified.

Hatice is a clearly damaged person already at the beginning of the story. She’s a very sensitive soul that would always be troubled in this system. In her young age, she already had to witness the reign of her bloody father and was forced to marry an elderly man that died soon after the marriage. Even Süleyman is traumatised after dealings with his father and when he witnessed Selim’s brutal rise to power that involved eradicating all males in the family except Süleyman himself. Hatice feels trapped in the palace and feels suffocated in it.

While Ibrahim is made of sterner stuff, as we may say, and also does enjoy rising in the ranks in Ottoman palace, we know he also feels trapped and suffocated here, and that never truly adapted to Ottoman reality. While not so much sensitive person who abhors power games, he nevertheless also feels out of place here, also because he always feels more connected with Western culture. They are both outsiders actually. And this is what ultimately binds them together .Hatice, unlike say an ambitious princess like Sah, does not want power – she only wants to live peacefully with her children and man she loves. In this system of constant struggle, sometimes almost Darwinian (the whole open succession hello) to be on top, she might feel an outsider for that. Hatice in S1 IS also a naïve, sheltered idealist. She has her dreams of ideal future.

After (amost miraculous) acceptance of her marriage to Ibrahim, she seems to have it all, especially when she gets pregnant. But then everything is shattered when she miscarries and this is the event that begins her emotional descent arc.

However, she did have mental issues before that. She tried to kill herself when she was supposed to marry the man of Hafsa’s choosing. She didn’t want to feel trapped even more by again people deciding her fate thanks to all soulless, pragmatic, harsh rules.

Hatice was a depressed, anxious person from the very start of the series ,and she could also be short-tempered and impatient from very beginning.

And her being forced to marry someone else or not marry anyone would have likely made her to what Gevherhan did in MYK- decide to take her fate into her own hands FOR ONCE.

Maybe Ibrahim wasn’t a perfect choice due to his own emotional baggage that later made him commit stupid things, but he was still a good choice because she loved him, he loved her and he did understand her and also tried to be a source of support even though all their issues also caused him to be similarly a source of pain to her.

However, not matter how much Hatice and Ibrahim tried, the power struggle in the palace affected them because neither of them - she as member of dynasty and him as important official -  could ever be free from it. Ibrahim and Hürrem’s rivalry that intensified from S2 onwards affected it – we might say that neither Hürrem nor Ibrahim wanted to purposefully hurt Hatice, but she got caught in crossfire nevertheless. Obviously, marriage to Hatice meant a lot for Ibrahim’s career in the palace and making it fall apart was the easiest way for Hürrem to remove Ibrahim. We discussed it a bit here.

Similarly, fate also threw difficult things on them – first the miscarriage, then the death of the baby the cause of which was never determined (whether the poison or simple Sudden Infant Death Syndrome), but Hatice blames herself and thinks herself to be a killer of her child. Even once Ibrahim begins suspecting Hürrem because he figures out there was poison on his notebook that later could be carried to a child, who didn’t have such a strong organism as his father, he never shares this with Hatice not to re-open old wounds. Then Suleyman’s heart attack and her mother’s illness, all the intensification of power struggles that re-merged with Hatice trusting Hürrem again and then being disappointed again when Hürrem used sick Valide to frame Mahi while at the same sitting with Hatice and wishing her mum a speedy recovery (and Hatice did scold Mahi at first believing it was her), also some of earlier Mahi’s behaviour too… the turn of S2/S3 is very traumatising for Hatice. Death of her mother, followed by Ibrahim’s infidelity revelation together with manner of Hürrem revealing it that left Hatice in no doubt it was done to remove Ibrahim and that Hürrem was thus glad about his cheating (and again knowing that it is what Hürrem has dreamt of for long), so the final nail to their friendship’s coffin, it all caused a huge blow.Ultimately, the problem that does get solved in the end is the marital problem. Ibrahim ultimately does wake up even before he learns Nigar is pregnant (what Nigar anticipated actually) because in the end he DOES love his wife. He knows how much he hurt Hatice and is ready to face the consequences.. When Matrakçi said Hatice loves him a lot and would eventually forgive him, while Hürrem would surely use her opportunity and tell Süleyman: Ibrahim said: “What does it matter if I lose everything or not? I’ve once renounced ranks for Hatice. Nothing is worthy next to her. The only thing that worries me is Hatice, her broken heart. When she looked at me, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole”.

Again it’s Hatice’s choice to forgive him and neither Hürrem nor anyone should mock her for it. And unlike Süleyman, who constantly promises Hürrem to be faithful, and then goes enjoying making her jealous, Ibrahim does not intend to hurt Hatice ever again and I believe he wouldn’t  have even if he had lived much longer.

And then we see them at their best, most mature, most healthy relationship now they’ve dealt with their issues and decided to start anew no matter what. I think part of Hatice’s anxiety was being centered around her ideal, dream life and once cracks appeared (first crack was again the miscarriage), the issues began popping up, and she felt like world was slipping from her fingers. It is a psychological phenomenon, when sometimes big storm cleanses you because you give up on perfection, while a small crack can drive you crazy and be a nagging trigger.

Same with Ibrahim, who as Hatice’s husband and more and more successful vizier, began seeing that no matter his talents and achievements he’s still considered inferior to members of dynasty (including Süleyman ranting at beginning of S2 to Hürrem how nobody, including Ibrahim, is equal to him in Ibrahim’s earview). Hatice’s remark about him being servant (she obviously does not see him as that) would be perhaps part of normal marital quarrel otherwise, something thrown in anger, but for him it was a trigger. His relationship with Nigar was an escape from it all – unlike his relationships with Hatice and Süleymann, the dynastic aspect was gone, he was actually with someone inferior and doing something foribidden for damads. He himself believed in that fantasy world he created with Nigar and even remarked to his brother he would like to run away with the woman he loved (aka Nigar) back to Parga, but it was all an illusion. He did TRULY LOVE Hatice, NOT Nigar, but he could not get over at that moment with how much she stood for and was part of the system he abhorred (same with Süleyman). He loves both Hatice and Suly a lot, but at the same time he hates the system they stand for and this conflict drives him a lot in S2 . When he says why Esmanur is his favourite child he remarks that while he loves his children with Hatice, Esmanur is so precious to him because she’s not part of any dynasty he’s subservient to. At the same time he has his crisis with Hatice, he goes through several crises in this aspect with Süleyman too (and again, both conflcts are played at roughly the same time).  All things that would later doom him happened in S2 (things that he was guilty of, not simply blamed for something he didn’t do), he’s far more relaxed and certain of himself and his place in S3 before his death.

And after all problems were dealt with, Hatice’s paranoia concerning Ibrahim’s potential infidelity was healed once and for all. Even when Hürrem tries to scheme again and arranges Ibrahim to meet Nigar by accident in the Marble Pavillon, Hatice does not even intend to check because she trusts him 100% now. They were truly a happy family before Ibrahim’s death.

What destroyed once and for all was Ibrahim’s death and afterwards because it wasn’t just death of a spouse – following this event she effectively lost also another person very close to her – her brother. Of course after such horrible death when her husband’s body was dumped in unnamed grave in the forest and she can’t even go there (I suppose Matrakçi didn’t want to take her there because he was afraid seeing this could only make her despair more) as a result of brutal power games in the palace after which nobody was safe, a sensitive person lost it. Especially since she lost three people to whom she was closest most of out of her family in very close succession – her mother, her husband and her brother. And she had to live under one roof with people responsible for her husband’s death. Mahidevran and Mustafa also were gone to Manisa. She had Sah, who despite all loved her and wanted to help her, but it was of course a difficult relationship, also with some unresolved things. And instead of truly being there for his sister, Süleyman repeatedly made her even harder to heal by removing all traces of Ibrahim and trying to erase him, allowing Hürrem to hold a party in harem during mourning period, marrying her off against her will, ordering her to leave her palace, dismissing her as crazy and not trusting her at all (or again perhaps that’s what he wanted to believe) when Hürrem beat her up, etc. He never tried to understand her or truly talk to her, all he did was a series of actions that claimed were to make her heal, but were in fact cold orders that often were to made him feel better than actually help Hatice (but he could fool himself he is trying to help of course).

Then of course all injustices that befell Mustafa and his and Mahidevran’s despair, feeling that indeed Mustafa would be next and he would face Ibrahim’s fate made her decide for last desperate step.

And it’s again telling when Hatice comes to Süleyman following Hürrem’s disappearance – she says she finally has her brother again because now they experience the same and he finally understands her. For a short while, she looked happier because she finally had her brother back.Then again when she had her suicide speech he was again all about WHERE’S HURREM instead of even trying to listen to his sister’s words.

I think she was okay mother before Ibrahim’s death and later she was non-functional due to depression and since she could never consult a therapist or even leave this place forever (then she would be alone forever anyway), it could only lead to tragedy.

Hatice is precisely a tragic character, a sensitive soul which the palace life totally destroyed and all she wanted was to be happy with her family. She was a princess yet she could never be free or feel safe. Marrying for love was the only time she truly got what she wanted out of life and without it she would not only have even that. I think that even if she married someone she doesn’t love, so she would not be scared of losing them/would not suffer that much because of their loss would not make her be happier. She could even look at her sister, Beyhan, who didn’t marry for love and whose husband was executed for serious stuff, but yet she lost her brother forever and underwent serious trauma. Gevherhan in MYK also didn’t marry Topal out of love, but she nevertheless decided to create a happy family with him and tried to cherish what she had, but still she was humiliated by her brother, who again executed her (traitor)husband for a show after finally having paid attention to his neglected sister a day before, and her son was left without a father, their whole life uprooted. No matter who she married, Hatice could never be free of betrayal, death and power schemes, so at least she got some true love.

I think that it’s better to have something in your life even if loss than is more painful than if we don’t care about it than live more “secure”, especially since in Hatice’s case she could never have a peaceful life by the mere fact she belonged to the Ottoman dynasty and all its upheavals and conflicts had to somewhat always affect her.

And when it comes to betrayal, it was Süleyman’s, not Ibrahim’s, betrayal that Hatice could never recover and heal from.

- Joanna (also thanks to my friend and biggest Hatice fan & expert @queen-deter , who discussed this question with me 🥰)

[donttouchmeimwriting]

Argo ch. 2

Friday the 13th - Friendship/Romance - Jason Voorhees/OC M/M ship

2084 words, 3rd person POV

I love to hear feedback on my fics so please don't be shy! You can also tell me your thoughts on anon if you don't want your name on your comments!

Cross-posting on FFN under PyroTheWereCat

...

Meeting Lijah face to face threw off Jason's rhythm for the rest of the day, and for the entire day after. He had no idea what to do with himself. He could go home, but his mother would want progress by now and he did not want to try to explain how he let Lijah go when even he didn't know exactly why he did it. He could start planning the killings of the other counselors, but he couldn't focus long enough to think about that. His mind was stuck on Lijah, and he determined the only way to get unstuck was to see him again. He had to know why he wasn't afraid and treated him so kindly. There had to be some sort of motive.

Darkness fell over the camp that Friday night, and Jason patrolled the outskirts until every last fire went out and all noise had subsided. His blood was on fire, and he could not rest until his curiosity was sated. He quietly crept to the counselor cabins, searching for number five. Would Lijah be alone? Was this a good idea to come here at all? Jason berated himself internally for his interest in this person. This was stupid. Why was he here? He could easily just kill them all and return to his mother as usual. What was different this time?

There, a little distance from the other cabins, Jason saw a large number 5 painted on the side of the building. The lights were off, save for one room where the soft yellow glow spilled out into the woods where Jason stood. He steeled himself, prepared to fight if an ambush awaited him. Not quite ready, but ready enough, he approached the window and peered inside.

Lijah's bedroom was relatively tidy, minus the small heap of dirty clothes in one corner, and some posters with ragged edges and some tears that were taped to the walls. A dresser stood on the right side of the room next to the door, a small radio and some books resting atop it. Above the dresser hung a simple mirror, and it reflected Lijah's slim legs as he lay on the bed on the opposite end of the room. Jason turned his gaze to the left, seeing Lijah in a thin t-shirt and boxer briefs, reading a book on his bed. Was there ever a time he did not look so at peace?

Jason contemplated simply letting himself in, but he felt compelled to avoid scaring Lijah as long as he could. He sighed heavily and knocked on the window, hoping this wasn't the worst decision he could possibly make. Lijah gave a small start at the sound and turned to see who had made it. To Jason's surprise, Lijah's eyes lit up and he smiled as he set the book down and hopped off of the mattress. He lifted the window open and stepped aside for Jason to climb through.

"Hey!" Lijah greeted cheerfully, "I was hoping I'd get to see you again!"

Jason awkwardly clambered into the room, his size proving troublesome for the space provided by the window. He grunted as he heaved himself through, but he managed without Lijah's offered assistance. He closed the window behind him and turned back to Lijah, the closeness of the walls and ceiling emphasizing just how much of a height and width difference there was between them.

"Have a seat!" Lijah insisted, patting the bed, "Make yourself at home. I was just reading a few chapters to make myself tired enough to sleep, but I can stay up to hang out with you."

Jason sank into the mattress, watching Lijah the entire time. Was something wrong with him that he didn't perceive a threat from Jason? Or maybe he was just leading him on and tricking him into trusting him, and then he would turn against him later. Lijah stepped over to his dresser to retrieve one of the books. Jason saw that it was a spiral bound notebook with a pencil jammed in the binding. Lijah brought the notebook to the bed and climbed up to sit next to him, folding his legs underneath himself.

"I figured since you don't talk, this might help if you want to tell me something about yourself or ask me questions," Lijah explained, "Are you comfortable with writing?"

Jason shrugged. It had been a long time since he had written anything, not counting his own name in the dirt yesterday. He was able to read, but he wasn't confident in his spelling or handwriting. He accepted the notebook anyway, having some questions for Lijah that he could not express through body language.

"cant rite good. ELijah college?" he wrote, needing to spell the full name and crossing out the 'E' to get it right.

"Do I go to college?" Lijah checked, and upon Jason's nod, he elaborated, "Yup, I'm on break right now, but I'm going back in the fall for my senior year. I'm studying psychology and sociology. I'm hoping I can get into social work or therapy or something and help a lot of people."

Jason's frustration increased at this declaration. There was no way he was this good. There had to be some dark side to him somewhere.

"What about you?" Lijah asked, "Do you live around here? And, I don't mean to be rude, but how old are you?"

Jason nodded and returned to the notebook.

"live with Mother by camp. im 23."

"Oh, nice, you're only two years older than me!" Lijah commented, "Do you get along well with your mom?"

Jason nodded and pointed to Lijah as a means to ask him the same question.

"I don't live with my parents anymore," Lijah answered, his tone changing very slightly to hint at some discomfort, "They're good people, but I couldn't live in that environment anymore once I started college. I've pretty much been living either at school or at summer camps for the past few years, but I'm looking into apartments for myself so I can have a place to live after I graduate."

There was the lead. Something must have been wrong with Lijah's family life to force him out on his own, and the implication that he didn't have friends to stay with made the mystery all the more enticing. He remembered the female counselor from the day before who had asked to go with Lijah before he and Jason had met.

"frends?" Jason wrote, "girl frend?"

Lijah laughed, and Jason felt a shiver at the sound for some reason.

"I get along with everybody, but I don't really have any close friends," he said, "I haven't dated anyone for a while now either. I've been focusing on myself and getting through school, though also the people I tend to date are...not the best for me."

From what Jason had seen of Lijah from afar, he seemed like he had lots of friends and was close with many people, but now it seemed he was just as alone as Jason himself. He stared at Lijah for a moment, trying to figure him out. It was then that he noticed some tiny details about Lijah's face that he hadn't seen in the woods yesterday.

Lijah had freckles on his nose, and his eyelashes were long. His eyes were a greenish hazel, and crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His usually fluffy brown hair was somewhat damp looking, possibly from a recent shower. Jason couldn't explain it, but Lijah was rather pleasant to look at.

"So you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but I'm a little curious," Lijah prompted, snapping Jason back to reality, "Why do you wear a hockey mask? Is it good for keeping bugs out of your face?"

Jason tensed. He didn't want Lijah to see his face under the mask. That would surely scare him and make him hate him like everyone else. Jason shook his head and tried to think of an excuse to write down, but all he could think of was,

"i like it."

Lijah nodded upon reading this.

"That's a good, solid reason for anything," he agreed, "I should start living by that a little more, honestly."

Jason relaxed at this, relieved that Lijah accepted that answer. He wasn't sure why, but he was beginning to want Lijah to like him. It was almost like when he was a child and wanted to be friends with the other kids at camp, but this felt different somehow. Lijah didn't have friends of his own either, so they would only have each other if this worked.

Jason did not even think about possibly killing Lijah at this point. He was far too invested in who he was as a person, as well as excited at the possibility of having a real friend, to remember what his mission was. Mother wasn't expecting him back until August. It should be fine.

"Alright, Jason, I'm gonna tell you something and I don't want you to get upset," Lijah began, scratching the back of his head, "But I figure if you wanted to, you could have easily killed me a few times by now, so I think I'm safe. I honestly thought you were gonna kill me yesterday in the woods - we've all heard the stories of the Killer of Crystal Lake or whatever; they warned me of the history of this place when I was hired - but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt and treat everyone the way I'd want to be treated. I figured if I died, I would die putting my best foot forward, and, wouldn't you know it, I did that literally."

Jason blinked. Was that really all he'd needed to not kill people? Someone being nice to him?

"For the record, and I'm sure you know this already, but I'm not scared of you now. People don't have to look a certain way to be good or bad. And, hey, if you helped me out and came to visit me like this, you can't be all bad, can you?"

Either Lijah was too naive for his own good or he was very good in the field he was studying. Perhaps both? Jason wasn't sure. He picked up the pencil again to write,

"can i see u more?"

Lijah read this and nodded.

"I'd love that!" he enthused, "Please, come see me this time of night any night you want. I've got lots of books to read, I've got food in the fridge, you can shower here if you want to...I'm the only one who uses this cabin, so really, I don't mind you being here and making yourself comfortable."

Jason wasn't an expert at body language or understanding people in general, but it was clear to him that Lijah desperately wanted a friend. He felt a twitch at the corners of his mouth, a small smile breaking through. Whatever this was between them, they both wanted it, needed it, and Jason looked forward to exploring an actual friendship with someone his own age. Maybe he could bring Lijah back to Mother and show her that there was someone special in the outside world, someone who cared about everyone.

It was a nice thought, but nice thoughts never lasted long.

-------------------------------------------------

Jason and Lijah spent several hours that night getting to know each other. Jason could not believe how easy it was to communicate with him and even more so how easy it was to let his guard down. He found himself having fun, something he couldn't remember the last time it happened. Lijah did grow quite tired after midnight, however, so Jason excused himself through the window to allow Lijah to sleep.

He returned to his temporary campsite in the woods to get some rest as well, wanting to have plenty of energy tomorrow to spend more time with Lijah. He wondered if he had tried to approach the counselors he'd killed differently, if he had a more approachable mask and cleaned up the rest of his appearance, would he have been able to befriend them too? He doubted that notion the instant it materialized in his mind; those counselors weren't like Lijah and would have been afraid of him either way. Lijah was special...Jason could feel it deep within him. Just a few hours with him made Jason reconsider killing anyone this summer.

He hoped Mother would approve.

[moonlightjeno]

the chemistry of water | l.j

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 :: swimmer!jeno x reader

𝕨𝕔 :: 7k

𝕒/𝕟 :: this was inspired by @smoljh swimmer!jeno timestamp. which you can read here. this is literally just pure fluff. fluff, fluff, fluff with like a couple cups of angst because i’m whipped for jeno... so enjoy.  

masterlist 

water, like most chemical compounds, was made up of hydrogen bonds, these weak bonds that formed between the hydrogen atoms and the oxygen gave a sense of magic that even though weak when working together managed to create something beautiful, elegant, fluid and strong incapable of being crushed. 

Chemicals, and bonds were much like relationships. Formed slowly by a weak attempt to make conversation, the awkward silence that filled the library hall as you, well you both attempted to start a conversation on how the tutoring of chemistry would go. The first reach and attempt of a forming bond between the two people that are alway initiated by someone else, a push of pull in the right direction all to lead you to the collision that would alter one’s life track.

It’s been halfway through freshman year when your professor had asked, well more like demanded you tutor the university top swimmer. The idea of tutoring had always been fascinating to you, well not fascinating more like something that seemed to be out of your comfort zone, one that you’d promised yourself you’d finally leave once college started. That had been 4 months ago, and you remained inside that bubble, talking to your roommate and her friends at most. So when the idea of tutoring someone had been brought up to you, the initial push that would cause the collision of two very different particles to bind together, you agreed with a small smile. 

“y/n, you’d have to work with him at least three times a week if he wants to get his grades up. He’s a promising student, just has a lot on his plate” your professor told you, voice calm and direct at what you would have to do. You nod, happy to be able to help, that is until you ask who you’re supposed to tutor and your professors look at you with a smile, “lee jeno”.

You're almost sure, you can feel the bonds that kept you together on that long day of classes, the single cup of coffee in your system doing little to keep you up, as the name of the school's most popular boy leaves the old man’s lips. 

Well not the most popular boy, if you’re being honest, more like the boy that your roommate wouldn’t shut up about. The boy that everyone in your class, more like your whole year and the year above, seemed to be infatuated by because of his eye smile and dark hair. The boy who, in your opinion, managed to break the hydrogen bonds that held the water molecules together, as he swam beating record after record after record. 

Bonds. A new sort of bond would be formed between the infamous lee jeno and you as you texted him that afternoon, a simple “hey” that had taken you at least ten minutes to actually send. 

A day. It took a day for a response to come to your phone, which meant a day of you being slightly stressed about the boy you had texted out of the blue with no actual context. Though you had debated if you should have messaged him something along the lines of “it’s y/n, i was asked to tutor you” but by the time you’d had thought of actually texting him that, it had been hours since you’d first texted and decided that it would just be awkward if another message was sent hours later the first one. It was stressful, waiting for a random boy who you knew of, who you’d see pass you in the hallway, smile always bright as he waved to those around him. Tending to be accompanied by a boy who’s hair changed color like the year’s seasons. It was almost winter, and Jeno's best friend now had blue hair, and you wondered more often that not good looking people would automatically be attracted to each other, and stick together. 

The bell rings, a shrill in your ears, masking the silent vibrations of your phone as it buzzes. You don’t hear the noise of it’s vibration, paying attention to the shrieking noise of the bell while attempting to listen to your professors instructions on the lab work that would have to be completed by next week. The paper’s scattered around your desk, take a while to pick up and you’re almost sure you’re the last person to leave the room, the professor had rushed off to the next class once he’d finished with the instructions, and it’s not until you hear a buzzing noise again that you check your phone. 

“Hey?” is the first thing you read, the caller i.d. ‘Unknown’ because you had totally forgotten to label it as jeno, with the nerves of actually getting an answer. Unlocking your phone, you send the small question marks before realizing that it indeed was jeno, and introducing yourself. 

The messages were a mess, and though your professor had initiated the initial push towards the bonds that would be formed, the world couldn’t help it seemed to make you two struggle a little more. For bonds to form, they have to reach an activation energy, crashing with enough energy, in specific positions. Slowly were the particles of you and jeno beginning to move towards each other, if it hadn’t been for the stream of awkwards texts you sent a failed attempt to explain what was going on. 

You hear a faint chuckle from somewhere in the room and look up. It was weird to have someone still in the class after hours, the only reason you were still in class was because you couldn’t find your notebook, that had today’s notes and didn’t really have anyone to get the notes from. 

The phone in your hand vibrates again,  the little “jeno has laughed at your message” icon appearing on your phone, and you looked around again as the small giggle was heard. The room was huge, fitting around 200 students a lecture so the soft giggles, which you found adorable to say the least, could have been coming from anywhere that is until you spotted a dark head, back towards you, the hoodie the boy wore had “lee jeno” written on it, while varsity swim team wrapped around the bottom of the hoodie and if it weren’t for the desk that you leaned against you could have sworn that you might have just hidden underneath your chair. 

The sound that came from your phone, a small “ring ring ring” startled you making you hit yourself against the desk, a small curse leaving your lips which caused jeno to turn around a smile present as always on his face. And it feels too soon that he is right in front of you asking you something, but you can’t fully process it because ‘what does one do when they just awkwardly text another person only to have them right in front of you in the next five minutes?’ you really aren’t sure but think they should make a guide about it. 

There’s a quiet silence that settles around the two of you, and you decide that you might as well tell him about the tutoring but jeno decides that he should say something too as he was the one that walked towards you, ending up in the two of you talking at the same time. Heat fills your cheeks, and if you weren’t so busy looking at the floor or anything except the boy's face you would have seen the light pink that adorned his cheeks. 

“You first” jeno says, hsi voice is softer than you imagined it. Not that you had never heard him speak, you had on the rare occasion that you went to a swim meet in order to support your best friend and roommate who loved going, cheering on the team with all her might. But at the swim meets, the jeno you’d seen was loud, almost center of attention but not quiet, loud but not overwhelming, but with an energy that was contagious to everyone else. The boy that stood before you seemed to be shy, and awkward and you could feel yourself relax just a little. 

“Oh… okay” the words come out small, and you force yourself to look up at the boy, who’s smile is more enchanting than before “well, I have to tutor you, for chem?”. Jeno nods, hair falling slightly in front of his eyes, but it doesn't seem to bother him as he waits for you to continue, “so we should meet up sometime this week, and what exactly are you struggling with, so I could look over that” 

Jeno’s is left slightly in awe, by the way you offer him help, your voice is soothing he thinks, and the way you bite your lip from nerves he finds to be endearing. He was used to girls chasing him, one way or the other, not leaving him much space to say what he wanted. Though if he listened to Jaemin, he should just enjoy the supposed ‘fame’ he had, but it just wasn’t his thing. Jeno could see you checking the time on your phone, a little past 4, and his brain panicked. 

“Shit” the boy muttered, and now you were really confused, “shit? No, oh i need help with this?” you asked him, baffled at the boy’s reaction, and the boy looked at his phone. 

“Oh no, sorry I didn’t mean it towards you. It’s just that we have a swim team meeting, and it started 5 minutes ago, and if I’m late to another one I might get kicked out” jeno says in a rush, it seems he can’t get out of the room fast enough, as he turns around and you follow him, determined to at least get some date or time that the two of you could meet up. 

“Wait! We still need to figure out a time schedule?” you questions makes the dark haired boy stop for a split second, his brows slightly furrowed, eyes closed as he takes a deep breath, “I’ll text you, I really am sorry y/n, but I have to go” and with that he’s rushing off to the athletics department, leaving you slightly baffled and for some reason with a fluttering feeling in your stomach. Texting, that’s what I’m gonna have to depend this whole thing on. You sigh, walking towards your dorm ready to sit down on your bed, and work on the chemistry project, while playing music in the background. 

 It is said that molecules are attracted to each other, polar opposites, where non-polar molecules will collide with polar molecules in order to form in perfect harmony a compound that will be of use and wonder to the world around us. Those bonds might be the key to relationships, or maybe it’s just the technological black box that people hold in their hands waiting for a sign. 

much to your surprise jeno, did text you a couple hours after the two of you had bumped into each other. The message was brief, a string of “im sorry, again” which you couldn’t help but slightly smile at the boy’s shyness, and another of “can we meet up tomorrow, right after classes are over by the library?”. The last message is what had you now waiting, by the library doors, chemistry notebook in hand as you waited for the black haired boy to appear. 

It’s been five minutes, and there is still no sight of the boy that promised you he’d be at the library and you can feel the fluttering excitement leave. Futters of wings no longer flapping rapidly, but they have seemed to fall asleep. Deciding that you might as well continue on your project, you sit down, pen in hand as you're about to look over the redox equation on balancing carbon dioxide with water in order to form acidic rain. Music is lightly playing through your headphones, the constant tunes a soothing background noise, as the project expands, you're about to flip the paper when you feel a drop of cold water on your shoulder. Checking the time, your phone reads 4:15, it’s been fifteen minutes, and he still hasn’t shown up, he could have texted, you think bitterly. 

Drip, drip, drip. The water droplets land on you again, and this time you swivel around in your chair, almost causing whiplash, before being met with dark eyes, that could convey everything and nothing at all. It takes you a second to register before you breathe out “you’re late” to which he only smiles, the sides of his eyes disappearing appearing to be crescent moons. 

“Yeah” he breathes, sitting down next you as he tries to regain his composure, for a second, a very brief one, you want to push back his slightly wet hair and not be annoyed but seconds only last seconds and in the next moment your scowling again, waiting for an explanation as you furrow your brows.

“Well? What happened? I mean, I don't mind you being late, as long as you tell me why that is.”

“Ummm… yeah about that, i really am sorry. Especially because i’m the one that needs help, and i should have told you but coach doesn’t let us use our phones in practice, which i mean makes sense right because water and technology don’t exactly mix well… and i’m rambling” his face is tainted with pink, as the boy looks down, playing with the ends of the papers to his notebook, and you can’t help but smile at him. It was kind of cute, not that you’d ever tell him that. “But either way, I’m here and if you need to leave early that’s totally cool too, i mean i don’t expect you to stay longer than we said, but if you can stay that’d be nice to because i really have no idea what the hell is going on in class, and i'm trying”

“Jeno” you say his name, and it’s almost a whisper, but he doesn’t look up, too busy folding and unfolding the papers that are beneath his hands, so you try again this time a little louder and stronger “jeno”. He looks up, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, and you smile at him, “it’s okay, i’m not mad about it” a laugh escapes your lips as the boy’s mouth slightly falters, “now” you prepare the worksheets you’d prepared based off the material he had texted you he needed help with, “let’s get started with these redox equations”

The following hours are a constant of you talking about how redox reactions occur, when one of the compounds gives an electron only for the other compounds to gain electrons. A series of giving and taking, as bonds are formed to create a harmony between the compounds and elements to form a balanced equation. 

For the most part jeno is quiet, trying to understand and digest the information you give him, and the more he asks you questions about how come water can be both amphoteric and amphiprotic the more the both of you relax and begin to enjoy each other's company. You aren’t quite sure when, but all too soon do you hear the librarian telling you two, the last living inhabitants in the library that library hours are closed. It wasn’t that the two of you were doing chemistry anymore,  that had ended a couple of hours ago, when neither you nor jeno deemed to be in the mood to continue with school work. Jeno nodded as the librarian told you it was time to leave, while you told her to give the two of you a couple of more minutes in order to pack up. The lady that tended to scold everyone in the library, or at least she’d always scold you for bringing in your loud roommate and spending more time with your textbooks than actual beings, simply smiled at the two of you nodded, a “close when you’re done” was heard as she walked away. 

“You really have never swam before?” jeno asks you again, for what seems to be the tenth million time, and you nod your head. 

“It’s not that i’ve never been in water, i just have never you know swam laps around a pool,” you can feel heat rush to your face and look away, fiddling with your pen that, and jeno grabs your hand, which you are confused by that is until he pulls you up. 

“It’s settled” he says, a dork-like smile plastered across his face, which varies differently from your confused one, “im teaching you how to swim”. The noise you make is a mix between a sigh and an ugh, but you let yourself be dragged out of the library. 

“It’s not that I don't know how to swim” you protest, jeno’s hand still resting on your wrist. 

“But have you swam at our pool?” the question is teasing and a smile begins to grow, at the banter the two of you are having, shaking your head. 

“I’m taking you to the pool, and i’m going to teach you how to swim” the smile that spreads across jeno’s face is impossible to say no to. Eyes gleaming with joy, and hope, the hand on your wrist closing in a little, and as he’s about to drag you to the swimming pool, which you’re almost sure is closed at this hour you stop. 

“As much as I would love to go swimming at 10 at night, we have classes tomorrow” the tone is your voice isn’t as strong as you wanted it to be, because spending more time with the dork in front of you would honestly help with the stress that was college but the stress would only amount if you didn’t complete the assignments you had due tomorrow. 

Jeno turns to face you, the smile replaced by a pout, as he tries to convince you that it would be fun, but you wouldn’t budge. Well you were about to change your mind as say fuck it to the papers you had due tomorrow, until your phone almost at 0% buzzed, and you saw the lost calls and messages that flooded your phone. Though they mostly consisted of your roommate yelling at you asking where you are and then changing to her telling you she was going out for the night, to your parents asking how the exams had gone. 

Buzz. buzz. Buzz. it was almost as if you couldn’t shake the feeling of the plastic box in your hand, reminders of everything you had to, wanted to achieve. Jeno waited patiently for your reply, eyes soft, the pout slowly turning into a smile. 

Your phone buzzes again, and dies out. I guess that means something. You turn towards jeno, phone shoved in your back pocket, “fuck it” you smile, “let’s go swimming”

“Fuck yes” is what you hear before the two of you are rushing towards the athletic department.

Flickering. The bonds between two people, flicker as they try to work their way toward each other. In which one movement, one decision or thought might push them farther apart or closer together. 

The sign in front of you reads CLOSED but Jeno doesn’t seem to mind it as he grabs keys from his pocket, and opens the door holding it open for you as you pass into the pool, a look of confusion flickers through your face, and jeno smiles. 

“Captain privileges. I get the keys, because I close up most nights either way” he says, and though it’s almost pitch black he walks without hesitation knowing exactly where the light switch is. The lights inside the room flicker, the bright white that comes from the led lights blinds your eyes slightly before they adjust. And you are left in awe at the university's pool. 

It’s not that you’d never been to the pool, but everytime you did go, it had always been filled with too many yelling bodies that would raise up and chant the school’s name over and over again. The room always felt too hot, too sticky as your clothes clung to your body from the humidity created by the pool water. What was supposed to be an olympic sized pool, would feel like a kiddy pool when meets would occur, from the packed beings that were there to watch the races, to the teams that would come to race, always felt like too much. So when the lights flickered on, creating a small halo on jeno’s black hair, you were in awe at the size and beauty of the pool’s structure. 

The glass windows that aligned one of the pools walls, gace view to the twinkle stars that would dim in and out every second. Spots that were reflected on the pool, that you were almost sure stretched for miles, but was promised by jeno it was just a regular 50 meter pool. The two of you walked closer to the edge of the pool, shoes discarded by the entrance as you dipped your feet into the water, the cold feeling of water on skin shocked you for a second before the sensation became a more soothing feeling. It seemed impossible to wipe the smile that grew more as you looked around the swimming pool, the silver bleachers that tended to be stretched out onto the marble floor were put away, creating an illusion of a much larger floor than there really was. 

In all the time that you looked around, awe and fascination written over your face as you looked around the swimming pool, Jeno wondered if you’d never seen the pool, but then realized he had. Not often but he would see your face, every once in a while, a sign with the school's name as you cheered for the swim team, your roommate next to you. It was a shame, he thought that you had never seen the pool how he saw it. At night when no one could nag him about how his arms should be more stretched out, and his hands shouldn’t be as tense but be shaped into a more cupped form so that he cut off some time of his 200 IM. It was moments like this, where he could just admire the water, and see other people fall in love with the water that he remembered why he loved to swim so much, and it helped that you looked cute with your feet only slightly in the water, mouth slightly agape as you took in everything around you. 

Splash. And droplets of water are all over you, making pieces of your shirt stick to your skin. The water beneath you ripples and before you can take your feet off, you can feel a tug by your hand, breaking the trail of thoughts as you look down. The action happens too fast, but one moment you’re sitting by the edge of the pool, and the next you’re underwater. Cold water settles around you, the initial shock of water against your warm skin wearing off as you pull yourself up, breaking the surface of the pool. The curse is on the tip of your tongue, but your eyes can’t seem to find the boy who pulled you in. Turning from one side to the other, twisting a frail attempt you guess to find jeno, who has dived deep into the bottom of the pool. 

It’s been a minute, and you're about to leave the pool slightly in panic until you feel arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a warm body. Laughter fills your ears, as jeno spins you around, pulling you both to the shallow area. You can feel your body heat up, cheeks overly warm by the feeling of jeno’s arms around you. 

“What the fuck?” you whisper yell, as you turn around to find the black haired boy, whose hair is almost long enough to fall in front of his eyes, laugh. His eyes, turning into beautiful small moons, that make your heart slightly flip, the cold shock of water no longer there. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice is slightly puzzled but joyous, and he can’t seem to stop himself from looking at your smile, your eyes, the way that even though your tone suggests your mad at him he finds you adorable. No, she’s not adorable. She’s just a girl, a girl that is really smart and doesn’t throw herself at you. No, no, no. 

“Earth to jeno !” you snap your fingers in front of him, and it seems to do the trick as his eyes seem to focus back on you, a small “huh” escapes his lips and you can’t help but laugh, as you splash water towards him. The smile on his face, springs back up, drops of water adorning his nose, and eyes as gravity pulls them back to their resting place, in the midst of other bonds between hydrogen and oxygen. 

The way you tilt your head to the side, eyes gleaming with delight as jeno laughs, splashing water towards you, the start of a small water fight between a swimmer and chemistry lover. 

Chemical bonds work in mysterious ways. A collision between one particle and another has to be precise, exact and the particles must be able to fit each other, and shaping itself to make the other a suitable compound. Bonds that form between compounds can become radiant, strong and vibrant but dangerous to those around it. Hydrogen and oxygen when bonded together, though different slowly build each other up. The splash of water against one’s skin, the way a drop fall’s down slowly on the other’s eye. Successions of bonds that form with each other, creating a picture of carefree ness. Or at least that’s what it seems to be at the beginning. 

 Winter rolls around and the study sessions continue. They become a routine, a part of your day that much as you hate to admit, is the favorite part of your day. Meeting with Jeno in the midst of the library, books and notes of scribbled drawings and letters filling up at least one table, as jeno listens to you ramble about chemistry. In return, for tutoring Jeno always brings you hot chocolate, a drink that never fails to bring you comfort especially when the wind is picking up speed and the first flakes of snow drift towards the ground. 

You can’t exactly recall how many times you tell the raven haired boy that payment isn’t necessary, that you truly are just tutoring in order to help him, but the boy refuses. He loves to see the way you wrap your hands around the mug, as you relax from the burdensome day you’ve had. 

The swim meets that you used to, though not detest, not love either begin to be more frequent in your life. Louds cheers and shrieks fill the pool deck, as the school's swimmers race against the opposing team. Chlorine fills your nose, humidity makes your skin sticky and heavy but you are part of the screaming students that yell and cheer for the school's team. The poster you created in the spare time between homework and lectures, has “go jeno '' written on it, and even though you two don’t talk after the meets jeno smiles everytime he sees you in the crowd cheering for the team and him. His smile as his best friend describes it, is that of a lovestruck one, which Jeno refuses to acknowledge or believe, because there was no way he could be in love with you. The two of you were friends. Friends that laughed together, and talked about anything that was on your minds late into the night, and would have late night swims after hours when the pool was closed down. 

Jaemin knows the power love has on people, and he’s sure that jeno is in love with the girl who’s been tutoring him since the beginning of the year. He knew, because jeno’s face would light up everytime he saw you in the bleachers. He knew like the rest of his friend group knew, that he would mention you in conversations when something they were talking about would remind him of you. Jaeming knew the bond that had formed between the two of you was something he thought jeno wouldn’t be able to have, but managed to get from you. The only thing Jaemin wished, was for his best friend to realize the luck he had gotten from meeting you. 

It’s spring and you’re almost sure at this point that Jeno doesn’t need any more tutoring, as he comes into the cafe you decided to meet up, the smile that seems to brighten your day no matter how windy and rainy it is outside. Jeno almost runs to you, the paper in his hand flailing slightly behind him, as he tells you how he’s passed. Proudly does he show you the graded exam paper on organic chemistry, the perfectly drawn bonds to each other, earning him the highest grade in the class. You can’t help but jump up from your seat, the chocolate on your mug almost tipping over as you wrap your arms around jeno, congratulating him over and over again. 

Jeno’s smile widens, as he wraps his arms around you, lightly you slightly off the ground until you are slightly dizzy and are asking him to bring you down. The joy from your face never leaves, as the words of congratulations and happiness left your mouth. It’s only when your smile falters slightly, that jeno’s does too, the giddiness and butterflies he continues to refuse to acknowledge leaving as you sit down again. 

“So…” 

“So…” jeno mocks, trying to lighten the mood just lightly, and he manages to make the ends of you lips curve up slightly. 

“So, i guess you don’t need my help anymore” the words leave your mouth like lead, heavy on your tongue, as you look down at your hot chocolate willing the coming dread to go away. 

“Well, no, I still need help” the look you give him makes him move slightly his back hitting the back of the chair, “okay… maybe i don’t need help on how bonds form and break, but…” Jeno fumbles over his words, nit really sure what he wants to say. That he wants to keep seeing you? That he honestly had stopped needing tutoring sessions a while ago, but he kept asking for them because he loves spending time with you. Loved to see you smile and his dumb jokes, as your eyes would light up with vague amusement, lips curling upwards as your laugh drifted through the library. Wanted to tell you that he had never felt this way for someone else, had never let them see the vulnerable side of him, his insecurities as the two of you held onto each other lightly through a link between your hands as you floated in the school's pool. 

“But… i guess this is goodbye” you can feel the word, slip through your tongue, the world goodbye piercing through your heart, bricks dropping on you. You’re not quite sure why you say goodbye, why you want to hug the boy in front of you, and kiss him and hold him and tell him how much you love him. But oh shit that’s exactly why you’re pushing him away. Why as much as your heart aches, to hold onto the good memories scared of the ones that could leave the bonds to break between you two. 

Jeno can almost swear he can feel his heart drop down to his stomach. The words that escape your lips, as you play with the sizzling hot beverage in front of you, not daring to look up at him. His throat feels clogged, and he wants to yell, scream, hold you for reasons he can’t quite understand, and finally tell you what jaemin has been telling him this whole time. How very much head over heels for you he is, the bonds clicking into place every time he’s held your hand, as he taught you how to swim lightly in the pool. 

The black haired boy, whose eyes are usually warm and open, are now dark. The brown almost becomes dark enough to blend with the pupils, as he takes a breath. 

“Um… yeah i guess it’s goodbye” the words drop heavy between the two of you. Gazes not met, and hearts left cold as Jeno gets up, the paper he’d been so happy and excited to tell you about forgotten as it drifts towards the floor. Falling quietly and softly, wrinkled between the hands of jeno as he hugged you what seems to be hours ago. 

Hydrogen bonds break the easiest. The strength between the two oxygen and the single hydrogen can only take so much pressure between them before something tips it off scale, breaking the bond. A relationship that has been built, slowly, through awkwards laughs, and shared notes. A bond, built on chaotic swims at 12 o’clock at night when neither of you could sleep, and just wanted to spend more time with each other. 

Relationships,  you are almost sure at this point work much like chemical bonds. Yet unlike chemistry, the bond that you had built with jeno, doesn’t warn you of the heartache and void you feel when you don’t get the weird jokes the boy sends you everyday, it doesn’t tell you of the loss of heat that would come from the steaming cup of chocolate always there for you wherever you had a bad day. Chemistry doesn't warn you about the way your heart craves the missing piece that you pushed away, thinking it would hurt more when the day would come that he didn’t want you anymore. Lectures and notes on notes about covalent bonds, don’t want you how jeno made you feel, as his black hair tickled your neck when he rested his head on your shoulder when he didn’t want to study anymore, or the way he snuggled closer to you as you played with his hair. 

Bonds. Weak and strong, beautiful and dangerous, destructive and hopeful. 

The next month passes in a blur of lectures and night spent overworking yourself into the essays and labs given to you by professors. All-nighters became more frequent than normal sleep nights, to the point where your roommate would have to force you to go to sleep, even as she came in late at night smelling slightly of booze or cigarettes from the campus party. 

It wasn’t a secret that you had tutored the top boy at your college to anyone. Most if not all students that desperately wanted to grab at any gossip that might be thrown their ways, would snatch up the news of the school's swimmer and top bachelor as fast as they could. Whispers of a relationship that never happened, and would only happen in your dreams, could be heard at almost every lecture. Murmurs that would make you walk straighter, chin held high at the comments of a story they didn’t truly know. 

Buzz. buzz. Metal and plastic vibrates against your desks, shaking the scatter of papers that are clumped around your workspace. You flip it around, only to see crescent moons, and a mop of black hair on your phone, as jeno’s phone number flashes in and out of the screen. Instinctively, you reach for the phone, hand ready to push the “answer” button and it’s too late when you realize that you’ve answered the phone, and a silence of crackling noises is heard from the opposite end. Silence seems to fill the room, the air you breathe and you're about to hang up until you hear the bickering between two boys. A stream of curses flow from what you can almost swear is jeno’s mouth, as the other boy speaks into the microphone, “is this y/n” 

“Uh… yeah, and you are?” the second part of your sentence, your almost sure goes unheard as the squeal that comes from the boy’s mouth. The next words that you hear seem to be all mushed up together, as the boy who you have come to assume is jaemin tells you something along the lines of “go. pool. tomorrow. Jeno” before something that sounds like it hurts, is heard from the line and it goes silent. If you were confused about jeno before, you can’t help but wonder now if this is a push towards the bonds to be repaired. 

“y/n !!” disrupts your confused train of thought as your roommate barges into your room, the smirk that is plastered on her face would have made you slightly concerned if it were for her normal happy go personality, that never fails to give you energy. 

“Let me tell you the story of you and a boy named jeno” as the words leave her lips, you start your protests, not wanting to hear about the boy who had become your best friend in the year that you tutored him. 

“Girl, shut up and listen to me” she snaps, almost pinning you down on your chair, and so she does tell you. Tell’s you things that you already know, like the fact that you’re almost sure jeno’s smile could heal anything on this planet, or how he’s shy and sweet, always wanting to be enough for the team. She tells you about the month that has passed, where though you didn’t wallow, jeno had begun to slightly let his grades slip. A small attempt to get you as a tutor yet again. The plan hadn’t worked and he’d gotten renjun ashis tutor instead. 

Stories she shares with you, stories about jeno that you knew, but had pushed away because everytime his name would be brought up your cheeks would flush slightly, and your smile would brighten even just a little bit, butterflies swarming in your stomach. 

Best friends. The sharing between two people, that trust and count on each other. The bond formed between the two is different than that formed between lovers, or siblings. But like everything regarding the formation and breaking of something, these bonds can change into something more. Something that lights up your world if you let, and break down your walls. 

The pool’s doors were open by the time you reached the athletic department. You had thought you’d seen everything, the pool had to offer after your late night swims with jeno. But you’d never seen the full moon at its peak, the light reflected upon the shimmering water. 

Small ripples caused the moon's reflection to waver slightly, a cause of the dipping of your feet into the water, testing the temperature, before you felt a light tap on your shoulder. You could feel the shiver that runs down your back, as jeno’s hands make contact with your skin. The ghost of a smile begins to present itself on your face, as you turn around to find yourself with jeno, whose face is a reflection of yours. Cheeks dusted with a red tint, eyes almost becoming the moon phase that you’d first seen in the pool. 

“hey”

“hey”  

“you first” jeno says, his eyes are warm and are slightly reflected by the moon. The small laugh that escapes your lips, makes his smile broaden, as you turn around and stretch your hand towards jeno. It takes only a second, before you can feel jeno’s hand wrapped around yours, the light calluses on his palms from playing guitar every so often, that warmth a comfort. The ghost of a smile has fully bloomed on your face, as you tug jeno towards you before jumping into the pool. 

Time seems to slow down, the second you two break the surface of water. You know time and movements feel slower when you’re underwater, the smell of chlorine and burning sensation makes your eyes water only slightly. But the bubbles that rise to the surface as you look at jeno, laughing at the ridiculousness of everything that’s happened between you two. 

The faltering bonds begin to form again, stronger than before. Bonds that can't be broken as easily and are ready to create compounds filled with a variation of emotions that work together. The way that you hold onto each other, hand in hand as you break the surface, time coming back at normal speed, as jeno pulls you towards him. Hands still intertwined, as the other holds your waist, a tender touch. The way you look at each other, is enough for the words that have yet to be said and have not been exchanged. 

Smiles exchanged, hands held, foreheads almost touching under the moonlight. It seems to be magic, the way the light bounces off the water and reflects upon the two of you, lovesick smiles placed on both your faces. The warmth of each other, a comforting presence that surrounds the two of you as you take a break, and breathe the words you’ve been dying to say since the day, jeno walked into a late tutoring session, hair dripping wet from a late practice. His words a rush of sorrys and cute shy glances as he gives you a mug, with the words “chemistry of water” written around it. The way his smile made you heart flutter, and just one look would make your day.

 “I love you”

The words hang in the air, said at the same time by jeno and you, and the both of you erupt into laughter, as jeno pulls you closer the, head buried in your shoulder as the strands tickle your neck, the words “i love you” being repeated over and over again.

The way you two fit into each other, in the midst of night, water lapping at your sides, as you laugh at a joke one or the other says, you realize that chemistry and relationships truly are the same. If all it takes is a small push, to help a boy with too much to do, and a student who can’t help but want to expand their knowledge. The bonds between two people change and strengthen, the more they interact with each other. It’s the things like laughing at each other's jokes, or holding onto each other late into the night, when no one else is judging no one can disrupt the bonds formed between them. In those moments, the bonds are strengthened, as you hold each other close, stars and moon aligned in the night sky lighting up the pool, leaving the world at peace.

[juliandev0rak]

Burn

Curiosity killed the cat...

Beatrice finds a book hidden inside a secret library, she hopes to find answers about the ritual that brought her back to life, but she finds something very different instead.

Words: ~3400

Warnings: descriptions of an injury and blood, very brief mentions of derealization/ depersonalization

Notes: a fic from Beatrice’s canon? Who would’ve thought! 

Beatrice’s hand glides over the bookcase, feeling for the book that sticks out a bit more than it should. When she finds it she pulls and steps back as the bookcase slides away to reveal the room behind it. She’d only recently discovered this hidden room, but as Portia had told her so many months ago, the palace is full of secrets. 

She conjures an orb of light in her hand before she enters the dark, taking a breath to settle her nerves. There’s nobody in the room, she knows, but she can’t relax until she lights a few candles. She reaches the table in the center of the room and does just that, illuminating the space around the table at least. The shadows seem to cling to the dark, windowless chamber and if she wasn’t so intent on finding answers she’d never have the courage to stay in a place like this.

This time she’s decided to bring her familiar Bramble along, the small brown rabbit always brings her a much needed sense of calm. She sets her bag down on the table and Bramble pokes her head out of the bag, looking around the room curiously. Beatrice and Bramble can’t talk, exactly, but they communicate well enough.

Bramble is worried, and Beatrice should probably take that as a warning but she’s come too far to turn back now. She scratches Bramble behind the ears and says, “It’s fine, the books in here are just extra old and powerful.” 

Aside from Bramble’s clear disapproval, Beatrice knows that Asra would be upset if he knew she was here, in a place he had once spent so much time. When she’d heard rumors of a secret library she’d hoped they might be true and that she’d be able to find what she’s been looking for. Since she first learned that Asra had brought her back from the dead she’s been desperate to know how, exactly, it had happened. 

Asra and Beatrice have been close for as long as she can remember, which admittedly isn’t very long, but her recent curiosity seems to have driven a wedge between them. He won’t tell her anything beyond what she already knows, and he doesn’t seem to understand why she needs to know how the ritual worked, how she works. As a magician, Beatrice knows that there are some things that simply don’t have an explanation, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try to find one.

Asra doesn’t know how much this has bothered her. He can’t understand the itch in the back of her head that tells her that maybe she isn’t real, that maybe her body isn’t her own. She needs to know how it’s possible for her to have been reduced to ash yet returned to life, to a new body.

Julian had mentioned a hidden library that Asra used to disappear to, and it had only taken her a few nights of searching to find the entrance. Beatrice knows there's a reason why Asra doesn’t want her here, it could be dangerous, but to her the knowledge is simply worth the risk. 

She makes her way to the corner of the room where the bookshelves are stacked so closely to each other that she’s pressed in on all sides. Her magical light does little to illuminate much but a few feet in front of her face, so it’s slow going as she reads the spines of the books. Some of them are in languages she doesn't recognize, and some of them have names that scare her to read. 

She’s been through most of the shelves here over the last few days, except for for the last shelf in the darkest, coldest part of the room. She’s felt some sort of energy emanating from that corner of the room, not malicious exactly, but not benign either. Though part of her dreads discovering the source of the energy, she’s also been curious. As she makes her way through the stacks she hears a squeak echo in the empty room, a warning from Bramble.

“I’m ok, Bramble!” Beatrice calls, but she can sense the rabbit is not appeased. Bramble has always been more attuned to energy than she is, always warning her when something dangerous is nearby, or reminding her to rest when her own magical stores are too depleted. She’d brought her familiar along for moral support, but now it seems she’s getting a lecture from a rabbit.

“I’ll be back in a minute, I promise,” Beatrice sighs, raising her hand higher so she can see the top of the shelves. In the furthest corner of the shelf sits a book bound in dark blue, the words on the spine so worn she can’t read them anymore. She knows immediately that it's the book she’s looking for, and she reaches for it. The leather cover is freezing cold to the touch, and she feels an immediate shiver run up her spine when her hand makes contact. The front cover is easier to read and she finds the book is titled “Rituals Moste Arcane”.

Bramble’s ears perk up when Beatrice emerges into the light a minute later, and she hops to the edge of the table to greet her. “See, I’m fine silly.” Beatrice smiles, setting the book down so she can pet her. Beatrice sits at the one rickety chair in the room and sets to work, pulling out a notebook and her charmed quill that never runs out of ink. Bramble hops into her lap and settles into her skirt, seemingly less worried now that Beatrice is back in sight.

When she goes to open the book she finds the cover won't open, as if something is holding it closed. She tries a few diagnostic spells to see if she can trace the source of the magic. It’s like the book is bound in an invisible chain, a lock with no key. Frustrated, she tries a few simple counter curses next in an attempt to unravel the tendrils of magic. But it’s no use, the magic won’t budge and the book won’t open.

She has no idea how much time has passed since she entered the secret library, with no access to windows, and Bramble is fast asleep on her lap by now. Beatrice sighs and decides it’s probably past time to be heading home, Julian will be looking for her, or Asra, or Portia. Her house is never empty these days and although she’s grateful for the company, sometimes she finds herself missing quiet evenings alone with a book. 

“Come along, my dear,” Beatrice says as she gently lifts Bramble off of her lap and into her bag, “Time to go home.” Bramble blinks at her sleepily and curls back up in the bag, content to sleep through the journey. 

Beatrice spends the next few nights toiling over the book whenever she has a chance, trying everything she can think of to unlock it. She finds that certain spells seem to loosen the ties that bind the book, and she repeats those in different patterns, hoping something will click. Bramble always sits nearby when she works on the book and her nervousness seems to have returned, despite Beatrice’s best efforts to ignore it. The book stays the same freezing temperature, and Julian often remarks how cold her hands are these days. 

One evening she finally has a breakthrough. As she turns the heavy book over and over in her hands she suddenly notices a rune carved into the book that she hadn’t seen before, the symbol for water. The rune was most certainly not there before, so one of her spells most have triggered its appearance. After pondering it for a few minutes, she decides to take the rune as in instruction.

She conjures a droplet of water into her hand, pulling the moisture from the air, and drops it gently onto the corner of the book. Instantly she feels the magic in that part of the book release a bit, the tendrils of magic disintegrating. Beatrice smiles triumphantly and gathers the book into her arms, headed towards the bathroom.

If she wants this done fast before Julian comes home, she needs more water than she can conjure. She sits on the edge of the tub and turns the tap on to a trickle. It seems wrong to get water on a book, especially one as fragile and ancient looking as this one, but magic often works that way. Sometimes doing the opposite of what one thinks is the only way to achieve a goal.

Beatrice gently brings the book under the tap and feels the magic starting to release. The water bounces off the cover harmlessly, not sinking into the pages. She watches as the cover of the book slowly changes from dark blue to red under the water, and her excitement grows. Surely a book named “Rituals Moste Arcane” hidden under a spell must have answers for her. 

After a minute of turning the book over under the water she feels the book physically give, its magic pushing back against hers. The freezing cold temperature seems to have faded along with the blue cover, and it's now almost too hot to touch. Beatrice wipes the water off of her hands on her skirt and picks up the book, nearly giddy with excitement at the prospect of finally opening it. She walks back to the living room and sets the book down on her desk, taking a moment to relish her success.

Beatrice reaches out with her left hand, her right busy holding a pen, and tugs at the cover to see if it will lift. Her hand brushes the first page and she recoils, a scream trapped in her throat as the pages of the book burst into flame. The burning tendrils of magic travel up her hand and the book falls from her grasp, continuing to burn until nothing but a heap of ash remains.

She watches in shock as the skin on the palm of her hand blisters and bursts. Distantly she hears Bramble make a noise of alarm, she feels herself slipping from the chair but it hurts too much for her to care. Her hand burns, her arm burns, she burns. Everything goes dark then, and she’s grateful because the light burns too, everything burns.

Beatrice wakes up with her face pressed to the hardwood floor, the candles in the room burned down to stubs. She takes stock of the situation, her brain struggling to find an explanation for why she’s on the floor, why everything smells like blood and singed flesh. She notices the pain then, less severe than before but still radiating up her left arm. 

She feels something fuzzy against her cheek and notices Bramble sitting in front of her face, pawing at her in an attempt to get her up. She can’t muster the strength to talk but she tries to sit up, slowly. She brings her knees to her chest and sits with her back against the wall next to her desk as the world swims before her eyes. Beatrice takes a deep breath in through her nose, out through her mouth, and dares to open her eyes and look at her hand. 

The skin of her palm looks like it’s been flayed off, it’s bloody and raw and she nearly vomits at the sight of it. Beatrice forces herself to think critically, to push past the pain to find a solution. Magic, she knows magic, she knows how to heal. Her brain searches for the right spell to ease the burning pain of her hand and to stop the bleeding. 

Beatrice reaches out with her good hand and feels the mess of her left hand with her magic. She tries to stitch the skin back together from beneath the skin as she’s done so many times before on others who needed healing. It works a little and the soothing pull of her magic distracts her from the pain, but the skin doesn’t knit back together like it should. 

She stops to rest for a minute and realizes she’s shaking quite violently, which might explain her lack of magical precision. She holds back tears as she wonders why on earth she was stupid enough to open a cursed book without any magical protection, and now the book is gone forever so it wasn’t even worth it. But now isn’t the time to blame herself, she knows she needs to try to stop the bleeding before her head gets even foggier. 

Bramble sits at her feet, large eyes worried, and Beatrice wishes she could say something to soothe her, or to soothe herself. She takes a shaky breath and tries again, using her magic to feel beneath the skin for the source of the burn so she can urge the skin to pull back together. This time it works better and the bleeding finally stops, but her hand is still a wreck of peeling skin and blisters.

Beatrice cradles her hand between her raised knees and stares at it, wondering what she could possibly do to fix it. Her magic had eased some of the pain but it still hurts immensely, worse than any pain she’s felt before. She considers getting up to look through her potion stores, maybe there's something in there to ease the pain, eucalyptus or aloe perhaps. Just as she’s decided to crawl her way to the kitchen where she stores her potions, the door to the apartment opens and Julian walks in. 

“Beatrice?” He calls into the dark room, tossing his coat onto the sofa by the door, “Why does it smell like something’s burning? Were you cooking again?” 

“Julian,” she calls, relieved but embarrassed to have gotten into this mess. 

“Beatrice?” Julian says, his voice worried as he makes his way over to the corner where she sits, “What happened?” 

It’s a long night. Julian inspects her hand while she tries to explain what happened, but it's hard to get the words out through the pain. He patches her up as best as he can with the supplies in his medical bag and tucks her into bed. Julian’s calm demeanor, gained through training on a battlefield where he’d seen injuries much worse than this, calms her down as well and by the time he’s done wrapping her hand the panic is all but gone.

When he’s certain her condition is stable enough to leave he goes to get Asra, despite her telling him not to. Julian knows this is a magical injury, and it needs a magical solution that Beatrice is too drained to provide. Beatrice secretly agrees, but she knows Asra will be upset with her for essentially doing this to herself, for ignoring every one of his warnings about messing with unfamiliar magic.

When Julian returns with Asra she stiffens and braces herself for his reaction. Asra’s head appears in the doorway and he sighs when he notices how stricken Beatrice looks, “I’m not going to yell at you if that’s what you’re worried about,” He says, “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not mad, you’re just disappointed?” Beatrice says, bracing herself for the look on his face that will reveal how upset he is. He comes to sit on the edge of her bed and reaches out for her hand. She gingerly places the wrapped hand into his and watches as he deliberates.

“You found the book didn’t you?” Asra asks, “I’m not disappointed in you, Beatrice, I’m mad at myself.” 

“I have to know, Asra, how did you bring me back?” Beatrice winces as his fingers move over her skin to remove the bandages. 

“I’ve told you, it was an exchange. I made a deal with the Arcana, it’s as simple as that,” He sighs, taking in her burned hand. “This looks like it hurts. Did you forget to set any protection charms?” 

“I wasn’t thinking, I was too excited,” Beatrice frowns, feeling embarrassed. 

“You couldn’t have known this would happen, I- this is my fault,” Asra stops unwrapping her hand and looks up at her, looking almost close to tears. It takes her off guard, and she watches him in confusion.

“I’m the one who cast this curse, I wanted to stop anything like what happened with the Devil from happening again. I didn’t want anyone to use that book again. But I didn't think you’d be hurt by it, Beatrice I’m so sorry-” Asra says.

He’s babbling and Beatrice stops him, putting her good hand on his shoulder. “You couldn’t have known I would be the one to find the book. I don’t blame you.”

“You should blame me, I should’ve known you’d go looking for it after all the questions you asked me,” He drops her hand and buries his head in his hands, unable to meet her eyes.

“Wait,” Julian calls from the doorway, his voice calm but his face pained, “Did I hear that correctly? Asra did this to you?” 

“Give us a minute,” Beatrice pleads.

“No I will not give you a minute, Asra did this? His magic did this?” Julian takes a step into the room, his face an equal mix of surprise and anger.

“He didn’t mean to!” Beatrice says, “You can fix it, right Asra?” 

“He’d better be able to fix this,” Julian replies, and Beatrice wishes everyone would just be quiet for a minute because her hand really hurts. 

“Can we please argue later,” She whimpers, watching as a trickle of blood begins oozing out of the wound again. Julian’s anger fades to concern and he nods, taking a step back against the wall. Asra finally looks up from his hands and his face is grim, none of the earlier tears in sight.

“I’ll do what I can,” He says, once again reaching for her hand. The room goes silent as he works to heal her, trying every spell and method he knows. It works better than anything Beatrice had done, but the burn is stubborn. At the end of a tense twenty minutes the injury at least looks neater, but it’s not healed completely as it should have been by now.

“How does it feel? Any better?” Julian asks, inspecting Beatrice’s face for signs of distress. 

“It’s a little better,” She lies, “Thank you Asra.” Both of them stare her down, not at all convinced by her words. 

“I’ll come back tomorrow. You should rest,” Asra frowns, getting up from the bed as he turns to leave. 

“Asra, wait,” Beatrice calls, “Don’t disappear, please. This isn’t your fault.” 

“Please don’t say that again, Beatrice. This is my fault. Only I would have been able to open that book without harm. I don’t even know if I can fix this, the curse is meant to last,” Asra frowns. He looks calm but Beatrice knows him well enough by now to know that he’s upset, that he needs comfort. She wants to get up from bed and give him a hug, but she’s in pain and he looks like he would turn her away.

“I needed to know the truth, Asra,” She mutters.

“You want the truth?” He takes a step towards the door, “The truth is that even when I’m trying to do a good thing, it ends up hurting you. I always end up hurting you.” 

Beatrice doesn’t know what to say to that, and it doesn’t matter because he’s already out the door, headed out of the apartment. 

Though the burn fades over time it never goes away, it’s a permanent reminder of her curiosity gone awry. Worse still, the burn is a reminder for Asra who can barely stand to be around her, even as the burn fades to a scar on her palm that only hurts on occasion. 

Asra goes away for a while and when he returns he’s back to normal, acting like nothing is wrong. He laughs and jokes with Julian, shows up to dinner parties with Portia and Nadia. Beatrice is fine in the end, but as often as she assures him that she doesn’t blame him, he doesn’t believe her.

He’ll never forgive himself for letting her burn a second time.